Marie Adélaide of Savoy: A Spy in Their Midst?

The arrival of the just 11-year old Marie Adélaïde of Savoy in 1697 ushered in a rejuvenated era at Versailles. The court had become increasingly morose during this latter part of the Sun King's reign, especially as the influence of Madame de Maintenon rose. However, the newly arrived girl breathed fresh air into the marble halls of the palace with her natural joy and childlike naïveté. Marie Adélaïde became the Duchesse de Bourgogne when she married the king's eldest grandson which also placed her on the path of becoming Queen of France - she technically already ranked as first-lady of Versailles as there was neither queen nor dauphine.

Tragically, Marie Adélaïde died prematurely at the age of just 26 - she was followed shortly after by her husband and eldest son. Upon her death, her private apartment was naturally gone through and the clean-up brought an unexpected surprise. Several letters found in her apartment clearly showed that the devoted grand-daughter in law of the Louis XIV had been forwarding sensitive information to her birthplace, the court of Savoy. But was it spying?

Upon the discovery, the king is said to have exclaimed: "So the little rascal tricked us!" - the statement smacks of invention. Firstly, it was claimed by Duclos in 1745 - he was just 8 years old when the event took place. Secondly, how would he possibly have known what two people had said in a private conversation at a place he was not at?

Marie Adélaïde

The recipients of these letters included her father, Victor Amadeus II of Savoy, whose most reliable characteristic was his tendency to change sides in the never-ending conflicts of Europe. As it happens, it had been one of those conflicts that had even placed Marie Adélaïde at Versailles. 

From the very beginning of her stay at Versailles, she had utterly charmed Louis XIV. It was later said - somewhat cynically - that she was one of two people the king had ever truly loved, the other being his mother. She had cast herself into the arms of Madame de Maintenon whom she affectionately called "ma tante" (my aunt), a discreet middle-ground as Maintenon was not officially recognised as the king's wife. As mentioned, she had been in France longer than in her native Savoy but nevertheless remained in contact with her parents and sister in Savoy.  

But was Marie Adélaïde truly a spy - and if so, a willing one? Surely, keeping in contact with one's family cannot be said to be espionage per say but she might have been unwittingly regaled her family with information that turned out to be important.

Yet it would erroneous to suppose that the charming, naive 12-year old bride remained so her entire life. Actually, she was already remarkably politically astute at that tender age. She certainly recognised the need to keep on the good side of Madame de Maintenon although she might not have entirely understood her relationship with the king. For one, while she would certainly have been briefed by her parents and instructors beforehand, it was her own doing that they became so close. That she was keenly intelligent was obvious. One observer described her as having a "solid intellect and much good sense".

So it seems unlikely that the childish child turned into a childish woman - but intelligence or keen wit does not necessarily lead to maliciously spying on the people she loved. After all, she seemed genuinely attached to both the king, her husband and ma tante - she certainly knew them better than she had ever known her father. Her letters definitely proof as much. Her sister had been married off to the Spanish king but that did not prevent Victor Amadeus of attempting to work against both his daughters' adoptive countries. In fact, Marie Adélaïde was often highly critical of her father in her letters which seems to emphasise that she did not habour an unquestioning filial loyalty. 

Marie Adélaïde's father,
Victor Amadeus II

There is another aspect to be considered: what, exactly, could she have imparted to Savoy, even if she had wished to divulge French state secrets? She had no access to either state nor military councils or papers, she was not included in political discussions and the king infamously never discussed politics with either family or courtiers. Even though she was occassionally allowed to rummage playfully through the king's drawers, it is extremely unlikely that such a prudent man would have permitted it if he had had state secrets lying around.

A letter from 1711 to her mother gives an indication of what might have been the motive for providing intimate details from her life: the alliance. She expressed her desire to bring her father "back to reason" - the man was (once again) considering abandoning his current alliance for a fresh, tempting one. To Marie Adélaïde that would have been disastrous. Not only would it cause an immense rift between her birth family and her in-laws, it would make her situation extremely unpleasant. By keeping "the family" close, she might have attempted to restrain her father from any lapses in loyalty.

Nothing from her behaviour since her arrival in France indicated that she still personally identified herself as a Savoyard rather than a Frenchwoman - the sad reality of princesses was the expectation that they surrender their entire identity upon their marriage into the French royal family. For instance, she repeatedly referred to "us" and "our" when speaking of French interests.

Those interests were not merely those of an ailing grandfather-in-law - her own husband stood to become king and once she had given birth, her son would inherit after him. Any trouble caused by such division would have had a direct impact on not only her life but on the country she was adored by.

The conclusion must be that Marie Adélaïde certainly kept a correspondence with her family - but it seems very unlikely that she was actively betraying her French family.

Élisabeth-Charlotte Huguet de Sémonville, Comtesse d'Estrades

Born in 1715, Élisabeth-Charlotte was not initially destined for any particular influence at court. Her parents were newly "made"; her father, Bertrand François Huguet, was Secretary of State to the king (one of many) as well as a maitre d'hotel ordinaire. In other words, he was not a member of the high nobility but had gained his position through professional merit. However much deserved, such a background did not produce expectations of glittering matches or even establishing his two daughters at court. 

As for Élisabeth-Charlotte, she likely grew up with her sister, Catherine, and a brother. She might have slipped entirely into obscurity had it not been for a remarkable - and at the time entirely unknown - stroke of good luck. At the age of 20, Élisabeth-Charlotte was married off to Charles Jean, Comte d'Estrades, who came from an entirely aristocratic family. Her new husband was set to inherit the marquisate of d'Estrades but more importantly had Charlotte Le Normant as a mother.  Charlotte happened to be from a banking family - the Le Normants -  who had also welcomed another young woman into their ranks: Jeanne Antoinette de Poisson, the very woman who would become Madame de Pompadour.

However, in 1735 - when the marriage took place - no one would know that the young Jeanne would one day change Élisabeth-Charlotte's status drastically. The marriage did not alter her position at court much, besides granting her a new title - she was not offered a presentation, for one. No children came from the marriage to Charles Jean and then the unexpected happened - he died. The Comte d'Estrades was killed in battle in 1743, at Dettingen, which left his 28-year old wife a widow.

Whereas Élisabeth-Charlotte might have hoped for a slightly more privileged future as the Marquise d'Estrades, that was dashed entirely. She would likely have faded entirely from memory if it had not been for the meteoric rise of Madame de Pompadour. It is not unlikely that the two had become firm friends through their family connection. They were almost certainly on good terms in 1745 when Madame de Pompadour officially became the king's mistress; it was Élisabeth-Charlotte who hired the ever-money needing Abbé de Bernis to instruct the young Pompadour in Versailles-life. The result was immediate. For Élisabeth-Charlotte, the initiation began with finally being offered a presentation at court.

Once having secured herself at the king's side, Pompadour began rewarding her friends and family, including Élisabeth-Charlotte, who found herself with a very mediocre fortune. It was through her kinswoman's influence that the Comtesse d'Estrades was invited to the king's private suppers. This was an entirely unexpected privilege which was typically only reserved for the king's inner circle. Suddenly, Élisabeth-Charlotte found herself in a circle of influence at the pinnacle of the court. 

