Reading while dead

Reading while dead

Wednesday 3 September 2014

Back to Versailles

Belatedly, the Letters from Liselotte, arrived in the post.  These are the letters written by Elisabeth Charlotte Princess of the Palatine, and wife of the loathesome Monsieur, Louis XIV's brother.  I am enjoying them, although all the "best bits" have been recylced into various biographies and histories of the period so are a bit familiar.   They are fascinating because they are about a woman who wanted to be herself in the most restrictive circumstances.   Her bloody husband - one  of the wealthiest men in France - never gave her any money - well, only a tiny allowance, and used her property to spend on his favourites.  She could be herself to a great extent because she was Louis's friend - until Mme de Maintenon came between them.  



I don't mean to suggest that she was a charming, liberal person - "one of us" - she certainly wasn't - her views on royal bastards were far from liberal... "mouse droppings in the pepper" was her description of Louis's attempts to marry his offspring (especially those of his 'double adultery' with Montespan) into the legitimate royal line (her son inter alia). These views may have widened the rift with Louis perhaps?  However, she was quite a character making a brave stab at life in difficult circs.  Her correspondence was incredibly important to her.  She had few friends at court - especially once she was out of favour.  She was always suspect because she had converted to Catholicism for the marriage - people suspected Hugenot sympathies.

She kept a lot of little dogs and parrots "parrots do not smell" (this is true) and adored hunting.  She was conventionally attractive according to her early portraits - but broadened and coarsened with age  (partly because she forebore to wear a mask to protect her complexion while hunting)- I thus feel a kinship with her...she would now have to be my fancy dress costume of choice - the likeness is uncanny.  She also had a strong lavatorial humour that for some reason one associates with the Germans.  But why?  Do they really make more jokes on the topic than the rest of us?  Much as I deplore generalisations, one has to ask where these stereotypes come from.  After all, it's not as if the English never ate Rosbif, is it?


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