On the next day, at half-past three, I had another interview with M. de

Beauvilliers. With much tenderness he declined my proposal, resting his

refusal upon the inclination his daughter had displayed for the convent,

upon his little wealth, if, the marriage of the third being made, she

should change her mind--and upon other reasons. He spoke to me with much

regret and friendship, and I to him in the same manner; and we separated,

unable any longer to speak to each other. Two days after, however, I had

another interview with him by his appointment. I endeavoured to overcome

the objections that he made, but all in vain. He could not give me his

third daughter with the first unmarried, and he would not force her, he

said, to change her wish of retiring from the world. His words, pious

and elevated, augmented my respect for him, and my desire for the

marriage. In the evening, at the breaking up of the appointment, I could

not prevent myself whispering in his ear that I should never live happily

with anybody but his daughter, and without waiting for a reply hastened

away. I had the next evening, at eight o'clock, an interview with Madame

de Beauvilliers. I argued with her with such prodigious ardor that she

was surprised, and, although she did not give way, she said she would be

inconsolable for the loss of me, repeating the same tender and flattering

things her husband had said before, and with the same effusion of

feeling.

I had yet another interview with M. de Beauvilliers. He showed even more

affection for me than before, but I could not succeed in putting aside

his scruples. He unbosomed himself afterwards to one of our friends, and

in his bitterness said he could only console himself by hoping that his

children and mine might some day intermarry, and he prayed me to go and

pass some days at Paris, in order to allow him to seek a truce to his

grief in my absence. We both were in want of it. I have judged it

fitting to give these details, for they afford a key to my exceeding

intimacy with M. de Beauvilliers, which otherwise, considering the

difference in our ages, might appear incomprehensible.

There was nothing left for me but to look out for another marriage. One

soon presented itself, but as soon fell to the ground; and I went to La

Trappe to console myself for the impossibility of making an alliance with

the Duc de Beauvilliers.

La Trappe is a place so celebrated and so well known, and its reformer so

famous, that I shall say but little about it. I will, however, mention

that this abbey is five leagues from La Ferme-au-Vidame, or Arnold, which

is the real distinctive name of this Ferme among so many other Fetes in

France, which have preserved the generic name of what they have been,

that is to say, forts or fortresses ('freitas'). My father had been very

intimate with M. de la Trappe, and had taken me to him.

Although I was very young then, M. de la Trappe charmed me, and the

sanctity of the place enchanted me. Every year I stayed some days there,

sometimes a week at a time, and was never tired of admiring this great

and distinguished man. He loved me as a son, and I respected him as

though he were any father. This intimacy, singular at my age, I kept

secret from everybody, and only went to the convent clandestinely.

CHAPTER V

On my return from La Trappe, I became engaged in an affair which made a

great noise, and which had many results for me.

M. de Luxembourg, proud of his successes, and of the applause of the

world at his victories, believed himself sufficiently strong to claim

precedence over seventeen dukes, myself among the number; to step, in

fact, from the eighteenth rank, that he held amongst the peers, to the

second. The following are the names and the order in precedence of the

dukes he wished to supersede:

The Duc d'Elboeuf; the Duc de Montbazon; the Duc de Ventadour; the Duc de

Vendome; the Duc de la Tremoille; the Duc de Sully; the Duc de Chevreuse,

the son (minor) of the Duchesse de Lesdiguieres-Gondi; the Duc de

Brissac; Charles d'Albert, called d'Ailly; the Duc de Richelieu; the Duc

de Saint-Simon; the Duc de la Rochefoucauld; the Duc de la Force; the Duc

de Valentinois; the Duc de Rohan; the Duc de Bouillon.

To explain this pretension of M. de Luxembourg, I must give some details

respecting him and the family whose name he bore. He was the only son of

M. de Bouteville, and had married a descendant of Francois de Luxembourg,

Duke of Piney, created Peer of France in 1581. It was a peerage which,

in default of male successors, went to the female, but this descendant

was not heir to it. She was the child of a second marriage, and by a

first marriage her mother had given birth to a son and a daughter, who

were the inheritors of the peerage, both of whom were still living. The

son was, however, an idiot, had been declared incapable of attending to

his affairs, and was shut up in Saint Lazare, at Paris. The daughter had

taken the veil, and was mistress of the novices at the Abbaye-aux-Bois.

The peerage had thus, it might almost be said, become extinct, for it was

vested in an idiot, who could not marry (to prevent him doing so, he had

been made a deacon, and he was bound in consequence to remain single),

and in a nun, who was equally bound by her vows to the same state of

celibacy.

When M. de Bouteville, for that was his only title then, married, he took

the arms and the name of Luxembourg. He did more. By powerful

influence--notably that of his patron the Prince de Conde--he released

the idiot deacon from his asylum, and the nun from her convent, and

induced them both to surrender to him their possessions and their titles.

This done, he commenced proceedings at once in order to obtain legal

recognition of his right to the dignities he had thus got possession of.

He claimed to be acknowledged Duc de Piney, with all the privileges

attached to that title as a creation of 1581. Foremost among these

privileges was that of taking precedence of all dukes whose title did not

go back so far as that year. Before any decision was given either for or

against this claim, he was made Duc de Piney by new letters patent,

dating from 1662, with a clause which left his pretensions to the title

of 1581 by no means affected by this new creation. M. de Luxembourg,

however, seemed satisfied with what he had obtained, and was apparently

disposed to pursue his claim no further. He was received as Duke and

Peer in the Parliament, took his seat in the last rank after all the

other peers, and allowed his suit to drop. Since then he had tried

successfully to gain it by stealth, but for several years nothing more

had been heard of it. Now, however, he recommenced it, and with every

intention, as we soon found, to stop at no intrigue or baseness in order

to carry his point.

Nearly everybody was in his favour. The Court, though not the King, was

almost entirely for him; and the town, dazzled by the splendour of his

exploits, was devoted to him. The young men regarded him as the

protector of their debauches; for, notwithstanding his age, his conduct

was as free as theirs. He had captivated the troops and the general

officers.

In the Parliament he had a staunch supporter in Harlay, the Chief

President, who led that great body at his will, and whose devotion he had

acquired to such a degree, that he believed that to undertake and succeed

were only the same things, and that this grand affair would scarcely cost

him a winter to carry.

Let me say something more of this Harlay.

Descended from two celebrated magistrates, Achille d'Harlay and

Christopher De Thou, Harlay imitated their gravity, but carried it to a

cynical extent, affected their disinterestedness and modesty, but

dishonoured the first by his conduct, and the second by a refined pride

which he endeavoured without success to conceal. He piqued himself,

above all things, upon his probity and justice, but the mask soon fell.

Between Peter and Paul he maintained the strictest fairness, but as soon

as he perceived interest or favour to be acquired, he sold himself. This

trial will show him stripped of all disguise. He was learned in the law;

in letters he was second to no one; he was well acquainted with history,

and knew how, above all, to govern his company with an authority which

suffered no reply, and which no other chief president had ever attained.

A pharisaical austerity rendered him redoubtable by the license he

assumed in his public reprimands, whether to plaintiffs, or defendants,

advocates or magistrates; so that there was not a single person who did

not tremble to have to do with him. Besides this, sustained in all by

the Court (of which he was the slave, and the very humble servant of

those who were really in favour), a subtle courtier, a singularly crafty

politician, he used all those talents solely to further his ambition, his

desire of domination and his thirst of the reputation of a great man.

He was without real honour, secretly of corrupt manners, with only

outside probity, without humanity even; in one word, a perfect hypocrite;

without faith, without law, without a God, and without a soul; a cruel

husband, a barbarous father, a tyrannical brother, a friend of himself

alone, wicked by nature--taking pleasure in insulting, outraging, and

overwhelming others, and never in his life having lost an occasion to do

so. His wit was great, but was always subservient to his wickedness.

He was small, vigorous, and thin, with a lozenge-shaped face, a long

aquiline nose--fine, speaking, keen eyes, that usually looked furtively

at you, but which, if fixed on a client or a magistrate, were fit to make

him sink into the earth. He wore narrow robes, an almost ecclesiastical

collar and wristband to match, a brown wig mimed with white, thickly

furnished but short, and with a great cap over it. He affected a bending

attitude, and walked so, with a false air, more humble than modest, and

always shaved along the walls, to make people make way for him with

greater noise; and at Versailles worked his way on by a series of

respectful and, as it were, shame-faced bows to the right and left. He

held to the King and to Madame de Maintenon by knowing their weak side;

and it was he who, being consulted upon the unheard-of legitimation of

children without naming the mother, had sanctioned that illegality in

favour of the King.

