"Tout ce qui est humain ne fait espérer de bon"
(All that is human gives no hope for good)
King Stanislas to Marie Leszczyńska, 3rd February 1766
[probably the last words he ever wrote in his own hand]
 |
The death of Stanislas. From an illustration by Ksawery Pillati for the collection "Images of Polish princes and kings" (1888). [Wikimedia]
|
On Wednesday 5th February 1766, at about half-past-seven in the morning, the aged Stanisłas Leszczyński, former King of Poland, now Duke of Lorraine, was alone in his chamber at Lunéville when he accidentally fell into the open fire and sustained serious burns. Despite the best endeavours of his doctors, he suffered terrible agonies and died eighteen days later. Both at the time and subsequently, there were rumours of negligence on the part of Stanislas's attendants. However, since there were no eye-witnesses, what happened can never be known with absolute certainty.
.
The last years of an aging monarchThe most complete reconstruction is still that of the 19th-century scholar Pierre Boyé, who published his discussion in the memoirs of the Archaeological Society of Lorraine in 1898 (See References below).
The first part of Boyé's account is a moving evocation of the final years of a privileged but lonely and ailing old man. In October 1765 the King of Poland had entered his 89th year, which made him the oldest monarch in Europe, perhaps in the whole world; Pope Clément XIII, with whom he shared this sad distinction, was only 73. His closest contemporaries among the rulers had died long ago: Peter the Great in 1725; Augustus the Strong in 1733; Frederick William of Prussia in 1740.
Pierre Boyé remarks that, despite the eulogists, the old age of Leszczynski, had nothing about it of melancholy poetry. He does not agree with the King's secretary Solignac, that "even his winter brought forth flowers"; nor with Father Coster that Stanislas "approached death with majesty, as the sun on a beautiful day moves towards sunset" (Boyé, p.258). The old man's health was fragile. At 88 years-old, he was obese, almost blind, deaf, and afflicted with a catalogue of minor ailments - weak kidneys, varicose veins and hemorrhoids. Modern medical authorities add that he had high blood cholesterol levels ("dyslipidemia") and was was quite probably diabetic. His bloated body had become increasingly immobile: in 1757 Maris Leszczynska had had a wheelchair constructed for him which he soon found indispensable. He fell asleep often, indeed was afflicted with an unhealthy lethargy. Formerly a great trencherman, he now suffered frequently from digestive troubles. Only rarely did those around him see a flicker of that cheerfulness and zest for life which had once enlivened his household and brought pleasure to so many visitors. Perhaps his life was too full of disappointments: the shameful abandonment of his daughter by Louis XV, the military reversals suffered by France, the defiance of the Sovereign Court of Lorraine. The election of Stanislaw Poniatowski to the throne of Poland in 1764 had finally extinguished any dream he might still have harboured for a return to his native land.
 |
Anonymous portrait, Musée Lorrain.
From the website of the "Journal de Durival" project, http://journaldedurival.fr/html/galerie.html.
[The painting is described as a portrait of Leopold's Chamberlain, Antoine-Bernard des Armoises, c.1765; but surely this is the aged Stanislas?]
|
Nor was there much left to distract the Duke-King from his sombre reveries. His surroundings reflected his growing melancholy. The Court, once so welcoming and fun-loving, had become dark and cold. The young and ambitious had forsaken Lunéville. The old King's friends and retainers disappeared one by one: even his dwarf Bébé, prematurely aged at only twenty-three, had died miserably in May 1764. Stanislas was reduced to inviting the bourgeois of the town to the palace to play tric trac. Only Mme Boufflers remained an assiduous companion. His solitude was also brightened by Christina of Saxony, Coadjutrice of the Abbey of Remirement - ironically enough, the daughter and granddaughter of Stanislas's former rivals for the throne of Poland. The Church itself, however, failed to offer him solace. In particular his relations with the Jesuits, once the mainstay of his faith, had become cold and distant after a terrible quarrel with his longtime confident Father Menoux in October 1764.
Occasionally Stanislas would still rally from his torpor. In the Spring of 1765, he dined in his maison de plaisance at Chantehaux, as he wrote to his daughter "in parody of life at Marly". She wrote back advising him to enjoy the pleasant weather and forget his many troubles.
Shortly afterwards, to forestall her father's determined plans to journey to Versailles, Marie Leszczynska travelled to Lorraine for a visit. In August she spent three weeks with her father at Commercy when, for one last time, the "enchanted palace" was animated by magnificent fêtes. However, the occasion was marred by the sudden death of Emperor Francis at Innsbruck on 18th August. Even as Stanislas said his final goodbyes to his daughter at Saint-Aubin, the people of Lorraine demonstrated their continued loyalty to the deposed dynasty by converging on the towns to attend memorial services for their former duke.