Élisabeth-Charlotte would be appointed to the financially profitable post of dame d'atours to the king's eldest daughters in 1749 which had a dual benefit: it provided her with an income as well as a place at court, including lodgings. Hitherto, she had shared a hôtel with her brother but now she was given lodgings in Versailles.

It has been speculated that Élisabeth-Charlotte herself tried to supplant Madame de Pompadour but only succeeded in becoming a temporary mistress. Having failed herself, she then - allegedly - tried to champion her niece, Charlotte-Rosalie de Romanet. Such blatant backstabbing likely did not endear her further to Madame de Pompadour who had watched the evolution from grateful and appreciated friend to pretended rival. It likely led to an end of their personal relationship; and end that would prove far more disastrous for Élisabeth-Charlotte than she likely anticipated.

If Élisabeth-Charlotte tried - and failed - to get at the king, she certainly took another lover: M. d'Argenson. The choice adds fire to the rumour of a potential feud with the favourite as d'Argenson was amongst Madame de Pompadour's most outspoken critics. He was even said to have moved in with Élisabeth-Charlotte. That hardly would have indicated a firm friendship and by 1755 her favour had run out.

Without the protection of Madame de Pompadour, no one intervened when Élisabeth-Charlotte was exiled from court. It seems rather more likely that her former blossom friend was behind her downfall. The incident of her disgrace was quite bizarre but very typical of Louis XV. He did not like confrontation and had given Élisabeth-Charlotte no indication that she was in disfavour. On the contrary, Élisabeth-Charlotte had been a firm fixture on all the king's little trips. On this particular occasions, she had accompanied him to La Muette when the king had asked her to conduct some business in Paris. She had barely set off in her carriage when a messenger stopped the carriage and handed her a letter. In it, she found the king's order that she resign immediately and remained away from court.

Utterly confused and dumbstruck, Élisabeth-Charlotte could only continue on her journey. The king had granted her a considerable pension of 10.000 livres but - as reported by Barbier - but no one knew why she had so suddenly fallen from grace. It was whispered that she had reported on matters discussed in private with her lover but it could be just as likely that Madame de Pompadour finally succeeded in ousting her. It has also been suggested that a letter from d'Argenson to Élisabeth-Charlotte was intercepted by Madame de Pompadour who used it to ensure the exile of the two of them at once.

That her lover was involved seems quite likely considering that he, too, was in exile. She promptly joined him there and would remain away from court. There were certainly those who did not miss her. Hénault (President of one of the king's parliaments) described her as an ungrateful schemer who had caused d'Argenson to squander his money on her. Hardly a fan there. Another harsh critic had been the Comte d'Argenson (not to be confused with her lover). He had claimed that she was immensely greedy and had used her position to amass wealth while leaving Madame Adelaide with nothing. Others chimed in and declared that she was both ugly, unfaithful and greedy. Judging by her actions, that she did possess a certain degree of ingratitude and greed seems obvious. However, her ugliness is less likely. To be sure, her portrait show a woman with stronger features than the delicate ones preferred by the rococo but it is extremely unlikely that Louis XV would have taken her as a mistress if she had been ugly.

It is not surprising that some should judge her harshly for the way she treated Madame de Pompadour but others were not quite so severe. She seems to have been able to influence men around her and certainly was very intriguing. However, whether she was particularly successful with her schemes seems less obvious.

It has been suggested that she actually came to have quite a lot of influence at court but that her very public falling out with Madame de Pompadour permanently scarred her reputation. For one, most of those who viciously attacked her character happened to be friends of the royal favourite. It might be possible that Madame de Pompadour continued to view her as a threat even after Élisabeth-Charlotte's attempts at supplanting her had faded. 

1764 - nine years after her exile - two deaths occurred. One was that of her former friend, Madame de Pompadour, while the other was that of M. d'Argenson. If Élisabeth-Charlotte had hoped for a return to court upon the death of Pompadour, she was sadly mistaken as no invitation came. 

That she had had a genuine connection with d'Argenson seems quite likely. They had remained together for 14 years and he bequeathed her over 1000 volumes from his private library upon his death.

Either frustrated or perhaps just lonely, Élisabeth-Charlotte took an unexpected step and remarried. Her new husband was 20 years younger than her and brought a new (but not improved) title. Nicolas Maximilien Séguier de Saint-Brisson was the Comte de Saint-Brisson. To onlookers Nicolas' choice was utterly bizarre. His chosen bride brought him no fortune, no connections and could not give him an heir.

The last twenty years of Élisabeth-Charlotte passed much like the first twenty years - very little is known except that she never returned to court. Élisabeth-Charlotte died in 1784.

Dancing on Her Grave: The Usage of Marie Antoinette in Modernity

Few people has been subjected to such intense public anger and dehumanization as Marie Antoinette - even after her death. The story of her mistreatment and eventual death is well-known but the ire of public imagination has not subsided over the years. The revolutionary (and pre-revolutionary) propaganda was immensely successful and has largely shaped the way we still perceive the ill-fated queen. 

However, whereas Marie Antoinette's image is used on a variety of consumer products such as hair brushes, perfumes and even cakes, the darker side is the continual usage of her tragic demise. As late as July 2024, the Paris Olympics used graphic imagery of a beheaded Marie Antoinette holding her own head (singing for good measure) in her arms, for the opening ceremony. To make matters even more macabre, the imagery was depicted from the windows of the Conciergerie - the prison in which she spent her last days.

Marie Antoinette, as depicted during the opening
ceremony of the Olympics, 2024

While the French Revolution is obviously of immense importance to both French history and modern French society, it is revolting to see how the mutilated and murdered body of a long-dead and even longer vilified woman is still used as a prop for entertainment. The planners could easily have represented the fall of the monarchy in other ways - even the tumultuous times of the Terror could have been presented. Such a representation would have been entirely in line with the other parts of the opening ceremony which relied heavily on French history - as it should, given the locale of the ceremony. 

Alas, the only person to have her stand-in corpse utilized in this graphic manner was Marie Antoinette. One might wonder why there was no headless Louis XVI peeking out from the windows, especially considering that he not only held the actual political power but was the only one of the two who represented the hated Bourbon-dynasty. The two could have been joined by a slightly shorter-than-life Robespierre.

Instead, Marie Antoinette remained the sole symbol of the fall of the French monarchy - she remain the scapegoat of an entire outdated system which had become a hallmark of inequality and exploitation, despite having had no direct political power nor having even been born into the reigning dynasty. 

The tradition of using Marie Antoinette for commercial gains is nothing new. Countless Halloween-costumes allow trick-and-treaters to don bloodied court dresses for a night out. Some even offer tricks to "decapitate yourself" a la Marie Antoinette or include necklaces to make it seem as if the head has been reattached. For those who wish to have a more lasting souvenir, it is possible to purchase posters - naturally, with the queen sans tête.

In an Avantgarde photo exhibition by Erwin Olaf from 2000, the artist took inspiration from royal tragedies. His exhibition "Royal Blood" contained numerous references to very real tragedies - a Jackie Kennedy, first pristine in white with her signature hat, then splattered with (her husband's) blood, a very Princess Diana-looking model with a deep cut into her arm - and Marie Antoinette, holding her own head, yet again.