Such was the man whose influence was given entirely to our opponent.

To assist M. de Luxembourg's case as much as possible, the celebrated

Racine, so known by his plays, and by the order he had received at that

time to write the history of the King, was employed to polish and

ornament his pleas. Nothing was left undone by M. de Luxembourg in order

to gain this cause.

I cannot give all the details of the case, the statements made on both

sides, and the defences; they would occupy entire volumes. We maintained

that M. de Luxembourg was in no way entitled to the precedence he

claimed, and we had both law and justice on our side. To give

instructions to our counsel, and to follow the progress of the case,

we met once a week, seven or eight of us at least, those best disposed

to give our time to the matter. Among the most punctual was M. de la

Rochefoucauld. I had been solicited from the commencement to take part

in the proceedings, and I complied most willingly, apologising for so

doing to M. de Luxembourg, who replied with all the politeness and

gallantry possible, that I could not do less than follow an example my

father had set me.

The trial having commenced, we soon saw how badly disposed the Chief

President was towards us. He obstructed us in every way, and acted

against all rules. There seemed no other means of defeating his evident

intention of judging against us than by gaining time, first of all; and

to do this we determined to get the case adjourned, There were, however,

only two days at our disposal, and that was not enough in order to comply

with the forms required for such a step. We were all in the greatest

embarrassment, when it fortunately came into the head of one of our

lawyers to remind us of a privilege we possessed, by which, without much

difficulty, we could obtain what we required. I was the only one who

could, at that moment, make use of this privilege. I hastened home, at

once, to obtain the necessary papers, deposited them with the procureur

of M. de Luxembourg, and the adjournment was obtained. The rage of M. de

Luxembourg was without bounds. When we met he would not salute me, and

in consequence I discontinued to salute him; by which he lost more than

I, in his position and at his age, and furnished in the rooms and the

galleries of Versailles a sufficiently ridiculous spectacle. In addition

to this he quarrelled openly with M. de Richelieu, and made a bitter

attack upon him in one of his pleas. But M. de Richelieu, meeting him

soon after in the Salle des Gardes at Versailles, told him to his face

that he should soon have a reply; and said that he feared him neither on

horseback nor on foot--neither him nor his crew--neither in town nor at

the Court, nor even in the army, nor in any place in the world; and

without allowing time for a reply he turned on his heel. In the end, M.

de Luxembourg found himself so closely pressed that he was glad to

apologise to M. de Richelieu.

After a time our cause, sent back again to the Parliament, was argued

there with the same vigour, the same partiality, and the same injustice

as before: seeing this, we felt that the only course left open to us was

to get the case sent before the Assembly of all the Chambers, where the

judges, from their number, could not be corrupted by M. de Luxembourg,

and where the authority of Harlay was feeble, while over the Grand

Chambre, in which the case was at present, it was absolute. The

difficulty was to obtain an assembly of all the Chambers, for the power

of summoning them was vested solely in Harlay. However, we determined to

try and gain his consent. M. de Chaulnes undertook to go upon this

delicate errand, and acquitted himself well of his mission. He pointed

out to Harlay that everybody was convinced of his leaning towards M. de

Luxembourg, and that the only way to efface the conviction that had gone

abroad was to comply with our request; in fine, he used so many

arguments, and with such address, that Harlay, confused and thrown off

his guard, and repenting of the manner in which he had acted towards us

as being likely to injure his interests, gave a positive assurance to M.

de Chaulnes that what we asked should be granted.

We had scarcely finished congratulating ourselves upon this unhoped-for

success, when we found that we had to do with a man whose word was a very

sorry support to rest upon. M. de Luxembourg, affrighted at the promise

Harlay had given, made him resolve to break it. Suspecting this, M. de

Chaulnes paid another visit to the Chief President, who admitted, with

much confusion, that he had changed his views, and that it was impossible

to carry out what he had agreed to. After this we felt that to treat any

longer with a man so perfidious would be time lost; and we determined,

therefore, to put it out of his power to judge the case at all.

According to the received maxim, whoever is at law with the son cannot be

judged by the father. Harlay had a son who was Advocate-General. We

resolved that one among us should bring an action against him.

After trying in vain to induce the Duc de Rohan, who was the only one of

our number who could readily have done it, to commence a suit against

Harlay's sort, we began to despair of arriving at our aim. Fortunately

for us, the vexation of Harlay became so great at this time, in

consequence of the disdain with which we treated him, and which we openly

published, that he extricated us himself from our difficulty. We had

only to supplicate the Duc de Gesvres in the cause (he said to some of

our people), and we should obtain what we wanted; for the Duc de Gesvres

was his relative. We took him at his word. The, Duc de Gesvres received

in two days a summons on our part. Harlay, annoyed with himself for the

advice he had given, relented of it: but it was too late; he was declared

unable to judge the cause, and the case itself was postponed until the

next year.

Meanwhile, let me mention a circumstance which should have found a place

before, and then state what occurred in the interval which followed until

the trial recommenced.

It was while our proceedings were making some little stir that fresh

favours were heaped upon the King's illegitimate sons, at the instance of

the King himself, and with the connivance of Harlay, who, for the part he

took in the affair, was promised the chancellorship when it should become

vacant. The rank of these illegitimate sons was placed just below that

of the princes, of the blood, and just above that of the peers even of

the oldest creation. This gave us all exceeding annoyance: it was the

greatest injury the peerage could have received, and became its leprosy

and sore. All the peers who could, kept themselves aloof from the

parliament, when M. du Maine, M. de Vendome, and the Comte de Toulouse,

for whom this arrangement was specially made, were received there.

There were several marriages at the Court this winter and many very fine

balls, at which latter I danced. By the spring, preparations were ready

for fresh campaigns. My regiment (I had bought one at the close of the

last season) was ordered to join the army of M. de Luxembourg; but, as I

had no desire to be under him, I wrote to the King, begging to be

exchanged. In a short time, to the great vexation, as I know, of M. de

Luxembourg, my request was granted. The Chevalier de Sully went to

Flanders in my place, and I to Germany in his. I went first to Soissons

to see my regiment, and in consequence of the recommendation of the King,

was more severe with it than I should otherwise have been. I set out

afterwards for Strasbourg, where I was surprised with the magnificence of

the town, and with the number, beauty, and grandeur of its

fortifications. As from my youth I knew and spoke German perfectly, I

sought out one of my early German acquaintances, who gave me much

pleasure. I stopped six days at Strasbourg and then went by the Rhine to

Philipsburg. On the next day after arriving there, I joined the cavalry,

which was encamped at Obersheim.

After several movements--in which we passed and repassed the Rhine--but

which led to no effective result, we encamped for forty days at Gaw-

Boecklheim, one of the best and most beautiful positions in the world,

and where we had charming weather, although a little disposed to cold.

It was in the leisure of that long camp that I commenced these memoirs,

incited by the pleasure I took in reading those of Marshal Bassompierre,

which invited me thus to write what I should see in my own time.

During this season M. de Noailles took Palamos, Girone, and the fortress

of Castel-Follit in Catalonia. This last was taken by the daring of a

soldier, who led on a small number of his comrades, and carried the place

by assault. Nothing was done in Italy; and in Flanders M. de Luxembourg

came to no engagement with the Prince of Orange.

CHAPTER VI

After our long rest at the camp of Gaw-Boecklheim we again put ourselves

in movement, but without doing much against the enemy, and on the 16th of

October I received permission to return to Paris. Upon my arrival there

I learnt that many things had occurred since I left. During that time

some adventures had happened to the Princesses, as the three illegitimate

daughters of the King were called for distinction sake. Monsieur wished

that the Duchesse de Chartres should always call the others "sister," but

that the others should never address her except as "Madame." The

Princesse de Conti submitted to this; but the other (Madame la Duchesse,

being the produce of the same love) set herself to call the Duchesse de

Chartres "mignonne." But nothing was less a mignonne than her face and

her figure; and Monsieur, feeling the ridicule, complained to the King.

The King prohibited very severely this familiarity.

While at Trianon these Princesses took it into their heads to walk out

at night and divert themselves with crackers. Either from malice or

imprudence they let off some one night under the windows of Monsieur,

rousing him thereby out of his sleep. He was so displeased, that he

complained to the King, who made him many excuses (scolding the

Princesses), but had great trouble to appease him. His anger lasted a

long time, and the Duchesse de Chartres felt it. I do not know if the

other two were very sorry. Madame la Duchesse was accused of writing

some songs upon the Duchesse de Chartres.

