Part 7 (1/2)

We Must Submit

'Lalande, we must submit.' Louis XIV to the composer, pointing to the sky, 1711 Sophie de Dangeau consoled herself for the grievous wounding of her son at Malplaquet with thought of the King, and 'that it was for him that my son risked himself.' Others were not so loyal or so resigned. The Dangeaus had been among the first to give up their silver vessels for the war effort: now the courtiers who had done likewise began to complain about the intolerable 'dirtiness' of using mere pewter and earthenware.1 There was no doubt that by the end of 1709, as Adelaide told her grandmother, the War of the Spanish Succession had lasted so long that there was no one who did not wish it was over, while Francoise told the Princesse des Ursins: 'Our woes augment every day.' Francoise herself had a naturally pacifist temperament and was far from encouraging the King in his pursuit of war. Her own feeling for the sufferings of the poverty-stricken country was so strong that she tried (in vain) to dissuade the King from building himself a magnificent new chapel at Versailles. Marie-Jeanne d'Aumale reported that Francoise 'more than doubled' her charities. Far from avoiding the ragged crowd of dirty, half-naked child beggars, she increasingly disliked Marly because it was cut off from them: there was no one to whom she could give money.2 Where once Louis had been satirised (and more than half admired) for his priapic adventures, now he was attacked for his failures in battle and the economic state of the country. Even his previous reputation for virility was used against him: 'The French King's Wedding' of 1708 described him as impotent nowadays at war and in bed. 'The Plagues of War and Wife consent / To send the King a packing. / You cannot give your spouse content ...' Another satirical rhyme ran: 'Our father that art in Versailles / Thy name is no longer hallowed / Thy Kingdom is no longer so great / Thy will is no longer done either on earth or sea / Give us our daily bread which we can no longer obtain / Forgive our enemies who have beaten us ...'3 The fact that France now had a King in his early seventies whose immediate heir, the Dauphin, was, as immediate heirs of senior parents tend to do, beginning to eye the throne, did not increase contentment. The fact that France now had a King in his early seventies whose immediate heir, the Dauphin, was, as immediate heirs of senior parents tend to do, beginning to eye the throne, did not increase contentment.

It was against the background of 'these recent and unhappy years', in Francoise's phrase to Marechal de Villeroi, that the battle of the marriage of the Duc de Berry, youngest son of the Dauphin, was fought. Adelaide managed to give birth to another healthy boy on 10 February 1710 shortly after the third birthday of Bretagne; he was created Duc d'Anjou, the traditional t.i.tle of the second son, which Philip V had enjoyed before his accession to the Spanish throne. Her labour was long and intense, her sufferings so great that those males present by tradition retreated from the room. However, high infant mortality meant that the succession was not necessarily secure with two knaves in the hand; Berry's future, bringing hope of more children, was also important.

The King had announced that there was to be no question of a match with a foreign princess, given the international situation, and the economic realities of the time. The Stuart princess, Louisa Maria, was Madame de Maintenon's candidate, as being the daughter of her adored Mary Beatrice, but n.o.body else thought that was a solution. Taking into account the real possibilities at Versailles, it was Adelaide who took a prominent part in advocating the candidature of Philippe and Francoise-Marie's daughter Marie-(Louise)-elisabeth. Her motives for this, a campaign which would lead in the end to disaster all round, were not of the finest. Her chief aim was to keep out the daughter of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, known as Mademoiselle de Bourbon. Both these girls were granddaughters of Louis XIV, via their legitimised mothers. But their characters were very different.