The most terrible blow of all was reserved for 23rd December 1765 when Stanislas received news from Versailles of the death of his beloved grandson, the Dauphin. Louis XV's representative in Lorraine, the comte de Lucé, reported that the grief-striken old man asked to be spared from any formal ceremony of mourning. Father Coster claimed that he was eventually to regain his customary serenity but, according to Pierre Boyé, he was now weary of life, ailing and living more and more in his memories of the past.
That winter the cold was intense, putting an end to all outside activity. Snow fell from January through to the end of March. On 11th January he wrote to his daughter that he was sorry to have no events in the offing "to drive away sad thoughts" (quoted Boyé, p.266).
Nonetheless, halfway through that same month, Stanislas seemed to revive. He ordered public prayers to be said for the Dauphin, and liaised with Cardinal de Choiseul over arrangements for a magnificent memorial service, even more lavish than that which had been held for Emperor Francis. The interior of the Cathedral in Nancy was to be swathed in 7,000 aunes of black fabric and illuminated by 4,000 candles. At Stanislas's request the Jesuit Jean-Louis Coster was tasked with the funeral oration. However, when Coster's brother, a member of the Academy of Nancy, came Lunéville to read the text to Stanislas, the old man objected to a passage praising his example: "Tell your brother to leave that out and save it for my own funeral oration" (which Coster was duly to deliver on 20th May following.)
The service was scheduled for 3rd February 1766, to coincide with the Festival of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary when Stanislas would be staying nearby at La Malgrange, in order to attend the church of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours.
On the 2nd February, the day of the Festival, Stanislas made his journey to Bon-Secours. He normally occupied a tribune in the sacristy, but on this occasion a place was prepared for him in the choir close to the altar. Directly beneath his feet lay the vault containing the remains of his wife Catherine Opalinska (d.1747), his mistress the Duchess Ossoliński (d.1756) and her husband, the former Grand-Treasurer of Poland. Stanislas quipped that he himself would soon be three feet further down. On 3rd, for the Dauphin's service in Nancy, only his ceremonial "armchair" made the trip; the old man himself remained at La Malgrange. Sadly, the solemnity of the occasion was marred by a conflict of jurisdiction between the King's guards and the maréchaussée of the town - an incident which was said to have caused the King "much pain" . That evening he penned a consoling account to his daughter. His missive ended on a note of profound pessimism: All that is human gives no hope for good. "These sad words, in the trembling hand of a blind old man, with the letters on top of each other, were the last ones ever written by the once jovial Leszcznski!" (Boyé, p.271).
On the afternoon of 4th February Stanislas returned to Lunéville and the warmth of his fireside.
A terrible accident
The evidence (See Boyé, p.273-76)
The broad outlines of what happened on the morning of 5th February are generally agreed, but there are significant discrepancies in detail. The procès-verbal drawn up by Stanislas's doctor Rönnow devotes only a few lines to the accident itself. Solignac in his Éloge historique, delivered on 11th May to the Academy of Nancy, included a long explanatory note which can be taken to represent the "official" version. Despite the fact that he was a confidant of the King, and presumably among those first on the scene, his narrative is very incomplete. Other initial published accounts - for example the "historical note" by the abbé Guyot, Stanislas's court preacher, who delivered the funeral oration in the Church of the Cordeliers in Nancy on 10 June 1766 - simply followed his text. Reports in the Gazette de France, the Gazette de Holland, the Mercure and the Journal de Verdun added nothing more.
Gradually, in the course of the century, further details emerged. The first hints of negligence appeared in the biography, Vie de Stanislas Leszczynski, was published in 1769. The author, Antoine-François Aubert (1728-1779), was a well-known literary figure in Lunéville and had been an avocat in the Royal Council through Stanislas's reign, so ought to have been be well-informed. Boyé judges that if Aubert was "if not indubitably reliable, was certainly sincere". The abbé Proyart, in his Histoire de Stanislas, published fifteen years later, seconds Aubert's version of events (See Readings).
In 1855 an important new piece of evidence came to light, when an anonymous manuscript memoir in the possession of a local collector, was presented by Louis Lallement to the Lorraine Archaeological Society. An accompanying letter alludes to certain declarations by Stanislas and to admissions made by officers of the Court. M. Lallement later communicated a "Relation de la mort et de la pompe funèbre de Stanislas" by J.-F Coster, but this added no further details.
Only a few additional references to are to be found in in contemporary correspondence. Horace Walpole devotes a few words in a letter of 29th February but he can only echo the received version. Christina of Saxony, writes of the incident in a letter of 9th February.
Pierre Boyé concludes that a lack of information was perhaps inevitable given the absence of witnesses and the fact that Stanislas himself was in no state to give a coherent account. Yet, in his view, those whose business was to clarify, signally failed to do so: "there is reason to seek explanation in the care taken by certain personages of the Court to obscure the singularities of what Leszczyński called his 'strange adventure'" (p.276).
