Memoirs of Louis XIV and His Court and of the Regency — Volume 02 (2024)

Produced by David Widger

BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON

VOLUME 2.

CHAPTER IX

To return now to the date from which I started. On the 6th of August,1695, Harlay, Arch-bishop of Paris, died of epilepsy at Conflans. He wasa prelate of profound knowledge and ability, very amiable, and of mostgallant manners. For some time past he had lost favour with the King andwith Madame de Maintenon, for opposing the declaration of her marriage—of which marriage he had been one of the three witnesses. The clergy,who perceived his fall, and to whom envy is not unfamiliar, took pleasurein revenging themselves upon M. de Paris, for the domination, althoughgentle and kindly, he had exercised. Unaccustomed to this decay of hispower, all the graces of his mind and body withered. He could find noresource but to shut himself up with his dear friend the duch*esse deLesdiguieres, whom he saw every day of his life, either at her own houseor at Conflans, where he had laid out a delicious garden, kept sostrictly clean, that as the two walked, gardeners followed at a distance,and effaced their footprints with rakes. The vapours seized theArchbishop, and turned themselves into slight attacks of epilepsy. Hefelt this, but prohibited his servants to send for help, when they shouldsee him attacked; and he was only too well obeyed. The duch*esse deLesdiguieres never slept at Conflans, but she went there every afternoon,and was always alone with him. On the 6th of August, he passed themorning, as usual, until dinner-time; his steward came there to him, andfound him in his cabinet, fallen back upon a sofa; he was dead. Thecelebrated Jesuit-Father Gaillard preached his funeral sermon, andcarefully eluded pointing the moral of the event. The King and Madame deMaintenon were much relieved by the loss of M. de Paris. Various placeshe had held were at once distributed. His archbishopric and hisnomination to the cardinalship required more discussion. The King learntthe news of the death of M. de Paris on the 6th. On the 8th, in going asusual to his cabinet, he went straight up to the Bishop of Orleans, ledhim to the Cardinals de Bouillon and de Fursternberg, and said to them:-"Gentlemen, I think you will thank me for giving you an associate like M.d'Orleans, to whom I give my nomination to the cardinalship." At thisword the Bishop, who little expected such a scene, fell at the King'sfeet and embraced his knees. He was a man whose face spoke at once ofthe virtue and benignity he possessed. In youth he was so pious, thatyoung and old were afraid to say afoul word in his presence. Althoughvery rich, he appropriated scarcely any of his wealth to himself, butgave it away for good works. The modesty and the simplicity with whichM. d'Orleans sustained his nomination, increased the universal esteem inwhich he was held.

The archbishopric of Paris was given to a brother of the Duc de Noailles-the Bishop of Chalons-sur-Marne—M. de Noailles thus reaping the fruit ofhis wise sacrifice to M. de Vendome, before related. M. de Chalons wasof singular goodness and modesty. He did not wish for this preferment,and seeing from far the prospect of its being given to him, hastened todeclare himself against the Jesuits, in the expectation that Pere laChaise, who was of them, and who was always consulted upon theseoccasions, might oppose him. But it happened, perhaps for the firsttime, that Madame de Maintenon, who felt restrained by the Jesuits, didnot consult Pere la Chaise, and the preferment was made without hisknowledge, and without that of M. de Chalons. The affront was a violentone, and the Jesuits never forgave the new Archbishop: he was, however,so little anxious for the office, that it was only after repeated ordershe could be made to accept it.

The Bishop of Langres also died about this time. He was a truegentleman, much liked, and called "the good Langres." There was nothingbad about him, except his manners; he was not made for a bishop—gambledvery much, and staked high. M. de Vendome and others won largely atbilliards of him, two or three times. He said no word, but, on returningto Langres, did nothing but practise billiards in secret for six months.When next in Paris, he was again asked to play, and his adversaries, whothought him as unskilful as before, expected an easy victory but, totheir astonishment, he gained almost every game, won back much more thanhe had lost, and then laughed in the faces of his companions.

I paid about this time, my first journey to Marly, and a singular scenehappened there. The King at dinner, setting aside his usual gravity,laughed and joked very much with Madame la duch*esse, eating olives withher in sport, and thereby causing her to drink more than usual—which healso pretended to do. Upon rising from the table the King, seeing thePrincesse de Conti look extremely serious, said, dryly, that her gravitydid not accommodate itself to their drunkenness. The Princess, piqued,allowed the King to pass without saying anything; and then, turning toMadame de Chatillon, said, in the midst of the noise, whilst everybodywas washing his mouth, "that she would rather be grave than be a wine-sack" (alluding to some bouts a little prolonged that her sister hadrecently had).

The saying was heard by the duch*esse de Chartres, who replied, loudenough to be heard, in her slow and trembling voice, that she preferredto be a "winesack" rather than a "rag-sack" (sac d guenilles) by whichshe alluded to the Clermont and La Choin adventure I have related before.

This remark was so cruel that it met with no reply; it spread throughMarly, and thence to Paris; and Madame la duch*esse, who had the art ofwriting witty songs, made one upon this theme. The Princesse de Contiwas in despair, for she had not the same weapon at her disposal.Monsieur tried to reconcile them gave them a dinner at Meudon—but theyreturned from it as they went.

The end of the year was stormy at Marly. One evening, after the King hadgone to bed, and while Monseigneur was playing in the saloon, theduch*esse de Chartres and Madame la duch*esse (who were bound together bytheir mutual aversion to the Princesse de Conti) sat down to a supper inthe chamber of the first-named. Monseigneur, upon retiring late to hisown room, found them smoking with pipes, which they had sent for from theSwiss Guards! Knowing what would happen if the smell were discovered, hemade them leave off, but the smoke had betrayed them. The King next dayseverely scolded them, at which the Princesse de Conti triumphed.Nevertheless, these broils multiplied, and the King at last grew so wearyof them that one evening he called the Princesses before him, andthreatened that if they did not improve he would banish them all from theCourt. The measure had its effect; calm and decorum returned, andsupplied the place of friendship.

There were many marriages this winter, and amongst them one very strange—a marriage of love, between a brother of Feuquiere's, who had neverdone much, and the daughter of the celebrated Mignard, first painter ofhis time. This daughter was still so beautiful, that Bloin, chief valetof the King, had kept her for some time, with the knowledge of every one,and used his influence to make the King sign the marriage-contract.

There are in all Courts persons who, without wit and withoutdistinguished birth, without patrons, or service rendered, pierce intothe intimacy of the most brilliant, and succeed at last, I know not how,in forcing the world to look upon them as somebody. Such a person wasCavoye. Rising from nothing, he became Grand Marechal des Logis in theroyal household: he arrived at that office by a perfect romance. He wasone of the best made men in France, and was much in favour with theladies. He first appeared at the Court at a time when much duelling wastaking place, in spite of the edicts. Cavoye, brave and skilful,acquired so much reputation m this particular, that the name of "BraveCavoye" has stuck to him ever since. An ugly but very good creature,Mademoiselle de Coetlogon, one of the Queen's waiting-women, fill in lovewith him, even to madness. She made all the advances; but Cavoye treatedher so cruelly, nay, sometimes so brutally, that (wonderful to say)everybody pitied her, and the King at last interfered, and commanded himto be more humane. Cavoye went to the army; the poor Coetlogon was intears until his return. In the winter, for being second in a duel, hewas sent to the Bastille. Then the grief of Coetlogon knew no bounds:she threw aside all ornaments, and clad herself as meanly as possible;she begged the King to grant Cavoye his liberty, and, upon the King'srefusing, quarrelled with him violently, and when in return he laughed ather, became so furious, that she would have used her nails, had he notbeen too wise to expose himself to them. Then she refused to attend toher duties, would not serve the King, saying, that he did not deserve it,and grew so yellow and ill, that at last she was allowed to visit herlover at the Bastille. When he was liberated, her joy was extreme, shedecked herself out anon, but it was with difficulty that she consented tobe reconciled to the King.

Cavoye had many times been promised an appointment, but had neverreceived one such as he wished. The office of Grand Marechal des Logishad just become vacant: the King offered it to Cavoye, but on conditionthat he should marry Mademoiselle Coetlogon. Cavoye sniffed a littlelonger, but was obliged to submit to this condition at last. They weremarried, and she has still the same admiration for him, and it issometimes fine fun to see the caresses she gives him before all theworld, and the constrained gravity with which he receives them. Thehistory of Cavoye would fill a volume, but this I have selected sufficesfor its singularity, which assuredly is without example.

About this time the King of England thought matters were ripe for anattempt to reinstate himself upon the throne. The Duke of Berwick hadbeen secretly into England, where he narrowly escaped being arrested,and upon his report these hopes were built. Great preparations weremade, but they came to nothing, as was always the case with the projectsof this unhappy prince.

Madame de Guise died at this time. Her father was the brother of LouisXIII., and she, humpbacked and deformed to excess, had married the lastDuc de Guise, rather than not marry at all. During all their lives, shecompelled him to pay her all the deference due to her rank. At table hestood while she unfolded her napkin and seated herself, and did not situntil she told him to do so, and then at the end of the table. This formwas observed every day of their lives. She was equally severe in suchmatters of etiquette with all the rest of the world. She would keep herdiocesan, the Bishop of Seez, standing for entire hours, while she wasseated in her arm-chair and never once offered him a seat even in thecorner. She was in other things an entirely good and sensible woman.Not until after her death was it discovered that she had been afflictedfor a long time with a cancer, which appeared as though about to burst.God spared her this pain.

We lost, in the month of March, Madame de Miramion, aged sixty-six. Shewas a bourgeoise, married, and in the same year became a widow very rich,young, and beautiful. Bussy Rabutin, so known by his 'Histoire Amoureusedes Gaules', and by the profound disgrace it drew upon him, and stillmore by the vanity of his mind and the baseness of his heart, wishedabsolutely to marry her, and actually carried her off to a chateau. Uponarriving at the place, she pronounced before everybody assembled there avow of chastity, and then dared Bussy to do his worst. He, strangelydiscomfited by this action, at once set her at liberty, and tried toaccommodate the affair. From that moment she devoted herself entirely,to works of piety, and was much esteemed by the King. She was the firstwoman of her condition who wrote above her door, "Hotel de Nesmond."Everybody cried out, and was scandalised, but the writing remained, andbecame the example and the father of those of all kinds which little bylittle have inundated Paris.

Madame de Sevigne, so amiable and of such excellent company, died sometime after at Grignan, at the house of her daughter, her idol, but whomerited little to be so. I was very intimate with the young Marquis deGrignan, her grandson. This woman, by her natural graces, the sweetnessof her wit, communicated these qualities to those who had them not; shewas besides extremely good, and knew thoroughly many things without everwishing to appear as though she knew anything.

Father Seraphin preached during Lent this year at the Court. Hissermons, in which he often repeated twice running the same phrase, weremuch in vogue. It was from him that came the saying, "Without God thereis no wit." The King was much pleased with him, and reproached M. deVendome and M. de la Rochefoucauld because they never went to hear hissermons. M. de Vendome replied off-hand, that he did not care to go tohear a man who said whatever he pleased without allowing anybody to replyto him, and made the King smile by this sally. But M. de laRochefoucauld treated the matter in another manner he said that he couldnot induce himself to go like the merest hanger-on about the Court, andbeg a seat of the officer who distributed them, and then betake himselfearly to church in order to have a good one, and wait about in order toput himself where it might please that officer to place him. Whereuponthe King immediately gave him a fourth seat behind him, by the side ofthe Grand Chamberlain, so that everywhere he is thus placed.M. d'Orleans had been in the habit of seating himself there (although hisright place was on the prie-Dieu), and little by little had accustomedhimself to consider it as his proper place. When he found himself drivenaway, he made a great ado, and, not daring to complain to the King,quarrelled with M. de la Rochefoucauld, who, until then, had been one ofhis particular friends. The affair soon made a great stir; the friendsof both parties mixed themselves up in it. The King tried in vain tomake M. d'Orleans listen to reason; the prelate was inflexible, and whenhe found he could gain nothing by clamour and complaint, he retired inhigh dudgeon into his diocese: he remained there some time, and upon hisreturn resumed his complaints with more determination than ever; he fellat the feet of the King, protesting that he would rather die than see hisoffice degraded. M. de la Rochefoucauld entreated the King to be allowedto surrender the seat in favour of M. d'Orleans. But the King would notchange his decision; he said that if the matter were to be decidedbetween M. d'Orleans and a lackey, he would give the seat to the lackeyrather than to M. d'Orleans. Upon this the prelate returned to hisdiocese, which he would have been wiser never to have quitted in order toobtain a place which did not belong to him.

As the King really esteemed M. d'Orleans, he determined to appease hisanger; and to put an end to this dispute he gave therefore the bishopricof Metz to the nephew of M. d'Orleans; and by this means a reconciliationwas established. M. d'Orleans and M. de la Rochefoucauld joined handsagain, and the King looked on delighted.

The public lost soon after a man illustrious by his genius, by his style,and by his knowledge of men, I mean La Bruyere, who died of apoplexy atVersailles, after having surpassed Theophrastus in his own manner, andafter painting, in the new characters, the men of our days in a mannerinimitable. He was besides a very honest man, of excellent breeding,simple, very disinterested, and without anything of the pedant. I hadsufficiently known him to regret his death, and the works that might havebeen hoped from him.

The command of the armies was distributed in the same manner as before,with the exception that M. de Choiseul had the army of the Rhine in placeof M. de Lorges. Every one set out to take the field. The Duc de laFeuillade in passing by Metz, to join the army in Germany, called uponhis uncle, who was very rich and in his second childhood. La Feuilladethought fit to make sure of his uncle's money beforehand, demanded thekey of the cabinet and of the coffers, broke them open upon being refusedby the servants, and took away thirty thousand crowns in gold, and manyjewels, leaving untouched the silver. The King, who for a long time hadbeen much discontented with La Feuillade for his debauches and hisnegligence, spoke very strongly and very openly upon this strangeforestalling of inheritance. It was only with great difficulty he couldbe persuaded not to strip La Feuillade of his rank.

Our campaign was undistinguished by any striking event. From June toSeptember of this year (1696), we did little but subsist and observe,after which we recrossed the Rhine at Philipsburg, where our rear guardwas slightly inconvenienced by the enemy. In Italy there was moremovement. The King sought to bring about peace by dividing the forces ofhis enemies, and secretly entered into a treaty with Savoy. Theconditions were, that every place belonging to Savoy which had been takenby our troops should be restored, and that a marriage should take placebetween Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne and the daughter of the Duke ofSavoy, when she became twelve years of age. In the mean time she was tobe sent to the Court of France, and preparations were at once made thereto provide her with a suitable establishment.

The King was ill with an anthrax in the throat. The eyes of all Europewere turned towards him, for his malady was not without danger;nevertheless in his bed he affected to attend to affairs as usual; and hearranged there with Madame de Maintenon, who scarcely ever quitted hisside, the household of the Savoy Princess. The persons selected for theoffices in that household were either entirely devoted to Madame deMaintenon, or possessed of so little wit that she had nothing to fearfrom them. A selection which excited much envy and great surprise wasthat of the duch*esse de Lude to be lady of honour. The day before shewas appointed, Monsieur had mentioned her name in sport to the King."Yes," said the King, "she would be the best woman in the world to teachthe Princess to put rouge and patches on her cheek;" and then, beingmore devout than usual, he said other things as bitter and marking strongaversion on his part to the duch*ess. In fact, she was no favourite ofhis nor of Madame de Maintenon; and this was so well understood that thesurprise of Monsieur and of everybody else was great, upon finding, theday after this discourse, that she had been appointed to the place.

The cause of this was soon learnt. The duch*esse de Lude coveted much tobe made lady of honour to the Princess, but knew she had but littlechance, so many others more in favour than herself being in the field.Madame de Maintenon had an old servant named Nanon, who had been with herfrom the time of her early days of misery, and who had such influencewith her, that this servant was made much of by everybody at Court, evenby the ministers and the daughters of the King. The duch*esse de Lude hadalso an old servant who was on good terms with the other. The affairtherefore was not difficult. The duch*esse de Lude sent twenty thousandcrowns to Nanon, and on the very evening of the day on which the King hadspoken to Monsieur, she had the place. Thus it is! A Nanon sells themost important and the most brilliant offices, and a duch*ess of highbirth is silly enough to buy herself into servitude!

This appointment excited much envy. The Marechal de Rochefort, who hadexpected to be named, made a great ado. Madame de Maintenon, whodespised her, was piqued, and said that she should have had it but forthe conduct of her daughter. This was a mere artifice; but the daughterwas, in truth, no sample of purity. She had acted in such a manner withBlansac that he was sent for from the army to marry her, and on the verynight of their wedding she gave birth to a daughter. She was full ofwit, vivacity, intrigue, and sweetness; yet most wicked, false, andartificial, and all this with a simplicity of manner, that imposed evenupon those who knew her best. More than gallant while her face lasted,she afterwards was easier of access, and at last ruined herself for themeanest valets. Yet, notwithstanding her vices, she was the prettiestflower of the Court bunch, and had her chamber always full of the bestcompany: she was also much sought after by the three daughters of theKing. Driven away from the Court, she was after much supplicationrecalled, and pleased the King so much that Madame de Maintenon, in fearof her, sent her away again. But to go back again to the household ofthe Princess of Savoy.

Dangeau was made chevalier d'honneur. He owed his success to his goodlooks, to the court he paid to the King's mistresses, to his skilfulnessat play, and to a lucky stroke of fortune. The King had oftentimes beenimportuned to give him a lodging, and one day, joking with him upon hisfancy of versifying; proposed to him some very hard rhymes, and promisedhim a lodging if he filled them up upon the spot. Dangeau accepted,thought but for a moment, performed the task, and thus gained hislodging. He was an old friend of Madame de Maintenon, and it was to herhe was indebted for his post of chevalier d'honneur in the new household.

Madame d'O was appointed lady of the palace. Her father, namedGuilleragues, a gluttonous Gascon, had been one of the intimate friendsof Madame Scarron, who, as Madame de Maintenon, did not forget her oldacquaintance, but procured him the embassy to Constantinople. Dyingthere, he left an only daughter, who, on the voyage home to France,gained the heart of Villers, lieutenant of the vessel, and became hiswife in Asia-Minor, near the ruins of Troy. Villers claimed to be of thehouse of d'O; hence the name his wife bore.

Established at the Court, the newly-married couple quickly workedthemselves into the favour of Madame de Maintenon, both being very cleverin intrigue. M. d'O was made governor of the Comte de Toulouse, and soongained his entire confidence. Madame d'O, too, infinitely pleased the,young Count, just then entering upon manhood, by her gallantry, her wit,and the facilities she allowed him. Both, in consequence, grew in greatesteem with the King. Had they been attendants upon Princes of theblood, he would assuredly have slighted them. But he always showed greatindulgence to those who served his illegitimate children. Hence theappointment of Madame d'O to be lady of the palace.

The household of the Princess of Savoy being completed, the members of itwere sent to the Pont Beauvosin to meet their young mistress. Shearrived early on the 16th of October, slept at the Pont Beauvosin thatnight, and on the morrow parted with her Italian attendants withoutshedding a single tear. On the 4th of November she arrived at Montargis,and was received by the King, Monseigneur, and Monsieur. The King handedher down from her coach, and conducted her to the apartment he hadprepared for her. Her respectful and flattering manners pleased himhighly. Her cajoleries, too, soon bewitched Madame de Maintenon, whomshe never addressed except as "Aunt;" whom she treated with a respect,and yet with a freedom, that ravished everybody. She became the doll ofMadame de Maintenon and the King, pleased them infinitely by herinsinuating spirit, and took greater liberties with them than thechildren of the King had ever dared to attempt.