The Princesse de Conti had another adventure, which made considerable

noise, and which had great results. She had taken into her favour

Clermont, ensign of the gensdarmes and of the Guard. He had pretended to

be enamoured of her, and had not been repelled, for she soon became in

love with him. Clermont had attached himself to the service of M. de

Luxembourg, and was the merest creature in his hands. At the instigation

of M. de Luxembourg, he turned away his regards from the Princesse de

Conti, and fixed them upon one of her maids of honour--Mademoiselle

Choin, a great, ugly, brown, thick-set girl, upon whom Monseigneur had

lately bestowed his affection. Monseigneur made no secret of this, nor

did she. Such being the case, it occurred to M. de Luxembourg (who knew

he was no favourite with the King, and who built all his hopes of the

future upon Monseigneur) that Clermont, by marrying La Choin, might thus

secure the favour of Monseigneur, whose entire confidence she possessed.

Clermont was easily persuaded that this would be for him a royal road to

fortune, and he accordingly entered willingly into the scheme, which had

just begun to move, when the campaign commenced, and everybody went away

to join the armies.

The King, who partly saw this intrigue, soon made himself entirely master

of it, by intercepting the letters which passed between the various

parties. He read there the project of Clermont and La Choin to marry,

and thus govern Monseigneur; he saw how M. de Luxembourg was the soul of

this scheme, and the marvels to himself he expected from it. The letters

Clermont had received from the Princesse de Conti he now sent to

Mademoiselle la Choin, and always spoke to her of Monseigneur as their

"fat friend." With this correspondence in his hands, the King one day

sent for the Princesse de Conti, said in a severe tone that he knew of

her weakness for Clermont; and, to prove to her how badly she had placed

her affection, showed her her own letters to Clermont, and letters in

which he had spoken most contemptuously of her to La Choin. Then, as a

cruel punishment, he made her read aloud to him the whole of those

letters. At this she almost died, and threw herself, bathed in tears, at

the feet of the King, scarcely able to articulate. Then came sobs,

entreaty, despair, and rage, and cries for justice and revenge. This was

soon obtained. Mademoiselle la Choin was driven away the next day; and

M. de Luxembourg had orders to strip Clermont of his office, and send him

to the most distant part of the kingdom. The terror of M. de Luxembourg

and the Prince de Conti at this discovery may be imagined. Songs

increased the notoriety of this strange adventure between the Princess

and her confidant.

M. de Noyon had furnished on my return another subject for the song-

writers, and felt it the more sensibly because everybody was diverted at

his expense, M. de Noyon was extremely vain, and afforded thereby much

amusement to the King. A Chair was vacant at the Academic Francaise.

The King wished it to be given to M. de Noyon, and expressed himself to

that effect to Dangeau, who was a member. As may be believed, the

prelate was elected without difficulty. His Majesty testified to the

Prince de Conde, and to the most distinguished persons of the Court, that

he should be glad to see them at the reception. Thus M. de Noyon was the

first member of the Academia chosen by the King, and the first at whose

reception he had taken the trouble to invite his courtiers to attend.

The Abbe de Caumartin was at that time Director of the Academie. He knew

the vanity of M. de Noyon, and determined to divert the public at his

expense. He had many friends in power, and judged that his pleasantry

would be overlooked, and even approved. He composed, therefore, a

confused and bombastic discourse in the style of M. de Noyon, full of

pompous phrases, turning the prelate into ridicule, while they seemed to

praise him. After finishing this work, he was afraid lest it should be

thought out of all measure, and, to reassure himself, carried it to M. de

Noyon himself, as a scholar might to his master, in order to see whether

it fully met with his approval. M. de Noyon, so far from suspecting

anything, was charmed by the discourse, and simply made a few corrections

in the style. The Abbe de Caumartin rejoiced at the success of the snare

he had laid, and felt quite bold enough to deliver his harangue.

The day came. The Academie was crowded. The King and the Court were

there, all expecting to be diverted. M. de Noyon, saluting everybody

with a satisfaction he did not dissimulate, made his speech with his

usual confidence, and in his usual style. The Abbe replied with a modest

air, and with a gravity and slowness that gave great effect to his

ridiculous discourse. The surprise and pleasure were general, and each

person strove to intoxicate M. de Noyon more and more, making him believe

that the speech of the Abbe was relished solely because it had so

worthily praised him. The prelate was delighted with the Abbe and the

public, and conceived not the slightest mistrust.

The noise which this occurrence made may be imagined, and the praises M.

de Noyon gave himself in relating everywhere what he had said, and what

had been replied to him. M. de Paris, to whose house he went, thus

triumphing, did not like him, and endeavoured to open his eyes to the

humiliation he had received. For some time M. de Noyon would not be

convinced of the truth; it was not until he had consulted with Pere la

Chaise that he believed it. The excess of rage and vexation succeeded

then to the excess of rapture he had felt. In this state he returned to

his house, and went the next day to Versailles. There he made the most

bitter complaints to the King, of the Abbe de Caumartin, by whose means

he had become the sport and laughing-stock of all the world.

The King, who had learned what had passed, was himself displeased. He

ordered Pontchartrain (who was related to Caumartin) to rebuke the Abbe,

and to send him a lettre de cachet, in order that he might go and ripen

his brain in his Abbey of Busay, in Brittany, and better learn there how

to speak and write. Pontchartrain executed the first part of his

commission, but not the second. He pointed out to the King that the

speech of the Abbe de Caumartin had been revised and corrected by M. de

Noyon, and that, therefore, this latter had only himself to blame in the

matter. He declared, too, that the Abbe was very sorry for what he had

done, and was most willing to beg pardon of M. de Noyon. The lettre de

cachet thus fell to the ground, but not the anger of the prelate. He was

so outraged that he would not see the Abbe, retired into his diocese to

hide his shame, and remained there a long time.

Upon his return to Paris, however, being taken ill, before consenting to

receive the sacraments, he sent for the Abbe, embraced him, pardoned him,

and gave him a diamond ring, that he drew from his finger, and that he

begged him to keep in memory of him. Nay, more, when he was cured, he

used all his influence to reinstate the Abbe in the esteem of the King.

But the King could never forgive what had taken place, and M. de Noyon,

by this grand action, gained only the favour of God and the honour of the

world.

I must finish the account of the war of this year with a strange

incident. M. de Noailles, who had been so successful in Catalonia, was

on very bad terms with Barbezieux, secretary of state for the war

department. Both were in good favour with the King; both high in power,

both spoiled. The successes in Catalonia had annoyed Barbezieux. They

smoothed the way for the siege of Barcelona, and that place once taken,

the very heart of Spain would have been exposed, and M. de Noailles would

have gained fresh honours and glory. M. de Noailles felt this so

completely that he had pressed upon the King the siege of Barcelona; and

when the fitting time came for undertaking it, sent a messenger to him

with full information of the forces and supplies he required. Fearing

that if he wrote out this information it might fall into the hands of

Barbezieux, and never reach the King, he simply gave his messenger

instructions by word of mouth, and charged him to deliver them so. But

the very means he had taken to ensure success brought about failure.

Barbezieux, informed by his spies of the departure of the messenger,

waylaid him, bribed him, and induced him to act with the blackest

perfidy, by telling the King quite a different story to that he was

charged with. In this way, the project for the siege of Barcelona was

entirely broken, at the moment for its execution, and with the most

reasonable hopes of success; and upon M. de Noailles rested all the

blame. What a thunderbolt this was for him may easily be imagined. But

the trick had been so well played, that he could not clear himself with

the King; and all through this winter he remained out of favour.

At last he thought of a means by which he might regain his position. He

saw the inclination of the King for his illegitimate children; and

determined to make a sacrifice in favour of one of them; rightly judging

that this would be a sure means to step back into the confidence he had

been so craftily driven from. His scheme, which he caused to be placed

before the King, was to go into Catalonia at the commencement of the next

campaign, to make a semblance of falling ill immediately upon arriving,

to send to Versailles a request that he might be recalled, and at the

same time a suggestion that M. de Vendome (who would then be near Nice,

under Marechal Catinat) should succeed him. In order that no time might

be lost, nor the army left without a general, he proposed to carry with

him the letters patent; appointing M. de Vendome, and to send them to him

at the same time that he sent to be recalled.

