The one interesting character the Richelieu bio has introduced me to is Louis XV's mother, Marie Adelaide of Savoy. She is presented as a Manic Pixie Dream Girl type, who is free-spirited and cheers an old and depressed Louis XIV up, and everyone at court loves her (especially her husband). Because this is the 18th century, one of her antics involved having an entire conversation with Louis behind a screen, while her maid slipped under her voluminous skirts and administered an enema. Marie Adelaide carried on the conversation with Louis without batting an eye, and when Louis found out later she'd been receiving an enema while talking to him, he thought that was just *hilarious*.
Also because it's the 18th century, though, she has to make it very clear that just because she's unconventional and boundary-pushing doesn't mean she's unchaste. So when the Duc de Richelieu takes the flirting with her a little too far, she immediately makes it clear to the men of her family that this is a major DNW for her and that she did nothing to encourage it. So he gets in trouble, not her.
The whole episode where he's flirting with her gets even weirder when you realize that she's his godmother. That's Richelieu for you.
Her "Hot or Not?" portrait, by Saint-Simon, goes like this:
Very well set brown brown hair and eyebrows, the most expressive and beautiful eyes in the world, few teeth and all of them rotten which she was the first to talk about and make fun of, the most beautiful complexion and the most beautiful skin, small but admirable breasts, the neck long with a hint of goiter which did not suit it badly, a gallant, graceful, majestic posture of the head and the same look, the most expressive smile, a long, round, petite figure; easy, perfect figure, a goddess' walk on the clouds; she pleased to the last degree. The Graces themselves arose from all her steps, from all her manners, and from her most common speeches. A simple and natural air always, naive often enough, but seasoned with wit, charmed, with this ease that was in her, to the point of communicating it to everyone who approached her.
Now, you may not recognize her name, but we've encountered her before. She's the one who, when the French royal family fell like dominoes in the 1711-1715 period, got measles, and her husband loved her so much that he insisted on staying with her and nursing her while she was sick, and not wanting to outlive her when she died, just 26. So he got the measles from her and died 6 days after his beloved wife. Then their oldest son, the new dauphin, died of the same measles less than a month later. Then his two-year-old brother, future Louis XV, *also* got the same measles...and was saved by his governess, Madame de Ventadour, barring the nursery doors and not letting any doctors in. Because it's the 18th century and you're better off *not* listening to the recognized medical experts.
Her father was Machiavellian Victor Amadeus II of Savoy, who married his two daughters off to two of Louis XIV's grandsons: Marie Adelaide to Louis the future dauphin, meaning she would have been queen of France if not for the stupid measles, and Marie Louise to Philip the Frog, making her queen of Spain until her own untimely death at the age of 25 from tuberculosis.
So the one thing I have to thank the Richelieu book for is turning her from a statistic into at least somewhat of a person I can imagine.
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Marie Adelaide of Savoy
Date: 2024-03-25 01:28 am (UTC)Also because it's the 18th century, though, she has to make it very clear that just because she's unconventional and boundary-pushing doesn't mean she's unchaste. So when the Duc de Richelieu takes the flirting with her a little too far, she immediately makes it clear to the men of her family that this is a major DNW for her and that she did nothing to encourage it. So he gets in trouble, not her.
The whole episode where he's flirting with her gets even weirder when you realize that she's his godmother. That's Richelieu for you.
Her "Hot or Not?" portrait, by Saint-Simon, goes like this:
Very well set brown brown hair and eyebrows, the most expressive and beautiful eyes in the world, few teeth and all of them rotten which she was the first to talk about and make fun of, the most beautiful complexion and the most beautiful skin, small but admirable breasts, the neck long with a hint of goiter which did not suit it badly, a gallant, graceful, majestic posture of the head and the same look, the most expressive smile, a long, round, petite figure; easy, perfect figure, a goddess' walk on the clouds; she pleased to the last degree. The Graces themselves arose from all her steps, from all her manners, and from her most common speeches. A simple and natural air always, naive often enough, but seasoned with wit, charmed, with this ease that was in her, to the point of communicating it to everyone who approached her.
Now, you may not recognize her name, but we've encountered her before. She's the one who, when the French royal family fell like dominoes in the 1711-1715 period, got measles, and her husband loved her so much that he insisted on staying with her and nursing her while she was sick, and not wanting to outlive her when she died, just 26. So he got the measles from her and died 6 days after his beloved wife. Then their oldest son, the new dauphin, died of the same measles less than a month later. Then his two-year-old brother, future Louis XV, *also* got the same measles...and was saved by his governess, Madame de Ventadour, barring the nursery doors and not letting any doctors in. Because it's the 18th century and you're better off *not* listening to the recognized medical experts.
Her father was Machiavellian Victor Amadeus II of Savoy, who married his two daughters off to two of Louis XIV's grandsons: Marie Adelaide to Louis the future dauphin, meaning she would have been queen of France if not for the stupid measles, and Marie Louise to Philip the Frog, making her queen of Spain until her own untimely death at the age of 25 from tuberculosis.
So the one thing I have to thank the Richelieu book for is turning her from a statistic into at least somewhat of a person I can imagine.