CHAPTER X

Meanwhile our campaign upon the Rhine proceeded, and the enemy, havinghad all their grand projects of victory defeated by the firmness and thecapacity of the Marechal de Choiseul, retired into winter-quarters, andwe prepared to do the same. The month of October was almost over whenMadame de Saint-Simon lost M. Fremont, father of the Marechal de Lorges.She had happily given birth to a daughter on the 8th of September. I wasdesirous accordingly to go to Paris, and having obtained permission fromthe Marechal de Choiseul, who had treated me throughout the campaign withmuch politeness and attention, I set out. Upon arriving at Paris I foundthe Court at Fontainebleau. I had arrived from the army a little beforethe rest, and did not wish that the King should know it without seeingme, lest he might think I had returned in secret. I hastened at oncetherefore to Fontainebleau, where the King received me with his usualgoodness,-saying, nevertheless, that I had returned a little too early,but that it was of no consequence.

I had not long left his presence when I learned a report that made myface burn again. It was affirmed that when the King remarked upon myarriving a little early, I had replied that I preferred arriving at onceto see him, as my sole mistress, than to remain some days in Paris, asdid the other young men with their mistresses. I went at once to theKing, who had a numerous company around him; and I openly denied what hadbeen reported, offering a reward for the discovery of the knave who hadthus calumniated me, in order that I might give him a sound thrashing.All day I sought to discover the scoundrel. My speech to the King and mycholer were the topic of the day, and I was blamed for having spoken soloudly and in such terms. But of two evils I had chosen the least,—areprimand from the King, or a few days in the Bastille; and I had avoidedthe greatest, which was to allow myself to be believed an infamouslibeller of our young men, in order to basely and miserably curry favourat the Court. The course I took succeeded. The King said nothing of thematter, and I went upon a little journey I wished particularly to take,for reasons I will now relate.

I had, as I have already mentioned, conceived a strong attachment andadmiration for M. de La Trappe. I wished to secure a portrait of him,but such was his modesty and humility that I feared to ask him to allowhimself to be painted. I went therefore to Rigault, then the firstportrait-painter in Europe. In consideration of a sum of a thousandcrowns, and all his expenses paid, he agreed to accompany me to LaTrappe, and to make a portrait of him from memory. The whole affair wasto be kept a profound secret, and only one copy of the picture was to bemade, and that for the artist himself.

My plan being fully arranged, I and Rigault set out. As soon as wearrived at our journey's end, I sought M. de La Trappe, and begged to beallowed to introduce to him a friend of mine, an officer, who much wishedto see him: I added, that my friend was a stammerer, and that thereforehe would be importuned merely with looks and not words. M. de La Trappesmiled with goodness, thought the officer curious about little, andconsented to see him. The interview took place. Rigault excusinghimself on the ground of his infirmity, did little during three-quartersof an hour but keep his eyes upon M. de La Trappe, and at the end wentinto a room where materials were already provided for him, and coveredhis canvas with the images and the ideas he had filled himself with.On the morrow the same thing was repeated, although M. de La Trappe,thinking that a man whom he knew not, and who could take no part inconversation, had sufficiently seen him, agreed to the interview only outof complaisance to me. Another sitting was needed in order to finish thework; but it was with great difficulty M. de La Trappe could be persuadedto consent to it. When the third and last interview was at an end, M. deLa Trappe testified to me his surprise at having been so much and so longlooked at by a species of mute. I made the best excuses I could, andhastened to turn the conversation.

The portrait was at length finished, and was a most perfect likeness ofmy venerable friend. Rigault admitted to me that he had worked so hardto produce it from memory, that for several months afterwards he had beenunable to do anything to his other portraits. Notwithstanding thethousand crowns I had paid him, he broke the engagement he had made byshowing the portrait before giving it up to me. Then, solicited forcopies, he made several, gaining thereby, according to his own admission,more than twenty-five thousand francs, and thus gave publicity to theaffair.

I was very much annoyed at this, and with the noise it made in the world;and I wrote to M. de La Trappe, relating the deception I had practisedupon him, and sued for pardon. He was pained to excess, hurt, andafflicted; nevertheless he showed no anger. He wrote in return to me,and said, I was not ignorant that a Roman Emperor had said, "I lovetreason but not traitors;" but that, as for himself, he felt on thecontrary that he loved the traitor but could only hate his treason.I made presents of three copies of the picture to the monastery of LaTrappe. On the back of the original I described the circ*mstance underwhich the portrait had been taken, in order to show that M. de La Trappehad not consented to it, and I pointed out that for some years he hadbeen unable to use his right hand, to acknowledge thus the error whichhad been made in representing him as writing.

The King, about this time, set on foot negotiations for peace in Holland,sending there two plenipotentiaries, Courtin and Harlay, andacknowledging one of his agents, Caillieres, who had been for some littletime secretly in that country.

The year finished with the disgrace of Madame de Saint Geran. She was onthe best of terms with the Princesses, and as much a lover of good cheeras Madame de Chartres and Madame la duch*esse. This latter had in thepark of Versailles a little house that she called the "Desert." Thereshe had received very doubtful company, giving such gay repasts that theKing, informed of her doings, was angry, and forbade her to continuethese parties or to receive certain guests. Madame de Saint Geran wasthen in the first year of her mourning, so that the King did not think itnecessary to include her among the interdicted; but he intimated that hedid not approve of her. In spite of this, Madame la duch*esse invited herto an early supper at the Desert a short time after, and the meal wasprolonged so far into the night, and with so much gaiety, that it came tothe ears of the King. He was in great anger, and learning that Madame deSaint Geran had been of the party, sentenced her to be banished twentyleagues from the Court. Like a clever woman, she retired into a conventat Rouen, saying that as she had been unfortunate enough to displease theKing, a convent was the only place for her; and this was much approved.

At the commencement of the next year (1697) the eldest son of the Comted'Auvergne completed his dishonour by a duel he fought with the Chevalierde Caylus, on account of a tavern broil, and a dispute about somewenches. Caylus, who had fought well, fled from the kingdom; the other,who had used his sword like a poltroon, and had run away dismayed intothe streets, was disinherited by his father, sent out of the country, andreturned no more. He was in every respect a wretch, who, on account ofhis disgraceful adventures, was forced to allow himself to bedisinherited and to take the cross of Malta; he was hanged in effigy atthe Greve, to the great regret of his family, not on account of thesentence, but because, in spite of every entreaty, he had been proceededagainst like the most obscure gentleman. The exile of Caylus afterwardsmade his fortune.

We had another instance, about this time, of the perfidy of Harlay. Hehad been entrusted with a valuable deposit by Ruvigny, a Huguenotofficer, who, quitting France, had entered the service of the Prince ofOrange, and who was, with the exception of Marshal Schomberg, the onlyHuguenot to whom the King offered the permission of remaining at Courtwith full liberty to practise his religion in secret. This, Ruvigny,like Marshal Schomberg, refused. He was, nevertheless, allowed to retainthe property he possessed in France; but after his death his son, notshowing himself at all grateful for this favour, the King at lastconfiscated the property, and publicly testified his anger. This was themoment that Harlay seized to tell the King of the deposit he had. As arecompense the King gave it to him as confiscated, and this hypocrite ofjustice, of virtue, of disinterestedness, and of rigorism was not ashamedto appropriate it to himself, and to close his ears and his eyes to thenoise this perfidy excited.

M. de Monaco, who had obtained for himself the title of foreign prince bythe marriage of his son with the duch*esse de Valentinois, daughter of M.le Grand, and who enjoyed, as it were, the sovereignty of a rock—beyondwhose narrow limits anybody might spit, so to speak, whilst standing inthe middle—soon found, and his son still more so, that they had boughtthe title very dearly. The duch*ess was charming, gallant, and wasspoiled by the homage of the Court, in a house open night and day, and towhich her beauty attracted all that was young and brilliant. Herhusband, with much intelligence, was diffident; his face and figure hadacquired for him the name of Goliath; he suffered for a long time thehaughtiness and the disdain of his wife and her family. At last he andhis father grew tired and took away Madame de Valentinois to Monaco. Shegrieved, and her parents also, as though she had been carried off to theIndies. After two years of absence and repentance, she promised marvels,and was allowed to return to Paris. I know not who counselled her, but,without changing her conduct, she thought only how to prevent a return toMonaco; and to insure herself against this, she accused her father-in-lawof having made vile proposals to her, and of attempting to take her byforce. This charge made a most scandalous uproar, but was believed bynobody. M. de Monaco was no longer young; he was a very honest man, andhad always passed for such; besides, he was almost blind in both eyes,and had a huge pointed belly, which absolutely excited fear, it juttedout so far!

After some time, as Madame de Valentinois still continued to swim in thepleasures of the Court under the shelter of her family, her husbandredemanded her; and though he was laughed at at first, she was at lastgiven up to him.

A marriage took place at this time between the son of Pontchartrain andthe daughter of the Comte de Roye. The Comte de Roye was a Huguenot,and, at the revocation of the edict of Nantes, had taken refuge, with hiswife, in Denmark, where he had been made grand marshal and commander ofall the troops. One day, as the Comte de Roye was dining with his wifeand daughter at the King's table, the Comtesse de Roye asked her daughterif she did not think the Queen of Denmark and Madame Panache resembledeach other like two drops of water? Although she spoke in French and ina low tone, the Queen both heard and understood her, and inquired at oncewho was Madame Panache. The Countess in her surprise replied, that shewas a very amiable woman at the French Court. The Queen, who had noticedthe surprise of the Countess, was not satisfied with this reply. Shewrote to the Danish minister at Paris, desiring to be informed of everyparticular respecting Madame Panache, her face, her age, her condition,and upon what footing she was at the French Court. The minister, allastonished that the Queen should have heard of Madame Panache, wrote wordthat she was a little and very old creature, with lips and eyes sodisfigured that they were painful to look upon; a species of beggar whohad obtained a footing at Court from being half-witted, who was now atthe supper of the King, now at the dinner of Monseigneur, or at otherplaces, where everybody amused themselves by tormenting her: She in turnabused the company at these parties, in order to cause diversion, butsometimes rated them very seriously and with strong words, whichdelighted still more those princes and princesses, who emptied into herpockets meat and ragouts, the sauces of which ran all down herpetticoats: at these parties some gave her a pistole or a crown, andothers a filip or a smack in the face, which put her in a fury, becausewith her bleared eyes not being able to see the end of her nose, shecould not tell who had struck her;—she was, in a word, the pastime ofthe Court!

Upon learning this, the Queen of Denmark was so piqued, that she could nolonger suffer the Comtesse de Roye near her; she complained to the King:he was much offended that foreigners, whom he had loaded with favour,should so repay him. The Comte de Roye was unable to stand up againstthe storm, and withdrew to England, where he died a few years after.

The King at this time drove away the company of Italian actors, and wouldnot permit another in its place. So long as the Italians had simplyallowed their stage to overflow with filth or impiety they only causedlaughter; but they set about playing a piece called "The False Prude," inwhich Madame de Maintenon was easily recognised. Everybody ran to seethe piece; but after three or four representations, given consecutivelyon account of the gain it brought, the Italians received orders to closetheir theatre and to quit the realm in a month. This affair made a greatnoise; and if the comedians lost an establishment by their boldness andfolly, they who drove them away gained nothing—such was the licence withwhich this ridiculous event was spoken of!

CHAPTER XI

The disposition of the armies was the same this year as last, except thatthe Princes did not serve. Towards the end of May I joined the army ofthe Rhine, under the Marechal de Choiseul, as before. We made someskilful manoeuvres, but did little in the way of fighting. For sixteendays we encamped at Nieder-buhl, where we obtained a good supply offorage. At the end of that time the Marechal de Choiseul determined tochange his position. Our army was so placed, that the enemy could seealmost all of it quite distinctly; yet, nevertheless, we succeeded indecamping so quickly, that we disappeared from under their very eyes inopen daylight, and in a moment as it were. Such of the Imperial Generalsas were out riding ran from all parts to the banks of the Murg, to seeour retreat, but it was so promptly executed that there was no time forthem, to attempt to hinder us. When the Prince of Baden was told of ourdeparture he could not credit it. He had seen us so lately, quietlyresting in our position, that it seemed impossible to him we had left itin such a short space of time. When his own eyes assured him of thefact, he was filled with such astonishment and admiration, that he askedthose around him if they had ever seen such a retreat, adding, that hecould not have believed, until then, that an army so numerous and soconsiderable should have been able to disappear thus in an instant.This honourable and bold retreat was attended by a sad accident. One ofour officers, named Blansac, while leading a column of infantry throughthe wood, was overtaken by night. A small party of his men heard somecavalry near them. The cavalry belonged to the enemy, and had lost theirway. Instead of replying when challenged, they said to each other inGerman, "Let us run for it." Nothing more was wanting to draw upon thema discharge from the small body of our men, by whom they had been heard.To this they replied with their pistols. Immediately, and withoutorders, the whole column of infantry fired in that direction, and, beforeBlansac could inquire the cause, fired again. Fortunately he was notwounded; but five unhappy captains were killed, and some subalternswounded.

Our campaign was brought to an end by the peace of Ryswick. The firstnews of that event arrived at Fontainebleau on the 22nd of September.Celi, son of Harlay, had been despatched with the intelligence; but hedid not arrive until five o'clock in the morning of the 26th ofSeptember. He had amused himself by the way with a young girl who hadstruck his fancy, and with some wine that he equally relished. He hadcommitted all the absurdities and impertinences which might be expectedof a debauched, hare-brained young fellow, completely spoiled by hisfather, and he crowned all by this fine delay.

A little time before the signing of peace, the Prince de Conti, havingbeen elected King of Poland, set out to take possession of his throne.The King, ravished with joy to see himself delivered from a Prince whomhe disliked, could not hide his satisfaction—his eagerness—to get ridof a Prince whose only faults were that he had no bastard blood in hisveins, and that he was so much liked by all the nation that they wishedhim at the head of the army, and murmured at the little favour hereceived, as compared with that showered down upon the illegitimatechildren.

The King made all haste to treat the Prince to royal honours. After aninterview in the cabinet of Madame de Maintenon, he presented him to anumber of ladies, saying, "I bring you a king." The Prince was all alongdoubtful of the validity of his election, and begged that the Princessmight not be treated as a queen, until he should have been crowned.He received two millions in cash from the King, and other assistances.Samuel Bernard undertook to make the necessary payments in Poland. ThePrince started by way of Dunkerque, and went to that place at such speed,that an ill-closed chest opened, and two thousand Louis were scattered onthe road, a portion only of which was brought back to the Hotel Conti.The celebrated Jean Bart pledged himself to take him safely, despite theenemy's fleet; and kept his word. The convoy was of five frigates. TheChevalier de Sillery, before starting, married Mademoiselle Bigot, richand witty, with whom he had been living for some time. Meanwhile thebest news arrived from our ambassador, the Abbe de Polignac, to the King;but all answers were intercepted at Dantzic by the retired Queen ofPoland, who sent on only the envelopes! However, the Prince de Contipassed up the Sound; and the King and Queen of Denmark watched them fromthe windows of the Chateau de Cronenbourg. Jean Bart, against custom,ordered a salute to be fired. It was returned; and as some light vesselspassing near the frigates said that the King and Queen were looking on,the Prince ordered another salvo.

There was, however, another claimant to the throne of Poland; I mean theElector of Saxony, who had also been elected, and who had many partisans;so many, indeed, that when the Prince de Conti arrived at Dantzic, hefound himself almost entirely unsupported. The people even refusedprovision to his frigates. However, the Prince's partisans at lengtharrived to salute him. The Bishop of Plosko gave him a grand repast,near the Abbey of Oliva. Marege, a Gascon gentleman of the Prince'ssuite, was present, but had been ill. There was drinking in the Polishfashion, and he tried to be let off. The Prince pleaded for him; butthese Poles, who, in order to make themselves understood, spoke Latin—and very bad Latin indeed—would not accept such an excuse, and forcinghim to drink, howled furiously 'Bibat et Moriatur! Marege, who was veryjocular and yet very choleric; used to tell this story in the samespirit, and made everyone who heard it laugh.

However, the party of the Prince de Conti made no way, and at length hewas fain to make his way back to France with all speed. The Kingreceived him very graciously, although at heart exceeding sorry to seehim again. A short time after, the Elector of Saxony mounted the throneof Poland without opposition, and was publicly recognised by the King,towards the commencement of August.

By the above-mentioned peace of Ryswick, the King acknowledged the Princeof Orange as King of England. It was, however, a bitter draught for himto swallow, and for these reasons: Some years before, the King hadoffered his illegitimate daughter, the Princesse de Conti, in marriage tothe Prince of Orange, believing he did that Prince great honour by theproposal. The Prince did not think in the same manner, and flatlyrefused; saying, that the House of Orange was accustomed to marry thelegitimate daughters of great kings, and not their bastards. These wordssank so deeply into the heart of the King, that he never forgot them; andoften, against even his most palpable interest, showed how firmly theindignation he felt at them had taken possession of his mind: Since then,the Prince of Orange had done all in his power to efface the effect hiswords had made, but every attempt was rejected with disdain. The King'sministers in Holland had orders to do all they could to thwart theprojects of the Prince of Orange, to excite people against him, toprotect openly those opposed to him, and to be in no way nigg*rd of moneyin order to secure the election of magistrates unfavourable to him. ThePrince never ceased, until the breaking-out of this war, to use everyeffort to appease the anger of the King. At last, growing tired, andhoping soon to make his invasion into England, he said publicly, that hehad uselessly laboured all his life to gain the favours of the King, butthat he hoped to be more fortunate in meriting his esteem. It may beimagined, therefore, what a triumph it was for him when he forced theKing to recognise him as monarch of England, and what that recognitioncost the King.

M. le Duc presided this year over the Assembly of the States of Burgundy,in place of his father M. le Prince, who did not wish to go there. TheDuke gave on that occasion a striking example of the friendship ofprinces, and a fine lesson to those who seek it. Santeuil, Canon ofSaint Victor, and the greatest Latin poet who has appeared for manycenturies, accompanied him. Santeuil was an excellent fellow, full ofwit and of life, and of pleasantries, which rendered him an admirableboon-companion. Fond of wine and of good cheer, he was not debauched;and with a disposition and talents so little fitted for the cloister,was nevertheless, at bottom, as good a churchman as with such a characterhe could be. He was a great favourite with all the house of Conde, andwas invited to their parties, where his witticisms, his verses, and hispleasantries had afforded infinite amusem*nt for many years.

M. le Duc wished to take him to Dijon. Santeuil tried to excuse himself,but without effect; he was obliged to go, and was established at thehouse of the Duke while the States were held. Every evening there was asupper, and Santeuil was always the life of the company. One evening M.le Duc diverted himself by forcing Santeuil to drink champagne, andpassing from pleasantry to pleasantry, thought it would be a good joke toempty his snuff-box, full of Spanish snuff, into a large glass of wine,and to make Santeuil drink it, in order to see what would happen. It wasnot long before he was enlightened upon this point. Santeuil was seizedwith vomiting and with fever, and in twice twenty-four hours the unhappyman died-suffering the tortures of the damned, but with sentiments ofextreme penitence, in which he received the sacrament, and edified acompany little disposed towards edification, but who detested such acruel joke.

