CONTENTS

FOREWORD, BY AUBERT DE VILLAINE

INTRODUCTION

“A FORMIDABLE COUSIN”

AND ROMANÉE BECOMES CONTI

IN SEARCH OF TASTE AND TASTE REGAINED

CLIMATE VERSUS CLIMAT AND A VINTAGE OVERVIEW

THE ROMANÉE-CONTI DOMAINE TODAY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

FOREWORD

This book comes in the wake of a work published in 2018 by Laurens Delpech, in a limited edition for a small readership. The objective was to raise awareness about the life of Louis François de Bourbon, Prince of Conti. The positive feedback from the “happy few” who had read this first edition planted the idea to have it reach a wider audience. Following the wise advice of the French poet and critic Nicolas Boileau (1636–1711) to “bring your work back to the workshop twenty times” to polish and repolish it, the author has written a substantially enlarged biography.

Until now, the life of Louis François de Bourbon, Prince of Conti, had seldom drawn the attention of biographers. In the past one hundred years, only two works had been devoted to the life of this prince who was, in fact, one of the great historical figures of his time. What’s more, these two previous books passed over the prince’s activities regarding wine production in silence, so there was a void to be filled. The fact that the Prince of Conti was a prince du sang, or prince of the royal blood and, as such, a member of the Bourbon dynasty, certainly prevented him from playing a bigger political role, which undoubtedly would have helped to perpetuate his reputation in modern times. It was customary for absolute monarchies to keep members of the royal family at a distance, far from the seat of power, to prevent them from upstaging the reigning monarch.

As he was not destined to become king himself, or even one of the king’s trusted advisors, the Prince of Conti passionately embraced a number of activities. If we were to look at the complex web of his interests from our modern-day perspective, there are at least two that would easily win approval today. First of all, the prince was a great patron of artists and writers, the “intellectuals” who were a growing political force in his day. Secondly, he made a particularly inspired choice when he decided to acquire the prime parcel of vines in Burgundy known as La Romanée, later to be named Romanée-Conti.

The prince was astute enough to know how to bring the very best out of his vineyard, instructing his head winegrower to practise severe pruning of the vines and to avoid using fertilizers. “Monseigneur seeks quality, not quantity”, as his son, the Count of La Marche who became the new Prince of Conti after his father’s death, put it. When he took charge of the vineyard, which he considered his most prized possession, he continued to follow his father’s sound advice.

In this respect, too, the Prince of Conti stands out as a model of modernity while firmly holding his place in a long line of winegrowers who, since the first millennium, have perpetuated the quest for excellence that culminated in the Burgundy Climats.

For this new, enlarged biography, the author has retained an original historical perspective. He enables us to better understand the singularity of Romanée-Conti wine from the vantage point of the conclusions that can be drawn from several recent vertical tastings. It so happens that the author was one of the organizers of the most recent of these comprehensive tastings that covered eighty-two vintages between 1875 and 2012. Moreover, it is his personal tasting notes for each wine that are presented in this new edition.

Being able to recognize and evaluate the unique taste of this mythical wine is certainly a first step, but, to really appreciate and understand it, you have to place the vineyard that produces it within its own, very specific context, which is that of the Burgundy Climats. These Climats are in fact terroir sites on which the Burgundian grape varieties could best become acclimatized to the growing conditions of this region. They are terroir sites that have long been recognized as such, while also benefiting from a historical continuity, the centuries-old experience of the Burgundy winegrower, which makes them one of a kind. This uniqueness was an important factor in the decision of UNESCO in 2015 to recognize the Burgundy Climats as a World Heritage Site, and so join a prestigious list that includes Mont-Saint-Michel, the Taj Mahal and the Egyptian pyramids. There are 1,247 Climats that have been officially delimited on a stretch of vineyards that extend from Dijon to the hillside of Maranges, south of Beaune. Romanée-Conti is perhaps, with Montrachet, the most prestigious of all these Climats.

To understand Burgundy, one must learn to know these Climats, but also be aware of the climate in its usual meaning concerning the meteorological conditions of each vintage, because the production of great wines from grape varieties cultivated at the northern limit for achieving optimal ripeness for them is sometimes akin to an obstacle course in which Mother Nature is keen to play tricks on the winegrower.