It is impossible to express the relief and satisfaction with which this

proposition was received. The King was delighted with it, as with

everything tending to advance his illegitimate children and to put a

slight upon the Princes of the blood. He could not openly have made this

promotion without embroiling himself with the latter; but coming as it

would from M. de Noailles, he had nothing to fear. M. de Vendome, once

general of an army, could no longer serve in any other quality; and would

act as a stepping-stone for M. du Maine.

From this moment M. de Noailles returned more than ever into the good

graces of the King. Everything happened as it had been arranged. But

the secret was betrayed in the execution. Surprise was felt that at the

same moment M. de Noailles sent a request to be recalled, he also sent,

and without waiting for a reply, to call M. de Vendame to the command.

What completely raised the veil were the letters patent that he sent

immediately after to M. de Vendome, and that it was known he could not

have received from the King in the time that had elapsed. M. de Noailles

returned from Catalonia, and was received as his address merited. He

feigned being lame with rheumatism, and played the part for a long time,

but forgot himself occasionally, and made his company smile. He fixed

himself at the Court, and gained there much more favour than he could

have gained by the war; to the great vexation of Barbezieux.

M. de Luxembourg very strangely married his daughter at this time to the

Chevalier de Soissons (an illegitimate son of the Comte de Soissons),

brought out from the greatest obscurity by the Comtesse de Nemours, and

adopted by her to spite her family: M. de Luxembourg did not long survive

this fine marriage. At sixty-seven years of age he believed himself

twenty-five, and lived accordingly. The want of genuine intrigues, from

which his age and his face excluded him, he supplied by money-power; and

his intimacy, and that of his son, with the Prince de Conti and

Albergotti was kept up almost entirely by the community of their habits,

and the secret parties of pleasure they concocted together. All the

burden of marches, of orders of subsistence, fell upon a subordinate.

Nothing could be more exact than the coup d'oeil of M. de Luxembourg--

nobody could be more brilliant, more sagacious, more penetrating than he

before the enemy or in battle, and this, too, with an audacity, an ease,

and at the same time a coolness, which allowed him to see all and foresee

all under the hottest fire, and in the most imminent danger: It was at

such times that he was great. For the rest he was idleness itself. He

rarely walked unless absolutely obliged, spent his time in gaming, or in

conversation With his familiars; and had every evening a supper with a

chosen few (nearly always the same); and if near a town, the other sex

were always agreeably mingled with them. When thus occupied, he was

inaccessible to everybody, and if anything pressing happened, it was his

subordinate who attended to it. Such was at the army the life of this

great general, and such it was at Paris, except that the Court and the

great world occupied his days, and his pleasures the evenings. At last,

age, temperament, and constitution betrayed him. He fell ill at

Versailles. Given over by Fagon, the King's physician, Coretti, an

Italian, who had secrets of his own, undertook his cure, and relieved

him, but only for a short time. His door during this illness was

besieged by all the Court. The King sent to inquire after him, but it

was more for appearance' sake than from sympathy, for I have already

remarked that the King did not like him. The brilliancy of his

campaigns, and the difficulty of replacing him, caused all the

disquietude. Becoming worse, M. de Luxembourg received the sacraments,

showed some religion and firmness, and died on the morning of the 4th of

January, 1695, the fifth day of his illness, much regretted by many

people, but personally esteemed by none, and loved by very few.

Not one of the Dukes M. de Luxembourg had attacked went to see him during

his illness. I neither went nor sent, although at Versailles; and I must

admit that I felt my deliverance from such an enemy.

Here, perhaps, I may as well relate the result of the trial in which we

were engaged, and which, after the death of M. de Luxembourg, was

continued by his son. It was not judged until the following year.

I have shown that by our implicating the Duc de Gesvres, the Chief

President had been declared incapable of trying the case. The rage he

conceived against us cannot be expressed, and, great actor that he was,

he could not hide it. All his endeavour afterwards was to do what he

could against us; the rest of the mask fell, and the deformity of the

judge appeared in the man, stripped of all disguise.

We immediately signified to M. de Luxembourg that he must choose between

the letters patent of 1581 and those of 1662. If he abandoned the first

the case fell through; in repudiating the last he renounced the certainty

of being duke and peer after us; and ran the risk of being reduced to an

inferior title previously granted to him. The position was a delicate

one; he was affrighted; but after much consultation he resolved to run

all risks and maintain his pretensions. It thus simply became a question

of his right to the title of Duc de Piney, with the privilege attached to

it as a creation of 1581.

In the spring of 1696 the case was at last brought on, before the

Assembly of all the Chambers. Myself and the other Dukes seated

ourselves in court to hear the proceedings. The trial commenced.

All the facts and particulars of the cause were brought forward.

Our advocates spoke, and then few doubted but that we should gain the

victory. M. de Luxembourg's advocate, Dumont, was next heard. He was

very audacious, and spoke so insolently of us, saying, in Scripture

phraseology, that we honoured the King with our lips, whilst our hearts

were far from him, that I could not contain myself. I was seated between

the Duc de la Rochefoucauld and the Duc d'Estrees. I stood up, crying

out against the imposture of this knave, and calling for justice on him.

M. de la Rochefoucauld pulled me back, made me keep silent, and I plunged

down into my seat more from anger against him than against the advocate.

My movement excited a murmur. We might on the instant have had justice

against Dumont, but the opportunity had passed for us to ask for it, and

the President de Maisons made a slight excuse for him. We complained,

however, afterwards to the King, who expressed his surprise that Dumont

had not been stopped in the midst of his speech.

The summing up was made by D'Aguesseau, who acquitted himself of the task

with much eloquence and impartiality. His speech lasted two days. This

being over, the court was cleared, and the judges were left alone to

deliberate upon their verdict. Some time after we were called in to hear

that verdict given. It was in favour of M. de Luxembourg in so far as

the title dating from 1662 was concerned; but the consideration of his

claim to the title of 1581 was adjourned indefinitely, so that he

remained exactly in the same position as his father.

It was with difficulty we could believe in a decree so unjust and so

novel, and which decided a question that was not under dispute. I was

outraged, but I endeavoured to contain myself. I spoke to M. de la

Rochefoucauld; I tried to make him listen to me, and to agree that we

should complain to the King, but I spoke to a man furious, incapable of

understanding anything or of doing anything. Returning to my own house,

I wrote a letter to the King, in which I complained of the opinion of the

judges. I also pointed out, that when everybody had been ordered to

retire from the council chamber, Harlay and his secretary had been

allowed to remain. On these and other grounds I begged the King to grant

a new trial.

I carried this letter to the Duc de la Tremoille, but I could not get him

to look at it. I returned home more vexed if possible than when I left.

The King, nevertheless, was exceedingly dissatisfied with the judgment.

He explained himself to that effect at his dinner, and in a manner but

little advantageous to the Parliament, and prepared himself to receive

the complaints he expected would be laid before him. But the obstinacy

of M. de la Rochefoucauld, which turned into vexation against himself,

rendered it impossible for us to take any steps in the matter, and so

overwhelmed me with displeasure, that I retired to La Trappe during

Passion Week in order to recover myself.

At my return I learned that the King had spoken of this judgment to the

Chief President, and that that magistrate had blamed it, saying the cause

was indubitably ours, and that he had always thought so! If he thought

so, why oppose us so long? and if he did not think so, what a

prevaricator was he to reply with this flattery, so as to be in accord

with the King? The judges themselves were ashamed of their verdict, and

excused themselves for it on the ground of their compassion for the state

in which M. de Luxembourg would have been placed had he lost the title of

1662, and upon its being impossible that he should gain the one of 1581,

of which they had left him the chimera. M. de Luxembourg was accordingly

received at the Parliament on the 4th of the following May, with the rank

of 1662. He came and visited all of us, but we would have no intercourse

with him or with his judges. To the Advocate-General, D'Aguesseau, we

carried our thanks.

CHAPTER VII

Thus ended this long and important case; and now let me go back again to

the events of the previous year.

Towards the end of the summer and the commencement of the winter of 1695,

negotiations for peace were set on foot by the King. Harlay, son-in-law

of our enemy, was sent to Maestricht to sound the Dutch. But in

proportion as they saw peace desired were they less inclined to listen to

terms. They had even the impudence to insinuate to Harlay, whose

paleness and thinness were extraordinary, that they took him for a sample

of the reduced state of France! He, without getting angry, replied

pleasantly, that if they would give him the time to send for his wife,

they would, perhaps, conceive another opinion of the position of the

realm. In effect, she was extremely fat, and of a very high colour. He

was rather roughly dismissed, and hastened to regain our frontier.