In consequence of the peace just concluded at Ryswick, many fresharrangements were made about this time in our embassies abroad. Thisallusion to our foreign appointments brings to my mind an anecdote whichdeserves to be remembered. When M. de Vendome took Barcelona, theMontjoui (which is as it were its citadel) was commanded by the Prince ofDarmstadt. He was of the house of Hesse, and had gone into Spain to seekemployment; he was a relative of the Queen of Spain, and, being a verywell-made man, had not, it was said, displeased her. It was said also,and by people whose word was not without weight, that the same council ofVienna, which for reasons of state had made no scruple of poisoning thelate Queen of Spain (daughter of Monsieur), because she had no children,and because she had, also, too much ascendancy over the heart of herhusband; it was said, I say, that this same council had no scruples uponanother point. After poisoning the first Queen, it had remarried theKing of Spain to a sister of the Empress. She was tall, majestic, notwithout beauty and capacity, and, guided by the ministers of the Emperor,soon acquired much influence over the King her husband. So far all waswell, but the most important thing was wanting—she had no children. Thecouncil had hoped some from this second marriage, because it had lureditself into the belief that previously the fault rested with the lateQueen. After some years, this same council, being no longer able todisguise the fact that the King could have no children, sent the Princeof Darmstadt into Spain, for the purpose of establishing himself there,and of ingratiating himself into the favour of the Queen to such anextent that this defect might be remedied. The Prince of Darmstadt waswell received; he obtained command in the army; defended, as I have said,Barcelona; and obtained a good footing at the Court. But the object forwhich he had been more especially sent he could not accomplish. I willnot say whether the Queen was inaccessible from her own fault or that ofothers. Nor will I say, although I have been assured, but I believe bypersons without good knowledge of the subject, that naturally it wasimpossible for her to become a mother. I will simply say that the Princeof Darmstadt was on the best terms with the King and the Queen, and hadopportunities very rare in that country, without any fruit which couldput the succession of the monarchy in safety against the differentpretensions afloat, or reassure on that head the politic council ofVienna.

But to return to France.

Madame de Maintenon, despite the height to which her insignificance hadrisen, had yet her troubles. Her brother, who was called the Comted'Aubigne, was of but little worth, yet always spoke as though no manwere his equal, complained that he had not been made Marechal of France—sometimes said that he had taken his baton in money, and constantlybullied Madame de Maintenon because she did not make him a duke and apeer. He spent his time running after girls in the Tuileries, always hadseveral on his hands, and lived and spent his money with their familiesand friends of the same kidney. He was just fit for a strait-waistcoat,but comical, full of wit and unexpected repartees. A good, humorousfellow, and honest-polite, and not too impertinent on account of hissister's fortune. Yet it was a pleasure to hear him talk of the time ofScarron and the Hotel d'Albret, and of the gallantries and adventures ofhis sister, which he contrasted with her present position and devotion.He would talk in this manner, not before one or two, but in acompromising manner, quite openly in the Tuileries gardens, or in thegalleries of Versailles, before everybody, and would often drolly speakof the King as "the brother-in-law." I have frequently heard him talk inthis manner; above all, when he came (more often than was desired) todine with my father and mother, who were much embarrassed with him; atwhich I used to laugh in my sleeve.

A brother like this was a great annoyance to Madame de Maintenon. Hiswife, an obscure creature, more obscure, if possible, than her birth;—foolish to the last degree, and of humble mien, was almost equally so.Madame de Maintenon determined to rid herself of both. She persuaded herbrother to enter a society that had been established by a M. Doyen, atSt. Sulpice, for decayed gentlemen. His wife at the same time wasinduced to retire into another community, where, however, she did notfail to say to her companions that her fate was very hard, and that shewished to be free. As for d'Aubigne he concealed from nobody that hissister was putting a joke on him by trying to persuade him that he wasdevout, declared that he was pestered by priests, and that he should giveup the ghost in M. Doyen's house. He could not stand it long, and wentback to his girls and to the Tuileries, and wherever he could; but theycaught him again, and placed him under the guardianship of one of thestupidest priests of St. Sulpice, who followed him everywhere like hisshadow, and made him miserable. The fellow's name was Madot: he was goodfor no other employment, but gained his pay in this one by an assiduityof which perhaps no one else would have been capable. The only child ofthis Comte d'Aubigne was a daughter, taken care of by Madame deMaintenon, and educated under her eyes as though her own child.

Towards the end of the year, and not long after my return from the army,the King fixed the day for the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne to theyoung Princesse de Savoy. He announced that on that occasion he shouldbe glad to see a magnificent Court; and he himself, who for a long timehad worn only the most simple habits, ordered the most superb. This wasenough; no one thought of consulting his purse or his state; everyonetried to surpass his neighbour in richness and invention. Gold andsilver scarcely sufficed: the shops of the dealers were emptied in a fewdays; in a word luxury the most unbridled reigned over Court and city,for the fete had a huge crowd of spectators. Things went to such apoint, that the King almost repented of what he had said, and remarked,that he could not understand how husbands could be such fools as to ruinthemselves by dresses for their wives; he might have added, by dressesfor themselves. But the impulse had been given; there was now no time toremedy it, and I believe the King at heart was glad; for it pleased himduring the fetes to look at all the dresses. He loved passionately allkinds of sumptuosity at his Court; and he who should have held only towhat had been said, as to the folly of expense, would have grown littlein favour. There was no means, therefore, of being wise among so manyfools. Several dresses were necessary. Those for Madame Saint-Simon andmyself cost us twenty thousand francs. Workmen were wanting to make upso many rich habits. Madame la duch*esse actually sent her people to takesome by force who were working at the Duc de Rohan's! The King heard ofit, did not like it, and had the workmen sent back immediately to theHotel de Rohan, although the Duc de Rohan was one of the men he liked theleast in all France. The King did another thing, which showed that hedesired everybody to be magnificent: he himself chose the design for theembroidery of the Princess. The embroiderer said he would leave all hisother designs for that. The King would not permit this, but caused himto finish the work he had in hand, and to set himself afterwards at theother; adding, that if it was not ready in time, the Princess could dowithout it.

The marriage was fixed for Saturday, the 7th of December; and, to avoiddisputes and difficulties, the King suppressed all ceremonies. The dayarrived. At an early hour all the Court went to Monseigneur the Duc deBourgogne, who went afterwards to the Princess. A little before mid-daythe procession started from the salon, and proceeded to the chapel.

Cardinal de Coislin performed the marriage service.

As soon as the ceremony was finished, a courier, ready at the door of thechapel, started for Turin. The day passed wearily. The King and Queenof England came about seven o'clock in the evening, and some timeafterwards supper was served. Upon rising from the table, the Princesswas shown to her bed, none but ladies being allowed to remain in thechamber. Her chemise was given her by the Queen of England through theduch*esse de Lude. The Duc de Bourgogne undressed in another room, in themidst of all the Court, and seated upon a folding-chair. The King ofEngland gave him his shirt, which was presented by the Duc deBeauvilliers. As soon as the duch*esse de Bourgogne was in bed, the Ducde Bourgogne entered, and placed himself at her side, in the presence ofall the Court. Immediately afterwards everybody went away from thenuptial chamber, except Monseigneur, the ladies of the Princess, and theDuc de Beauvilliers, who remained at the pillow by the side of his pupil,with the duch*esse de Lude on the other side. Monseigneur stopped aquarter of an hour talking with the newly-married couple, then he madehis son get up, after having told him to kiss the Princess, in spite ofthe opposition of the duch*esse de Lude. As it proved, too, heropposition was not wrong. The King said he did not wish that hisgrandson should kiss the end of the Princess's finger until they werecompletely on the footing of man and wife. Monsieur le Duc de Bourgogneafter this re-dressed himself in the ante-chamber, and went to his ownbed as usual. The little Duc de Berry, spirited and resolute, did notapprove of the docility of his brother, and declared that he would haveremained in bed. The young couple were not, indeed, allowed to livetogether as man and wife until nearly two years afterwards. The firstnight that this privilege was granted them, the King repaired to theirchamber hoping to surprise them as they went to bed; but he found thedoors closed, and would not allow them to be opened. The marriage-fetesspread over several days. On the Sunday there was an assembly in theapartments of the new duch*esse de Bourgogne. It was magnificent by theprodigious number of ladies seated in a circle, or standing behind thestools, gentlemen in turn behind them, and the dresses of all beautiful.It commenced at six o'clock. The King came at the end, and led all theladies into the saloon near the chapel, where was a fine collation, andthe music. At nine o'clock he conducted Monsieur and Madame la duch*essede Bourgogne to the apartment of the latter, and all was finished for theday. The Princess continued to live just as before, and the ladies hadstrict orders never to leave her alone with her husband.

On the Wednesday there was a grand ball in the gallery, superblyornamented for the occasion. There was such a crowd, and such disorder,that even the King was inconvenienced, and Monsieur was pushed andknocked about in the crush. How other people fared may be imagined. Noplace was kept—strength or chance decided everything—people squeezed inwhere they could. This spoiled all the fete. About nine o'clockrefreshments were handed round, and at half-past ten supper was served.Only the Princesses of the blood and the royal family were admitted toit. On the following Sunday there was another ball, but this timematters were so arranged that no crowding or inconvenience occurred. Theball commenced at seven o'clock and was admirable; everybody appeared indresses that had not previously been seen. The King found that of Madamede Saint-Simon much to his taste, and gave it the palm over all theothers.

Madame de Maintenon did not appear at these balls, at least only for halfan hour at each. On the following Tuesday all the Court went at fouro'clock in the afternoon to Trianon, where all gambled until the arrivalof the King and Queen of England. The King took them into the theatre,where Destouches's opera of Isse was very well performed. The operabeing finished, everybody went his way, and thus these marriage-feteswere brought to an end.

Tesse had married his eldest daughter to La Varenne last year, and nowmarried his second daughter to Maulevrier, son of a brother of Colbert.This mention of La Varenne brings to my recollection a very pleasantanecdote of his ancestor, the La Varenne so known in all the memoirs ofthe time as having risen from the position of scullion to that of cook,and then to that of cloak-bearer to Henry IV., whom he served in hispleasures, and afterwards in his state-affairs. At the death of theKing, La Varenne retired, very old and very rich, into the country.Birds were much in vogue at that time, and he often amused himself withfalconry. One day a magpie perched on one of his trees, and neithersticks nor stones could dislodge it. La Varenne and a number ofsportsmen gathered around the tree and tried to drive away the magpie.Importuned with all this noise, the bird at last began to cry repeatedlywith all its might, "Pandar! Pandar!"

Now La Varenne had gained all he possessed by that trade. Hearing themagpie repeat again and again the same word, he took it into his headthat by a miracle, like the observation Balaam's ass made to his master,the bird was reproaching him for his sins. He was so troubled that hecould not help showing it; then, more and more agitated, he told thecause of his disturbance to the company, who laughed at him in the firstplace, but, upon finding that he was growing really ill, they endeavouredto convince him that the magpie belonged to a neighbouring village, whereit had learned the word. It was all in vain: La Varenne was so ill thathe was obliged to be carried home; fever seized him and in four days hedied.

CHAPTER XII

Here perhaps is the place to speak of Charles IV., Duc de Lorraine, sowell known by his genius, and the extremities to which he was urged. Hewas married in 1621 to the duch*esse Nicole, his cousin-german, but aftera time ceased to live with her. Being at Brussels he fell in love withMadame de Cantecroix, a widow. He bribed a courier to bring him news ofthe death of the duch*esse Nicole; he circulated the report throughout thetown, wore mourning, and fourteen days afterwards, in April, 1637,married Madame de Cantecroix. In a short time it was discovered that theduch*esse Nicole was full of life and health, and had not even been ill.Madame de Cantecroix made believe that she had been duped, but stilllived with the Duke. They continued to repute the duch*esse Nicole asdead, and lived together in the face of the world as though effectuallymarried, although there had never been any question either before orsince of dissolving the first marriage. The Duc Charles had by this finemarriage a daughter and then a son, both perfectly illegitimate, anduniversally regarded as such. Of these the daughter married Comte deLislebonne, by whom she had four children. The son, educated under hisfather's eye as legitimate, was called Prince de Vaudemont, and by thatname has ever since been known. He entered the service of Spain,distinguished himself in the army, obtained the support of the Prince ofOrange, and ultimately rose to the very highest influence and prosperity.People were astonished this year, that while the Princess of Savoy was atFontainebleau, just before her marriage, she was taken several times byMadame de Maintenon to a little unknown convent at Moret, where there wasnothing to amuse her, and no nuns who were known. Madame de Maintenonoften went there, and Monseigneur with his children sometimes; the lateQueen used to go also. This awakened much curiosity and gave rise tomany reports. It seems that in this convent there was a woman of colour,a Moorish woman, who had been placed there very young by Bontems, valetof the King. She received the utmost care and attention, but never wasshown to anybody. When the late Queen or Madame de Maintenon went, theydid not always see her, but always watched over her welfare. She wastreated with more consideration than people the most distinguished; andherself made much of the care that was taken of her, and the mystery bywhich she was surrounded. Although she lived regularly, it was easy tosee she was not too contented with her position. Hearing Monseigneurhunt in the forest one day, she forgot herself so far as to exclaim,"My brother is hunting!" It was pretended that she was a daughter of theKing and Queen, but that she had been hidden away on account of hercolour; and the report was spread that the Queen had had a miscarriage.Many people believed this story; but whether it was true or not hasremained an enigma.

The year 1698 commenced by a reconciliation between the Jesuits and theArchbishop of Rheims. That prelate upon the occasion of an ordinance hadexpressed himself upon matters of doctrine and morality in a manner thatdispleased the Jesuits. They acted towards him in their usual manner, bywriting an attack upon him, which appeared without any author's name.But the Archbishop complained to the King, and altogether stood hisground so firmly, that in the end the Jesuits were glad to give way,disavow the book, and arrange the reconciliation which took place.

The Czar, Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia, had at this time alreadycommenced his voyages; he was in Holland, learning ship-building.Although incognito, he wished to be recognised, but after his ownfashion; and was annoyed that, being so near to England, no embassy wassent to him from that country, which he wished to ally himself with forcommercial reasons.

At last an embassy arrived; he delayed for some time to give it anaudience, but in the end fixed the day and hour at which he would see it.The reception, however, was to take place on board a large Dutch vesselthat he was going to examine. There were two ambassadors; they thoughtthe meeting-place rather an odd one, but were obliged to go there. Whenthey arrived on board the Czar sent word that he was in the "top," andthat it was there he would see them. The ambassadors, whose feet wereunaccustomed to rope-ladders, tried to excuse themselves from mounting;but it was all in vain. The Czar would receive them in the "top" or notat all. At last they were compelled to ascend, and the meeting tookplace on that narrow place high up in the air. The Czar received themthere with as much majesty as though he had been upon his throne,listened to their harangue, replied very graciously, and then laughed atthe fear painted upon their faces, and good-humouredly gave them tounderstand that he had punished them thus for arriving so late.

After this the Czar passed into England, curious to see and learn as muchas possible; and, having well fulfilled his views, repaired into Holland.He wished to visit France, but the King civilly declined to receive him.He went, therefore, much mortified, to Vienna instead. Three weeks afterhis arrival he was informed of a conspiracy that had been formed againsthim in Moscow. He hastened there at once, and found that it was headedby his own sister; he put her in prison, and hanged her most guiltyaccomplices to the bars of his windows, as many each day as the barswould hold. I have related at once all that regards the Czar for thisyear, in order not to leap without ceasing from one matter to another; Ishall do this, and for the same reason, with that which follows.

The King of England was, as I have before said, at the height ofsatisfaction at having been recognised by the King (Louis XIV.), and atfinding himself secure upon the throne. But a usurper is never tranquiland content. William was annoyed by the residence of the legitimate Kingand his family at Saint Germains. It was too close to the King (ofFrance), and too near England to leave him without disquietude. He hadtried hard at Ryswick to obtain the dismissal of James II. from therealm, or at least from the Court of France, but without effect.Afterwards he sent the Duke of St. Albans to our King openly, in order tocompliment him upon the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne, but in realityto obtain the dismissal.

The Duke of St. Albans meeting with no success, the Duke of Portland wassent to succeed him. The Duke of Portland came over with a numerous andsuperb suite; he kept up a magnificent table, and had horses, liveries,furniture, and dresses of the most tasteful and costly kind. He was onhis way when a fire destroyed Whitehall, the largest and ugliest palacein Europe, and which has not since been rebuilt; so that the kings arelodged, and very badly, at St. James's Palace.

Portland had his first audience of the King on the 4th of February, andremained four months in France. His politeness, his courtly and gallantmanners, and the good cheer he gave, charmed everybody, and made himuniversally popular. It became the fashion to give fetes in his honour;and the astonishing fact is, that the King, who at heart was moreoffended than ever with William of Orange, treated this ambassador withthe most marked distinction. One evening he even gave Portland hisbedroom candlestick, a favour only accorded to the most considerablepersons, and always regarded as a special mark of the King's bounty.

Notwithstanding all these attentions, Portland was as unsuccessful as hispredecessor. The King had firmly resolved to continue his protection toJames II., and nothing could shake this determination. Portland waswarned from the first, that if he attempted to speak to the King upon thepoint, his labour would be thrown away; he wisely therefore kept silence,and went home again without in any way having fulfilled the mission uponwhich he had been sent.

We had another distinguished foreigner arrive in France about this time,—I mean, the Prince of Parma, respecting whom I remember a pleasingadventure. At Fontainebleau more great dancing-parties are given thanelsewhere, and Cardinal d'Estrees wished to give one there in honour ofthis Prince. I and many others were invited to the banquet; but thePrince himself, for whom the invitation was specially provided, wasforgotten. The Cardinal had given invitations right and left, but bysome omission the Prince had not had one sent to him. On the morning ofthe dinner this discovery was made. The Prince was at once sent to, buthe was engaged, and for several days. The dinner therefore took placewithout him; the Cardinal was much laughed at for his absence of mind.He was often similarly forgetful.

The Bishop of Poitiers died at the commencement of this year, and hisbishopric was given at Easter to the Abbe de Caudelet. The Abbe was avery good man, but made himself an enemy, who circulated the blackestcalumnies against him. Amongst other impostures it was said that theAbbe had gambled all Good Friday; the truth being, that in the evening,after all the services were over, he went to see the Marechale de Crequi,who prevailed upon him to amuse her for an hour by playing at piquet.But the calumny had such effect, that the bishopric of Poitiers was takenfrom him, and he retired into Brittany, where he passed the rest of hislife in solitude and piety. His brother in the meantime fully proved toPere de la Chaise the falsehood of this accusation; and he, who wasupright and good, did all he could to bestow some other living upon theAbbe, in recompense for that he had been stripped of. But the King wouldnot consent, although often importuned, and even reproached for hiscruelty.

It was known, too, who was the author of the calumny. It was the Abbe dela Chatre, who for a long time had been chaplain to the King, and who wasenraged against everyone who was made bishop before him. He was a mannot wanting in intelligence, but bitter, disagreeable, punctilious; veryignorant, because he would never study, and so destitute of morality,that I saw him say mass in the chapel on Ash Wednesday, after havingpassed a night, masked at a ball, where he said and did the most filthythings, as seen and heard by M. de La Vrilliere, before whom he unmasked,and who related this to me: half an hour after, I met the Abbe de laChatre, dressed and going to the altar. Other adventures had alreadydeprived him of all chance of being made bishop by the King.