I therefore gladly approve of Laurens Delpech’s choice to reproduce large extracts of the harvest reports that I have published since 1996. This record of the successive vintages serves to remind us how challenging it is to be a winegrower. Until the end of the grape harvest, you have to remain vigilant and make the right and timely decisions that will enable the vines to produce the best possible grapes every year.

This original book, which is so comprehensive in its explanation of this duality—of the Climats in the Burgundian sense and the climate of our region that produces the greatest wines of Burgundy—is written in a captivating style that makes it a pleasure to read. It provides an excellent overview of what you need to know to appreciate the singularity of Romanée-Conti. It will also be very useful for those who simply wish to deepen their knowledge and appreciation of Burgundy wines.

— Aubert de Villaine —

INTRODUCTION

In around AD 900, Benedictine monks founded the Abbey of Saint-Vivant in Burgundy and started cultivating vines in the village of Vosne (today known as Vosne-Romanée). Several centuries later, the Prince of Conti purchased the most reputed vineyard of all those once tended by these monks of Saint-Vivant, a plot of only 1.8 hectares (4 ½ acres) that would later bear his name. This vineyard—or Climat, to use the Burgundian term designating a vine plot having its own microclimate and specific geological conditions that has been carefully marked out, named and cultivated over the centuries—would not, in all probability, have enjoyed the same renown had it continued to be known as the Cros des Cloux rather than as Romanée-Conti.

The association of an extraordinary “terroir” with the Prince of Conti led to universal recognition of the vineyard. It also turned out to be a serendipitous gift to the prince himself, ensuring that his name was rescued from the obscurity in which it would otherwise have languished. At the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, there are two strikingly different portrayals of Louis François de Bourbon, Prince of Conti: a bust of him by Pierre Mérard and a painting by the contemporary American artist, Karen Kilimnik.

The bust of the prince is startlingly realistic. Sculpted in 1776, soon after his death, it was partially modelled from his death mask. It portrays the noble head of an aristocrat accustomed to power, one bearing a haughty, somewhat world-weary expression. The painting is a portrait of an elaborately attired man with a blank, featureless face, one without eyes. It is clearly inspired by the portrait of Louis François de Bourbon, Prince of Conti, by Pierre Gobert, painted around 1732 and which today is on display in the Château de Versailles, except for the fact that Kilimnik chose to paint a blank oval instead of a face.

It is hard to imagine two such disparate representations of the same subject; one being extremely lifelike, the other virtually abstract. They are, however, complementary in that they represent the ambiguity of the way in which the Prince of Conti’s life was judged. He was recognized as an exceptionally gifted aristocrat but also as one who never achieved the political success to which he aspired.

In actual fact, Conti was an exact embodiment of the spirit of his age, but his aristocratic lineage hampered him from achieving his full potential, which was considerable. To paraphrase Baudelaire, one could say that “his gigantic wings prevented him from walking”. Politically, he was first and foremost a warrior prince and a diplomat. He was an intimate of King Louis XV before later becoming a staunch opponent and a parliamentarian convinced of the need to limit the powers of an absolute monarchy. During his lifetime, he was also a collector of women and works of art, but the jewel in his crown was a vineyard: La Romanée, the name of which was not yet adorned with that of Conti.

— I —

“A FORMIDABLE COUSIN”

LOUIS FRANÇOIS DE BOURBON, PRINCE OF CONTI1

There were many good fairies attendant at the birth of Louis François de Bourbon, Prince of Conti, on 17 August 17172 in the Conti residence, Quai de Conti in Paris.3 He was a “prince of the royal blood [prince du sang]”,4 in a period where he would be considered a sort of demi-god who was accountable to no one but the king himself. Because of his birth he was automatically given status in matters of state or involving the army, as well as in society.

Louis François was ten years old when his father died. His mother, princess of the House of Condé, was an intelligent and ambitious woman who ensured that Louis François received a good education based on science and mathematics. This gave him a real advantage compared to the other royal princes, as did the fact that he was not only very handsome and blessed with physical prowess but also an excellent horseman and an intrepid and accomplished hunter.