Two events followed each other very closely this winter. The first was

the death of the Princess of Orange, in London, at the end of January.

The King of England prayed our King to allow the Court to wear no

mourning, and it was even prohibited to M. de Bouillon and M. de Duras,

who were both related to the Prince of Orange. The order was obeyed, and

no word was said; but this sort of vengeance was thought petty. Hopes

were held out of a change in England, but they vanished immediately, and

the Prince of Orange appeared more accredited there and stronger than

ever. The Princess was much regretted, and the Prince of Orange, who

loved her and gave her his entire confidence, and even most marked

respect, was for some days ill with grief.

The other event was strange. The Duke of Hanover, who, in consequence of

the Revolution, was destined to the throne of England after the Prince

and Princess of Orange and the Princess of Denmark, had married his

cousin-german, a daughter of the Duke of Zell. She was beautiful, and he

lived happily with her for some time. The Count of Koenigsmarck, young

and very well made, came to the Court, and gave him some umbrage. The

Duke of Hanover became jealous; he watched his wife and the Count, and at

length believed himself fully assured of what he would have wished to

remain ignorant of all his life. Fury seized him: he had the Count

arrested and thrown into a hot oven. Immediately afterwards he sent his

wife to her father, who shut her up in one of his castles, where she was

strictly guarded by the people of the Duke of Hanover. An assembly of

the Consistory was held in order to break off his marriage. It was

decided, very singularly, that the marriage was annulled so far as the

Duke was concerned, and that he could marry another woman; but that it

remained binding on the Duchess, and that she could not marry. The

children she had had during her marriage were declared legitimate. The

Duke of Hanover did not remain persuaded as to this last article.

The King, entirely occupied with the aggrandisement of his natural

children, had heaped upon the Comte de Toulouse every possible favour.

He now (in order to evade a promise he had made to his brother, that the

first vacant government should be given to the Duc de Chartres) forced M.

de Chaulnes to give up the government of Brittany, which he had long

held, and conferred it upon the Comte de Toulouse, giving to the friend

and heir of the former the successorship to the government of Guyenne, by

way of recompense.

M. de Chaulnes was old and fat, but much loved by the people of Brittany.

He was overwhelmed by this determination of the King, and his wife, who

had long been accustomed to play the little Queen, still more so; yet

there was nothing for them but to obey. They did obey, but it was with a

sorrow and chagrin they could not hide.

The appointment was announced one morning at the rising of the King.

Monsieur, who awoke later, heard of it at the drawing of his curtains,

and was extremely piqued. The Comte de Toulouse came shortly afterwards,

and announced it himself. Monsieur interrupted him, and before everybody

assembled there said, "The King has given you a good present; but I know

not if what he has done is good policy." Monsieur went shortly

afterwards to the King, and reproached him for giving, under cover of a

trick, the government of Brittany to the Comte de Toulouse, having

promised it to the Duc de Chartres. The King heard him in silence: he

knew well how to appease him. Some money for play and to embellish Saint

Cloud, soon effaced Monsieur's chagrin.

All this winter my mother was solely occupied in finding a good match for

me. Some attempt was made to marry me to Mademoiselle de Royan. It

would have been a noble and rich marriage; but I was alone, Mademoiselle

de Royan was an orphan, and I wished a father-in-law and a family upon

whom I could lean. During the preceding year there had been some talk of

the eldest daughter of Marechal de Lorges for me. The affair had fallen

through, almost as soon as suggested, and now, on both sides, there was a

desire to recommence negotiations. The probity, integrity, the freedom

of Marechal de Lorges pleased me infinitely, and everything tended to

give me an extreme desire for this marriage. Madame de Lorges by her

virtue and good sense was all I could wish for as the mother of my future

wife. Mademoiselle de Lorges was a blonde, with a complexion and figure

perfect, a very amiable face, an extremely noble and modest deportment,

and with I know not what of majesty derived from her air of virtue, and

of natural gentleness. The Marechal had five other daughters, but I

liked this one best without comparison, and hoped to find with her that

happiness which she since has given me. As she has become my wife, I

will abstain here from saying more about her, unless it be that she has

exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I myself had hoped.

My marriage being agreed upon and arranged the Marechal de Lorges spoke

of it to the King, who had the goodness to reply to him that he could not

do better, and to speak of me very obligingly. The marriage accordingly

took place at the Hotel de Lorges, on the 8th of April, 1695, which I

have always regarded, and with good reason, as the happiest day of my

life. My mother treated me like the best mother in the world. On the

Thursday before Quasimodo the contract was signed; a grand repast

followed; at midnight the cure of Saint Roch said mass, and married us in

the chapel of the house. On the eve, my mother had sent forty thousand

livres' worth of precious stones to Mademoiselle de Lorges, and I six

hundred Louis in a corbeille filled with all the knick-knacks that are

given on these occasions.

We slept in the grand apartment of the Hotel des Lorges. On the morrow,

after dinner, my wife went to bed, and received a crowd of visitors, who

came to pay their respects and to gratify their curiosity. The next

evening we went to Versailles, and were received by Madame de Maintenon

and the King. On arriving at the supper-table, the King said to the new

Duchess:--"Madame, will you be pleased to seat yourself?"

His napkin being unfolded, he saw all the duchesses and princesses still

standing; and rising in his chair, he said to Madame de Saint-Simon--

"Madame, I have already begged you to be seated;" and all immediately

seated themselves. On the morrow, Madame de Saint-Simon received all the

Court in her bed in the apartment of the Duchesse d'Arpajon, as being

more handy, being on the ground floor. Our festivities finished by a

supper that I gave to the former friends of my father, whose acquaintance

I had always cultivated with great care.

Almost immediately after my marriage the second daughter of the Marechal

de Lorges followed in the footsteps of her sister. She was fifteen years

of age, and at the reception of Madame de Saint-Simon had attracted the

admiration of M. de Lauzun, who was then sixty-three. Since his return

to the Court he had been reinstated in the dignity he had previously

held. He flattered himself that by marrying the daughter of a General he

should re-open a path to himself for command in the army. Full of this

idea he spoke to M. de Lorges, who was by no means inclined towards the

marriage. M. de Lauzun offered, however, to marry without dowry; and M.

de Lorges, moved by this consideration, assented to his wish. The affair

concluded, M. de Lorges spoke of it to the King. "You are bold," said

his Majesty, "to take Lauzun into your family. I hope you may not repent

of it."

The contract was soon after signed. M. de Lorges gave no dowry with his

daughter, but she was to inherit something upon the death of M. Fremont.

We carried this contract to the King, who smiled and bantered M. de

Lauzun. M. de Lauzun replied, that he was only too happy, since it was

the first time since his return that he had seen the King smile at him.

The marriage took place without delay: there were only seven or eight

persons present at the ceremony. M. de Lauzun would undress himself

alone with his valet de chambre, and did not enter the apartment of his

wife until after everybody had left it, and she was in bed with the

curtains closed, and nobody to meet him on his passage. His wife

received company in bed, as mine had done. Nobody was able to understand

this marriage; and all foresaw that a rupture would speedily be brought

about by the well-known temper of M. de Lauzun. In effect, this is what

soon happened. The Marechal de Lorges, remaining still in weak health,

was deemed by the King unable to take the field again, and his army given

over to the command of another General. M. de Lauzun thus saw all his

hopes of advancement at an end, and, discontented that the Marechal had

done nothing for him, broke off all connection with the family, took away

Madame de Lauzun from her mother (to the great grief of the latter; who

doted upon this daughter), and established her in a house of his own

adjoining the Assumption, in the Faubourg Saint-Honore. There she had to

endure her husband's continual caprices, but little removed in their

manifestation from madness. Everybody cast blame upon him, and strongly

pitied her and her father and mother; but nobody was surprised.

A few days after the marriage of M. de Lauzun, as the King was being

wheeled in his easy chair in the gardens at Versailles, he asked me for

many minute particulars concerning the family of the Marechal de Lorges.

He then set himself to joke with me upon the marriage of M. de Lauzun--

and upon mine. He said to me, in spite of that gravity which never

quitted him, that he had learnt from the Marechal I had well acquitted

myself, but that he believed the Marechal had still better news.