Reconstruction of events (Boyé, p.276-78)
The King rose as usual at half-past-six. One of his two premiers valets de chambre, François Hurtevin-Montauban, helped him dress. He was wearing several layers of clothing: a flannel vest, a fleece-lined satin camisole, then a thin Indian-silk jacket with buttons and finally a heavily padded dressing gown of the same material, these last two presents from Marie Leszczyńska. He had not taken the time to put on a wig, but was still wearing his night cap, a sort of bonnet tied under the chin with ribbons. Once taken to his chair by the fireplace, he asked to be left alone in order to say his prayers.
The room, on the ground floor, was his usual bedchamber, with its windows the third and fourth from the north-east corner, looking out over the terrace. From his seat Stanislas would have been able to see the famous Rocher to his left and in the distance his maison de plaisance at Jolivet.
.jpg) |
Attributed to Nicolas de Mirbeck, Stanislas smoking his pipe
Musée lorrain, Nancy. |
After a while, Stanislas began to smoke his pipe, as he was his habit every morning at this time. Perhaps half an hour went by. At this point the King lent forward to get closer to the fireplace. Why? According to Solignac, he wanted to consult the clock or, in Aubert's version, his watch which was hanging from the mantlepiece. Neither is plausible - the inventory drawn up after Stanislas's death shows that the chimney was adorned only by six Dutch porcelain vases. According to the manuscript
Mémoire he intended simply to put up his pipe. This is confirmed by Christina of Saxony: "In his chamber, when he was alone in order to pray and smoke some tobacco, he got up from his chair to put the pipe which he had finished on the mantelpiece." (see Readings).
He slid forward in his chair and stretched out his right hand, at which point his dressing gown, which was loose in the sleeve, floated too close to the fire and caught alight. Due to the padding, the material did not flare up immediately but burned slowly. This might have saved the King, had he not been so slow to realise the source of the burning smell. In his alarm, he cried out and tried to get up. He attempted to steady himself on the fireplace with his left hand, slipped and, in his fall, hit himself on one of a pair of massive silver andirons. He finally came to rest parallel to the fireplace, but with his head closer than his feet, and his left hand almost touching the burning coals. He did not have time to ring for help before he fainted away.
A case of negligence?
How was it that no-one heard his initial cries? According to the manuscript Mémoire Stanislas himself confirmed that he had yelled loudly when he saw no-one arrive immediately. One of the two premiers valets de chambre, an ordinary valet and an usher should all have been on duty in the antechamber or garde-robe, which was linked to the King's bedchamber by a communicating door immediately to the left of the fireplace; Montauban at least should have been on standby, but the antechamber was empty. Pierre Boyé echoes the opinion of many contemporaries that the King's servants had indeed neglected their posts: "in the torpor of his silent château, the unfortunate old man slowly roasted" (Boyé, p.281) |
Pierre Jouffroy, Jean-Baptiste Suster, 1762.
Musée lorrain, Nancy. |
Two windows in the antechamber gave onto a small inner service courtyard, with a walkway on one side and stairs which ran down into the kitchens. Here, stationed in the "Trou du Diable", a guard was on duty night and day. It seems likely that it was this man who raised the alarm. He thought he heard a cry from the royal apartments, then, to his horror, smelt burning. He could see no-one through the window of the antechamber but still hesitated to enter the royal apartments and it was not until some moments later that he went for help. A woman washing windows in the room above also heard a noise and came down to investigate. The royal
fontainier Nicolas Krantz, who was working outside, later maintained that he too had heard cries.
Finally the alarm was raised. The garçon de garde-robe Perrin rushed into the room and struggled to drag the King away from the fire by his feet. Shortly afterwards, Suster, the premier valet who was off-duty, and one of the ordinary valets, Montfort, also arrived. They managed with some difficulty to get Stanislas to his feet and strip off his clothes - Suster's hand was quite badly burned as he rushed to tear off the old man's nightcap, now in flames. Finally Stanislas, who had begun to come round, was wrapped in covers and carried to his bed.
Whilst the doctors tended the King, the officers left the outside world in ignorance as to what had happened. They finally gave out the account subsequently repeated by Solignac. They claimed that they had arrived at Stanislas's first cry but that, as they opened the door from the antechamber, a current of air from the chimney had caused the fire to flare up and engulf the King in flames. This seems unlikely, given the position of the door, next to the chimney. Allegations of negligence soon circulated. The absent Montauban later earned himself the nickname rôtisseur du roi and was said to have died shortly afterwards from chagrin. (This at least was patently untrue: Montauban, who was already in his sixties, lived on to 1782; he became the prosperous co-proprietor of the faïencerie of Saint-Clément and sired two more children before his death).