Erwin Olaf's Marie Antoinette

In fairness to Olaf, he is far from the only one who saw fit to use the ci-devant queen's decapitated head as a prop. The Long Island City's Sculpture Centre once exhibited a "Banquet of the Beheaded" with Marie Antoinette's (and others') heads served on actual platters. 

From the Banquet of the Beheaded

One of the more disturbing aspects of the exploitation of her death has been by toy makers. The company Archie McPhee & Co has carried several items which can be categorised as downright disrespectful. For one, there was the lollypop shaped as the head of the beheaded queen, ripe for consumption. Another addition was the action figure which might seem innocent enough with its accompanying court gown/peasant gown accessories. One might wonder why the company felt the need to install a clicker which makes the doll's head fly off its shoulders.

Toy by Archie McPhee & Co

One enthusiastic buyer of the toy amusedly commented: "My friends, students, and family have so enjoyed playing with our Marie-Antoinette that her plastic head socket has gotten a bit out of joint. Thus my question: how, oh how, will I ever get the queen’s head back on her shoulders?!"

Even the small-business owners on Etsy have gotten in on the fun. It is possible to purchase dolls of both Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI with their heads cut off and a clear view of their severed throats. Another seller outright sells the queen's decapitated head - replica, naturally, but complete with a bloody neckline and eyes rolling back. The latter has already been sold and is thus adorning someone's home or perhaps served as a Halloween prop.

Doll head from Etsy

There appear to be no end to the creativity connected with producing objects that focus on Marie Antoinette's decapitation. If the toy and lollipop were not enough, one could always try the salt and pepper shaker from acornonline.com. Naturally, the head comes off, so the customer can fill the shaker. And the sales description? "A magnet attaches Marie Antoinette's head to her shoulders until the contents — salt and pepper — are required. Then it's off with Her Majesty's head" 

It is tempting to wonder what it is, exactly, about the very beheading that keeps people amused. All the usages of the queen mentioned in this post have been focused on the removal of her head, whether through images or by allowing the customer to wring off the head themselves. Perhaps the idea of beheading her again and again simply have an irresistible appeal? A perpetual punishment?

While the depiction of the bad side of royalty has always been popular  - and still is - there is a marked difference between plastering the profile of a coiffured Marie Antoinette on a pastel-colored umbrella and using the decapitated, blood-dripping head of the queen for dramatic or even amusing effect. 

When dealing with historical figures, it is all too easy to forget that they were actual people once. While Marie Antoinette herself certainly had flaws, it is hard to argue that she still - 231 years after her death - merit having her gruesome end (body and head) utilized in this manner.

The King's Floral Favourite: Orange Trees of Louis XIV

Whereas Marie Antoinette's love of flowers was - and still is - widely known, she was not the only monarch at Versailles with a taste for floras. A century before the ill-fated queen arrived in France, her kinsman, Louis XIV, was proudly displaying his own taste for plants. In the Sun King's case, it was not the delicate violets or roses favoured by Marie Antoinette but rather the exotic orange blossoms.

The king loved the exquisite scent of orange blossoms as well as its prestige - after all, it is a plant that requires a certain degree of both warmth and care to grow. It has also been suggested that the king was attracted to the symbolism of the fruit - looking suspiciously like a sun, it was the ideal symbol for the Sun King. Furthermore, they were very expensive, thus aptly showcasing the king's wealth. For that reason, it is hardly a surprise that the king commissioned Le Vau to complete the impressive Orangery at Versailles. The king placed his order with La Vau as early as 1664 but twenty years later, he hired Mansart to considerably expand the building (at a further cost of over 1.5 million livres). Located immediately below the palace - its roof making up the very foundation of the parterres - the Orangery was the home of several southern additions: lemon trees, olives, dates, oleander - and orange trees. The building itself is impressive - vaulted galleries packed with greenery and large windows to let in the precious sunlight.

The king's initial reaction to his Orangery is recorded by the marquis de Dangeau. On 14 November 1685, "the king walked in the orangery at Versailles which he found very magnificent". 

Gardeners at work at the Orangery of Versailles
 during Louis XIV

The king's gardener imported the precious trees from all over southern Europe but favoured the Portuguese, Spanish and Italian ones. Yet, he did not limit himself to those regions - seeds were brought in from as far away as Santa Domingo and Algeria. The Portuguese were often imported from as far afield as China which sent their cost skyrocketing. Even those amongst his courtiers who had their own trees were approached with an offer of sale. One enterprising lady - the Duchesse de La Ferté - agreed to sell her twenty fully grown orange trees to the king for 2.200 livres. In comparison, the wages of Louis XIV's first gardener - Laurent Trumel - was 3.000 livres per year. Yet, even she sold her trees comparatively cheaply. The Duchesse de Verneuil sold 52 orange trees for 10.083 livres while one another receipt shows that the sourcing of orange trees "from various environs" cost the king another 38.175 livres.

It certainly helped that when Louis confiscated the estate of Nicolas Fouquet, his former superintendent of finance was said to have had up to a 1.000 orange trees - almost certainly a massive exaggeration, but those he did have were duly transferred to the king.

There appears to have been something almost frantic about the king's desire to gather as many trees as possible. For instance, he did not wait until summer for the precious cargo to be transported but had them delivered throughout the year, including in the depths of winter. Unfortunately, this meant that a considerable amount were dead on arrival. The king also ordered his existing stock of orange trees moved from his various other residences to fill the vaults of the Orangery. The intensive gathering resulted in Louis XIV having the largest collection of orange trees in Europe.

During the winter and colder periods, the trees were moved into the warmth and safety of the Orangery where they would be sheltered from the wind and rain. However, during the summer they were rolled out in all their glory - that was also the case when the king had guests to impress. For instance, the king had his collection on full display when the Siamese ambassador and his entourage visited France in 1686.

Interior of the Orangery

Part of the prestige also consisted in keeping the orange trees alive - all year round. Upon the completion of the Orangery, 12.000 seedlings were transferred to the new establishment and the royal gardener was tasked with keeping them blooming on rotation. As a result, the king could enjoy his orange trees even during winter. The orange trees in the royal apartments were replaced in intervals of 15 days - ensuring that they would seemingly never wither. Initially, they were planted in solid silver pots, but the ongoing wars eventually made it necessary to melt down such luxuries. 

To aid in his efforts, the king's gardener (La Quintinie) sought the expert advice of Henri Dupuis who specialised in citrus fruits. Dupuis would also be asked to supply more orange trees for the king's insatiable garden. It apparently worked for La Quintinie managed to invent his own variant of rooting which proved particularly successful. His mixture consisted of cow dung, powdered night soil (whatever that means), pigeon droppings, sheep manure, sand from Fontainebleau, grape marc and composted sod. 

Having thus steeped the trees in three different types of excrement, La Quintinie turned his attention to how to keep the trees alive for longer. He discovered that by storing the young trees in planters made of oak with hatch walls (another invention of his own), he could then transfer them to larger urns. This served to keep the trees alive for decades and is a technique even used today.

It was a massive undertaking to keep the trees alive. By their very nature, orange trees are intended for a warm climate - and Paris in the 17th century was far from that. As it happens, the world was in the midst of a so-called "mini ice-age" which meant considerably lower temperatures than today - and made the work of the king's gardener all the more difficult.