The old Villars died at this time. I have already mentioned him ashaving been made chevalier d'honneur to the duch*esse de Chartres at hermarriage. I mention him now, because I omitted to say before the originof his name of Orondat, by which he was generally known, and which didnot displease him. This is the circ*mstance that gave rise to it.Madame de Choisy, a lady of the fashionable world, went one day to seethe Comtesse de Fiesque, and found there a large company. The Countesshad a young girl living with her, whose name was Mademoiselled'Outrelaise, but who was called the Divine. Madame de Choisy, wishingto go into the bedroom, said she would go there, and see the Divine.Mounting rapidly, she found in the chamber a young and very pretty girl,Mademoiselle Bellefonds, and a man, who escaped immediately upon seeingher. The face of this man being perfectly well made, so struck her,that, upon coming down again, she said it could only be that of Orondat.Now that romances are happily no longer read, it is necessary to say thatOrondat is a character in Cyrus, celebrated by his figure and his goodlooks, and who charmed all the heroines of that romance, which was thenmuch in vogue. The greater part of the company knew that Villars wasupstairs to see Mademoiselle de Bellefonds, with whom he was much inlove, and whom he soon afterwards married. Everybody therefore smiled atthis adventure of Orondat, and the name clung ever afterwards to Villars.

The Prince de Conti lost, before this time, his son, Prince la Roche-sur-Yon, who was only four years old. The King wore mourning for him,although it was the custom not to do so for children under seven years ofa*ge. But the King had already departed from this custom for one of thechildren of M. du Maine, and he dared not afterwards act differentlytowards the children of a prince of the blood. Just at the end ofSeptember, M. du Maine lost another child, his only son. The King weptvery much, and, although the child was considerably under seven years ofa*ge, wore mourning for it. The marriage of Mademoiselle to M. deLorraine was then just upon the point of taking place; and Monsieur(father of Mademoiselle) begged that this mourning might be laid asidewhen the marriage was celebrated. The King agreed, but Madame laduch*esse and the Princesse de Conti believed it apparently beneath themto render this respect to Monsieur, and refused to comply. The Kingcommanded them to do so, but they pushed the matter so far as to say thatthey had no other clothes. Upon this, the King ordered them to send andget some directly. They were obliged to obey, and admit themselvesvanquished; but they did so not without great vexation. M. de Cambrai'saffairs still continued to make a great stir among the prelates and atthe Court. Madame Guyon was transferred from the Vincennes to theBastille, and it was believed she would remain there all her life. TheDucs de Chevreuse and Beauvilliers lost all favour with M. de Maintenon,and narrowly escaped losing the favour of the King. An attempt was infact made, which Madame de Maintenon strongly supported, to get themdisgraced; and, but for the Archbishop of Paris, this would have takenplace. But this prelate, thoroughly upright and conscientious,counselled the King against such a step, to the great vexation of hisrelations, who were the chief plotters in the conspiracy to overthrow thetwo Dukes. As for M. de Cambrai's book 'Les Maxinies des Saints', it wasas little liked as ever, and underwent rather a strong criticism at thistime from M. de La Trappe, which did not do much to improve itsreputation. At the commencement of the dispute M. de Meaux had sent acopy of 'Les Maximes des Saints' to M. de La Trappe, asking as a friendfor his opinion of the work. M. de La Trappe read it, and was muchscandalized. The more he studied it, the more this sentiment penetratedhim. At last, after having well examined the book, he sent his opinionto M. de Meaux, believing it would be considered as private, and not beshown to anybody. He did not measure his words, therefore, but wroteopenly, that if M. de Cambrai was right he might burn the Evangelists,and complain of Jesus Christ, who could have come into the world only todeceive us. The frightful force of this phrase was so terrifying, thatM. de Meaux thought it worthy of being shown to Madame de Maintenon; andshe, seeking only to crush M. de Cambrai with all the authoritiespossible, would insist upon this opinion of M. de La Trappe beingprinted.

It may be imagined what triumphing there was on the one side, and whatpiercing cries on the other. The friends of M. de Cambrai complainedmost bitterly that M. de La Trappe had mixed himself up in the matter,and had passed such a violent and cruel sentence upon a book then underthe consideration of the Pope. M. de La Trappe on his side was muchafflicted that his letter had been published. He wrote to M. de Meauxprotesting against this breach of confidence; and said that, although hehad only expressed what he really thought, he should have been careful touse more measured language, had he supposed his letter would have seenthe light. He said all he could to heal the wounds his words had caused,but M. de Cambrai and his friends never forgave him for having writtenthem.

This circ*mstance caused much discussion, and M. de La Trappe, to whom Iwas passionately attached, was frequently spoken of in a manner thatcaused me much annoyance. Riding out one day in a coach with some of myfriends, the conversation took this turn. I listened in silence for sometime, and then, feeling no longer able to support the discourse, desiredto be set down, so that my friends might talk at their ease, without painto me. They tried to retain me, but I insisted and carried my point.Another time, Charost, one of my friends, spoke so disdainfully of M. deLa Trappe, and I replied to him with such warmth, that on the instant hewas seized with a fit, tottered, stammered, his throat swelled, his eyesseemed starting from his head, and his tongue from his mouth. Madame deSaint-Simon and the other ladies who were present flew to his assistance;one unfastened his cravat and his shirt-collar, another threw a jug ofwater over him and made him drink something; but as for me, I was struckmotionless at the sudden change brought about by an excess of anger andinfatuation. Charost was soon restored, and when he left I was taken totask by the ladies. In reply I simply smiled. I gained this by theoccurrence, that Charost never committed himself again upon the subjectof M. de La Trappe.

Before quitting this theme, I will relate an anecdote which has foundbelief. It has been said, that when M. de La Trappe was the Abbe deRance he was much in love with the beautiful Madame de Montbazon, andthat he was well treated by her. On one occasion after leaving her, inperfect health, in order to go into the country, he learnt that she hadfallen ill. He hastened back, entered hurriedly into her chamber, andthe first sight he saw there was her head, that the surgeons, in openingher, had separated from her body. It was the first intimation he had hadthat she was dead, and the surprise and horror of the sight so convertedhim that immediately afterwards he retired from the world. There isnothing true in all this except the foundation upon which the fictionarose. I have frankly asked M. de La Trappe upon this matter, and fromhim I have learned that he was one of the friends of Madame de Montbazon,but that so far from being ignorant of the time of her death, he was byher side at the time, administered the sacrament to her, and had neverquitted her during the few days she was ill. The truth is, her suddendeath so touched him, that it made him carry out his intention ofretiring from the world—an intention, however, he had formed for manyyears.

The affair of M. de Cambrai was not finally settled until thecommencement of the following year, 1699, but went on making more noiseday by day. At the date I have named the verdict from Rome arrivedTwenty-three propositions of the 'Maximes des Saints' were declared rash,dangerous, erroneous—'in globo'—and the Pope excommunicated those whor*ad the book or kept it in their houses. The King was much pleased withthis condemnation, and openly expressed his satisfaction. Madame deMaintenon appeared at the summit of joy. As for M. de Cambrai, he learnthis fate in a moment which would have overwhelmed a man with lessresources in himself. He was on the point of mounting into the pulpit:he was by no means troubled; put aside the sermon he had prepared, and,without delaying a moment, took for subject the submission due to theChurch; he treated this theme in a powerful and touching manner;announced the condemnation of his book; retracted the opinions he hadprofessed; and concluded his sermon by a perfect acquiescence andsubmission to the judgment the Pope had just pronounced. Two daysafterwards he published his retraction, condemned his book, prohibitedthe reading of it, acquiesced and submitted himself anew to hiscondemnation, and in the clearest terms took away from himself all meansof returning to his opinions. A submission so prompt, so clear, soperfect, was generally admired, although there were not wanting censorswho wished he had shown less readiness in giving way. His friendsbelieved the submission would be so flattering to the Pope, that M. deCambrai might rely upon advancement to a cardinalship, and steps weretaken, but without any good result, to bring about that event.

CHAPTER XIII

About this time the King caused Charnace to be arrested in a province towhich he had been banished. He was accused of many wicked things, and;amongst others, of coining. Charnace was a lad of spirit, who had beenpage to the King and officer in the body-guard. Having retired to hisown house, he often played off many a prank. One of these I willmention, as being full of wit and very laughable.

He had a very long and perfectly beautiful avenue before his house inAnjou, but in the midst of it were the cottage and garden of a peasant;and neither Charnace, nor his father before him, could prevail upon himto remove, although they offered him large sums. Charnace at lastdetermined to gain his point by stratagem. The peasant was a tailor,and lived all alone, without wife or child. One day Charnace sent forhim, said he wanted a Court suit in all haste, and, agreeing to lodge andfeed him, stipulated that he should not leave the house until it wasdone. The tailor agreed, and set himself to the work. While he was thusoccupied, Charnace had the dimensions of his house and garden taken withthe utmost exactitude; made a plan of the interior, showing the preciseposition of the furniture and the utensils; and, when all was done,pulled down the house and removed it a short distance off.

Then it was arranged as before with a similar looking garden, and at thesame time the spot on which it had previously stood was smoothed andlevelled. All this was done before the suit was finished. The workbeing at length over on both sides, Charnace amused the tailor until itwas quite dark, paid him, and dismissed him content. The man went on hisway down the avenue; but, finding the distance longer than usual, lookedabout, and perceived he had gone too far. Returning, he searcheddiligently for his house, but without being able to find it. The nightpassed in this exercise. When the day came, he rubbed his eyes, thinkingthey might have been in fault; but as he found them as clear as usual,began to believe that the devil had carried away his house, garden andall. By dint of wandering to and fro, and casting his eyes in everydirection, he saw at last a house which was as like to his as are twodrops of water to each other. Curiosity tempted him to go and examineit. He did so, and became convinced it was his own. He entered, foundeverything inside as he had left it, and then became quite persuaded hehad been tricked by a sorcerer. The day was not, however, very faradvanced before he learned the truth through the banter of hisneighbours. In fury he talked of going to law, or demanding justice, butwas laughed at everywhere. The King when he heard of it laughed also;and Charnace had his avenue free. If he had never done anything worsethan this, he would have preserved his reputation and his liberty.

A strange scene happened at Meudon after supper one evening, towards theend of July. The Prince de Conti and the Grand Prieur were playing, anda dispute arose respecting the game. The Grand Prieur, inflated by prideon account of the favours the King had showered upon him, and renderedaudacious by being placed almost on a level with the Princes of theblood, used words which would have been too strong even towards an equal.The Prince de Conti answered by a repartee, in which the other's honestyat play and his courage in war—both, in truth, little to boast about—were attacked. Upon this the Grand Prieur flew into a passion, flungaway the cards, and demanded satisfaction, sword in hand. The Prince deConti, with a smile of contempt, reminded him that he was wanting inrespect, and at the same time said he could have the satisfaction heasked for whenever he pleased. The arrival of Monseigneur, in hisdressing-gown, put an end to the fray. He ordered the Marquis deGesvres, who was one of the courtiers present, to report the whole affairto the King, and that every one should go to bed. On the morrow the Kingwas informed of what had taken place, and immediately ordered the GrandPrieur to go to the Bastille. He was obliged to obey, and remained inconfinement several days. The affair made a great stir at Court. ThePrinces of the blood took a very high tone, and the illegitimates weremuch embarrassed. At last, on the 7th of August, the affair was finallyaccommodated through the intercession of Monseigneur. The Grand Prieurdemanded pardon of the Prince de Conti in the presence of his brother, M.de Vendome, who was obliged to swallow this bitter draught, althoughagainst his will, in order to appease the Princes of the blood, who wereextremely excited.

Nearly at the same time, that is to say, on the 29th of May, in themorning Madame de Saint-Simon was happily delivered of a child. God didus the grace to give us a son. He bore, as I had, the name of Vidame ofChartres. I do not know why people have the fancy for these odd names,but they seduce in all nations, and they who feel the triviality of them,imitate them. It is true that the titles of Count and Marquis havefallen into the dust because of the quantity of people without wealth,and even without land, who usurp them; and that they have become soworthless, that people of quality who are Marquises or Counts (if theywill permit me to say it) are silly enough to be annoyed if those titlesare given to them in conversation. It is certain, however, that thesetitles emanated from landed creations, and that in their origin they hadfunctions attached to them, which, they have since outlived. Thevidames, on the contrary, were only principal officers of certainbishops, with authority to lead all the rest of their seigneurs' vassalsto the field, either to fight against other lords, or in the armies thatour kings used to assemble to combat their enemies before the creation ofa standing army put an end to the employment of vassals (there being nofurther need for them), and to all the power and authority of theseigneurs. There is thus no comparison between the title of vidame,which only marks a vassal, and the titles which by fief emanate from theKing. Yet because the few Vidames who have been known were illustrious,the name has appeared grand, and for this reason was given to me, andafterwards by me to my son:

Some little time before this, the King resolved to show all Europe, whichbelieved his resources exhausted by a long war, that in the midst ofprofound peace, he was as fully prepared as ever for arms. He wished atthe same time, to present a superb spectacle to Madame de Maintenon,under pretext of teaching the young Duc de Bourgogne his first lesson inwar. He gave all the necessary orders, therefore, for forming a camp atCompiegne, to be commanded by the Marechal de Boufflers under the youngDuke. On Thursday, the 28th of August, all the Court set out for thecamp. Sixty thousand men were assembled there. The King, as at themarriage of the Duc de Bourgogne, had announced that he counted uponseeing the troops look their best. The consequence of this was to excitethe army to an emulation that was repented of afterwards. Not only werethe troops in such beautiful order that it was impossible to give thepalm to any one corps, but their commanders added the finery andmagnificence of the Court to the majestic and warlike beauty of the men,of the arms, and of the horses; and the officers exhausted their means inuniforms which would have graced a fete.

Colonels, and even simple captains, kept open table; but the Marechal deBoufflers outstripped everybody by his expenditure, by his magnificence,and his good taste. Never was seen a spectacle so transcendent—sodazzling—and (it must be said) so terrifying. At all hours, day ornight, the Marechal's table was open to every comer—whether officer,courtier, or spectator. All were welcomed and invited, with the utmostcivility and attention, to partake of the good things provided. Therewas every kind of hot and cold liquors; everything which can be the mostwidely and the most splendidly comprehended under the term refreshment:French and foreign wines, and the rarest liqueurs in the utmostabundance. Measures were so well taken that quantities of game andvenison arrived from all sides; and the seas of Normandy, of Holland, ofEngland, of Brittany, even the Mediterranean, furnished all theycontained—the most unheard-of, extraordinary, and most exquisite—at agiven day and hour with inimitable order, and by a prodigious number ofhorsem*n and little express carriages. Even the water was fetched fromSainte Reine, from the Seine, and from sources the most esteemed; and itis impossible to imagine anything of any kind which was not at once readyfor the obscurest as for the most distinguished visitor, the guest mostexpected, and the guest not expected at all. Wooden houses andmagnificent tents stretched all around, in number sufficient to form acamp of themselves, and were furnished in the most superb manner, likethe houses in Paris. Kitchens and rooms for every purpose were there,and the whole was marked by an order and cleanliness that excitedsurprise and admiration. The King, wishing that the magnificence of thiscamp should be seen by the ambassadors, invited them there, and preparedlodgings for them. But the ambassadors claimed a silly distinction,which the King would not grant, and they refused his invitation. Thisdistinction I call silly because it brings no advantage with it of anykind. I am ignorant of its origin, but this is what it consists in.When, as upon such an occasion as this, lodgings are allotted to theCourt, the quartermaster writes in chalk, "for Monsieur Such-a-one," uponthose intended for Princes of the blood, cardinals, and foreign princes;but for none other. The King would not allow the "for" to be writtenupon the lodgings of the ambassadors; and the ambassadors, therefore,kept away. The King was much piqued at this, and I heard him say atsupper, that if he treated them as they deserved, he should only allowthem to come to Court at audience times, as was the custom everywhereelse.

The King arrived at the camp on Saturday, the 30th of August, and wentwith the Duc and duch*esse de Bourgogne and others to the quarters ofMarechal de Boufflers, where a magnificent collation was served up tothem—so magnificent that when the King returned, he said it would beuseless for the Duc de Bourgogne to attempt anything so splendid; andthat whenever he went to the camp he ought to dine with Marechal deBouffiers. In effect, the King himself soon after dined there, and ledto the Marechal's table the King of England, who was passing three orfour days in the camp.

On these occasions the King pressed Marechal de Boufflers to be seated.
He would never comply, but waited upon the King while the Duc de
Grammont, his brother-in-law, waited upon Monseigneur.

The King amused himself much in pointing out the disposition of thetroops to the ladies of the Court, and in the evening showed them a grandreview.

A very pleasant adventure happened at this review to Count Tesse, colonelof dragoons. Two days previously M. de Lauzun, in the course of chit-chat, asked him how he intended to dress at the review; and persuaded himthat, it being the custom, he must appear at the head of his troops in agrey hat, or that he would assuredly displease the King. Tesse, gratefulfor this information, and ashamed of his ignorance, thanked M. de Lauzun,and sent off for a hat in all haste to Paris. The King, as M. de Lauzunwell knew, had an aversion to grey, and nobody had worn it for severalyears. When, therefore, on the day of the review he saw Tesse in a hatof that colour, with a black feather, and a huge co*ckade dangling andflaunting above, he called to him, and asked him why he wore it. Tessereplied that it was the privilege of the colonel-general to wear that daya grey hat. "A grey hat," replied the King; "where the devil did youlearn that?"

"From M. de, Lauzun, Sire, for whom you created the charge," said Tesse,all embarrassment. On the instant, the good Lauzun vanished, burstingwith laughter, and the King assured Tesse that M. de Lauzun had merelybeen joking with him. I never saw a man so confounded as Tesse at this.He remained with downcast eyes, looking at his hat, with a sadness andconfusion that rendered the scene perfect. He was obliged to treat thematter as a joke, but was for a long time much tormented about it, andmuch ashamed of it.

Nearly every day the Princes dined with Marechal de Boufflers, whosesplendour and abundance knew no end. Everybody who visited him, even thehumblest, was served with liberality and attention. All the villages andfarms for four leagues round Compiegne were filled with people, French,and foreigners, yet there was no disorder. The gentlemen and valets atthe Marechal's quarters were of themselves quite a world, each morepolite than his neighbour, and all incessantly engaged from five o'clockin the morning until ten and eleven o'clock at night, doing the honoursto various guests. I return in spite of myself to the Marechal'sliberality; because, who ever saw it, cannot forget, or ever cease to bein a state of astonishment and admiration at its abundance andsumptuousness, or at the order, never deranged for a moment at a singlepoint, that prevailed.

The King wished to show the Court all the manoeuvres of war; the siege ofCompiegne was therefore undertaken, according to due form, with lines,trenches, batteries, mines, &c. On Saturday, the 13th of September, theassault took place. To witness it, the King, Madame de Maintenon, allthe ladies of the Court, and a number of gentlemen, stationed themselvesupon an old rampart, from which the plain and all the disposition of thetroops could be seen. I was in the half circle very close to the King.It was the most beautiful sight that can be imagined, to see all thatarmy, and the prodigious number of spectators on horse and foot, and thatgame of attack and defence so cleverly conducted.