In 1731, at the age of fourteen, Conti married Louise Diane d’Orléans, daughter of the regent. It was an inspired marriage, orchestrated by his mother, but a short one, as Louise Diane died in 1736 following long-term complications from the birth of their son, Louis François Joseph, in 1734.

Conti was initiated into the disciplines of war by Colonel de La Chevaleraye, a notorious atheist and libertine. It is possible that the influence he had on his student went beyond the military arts. In any case, he was a very well-educated prince du sang, and, as such, a member of the Bourbon dynasty; an accomplished athlete who began a military career in 1733.

Cavalry colonel at sixteen and maréchal de camp5 at seventeen, Conti fought on Europe’s battlefields until a conflict with Maurice de Saxe, Field Marshal of France, brought his career to an end. He was an accomplished and very courageous military officer, showing real leadership qualities. The troops adored him; he wore the same fatigues as his soldiers, slept on the wagons with them, and ate with them.

Military and intellectual qualities aside, Conti had always been a hard worker, who prepared his moves diligently and reflected carefully before taking any action. When he found out that he was going to be nominated as head of the army in Italy, he was meticulous in his preparations, studying the geography of Piedmont and Tuscany as well as analysing previous military campaigns in the country.

Courageous, hardworking and intelligent, Conti had everything going for him to have an exceptional military career. However, although brilliant, this period in his life was relatively short. The problem was that he attached too much importance to his status as a prince du sang, to the extent that he could be too rigid and indifferent to the king, whom he considered more or less to be his equal as they had the same royal blood running in their veins. For Conti, the king was “primus inter pares” (first among equals), rather than a direct superior in the hierarchy.

Extremely aware of his own lineage, Conti would sometimes ignore the monarch’s recommendations. During the War of the Austrian Succession (1740–48), Louis XV forbade all the princes du sang from taking part in the battles, but Conti ignored the royal interdiction and went to the front, which was in Bohemia at that time. The king’s reaction was to call for his arrest before changing his mind in recognition of Conti’s brilliant conduct, notably in Bavaria where he led the squadrons of dragoons against the Hungarian Hussards and, in particular, during a decisive battle against the king of Sardinia in Cuneo, Italy. To mark this occasion, Louis XV ordered a “Te Deum” service to be held in Notre-Dame de Paris in his honour. Conti’s military successes earned him widespread popularity and turned him into a sort of national hero. At that time, in 1743, he enjoyed an excellent relationship with the king. Louis XV was fond of this brave, intelligent and talented prince, and the king’s mistress, the Duchess of Châteauroux, had a soft spot for Conti. However, the king had also noticed with no small concern his cousin’s ambition, and wrote to the Duke of Noailles, who was in charge in Bavaria: “The Prince of Conti has asked me about his future. . . . He is extremely driven and hungry for success.” It seemed to be apparent that a role had to be found for the prince that was commensurate with his ambitions, whilst avoiding allowing him to become a direct rival.

The military successes of the prince had already been slightly tarnished in Italy by the—at times strained—relations between Conti and the Spanish prince, with whom he was jointly in charge of operations. What really damaged his military career, however, was his rivalry with Maurice de Saxe.6 Choiseul7 summarized the problem well in his memoirs:

The issue was whether it would be the Prince of Conti or the maréchal de Saxe who would be in charge of the two united armies. It was out of the question to suggest that the Prince of Conti should serve under the maréchal de Saxe. Apart from his status as prince du sang, he had also attained the rank of lieutenant general before Maurice de Saxe became a field marshal of France; had led an army at the same time as him; was far superior in terms of rank; had served for a long time; had the same experience leading an army and had just taken two strategic strongholds. On the other hand, how would one dare to strip the field marshal of his leadership? He who was regarded as a hero of France, one who had won the battle of Fontenoy in front of the king’s very eyes, had conquered most of Flanders, had taken Brussels during the same winter, and in whom the entire nation had the greatest confidence, whether through hearsay, popular thinking or personal experience.