The Orangery, 1690

As could be expected, even such a personal preference could be turned into a sign of favour. Louis XIV took to bestowing orange trees on favourite courtiers or as rewards for special deeds. When Madame de Montespan was at the height of her favour, Louis made sure that her private estate of Clagny was suitably equipped. In 1675 alone, Colbert paid a staggering 23.000 livres solely for orange trees for Clagny. The king even demanded that the most beautiful ones were taken to her ... "to please me" as he gallantly put it. While Madame de Montespan certainly enjoyed her share of the favour, there was another (albeit unintended) beneficent to the king's chosen trees: his wife.

Marie Thérèse had grown up in the sunlight of Spain and thus was well-acquainted with the scents and sights of orange trees from her childhood. Even though the king sent the best trees to his mistress, one might hope that his wife got her share too.

The scent itself was a massive part of Louis' attraction to this particular type of citrus. As a young man he had reveled in the strong, heady scents of his time but as he grew older, he became increasingly sensitive to them. Rather than the strong tuberose, he now favoured orange blossom.

The king's table was also benefited from the produce of the king's favoured tree. Oranges were duly incorporated into the king's meals, including marmalades, compots and tarts. During the weekly appartements, oranges were amongst the refreshments served in the Salon of Venus. It should be said that the king was far from the only one at court who enjoyed a good orange tree. The prince de Condé had a private collection which amounted to 215 trees in 1709 but even that paled in comparison to the 246 owned by the Duchesse d'Aiguillon. Meanwhile the Louvois-family could boast a collected number of 533.

There can be little doubt that the king was genuinely interested in the well-fare of his beloved trees. Even while campaigning in Franche-Comté, he inquired of Colbert how his trees were doing: "Tell me what the orange trees look like". While at Huy in 1675, he also ordered his trusted Colbert to continue furnishing La Montespan with more trees. Apparently, a fresh shipment had only recently arrived and the king was anxious to see them thrive. And thrive they did - today, eight of the king's own orange trees are still standing in his Orangery at Versailles.

Catherine-Charlotte de Gramont, Duchesse de Boufflers

Catherine-Charlotte de Gramont was born in 1669 (some sources say 1670) but the exact date is uncertain. She was the eldest daughter of the Duc de Gramont which automatically put her on the path to an excellent marriage. Her childhood was likely spent away from court and she does not appear in public records until 1693. At the age of 24 (or 23) she was married off to the 49-year old Louis-François de Boufflers.

The same year as her marriage, Catherine-Charlotte suddenly fell seriously ill. She had contracted smallpox before the wedding but survived and made it down the aisle. Despite having contracted a disease notorious for leaving its victims scarred, Catherine-Charlotte was still described as being beautiful and "well-made" - her portrait shows her dark, almost black, hair and deep dark eyes. The marriage contract was signed by the king himself and she received a considerable dowry of 400.000 livres, 200.000 livres worth of silver and 200.000 livres worth of land.

Catherine-Charlotte

Her new husband was a traditional courtier soldier - he held the rank of Maréchal de France by the time of their marriage which automatically made Catherine-Charlotte the Maréchale de Boufflers. She was officially received at court by Louis XIV and Madame de Maintenon. The king quickly rewarded his numerous militaristic exploits (including five separate wars and at least 12 battles) by elevating him to a dukedom. It should not be disregarded that Catherine-Charlotte's own connections made the elevation more palatable - after all, as the daughter of a duke, it was not unusual for her family to lend their support to her husband's elevation.

Catherine-Charlotte quickly fell pregnant and spent the next ten years given birth to a total of eight children. Sadly, most died in childhood:

• 1694: Louise-Antoinette - became Marquise de Remiencourt
• 1695: Antoinette-Hippolyte - became a nun and died at 22
• 1696: Antoine-Charles - died at 15 from smallpox
• 1698: Charlotte-Julie - also became a nun
• 1700: Louis-François - died at age 6
• 1702: Catherine-Berthe - moved to Spain and became Duchesse de Pepoli as well as Dame d'Honneur to the Spanish queen
• 1704: Marie-Joséphine - became Duchesse d'Alincourt and dame de palais to Marie Leszczynska
• 1706: Joseph-Marie - inherited the dukedom of Boufflers

Just five years later, Catherine-Charlotte found herself a widow when her husband died in 1711. As can be seen above, her children were scattered and five of them she would not have seen again.

She never remarried nor did she particularly need to. She was a duchess, a respectable mother of a new duke and widely respected for her character. There was only one thing that might have obliged her to remarry: money. Despite having had a large fortune, her husband had spent the majority of it, primarily as expenses for his military career. As a result, the king offered him a pension of 12.000 livres per year. Apparently, he had had a taste for doing his duty in splendour with even the Duc de Saint-Simon acknowledging his (expensive) tastes. Amongst others, he kept an open table which was furnished with countless dishes free for everyone. Such things cost money - a lot of money.

Her husband, Louis-François

During Louis XIV's reign, Catherine-Charlotte enjoyed the double fortune of being admired herself for her character but also being married to a man who had the king's favour. In 1701 she had even followed her husband to Brussels where her husband held military command. She was received with considerable honour. 

As it happens, Catherine-Charlotte was a woman of strong morals which likely helped her secure the position of Premiere Dame d'Honneur to the new queen, Marie Leszczynska, in 1725. Truly, Catherine-Charlotte was ideal for the role. Her reputation was spotless - no rumours of affairs or intrigues - and her rank made her suitable. Furthermore, she was now in her mid-fifties and had experience running her own household.

Yet, if she thought her middle-age would shield her from scandal, she was wrong. It was not her own conduct which brought her embarrassment but rather that of her son. Joseph-Marie was amongst the six gentlemen who were publicly exiled from court due to "indecent behaviour" - a byword for homosexuality in the day. As mentioned, her own behaviour was without scandal. She was nicknamed "Madame Pataclin" which was the name of the head of the Hôtel de Pitié-Salpêtrière - a home for women being punished for prostitution. The reason? She was the head of the queen's household and the king had made it a habit of finding his mistresses there.

Catherine-Charlotte managed the queen's household for a decade before finally resigning. During her tenure, she aided in having her daughter-in-law, Madeleine Angélique de Neufville, placed as dame de Palais to the queen. She had lived at Versailles during her time as Premier Dame - a privilege closely connected with her position. However, once she resigned, she also moved away from court and seemingly voluntarily. The Duc de Luynes reported that in 1737, she had been to court several times but never slept there, even despite the king's attempts at scheduling audiences late, so she would not have to travel back to her own abode. Interestingly, Luynes - one of Marie Leszczynska's closest friends - remarked that the queen received Catherine-Charlotte with politeness but coldly. Perhaps something had happened between them?

A clue is found in other remarks of Luynes' over the years. According to the duke, Marie Leszczynska had once remarked that the Maréchale de Boufflers had prevented those with entrées from entering the queen's apartments between 17.00-19.00 which meant that the queen was effectually trapped with her ladies in her own apartments. Not only does this show how little power the queen had over her own daily life but would also explain the rather frosty reception. The wording suggests a clash of wills between the two women. According to Luynes, the queen had said that Catherine-Charlotte had "fantasized" about thus restricting the queen - the choice of word seems to indicate that the queen clearly opposed the move.