Marie-elisabeth was fifteen. She was her father's favourite out of his numerous daughters.4* Unpleasant gossip gathered around their too-intimate relations.h.i.+p; certainly she consoled him for the loveless marriage he had been forced to make. Marie-elisabeth had also been brought up by her father to despise her mother for 'the defilement of her adulterous birth', an act of revenge on his part. The girl was from the start highly unstable, with a violent temper whenever her will was crossed; no one had ever tried to control her not her notoriously lazy mother and certainly not her doting father, whom she treated 'like a negro slave' and ruled much as Francoise ruled the King according to Saint-Simon. Vivacity was Marie-elisabeth's strong suit, that, and a certain wit, reminding courtiers that she was Athenais's granddaughter. Unpleasant gossip gathered around their too-intimate relations.h.i.+p; certainly she consoled him for the loveless marriage he had been forced to make. Marie-elisabeth had also been brought up by her father to despise her mother for 'the defilement of her adulterous birth', an act of revenge on his part. The girl was from the start highly unstable, with a violent temper whenever her will was crossed; no one had ever tried to control her not her notoriously lazy mother and certainly not her doting father, whom she treated 'like a negro slave' and ruled much as Francoise ruled the King according to Saint-Simon. Vivacity was Marie-elisabeth's strong suit, that, and a certain wit, reminding courtiers that she was Athenais's granddaughter.

Physically however she allowed her appet.i.tes to hold sway: Marie-elisabeth became grossly fat quite young, so that the King shuddered with distaste. Once upon a time when she had been a little girl, Marie-elisabeth had charmed him, like other little girls; at the age of twelve after hunting she had been invited to dine with him, an unusual honour for a person of her rank. Now he suggested that she was so fat that she might be infertile. Liselotte's pen portrait of her granddaughter was not flattering: pale blue eyes with pink rims, a short body with long arms, a clumsy walk and in general lacking any grace in anything that she did; only her neck, arms and hands were flawlessly white. Nevertheless the tyrannical Marie-elisabeth must have had something: Liselotte had to admit that her son Philippe was convinced 'Helen was never so beautiful'.5 Adelaide's refusal to back the far more suitable Mademoiselle de Bourbon, aged seventeen in 1710, was partly based on her strong dislike of her mother. Madame la d.u.c.h.esse had scorned the little Princess of Savoy from the start, the pretty child who had displaced her as the young star of the court; and then there was Madame la d.u.c.h.esse's unforgivable behaviour over Bourgogne's military troubles. But as Adelaide headed towards thirty the age at which she had decided to give up dancing she also feared that Mademoiselle de Bourbon, with her charming teasing ways, would replace her in the old King's affections. She certainly employed her own apparent naivety in the cause of Marie-elisabeth. Adelaide observed innocently out loud on one occasion what a lovely bride the Orleans princess would make for the Duc de Berry, and then stopped as though aghast at her own temerity: 'Tante, what have I just said? Did I say something wrong?'6 As Adelaide supported Marie-elisabeth (who went on a special diet, eating only when she was walking to improve her chances), the two mothers in question, Francoise-Marie and Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, were also locked in a poisonous struggle. Old sibling rivalries came into it Madame la d.u.c.h.esse's humiliation at having to yield precedence to her younger sister for example. And then the Dauphin, as father of the bridegroom, had some say in it all, even if the King gave the ultimate verdict.

The matter was concluded when Philippe was persuaded by Saint-Simon to write a letter to the King proposing Marie-elisabeth as a bride for Berry, with Saint-Simon advising on its contents. A moment was chosen to present this letter when the King was reported by one of his doctors to be in a good mood; he took it away unopened. The next day Louis announced that he agreed in principle, but needed some time to talk round the Dauphin, which he proceeded to do 'in the tone of a father, mixed with that of King and master.' This was a different approach from the one he had recently taken over the sons of Maine and Benedicte: then 'that most severe and tyrannical of parents' had humbled himself to the Dauphin and Bourgogne in order to establish that the boys should have the same rank as their father.7 The whole matter of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, their descendants and their degree was a delicate one, as time would show. But Louis was on surer ground when it came to the marriage of a (legitimate) grandson. The whole matter of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, their descendants and their degree was a delicate one, as time would show. But Louis was on surer ground when it came to the marriage of a (legitimate) grandson.