Confronted with this delicate problem, Louis XV found an elegant solution: he authorized Conti’s departure from the army so as to join him in Versailles and begin weaving together the intrigues of the secret diplomatic channels that came to be known as the Secret du Roi, or King’s Secret. He also promised to grant the prince command of the French armies in the event of the resurgence of a new conflict. This was a promise he never had to keep, which did not make their relations any easier.

Poland was then an elective kingdom. At the moment of each succession, the Sejm (Diet), which comprised all Polish noblemen, would meet to elect a new king. Unanimity was required. One can imagine how difficult it was for such a system to function when it offered an open door for neighbouring kingdoms to intervene; namely, Russia, Prussia and Austria, each wishing to divide up Poland amongst themselves. Indeed, when Stanislas Leszczyński, Louis XV’s father-in-law, was elected king of Poland, he was immediately deposed by the Russian army,8 thus marking the beginning of the War of Polish Succession that was to end with a treaty that oversaw his abdication and the accession of Augustus III of Saxony.

The king of Saxony dedicated his life to two passions: hunting and art collecting, the latter costing him dearly as he was only an amateur and made ill-advised purchases. He lived in Dresden, the capital of the kingdom of Saxony, and disengaged himself from Poland, which quickly descended into anarchy. As a way out of this disarray, the Polish nobility came up with the idea of offering the crown to the Prince of Conti, who was not only basking in the glory of his military successes, but was also a cousin of the king of France, whose wife was Polish. Louis XV instantly saw the benefits of this proposal, which would give France a solid ally in Eastern Europe while giving the Prince of Conti an occupation commensurate with his ambitions.

Conti had worked extensively on foreign policy issues, advocating an alliance system designed to ensure the security and pre-eminence of the kingdom of France in Europe. His task was to oppose England, Russia and Austria, and to stabilize European order as outlined in the Westphalia Treaty of 1648, through alliances with Prussia, Poland and Turkey as well as the Nordic kingdoms (Denmark and Sweden). As he was not privy to the King’s Council that governed French politics,9 Conti had in mind the creation of a secret parallel system that would bypass the ministers by sending direct instructions to the ambassadors. This is how the King’s Secret came about,10 managed by Conti who was making moves to be named king of Poland in the place of Augustus III, with Louis XV’s full support. Of course, for this project to succeed, Augustus III had to leave the throne one way or another. However, he did not abdicate and did not die until 1763. Straight after his death, Russia invaded part of Poland in order to impose its own candidate, Stanislas Poniatowski. At that time, the Seven Years’ War had just ended to France’s detriment, and Louis XV did not want to risk a European war with an uncertain outcome for the sake of Poland—especially as his relationship with Conti had broken down completely by then.

Indeed, the days when, influenced by his mistress, the Duchess of Châteauroux, Louis XV had put his trust in Conti and wished to take advantage of his skills, were now over. Madame de Châteauroux’s death in 1744 weakened the Prince of Conti’s position at court, and the rise of Madame de Pompadour would contribute to his final disgrace. The marquise de Pompadour, who was far from being just a mistress and who had manoeuvred herself into the position of political advisor to the monarch, was mistrustful and jealous of the king’s secret dealings with Conti. Hence the competition between the marquise and the prince, which was to lead finally to a definitive quarrel.

Louis XV was an endearing, intelligent, sensitive and generous man, but he was also a weak and irresolute monarch who was uninterested in state business. Frederick II of Prussia said about him: “He has all the qualities in the world apart from those required of a king.” Until 1743, he relied on his prime minister, Cardinal Fleury, who was a particularly competent and efficient administrator. When Fleury died, Louis XV found himself responsible for the management of affairs of state, which did not suit him at all as he dedicated much of his time to hunting and other pursuits. It was at this time that he began to rely on Conti for matters concerning foreign policy. Nevertheless, he remained suspicious of the prince; just like his great-grandfather, Louis XIV,11 he thought it risky to give too much power to a prince du sang. It was around the time that Conti came back to the royal court in 1745 as an advisor to the king that the latter met Jeanne Antoinette d’Étiolles, née Poisson, and fell in love with her. He bestowed her with the title of marquise de Pompadour.12 She was a stunningly beautiful woman who knew how to amuse the king—Louis XV hated being bored but often was. Even so, she was not really interested in physical love. Her real passion lay in the influence she held over the king. She had an all-consuming thirst for power. Very soon, she became political advisor to the monarch, when she was not giving direct orders herself to the ministers. Louis XV, who had a somewhat indolent approach to state matters, was more than happy with this arrangement.