By now, Catherine-Charlotte was nearing her 70th birthday and her health was failing. She died on 25 January 1739, at the age of 69.

Impot du Sang: The Price of Nobility

Military service was the traditional avenue of service for aristocratic men - the older branches of the French aristocracy particularly distinguished themselves from the newer, bourgeoisie nobility whose very nobility had been bestowed on them due to bureaucratic services. Those families who had earned their nobility by military service was known as the noblesse d'épée (nobility of the sword) whereas the newer ones were referred to as the noblesse de robe (nobility of the robe). 

Naturally, warfare included an obvious risk of injury or death - not to mention the financial loss incurred by the families who had to pay for their own equipment, transportation, food etc. during campaign. During the reigns of Louis XIV, Louis XV and Louis XVI, France was involved in 27 conflicts. These varied from minor skirmishes with foreign countries to full-blown wars such as the Thirty Years' War or the War of the Austrian Succession.

The losses of three families are further explored in this post: Montmorency, Choiseul and Rochechouart. These families all suffered particularly from the French conflicts. In the period of 1621 - 1762, the Choiseul family lost 24 (!) men to warfare while another 4 were injured. Meanwhile, Montmorency (1632 - 1760) experienced 12 fatalities and 13 injuries while the house of Rochechouart (1621-1746) was reduced by 11 men with a further 6 suffering severe injuries.

Rather morbid, this duty had been referred to as the "impot du sang" - the blood tax.

Montmorency 

Georges de Montmorency, Vicomte de Roullers

Killed at the siege of Arras, 1640

Guy de Montmorency-Laval-Bois-Dauphin (unknown first-name)

This gentleman was wounded at the siege of Mardick (13 August 1646) but survived. However, he was relocated to Dunkirk where he was wounded again; this second injury proved to be fatal and he died that same year.

François-Ignace de Montmorency, Comte d'Esterre 

Served as a cavalry captain when he was killed at the battle of Lens in 1684

Gilles de Montmorency-Laval, Chevalier de Bois-Dauphin

Killed during a skirmish in the outskirts of Stenay, 1650

Jacques de Montmorency-Laval, Marquis de Bois-Dauphin

Killed at the siege of Candie, August 1669

Charles de Montmorency-Laval, Marquis de Bois-Dauphin (likely the successor of the man above)

Killed during the defense of Woerden, 1672, when the dutch made sortie against the French 

Charles de Montmorency

Fatally wounded at the battle of Maastricht in 1673

X de Montmorency 

Had his thigh broken by a musket while serving at Mayence, 1689

Henri de Montmorency

Killed at Mayence, 1689, at the age of 18

X de Montmorency

Was also present at Mayence where he was killed in September 1689

Henri-François de Montmorency, Duc de Luxembourg

Maréchal de France and captain of the king's bodyguards, he was wounded at the battle of Rethel in 1650, at the siege of Valenciennes and again - a wound to his hand - in 1678

Léon de Montmorency, Marquis de Fosseuse

Killed at the battle of Marsaille in 1693

X de Montmorency, Comte d'Esterre 

Wounded in 1700 after which he returned to service. He received a fresh wound to the throat which he somehow survived and was made Knight of the Golden Fleece for his troubles.

Charles de Montmorency, Prince de Robecque

Wounded at Landau in 1703

X de Montmorency, Chevalier de Luxembourg

Wounded on 18 October 1705 near Serès

Claude-Roland de Montmorency, Comte de Laval

Wounded by a cannon ball before Nice in December 1705

François de Montmorency, Marquis de Montmorency

Knight of the Saint-Louis, François was wounded in the neck on 18 June 1712 while giving chase to enemy troops

François de Montmorency-Laval

Shot in the jaw at the siege of Fribourg on 13 October 1712 which killed him

Paul-Sigismond de Montmorency, Duc de Châtillon

Another Knight of the Saint-Louis, Paul-Sigismond was also a brigadier of the king's army when he was seriously wounded in the leg at Nerwinde in 1692 - he survived and lived until 1731.

Charles-François-Frédéric de Montmorency-Luxembourg, Duc de Piney-Luxembourg

Undoubtedly one of the most titled persons on this list, he was also duke of Beaufort-Montmorency and prince of both Tingry and d'Aigremont. He was likewise wounded at Nerwinde in 1693.

X de Montmorency de Fosseux

Knight of Malta and simply reported as having "died in the king's service"

Charles-Auguste de Montmorency, Prince de Robecque

Grandee of Spain, Charles-Auguste was wounded by a musket shot in the arm at Chiari in 1701, received another wound in 1705 before being finally "lightly" wounded in the neck in 1709.

Christian-Louis de Montmorency-Luxembourg, Prince de Tingry

Knight of Saint-Louis and Maréchal de France, he was wounded when battling the Habsburg forces in 1705 at Mantes

X de Montmorency-Laval, Marquis de Laval

Wounded at Raucoux in 1746

Joseph-Pierre de Montmorency, Comte d'Olonne 

Head of Schomberg's regiment, he was wounded on 11 August 1760 at Ober-Istingen

Choiseul

Charles de Choiseul, Marquis de Praslin

Charles was a Maréchal de France who had participated in 53 sieges and 27 battles - clearly a career soldier, he had sustained 22 battle wounds over his career.

Henri-Louis de Choiseul, Comte de Sorcy

Lieutenant-general and colonel of a regiment bearing his own name, Henri-Louis was seriously injured at Denain in 1742

 

Marc-Gabriel-Florent-Christophe de Choiseul-Beaupré

Colonel of the Navarre Regiment, he was wounded by a gunshot at the battle of Laufeldt in 1747

Claude-Antoine-Cleriadus de Choiseul-Beaupré

Lieutenant-general and a knight of Saint-Louis was wounded by two strikes by a saber in 1762 - he survived but was later guillotined in 1792

César I - founder of the
ducal, and martial, house
of Choiseul

Maximilien de Choiseul

Serving as a cornet in the king's cavalry, Maximilien was killed in the siege of Spire in 1644

Chrétien de Choiseul

Brother of Maximilien, he was killed while on campaign in Germany

Giles de Choiseul, Vicomte d'Hostel (also referred to as the Comte d'Hostel)

A Maréchal de Camp, Giles was also a lieutenant-colonel when he was killed in the siege of Saint-Ya in 1644.

Antoine de Choiseul-Beaupré, Seigneur d'Aillecourt

A major in the Duc d'Orléans' cavalry regiment, he was fatally wounded in the battle of Lens (1648). He was taken as a prisoner of war and would succumb to his wounds while in captivity.

César de Choiseul

Knight of Malta who died at the battle of Cremone in 1648. He was 20 years old at the battle - a bittersweet fact is that his father (the Duc de Choiseul) would go on to win that particular battle.

Charles de Choiseul, Comte de Plessis  

Brother of César, Charles was a Maréchal de Camp when he died at the battle of Rethel in 1650

X de Choiseul

His death was announced in the Mercure Gallante, but unfortunately, his first-name is not clearly recorded.  He was the brother of César and Charles - however, he might have been an illegitimate brother. He died at the siege of Ast in 1644.