Up till now, no one had thought to ask the opinion of Berry himself. Aged nearly twenty-four, he had grown up from his mischievous boyhood into being a mild-mannered and good-natured young man who was especially devoted to his brother Bourgogne (and to Adelaide, whom he had known since childhood). He certainly displayed no jealousy of his two elder brothers' superior destinies. When Philip was made King of Spain, Berry sensibly announced: 'I will have less trouble and more fun than you,' and gave as an example that he would now be able to hunt the wolf 'all the way from Versailles to Madrid.' Somehow his education had been neglected, perhaps because the Dauphine's death had left 'my little Berry' motherless at the age of three and a half. He was certainly not as intelligent as Bourgogne or Philip V, and tended to be inarticulate in public as well as terrified of his grandfather (just as the Dauphin had been). Nevertheless, with his fine head of fair hair and his fresh complexion, Berry was positively handsome by the standards of a Bourbon prince; quite apart from his rank, Marie-elisabeth could be pleased with her catch. As for his own feelings, Berry, told by his grandfather that Marie-elisabeth was the highest-ranking princess in France, was uneasily non-committal.

So the betrothal was announced on 5 July 1710. The event led to glacial exchanges between the sisters. It was even suggested to Madame la d.u.c.h.esse by Francoise-Marie surely a gratuitous act of triumph that another Orleans daughter might marry a Bourbon-Conde son. Madame la d.u.c.h.esse merely replied that her son would not be of an age to be married for a long time and besides he had only a small fortune. But worse lay ahead for her. At the formal ceremony, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, the slighted fiancee, was next in rank and thus by etiquette had to carry the train of Marie-elisabeth. This was intolerable!

The King, who believed in etiquette but was also kind-hearted where these matters were concerned, suggested that Marie-elisabeth's younger sisters should be hauled back from their convent to perform the task (their rank being higher than that of Mademoiselle de Bourbon). At least that pleased the two little girls in question, known respectively, as Mademoiselle de Chartres and Mademoiselle de Valois, who at eleven and nine had bewailed their incarceration. The decision to put them in a convent was generally ascribed to Francoise-Marie's laziness over her maternal duties, and the girls were so upset pa.s.sing through Paris, that the curtains of their coach had to be drawn. Although the times did not 'permit much entertainment', the wedding was described by Adelaide to her grandmother as being as magnificent as policy permitted.'8 Unfortunately this brilliant marriage in worldly terms had the effect of encouraging Marie-elisabeth in her vile behaviour, and Berry had no resources to cope with it. At first he was quite mesmerised by his bride, according to Liselotte, although the pa.s.sion wore off thanks to her behaviour. The rest of the court was more horrified than mesmerised. 'Terrifyingly bold ... wildly proud, vulgar beyond the bounds of decency': these were some of the descriptions she merited from Saint-Simon. She gorged prodigiously in public (gone were the days of the diet) and scarcely ever failed to drink herself unconscious, 'rendering in all directions the wine she had swallowed.' Having no religion herself she proclaimed she did not believe in G.o.d she mocked those like her husband who did. At one particular supper-party given by Adelaide at Saint-Cloud, Marie-elisabeth became so 'sottish' that the effects, 'both above and below', were embarra.s.sing to all present. Her father was also drunk on the same occasion but the daughter was the drunker of the two.9 Liselotte tried to take a hand in the education of her wayward granddaughter, calling her 'my pupil.' It is true that Marie-elisabeth showed a rare graciousness in her reluctance to take precedence over her grandmother (which as the wife of the Duc de Berry she was now ent.i.tled to do): 'Push me forward, Madame, so as to propel me in front of you. I need time to grow accustomed to that honour ...' But when it came to a question of a beautiful necklace of pearls and yellow diamonds which had belonged to Anne of Austria, which she coveted for a court ball, Marie-elisabeth's behaviour to her mother was the reverse of gracious. When her mother refused to hand it over, Marie-elisabeth insolently pointed out that the necklace belonged to her father by descent from Monsieur and he would certainly let her have it.

Sure enough, in a moment of weakness Philippe did. But the matter did not rest there. Francoise-Marie complained bitterly and Liselotte took a hand, going to the King herself. Louis hated this kind of trouble among women and was furious. In the end Marie-elisabeth was induced to apologise to her mother and the matter was smoothed over. The whole unpleasant incident, so trivial and yet so important by the values of Versailles, made it clear that Marie-elisabeth was more than unruly: she was quite out of control, and even the King found it difficult to check her.