As the king’s physical needs were not being satisfied by Madame de Pompadour, these soon would be at the Parc aux Cerfs, a place in the grounds of the Palace of Versailles first created as a hunting lodge, then modified to serve as a showcase for lovely demoiselles recruited by his valet, Le Bel. Extremely young and totally dedicated to pleasing the monarch, they caused Madame de Pompadour no loss of sleep as her interests lay solely in politics and her power of patronage. These young women were well looked after. Once the king had lost interest, they were given a small dowry and married off. This ensured that there was always new blood to satisfy the king’s pleasure. Ambitious parents readily offered up their daughters to the care of Louis XV, hoping the king would become their “left-hand son-in-law”.

While all this was going on, the marquise dealt with the affairs of state in her own way. Her aim was to maintain total control over the king, and, in order to do this, she had to keep him on a tight rein at all times. This was how her first “success” in foreign policy came about with the disastrous Aix-la-Chapelle Treaty (1748), which ended the War of the Austrian Succession. Although victorious on the ground, France won no advantage from this treaty.13 However, the marquise’s intention was to ensure the king’s return to Versailles so that she could keep control over him. In order to do so and to forestall him from setting off on another campaign, the war had to be brought to a conclusion. She took enormous pains to eliminate anyone else’s influence over the king, getting rid of ministers who did not obey her quickly enough or who openly defied her. This soon resulted in a conflict with Conti. Ultimately, although they were using different weapons, they were both fighting on the same turf: the kingdom’s foreign policy. Inevitably, this led to conflict between them. In spite of this, Conti managed to maintain his influence over the king. In 1755, the cardinal of Bernis observed: “The king maintains the peace between the Prince of Conti, who oversees every department even though he holds no ministerial position, and Madame de Pompadour, who is openly at war with him.”

Conti’s influence over the king lasted until 1757. As a prince du sang, one who set much store by the privileges of his birth, he looked down on the king’s main mistress because of her lowly birth. Driven by ambition, he initially wanted to keep her on his side; he feared her influence over the king and remained coolly polite with her while avoiding open confrontation. Matters began to deteriorate in 1746 during the conflict between Conti and Maurice de Saxe, Field Marshal of France. Pompadour was a supporter of Maurice de Saxe because she wanted to keep the king close by. She did not wish the shared leadership to serve as a pretext for the king to return to the army. We have already mentioned that Conti would rather have resigned from his post than play second fiddle.

The switch in alliances advocated by the king’s mistress would inevitably lead to direct conflict. In June 1755, France was about to renew its alliance treaty with Prussia. It so happened that Frederick II, king of Prussia, whose tastes did not lean towards women, disliked Pompadour, whom he saw as a social climber. His attitude was apparently in line with that of the Prince of Conti when he professed, “I do not see why a king of Prussia would have any dealings with a Miss Poisson, especially when she is arrogant and has no respect for persons of the crown.” Frederick took his mockery even further, naming his dog “Pompadour”.

The Austrian foreign minister, Count Kaunitz, decided to use the marquise’s animosity towards Frederick II to alienate France from Prussia and to form an alliance with Austria. Manipulated by Kaunitz, the marquise jumped at the chance to remodel the map of Europe in a manner that she hoped would be detrimental to the king of Prussia.

As Voltaire wrote: “This pact brought together the Houses of France and Austria after two hundred years of apparently irreconcilable hatred. The displeasure of a king of Prussia, coupled with the animosity of a few very powerful people whom he had hurt, brought about in a flash what so many peace treaties and marriages had failed to achieve.”