The loss of two illustrious men about this time, made more noise than

that of two of our grand ladies. The first of these men was La Fontaine,

so well known by his "Fables" and stories, and who, nevertheless, was so

heavy in conversation. The other was Mignard--so illustrious by his

pencil: he had an only daughter--perfectly beautiful: she is repeated in

several of those magnificent historical pictures which adorn the grand

gallery of Versailles and its two salons, and which have had no slight

share in irritating all Europe against the King, and in leaguing it still

more against his person than his realm.

At the usual time the armies were got ready for active service, and

everybody set out to join them. That of the Rhine, in which I was, was

commanded by the Marechal de Lorges. No sooner had we crossed the river

and come upon the enemy, than the Marechal fell ill. Although we were in

want of forage and were badly encamped, nobody complained--nobody wished

to move. Never did an army show so much interest in the life of its

chief, or so much love for him. M. de Lorges was, in truth, at the last

extremity, and the doctors that had been sent for from Strasbourg gave

him up entirely. I took upon myself to administer to him some "English

Drops." One hundred and thirty were given him in three doses: the effect

was astonishing; an eruption burst out upon the Marechal's body, and

saved his life. His illness was not, however, at an end; and the army,

although suffering considerably, would not hear of moving until he was

quite ready to move also. There was no extremity it would not undergo

rather than endanger the life of its chief.

Prince Louis of Baden offered by trumpets all sorts of assistance--

doctors and remedies, and gave his word that if the army removed from its

General, he and those who remained with him should be provided with

forage and provisions--should be unmolested and allowed to rejoin the

main body in perfect safety, or go whithersoever they pleased. He was

thanked, as he merited, for those very kind offers, which we did not

wish, however, to profit by.

Little by little the health of the General was reestablished, and the

army demonstrated its joy by bonfire's all over the camp, and by salvos,

which it was impossible to prevent. Never was seen testimony of love so

universal or so flattering. The King was much concerned at the illness

of the Marechal; all the Court was infinitely touched by it. M. de

Lorges was not less loved by it than by the troops. When able to support

the fatigues of the journey, he was removed in a coach to Philipsburg,

where he was joined by the Marechal, who had come there to meet him. The

next day he went to Landau, and I, who formed one of his numerous and

distinguished escort, accompanied him there, and then returned to the

army, which was placed under the command of the Marechal de Joyeuse.

We found it at about three leagues from Ketsch, its right at Roth, and

its left at Waldsdorff. We learned that the Marechal de Joyeuse had lost

a good occasion of fighting the enemy; but as I was not in camp at the

time, I will say no more of the matter. Our position was not good:

Schwartz was on our left, and the Prince of Baden on our right, hemming

us in, as it were, between them. We had no forage, whilst they had

abundance of everything, and were able to procure all they wanted. There

was a contest who should decamp the last. All our communications were

cut off with Philipsburg, so that we could not repass the Rhine under the

protection of that place. To get out of our position, it was necessary

to defile before our enemies into the plain of Hockenun, and this was a

delicate operation. The most annoying circumstance was, that M. de

Joyeuse would communicate with nobody, and was so ill-tempered that none

dared to speak to him. At last he determined upon his plans, and I was

of the detachment by which they were to be carried out. We were sent to

Manheim to see if out of the ruins of that place (burned in 1688 by M. de

Louvois) sufficient, materials could be found to construct bridges, by

which we might cross the Rhine there. We found that the bridges could be

made, and returned to announce this to M. de Joyeuse. Accordingly, on

the 20th of July, the army put itself in movement. The march was made in

the utmost confusion. Everything was in disorder; the infantry and

cavalry were huddled together pell-mell; no commands could be acted upon,

and indeed the whole army was so disorganised that it could have been

easily beaten by a handful of men. In effect, the enemy at last tried to

take advantage of our confusion, by sending a few troops to harass us.

But it was too late; we had sufficiently rallied to be able to turn upon

them, and they narrowly escaped falling into our hands. We encamped that

night in the plain on the banks of the Necker--our rear at Manheim, and

our left at Seckenheim, while waiting for the remainder of the army,

still very distant. Indeed, so great had been the confusion, that the

first troops arrived at one o'clock at night, and the last late in the

morning of the next day.

I thought that our headquarters were to be in this village of Seckenheim,

and, in company with several officers took possession of a large house

and prepared to pass the night there. While we were resting from the

fatigues of the day we heard a great noise, and soon after a frightful

uproar. It was caused by a body of our men, who, searching for water,

had discovered this village, and after having quenched their thirst had,

under the cover of thick darkness, set themselves to pillage, to violate,

to massacre, and to commit all the horrors inspired by the most unbridled

licence: La Bretesche, a lieutenant-general, declared to me that he had

never seen anything like it, although he had several times been at

pillages and sackings. He was very grateful that he had not yielded to

my advice, and taken off his wooden leg to be more at ease; for in a

short time we ourselves were invaded, and had some trouble to defend

ourselves. As we bore the livery of M. de Lorges, we were respected,

but those who bore that of M. de Joyeuse were in some cases severely

maltreated. We passed the rest of the night as well as we could in this

unhappy place, which was not abandoned by our soldiers until long after

there was nothing more to find. At daylight we went to the camp.

We found the army beginning to move: it had passed the night as well as

it could without order, the troops constantly arriving, and the last

comers simply joining themselves on to the rest. Our camp was soon,

however, properly formed, and on the 24th July, the bridges being ready,

all the army crossed the Rhine, without any attempt being made by the

enemy to follow us. On the day after, the Marechal de Joyeuse permitted

me to go to Landau, where I remained with the Marechal and the Marechale

de Lorges until the General was again able to place himself at the head

of his army.

Nothing of importance was done by our other armies; but in Flanders an

interesting adventure occurred. The Prince of Orange, after playing a

fine game of chess with our army, suddenly invested Namur with a large

force, leaving the rest of his troops under the command of M. de

Vaudemont. The Marechal de Villeroy, who had the command of our army in

Flanders, at once pressed upon M. de Vaudemont, who, being much the

weaker of the two, tried hard to escape. Both felt that everything was

in their hands: Vaudemont, that upon his safety depended the success of

the siege of Namur; and Villeroy, that to his victory was attached the

fate of the Low Countries, and very likely a glorious peace, with all the

personal results of such an event. He took his measures so well that on

the evening of the 13th of July it was impossible for M. de Vaudemont to

escape falling into his hands on the 14th, and he wrote thus to the King.

At daybreak on the 14th M. de Villeroy sent word to M. du Maine to

commence the action. Impatient that his orders were not obeyed, he sent

again five or six times. M. du Maine wished in the first instance to

reconnoitre, then to confess himself, and delayed in effect so long that

M. de Vaudemont was able to commence his retreat. The general officers

cried out at this. One of them came to M. du Maine and reminded him of

the repeated orders of the Marechal de Villeroy, represented the

importance of victory, and the ease with which it could be obtained: with

tears in his eyes he begged M. du Maine to commence the attack. It was

all in vain; M. du Maine stammered, and could not be prevailed upon to

charge, and so allowed M. de Vaudemont's army to escape, when by a single

movement it might have been entirely defeated.

All our army was in despair, and officers and soldiers made no scruple of

expressing their anger and contempt. M. de Villeroy, more outraged than

anybody else, was yet too good a courtier to excuse himself at the

expense of M. du Maine. He simply wrote to the King, that he had been

deceived in those hopes of success which appeared certain the day before,

entered into no further details, and resigned himself to all that might

happen. The King, who had counted the hours until news of a great and

decisive victory should reach him, was very much surprised when this

letter came: he saw at once that something strange had happened of which

no intelligence had been sent: he searched the gazettes of Holland; in

one he read of a great action said to have been fought, and in which M.

du Maine had been grievously wounded; in the next the news of the action

was contradicted, and M. du Maine was declared to have received no wounds

at all. In order to learn what had really taken place, the King sent for

Lavienne, a man he was in the habit of consulting when he wanted to learn

things no one else dared to tell him.

This Lavienne had been a bath-keeper much in vogue in Paris, and had

become bath-keeper to the King at the time of his amours. He had pleased

by his drugs, which had frequently put the King in a state to enjoy

himself more, and this road had led Lavienne to become one of the four

chief valets de chambre. He was a very honest man, but coarse, rough,

and free-spoken; it was this last quality which made him useful in the

manner I have before mentioned. From Lavienne the King, but not without

difficulty, learned the truth: it threw him into despair. The other

illegitimate children were favourites with him, but it was upon M. du

Maine that all his hopes were placed. They now fell to the ground, and

the grief of the King was insupportable: he felt deeply for that dear son

whose troops had become the laughing stock of the army; he felt the

railleries that, as the gazettes showed him, foreigners were heaping upon

his forces; and his vexation was inconceivable.