Alexandre de Choiseul, Comte de Plessis-Praslin

Yet another brother of César and Charles, Alexandre was killed at 38 by a cannon ball at the taking of Arnheim, 1672. He had initially been accepted into the Church but left the clergy to join the army.

Charles de Choiseul

Killed at the battle of Cassel in 1677

François de Choiseul

Killed at the siege of Candie, 1668

Adrien de Choiseul, Seigneur de Vauteau

Killed at the siege of Condé 

Jean-Baptiste-Gaston de Choiseul, Comte d'Hostel and Marquis de Praslin

He was another career soldier who had achieved the rank of lieutenant-general who had been seriously injured at the siege of Iprès in 1678. He later had his hand broken by a bullet during the battle of Cassano (1705) - he continued fighting until he was shot through the torso. He was taken to the ducal palace of Milan where he died after several hours of agony.

Claude-Bernard de Choiseul

Killed in Germany, 1679

Pierre de Choiseul

Unlike his relatives, Pierre joined the navy where he was killed during the bombardment of Algiers in 1683.

César-Auguste II de Choiseul, Duc de de Choiseul

Serving as Premier Gentilhomme of the Duc d'Orléans, the duke was mortally wounded when he led the siege of Luxembourg in 1684 - a bomb (likely a cannon ball) exploded right near him. He was not yet 20 years old.

François-Joseph de Choiseul

Knight of Malta who was killed at the Battle of Nerwinde of 1693

Cleriadus de Choiseul, Marquis de Lanques

Died at the head of his regiment in the 1690's

X de Choiseul

Another Knight of Malta and another man whose name does not appear clearly. He was killed at Spire, 1703.

Charles de Choiseul, Marquis de Meuze

Also killed at Spire

François-Joseph de Choiseul, Comte de Choiseul and Baron de Beaupré

Killed during a naval battle in 1711

François de Choiseul-Ambouville 

Served as an ensign in the navy when he was killed at Algiers on 27 June 1683

Comte de de Choiseul-Beaupré

Captain of his vessel, he was killed in action on 18 May 1711

François-Louis de Choiseul-Meuze

Colonel of the Regiment of the Dauphin, he was killed at Anvers on 31 May 1746

As can be seen, the house of Choiseul paid heavily for their military duty towards the king. Few - if any - noble family lost as many men during such a relatively short period. As a further example, the head of the house - César Auguste III - participated in nine conflicts over the span of 23 years. In the 1670's, especially, César Auguste was continuously absent as he was at war in 1672, 1674, 1675, 1677 and 1678. During these years, he travelled to various fronts, including in the Netherlands and Belgium. In total, he spent 32 years in active service.

Such service was an ideal opportunity for the king to reward obvious fidelity. To be sure, Louis XIV fully appreciated this concept and did not fail on his part. César Auguste went from colonel of an infantry regiment to maréchal de France (and lieutenant-general), made First Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the Duc d'Orléans and was made a Knight of the Saint-Esprit.

Particularly the family of Charles de Choiseul and Marie de Porcherot saw more than their fair share of the "impot du sang" - they had eight children of which four sons died in war: Charles, François, Pierre and Claude-Bernard.

The Battle of Spire, 1703, which killed off 
numerous men from the Choiseul-family

Rochechouart

Guy de Rochechouart, Seigneur de Châtillon-de-Roy

Killed at the siege of Saint-Jean d'Angely in 1621

Jean-Louis de Rochechouart, Baron de Barbozan

Died during the religious wars, near Parmiers

X de Rochechouart, Comte de Vivonne

Wounded while passing the Rhine in 1672

X de Rochechouart, Seigneur de Clermont

Captain of the light horse, he was killed at Maastricht in 1673

François de Rochechouart

Killed at the battle of Seneff, 1674

X de Rochechouart, Duc de Vivonne

General of the king's galleys, he defeated the Spanish fleet at Messina; during that battle he was wounded and then created Maréchal of France

Charles-François de Rochechouart, Comte de Limoges 

Fatally wounded at Ypres in 1678

Louis-Victor de Rochechouart, Duc de Mortemart 

Another well-titled man, Louis-Victor was also Duc de Vivonne, Prince de Tonnay-Charente, Viceroy of Sicily and Premier Gentilhomme of the King's Bedchamber. He was wounded at the siege of Lille in 1667 and then again (seriously) while crossing the Rhine in 1672.

X de Rochechouart-Jussac

Killed at the Battle of Fleurus, 1690

Charles de Rochechouart, Marquis de Montpipeau

Killed at Leuze, 1691, at age 30

Louis de Rochechouart, Duc de Mortemart

Was considerably wounded at the beginning of the Battle of Eckeren but persisted fighting 

François-Charles de Rochechouart, Comte de Rochechouart

Shot in the arm at the Battle of Guastalla in 1734

X de Rochechouart

Killed during a skirmish against a force of hussars at Eins, 1734

Charles-Auguste de Rochechouart, Duc de Rochechouart

Grandee of Spain and Knight of the Saint-Louis, he served Louis XV as Premier Gentilhomme of the Bedchamber. He received two wounds at Ettingen, 1743, which he eventually died from

Pierre-Paul de Rochechouart

Killed at the Battle of Plaisance, 1746

X de Rochechouart, Chevalier de Rochechouart

Colonel of the Anjou-regiment, wounded in action on 10 August 1746, near Tidon

X de Rochechouart, Chevalier de Rochechouart

Killed at the battle of Turin, 1706 - it is rather sad that even the book on the history of the Rochechouart (written by a Rochechouart) does not even record his name

Louis-Victor de Rochechouart

Movie Review: Jeanne du Barry (2023)

Starting off a new round of movie reviews, I have chosen five factors to be considered: historical accuracy, costumes, casting, locations and attention to detail.

Historical accuracy 

The initial part of the movie correctly show the early years of Madame du Barry but towards the end of the movie, the producers seem to have taken active steps to imbue Madame du Barry's story with a more dignified ending.

For instance, in the movie, Jeanne is constantly at Louis XV's side while he is dying from smallpox - in reality, he was nursed by his daughters, not Jeanne. Once he officially renounces her in order to receive the sacraments, there is a dramatic scene in which she nearly leaves quietly in a carriage (as she actually did) but then bolts back over the courtyard, forces her way into the antechamber and is permitted by Louis Auguste, the dauphin, to say a last goodbye.

Throughout the movie, Louis Auguste (later Louis XVI) is shown to be the only one in the royal family who shows her any kindness. In reality, he had no regard for his father's mistress and absolutely ignored her. But at least he is present; both of his brothers and sisters are completely cut from the movie, even when all the royal children gather at their father's apartment throughout the movie. Instead, Louis is presented as the sole child of the next generation, thus cutting four children, three of whom would themselves become monarchs: the Comtes de Provence and d'Artois as well as Madame Clothilde. Marie Leszczynska, too, is mentioned but only as being "discreet" and then conveniently dying without appearing on screen.

The movie focuses on her life before and at court - the last shot of the main character shows her disconsolate in a barren cell at a nunnery. The 15 years she spent at Louveciennes are not included which is reasonable considering the otherwise overly long movie. As is typical for period dramas, the fate of the protagonist is explained by writing on the screen - unfortunately, it is not quite accurate.