Furthermore, there was no large, consoling brood of royal children to make it all seem worthwhile in dynastic terms. A year after her marriage, the d.u.c.h.esse de Berry miscarried: because 'it had been female', wrote Saint-Simon, 'everyone was soon consoled.'10 All the same, it was to be well over a year before Marie-elisabeth conceived again, and by then the balance of power at court had been radically altered. All the same, it was to be well over a year before Marie-elisabeth conceived again, and by then the balance of power at court had been radically altered.

Sudden death is 'the ruffian on the stair' where hereditary monarchy is concerned.11 n.o.body would have predicted in the spring of 1711 that the Dauphin, a healthy, well-set-up man in his fiftieth year, would fall victim to smallpox, although it was the universal and egalitarian killer of the time. He is supposed to have caught the infection by kneeling at the wayside when a priest was pa.s.sing carrying the sacred host. The Dauphin was unaware that the priest in question had just visited a victim of smallpox. n.o.body would have predicted in the spring of 1711 that the Dauphin, a healthy, well-set-up man in his fiftieth year, would fall victim to smallpox, although it was the universal and egalitarian killer of the time. He is supposed to have caught the infection by kneeling at the wayside when a priest was pa.s.sing carrying the sacred host. The Dauphin was unaware that the priest in question had just visited a victim of smallpox.

The people of Paris, with whom he was by far the most popular member of the royal family Duc to his bluff cheerfulness (and visible self-indulgence), sent a deputation of market-women promising him a Te Deum to celebrate his recovery. 'Not yet, wait till I am well again,' was the message from the Prince. But by midnight he was all too obviously at death's door. The Dauphin, Louis de France, died on 11 April. Bourgogne and Adelaide were both completely dazed and 'pale as death.' Berry lay on the floor sobbing loudly. Upstairs Mademoiselle de Choin, his long-term mistress and (probably) morganatic wife, was Condemned, by the harsh rules of Versailles, to lurk unseen in an attic room. No one brought the news of the Dauphin's death and she only realised what had happened 'when she heard the sounds of lamentations.' Two friends bundled her into a hired coach and took the unacknowledged widow away to Paris. It was the King who continued to act with patient dignity even though his eyes kept filling with tears. Liselotte even went so far as to admit that Louis needed Francoise at this time for consolation, although she was currently laid low by one of her bouts of illness.12 Saint-Simon excoriated on the subject of the late Dauphin: he had been 'without vice, virtue, knowledge or understanding' and was quite incapable of acquiring any such qualities: 'Nature fas.h.i.+oned him as a ball to be rolled hither and thither.'13 Fortunately Father Francois Ma.s.sillon, a great orator in the tradition of Bossuet and Bourdaloue (both now dead), did rather better at his funeral. But perhaps the kindest verdict was the fact that both Mademoiselle de Choin and the people of Paris truly mourned him. Fortunately Father Francois Ma.s.sillon, a great orator in the tradition of Bossuet and Bourdaloue (both now dead), did rather better at his funeral. But perhaps the kindest verdict was the fact that both Mademoiselle de Choin and the people of Paris truly mourned him.

In the end it was Louis himself who found the right words. Michel-Richard de Lalande, composer and church organist, had become an increasingly important figure in the rituals of court music. He was able to produce a stream of the kind of grand motets on which the court of Louis XIV flourished; he had overseen the musical education of Louis's illegitimate daughters. One critic, Le Cerf de la Vieville, had heard one of his motets at a Ma.s.s and commented with enthusiasm: 'It seems to me that the King is served in music as well as he ought to be ... in sum, better than in any other place in his kingdom.' Two of the composer's daughters died about the time of the death of the Dauphin. Lalande did not like to mention their deaths, and thought it presumptuous to commiserate with his sovereign. It was Louis who brought up the subject: 'We must submit, Lalande,' he said, pointing towards the sky.14 At a stroke the map of the court at Versailles was altered for ever. The Duc de Bourgogne, aged twenty-eight, was now the direct heir to the throne, the Dauphin with his two sons following him.* (But the special t.i.tle of 'Monseigneur', created for his father, was not to be used for him: it was felt to be too painful.) (But the special t.i.tle of 'Monseigneur', created for his father, was not to be used for him: it was felt to be too painful.)15 Louis XIV in his grief solaced himself by indicating that Adelaide, now 'Madame la Dauphine', was to have all the rights Duc to a queen, including control of her own household. Her royal escort was doubled to twenty-four, and there were two Swiss guards outside her door, hitherto a privilege reserved for the monarch. Not for nearly thirty years since the death of Marie-Therese had there been such a female position of power. And of course at a stroke, too, the wasps of the Cabal in the nest at Meudon lost their power to sting. At least poor Mademoiselle de Choin was treated decently by Louis XIV: she received a pension and a house in Paris. Louis XIV in his grief solaced himself by indicating that Adelaide, now 'Madame la Dauphine', was to have all the rights Duc to a queen, including control of her own household. Her royal escort was doubled to twenty-four, and there were two Swiss guards outside her door, hitherto a privilege reserved for the monarch. Not for nearly thirty years since the death of Marie-Therese had there been such a female position of power. And of course at a stroke, too, the wasps of the Cabal in the nest at Meudon lost their power to sting. At least poor Mademoiselle de Choin was treated decently by Louis XIV: she received a pension and a house in Paris.