But a spectacle of another sort, that I could paint forty years hence aswell as to-day, so strongly did it strike me, was that which from thesummit of this rampart the King gave to all his army, and to theinnumerable crowd of spectators of all kinds in the plain below. Madamede Maintenon faced the plain and the troops in her sedan-chair-alone,between its three windows drawn up-her porters having retired to adistance. On the left pole in front sat Madame la duch*esse de Bourgogne;and on the same side in a semicircle, standing, were Madame la duch*esse,Madame la Princesse de Conti, and all the ladies, and behind them again,many men. At the right window was the King, standing, and a little inthe rear, a semicircle of the most distinguished men of the Court. TheKing was nearly always uncovered; and every now and then stooped to speakto Madame de Maintenon, and explain to her what she saw, and the reasonof each movement. Each time that he did so she was obliging enough toopen the window four or five inches, but never half way; for I noticedparticularly, and I admit that I was more attentive to this spectaclethan to that of the troops. Sometimes she opened of her own accord toask some question of him, but generally it was he who, without waitingfor her, stooped down to instruct her of what was passing; and sometimes,if she did not notice him, he tapped at the glass to make her open it.He never spoke, save to her, except when he gave a few brief orders, orjust answered Madame la duch*esse de Bourgogne, who wanted to make himspeak, and with whom Madame de Maintenon carried on a conversation bysigns, without opening the front window, through which the young Princessscreamed to her from time to time. I watched the countenance of everyone carefully; all expressed surprise tempered with prudence and shame,that was, as it were, ashamed of itself: every one behind the chair andin the semicircle watched this scene more than what was going on in thearmy. The King often put his hat on the top of the chair in order to gethis head in to speak; and this continual exercise tired his loins verymuch. Monseigneur was on horseback in the plain with the young Princes.It was about five o'clock in the afternoon, and the weather was asbrilliant as could be desired.

Opposite the sedan-chair was an opening with some steps cut through thewall, and communicating with the plain below. It had been made for thepurpose of fetching orders from the King, should they be necessary. Thecase happened. Crenan, who commanded, sent Conillac, an officer in oneof the defending regiments, to ask for some instructions from the King.Conillac had been stationed at the foot of the rampart, where what waspassing above could not be seen. He mounted the steps; and as soon ashis head and shoulders were at the top, caught sight of the chair, theKing, and all the assembled company. He was not prepared for such ascene, and it struck him with such astonishment, that he stopped short,with mouth and eyes wide open-surprise painted upon every feature. I seehim now as distinctly as I did then. The King, as well as all the restof the company, remarked the agitation of Conillac, and said to him withemotion, "Well, Conillac! come up." Conillac remained motionless, andthe King continued, "Come up. What is the matter?" Conillac, thusaddressed, finished his ascent, and came towards the King with slow andtrembling steps, rolling his eyes from right to left like one deranged.Then he stammered something, but in a tone so low that it could not beheard. "What do you say?" cried the King. "Speak up." But Conillac wasunable; and the King, finding he could get nothing out of him, told himto go away. He did not need to be told twice, but disappeared at once.As soon as he was gone, the King, looking round, said, "I don't know whatis the matter with Conillac. He has lost his wits; he did not rememberwhat he had to say to me." No one answered.

Towards the moment of the capitulation, Madame de Maintenon apparentlyasked permission to go away, for the King cried, "The chairmen ofMadame!" They came and took her away; in less than a quarter of an hourafterwards the King retired also, and nearly everybody else. There wasmuch interchange of glances, nudging with elbows, and then whisperings inthe ear. Everybody was full of what had taken place on the rampartsbetween the King and Madame de Maintenon. Even the soldiers asked whatmeant that sedan-chair and the King every moment stooping to put his headinside of it. It became necessary gently to silence these questions ofthe troops. What effect this sight had upon foreigners present, and whatthey said of it, may be imagined. All over Europe it was as much talkedof as the camp of Compiegne itself, with all its pomp and prodigioussplendour.

The last act of this great drama was a sham fight. The execution wasperfect; but the commander, Rose, who was supposed to be beaten, wouldnot yield. Marechal de Boufflers sent and told him more than once thatit was time. Rose flew into a passion, and would not obey. The Kinglaughed much at this, and said, "Rose does not like to be beaten." Atlast he himself sent the order for retreat. Rose was forced then tocomply; but he did it with a very bad grace, and abused the bearer of theorder.

The King left the camp on Monday the 22d of September, much pleased withthe troops. He gave, in parting, six hundred francs to each cavalrycaptain, and three hundred francs to each captain of infantry. He gaveas much to the majors of all the regiments, and distributed some favoursto his household. To Marechal de Boufflers he presented one hundredthousand francs. All these gifts together amounted to something: butseparately were as mere drops of water. There was not a single regimentthat was not ruined, officers and men, for several years. As forMarechal de Boufflers, I leave it to be imagined what a hundred thousandfrancs were to him whose magnificence astounded all Europe, described asit was by foreigners who were witnesses of it, and who day after daycould scarcely believe their own eyes.

CHAPTER XIV

Here I will relate an adventure, which shows that, however wise andenlightened a man may be, he is never infallible. M. de La Trappe hadselected from amongst his brethren one who was to be his successor. Thename of this monk was D. Francois Gervaise. He had been in the monasteryfor some years, had lived regularly during that time, and had gained theconfidence of M. de La Trappe. As soon, however, as he received thisappointment, his manners began to change. He acted as though he werealready master, brought disorder and ill-feeling into the monastery, andsorely grieved M. de La Trapp; who, however, looked upon this afflictionas the work of Heaven, and meekly resigned him self to it. At last,Francois Gervaise was by the merest chance detected openly, undercirc*mstances which blasted his character for ever. His companion inguilt was brought before M. de La Trappe, to leave no doubt upon thematter. D. Francois Gervaise, utterly prostrated, resigned his office,and left La Trappe. Yet, even after this, he had the hardihood to showhimself in the world, and to try and work himself into the favour of Perela Chaise. A discovery that was made, effectually stopped short hishopes in this direction. A letter of his was found, written to a nunwith whom he had been intimate, whom he loved, and by whom he waspassionately loved. It was a tissue of filthiness and stark indecency,enough to make the most abandoned tremble. The pleasures, the regrets,the desires, the hopes of this precious pair, were all expressed in theboldest language, and with the utmost licence. I believe that so manyabominations are not uttered in several days, even in the worst places.For this offence Gervaise might have been confined in a dungeon all hislife, but he was allowed to go at large. He wandered from monastery tomonastery for five or six years, and always caused so much disorderwherever he stopped, that at last the superiors thought it best to lethim live as he liked in a curacy of his brother's. He never ceasedtroubling La Trappe, to which he wished to return; so that at last Iobtained a 'lettre de cachet', which prohibited him from approachingwithin thirty leagues of the abbey, and within twenty of Paris. It was Iwho made known to him that his abominations had been discovered. He wasin no way disturbed, declared he was glad to be free, and assured me withthe hypocrisy which never left him, that in his solitude he was going tooccupy himself in studying the Holy Scriptures.

Bonnceil, introducer of the ambassadors, being dead, Breteuil obtainedhis post. Breteuil was not without intellect, but aped courtly manners,called himself Baron de Breteuil, and was much tormented and laughed atby his friends. One day, dining at the house of Madame de Pontchartrain,and, speaking very authoritatively, Madame de Pontchartrain disputed withhim, and, to test his knowledge, offered to make a bet that he did notknow who wrote the Lord's Prayer. He defended himself as well as he wasable, and succeeded in leaving the table without being called upon todecide the point. Caumartin, who saw his embarrassment, ran to him, andkindly whispered in his ear that Moses was the author of the Lord'sPrayer. Thus strengthened, Breteuil returned to the attack, brought,while taking coffee, the conversation back again to the bet; and, afterreproaching Madame de Pontchartrain for supposing him ignorant upon sucha point, and declaring he was ashamed of being obliged to say such atrivial thing, pronounced emphatically that it was Moses who had writtenthe Lord's Prayer. The burst of laughter that, of course, followed this,overwhelmed him with confusion. Poor Breteuil was for a long time atloggerheads with his friend, and the Lord's Prayer became a standingreproach to him.

He had a friend, the Marquis de Gesvres, who, upon some points, was notmuch better informed. Talking one day in the cabinet of the King, andadmiring in the tone of a connoisseur some fine paintings of theCrucifixion by the first masters, he remarked that they were all by onehand.

He was laughed at, and the different painters were named, as recognizedby their style.

"Not at all," said the Marquis, "the painter is called INRI; do you notsee his name upon all the pictures?" What followed after such grossstupidity and ignorance may be imagined.

At the end of this year the King resolved to undertake three grandprojects, which ought to have been carried out long before: the chapel ofVersailles, the Church of the Invalides, and the altar of Notre-Dame deParis. This last was a vow of Louis XIII., made when, he no longer wasable to accomplish it, and which he had left to his successor, who hadbeen more than fifty years without thinking of it.

On the 6th of January, upon the reception of the ambassadors at the houseof the duch*esse de Bourogogne, an adventure happened which I will hererelate. M. de Lorraine belonged to a family which had been noted for itspretensions, and for the disputes of precedency in which it engaged. Hewas as prone to this absurdity as the rest, and on this occasion incitedthe Princesse d'Harcourt, one of his relations, to act in a manner thatscandalised all the Court. Entering the room in which the ambassadorswere to be received and where a large number of ladies were alreadycollected, she glided behind the duch*esse de Rohan, and told her to passto the left. The duch*esse de Rohan, much surprised, replied that she wasvery well placed already. Whereupon, the Princesse d'Harcourt, who wastall and strong, made no further ado, but with her two arms seized theduch*esse de Rohan, turned her round, and sat down in her place. All theladies were strangely scandalised at this, but none dared say a word, noteven Madame de Lude, lady in waiting on the duch*esse de Bourgogne, who,for her part also, felt the insolence of the act, but dared not speak,being so young. As for the duch*esse de Rohan, feeling that oppositionmust lead to fisticuffs, she curtseyed to the duch*ess, and quietlyretired to another place. A few minutes after this, Madame de Saint-Simon, who was then with child, feeling herself unwell, and tired ofstanding, seated herself upon the first cushion she could find. It sohappened, that in the position she thus occupied, she had takenprecedence of Madame d'Armagnac by two degrees. Madame d'Armagnac,,perceiving it, spoke to her upon the subject. Madame de Saint-Simon, whohad only placed herself there for a moment, did not reply, but wentelsewhere.

As soon as I learnt of the first adventure, I thought it important thatsuch an insult should not be borne, and I went and conferred with M. dela Rochefoucauld upon the subject, at the same time that Marechal deBoufflers spoke of it to M. de Noailles. I called upon other of myfriends, and the opinion was that the Duc de Rohan should complain to theKing on the morrow of the treatment his wife had received.

In the evening while I was at the King's supper, I was sent for by Madamede Saint-Simon, who informed me that the Lorraines, afraid of thecomplaints that would probably be addressed to the King upon what hadtaken place between the Princesse d'Harcourt and the duch*esse de Rohan,had availed themselves of what happened between Madame de Saint-Simon andMadame d'Armagnac, in order to be the first to complain, so that onemight balance the other. Here was a specimen of the artifice of thesegentlemen, which much enraged me. On the instant I determined to lose notime in speaking to the King; and that very evening I related what hadoccurred, in so far as Madame de Saint-Simon was concerned, but made noallusion to M. de Rohan's affair, thinking it best to leave that to besettled by itself on the morrow. The King replied to me very graciously,and I retired, after assuring him that all I had said was true frombeginning to end.

The next day the Duc de Rohan made his complaint. The King, who hadalready been fully informed of the matter, received him well, praised therespect and moderation of Madame de Rohan, declared Madame d'Harcourt tohave been very impertinent, and said some very hard words upon theLorraines.

I found afterwards, that Madame de Maintenon, who much favoured Madamed'Harcourt, had all the trouble in the world to persuade the King not toexclude her from the next journey to Marly. She received a severereprimand from the King, a good scolding from Madame de Maintenon, andwas compelled publicly to ask pardon of the duch*esse de Rohan. This shedid; but with a crawling baseness equal to her previous audacity. Suchwas the end of this strange history.

There appeared at this time a book entitled "Probleme," but without nameof author, and directed against M. de Paris, declaring that he haduttered sentiments favourable to the Jansenists being at Chalons, andunfavourable being at Paris. The book came from the Jesuits, who couldnot pardon M. de Paris for having become archbishop without theirassistance. It was condemned and burnt by decree of the Parliament, andthe Jesuits had to swallow all the shame of it. The author was soonafter discovered. He was named Boileau; not the friend of Bontems, whoso often preached before the King, and still less the celebrated poet andauthor of the 'Flagellants', but a doctor of much wit and learning whomM. de Paris had taken into his favour and treated like a brother. Whowould have believed that "Probleme" could spring from such a man? M. deParis was much hurt; but instead of imprisoning Boileau for the rest ofhis days, as he might have done, he acted the part of a great bishop, andgave him a good canonical of Saint Honore, which became vacant a few daysafterwards. Boileau, who was quite without means, completed hisdishonour by accepting it.

The honest people of the Court regretted a cynic who died at this time,I mean the Chevalier de Coislin. He was a most extraordinary man, verysplenetic, and very difficult to deal with. He rarely left Versailles,and never went to see the king. I have seen him get out of the way notto meet him. He lived with Cardinal Coislin, his brother. If anybodydispleased him, he would go and sulk in his own room; and if, whilst attable, any one came whom he did not like, he would throw away his plate,go off to sulk, or to finish his dinner all alone. One circ*mstance willpaint him completely. Being on a journey once with his brothers, the Ducde Coislin and the Cardinal de Coislin, the party rested for the night atthe house of a vivacious and very pretty bourgeoise. The Duc de Coislinwas an exceedingly polite man, and bestowed amiable compliments andcivilities upon their hostess, much to the disgust of the Chevalier. Atparting, the Duke renewed the politeness he had displayed so abundantlythe previous evening, and delayed the others by his long-windedflatteries. When, at last, they left the house, and were two or threeleagues away from it, the Chevalier de Coislin said, that, in spite ofall this politeness, he had reason to believe that their pretty hostesswould not long be pleased with the Duke. The Duke, disturbed, asked hisreason for thinking so. "Do you wish to learn it?" said the Chevalier;"well, then, you must know that, disgusted by your compliments, I went upinto the bedroom in which you slept, and made a filthy mess on the floor,which the landlady will no doubt attribute to you, despite all your finespeeches."

At this there was loud laughter, but the Duke was in fury, and wished toreturn in order to clear up his character. Although it rained hard, theyhad all the pains in the world to hinder him, and still more to bringabout a reconciliation. Nothing was more pleasant than to hear thebrothers relate this adventure each in his own way.

Two cruel effects of gambling were noticed at this time. Reineville, alieutenant of the body-guard, a general officer distinguished in war,very well treated by the King, and much esteemed by the captain of theGuards, suddenly disappeared, and could not be found anywhere, althoughthe utmost care was taken to search for him. He loved gaming. He hadlost what he could not pay. He was a man of honour, and could notsustain his misfortune. Twelve or fifteen years afterwards he wasrecognised among the Bavarian troops, in which he was serving in order togain his bread and to live unknown. The other case was still worse.Permillac, a man of much intelligence and talent, had lost more than hepossessed, and blew his brains out one morning in bed. He was much likedthroughout the army; had taken a friendship for me, and I for him.Everybody pitied him, and I much regretted him.

Nearly at the same time we lost the celebrated Racine, so known by hisbeautiful plays. No one possessed a greater talent or a more agreeablemien. There was nothing of the poet in his manners: he had the air of awell-bred and modest man, and at last that of a good man. He hadfriends, the most illustrious, at the Court as well as among men ofletters. I leave it to the latter to speak of him in a better way than Ican. He wrote, for the amusem*nt of the King and Madame de Maintenon,and to exercise the young ladies of Saint Cyr, two dramatic masterpieces,Esther and Athalie. They were very difficult to write, because therecould be no love in them, and because they are sacred tragedies, inwhich, from respect to the Holy Scriptures, it was necessary rigidly tokeep to the historical truth. They were several times played at SaintCyr before a select Court. Racine was charged with the history of theKing, conjointly with Despreaux, his friend. This employment, the piecesI have just spoken of, and his friends, gained for Racine some specialfavours: It sometimes happened that the King had no ministers with him,as on Fridays, and, above all, when the bad weather of winter renderedthe sittings very long; then he would send for Racine to amuse him andMadame de Maintenon. Unfortunately the poet was oftentimes very absent.It happened one evening that, talking with Racine upon the theatre, theKing asked why comedy was so much out of fashion. Racine gave severalreasons, and concluded by naming the principal,—namely, that for want ofnew pieces the comedians gave old ones, and, amongst others, those ofScarron, which were worth nothing, and which found no favour withanybody. At this the poor widow blushed, not for the reputation of thecripple attacked, but at hearing his name uttered in presence of hissuccessor! The King was also embarrassed, and the unhappy Racine, by thesilence which followed, felt what a slip he had made. He remained themost confounded of the three, without daring to raise his eyes or to openhis mouth. This silence did not terminate for several moments, so heavyand profound was the surprise. The end was that the King sent awayRacine, saying he was going to work. The poet never afterwards recoveredhis position. Neither the King nor Madame de Maintenon ever spoke to himagain, or even looked at him; and he conceived so much sorrow at this,that he fell into a languor, and died two years afterwards. At hisdeath, Valincourt was chosen to work in his place with Despreaux upon thehistory of the King.

The King, who had just paid the heavy gaming and tradesmen's debts ofMadame la duch*esse, paid also those of Monseigneur, which amounted tofifty thousand francs, undertook the payment of the buildings at Meudon,and, in lieu of fifteen hundred pistoles a month which he had allowedMonseigneur, gave him fifty thousand crowns. M. de la Rochefoucauld,always necessitous and pitiful in the midst of riches, a prey to hisservants, obtained an increase of forty-two thousand francs a-year uponthe salary he received as Grand Veneur, although it was but a short timesince the King had paid his debts. The King gave also, but in secret,twenty thousand francs a-year to M. de Chartres, who had spent so much injourneys and building that he feared he should be unable to pay hisdebts. He had asked for an abbey; but as he had already one, the Kingdid not like to give him another, lest it should be thought too much.

M. de Vendome began at last to think about his health, which hisdebauches had thrown into a very bad state. He took public leave of theKing and of all the Court before going away, to put himself in the handsof the doctors. It was the first and only example of such impudence.From this time he lost ground. The King said, at parting, that he hopedhe would come back in such a state that people might kiss him withoutdanger! His going in triumph, where another would have gone in shame andsecrecy, was startling and disgusting. He was nearly three months underthe most skilful treatment-and returned to the Court with half his nose,his teeth out, and a physiognomy entirely changed, almost idiotic. TheKing was so much struck by this change, that he recommended the courtiersnot to appear to notice it, for fear of afflicting M. de Vendome. Thatwas taking much interest in him assuredly. As, moreover, he had departedin triumph upon this medical expedition, so he returned triumphant by thereception of the King, which was imitated by all the Court. He remainedonly a few days, and then, his mirror telling sad tales, went away toAnet, to see if nose and teeth would come back to him with his hair.

A strange adventure, which happened at this time, terrified everybody,and gave rise to many surmises. Savary was found assassinated in hishouse at Paris he kept only a valet and a maid-servant, and they werediscovered murdered at the same time, quite dressed, like their master,and in different parts of the house. It appeared by writings foundthere, that the crime was one of revenge: it was supposed to have beencommitted in broad daylight. Savary was a citizen of Paris, very rich,without occupation, and lived like an epicurean. He had some friends ofthe highest rank, and gave parties, of all kinds of pleasure, at hishouse, politics sometimes being discussed. The cause of thisassassination was never known; but so much of it was found out, that noone dared to search for more. Few doubted but that the deed had beendone by a very ugly little man, but of a blood so highly respected, thatall forms were dispensed with, in the fear lest it should be brought hometo him; and, after the first excitement, everybody ceased to speak ofthis tragic history.