Several works have been dedicated to this realignment in allegiances, which was one of the major diplomatic events of the eighteenth century. Through this alliance, Austria was hoping to take back Silesia from the Prussians whilst leaving France to pay for a European war with scant recompense (Mons and Luxembourg).14 Moreover, the Seven Years’ War, the inevitable result of the Franco-Austrian treaty, was disastrous for France. The marquise, who considered herself to be a great strategist, appointed generals and deployed armies with surprisingly little consideration. The result of her capricious behaviour was a series of defeats on both land and at sea, which left France with depleted resources and obliged to sign the Treaty of Paris (1763). This was extremely beneficial to England as it enabled that country to seize all the French colonies in North America and most of the French footholds in India.

Conti was clearly out of favour. A further incident was the final straw. Heady with her own power, Madame de Pompadour started to behave like royalty. When granting an audience, she required people to stand in her presence. One day, when Conti went to see her without an appointment, she left him standing in this demeaning manner. Unperturbed, Conti sat down on the marquise’s bed, commenting ironically: “Well, madam, you have a most comfortable bed!” Deeply humiliated, the marquise harangued the king, seeking revenge. She demanded that Conti be exiled. Taking a more measured approach, the king instructed the prince to retire to his estates. Conti was never to return to Versailles and only appeared at the royal court when absolutely necessary. He moved all his effects from the apartment he occupied at the Château de Versailles and, from then on, divided his time between his Château de L’Isle-Adam and, more often, the Palais du Temple (Temple Palace) in Paris.15

Conti was conscious of his rank and could take offence easily but, as a real expert in foreign policy and matters of defence, it was impossible for him to agree with Pompadour’s ideas and, even less, to approve of her nonsensical orders like those given to the French generals during the Seven Years’ War. In addition, the king failed to keep his promise to name Conti commander-in-chief, preferring instead Pompadour’s cronies, who were good courtiers but unskilled in warfare. Conti’s situation became untenable and his only option was to leave. Luckily, there was a parachute.

The Maverick of the Temple

It required all of Louis XV’s political influence for Conti to be declared Grand Prior of the Order of Malta in 1749 when their relationship was at its strongest. In those days, Conti enjoyed a solid reputation both as a free thinker and a liberal. However, if Conti was a freemason and an agnostic, he always had the good sense to publicly display respect for religious worship and participated with dignity in the official demonstrations. He had never been a member of the Order of Malta, but, since the end of the sixteenth century, it had become the custom for a prince du sang to be named to the position of Grand Prior.16 The reason for this was that the post was extremely well remunerated, and also that the incumbent was resident in the magnificent Temple Palace. Conti’s two predecessors, Jean Philippe d’Orléans and Philippe de Vendôme were also reputed to be free thinkers.

Intelligent, well-organized and hardworking, Conti was an excellent Grand Prior. He used his initiative and made a great deal of money for the Knights of the Order of Malta, who were happy that they had made the right choice in appointing him.

The term “Enclos du Temple” (enclosure) was used to describe a site located in the centre of Paris that benefited from special judicial and fiscal privileges outside of the normal jurisdiction. It was a “village within the city”.

First and foremost, the Enclos du Temple was a large, fortified monastery, built in Paris at the end of the twelfth century by the Knights Templar. The memory of this building is enshrined in the name of streets such as rue du Temple, rue Vieille du Temple, rue de Malte and rue du Grand Prieuré in the heart of historical Paris. In 1312, the Order of the Temple was dissolved by Philippe le Bel and its assets handed over to the Knights of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, also known as the Order of Malta, because the Grand Master resided in Malta. In 1667, the Temple Palace was demolished and replaced by several other buildings, including a palace for the Grand Prior and many, more modest houses. These were rented out, adding to the already significant income of the incumbent in charge. By the eighteenth century, the enclosure housed four thousand inhabitants, including the dignitaries of the order along with their staff and friends. A good number of artisans of all professions also lived there, particularly goldsmiths, as well as a bunch of interlopers who tried to take advantage of the right of asylum granted to inhabitants of the Enclos du Temple. The right of asylum afforded no protection to thieves and assassins, only to people persecuted because of their religious or political beliefs. It also offered asylum to insolvable debtors evading imprisonment, permitting them to reside outside the reach of the king’s justice. The right of asylum therefore proved to be very lucrative, as the rents charged to these financial refugees were extremely high. In addition, the franchise fees meant that craftsmen could operate independently of corporate jurisdiction and guilds which governed commercial activities throughout the rest of the kingdom. Other advantages of residency in the enclos were its tax-free status and the fact that it had the right to hold markets. This was in effect a duty-free zone where commercial activity could thrive without the regulatory and fiscal controls of the French kingdom. Notwithstanding the requirement to pay tithes, the Enclos du Temple was a profitable place in which to do business.