The great loser in her own opinion was the d.u.c.h.esse de Berry. Her position and that of Adelaide had not been so different in the lifetime of the Dauphin. As the Second Second Lady at Versailles she was now according to etiquette compelled to hand the chemise to Adelaide at her ritual dressing. Lady at Versailles she was now according to etiquette compelled to hand the chemise to Adelaide at her ritual dressing.16 Marie-elisabeth, with her usual lack of control, went over the top in complaining about this 'valetage', which had after all been routinely performed at Versailles in the past by ladies as great as if not greater than herself, including her grandmother (who had only made a fuss at the phantasmagorical prospect of handing the chemise to Francoise ...). When Marie-elisabeth was at last obliged to give in, she performed the ceremonial functions extremely slowly and with an ill grace. Adelaide kept her cool, pretending not to notice the delay which had left her virtually naked. In her great desire to have 'a happy relations.h.i.+p' with her sister-in-law, she was willing to overlook 'this latest prank', according to Saint-Simon. Marie-elisabeth, with her usual lack of control, went over the top in complaining about this 'valetage', which had after all been routinely performed at Versailles in the past by ladies as great as if not greater than herself, including her grandmother (who had only made a fuss at the phantasmagorical prospect of handing the chemise to Francoise ...). When Marie-elisabeth was at last obliged to give in, she performed the ceremonial functions extremely slowly and with an ill grace. Adelaide kept her cool, pretending not to notice the delay which had left her virtually naked. In her great desire to have 'a happy relations.h.i.+p' with her sister-in-law, she was willing to overlook 'this latest prank', according to Saint-Simon.