On the night between the 3rd and 4th of June, a daring robbery waseffected at the grand stables of Versailles. All the horse-cloths andtrappings, worth at least fifty thousand crowns, were carried off, and socleverly and with such speed, although the night was short, that notraces of them could ever afterwards be found. This theft reminds me ofanother which took place a little before the commencement of thesememoirs. The grand apartment at Versailles, that is to say, from thegallery to the tribune, was hung with crimson velvet, trimmed and fringedwith gold. One fine morning the fringe and trimmings were all found tohave been cut away. This appeared extraordinary in a place so frequentedall day, so well closed at night, and so well guarded at all times.Bontems, the King's valet, was in despair, and did his utmost to discoverthe thieves, but without success.

Five or six days afterwards, I was at the King's supper, with nobody butDaqum, chief physician, between the King and me, and nobody at allbetween one and the table. Suddenly I perceived a large black form inthe air, but before I could tell what it was, it fell upon the end of theKing's table just before the cover which had been laid for Monseigneurand Madame. By the noise it made in falling, and the weight of the thingitself, it seemed as though the table must be broken. The plates jumpedup, but none were upset, and the thing, as luck would have it, did notfall upon any of them, but simply upon the cloth. The King moved hishead half round, and without being moved in any way said, "I think thatis my fringe!"

It was indeed a bundle, larger than a flat-brimmed priest's hat, abouttwo feet in height, and shaped like a pyramid. It had come from behindme, from towards the middle door of the two ante-chambers, and a piece offringe getting loose in the air, had fallen upon the King's wig, fromwhich it was removed by Livry, a gentleman-in-waiting. Livry also openedthe bundle, and saw that it did indeed contain the fringes all twistedup, and everybody saw likewise. A murmur was heard. Livry wishing totake away the bundle found a paper attached to it. He took the paper andleft the bundle. The King stretched out his hand and said, "Let us see."Livry, and with reason, would not give up the paper, but stepped back,read it, and then passed it to Daquin, in whose hands I read it. Thewriting, counterfeited and long like that of a woman, was in thesewords:—" Take back your fringes, Bontems; they are not worth the troubleof keeping—my compliments to the King."

The paper was rolled up, not folded: the King wished to take it fromDaquin, who, after much hesitation, allowed him to read it, but did notlet it out of his hands. "Well, that is very insolent!" said the King,but in quite a placid unmoved tone—as it were, an historical tone.Afterwards he ordered the bundle to be taken away. Livry found it soheavy that he could scarcely lift it from the table, and gave it to anattendant who presented himself. The King spoke no more of this matter,nobody else dared to do so; and the supper finished as though nothing hadhappened.

Besides the excess of insolence and impudence of this act, it was soperilous as to be scarcely understood. How could any one, without beingseconded by accomplices, throw a bundle of this weight and volume in themidst of a crowd such as was always present at the supper of the King, sodense that it could with difficulty be passed through? How, in spite ofa circle of accomplices, could a movement of the arms necessary for sucha throw escape all eyes? The Duc de Gesvres was in waiting. Neither henor anybody else thought of closing the doors until the King had left thetable. It may be guessed whether the guilty parties remained until then,having had more than three-quarters of an hour to escape, and every issuebeing free. Only one person was discovered, who was not known, but heproved to be a very honest man, and was dismissed after a shortdetention. Nothing has since been discovered respecting this theft orits bold restitution.

CHAPTER XV

On the 12th August, Madame de Saint-Simon was happily delivered of asecond son, who bore the name of Marquis de Ruffec. A singular eventwhich happened soon after, made all the world marvel.

There arrived at Versailles a farrier, from the little town of Salon, inProvence, who asked to see the King in private. In spite of the rebuffshe met with, he persisted in his request, so that at last it got to theears of the King. The King sent word that he was not accustomed to grantsuch audiences to whoever liked to ask for them. Thereupon the farrierdeclared that if he was allowed to see the King he would tell him thingsso secret and so unknown to everybody else that he would be persuaded oftheir importance, demanding, if the King would not see him, to be sent toa minister of state. Upon this the King allowed him to have an interviewwith one of his secretaries, Barbezieux. But Barbezieux was not aminister of state, and to the great surprise of everybody, the farrier,who had only just arrived from the country, and who had never before leftit or his trade, replied, that not being a minister of state he would notspeak with him. Upon this he was allowed to see Pomponne, and conversewith him; and this is the story he told:

He said, that returning home late one evening he found himself surroundedby a great light, close against a tree and near Salon. A woman clad inwhite—but altogether in a royal manner, and beautiful, fair, and verydazzling—called him by his name, commanded him to listen to her, andspake to him more than half-an-hour. She told him she was the Queen,who had been the wife of the King; to whom she ordered him to go and saywhat she had communicated; assuring him that God would assist him throughall the journey, and that upon a secret thing he should say, the King,who alone knew that secret, would recognise the truth of all he uttered.She said that in case he could not see the King he was to speak with aminister of state, telling him certain things, but reserving certainothers for the King alone. She told him, moreover, to set out at once,assuring him he would be punished with death if he neglected to acquithimself of his commission. The farrier promised to obey her ineverything, and the queen then disappeared. He found himself in darknessnear the tree. He lay down and passed the night there, scarcely knowingwhether he was awake or asleep. In the morning he went home, persuadedthat what he had seen was a mere delusion and folly, and said nothingabout it to a living soul.

Two days afterwards he was passing by the same place when the same visionappeared to him, and he was addressed in the same terms. Fresh threatsof punishment were uttered if he did not comply, and he was ordered to goat once to the Intendant of the province, who would assuredly furnish himwith money, after saying what he had seen. This time the farrier wasconvinced there was no delusion in the matter; but, halting between hisfears and doubts, knew not what to do, told no one what had passed,and was in great perplexity. He remained thus eight days, and at lasthad resolved not to make the journey; when, passing by the same spot,he saw and heard the same vision, which bestowed upon him so manydreadful menaces that he no longer thought of anything but setting outimmediately. In two days from that time he presented himself, at Aix,to the Intendant of the province, who, without a moment's hesitation,urged him to pursue his journey, and gave him sufficient money to travelby a public conveyance. Nothing more of the story was ever known.

The farrier had three interviews with M. de Pomponne, each of two hours'length. M. de Pomponne rendered, in private, an account of these to theKing, who desired him to speak more fully upon the point in a councilcomposed of the Ducs de Beauvilliers, Pontchartrain, Torcy, and Pomponnehimself; Monseigneur to be excluded. This council sat very long, perhapsbecause other things were spoken of. Be that as it may, the King afterthis wished to converse with the farrier, and did so in his cabinet. Twodays afterwards he saw the man again; at each time was nearly an hourwith him, and was careful that no one was within hearing.

The day after the first interview, as the King was descending thestaircase, to go a-hunting, M. de Duras, who was in waiting, and who wasupon such a footing that he said almost what he liked, began to speak ofthis farrier with contempt, and, quoting the bad proverb, said, "The manwas mad, or the King was not noble." At this the King stopped, and,turning round, a thing he scarcely ever did in walking, replied, "If thatbe so, I am not noble, for I have discoursed with him long, he has spokento me with much good sense, and I assure you he is far from being mad."

These last words were pronounced with a sustained gravity which greatlysurprised those near, and which in the midst of deep silence opened alleyes and ears. After the second interview the King felt persuaded thatone circ*mstance had been related to him by the farrier, which he aloneknew, and which had happened more than twenty years before. It was thathe had seen a phantom in the forest of Saint Germains. Of this phantomhe had never breathed a syllable to anybody.

The King on several other occasions spoke favourably of the farrier;moreover, he paid all the expenses the man had been put to, gave him agratuity, sent him back free, and wrote to the Intendant of the provinceto take particular care of him, and never to let him want for anythingall his life.

The most surprising thing of all this is, that none of the ministerscould be induced to speak a word upon the occurrence. Their mostintimate friends continually questioned them, but without being able todraw forth a syllable. The ministers either affected to laugh at thematter or answered evasively. This was the case whenever I questionedM. de Beauvilliers or M. de Pontchartrain, and I knew from their mostintimate friends that nothing more could ever be obtained from M. dePomponne or M. de Torcy. As for the farrier himself, he was equallyreserved. He was a simple, honest, and modest man, about fifty years ofa*ge. Whenever addressed upon this subject, he cut short all discourse bysaying, "I am not allowed to speak," and nothing more could be extractedfrom him. When he returned to his home he conducted himself just asbefore, gave himself no airs, and never boasted of the interview he hadhad with the King and his ministers. He went back to his trade, andworked at it as usual.

Such is the singular story which filled everybody with astonishment, butwhich nobody could understand. It is true that some people persuadedthemselves, and tried to persuade others, that the whole affair was aclever trick, of which the simple farrier had been the dupe. They saidthat a certain Madame Arnoul, who passed for a witch, and who, havingknown Madame de Maintenon when she was Madame Scarron, still kept up asecret intimacy with her, had caused the three visions to appear to thefarrier, in order to oblige the King to declare Madame de Maintenonqueen. But the truth of the matter was never known.

The King bestowed at this time some more distinctions on his illegitimatechildren. M. du Maine, as grand-master of the artillery, had to bereceived at the Chambre des Comptes; and his place ought to have been,according to custom, immediately above that of the senior member. Butthe King wished him to be put between the first and second presidents;and this was done. The King accorded also to the Princesse de Conti thather two ladies of honour should be allowed to sit at the duch*esse deBourgogne's table. It was a privilege that no lady of honour to aPrincess of the blood had ever been allowed. But the King gave thesedistinctions to the ladies of his illegitimate children, and refused itto those of the Princesses of the blood.

In thus according honours, the King seemed to merit some new oneshimself. But nothing fresh could be thought of. What had been donetherefore at his statue in the Place des Victoires, was done over againin the Place Vendome on the 13th August, after midday. Another statuewhich had been erected there was uncovered. The Duc de Gesvres, Governorof Paris, was in attendance on horseback, at the head of the city troops,and made turns, and reverences, and other ceremonies, imitated from thosein use at the consecration of the Roman Emperors. There were, it istrue, no incense and no victims: something more in harmony with the titleof Christian King was necessary. In the evening, there was upon theriver a fine illumination, which Monsieur and Madame went to see.

A difficulty arose soon after this with Denmark. The Prince Royal hadbecome King, and announced the circ*mstance to our King, but would notreceive the reply sent him because he was not styled in it "Majesty."We had never accorded to the Kings of Denmark this title, and they hadalways been contented with that of "Serenity." The King in his turnwould not wear mourning for the King of Denmark, just dead, although healways did so for any crowned head, whether related to him or not. Thisstate of things lasted some months; until, in the end, the new King ofDenmark gave way, received the reply as it had been first sent, and ourKing wore mourning as if the time for it had not long since passed.

Boucherat, chancellor and keeper of the seals, died on the 2nd ofSeptember. Harlay, as I have previously said, had been promised thisappointment when it became vacant. But the part he had taken in our casewith M. de Luxembourg had made him so lose ground, that the appointmentwas not given to him. M. de la Rochefoucauld, above all, had underminedhim in the favour of the King; and none of us had lost an opportunity ofassisting in this work. Our joy, therefore, was extreme when we saw allHarlay's hopes frustrated, and we did not fail to let it burst forth.The vexation that Harlay conceived was so great, that he becameabsolutely intractable, and often cried out with a bitterness he couldnot contain, that he should be left to die in the dust of the palace.His weakness was such, that he could not prevent himself six weeks afterfrom complaining to the King at Fontainebleau, where he was playing thevalet with his accustomed suppleness and deceit. The King put him offwith fine speeches, and by appointing him to take part in a commissionthen sitting for the purpose of bringing about a reduction in the priceof corn in Paris and the suburbs, where it had become very dear. Harlaymade a semblance of being contented, but remained not the less annoyed.His health and his head were at last so much attacked that he was forcedto quit his post: he then fell into contempt after having excited so muchhatred. The chancellorship was given to Pontchartrain, and the office ofcomptroller-general, which became vacant at the same time, was given toChamillart; a very honest man, who owed his first advancement to hisskill at billiards, of which game the King was formerly very fond.It was while Chamillart was accustomed to play billiards with the King,at least three times a week, that an incident happened which ought not tobe forgotten. Chamillart was Counsellor of the Parliament at that time.He had just reported on a case that had been submitted to him.The losing party came to him, and complained that he had omitted to bringforward a document that had been given into his hands, and that wouldassuredly have turned the verdict. Chamillart searched for the document,found it, and saw that the complainer was right. He said so, and added,—"I do not know how the document escaped me, but it decides in yourfavour. You claimed twenty thousand francs, and it is my fault you didnot get them. Come to-morrow, and I will pay you." Chamillart, althoughthen by no means rich, scraped together all the money he had, borrowingthe rest, and paid the man as he had promised, only demanding that thematter should be kept a secret. But after this, feeling that billiardsthree times a week interfered with his legal duties, he surrendered partof them, and thus left himself more free for other charges he was obligedto attend to.

The Comtesse de Fiesque died very aged, while the Court was atFontainebleau this year. She had passed her life with the most frivolousof the great world. Two incidents amongst a thousand will characteriseher. She was very straitened in means, because she had frittered awayall her substance, or allowed herself to be pillaged by her businesspeople. When those beautiful mirrors were first introduced she obtainedone, although they were then very dear and very rare. "Ah, Countess!"said her friends, "where did you find that?"

"Oh!" replied she, "I had a miserable piece of land, which only yieldedme corn; I have sold it, and I have this mirror instead. Is not thisexcellent? Who would hesitate between corn and this beautiful mirror?"

On another occasion she harangued with her son, who was as poor as a rat,for the purpose of persuading him to make a good match and thus enrichhimself. Her son, who had no desire to marry, allowed her to talk on,and pretended to listen to her reasons: She was delighted—entered into adescription of the wife she destined for him, painting her as young,rich, an only child, beautiful, well-educated, and with parents who wouldbe delighted to agree to the marriage. When she had finished, he pressedher for the name of this charming and desirable person. The Countesssaid she was the daughter of Jacquier, a man well known to everybody,and who had been a contractor of provisions to the armies of M. deTurenne. Upon this, her son burst out into a hearty laugh, and she inanger demanded why he did so and what he found so ridiculous in thematch.

The truth was, Jacquier had no children, as the Countess soon remembered.At which she said it was a great pity, since no marriage would havebetter suited all parties. She was full of such oddities, which shepersisted in for some time with anger, but at which she was the first tolaugh. People said of her that she had never been more than eighteenyears old. The memoirs of Mademoiselle paint her well. She lived withMademoiselle, and passed all her life in quarrels about trifles.

It was immediately after leaving Fontainebleau that the marriage betweenthe Duc and duch*esse de Bourgogne was consummated. It was upon thisoccasion that the King named four gentlemen to wait upon the Duke,—four who in truth could not have been more badly chosen. One of them,Gamaches, was a gossip; who never knew what he was doing or saying—who knew nothing of the world, or the Court, or of war, although he hadalways been in the army. D'O was another; but of him I have spoken.Cheverny was the third, and Saumery the fourth. Saumery had been raisedout of obscurity by M. de Beauvilliers. Never was man so intriguing, sotruckling, so mean, so boastful, so ambitious, so intent upon fortune,and all this without disguise, without veil, without shame! Saumery hadbeen wounded, and no man ever made so much of such a mishap. I used tosay of him that he limped audaciously, and it was true. He would speakof personages the most distinguished, whose ante-chambers even he hadscarcely seen, as though he spoke of his equals or of his particularfriends. He related what he had heard, and was not ashamed to say beforepeople who at least had common sense, "Poor Mons. Turenne said to me,"M. de Turenne never having probably heard of his existence. WithMonsieur in full he honoured nobody. It was Mons. de Beauvilliers, Mons.de Chevreuse, and so on; except with those whose names he clipped offshort, as he frequently would even with Princes of the blood. I haveheard him say many times, "the Princesse de Conti," in speaking of thedaughter of the King; and "the Prince de Conti," in speaking of Monsieurher brother-in-law! As for the chief nobles of the Court, it was rarefor him to give them the Monsieur or the Mons. It was Marechald'Humieres, and so on with the others. Fatuity and insolence were unitedin him, and by dint of mounting a hundred staircases a day, and bowingand scraping everywhere, he had gained the ear of I know not how manypeople. His wife was a tall creature, as impertinent as he, who wore thebreeches, and before whom he dared not breathe. Her effrontery blushedat nothing, and after many gallantries she had linked herself on to M. deDuras, whom she governed, and of whom she was publicly and absolutely themistress, living at his expense. Children, friends, servants, all wereat her mercy; even Madame de Duras herself when she came, which was butseldom, from the country.

Such were the people whom the King placed near M. le Duc de Bourgogne.

The Duc de Gesvres, a malicious old man, a cruel husband and unnaturalfather, sadly annoyed Marechal de Villeroy towards the end of this year,having previously treated me very scurvily for some advice I gave himrespecting the ceremonies to be observed at the reception by the King ofM. de Lorraine as Duc de Bar. M. de Gesvres and M. de Villeroy had bothhad fathers who made large fortunes and who became secretaries of state.One morning M. de Gesvres was waiting for the King, with a number ofother courtiers, when M. de Villeroy arrived, with all that noise andthose airs he had long assumed, and which his favour and his appointmentsrendered more superb. I know not whether this annoyed De Gesvres, morethan usual, but as soon as the other had placed himself, he said,"Monsieur le Marechal, it must be admitted that you and I are verylucky." The Marechal, surprised at a remark which seemed to be suggestedby nothing, assented with a modest air, and, shaking his head and hiswig, began to talk to some one else. But M. de Gesvres had not commencedwithout a purpose. He went on, addressed M. de Villeroy point-blank,admiring their mutual good fortune, but when he came to speak of thefather of each, "Let us go no further," said he, "for what did ourfathers spring from? From tradesmen; even tradesmen they werethemselves. Yours was the son of a dealer in fresh fish at the markets,and mine of a pedlar, or, perhaps, worse. Gentlemen," said he,addressing the company, "have we not reason to think our fortuneprodigious—the Marechal and I?" The Marechal would have liked tostrangle M. de Gesvres, or to see him dead—but what can be done with aman who, in order to say something cutting to you, says it to himselffirst? Everybody was silent, and all eyes were lowered. Many, however,were not sorry to see M. de Villeroy so pleasantly humiliated. The Kingcame and put an end to the scene, which was the talk of the Court forseveral days.

Omissions must be repaired as soon as they are perceived. Other mattershave carried me away. At the commencement of April, Ticquet, Counsellorat the Parliament, was assassinated in his own house; and if he did notdie, it was not the fault of his porter, or of the soldier who hadattempted to kill him, and who left him for dead, disturbed by a noisethey heard. This councillor, who was a very poor man, had complained tothe King, the preceding year, of the conduct of his wife withMontgeorges, captain in the Guards, and much esteemed. The Kingprohibited Montgeorges from seeing the wife of the councillor again.