The Prince of Conti used the right of asylum to protect persecuted intellectuals such as Rousseau17 and Beaumarchais.18 As a rule, it enabled him to safeguard specific freedoms, which made him popular, particularly amongst the new wave of philosophers and intellectuals fast gaining influence on public opinion.

The prince assisted Beaumarchais financially and politically and allowed his plays to be staged in the theatre of the Temple Palace. During the 1770s, Beaumarchais and Conti were two of the most influential enemies of Chancellor Maupeou’s newly formed parliament. When Beaumarchais was sentenced after a spat with the magistrate Goëzman, he and Conti took advantage of the occasion to protest about arbitrary rulings and despotism. Four essays written by Beaumarchais as part of a campaign against Goëzman were published in 1773 and 1774, sparking a huge controversy in Parliament. Public opinion sided with Beaumarchais. This situation gave Conti a political advantage. He was able to simultaneously protect the writer and publicly criticize the new parliament. In his preface to Le Mariage de Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), Beaumarchais declared: “The Prince of Conti was a patriot . . . a man of sound character, a dignified prince, a proud and noble spirit.” However warm the relationship was between Conti and Beaumarchais, the same cannot be said for his relationship with Jean-Jacques Rousseau, owing to the writer’s sensitivities and the nature of his intellect. In the 1760s, Conti tried to assist him in his complex dealings with the Parlement de Paris, where the prince still exercised considerable influence. This was a strained friendship between this royal prince and the libertarian philosopher, who thought that “mankind is born free but remains permanently shackled”. Conti protected Rousseau and shielded him from the king’s police when Parliament joined forces with the archbishop of Paris to condemn Rousseau’s controversial book, Émile, ou de l’éducation (Emile, or On Education). Because of this, he came to be known as a guardian of intellectual freedom. He was the “enlightened prince”, in stark contrast to his cousin Louis XV. Despite his differences with the prince and the fact that the latter’s protection felt onerous to him, Rousseau held Conti in high esteem. At the moment of the prince’s death, he wrote in Les Rêveries du promeneur solitaire (Reveries of a Solitary Walker): “I find myself alone here on this earth, with no brother, confidant, friend or companion other than myself.... A sad and unexpected event has just extinguished the last weak flicker of hope from my heart.”

The attractions of the Temple Palace were not only intellectual. The prince’s dinners were renowned for the quality of the fare and, of course, the wines. In those days, they were considered the apotheosis of great French cuisine:

French chefs finally abandoned the culinary traditions inherited from the Middle Ages, replacing foreign produce with locally sourced ingredients, reducing cooking times and creating a vast array of stock for sauces.

No more acidic sauces, excessive spices and sweet and savoury blends. Sauces became richer and more refined; spices were used with more discretion, and sweet and savoury were only rarely combined in the same dish. This enabled the taste of the fresh produce to shine through, and the results were so successful that the principles of this cuisine are still adhered to today.19

The greatest culinary critic of the latter half of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, Grimod de La Reynière, observed20 that French cuisine had reached new heights of refinement under the reign of Louis XV: “A long period of peace following the Treaty of Utrecht; financial prosperity thanks to the System;21 . . . the calm and indulgent life of a monarch who was more interested in personal pleasure than in glory; the personalities of his courtiers who were more lovers of the senses than of the mind; the sensual and erotic tastes of Philippe (prince regent) whose orgies were at the heart of his supper parties—all contributed to the pre-eminence of the culinary arts during the prince’s reign.”