For one, it is claimed that Marie Antoinette eventually turned from her bitterest enemy to a supporter. While Marie Antoinette did plead her case and eventually convinced Louis XVI to release Jeanne from the convent and let her live at Louveciennes, it is a massive stretch to imagine that the two women became friendly. In fact, they never saw each other again and certainly did not correspond. Marie's goodwill was a typical display of kindness and magnanimity from her side which was likely gratefully accepted by Jeanne.

Finally, the last words of Jeanne are recorded - or are they? The movie claims that her last words are the poetic "Please Monsieur, one more moment" followed by the even more serene "I have loved life too much to die in such a manner". While it is fairly accepted that she did plead for one more moment, the latter appear to be somewhat invented for the movie; sadly, the poor Jeanne was utterly terrified and refused to go quietly to her death. She (understandably) panicked while being transferred to the scaffold, crying out "You are going to hurt me!" - heartbreaking but not nearly as dignified as that last statement displayed on the screen.

And what of the court? A recurring theme is the truly bizarre way of leaving a room in a society where it was forbidden to turn one's back on the king. It is shown that people took tiny steps, scurrying backwards towards the door - while they did walk backwards, there is nothing to indicate that they scurried like cockroaches which seems to have been added for comedic effect.

However, the king's routine is briefly mentioned which is fairly accurate - council meetings, hunting, dinners etc.

But then there is the comment regarding Madame de Pompadour, Jeanne's predecessor. She is outright said to have created the Parc-aux-Cerfs to provide the king with women for her less pleasant duties as royal mistress. In fact, there is nothing to suggest that Madame de Pompadour did any such thing - on the contrary, every woman who emerged through the Parc-aux-Cerfs was a potential threat to her own position. Considering that that very threat is explicitly mentioned - even shown by the fact that Louis XV continues to sleep with other women in the movie - it is odd that the statement should be included at all.

Costumes

The costumes of the king's household are immaculate - particularly La Borde and the king's royal bodyguards. These rarely appear at all in movies about Versailles and if so, it is very briefly. Yet, this movie often put the king's household servants up front, particularly when the king is walking. He was always flanked by the royal bodyguards in their blue/red uniforms which is clearly represented.

Many of the costumes for the dauphin, dauphine and Louis XV are quite accurate - but then, something went wrong.

Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI

While Mesdames - with the exception of Louise, who (for some reason) is dressed like a March-sister from Little Women - are typically dressed in the panniered rococo-gowns, their wigs are outrageous. Particularly the choice for the presentation of Madame du Barry is downright bizarre, especially because the women surrounding them are wearing period-accurate hair.

A good example - notice the outrageous hair of the Mesdames to the left and the 
oddly Puritan ensemble of Madame Louise (brown dress)

Then there is the protagonist. Undoubtedly, her wardrobe has some accuracy to it - for instance, Madame du Barry was well-known to favour white gowns because the colour suited her particularly well. Stripes, too, were becoming increasingly popular. But then again, it seems like the same irrationality that seized the hairdresser of Mesdames also found Jeanne's wardrobe. Whether it is the modern wedding gown she wears for the feast upon Marie Antoinette's arrival or the gauzy, crinoline gown chosen for her mourning, it is just odd. 

Another example of the sheer oddity of Mesdames costumes

Just like Mesdames, no one else is dressed in a similar fashion and it is only sporadically for the main character which would rule out the Reign-tendency to dress historical characters in modern couture. Perhaps this is due to the fact that Chanel was chosen as the sole partner for the movie?

Credit: Chanel (yes, this is an actual
still from the movie)

For those who appreciate the details in costuming, the pannier used by Madame du Barry is very clearly shown in all its glory. Also, the attention to the costumes of the king's household is praiseworthy. La Borde's uniform is an exact replica of the ones worn by the officers in the king's household. His military household, too, is pristine in its blue/red uniform complete with both swords and halberds.  

Casting

Maïwenn Besco succeeded in bringing the easy-going nature of Madame du Barry forth; her ready laughter and saucy side is both very well represented. However, from a purely external point of view, the casting choice is somewhat odd. Madame du Barry was praised for angelic softness in her features with her rounded cheeks and soft nose and chin. In contract, Maïwenn Besco has gorgeous cheekbones sharp enough to cut oneself on, an aquiline nose and narrow chin - quite the opposite. 

Likewise, Madame du Barry was notoriously blonde whereas the dark tresses of Besco has been preserved for the movie. So, while Mäiwenn Besco clearly understood the complexities of du Barry's character, her look simply does not resemble the real Jeanne.

The real Jeanne du Barry

As can be seen, the rosy cheeks of Madame du Barry and those near-purple pale eyes are clearly on display. It does not help that the makeup chosen for Besco was often very heavy on the lips with focus on very dark red tones.

Maïwenn Besco

On the other hand, the choice of Pauline Pollmann for a teenaged Marie Antoinette is perfect. Pauline Pollman shared the archduchesses' golden locks, large blue eyes and soft lips. The makeup department certainly did everything to make Pollmann look the part - and for once, she actually looks like a teenager:

Pauline Pollmann as Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette as dauphine

Locations

While drones have clearly been used to give some beautiful shots of Versailles, the interior locations seem replicated in a studio. Only the Hall of Mirrors and the chapel appears to have been shot on location. For instance, a lot of the movie takes place in the king's private bedchamber but the room chosen for movie has nothing to do with the king's actual private bedchamber; its décor is completely off and even the windows' placement indicates that it is not the real deal.

The same can be said for the council chamber - in a scene in which Madame du Barry interrupts a council meeting, the room is fairly easy to examine from several perspectives. The room is clad in somewhat dark wooden panelling rather than the gloriously rococo council chamber of Versailles.

Even Madame du Barry's own apartment seems somewhat computer-reproduced. Her apartment was vast and luxuriously decorated but it is shown only briefly - only one room is shown in its full length - and even then, the attention seems to be deliberately drawn away from the room. For instance, when about to leave Versailles upon the death of Louis XV, the bedchamber of du Barry is almost entirely obscured by trunks and the camera focuses on her face and person. Overall, it gives the impression that the majority of the movie was not shot on location - perhaps they were not given permission?

It is, however, a nice touch that Marie Antoinette's arrival at court is observed from the birds'-eye-view of Madame du Barry's apartment - exactly where she would have seen her soon-to-be rival arrive.

Attention to detail

While the plot took some liberties with its accuracy, the producers did include some wonderful details. A personal favourite is the inclusion of the justaucorps bleu - these were the gentlemen who followed the king on his hunt by the king's explicit invitation. They were always 12 in number and wore a matching hunting suit of blue fabric. For a brief moment, when Louis XV (Johnny Depp) goes off hunting, a few gentlemen can be seen following him on horseback wearing the justaucorps. It is neither elaborated nor even noted in any particularity but is a treat nonetheless.

Another treat was the king's levée - it is seen in all its glory, even including the varying entrées - stages by which certain courtiers could access the king's chamber - and the sight of courtiers waiting in the king's antechamber if they did not have the entrées. 