A gradual decline
It was in everyone's interest to make light of the situation; initial reports suggested that the burns were slight and praised the prompt action of the valets who had saved the king from mortal danger. Daily public updates encouraged popular complacency. The same tone of optimism punctuated the bulletins sent to Versailles by the French ambassador, the comte de Lucé. Not everyone was so sanguin; Christina of Saxony commented realistically that one must necessarily "tremble" for a man of eighty-eight [See Readings].
Stanislas himself behaved throughout with stoicism in the face of what must have been enormous suffering. According to the comte de Tressan, on the very day of the accident, he allowed the Carmelite preacher Father Elisée to come into his chamber and read a (lengthy) sermon "On Death". He even made his customary quips: Lucé confirms that he joked to the Queen, his daughter, that the cold she feared for him during his stay at La Malgrange had done him less harm than the heat he had experienced at Lunéville (cited Boyé p.286). During the first nine days, the news appeared to be positive. On 11th February, the doctors were still reporting that the King was "untroubled, without fever and sleeping well". He continued to have moments of lucidity. He dictated a note to his intendant Alliot, concerning the welfare of the crowds who had come for news and he continued to receive officials - as late as 17th February he was reported to be signing Chancellery documents. He even received an ambassador from Poniatowski, the new ruler of Poland.
It was soon all too apparent, however, that the King had entered an irreversible slow decline, from which he was ultimately to be released only by death (on 22nd February).
Doctors and treatments
How effective was the treatment Stanislas received? Many of the official bulletins and medical reports were initially published and reviewed in the 1960s and '70s by Antoine Beau, a professor at the Faculty of Medicine in Nancy. Stanislas's treatment, the drugs employed by his doctors, and the phases of his deterioration have also been traced in a number of more modern works: by Pierre Labrude, Professor of Pharmacy at the University of Lorraine, in 2007 and most recently by Virginie Leroux in her 2018 thesis on Casten Rönnow, Stanislas's Chief Physician.
Within a few minutes of the accident, Rönnow, together with Charles Hilaire Perret, the Chief Surgeon, examined the extent of the King's injuries. They were later joined in attendance by three colleagues: Nicolas Maillard, médecin de l’hôtel du Roi; Charles Bagard, from the Collège royal de Nancy; and the surgeon François Dezoteux, a respected military surgeon [see Saïdou (2005)]. According to Rönnow's formal report, Stanislas had suffered burns to his left hand, the left side of his face, his left thigh and the wall of his abdomen. The burns on his face were extensive but superficial; likewise those on his thigh, which were described as not painful. In contrast, the damage to his abdomen was serious: it was reported that the burns had penetrated the whole of the subcutaneous tissues to a depth of some eight centimetres.
The text of Rönnow's Procès-verbal, dated 26th February, is reproduced in: Louis Lallement "Relations des derniers moments et des funérailles de Stanislas", Journal de la Société d'archéologie lorraine et du Musée historique lorrain (1855), No.11, p.187-191
The doctors were probably well-aware of the gravity of the King's condition, but endeavoured to reassure their patient and those around him. Given the limited medicines at their disposal, they inevitably concentrated at first on treating the visible lesions. For the first nine days (5th-13th February) the burns were treated with dressings and compresses impregnated with compounds which would promote drying and scabbing (eau de Goulard and various balms). Stanislas was also given cinhona (quinine) to fight fever. At first the results seemed favourable and it was reported that the the suppuration of the wounds had diminished. The doctors now endeavoured to "sustain" their patient with cordials: quinine and lilium, which was a sort of smelling salt. However, shortly afterwards the first signs of septicemia began to appear, and, despite the stimulants, the King frequently lapsed into a torpor. The enormous wounds now suppurated freely and shed ominous lumps of gangrenous dead tissue which made the doctors fear that "putrefaction had penetrated into the entrails". By the 17th February, (that is the thirteenth day after the accident) the King's discomfort was such that he could not remain in his bed. On 20th February (the sixteenth day) his condition again worsened. In the preceding night he had suffered a bout of uncontrolled shivering. He now fell into semi-unconsciousness. His lower limbs were swollen with oedema and his kidneys began to fail.