Adelaide, as Dauphine, did not lose sight of all her own monkey tricks, the ways which had so entranced the King. Perhaps one of her little games was not quite so entrancing: Adelaide loved to get the confidential servant Nanon to give her a lavement lavement (enema) before a theatrical performance; she then spent the whole performance in a state of wicked glee at the thought of her secret condition before Nanon attended to her relief. (enema) before a theatrical performance; she then spent the whole performance in a state of wicked glee at the thought of her secret condition before Nanon attended to her relief.* More beguiling was her treatment of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse and Marie-Anne de Conti when they were rolling their eyes at her childish conduct on one occasion at Fontainebleau. Adelaide had been 'diverting' the King by pretending to chatter in a dozen different languages and other such nonsense while the two princesses eyed each other and scornfully shrugged their shoulders. As soon as Louis had gone into his special cabinet to feed his dogs, Adelaide grabbed the hands of Saint-Simon's wife and another lady; pointing at the scornful princesses she said: 'Did you see them? I know as well as they do that I behave absurdly and must seem very silly, but he [the King] needs to have a bustle about him and that kind of thing amuses him.' More beguiling was her treatment of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse and Marie-Anne de Conti when they were rolling their eyes at her childish conduct on one occasion at Fontainebleau. Adelaide had been 'diverting' the King by pretending to chatter in a dozen different languages and other such nonsense while the two princesses eyed each other and scornfully shrugged their shoulders. As soon as Louis had gone into his special cabinet to feed his dogs, Adelaide grabbed the hands of Saint-Simon's wife and another lady; pointing at the scornful princesses she said: 'Did you see them? I know as well as they do that I behave absurdly and must seem very silly, but he [the King] needs to have a bustle about him and that kind of thing amuses him.'18 Adelaide went further than that. Swinging on the arms of the two ladies, in the words of Saint-Simon 'she began to laugh and sing: ”Ha-Ha! I can laugh at them because I will be their queen. I need not mind them now or ever, but they will have to reckon with me, for I shall be their queen,” and she shouted and sang and hopped and laughed as high as loud as she dared.' When the two ladies tried to hush her, in case the princesses heard, 'she only skipped and sang the more: ”What do I care for them? I'm going to be their queen.”' Yet who was to say that Adelaide would not one day make an excellent caring queen? The chattering girl was beginning to have serious reflections on the nature of royal duty: 'France is in such a pitiable state ... we must try by our charity to help the poor.' They are after all 'our brothers and sisters, exactly like ourselves', but since it is to us G.o.d has given riches, 'so we are all the more obliged to help others.'19 Louis XIV continued to think of Adelaide as more or less perfect with one exception a sloppiness in her dress and a frank indifference to the subject which irritated him even more now that she was Dauphine. Adelaide's lack of interest in matters such as bonnets, m.u.f.fs, gloves and even jewellery is engaging at a distance in contrast to the avidity of most ladies at that time. But it struck at Louis's sense of order, still so strong. In vain Adelaide made it clear that she preferred lounging about in casual clothes, as they would now be called, when she was pregnant; Bourgogne backed her choice not to wear her corset for comfort's sake. Tante's reaction was that such a style was not becoming to the new Dauphine nor to her rank. She gave Adelaide one of her reprimands: Your untidiness displeases the King.'20 As to wearing jewellery, the gems would draw proper attention to her beautiful complexion and neat figure. Adelaide shrugged her pretty shoulders and compromised by storing her prodigious collection of jewellery in Tante's room, so that they could be a.s.sumed before her visits to the King and discarded afterwards. As to wearing jewellery, the gems would draw proper attention to her beautiful complexion and neat figure. Adelaide shrugged her pretty shoulders and compromised by storing her prodigious collection of jewellery in Tante's room, so that they could be a.s.sumed before her visits to the King and discarded afterwards.

Adelaide personally was not entirely at fault in this. Her Mistress of the Wardrobe, the Comtesse de Mailly, another Maintenon protegee who had begun life as a poor and virtuous girl, was at best 'indolent' and at worst was misappropriating the large funds set aside to dress her employer. Thus when the King decided to make Adelaide 'absolute mistress of her own Household' one of Adelaide's first moves was to replace the Comtesse de Mailly with the altogether more satisfactory Madame Quentin.

In late 1711 there were general 'appearances' of peace, as Adelaide wrote to her grandmother in Turin, which she hoped were well founded. Although it would take a couple of years to achieve, no one much doubted that in the end peace would break out. The death of the Emperor Joseph I on 11 April 1711 had led to the accession of the Archduke Charles, hitherto the rival candidate for the Spanish throne, in his place. If the new Emperor Charles VI also acquired Spain, he would join Vienna to Madrid quite as unpopular a prospect for his allies as the union of France and Spain. The possibility of peace with Queen Anne of England led to another of Adelaide's artless aphorisms after which she pretended to be taken aback by what she had just said. 'Tante, it cannot be denied that England is better governed under a queen than under a king,' she said, 'and do you know why? Because under a king, a country is really ruled by women, and under a queen by men.'21 Adelaide did not know that the public nostalgia for Queen Elizabeth in England which grew in the later years of Charles II was based on exactly the same premise. Adelaide did not know that the public nostalgia for Queen Elizabeth in England which grew in the later years of Charles II was based on exactly the same premise.

In the meantime the advent of a Tory government in place of the Whigs in England meant that the solid support for the audacious general 'Milord Marlboroug' had vanished, just as Sarah d.u.c.h.ess of Marlborough had been displaced in the affections of Queen Anne. Englishmen, like Frenchmen, were tired of the war. In the so-called Preliminaries of London of September 1711, the possibilities of a settlement, including an Anglo-French commercial treaty, were explored.