Such having been the case, when the crime was attempted, suspicion fellupon Montgeorges and the wife of Ticquet, a beautiful, gallant, and boldwoman, who took a very high tone in the matter. She was advised to fly,and one of my friends offered to assist her to do so, maintaining that inall such cases it is safer to be far off than close at hand. The womanwould listen to no such advice, and in a few days she was no longer able.The porter and the soldier were arrested and tortured, and MadameTicquet, who was foolish enough to allow herself to be arrested, alsounderwent the same examination, and avowed all. She was condemned tolose her head, and her accomplice to be broken on the wheel. Montgeorgesmanaged so well, that he was not legally criminated. When Ticquet heardthe sentence, he came with all his family to the King, and sued formercy. But the King would not listen to him, and the execution tookplace on Wednesday, the 17th of June, after mid-day, at the Greve. Allthe windows of the Hotel de Ville, and of the houses in the Place deGreve, in the streets that lead to it from the Conciergerie of the palacewhere Madame Ticquet was confined, were filled with spectators, men andwomen, many of title and distinction. There were even friends of bothsexes of this unhappy woman, who felt no shame or horror in going there.In the streets the crowd was so great that it could not be passedthrough. In general, pity was felt for the culprit; people hoped shewould be pardoned, and it was because they hoped so, that they went tosee her die. But such is the world; so unreasoning, and so little inaccord with itself.

CHAPTER XVI

The year 1700 commenced by a reform. The King declared that he would nolonger bear the expense of the changes that the courtiers introduced intotheir apartments. It had cost him more than sixty thousand francs sincethe Court left Fontainebleau. It is believed that Madame de Mailly wasthe cause of this determination of the King; for during the last two orthree years she had made changes in her apartments every year.

A difficulty occurred at this time which much mortified the King. Littleby little he had taken all the ambassadors to visit Messieurs du Maineand de Toulouse, as though they were Princes of the blood. The nuncio,Cavallerini, visited them thus, but upon his return to Rome was so takento task for it, that his successor, Delfini, did not dare to imitate him.The cardinals considered that they had lowered themselves, sinceRichelieu and Mazarm, by treating even the Princes of the blood on termsof equality, and giving them their hand, which had not been customary mthe time of the two first ministers just named. To do so to theillegitimate offspring of the King, and on occasions of ceremony,appeared to them monstrous. Negotiations were carried on for a month,but Delfini would not bend, and although in every other respect he hadafforded great satisfaction during his nunciature, no farewell audiencewas given to him; nor even a secret audience. He was deprived of thegift of a silver vessel worth eighteen hundred francs, that it wascustomary to present to the cardinal nuncios at their departure: and hewent away without saying adieu to anybody.

Some time before, M. de Monaco had been sent as ambassador to Rome. Heclaimed to be addressed by the title of "Highness," and persisted in itwith so much obstinacy that he isolated, himself from almost everybody,and brought the affairs of his embassy nearly to a standstill by thefetters he imposed upon them in the most necessary transactions. Tiredat last of the resistance he met with, he determined to refuse the titleof "Excellence," although it might fairly belong to them, to all whor*fused to address him as "Highness." This finished his affair; forafter that determination no one would see him, and the business of theembassy suffered even more than before. It is difficult to comprehendwhy the King permitted such a man to remain as his representative at aforeign Court.

Madame de Navailles died on the 14th of February: Her mother, Madame deNeuillant, who became a widow, was avarice itself. I cannot say by whataccident or chance it was that Madame de Maintenon in returning young andpoor from America, where she had lost her father and mother, fell inlanding at Rochelle into the hands of Madame de Neuillant, who lived inPoitou. Madame de Neuillant took home Madame de Maintenon, but could notresolve to feed her without making her do something in return. Madame deMaintenon was charged therefore with the key of the granary, had tomeasure out the corn and to see that it was given to the horses. It wasMadame de Neuillant who brought Madame de Maintenon to Paris, and to getrid of her married her to Scarron, and then retired into Poitou.

Madame de Navailles was the eldest daughter of this Madame de Neuillant,and it was her husband, M. de Navailles, who, serving under M. le Princein Flanders, received from that General a strong reprimand for hisignorance. M. le Prince wanted to find the exact position of a littlebrook which his maps did not mark. To assist him in the search, M. deNavailles brought a map of the world! On another occasion, visitingM. Colbert, at Sceaux, the only thing M. de Navailles could find topraise was the endive of the kitchen garden: and when on the occasion ofthe Huguenots the difficulty of changing religion was spoken of, hedeclared that if God had been good enough to make him a Turk, he shouldhave remained so.

Madame de Navailles had been lady of honour to the Queen-mother, and lostthat place by a strange adventure.

She was a woman of spirit and of virtue, and the young ladies of honourwere put under her charge. The King was at this time young and gallant.So long as he held aloof from the chamber of the young ladies, Madame deNavailles meddled not, but she kept her eye fixed upon all that shecontrolled. She soon perceived that the King was beginning to amusehimself, and immediately after she found that a door had secretly beenmade into the chamber of the young ladies; that this door communicatedwith a staircase by which the King mounted into the room at night, andwas hidden during the day by the back of a bed placed against it. Uponthis Madame de Navailles held counsel with her husband. On one side wasvirtue and honour, on the other, the King's anger, disgrace, and exile.The husband and wife did not long hesitate. Madame de Navailles at oncetook her measures, and so well, that in a few hours one evening the doorwas entirely closed up. During the same night the King, thinking toenter as usual by the little staircase, was much surprised to no longerfind a door. He groped, he searched, he could not comprehend thedisappearance of the door, or by what means it had become wall again.Anger seized him; he doubted not that the door had been closed by Madamede Navailles and her husband. He soon found that such was the case, andon the instant stripped them of almost all their offices, and exiled themfrom the Court. The exile was not long; the Queen-mother on her death-bed implored him to receive back Monsieur and Madame de Navailles, and hecould not refuse. They returned, and M. de Navailles nine yearsafterwards was made Marechal of France. After this Madame de Navaillesrarely appeared at the Court. Madame de Maintenon could not refuse herdistinctions and special favours, but they were accorded rarely and bymoments. The King always remembered his door; Madame de Maintenon alwaysremembered the hay and barley of Madame de Neuillant, and neither yearsnor devotion could deaden the bitterness of the recollection.

From just before Candlemas-day to Easter of this year, nothing was heardof but balls and pleasures of the Court. The King gave at Versailles andat Marly several masquerades, by which he was much amused, under pretextof amusing the duch*esse de Bourgogne. At one of these balls at Marly aridiculous scene occurred. Dancers were wanting and Madame de Luxembourgon account of this obtained an invitation, but with great difficulty, forshe lived in such a fashion that no woman would see her. Monsieur deLuxembourg was perhaps the only person in France who was ignorant ofMadame de Luxembourg's conduct. He lived with his wife on apparentlygood terms and as though he had not the slightest mistrust of her. Onthis occasion, because of the want of dancers, the King made older peopledance than was customary, and among others M. de Luxembourg. Everybodywas compelled to be masked. M. de Luxembourg spoke on this subject toM. le Prince, who, malicious as any monkey, determined to divert all theCourt and himself at the Duke's expense. He invited M. de Luxembourg tosupper, and after that meal was over, masked him according to his fancy.

Soon after my arrival at the ball, I saw a figure strangely clad in longflowing muslin, and with a headdress on which was fixed the horns of astag, so high that they became entangled in the chandelier. Of courseeverybody was much astonished at so strange a sight, and all thought thatthat mask must be very sure of his wife to deck himself so. Suddenly themask turned round and showed us M. de Luxembourg. The burst of laughterat this was scandalous. Good M. de Luxembourg, who never was veryremarkable for wit, benignly took all this laughter as having beenexcited simply by the singularity of his costume, and to the questionsaddressed him, replied quite simply that his dress had been arranged byM. le Prince; then, turning to the right and to the left, he admiredhimself and strutted with pleasure at having been masked by M. le Prince.In a moment more the ladies arrived, and the King immediately after them.The laughter commenced anew as loudly as ever, and M. de Luxembourgpresented himself to the company with a confidence that was ravishing.His wife had heard nothing of this masquerading, and when she saw it,lost countenance, brazen as she was. Everybody stared at her and herhusband, and seemed dying of laughter. M. le Prince looked at the scenefrom behind the King, and inwardly laughed at his malicious trick. Thisamusem*nt lasted throughout all the ball, and the King, self-contained ashe usually was, laughed also; people were never tired of admiring aninvention so, cruelly ridiculous, and spoke of it for several days.

No evening passed on which there was not a ball. The chancellor's wifegave one which was a fete the most gallant and the most magnificentpossible. There were different rooms for the fancy-dress ball, for themasqueraders, for a superb collation, for shops of all countries,Chinese, Japanese, &c., where many singular and beautiful things weresold, but no money taken; they were presents for the duch*esse deBourgogne and the ladies. Everybody was especially diverted at thisentertainment, which did not finish until eight o'clock in the morning.Madame de Saint-Simon and I passed the last three weeks of this timewithout ever seeing the day. Certain dancers were only allowed to leaveoff dancing at the same time as the duch*esse de Bourgogne. One morning,at Marty, wishing to escape too early, the duch*ess caused me to beforbidden to pass the doors of the salon; several of us had the samefate. I was delighted when Ash Wednesday arrived; and I remained a dayor two dead beat, and Madame de Saint-Simon could not get over ShroveTuesday.

La Bourlie, brother of Guiscard, after having quitted the service, hadretired to his estate near Cevennes, where he led a life of much licence.About this time a robbery was committed in his house; he suspected one ofthe servants, and on his own authority put the man to the torture. Thiscirc*mstance could not remain so secret but that complaints spreadabroad. The offence was a capital one. La Bourlie fled from the realm,and did many strange things until his death, which was still morestrange; but of which it is not yet time to speak.

Madame la duch*esse, whose heavy tradesmen's debts the King had paid notlong since, had not dared to speak of her gambling debts, also veryheavy. They increased, and, entirely unable to pay them, she foundherself in the greatest embarrassment. She feared, above all things,lest M. le Prince or M. le Duc should hear of this. In this extremityshe addressed herself to Madame de Maintenon, laying bare the state ofher finances, without the slightest disguise. Madame de Maintenon hadpity on her situation, and arranged that the King should pay her debts,abstain from scolding her, and keep her secret. Thus, in a few weeks,Madame la duch*esse found herself free of debts, without anybody whom shefeared having known even of their existence.

Langlee was entrusted with the payment and arrangement of these debts.He was a singular kind of man at the Court, and deserves a word. Born ofobscure parents, who had enriched themselves, he had early beenintroduced into the great world, and had devoted himself to play, gainingan immense fortune; but without being accused of the least unfairness.With but little or no wit, but much knowledge of the world, he hadsucceeded in securing many friends, and in making his way at the Court.He joined in all the King's parties, at the time of his mistresses.Similarity of tastes attached Langlee to Monsieur, but he never lostsight of the King. At all the fetes Langlee was present, he took part inthe journeys, he was invited to Marly, was intimate with all the King'smistresses; then with all the daughters of the King, with whom indeed hewas so familiar that he often spoke to them with the utmost freedom. Hehad become such a master of fashions and of fetes that none of the latterwere given, even by Princes of the blood, except under his directions;and no houses were bought, built, furnished, or ornamented, without histaste being consulted. There were no marriages of which the dresses andthe presents were not chosen, or at least approved, by him. He was onintimate terms with the most distinguished people of the Court; and oftentook improper advantage of his position. To the daughters of the Kingand to a number of female friends he said horribly filthy things, andthat too in their own houses, at St. Cloud or at Marly. He was oftenmade a confidant in matters of gallantry, and continued to be made so allhis life. For he was a sure man, had nothing disagreeable about him, wasobliging, always ready to serve others with his purse or his influence,and was on bad terms with no one.

While everybody, during all this winter, was at balls and amusem*nts,the beautiful Madame de Soubise—for she was so still—employed herselfwith more serious matters. She had just bought, very cheap, the immenseHotel de Guise, that the King assisted her to pay for. Assisted also bythe King, she took steps to make her bastard son canon of Strasbourg;intrigued so well that his birth was made to pass muster, although amongGermans there is a great horror of illegitimacy, and he was received intothe chapter. This point gained, she laid her plans for carrying outanother, and a higher one, nothing less than that of making her sonArchbishop of Strasbourg.

But there was an obstacle, in the way. This obstacle was the Abbed'Auvergne (nephew of Cardinal de Bouillon), who had the highest positionin the chapter, that of Grand Prevot, had been there much longer than theAbbe de Soubise, was older, and of more consequence. His reputation,however, was against him; his habits were publicly known to be those ofthe Greeks, whilst his intellect resembled theirs in no way. By hisstupidity he published his bad conduct, his perfect ignorance, hisdissipation, his ambition; and to sustain himself he had only a low,stinking, continual vanity, which drew upon him as much disdain as didhis habits, alienated him from all the world, and constantly subjectedhim to ridicule.

The Abbe de Soubise had, on the contrary, everything smiling in hisfavour, even his exterior, which showed that he was born of the tenderestamours. Upon the farms of the Sorbonne he had much distinguishedhimself. He had been made Prior of Sorbonne, and had shone conspicuouslyin that position, gaining eulogies of the most flattering kind fromeverybody, and highly pleasing the King. After this, he entered theseminary of Saint Magloire, then much in vogue, and gained the goodgraces of the Archbishop of Paris, by whom that seminary was favoured.On every side the Abbe de Soubise was regarded, either as a marvel oflearning, or a miracle of piety and purity of manners. He had madehimself loved everywhere, and his gentleness, his politeness, hisintelligence, his graces, and his talent for securing friends, confirmedmore and more the reputation he had established.

The Abbe d'Auvergne had a relative, the Cardinal de Furstenberg, who alsohad two nephews, canons of Strasbourg, and in a position to becomeclaimants to the bishopric. Madame de Soubise rightly thought that herfirst step must be to gain over the Cardinal to her side. There was achannel through which this could be done which at once suggested itselfto her mind. Cardinal Furstenberg, it was said, had been much enamouredof the Comtesse de La Marck, and had married her to one of his nephews,in order that he might thus see her more easily. It was also said thathe had been well treated, and it is certain that nothing was so strikingas the resemblance, feature for feature, of the Comte de La Marck toCardinal de Furstenberg. If the Count was not the son of the Cardinal hewas nothing to him. The attachment of Cardinal Furstenberg for theComtesse de La Marck did not abate when she became by her marriageComtesse de Furstenberg; indeed he could not exist without her; she livedand reigned in his house. Her son, the Comte de La Marck, lived therealso, and her dominion over the Cardinal was so public, that whoever hadaffairs with him spoke to the Countess, if he wished to succeed. She hadbeen very beautiful, and at fifty-two years of age, still showed it,although tall, stout, and coarse featured as a Swiss guard in woman'sclothes. She was, moreover, bold, audacious, talking loudly and alwayswith authority; was polished, however, and of good manners when shepleased. Being the most imperious woman in the world, the Cardinal wasfairly tied to her apron-strings, and scarcely dared to breathe in herpresence. In dress and finery she spent like a prodigal, played everynight, and lost large sums, oftentimes staking her jewels and her variousornaments. She was a woman who loved herself alone, who wished foreverything, and who refused herself nothing, not even, it was said,certain gallantries which the poor Cardinal was obliged to pay for, asfor everything else. Her extravagance was such, that she was obliged topass six or seven months of the year in the country, in order to haveenough to spend in Paris during the remainder of the year.

It was to the Comtesse de Furstenberg, therefore, that Madame de Soubiseaddressed herself in order to gain over the support of Cardinal deFurstenberg, in behalf of her son. Rumour said, and it was nevercontradicted, that Madame de Soubise paid much money to the Cardinalthrough the Countess, in order to carry this point. It is certain thatin addition to the prodigious pensions the Cardinal drew from the King,he touched at this time a gratification of forty thousand crowns, that itwas pretended had been long promised him.

Madame de Soubise having thus assured herself of the Countess and theCardinal (and they having been privately thanked by the King), she causedan order to be sent to Cardinal de Bouillon, who was then at Rome,requesting him to ask the Pope in the name of the King, for a bullsummoning the Chapter of Strasbourg to meet and elect a coadjutor and adeclaration of the eligibility of the Abbe de Soubise.

But here a new obstacle arose in the path of Madame de Soubise. Cardinalde Bouillon, a man of excessive pride and pretension, who upon reachingRome claimed to be addressed as "Most Eminent Highness," and obtainingthis title from nobody except his servants, set himself at loggerheadswith all the city—Cardinal de Bouillon, I say, was himself canon ofStrasbourg, and uncle of the Abbe d'Auvergne. So anxious was theCardinal to secure the advancement of the Abbe d'Auvergne, that he hadalready made a daring and fraudulent attempt to procure for him acardinalship. But the false representations which he made in order tocarry his point, having been seen through, his attempt came to nothing,and he himself lost all favour with the King for his deceit. He,however; hoped to make the Abbe d'Auvergne bishop of Strasbourg, and wasoverpowered, therefore, when he saw this magnificent prey about to escapehim. The news came upon him like a thunderbolt. It was bad enough tosee his hopes trampled under foot; it was insupportable to be obliged toaid in crushing them. Vexation so transported and blinded him, that heforgot the relative positions of himself and of Madame de Soubise, andimagined that he should be able to make the King break a resolution hehad taken, and an engagement he had entered into. He sent therefore, asthough he had been a great man, a letter to the King, telling him that hehad not thought sufficiently upon this matter, and raising scruplesagainst it. At the same time he despatched a letter to the canons ofStrasbourg, full of gall and compliments, trying to persuade them thatthe Abbe de Soubise was too young for the honour intended him, andplainly intimating that the Cardinal de Furstenberg had been gained overby a heavy bribe paid to the Comtesse de Furstenberg. These letters.made a terrible uproar.

I was at the palace on Tuesday, March 30th, and after supper I saw Madamede Soubise arrive, leading the Comtesse de Furstenberg, both of whomposted themselves at the door of the King's cabinet. It was not thatMadame de Soubise had not the privilege of entering if she pleased, butshe preferred making her complaint as public as the charges made againsther by Cardinal de Bouillon had become. I approached in order to witnessthe scene. Madame de Soubise appeared scarcely able to contain herself,and the Countess seemed furious. As the King passed, they stopped him.Madame de Soubise said two words in a low tone. The Countess in a louderstrain demanded justice against the Cardinal de Bouillon, who, she said,not content in his pride and ambition with disregarding the orders of theKing, had calumniated her and Cardinal de Furstenberg in the mostatrocious manner, and had not even spared Madame de Soubise herself. TheKing replied to her with much politeness, assured her she should becontented, and passed on.

Madame de Soubise was so much the more piqued because Cardinal deBouillon had acquainted the King with the simony she had committed,and assuredly if he had not been ignorant of this he would never havesupported her in the affair. She hastened therefore to secure thesuccess of her son, and was so well served by the whispered authority ofthe King, and the money she had spent, that the Abbe de Soubise waselected by unanimity Coadjutor of Strasbourg.