On Saturday 22nd February the Lieutenant of Police sent notification to Paris that the end was immanent. The Court assembled to witness Cardinal de Choiseul administer the Last Rites, though the King was no longer conscious enough to receive the Viaticum. On the dawn of Sunday 23rd February, all hope was lost. Stanislas, who could no longer stand contact with his bed and covers, expired in his armchair at just past four o'clock in the afternoon. He was 88 years, 4 months and 3 days old.
 |
| Stanislas's bedchamber, photographed just prior to the fire of 2003. |
Modern experts agree that Stanislas's decline followed the typical pattern of serious burn victims. His superficial burns might have begun to heal, but the same would not have been true for the deeper ones. Tell-tale gangrenous ulcers formed on burnt hand, and the skin almost entirely disappeared. On his thigh and abdomen, fetid suppuration appeared which was a clear indicator of internal infection. The blackish "crusts" of dead skin shed by the wounds were the direct result of the burns, but also, as his doctors were well aware, a sign of gangrene and putrefaction. His disorientation, uncontrolled shivering and slide towards unconsciousness are classic symptoms of septic shock.
Could he have been saved?
Pierre Brulard follows Antoine Beau in concluding that Stanislas's doctors had access to the best contemporary expertise and made judicious use of the drugs available to them. Although, visible fever apart, they were ignorant of the wider effects of trauma and sepsis, they were acutely aware of the need to avoid infection. Despite their "therapeutic arsenal", the death of the patient was almost inevitable. [Brulard (2007), p.384]
Modern indices suggest that, even today, Stanislas would have been unlikely to survive. Given the delay in rescuing him, his injuries could only have been been grave - a temperature of 70°centigrade can burn in less than a second. Virginie Leroux calculates that he suffered an absolute minimum of 14% burns, of which at least 8% - those on the left hand and abdomen - would be classified as "third degree". This places Stanislas close to the critical mark. Other calculations, which factors in the patient's age, suggest that death was unavoidable; the full gamut of modern medicine could not have saved the aged King.
References
Readings
The accident
Initial reports:
From the MS journal of Nicolas Durival, 6th February 1766
6th February: My brother wrote to me yesterday about the accident and I see from another letter that when the King got up to put his pipe on the chimney, his dressing gown floated towards the fire; the fire caught hold of it and soon spread upwards to his nightcap. The King called to his valets de chambre who threw themselves on him and extinguished the fire; but it has marked him in several places.
Only the King himself was not afraid, and he immediately started making jokes about his adventure. His good spirits only increase. He stays in his bedchamber and is attended there.
Bibliothèques de Nancy, "Le Journal de Durival" (online critical edition)
Letter of Christina-Maria of Saxony to her brother, dated 9th February 1766.
In the news we received yesterday from Lunéville, we learned that, by the grace of God, the King is well; but he has narrowly escaped great injury. In his chamber, when he was alone in order to pray and smoke some tobacco, he got up from his chair to put the pipe which he had finished on the mantelpiece. It seems that his dressing gown flew into the fire, for noticing a lot of smoke, he imagined that it came from the chimney and called his valets de chambre. When they entered they found the dressing gown on fire from top to bottom. They snatched it off as quickly as they could, with his camisole and chemise. However, the King has burns to his left hand, which are considerable but not dangerous, light burns to his thigh and a little burning on the base of his stomach. We are assured that he will be fine in a few days; but everything makes one tremble for a man of 88 years, and it would be cruel if, having reached this age, he were to be taken from us by such an accident.
Correspondance inédite du prince François Xavier de Saxe (1874), p.91
The official version:
Report by Casten Rönnow, dated 26th February 2026
On 5th February at 7 o'clock in the morning, the King getting up alone, approached the fireplace to warm himself wearing a dressing-gown of thin Indian silk with heavy cotton padding. Fire took hold of the bottom of his gown on the left-hand side and spread so rapidly that the flame was higher than his head by the time help arrived.
Louis Lallement, "Relations des derniers moments et des funérailles de Stanislas", Journal de la Société d'archéologie lorraine et du Musée historique lorrain (1855), No.11, p.187-191
From Solignac's eulogy
Despite his advanced age, the King of Poland enjoyed perfect health; at 88 years and 4 months, he had experienced no inconvenience other than a little weakness in the eyes and legs. He had about him nothing of old age except its prudence; and had lost nothing of his easy manners, gentle and serene air, vivacity of spirit and character of goodness... Our hopes made us believe him immortal, but his hour had come.