The Tragic Decline of the Comte de La Vauguyon

On 29 November 1693, Louis XIV was informed of the tragic suicide of one of his courtiers: the Comte de La Vauguyon. The incident was related in a rather casual manner by the Duc de Saint-Simon in his memoirs. However, Saint-Simon made it clear that the gunshots in his throat was of "less surprise than interest" due to the Comte's obviously declining mental health.

For years, André de Béthoulat, Comte de La Vauguyon had suffered a steady decline. Being unfortunately poor in finances, he possessed several traits necessary to make a successful career at court. Gallantry (highly prized by Louis XIV himself) was one, a good singing voice and the good fortune of enjoying the favours of Madame de Beauvais. She was the one who had allegedly "initiated" Louis XIV into life's more sensual pleasures for which she was generally respected and treated remarkably well by the king.

Saint-Simon attributed the seemingly good career of La Vauguyon to his mistress' favour with the king; the duke never seems to have considered that perhaps the king also liked La Vauguyon for his own sake. Either way, on the outside, La Vauguyon was doing quite well for himself at court. After several stints abroad as ambassador (a post which in itself required a certain degree of trust from the king) he was made councillor of state before finally being awarded the knighthood.

Yet, then followed a period of nothing - no appointments, no favours, no positions. This left him in a dire financial situation which Saint-Simon attributed to his increasingly odd behaviour. In other words, the duke argued that La Vauguyon's failing fortunes had literally made him lose his mind.

Thanks to Saint-Simon, we know of some of the odd incidents leading up to the tragic conclusion in 1693. La Vauguyon seems to have been overcome by episodes of extreme and unprovoked anger. One episode was said to have occurred at the house of Madame Pelot, the wife of the President of the Rouen Parliament. The party had been playing in the gambling room when the hostess gently teased him about the game. He allegedly waited until the remaining company had left before attacking poor Madame Pelot, pinning her against the wall and threatening to bash her skull in. According to Saint-Simon, she had only mentioned it after his death but it had been noticed that after that evening, she was never alone with him again. However, it seems remarkable that she would never say anything to anyone - after all, she had been attacked in her own home.

Another incidence of such unprovoked rancor occured at Fontainebleau in October 1691 when he passed the Prince de Courtenay, a gentleman with whom he had never had an issue before. Yet on that day, La Vauguyon suddenly drew his sword in such a threatening manner that Courtenay was obliged to do the same. Drawing one's weapon within the king's residence was a massive mistake - it could easily result in either exile or downright imprisonment. Passers-by managed to prevent further escalation but not before La Vauguyon turned on his heel and bolted away. 

He headed straight for the king's apartment where he forced his way past the usher who desperately tried keeping him away. Finally, he literally broke into the king's private chamber where the king - somewhat startled, one might imagine - demanded to know what was happening. Thus, La Vauguyon threw himself to the ground and insisted that M. de Courtenay had grievously insulted him and he had therefore had no choice but to draw his weapon. Understandably, Courtenay claimed the same and both were sent to the Bastille for a short while. The king was greatly disturbed by the incident and even ordered an investigation into the matter. It was up to the Prévôt d'Hôtel to ensure the safety of the court - consequently, he was put in charge. The feuding pair was released in July 1692.

Having been granted permission to return to court, La Vauguyon was considered with a wary eye by his fellow courtiers. If they were hoping for another bizarre incident, they were soon satisfied. Being free from the Bastille, La Vauguyon soon convinced himself that he had somehow angered the king beyond reason. In October 1692 (a year after his would-be duel) he happened to pass by a servant of the Prince de Condé who was walking the prince's horse. Having ascertained whom the horse belonged to, La Vauguyon claimed that the prince would not object to his lending it before jumping onto its back and riding off - poor servant, he must have been both utterly confused and somewhat fearful of his employer's reaction.

Where was La Vauguyon going? He headed straight for Paris, more precisely the Bastille. Having convinced himself of the king's ire, he had apparently decided to hand himself in. Consequently, he approached the governor of the prison and demanded to be locked away as he expected the king's anger to conduct him there anyhow. Taken aback, the governor checked his papers and found no order for the confinement of La Vauguyon and declined to imprison him. It took a remarkable effort on the governor's behalf to make La Vauguyon leave and they agreed initially that La Vauguyon would retire to his house while the governor investigated. Thus, sending a quick messenger to Versailles, the king confirmed that no arrest had been ordered and the "house arrest" was lifted.

Meanwhile, the king continued to allow La Vauguyon at court. Clearly, the man was suffering from some sort of mental disorder which unfortunately rendered him quite unpredictable. Upon the death of his wife, he appeared to go completely over the edge. Insisting on traveling with loaded pistols - not for safety, mind you - he frequently drew them and aimed at his own servants before calmly putting them away again.

By this point, his finances were said to be entirely dreadful. Saint-Simon, for one, was sure that he would never have survived without the assistance of both M. de Beauvais (Madame de Beauvais' son) and the king's own charity. While the king continued to treat him with kindness, he also withheld any means of improving La Vauguyon's situation. According to the Marquis de Sourches, he had requested to be sent as ambassador to Sweden which would provide him with both a fixed wage and honorable employment. However, the king refused which prompted La Vauguyon to lament that he was being sabotaged - not by the king, but by others who rendered him "bad service", i.e. bad-mouthing him to the king.

Interestingly, these incidents are not the first oddities concerning the Comte. Years earlier, the Marquis de Sourches casually remarked that La Vauguyon was being recalled from his position as ambassador to Vienna due to "great inconveniences". The wording is tantalizingly vague. Were these inconveniences financial in nature? Perhaps La Vauguyon's finances were already so disturbed as to prevent him doing his job properly. However, it is worth considering whether La Vauguyon was already exhibiting odd behavior. Obviously, he was not already plagued by the outbursts of his later years, as this would undoubtedly have been reported elsewhere. 

The end was the tragic suicide of La Vauguyon in November 1693. It is interesting to speculate what exactly led him to such a desperate act?

He might have been utterly depressed at his situation - penniless with no prospects of gaining employment or receiving aid from the king. Given that his behaviour seem to have gotten worse after the death of his wife, it is not unlikely that her loss only furthered his spiral into depression.

Desparation and frustration could also explain the odd outbursts of violence but there is another element which warrants consideration: early dementia.

La Vauguyon was 63 when he committed suicide. Every odd incident had occurred within a few years previously which indicates that he had not always been prone to the behaviour he was suddenly showcasing. Changed personality, confusion, mood changes, depression - all are symptoms of early dementia. The phrasing of the Marquis de Dangeau is worth noticing. When La Vauguyon was informed that he would, in fact, not be going to Sweden, he "fell into such a fit of despair, that he became rather deranged". The following day, Dangeau reported that he had "recovered his senses". The choice of words could indicate that La Vauguyon was experiencing an episode of some king. 

Furthermore, Louis XIV was notoriously prickly when it came to his honour. The fact that he never considered La Vauguyon's odd outbursts - even when directed at the king's behaviour - to be an affront could indicate that the king saw fit to treat La Vauguyon with more kindness and consideration than usual.

Whether or not La Vauguyon suffered from dementia or succumbed to depression, it is difficult not to sympathise with him. Either way, he was clearly suffering from a horrible mental health crisis - potentially worsened by the pressure of his awful financial situation - which eventually cost him his life.