In the meantime, in her private correspondence Adelaide began to make glancing references to toothaches. Her teeth had been one of her imperfections on her arrival, and thereafter Adelaide, who had no false pride, admitted that they were frankly black. Now she was plagued with pains in her mouth. In late January 1712 the problem flared up once more, and her face was so swollen when she reached Marly that she had to play cards with the King with her face enveloped in a hood. From evidence later, it seems that Adelaide was also in the very early stages of pregnancy. At all events, her const.i.tution, weakened by much child-bearing and child-losing over the last ten years, to say nothing of the perpetual draining caused by rotten teeth, was already frail when Adelaide fell ill with a fever on 5 February. At the time an Italian-style stew that she loved was blamed (once again 'Italian' was a term of abuse). Then there was a kind of cheesecake full of sugar and spice which she had been making at her Menagerie as she loved to do, with memories of her childhood at the Vigna di Madama; had Adelaide eaten too much of it?

If only greed had been the culprit! By Sunday 7 February Adelaide was again ill, although she tried valiantly to go to Ma.s.s.22 A piercing pain, worse than anything she had ever endured, then laid her low and continued for twenty-four hours despite the best (or worst) efforts of the doctors, their usual bleedings, both from arm and foot, and the emetics which made hideous so many sickbeds of the time. She was given opium to relieve the pain and even allowed to inhale the dreaded tobacco, which was regarded as a satisfactory prophylactic, if hateful social practice. Nothing worked. The fever and the opiates meant that she was often quite confused when the King visited her. A piercing pain, worse than anything she had ever endured, then laid her low and continued for twenty-four hours despite the best (or worst) efforts of the doctors, their usual bleedings, both from arm and foot, and the emetics which made hideous so many sickbeds of the time. She was given opium to relieve the pain and even allowed to inhale the dreaded tobacco, which was regarded as a satisfactory prophylactic, if hateful social practice. Nothing worked. The fever and the opiates meant that she was often quite confused when the King visited her.

At last some spots emerged and measles was announced; hope was felt that she would recover when the rash had broken completely. It did not happen. On the morning of Wednesday 10 February the distraught King found his Princess sufficiently lucid to hear some of the details of the peace-making process which had started at Utrecht. 'I have an idea that peace will come,' said Adelaide sadly, 'and I shall not be there to see it'; it was a pathetic testimony to how much the fraught situation between France and her native Savoy had weighed upon her. That night Adelaide was visibly worse to the watchers at her bedside. Madame de Maintenon was there all the time, except when the King was visiting, and Bourgogne most of the time despite his own growing feverishness but they put that down to exhaustion.

On Thursday 11 February the King felt desperate enough to ask publicly for the aid of St Genevieve, patron saint of Paris (she who had been so prominent in the appeals over his own birth so long ago). The coffer containing the saint's remains was to be uncovered at daybreak for the faithful to implore her protection. It was an action which, intended for times of national emergency, could only be taken with the consent of Parlement, but the a.s.sembly eagerly endorsed it. Alas, by daybreak on Friday 12 February the Princess was in extremis. in extremis.

The night before it had been judged time to bring in the last sacraments and the matter of her last confession was raised. By her silence Adelaide politely rejected the offer of the Jesuit Father de La Rue, although they had always been on excellent terms. In fact Adelaide had never really wanted a Jesuit confessor in the first place, but had accepted the Jesuit because he was the King's choice her usual obedient stance. Now she felt she had a right to her own way. Father de La Rue dealt with the situation with calm understanding and established that she preferred Father Bailly, a parish priest of Versailles with Jansenist tendencies, favoured by the more devout ladies of the court. (Adelaide had probably always leaned in that direction.) When Father Bailly proved to be away and Father de la Rue had to tell her there was no time to lose Adelaide settled for a Franciscan Father Noel. At the time nothing was seen as particularly odd about this, it was the privilege of a dying woman: in fact Adelaide's sister, Queen Maria Luisa of Spain, who died two years later, also asked for a change of priest.