On 5th February 1766, having risen as usual very early, and passed a half-hour in his armchair smoking a pipe - which long habit had made a necessity - he went up to the fireplace to look at the clock and find out what time it was. The fire was roaring, his dressing gown, which was of light fabric, with silk padding, floated into the flame. The King imagined the smoke this caused came from the chimney itself. He remained tranquil for a moment, then realising that he was on fire, called to his valets de chambre, two of whom were in his wardrobe room. When the connecting door opposite opened, the air caused his clothing to ignite suddenly, so that flames engulfed him from his elbow to above his head. He had to be entirely undressed. Under his dressing gown he wore a jacket of the same material that had to unbuttoned, and a felt-lined satin camisole. His garments were cut away, tore and snatched off as quickly as possible: the hands of the valets de chambre got burnt, but they did not notice. The King himself, used his left hand, which was already burnt, to put out the flames which grew hotter and hotter along his left side. When he was undressed, he was seen to be burnt on that side from his knee to his cheek, and above the eye. The hood of his nightcap was burned away as far as the ribbon that fastened it; and the flannel vest he wore next to the skin was consumed to the point that the material disintegrated into ashes when touched. What was surprising was that the Prince, who was put in his bed, remained tranquil as if nothing had happened. Everyone who approached him realised the pain he must be enduring, but it was as though he himself did not feel it. The doctors and surgeons quickly arrived and immediately began to treat his burns; for more than ten days they seemed to respond well, as the doctors, and the Court, hoped. Then the situation took a turn for the worse. On Friday the 21st of the month, the King fell into a torpor, the next day, it was thought necessary to administer the Sacraments, and on Sunday 23rd, he died at four in the afternoon.
Pierre-Joseph de La Pimpie Solignac, Éloge historique de Stanislas 1er, roi de Pologne, duc de Lorraine et de Bar ...Pronounced before the Academy of Nancy, 11th May 1766, p.54, note.
https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=bGe_KVyT0AYC&pg=PA54#v=onepage&q&f=false
Other accounts of the accident:
MS. Mémoire sur la mort du roi de Pologne. With annotations dated 6th April 1766.
The memoir itself has no signature but it is accompanied by a letter, dated 6th April 1766, from an official named Delespée. The latter returns the manuscript, with annotations, to its author who is specified as living near Einville. Pierre Boyé draws attention to the importance of this text for its references to otherwise undocumented statements of Stanislas and for its allegations of negligence by the King's servants.
On Wednesday 5th February 1766, the news reached Nancy that the King of Poland, duke of Lorraine, had been alone in his cabinet, as was often the case when he said his prayers, when he went too close to the fireplace wearing a loose dressing gown. The bottom of this garment had caught fire and the flame traveled upward to cause burns to several parts of His Majesty's body, notably the hand he had used to try to extinguish the fire, his sides and even his cheek; however, all these burns had proved superficial and were not considered dangerous.
It was added that, when the King called for help, his servants had arrived immediately and put out the fire very promptly; the prince himself had joked about the accident and written to his daughter the Queen of France, in the same light tone, that she had asked God to preserve him from the cold on his last trip to La Malgrange but she should rather have prayed to keep him safe from the great heat of Lunéville.
Note of Delespée: When the King felt that he was burning, he let out cries which immediately alerted the sieurs Suster and Monfort, valets-de-chambre, and a footman called Perrin, who extinguished the fire; the sieur Suster put out the flames with his bare hand for fear that the King's face would be burned, and he himself was burned as a result. It is said that the jokes that the King made about his accident are reported to be true.
The people were led to believe this version for several days, but it was learned from the deputies to the Sovereign Courts in Nancy that the King was less well than had been made public.
In effect, on Saturday 22nd there was such a deterioration in his wounds...that it was thought necessary to administer the Last Rites.
Alarm spread among the people and the doctors were accused of administering poor treatment because the cruel circumstances of the accident were not yet known.
For the truth was different to what had been made public in order not to frighten the people, as the King himself was obliged to recount:
He had wanted to take his pipe from the mantelpiece. Since it was not within his reached, he had been forced to move forward on his chair. The hand with which he was supporting himself slipped, his weight dragged him off balance and he fell heavily against the andirons. He was sufficiently close to the hearth for his dressing gown to catch fire. Unable to get up, he not only cried out but yelled loudly to make himself heard. The only person who heard him was a woman who was cleaning the windows in the apartment above. She rushed to alert the bodyguard at the entrance to the apartment, who then called for help to the sieur Suster, one of the valets-de-chambre who, although not on duty, was nearby. He rushed in to find the King prostrate on the hearth and threw himself on him to extinguish the fire which had already roasted his hand, burned through the skin of his belly and reaching along his side to his face.
Note of Delespée: The facts as reported in this paragraph have not been admitted by anyone. At least I have not heard them recounted in this fashion. It seems more likely that the King was standing upright when he was burned, since it is said that, when his apartment was entered, the flames were just reaching his head. Also the mantelpiece is low and the andirons tall and very large; if the prince had really fallen onto them he would have had substantial contusions, but these are not mentioned in the procès-verbal. It is also said that both the King and the people trying to help him were knocked to the ground in the course of their efforts to remove his burning dressing gown.
Such were the cruel circumstances of this accident, which was unheard of for a sovereign who should not expect that, just because he asks to be alone in his cabinet, his valet-de-chambre and all his servants should absent themselves, so that there should be no-one within earshot in the neighbouring room....Such was the result of the excessive kindness of a master who did not ask enough of either his servants or his courtiers. Louis Lallement, "Relations des derniers moments et des funérailles de Stanislas", Journal de la Société d'archéologie lorraine et du Musée historique lorrain (1855), No.11, p.173-187.
https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k337367/f173.item
Aubert, La vie de Stanislas Leszczynski (1769)
This first biography of Stanislas contains the earliest published admission that the valets had been absent from their posts.