This Prince, so equal in his manners, so thoroughly master of his

lightest movements, even upon the gravest occasions, succumbed under this

event. On rising from the table at Marly he saw a servant who, while

taking away the dessert, helped himself to a biscuit, which he put in his

pocket. On the instant, the King forgets his dignity, and cane in hand

runs to this valet (who little suspected what was in store for him),

strikes him; abuses him, and breaks the cane upon his body! The truth

is, 'twas only a reed, and snapped easily. However, the stump in his

hand, he walked away like a man quite beside himself, continuing to abuse

this valet, and entered Madame de Maintenon's room, where he remained

nearly an hour. Upon coming out he met Father la Chaise. "My father,"

said the King to him, in a very loud voice, "I have beaten a knave and

broken my cane over his shoulders, but I do not think I have offended

God." Everybody around trembled at this public confession, and the poor

priest muttered a semblance of approval between his teeth, to avoid

irritating the King more. The noise that the affair made and the terror

it inspired may be imagined; for nobody could divine for some time the

cause; and everybody easily understood that that which had appeared could

not be the real one. To finish with this matter, once for all, let us

add here the saying of M. d'Elboeuf. Courtier though he was, the upward

flight of the illegitimate children weighed upon his heart. As the

campaign was at its close and the Princes were about to depart, he begged

M. du Maine before everybody to say where he expected to serve during the

next campaign, because wherever it might be he should like to be there

also.

After being pressed to say why, he replied that "with him one's life was

safe." This pointed remark made much noise. M. du Maine lowered his

eyes, and did not reply one word. As for the Marechal de Villeroy he

grew more and more in favour with the King and with Madame de Maintenon.

The bitter fruit of M. du Maine's act was the taking of Namur, which

capitulated on August 4th (1695). The Marechal de Villeroy in turn

bombarded Brussels, which was sorely maltreated. The Marechal de

Boufflers, who had defended Namur, was made Duke, and those who had

served under him were variously rewarded. This gave occasion for the

Prince of Orange to say, that the King recompensed more liberally the

loss of a place than he could the conquest of one. The army retired into

winter-quarters at the end of October, and the Generals went to Paris.

As for me, I remained six weeks at Landau with M. and Madame de Lorges.

At the end of that time, the Marechal, having regained his health,

returned to the army, where he was welcomed with the utmost joy: he soon

after had an attack of apoplexy, and, by not attending to his malady in

time, became seriously ill again. When a little recovered, he and Madame

de Lorges set out for Vichy, and I went to Paris.

CHAPTER VIII

Before speaking of what happened at Court after my return, it will be

necessary to record what had occurred there during the campaign.

M. de Brias, Archbishop of Cambrai, had died, and the King had given that

valuable preferment to the Abbe de Fenelon, preceptor of the children of

France. Fenelon was a man of quality, without fortune, whom the

consciousness of wit--of the insinuating and captivating kind--united

with much ability, gracefulness of intellect, and learning, inspired with

ambition. He had been long going about from door to door, knocking for

admission, but without success. Piqued against the Jesuits, to whom he

had addressed himself at first, as holding all favours in their hands,

and discouraged because unable to succeed in that quarter, he turned next

to the Jansenists, to console himself by the reputation he hoped he

should derive from them, for the loss of those gifts of fortune which

hitherto had despised him.

He remained a considerable time undergoing the process of initiation, and

succeeded at last in being of the private parties that some of the

important Jansenists then held once or twice a week at the house of the

Duchesse de Brancas. I know not if he appeared too clever for them, or

if he hoped elsewhere for better things than he could get among people

who had only sores to share; but little by little his intimacy with them

cooled; and by dint of turning around Saint Sulpice, he succeeded in

forming another connection there, upon which he built greater

expectations. This society of priests was beginning to distinguish

itself, and from a seminary of a Paris parish to extend abroad.

Ignorance, the minuteness of their practices, the absence of all patrons

and of members at all distinguished in any way, inspired them with a

blind obedience to Rome and to all its maxims; with a great aversion for

everything that passed for Jansenism, and made them so dependent upon the

bishops that they began to be considered an acquisition in many dioceses.

They appeared a middle party, very useful to the prelates; who equally

feared the Court, on account of suspicions of doctrine, and the Jesuits

for as soon as the latter had insinuated themselves into the good graces

of the prelates, they imposed their yoke upon them, or ruined them

hopelessly;--thus the Sulpicians grew apace. None amongst them could

compare in any way with the Abbe de Fenelon; so that he was able easily

to play first fiddle, and to make for himself protectors who were

interested in advancing him, in order that they might be protected in

turn.

His piety, which was all things to all men, and his doctrine that he

formed upon theirs (abjuring, as it were, in whispers, the impurities he

might have contracted amongst those he had abandoned)--the charms, the

graces, the sweetness, the insinuation of his mind, rendered him a dear

friend to this new congregation, and procured for him what he had long

sought, people upon whom he could lean, and who could and would serve.

Whilst waiting opportunities, he carefully courted these people, without

thinking, however, of positively joining them, his views being more

ambitious; so that he ever sought to make new acquaintances and friends.

His was a coquettish mind, which from people the most influential down to

the workman and the lackey sought appreciation and was determined to

please; and his talents for this work perfectly seconded his desires.

At this time, and while still obscure, he heard speak of Madame Guyon,

who has since made so much noise in the world, and who is too well known

to need that I should dwell upon her here. He saw her. There was an

interchange of pleasure between their minds. Their sublimes amalgamated.

I know not if they understood each other very clearly in that system, and

that new tongue which they hatched subsequently, but they persuaded

themselves they did, and friendship grew up between them. Although more

known than he, Madame Guyon was nevertheless not much known, and their

intimacy was not perceived, because nobody thought of them; Saint Sulpice

even was ignorant of what was going on.

The Duc de Beauvilliers became Governor of the children of France almost

in spite of himself, without having thought of it. He had to choose a

preceptor for Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne. He addressed himself to

Saint Sulpice, where for a long time he had confessed, for he liked and

protected it. He had heard speak of Fenelon with eulogy: the Sulpicians

vaunted his piety, his intelligence, his knowledge, his talents; at last

they proposed him for preceptor. The Duc de Beauvilliers saw him, was

charmed with him, and appointed him to the office.

As soon as installed, Fenelon saw of what importance it would be to gain

the entire favour of the Duc de Beauvilliers, and of his brother-in-law

the Duc de Chevreuse, both very intimate friends, and both in the highest

confidence of the King and Madame de Maintenon. This was his first care,

and he succeeded beyond his hopes, becoming the master of their hearts

and minds, and the director of their consciences.

Madame de Maintenon dined regularly once a week at the house of one or

other of the two Dukes, fifth of a little party, composed of the two

sisters and the two husbands,--with a bell upon the table, in order to

dispense with servants in waiting, and to be able to talk without

restraint. Fenelon was at last admitted to this sanctuary, at foot of

which all the Court was prostrated. He was almost as successful with

Madame de Maintenon as he had been with the two Dukes. His spirituality

enchanted her: the Court soon perceived the giant strides of the

fortunate Abbe, and eagerly courted him. But, desiring to be free and

entirely devoted to his great object, he kept himself aloof from their

flatteries--made for himself a shield with his modesty and his duties of

preceptor--and thus rendered himself still more dear to the persons he

had captivated, and that he had so much interest in retaining in that

attachment.

Among these cares he forgot not his dear Madame Guyon; he had already

vaunted her to the two Dukes and to Madame de Maintenon. He had even

introduced her to them, but as though with difficulty and for a few

moments, as a woman all in God, whose humility and whose love of

contemplation and solitude kept her within the strictest limits, and

whose fear, above all, was that she should become known. The tone of her

mind pleased Madame de Maintenon extremely; her reserve, mixed with

delicate flatteries, won upon her. Madame de Maintenon wished to hear

her talk upon matters of piety; with difficulty she consented to speak.

She seemed to surrender herself to the charms and to the virtue of Madame

de Maintenon, and Madame de Maintenon fell into the nets so skilfully

prepared for her.

Such was the situation of Fenelon when he became Archbishop of Cambrai;

increasing the admiration in which he was held by taking no step to gain

that great benefice. He had taken care not to seek to procure himself

Cambrai; the least spark of ambition would have destroyed all his

edifice; and, moreover, it was not Cambrai that he coveted.