Dinners stretched over several courses when tens or sometimes hundreds of dishes would be served so that each guest could select his favourites.22

Armand Lebault explains: “All the dishes for the same meal were served at the same time.”23 At the beginning of the century, meals were served over four courses, with, for example, “a first service with four dishes, the second with forty different roasts and salads, the third with hot and cold sweets, and the last with desserts.” As the century progressed, the trend led to a reduction in the number of courses to two or three, although still with an abundance of different dishes.

During the second half of the seventeenth century, what was known as “French service” became the norm. A menu consisted of successive “services”, each comprising a variety of dishes, all served at the same time and then removed together and replaced by another selection. Guests served themselves from the dishes closest to them and relied on their neighbours to pass dishes that were out of reach. The extensive range of dishes meant that gastronomes had plenty of choice.24

The Prince of Conti was a connoisseur of wine and also loved his food.25 To keep himself trim, he ate only twice a day, in the morning and evening. He skipped lunch (dîner, or dinner, as it was then known, while the evening meal was supper, or souper).

The Temple Palace and the privileges it afforded enabled the prince to lead a socialite’s life while at the same time furthering his political ambitions.

The weekly receptions that the prince held at the Temple Palace, hosted by the Countess of Boufflers, brought together high society in a much more relaxed and open atmosphere than at the king’s royal court. These were more fashionable social gatherings where aristocrats, writers and artists mingled with businessmen and politicians of Conti’s persuasion, as well as with numerous foreign dignitaries. There are two paintings by Michel Barthélémy Ollivier—Afternoon Tea at the Temple Palace and Prince of Conti’s Supper at the Temple Palace—that depict the diverse personalities of the regular visitors to the Temple Palace and give an idea of the elegant and friendly atmosphere at these occasions.

Conti’s arrival at the Temple Palace coincided with his falling out of favour with the king, although there was no direct link between the two events. The Enclos du Temple generated significant revenue, and also provided an influential platform for political campaigning and public relations efforts aimed at limiting the king’s power in favour of Parliament.

The origin of the Ancien Régime parliaments goes back to the Middle Ages. Their role was to enforce law and serve as appeal courts for matters of jurisdiction. In due course, they became involved in law-making, giving them a political role. Louis XIV, however, restricted the political powers of the parliamentarians in such a way that they served primarily as magistrates. After his death in 1715, Philippe d’Orléans, in order to strengthen his position as regent of the kingdom during Louis XV’s minority, gave back to the parliamentarians their right to criticize.

In the eighteenth century, following the example set by the British parliament, the magistrates lobbied for political power. This was despite the fact that most of them had paid to be in the positions they held and were not political representatives, unlike their British counterparts. Throughout Louis XV’s reign, parliamentarians exploited this ambiguity and systematically opposed any reforms that threatened their own privileges, under the pretext of protecting civil rights. In reality, they were only protecting their own interests, because Parliament was, in this age of absolute monarchy, the only possible forum of opposition in the absence of any other counter-power. As the king was prone to becoming unpopular very quickly, each time the monarch exercised his power, public opinion sided with Parliament.

During the initial stages of this power play, Conti sided with the king. As a prince du sang, he was a member by right of the Parlement de Paris. The many private discussions between Conti and the king that took place from 1747 to 1756 were about relations with the parliament, as well as other issues, including the King’s Secret, the succession of Poland, the Protestants and the Grand Prior of the Temple. At that time, Conti was advising the king on all parliamentary matters. Most of the conflict was about religion. Conti’s viewpoint was in line with the position of the parliament, which had Jansenist leanings,26 while the king was in favour of a Catholic hierarchy. His role was to reach a compromise and smooth the waters. The king was furious about the parliament’s opposition and exiled it to Pontoise in 1753. Conti led negotiations that brought reconciliation and the recall of the parliament to Paris in 1754.

Following his falling-out with Louis XV, Conti used his insider knowledge of the parliament to oppose the king. From 1756 until his death twenty years later, Conti used Parliament as a platform from which to run his campaign against the king. This made him very popular with the Parisians. He joined forces with Louis Adrien Lepaige,27 a top lawyer of Jansenist persuasion, who helped him with his petitions. The Temple Palace had now become the nucleus of parliamentary opposition and the distribution base for clandestine leaflets, which the king’s police failed to intercept.