After performing his devotions, the King, found himself alone. He wanted to see the time on his watch which was hanging from the corniche of the mantelpiece. His weak eyesight forced him to lean forward in order to see the watch closely enough; and, in that position, his open dressing gown floated so near to the fire that it was set alight; Trying hurriedly to put it out the flames, the King lost his balance and fell into the fireplace, resting on his left hand, the middle two fingers of which were burned away. In addition he injured himself on the same side in the fall, on the point of a large andiron. It is confirmed that even after his death he had two damaged ribs.
The King, whose padded Satin gown and buttoned camisole were now burning, was about to expire in the flames. A household guard, was on duty in a place known as the "trou du Diable" above a staircase at one end of the gallery which led from His Majesty's wardrobe room, smelled burning. He ventured as far as the windows of the wardrobe room, where the valets-de-chambre and the footmen usually remained on call since there was a connecting door to the King's bedchamber. Finding no-one there, he returned to his post before raising the alarm. A footman named Perrein ran in and made futile efforts to drag the King away from the fire by his feet. Sister, one of the premiers valets-de-chambre and a man worthy of his position, helped him to rescue the Prince whom they finally got to his feet. However they were unable to remain upright on the parquet floor. In the struggle to extinguish the fire, Sister got his hand burned, though it later healed.
Antoine Aubert, La vie de Stanislas Leszczinski (1769), p.468-470.
The Abbé Proyart, Histoire de Stanislas (1784)
The king at first believed that the smoke came from the chimney; but once he realised what had happened, he rang for his valets-de-chambre, who were not at their post. Thinking to escape from danger, he leaned down to extinguish the flame that had taken hold of him; but he lost his balance, and fell into the fire, wounding himself in his fall on the point of a firedog. He found himself resting with his left hand on the burning coals. In this terrible position he did not have the strength to get up or call for help. For a few seconds he suffered terrible pain, but he soon passed out.
However, the smoke from his clothes, and from the arm which was being slowly consumed by the embers, alerted the guard who was on duty at the door to the apartment. He approached the garde-robe where the valets-de-chambre were normally stationed, only to find no-one there. His anxiety mounted; he made a noise, he called; no-one replied. Although the horrible odour made him suspect a tragic accident his orders forbade him to enter into the King's presence. He redoubled his cries until a valet-de-garde-robe finally appeared. The latter entered the room alone and saw his master in the fire. He was attempting in vain to pull him clear when one of the premiers-valets-de-chambre fortunately arrived. With much difficulty these two officers managed to rescue the King who, once he was upright, regained his senses enough to realise he had been the victim of a devouring fire. He tried himself to put out the flames, whilst the officers cut, snatched and tore at his burning garments, right down to the flannel vest which he wore next to his skin. The fingers of his left hand were fused together, and on that side, he had a serious burn which extended right from his cheek to the knee.
Liévin-Bonaventure Proyart, Histoire de Stanislas 1er, roi de Pologne, 1864 ed. (originally published 1784), p.205-206.
Decline and death
From the journal of Nicolas Durival:
11th February: I have seen the King in his chamber. He has his left arm wrapped in bandages. The scabs on his face are beginning to heal. He is without anxiety, without fever, and sleeping well. However, what I hear about his accident from those who found him, makes it seem even more alarming. His recovery will take a long time.
From 17th onwards becomes more alarmed:
17th February: The condition of the King of Poland is still the same, that is he suffers great pain from his bandaged wounds, particularly the left hand, and he has a fever. This latter causes a lot of concern as it is feared to be a bad sign. Black marks had developed on his skin, which the quinquina made disappear , but it is feared that they will return. This morning the King signed some chancellery documents.
18th February: Last night was less peaceful than the one before. The King was suffering and had himself put in his armchair.
19th February: My courier left Lunéville this morning after the change of dressings. His news is good. The King had a peaceful night; the crusts on his burns are coming away. He retains his serenity and good humour...
20th February: Yesterday at 10 o'clock in the evening, the King had a shivering fit which lasted several minutes. There have been no recurrences, which lends one to think that this was the result of his cooling down; no signs of fever. His wounds were in a better state this morning that yesterday, which gives hope for the future, and the fever associated with the suppuration is much diminished. Careful measures are being taken to prevent a general fever which could have serious consequences; but at present there are no symptoms which give rise to concern.
21st February: My brothers wrote to me yesterday evening by the post. The King's growing weakness is very noticeable, the fever continues, stronger at night than during the day. The state of the patient is not at all good. The Chancellor is in a state of grief.