Little by little he appropriated to himself some distinguished sheep of

the small flock Madame Guyon had gathered together. He only conducted

them, however, under the direction of that prophetess, and, everything

passed with a secrecy and mystery that gave additional relish to the

manna distributed.

Cambrai was a thunderbolt for this little flock. It was the

archbishopric of Paris they wished. Cambrai they looked upon with

disdain as a country diocese, the residence in which (impossible to avoid

from time to time) would deprive them of their pastor. Their grief was

then profound at what the rest of the world took for a piece of amazing

luck, and the Countess of Guiche was so affected as to be unable to hide

her tears. The new prelate had not neglected such of his brethren as

made the most figure; they, in turn, considered it a distinction to

command his regard. Saint Cyr, that spot so valuable and so

inaccessible, was the place chosen for his consecration; and M. de Meaux,

dictator then of the episcopacy and or doctrine, consecrated him. The

children of France were among the spectators, and Madame de Maintenon was

present with her little court of familiars. No others were invited; the

doors were closed to those who sought to pay their court.

The new Archbishop of Cambrai, gratified with his influence over Madame

de Maintenon and with the advantages it had brought him, felt that unless

he became completely master of her, the hopes he still entertained could

not be satisfied. But there was a rival in his way--Godet, Bishop of

Chartres, who was much in the confidence of Madame de Maintenon, and had

long discourses with her at Saint Cyr. As he was, however, of a very ill

figure, had but little support at Court, and appeared exceedingly simple,

M. de Cambrai believed he could easily overthrow him. To do this, he

determined to make use of Madame Guyon, whose new spirituality had

already been so highly relished by Madame de Maintenon. He persuaded

this latter to allow Madame Guyon to enter Saint Cyr, where they could

discourse together much more at their ease than at the Hotel de Chevreuse

or Beauvilliers. Madame Guyon went accordingly to Saint Cyr two or three

times. Soon after, Madame de Maintenon, who relished her more and more,

made her sleep there, and their meetings grew longer. Madame Guyon

admitted that she sought persons proper to become her disciples, and in a

short time she formed a little flock, whose maxims and language appeared

very strange to all the rest of the house, and, above all, to M. de

Chartres. That prelate was not so simple as M. de Cambrai imagined.

Profound theologian and scholar, pious, disinterested, and of rare

probity, he could be, if necessary, a most skilful courtier; but he

rarely exerted this power, for the favour of Madame de Maintenon sufficed

him of itself. As soon as he got scent of this strange doctrine, he

caused two ladies, upon whom he could count, to be admitted to Saint Cyr,

as if to become disciples of Madame Guyon. He gave them full

instructions, and they played their parts to perfection. In the first

place they appeared to be ravished, and by degrees enchanted, with the

new doctrine. Madame Guyon, pleased with this fresh conquest, took the

ladies into her most intimate confidence in order to gain them entirely.

They communicated everything to M. de Chartres, who quietly looked on,

allowed things to take their course, and, when he believed the right

moment had arrived, disclosed all he had learnt to Madame de Maintenon.

She was strangely surprised when she saw the extraordinary drift of the

new doctrine. Troubled and uncertain, she consulted with M. de Cambrai,

who, not suspecting she had been so well instructed, became, when he

discovered it, embarrassed, and thus augmented her suspicions.

Suddenly Madame Guyon was driven away from Saint Cyr, and prohibited from

spreading her doctrine elsewhere. But the admiring disciples she had

made still gathered round her in secret, and this becoming known, she was

ordered to leave Paris. She feigned obedience, but in effect went no

further than the Faubourg Saint Antoine, where, with great secrecy, she

continued to receive her flock. But being again detected, she was sent,

without further parley, to the Bastille, well treated there, but allowed

to see nobody, not even to write. Before being arrested, however, she

had been put into the hands of M. de Meaux, who used all his endeavours

to change her sentiments. Tired at last of his sermons, she feigned

conviction, signed a recantation of her opinions, and was set at liberty.

Yet, directly after, she held her secret assemblies in the Faubourg Saint

Antoine, and it was in consequence of this abuse of freedom that she was

arrested. These adventures bring me far into the year 1696, and the

sequel extends into the following year. Let us finish this history at

once, and return afterwards to what happened meanwhile.

Monsieur de Cambrai, stunned but not overpowered by the reverse he had

sustained, and by his loss of favour with Madame de Maintenon, stood firm

in his stirrups. After Madame Guyon's abuse of her liberty, and the

conferences of Issy, he bethought himself of confessing to M. de Meaux,

by which celebrated trick he hoped to close that prelate's mouth. These

circumstances induced M. de Meaux to take pen in hand, in order to expose

to the public the full account of his affair, and of Madame Guyon's

doctrine; and he did so in a work under the title of 'Instruction sur les

Etats d'Oyaison'.

While the book was yet unpublished, M. de Cambrai was shown a copy. He

saw at once the necessity of writing another to ward off the effect of

such a blow. He must have had a great deal of matter already prepared,

otherwise the diligence he used would be incredible. Before M. de

Meaux's book was ready, M. de Cambrai's, entitled 'Maximes des Saints',

was published and distributed. M. de Chevreuse, who corrected the

proofs, installed himself at the printer's, so as to see every sheet as

soon as printed.

This book, written in the strangest manner, did M. de Cambrai little

service. If people were offended to find it supported upon no authority,

they were much more so with its confused and embarrassed style, its

precision so restrained and so decided, its barbarous terms which seemed

as though taken from a foreign tongue, above all, its high-flown and far-

fetched thoughts, which took one's breath away, as in the too subtle air

of the middle region. Nobody, except the theologians, understood it, and

even they not without reading it three or four times. Connoisseurs found

in it a pure Quietism, which, although wrapped up in fine language, was

clearly visible. I do not give my own judgment of things so much beyond

me, but repeat what was said everywhere. Nothing else was talked about,

even by the ladies; and a propos of this, the saying of Madame de Sevigne

was revived: "Make religion a little more palpable; it evaporates by dint

of being over-refined."

Not a word was heard in praise of the book; everybody was opposed to it,

and it was the means of making Madame de Maintenon more unfavourable to

M. de Cambrai than ever. He sent the King a copy, without informing her.

This completed her annoyance against him. M. de Cambrai, finding his

book so ill-received by the Court and by the prelates, determined to try

and support it on the authority of Rome, a step quite opposed to our

manners. In the mean time, M. de Meaux's book appeared in two volumes

octavo, well written, clear, modest, and supported upon the authority of

the Scriptures. It was received with avidity, and absolutely devoured.

There was not a person at the Court who did not take a pleasure in

reading it, so that for a long time it was the common subject of

conversation of the Court and of the town.

These two books, so opposed in doctrine and in style, made such a stir on

every side that the King interposed, and forced M. de Cambrai to submit

his work to an examination by a council of prelates, whom he named.

M. de Cambrai asked permission to go to Rome to defend his cause in

person, but this the King refused. He sent his book, therefore, to the

Pope, and had the annoyance to receive a dry, cold reply, and to see

M. de Meaux's book triumph. His good fortune was in effect at an end.

He remained at Court some little time, but the King was soon irritated

against him, sent him off post-haste to Paris, and from there to his

diocese, whence he has never returned. He left behind him a letter for

one of his friends, M. de Chevreuse it was generally believed, which

immediately after became public. It appeared like the manifesto of a man

who disgorges his bile and restrains himself no more, because he has

nothing more to hope. The letter, bold and bitter in style, was besides

so full of ability and artifice, that it was extremely pleasant to read,

without finding approvers; so true it is that a wise and disdainful

silence is difficult to keep under reverses.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Aptitude did not come up to my desire

Believed that to undertake and succeed were only the same things

Exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I had hoped

He had pleased (the King) by his drugs

King was being wheeled in his easy chair in the gardens

Less easily forget the injuries we inflict than those received

Make religion a little more palpable

Manifesto of a man who disgorges his bile

Mightily tired of masters and books

More facility I have as King to gratify myself

My wife went to bed, and received a crowd of visitors

People who had only sores to share

Persuaded themselves they understood each other

Received all the Court in her bed

Saw peace desired were they less inclined to listen to terms

Spark of ambition would have destroyed all his edifice

Sulpicians

The safest place on the Continent

Wise and disdainful silence is difficult to keep under reverses

With him one's life was safe