As for the Cardinal de Bouillon, foiled in all his attempts to preventthe election, he wrote a second letter to the King, more foolish than thefirst. This filled the cup to overflowing. For reply, he receivedorders, by a courier, to quit Rome immediately and to retire to Cluni orto Tournus, at his choice, until further orders. This order appeared socruel to him that he could not make up his mind to obey. He wasunderdoyen of the sacred college. Cibo, the doyen, was no longer able toleave his bed. To become doyen, it was necessary to be in Rome when theappointment became vacant. Cardinal de Bouillon wrote therefore to theKing, begging to be allowed to stay a short time, in order to pray thePope to set aside this rule, and give him permission to succeed to thedoyenship, even although absent from Rome when it became vacant. He knewhe should not obtain this permission, but he asked for it in order togain time, hoping that in the meanwhile Cardinal Cibo might die, or eventhe Pope himself, whose health had been threatened with ruin for sometime. This request of the Cardinal de Bouillon was refused. Thereseemed nothing for him but to comply with the orders he had received.But he had evaded them so long that he thought he might continue to doso. He wrote to Pere la Chaise, begging him to ask the King forpermission to remain at Rome until the death of Cardinal Cibo, addingthat he would wait for a reply at Caprarole, a magnificent house of theDuke of Parma, at eight leagues from Rome. He addressed himself to Perela Chaise, because M. de Torcy, to whom he had previously written, hadbeen forbidden to open his letters, and had sent him word to that effect.Having, too, been always on the best of terms with the Jesuits, he hopedfor good assistance from Pere la Chaise. But he found this door closedlike that of M. de Torcy. Pere la Chaise wrote to Cardinal de Bouillonthat he too was prohibited from opening his letters. At the same time anew order was sent to the Cardinal to set out immediately. Just after hehad read it Cardinal Cibo died, and the Cardinal de Bouillon hastened atonce to Rome to secure the doyenship, writing to the King to say that hehad done so, that he would depart in twenty-four hours, and expressing ahope that this delay would not be refused him. This was laughing at theKing and his orders, and becoming doyen in spite of him. The King,therefore, displayed his anger immediately he learnt this last act ofdisobedience. He sent word immediately to M. de Monaco to command theCardinal de Bouillon to surrender his charge of grand chaplain, to giveup his cordon bleu, and to take down the arms of France from the door ofhis palace; M. de Monaco was also ordered to prohibit all French peoplein Rome from seeing Cardinal de Bouillon, or from having anycommunication with him. M. de Monaco, who hated the Cardinal, hastenedwillingly to obey these instructions. The Cardinal appeared overwhelmed,but he did not even then give in. He pretended that his charge of grandchaplain was a crown office, of which he could not be dispossessed,without resigning. The King, out of all patience with a disobedience sostubborn and so marked, ordered, by a decree in council, on the 12thSeptember, the seizure of all the Cardinal's estates, laical andecclesiastical, the latter to be confiscated to the state, the former tobe divided into three portions, and applied to various uses. The sameday the charge of grand chaplain was given to Cardinal Coislin, and thatof chief chaplain to the Bishop of Metz. The despair of the Cardinalde Bouillon, on hearing of this decree, was extreme. Pride had hithertohindered him from believing that matters would be pushed so far againsthim. He sent in his resignation only when it was no longer needed ofhim. His order he would not give up. M. de Monaco warned him that,in case of refusal, he had orders to snatch it from his neck. Upon thisthe Cardinal saw the folly of holding out against the orders of the King.He quitted then the marks of the order, but he was pitiful enough to weara narrow blue ribbon, with a cross of gold attached, under his cassock,and tried from time to time to show a little of the blue. A short timeafterwards, to make the best of a bad bargain, he tried to persuadehimself and others, that no cardinal was at liberty to wear the orders ofany prince. But it was rather late in the day to think of this, afterhaving worn the order of the King for thirty years, as grand chaplain;and everybody thought so, and laughed at the idea.

CHAPTER XVII

Chateauneuf, Secretary of State, died about this time. He had asked thathis son, La Vrilliere, might be allowed to succeed him, and was muchvexed that the King refused this favour. The news of Chateauneuf's deathwas brought to La Vrilliere by a courier, at five o'clock in the morning.He did not lose his wits at the news, but at once sent and woke up thePrincesse d'Harcourt, and begged her to come and see him instantly.Opening his purse, he prayed her to go and see Madame de Maintenon assoon as she got up, and propose his marriage with Mademoiselle de Mailly,whom he would take without dowry, if the King gave him his father'sappointments. The Princesse d'Harcourt, whose habit it was to accept anysum, from a crown upwards, willingly undertook this strange business.She went upon her errand immediately, and then repaired to Madame deMailly, who without property, and burdened with a troop of children—sonsand daughters, was in no way averse to the marriage.

The King, upon getting up, was duly made acquainted with La Vrilliere'sproposal, and at once agreed to it. There was only one person opposed tothe marriage, and that was Mademoiselle de Mailly. She was not quitetwelve years of age. She burst out a-crying, and declared she was veryunhappy, that she would not mind marrying a poor man, if necessary,provided he was a gentleman, but that to marry a paltry bourgeois, inorder to make his fortune, was odious to her. She was furious againsther mother and against Madame de Maintenon. She could not be kept quietor appeased, or hindered from making grimaces at La Vrilliere and all hisfamily, who came to see her and her mother.

They felt it; but the bargain was made, and was too good to be broken.They thought Mademoiselle de Mailly's annoyance would pass with heryouth—but they were mistaken. Mademoiselle de Mailly always was sore athaving been made Madame de la Vrilliere, and people often observed it.

At the marriage of Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne, the King had offeredto augment considerably his monthly income. The young Prince, who foundit sufficient, replied with thanks, and said that if money failed him atany time he would take the liberty, of asking the King for more. Findinghimself short just now, he was as good as his word. The King praised himhighly, and told him to ask whenever he wanted money, not through a thirdperson, but direct, as he had done in this instance. The King, moreover,told the Duc de Bourgogne to play without fear, for it was of noconsequence how much such persons as he might lose. The King was pleasedwith confidence, but liked not less to see himself feared; and when timidpeople who spoke to him discovered themselves, and grew embarrassed intheir discourse, nothing better made their court, or advanced theirinterests.

The Archbishop of Rheims presided this year over the assembly of theclergy, which was held every five years. It took place on this occasionat Saint Germains, although the King of England occupied the chateau. M.de Rheims kept open table there, and had some champagne that was muchvaunted. The King of England, who drank scarcely any other wine, heardof this and asked for some. The Archbishop sent him six bottles. Sometime after, the King of England, who had much relished the wine, sent andasked for more. The Archbishop, more sparing of his wine than of hismoney, bluntly sent word that his wine was not mad, and did not runthrough the streets; and sent none. However accustomed people might beto the rudeness of the Archbishop, this appeared so strange that it wasmuch spoken of: but that was all.

M. de Vendome took another public leave of the King, the Princes, and thePrincesses, in order to place himself again under the doctor's hands.He perceived at last that he was not cured, and that it would be longbefore he was; so went to Anet to try and recover his health, but withoutsuccess better than before. He brought back a face upon which his statewas still more plainly printed than at first. Madame d'Uzes, onlydaughter of the Prince de Monaco, died of this disease. She was a womanof merit—very virtuous and unhappy—who merited a better fate.M. d'Uzes was an obscure man, who frequented the lowest society, andsuffered less from its effects than his wife, who was much pitied andregretted. Her children perished of the same disease, and she left nonebehind her.—[Syphilis. D.W.]

Soon after this the King ordered the Comtes d'Uzes and d'Albert to go tothe Conciergerie for having fought a duel against the Comtes de Rontzau,a Dane, and Schwartzenberg, an Austrian. Uzes gave himself up, but theComte d'Albert did not do so for a long Time, and was broken for hisdisobedience. He had been on more than good terms with Madame deLuxembourg—the Comte de Rontzau also: hence the quarrel; the cause ofwhich was known by everybody, and made a great stir. Everybody knew it,at least, except M. de Luxembourg, and said nothing, but was glad of it;and yet in every direction he asked the reason; but, as may be imagined,could find nobody to tell him, so that he went over and over again to M.le Prince de Conti, his most intimate friend, praying him for informationupon the subject. M. de Conti related to me that on one occasion, comingfrom Meudon, he was so solicited by M. de Luxembourg on this account,that he was completely embarrassed, and never suffered to such an extentin all his life. He contrived to put off M. de Luxembourg, and saidnothing, but was glad indeed to get away from him at the end of thejourney.

Le Notre died about this time, after having been eighty-eight years inperfect health, and with all his faculties and good taste to the verylast. He was illustrious, as having been the first designer of thosebeautiful gardens which adorn France, and which, indeed, have sosurpassed the gardens of Italy, that the most famous masters of thatcountry come here to admire and learn. Le Notre had a probity, anexactitude, and an uprightness which made him esteemed and loved byeverybody. He never forgot his position, and was always perfectlydisinterested. He worked for private people as for the King, and withthe same application—seeking only to aid nature, and to attain thebeautiful by the shortest road. He was of a charming simplicity andtruthfulness. The Pope, upon one occasion, begged the King to lend himLe Notre for some months. On entering the Pope's chamber, instead ofgoing down upon his knees, Le Notre ran to the Holy Father, clasped himround the neck, kissed him on the two cheeks, and said—"Good morning,Reverend Father; how well you look, and how glad I am to see you in suchgood health."

The Pope, who was Clement X., Altieri, burst out laughing with all hismight. He was delighted with this odd salutation, and showed hisfriendship towards the gardener in a thousand ways. Upon Le Notre'sreturn, the King led him into the gardens of Versailles, and showed himwhat had been done in his absence. About the Colonnade he said nothing.The King pressed him to give his opinion thereupon.

"Why, sire," said Le Notre, "what can I say? Of a mason you have made agardener, and he has given you a sample of his trade."

The King kept silence and everybody laughed; and it was true that thismorsel of architecture, which was anything but a fountain, and yet whichwas intended to be one, was much out of place in a garden. A monthbefore Le Notre's death, the King, who liked to see him and to make himtalk, led him into the gardens, and on account of his great age, placedhim in a wheeled chair, by the side of his own. Upon this Le Notre said,"Ah, my poor father, if you were living and could see a simple gardenerlike me, your son, wheeled along in a chair by the side of the greatestKing in the world, nothing would be wanting to my joy!"

Le Notre was Overseer of the Public Buildings, and lodged at theTuileries, the garden of which (his design), together with the Palace,being under his charge. All that he did is still much superior toeverything that has been done since, whatever care may have been taken toimitate and follow him as closely as possible. He used to say of flower-beds that they were only good for nurses, who, not being able to quit thechildren, walked on them with their eyes, and admired them from thesecond floor. He excelled, nevertheless, in flowerbeds, as in everythingconcerning gardens; but he made little account of them, and he was right,for they are the spots upon which people never walk.

The King of England (William III.) lost the Duke of Gloucester, heir-presumptive to the crown. He was eleven years of age, and was the onlyson of the Princess of Denmark, sister of the defunct Queen Mary, wife ofWilliam. His preceptor was Doctor Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, who wasin the secret of the invasion, and who passed into England with thePrince of Orange at the Revolution, of which Revolution he has left avery fraudulent history, and many other works of as little truth and goodfaith. The underpreceptor was the famous Vassor, author of the "Historyof Louis XIII.," which would be read with more pleasure if there wereless spite against the Catholic religion, and less passion against theKing. With those exceptions it is excellent and true. Vassor must havebeen singularly well informed of the anecdotes that he relates, and whichescape almost all historians. I have found there, for instance, the Dayof the Dupes related precisely as my father has related it to me, andseveral other curious things not less exact. This author has made such astir that it is worth while to say something about him. He was a priestof the Oratory, and in much estimation as a man whose manners werewithout reproach. After a time, however, he was found to have discloseda secret that had been entrusted to him, and to have acted the spy onbehalf of the Jesuits. The proofs of his treason were found upon histable, and were so conclusive that there was nothing for him but to leavethe Oratory. He did so, and being deserted by his Jesuit employers,threw himself into La Trappe. But he did not enter the place in a properspirit, and in a few days withdrew. After this he went to the Abbey ofPerseigne, hired a lodging there, and remained several months. But hewas continually at loggerheads with the monks. Their garden was separatefrom his only by a thick hedge; their fowls could jump over it. He laidthe blame upon the monks, and one day caught as many of their fowls as hecould; cut off their beaks and their spurs with a cleaver, and threw themback again over the hedge. This was cruelty so marked that I could notrefrain from relating it.

Vassor did not long remain in this retreat, but returned to Paris, andstill being unable to gain a living, passed into Holland, from rage andhunger became a Protestant, and set himself to work to live by his pen.His knowledge, talent, and intelligence procured him many friends, andhis reputation reached England, into which country he passed, hoping togain there more fortune than in Holland. Burnet received him with openarms, and obtained for him the post of under-preceptor to the Duke ofGloucester. It would have been difficult to have found two instructorsso opposed to the Catholics and to France, or so well suited to the Kingas teachers of his successor.

Among so many things which paved the way for the greatest events, a verystrange one happened, which from its singularity merits a short recital.For many years the Comtesse de Verrue lived at Turin, mistress, publicly,of M. de Savoie. The Comtesse de Verrue was daughter of the Duc deLuynes, and had been married in Piedmont, when she was only fourteenyears of age, to the Comte de Verrue, young, handsome, rich, and honest;whose mother was lady of honour to Madame de Savoie.

M. de Savoie often met the Comtesse de Verrue, and soon found her much tohis taste. She saw this, and said so to her husband and her mother-in-law. They praised her, but took no further notice of the matter. M. deSavoie redoubled his attentions, and, contrary to his usual custom, gavefetes, which the Comtesse de Verrue felt were for her. She did all shecould not to attend them, but her mother-in-law quarrelled with her, saidshe wished to play the important, and that it was her vanity which gaveher these ideas. Her husband, more gentle, desired her to attend thesefetes, saying that even if M. de Savoie were really in love with her, itwould not do to fail in anything towards him. Soon after M. de Savoiespoke to the Comtesse de Verrue. She told her husband and her mother-in-law, and used every entreaty in order to prevail upon them to let her goand pass some time in the country. They would not listen to her, andseeing no other course open, she feigned to be ill, and had herself sentto the waters of Bourbon. She wrote to her father, the Duc de Luynes, tomeet her there, and set out under the charge of the Abbe de Verrue; uncleof her husband. As soon as the Duc de Luynes arrived at Bourbon, andbecame acquainted with the danger which threatened his daughter; heconferred with the Abbe as to the best course to adopt, and agreed withhim that the Countess should remain away from Turin some time, in orderthat M. de Savoie might get cured of his passion. M. de Luynes littlethought that he had conferred with a wolf who wished to carry off hislamb. The Abbe de Verrue, it seems, was himself violently in love withthe Countess, and directly her father had gone declared the state of hisheart. Finding himself only repulsed, the miserable old man turned hislove into hate; ill-treated the Countess, and upon her return to Turin,lost no opportunity of injuring her in the eyes of her husband and hermother-in-law.

The Comtesse de Verrue suffered this for some time, but at last hervirtue yielded to the bad treatment she received. She listened to M. deSavoie, and delivered herself up to him in order to free herself frompersecution. Is not this a real romance? But it happened in our owntime, under the eyes and to the knowledge of everybody.

When the truth became known, the Verrues were in despair, although theyhad only themselves to blame for what had happened. Soon the newmistress ruled all the Court of Savoy, whose sovereign was at her feet asbefore a goddess. She disposed of the favours of her lover, and wasfeared and courted by the ministry. Her haughtiness made her hated; shewas poisoned; M. de Savoie gave her a subtle antidote, which fortunatelycured her, and without injury to her beauty. Her reign still lasted.After a while she had the small-pox. M. de Savoie tended her during thisillness, as though he had been a nurse; and although her face suffered alittle by it, he loved her not the less. But he loved her after his ownfashion. He kept her shut up from view, and at last she grew so tired ofher restraint that she determined to fly. She conferred with herbrother, the Chevalier de Luynes, who served with much distinction in thenavy, and together they arranged the matter.

They seized an opportunity when M. de Savoie had gone on a tour toChambery, and departed furtively. Crossing our frontier, they arrived mParis, where the Comtesse de Verrue, who had grown very rich, took ahouse, and by degrees succeeded in getting people to come and see her,though, at first, owing to the scandal of her life, this was difficult.In the end, her opulence gained her a large number of friends, and sheavailed herself so well of her opportunities, that she became of muchimportance, and influenced strongly the government. But that time goesbeyond my memoirs. She left in Turin a son and a daughter, bothrecognised by M. de Savoie, after the manner of our King. He lovedpassionately these, illegitimate children, and married the daughter tothe Prince de Carignan.

Mademoiselle de Conde died at Paris on October 24th, after a longillness, from a disease in the chest, which consumed her less than thetorments she experienced without end from M. le Prince, her father, whosecontinual caprices were the plague of all those over whom he couldexercise them. Almost all the children of M. le Prince were littlebigger than dwarfs, which caused M. le Prince, who was tall, to say inpleasantry, that if his race went on always thus diminishing it wouldcome to nothing. People attributed the cause to a dwarf that Madame laPrincesse had had for a long time near her.

At the funeral of Mademoiselle de Conde, a very indecorous incidenthappened. My mother, who was invited to take part in the ceremony, wentto the Hotel de Conde, in a coach and six horses, to join Mademoiselled'Enghien. When the procession was about to start the duch*esse deChatillon tried to take precedence of my mother. But my mother calledupon Mademoiselle d'Enghien to prevent this, or else to allow her toreturn. Madame de Chatillon persisted in her attempt, saying thatrelationship decided the question of precedence on these occasions, andthat she was a nearer relative to the deceased than my mother. Mymother, in a cold but haughty tone, replied that she could pardon thismistake on account of the youth and ignorance of Madame de Chatillon; butthat in all such cases it was rank and not relationship which decided thepoint. The dispute was at last put to an end by Madame de Chatillongiving way. But when the procession started an attempt was made by hercoachman to drive before the coach of my mother, and one of the companyhad to descend and decide the dispute. On the morrow M. le Prince sentto apologise to my mother for the occurrence that had taken place, andcame himself shortly afterwards full of compliments and excuses. I nevercould understand what induced Madame de Chatillon to take this fancy intoher head; but she was much ashamed of it afterwards, and made manyexcuses to my mother.

I experienced, shortly after this, at Fontainebleau, one of the greatestafflictions I had ever endured. I mean the loss of M. de La Trappe,These Memoirs are too profane to treat slightly of a life so sublimelyholy, and of a death so glorious and precious before God. I will contentmyself with saying here that praises of M. de La Trappe were so much themore great and prolonged because the King eulogised him in public; thathe wished to see narrations of his death; and that he spoke more thanonce of it to his grandsons by way of instruction. In every part ofEurope this great loss was severely felt. The Church wept for him, andthe world even rendered him justice. His death, so happy for him and sosad for his friends, happened on the 26th of October, towards half-pasttwelve, in the arms of his bishop, and in presence of his community, atthe age of nearly seventy-seven years, and after nearly forty years ofthe most prodigious penance. I cannot omit, however, the most touchingand the most honourable mark of his friendship. Lying upon the ground,on straw and ashes, in order to die like all the brethren of La Trappe,he deigned, of his own accord, to recollect me, and charged the Abbe LaTrappe to send word to me, on his part, that as he was quite sure of myaffection for him, he reckoned that I should not doubt of his tendernessfor me. I check myself at this point; everything I could add would betoo much out of place here.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

But with a crawling baseness equal to her previous audacity
He limped audaciously
Height to which her insignificance had risen
His death, so happy for him and so sad for his friends
His habits were publicly known to be those of the Greeks
In order to say something cutting to you, says it to himself
Madame de Maintenon in returning young and poor from America
No means, therefore, of being wise among so many fools
Omissions must be repaired as soon as they are perceived
Pope excommunicated those who read the book or kept it
She lose her head, and her accomplice to be broken on the wheel
The clergy, to whom envy is not unfamiliar
The porter and the soldier were arrested and tortured
Whitehall, the largest and ugliest palace in Europe
World; so unreasoning, and so little in accord with itself