Bulletin from Lunéville , 21st February (among the mss of Durival)
The Prince, whose weakness yesterday during the day gave cause for concern, was much improved by the evening and held his usual audience, with as much gaiety as before the accident. A more peaceful night than the last was anticipated and this was in part fulfilled; the King slept from midnight to six o'clock. The dressings were changed at eight; the flesh has reformed in the uncovered burns and newly formed crusts were removed from the others; these latter were much deeper than at first thought but detached nonetheless....The wounds have been found and left in the best possible condition, and bar accidents, we are not without hope.
22nd February: Today, Saturday, at half-past-one in the afternoon, two couriers passed here from Lunéville on the way to Versailles with the news that the King of P. was very ill. At half-past-four, I received from my brother the following note:
Lunéville, 22nd Feb, 9 o'clock in the morning.
I updated you yesterday evening on the state of the King. This morning I have no more consoling news; the patient is still breathing, but his condition leaves little hope, and perhaps soon...Please God I am mistaken.
More bad news and some more positive arrived. I dispatched a courier to find out for certain. M. le Cardinal de Choiseul had given instructions to take down the reliquary of St Sigisbert. The Bishop of Toul passed at 7 o'clock on his way to Lunéville. He had given orders to sound the bells in all the Churches, which gave the idea that the King had died, and put everyone in a state of alarm. All the people of consideration came to ask news from me, right up to midnight.
I received at half-past eleven, by return with my courier, the following note:
Lunéville, 22nd Feb, half-past eight in the evening.
I write to you the moment your courier arrived. Our master is still breathing. Having received Extreme Unction at 10 this morning, without consciousness or movement, he had a few lucid moments. At midday there was a salutary moistening in his wounds which continued and reestablished suppuration. The patient managed a few words with effort, before and after the dressings were changed. Tonight his head is clearer.
My brother added to me separately: this is what you can make public on the state of the King. There is no more hope, though he is still alive, which is saying a lot. No-one now enters the King's bedchamber except necessary servants and M.the Chancellor who has shut himself in, perhaps for the whole night.
"Le Journal de Durival" (online critical edition)
From an unpublished account by Jean-François Coster
Born in Nancy, Jean-François Coster (1729-1813) was Perpetual Secretary of the Académie Stanislas. His manuscript was published by Louis Lallemant in 1856.
We were reassured by the daily reports - of the firmness with which the King endured the long and painful dressing of his burns; of the peace and tranquility which surrounded him; and above all the goodhearted gaiety with which he sought to distract his people from the danger which menaced him.
That danger was only too real; it did not escape the vigilance of those around him. Soon alarm became general. On Saturday (22nd February) at nine in the morning, the state of the King made it necessary to administer the Last Rites; all his Court were present for this sad ceremony; but the King was not conscious enough to receive the Viaticum. The news struck like thunder: the tears cries that resounded round the interior of the palace were heard by the people of the town; everyone ran to the parish church which, though vast, could not hold the huge crowds. The priest commenced prayers...
Since the King's accident, the municipal officers of Nancy had established a communication with Lunéville to receive twice-daily bulletins on His Majesty's health. On Saturday at five in the evening, the bells of the Primatiale began to sound. Everyone understood that they annonced public prayers for the King....
Finally the fatal moment arrived and on Sunday 25th February, at four o'clock in the evening, Stanislas expired. Tumultuous agitation gave way to a mournful silence and profound consternation.
Progression of the illness - from Aubert
At the first news of the terrible accident, people rushed in from all directions to see this beloved Prince, whom everyone believed to be dead. He was laid in his bed and the Doctors and Surgeons immediately reassured the crowd regarding His Majesty's condition. Sieur Perret, his first Surgeon even put it about that the accident was trifling and the King would soon recover.
He was burnt on the left side of his belly, and on the same side on his face and his thigh. His left had was lost and two of his ribs broken or badly damaged. He suffered the most acute pain, which virtue as much as his temperament allowed him to bear with patience and resignation...
Always gracious and resigned, always courageous in the face of terrible pain, Stanislas passed the nights in an armchair, whilst his Surgeon slept in a camp bed. The prince let him sleep peacefully, without ever waking him, even when a small attention might have given him some relief. The King could not prevent himself from remarking, "That man is lucky; he snores while I suffer without being able to close an eye".
Finally on 22nd February, having fought off death heroically for eighteen days, this great Prince fell into a state of semi-consciousness. The next day, Sunday 23rd, the doctors recognised that his final hour approached and M. le Cardinal de Choiseul administered the Last Sacraments. Our much loved Sovereign gave up his Soul to God at a quarter past four that evening.
Antoine Aubert, La vie de Stanislas Leszczinski (1769), p.470-472.
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment