A the breaking out of the war in Italy this year Segur bought the
government of the Foix country from Tallard, one of the generals called
away to serve in that war. Segur had been in his youth a very handsome
fellow; he was at that time in the Black Musketeers, and this company was
always quartered at Nemours while the Court was at Fontainebleau. Segur
played very well upon the lute; but found life dull, nevertheless, at
Nemours, made the acquaintance of the Abbesse de la Joye, a place hard
by, and charmed her ears and eyes so much that she became with child by
him. After some months the Abbess pleaded illness, left the convent, and
set out for the waters, as she said. Putting off her journey too long,
she was obliged to stop a night at Fontainebleau; and in consequence of
the Court being there, could find no accommodation, except in a wretched
little inn already full of company. She had delayed so long that the
pangs of labour seized her in the night, and the cries she uttered
brought all the house to her assistance. She was delivered of a child
then and there; and the next morning this fact was the talk of the town.
The Duc de Saint Aignan, one of the first of the courtiers who learned
it, went straight to the King, who was brisk and free enough in those
days, and related to him what had occurred; the King laughed heartily at
the poor Abbess, who, while trying to hide her shame, had come into the
very midst of the Court. Nobody knew then that her abbey was only four
leagues distant, but everybody learned it soon, and the Duc de Saint
Aignan among the first.
When he returned to his house, he found long faces on every side. His
servants made signs one to another, but nobody said a word. He perceived
this, and asked what was the matter; but, for some time, no one dared to
reply. At last a valet-de-chambre grew bold enough to say to Saint
Aignan, that the Abbess, whose adventure had afforded so much mirth, was
his own daughter; and that, after he had gone to the King, she had sent
for assistance, in order to get out of the place where she was staying.
It was now the Duke's turn to be confused. After having made the King
and all the Court laugh at this adventure, he became himself the
laughing-stock of everybody. He bore the affair as well as he could;
carried away the Abbess and her baggage; and, as the scandal was public,
made her send in her resignation and hide herself in another convent,
where she lived more than forty years.
That worthy man, Saint-Herem, died this year at his house in Auvergne, to
which he had retired. Everybody liked him; and M. de Rochefoucauld had
reproached the King for not making him Chevalier of the Order. The King
had confounded him with Courtine, his brother-in-law, for they had
married two sisters; but when put right had not given the favour.
Madame de Saint-Herem was the most singular creature in the world, not
only in face but in manners. She half boiled her thigh one day in the
Seine, near Fontainebleau, where she was bathing. The river was too
cold; she wished to warm it, and had a quantity of water heated and
thrown into the stream just above her. The water reaching her before it
could grow cold, scalded her so much that she was forced to keep her bed.
When it thundered, she used to squat herself under a couch and make all
her servants lie above, one upon the other, so that if the thunderbolt
fell, it might have its effect upon them before penetrating to her. She
had ruined herself and her husband, though they were rich, through sheer
imbecility; and it is incredible the amount of money she spent in her
absurdities.
The best adventure which happened to her, among a thousand others, was at
her house in the Place Royale, where she was one day attacked by a
madman, who, finding her alone in her chamber, was very enterprising.
The good lady, hideous at eighteen, but who was at this time eighty and a
widow, cried aloud as well as she could. Her servants heard her at last,
ran to her assistance, and found her all disordered, struggling in the
hands of this raging madman. The man was found to be really out of his
senses when brought before the tribunal, and the story amused everybody.
The health of the King of England (James II.), which had for some time
been very languishing, grew weaker towards the middle of August of this
year, and by the 8th of September completely gave way. There was no
longer any hope. The King, Madame de Maintenon, and all the royal
persons, visited him often. He received the last sacrament with a piety
in keeping with his past life, and his death was expected every instant.
In this conjuncture the King made a resolve more worthy of Louis XII., or
Francis I., than of his own wisdom. On Tuesday, the 13th of September,
he went from Marly to Saint Germain. The King of England was so ill that
when the King was announced to him he scarcely opened his eyes for an
instant. The King told him that he might die in peace respecting the
Prince of Wales, whom he would recognise as King of England, Scotland,
and Ireland.
The few English who were there threw themselves upon their knees, but the
King of England gave no signs of life. The gratitude of the Prince of
Wales and of his mother, when they heard what the King had said, may be
imagined. Returned to Marly, the King repeated to all the Court what he
had said. Nothing was heard but praises and applause.
Yet reflections did not fail to be made promptly, if not publicly. It
was seen, that to recognise the Prince of Wales was to act in direct
opposition to the recognition of the Prince of Orange as King of England,
that the King had declared at the Peace of Ryswick. It was to wound the
Prince of Orange in the tenderest point, and to invite England and
Holland to become allies of the Emperor against France. As for the
Prince of Wales, this recognition was no solid advantage to him, but was
calculated to make the party opposed to him in England only more bitter
and vigilant in their opposition.
The King of England, in the few intervals of intelligence he had,
appeared much impressed by what the King had done. He died about three
o'clock in the afternoon of the 16th September of this year, 1701.
He had requested that there might he no display at his funeral, and his
wish was faithfully observed. He was buried on the Saturday, at seven
o'clock in the evening, in the church of the English Benedictines at
Paris, Rue St. Jacques, without pomp, and attended by but few mourners.
His body rests in the chapel, like that of the simplest private person,
until the time, apparently very distant, when it shall be transported to
England. His heart is at the Filles de Sainte Marie, of Chaillot.
Immediately afterwards, the Prince of Wales was received by the King as
King of England, with all the formalities and state with which his father
before him had been received. Soon afterwards he was recognised by the
new King of Spain.
The Count of Manchester, English ambassador in France, ceased to appear
at Versailles after this recognition of the Prince of Wales by the King,
and immediately quitted his post and left the country without any leave-
taking. King William heard, while in Holland, of the death of James II.
and of this recognition. He was at table with some German princes and
other lords when the news arrived; did not utter a word, except to
announce the death; but blushed, pulled down his hat, and could not keep
his countenance. He sent orders to London, to drive out Poussin, acting
as French ambassador, immediately; and Poussin directly crossed the sea
and arrived at Calais.
This event was itself followed by the signing of the great treaty of
alliance, offensive and defensive, against France and Spain, by Austria,
England, and Holland; in which they afterwards succeeded in engaging
other powers, which compelled the King to increase the number of his
troops.
Just after the return of the Court from Fontainebleau, a strange scene
happened at St. Maur, in a pretty house there which M. le Duc possessed.
He was at this house one night with five or six intimate friends, whom he
had invited to pass the night there. One of these friends was the Comte
de Fiesque. At table, and before the wine had begun to circulate, a
dispute upon some historical point arose between him and M. le Duc. The
Comte de Fiesque, who had some intellect and learning, strongly sustained
his opinion. M. le Duc sustained his; and for want of better reasons,
threw a plate at the head of Fiesque, drove him from the table and out of
the house. So sudden and strange a scene frightened the guests. The
Comte de Fiesque, who had gone to M. le Duc's house with the intention of
passing the night there, had not retained a carriage, went to ask shelter
of the cure, and got back to Paris the next day as early in the morning
as he could. It may be imagined that the rest of the supper and of the
evening was terribly dull. M. le Duc remained fuming (perhaps against
himself, but without saying so), and could not be induced to apologise
for the affront. It made a great stir in society, and things remained
thus several months. After a while, friends mixed themselves in the
matter; M. le Duc, completely himself again, made all the advances
towards a reconciliation. The Comte de Fiesque received them, and the
reconciliation took place. The most surprising thing is, that after this
they continued on as good terms as though nothing had passed between
them.
The year 1702 commenced with balls at Versailles, many of which were
masquerades. Madame du Maine gave several in her chamber, always keeping
her bed because she was in the family-way; which made rather a singular
spectacle. There were several balls at Marly, but the majority were not
masquerades. The King often witnessed, but in strict privacy, and always
in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, sacred dramas such as
"Absalon," "Athalie," &c. Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, M. le Duc
d'Orleans, the Comte and Comtesse d'Anjou, the young Comte de Noailles,
Mademoiselle de Melun, urged by the Noailles, played the principal
characters in very magnificent stage dresses. Baron, the excellent old
actor, instructed them and played with them. M. de Noailles and his
clever wife were the inventors and promoters of these interior pleasures,
for the purpose of intruding themselves more and more into the society of
the King, in support of the alliance of Madame de Maintenon.
Only forty spectators were admitted to the representations. Madame was
sometimes invited by the King, because she liked plays. This favour was
much sought after. Madame de Maintenon wished to show that she had
forgotten the past.
Longepierre had written a very singular piece called "Electra," which was
played on a magnificent stage erected in Madame de Conti's house, and all
the Court flocked several times to see it. This piece was without love,
but full of other passions and of most interesting situations. I think
it had been written in the hopes that the King would go and see it. But
he contented himself with hearing it talked about, and the representation
was confined to the Hotel de Conti. Longepierre would not allow it to be
given elsewhere. He was an intriguing fellow of much wit, gentle,
insinuating, and who, under a tranquillity and indifference and a very
deceitful philosophy, thrust himself everywhere, and meddled with
everything in order to make his fortune. He succeeded in intruding
himself into favour with the Duc d'Orleans, but behaved so badly that he
was driven away.
The death of the Abbe de Vatteville occurred at the commencement of this
year, and made some noise, on account of the prodigies of the Abbe's
life. This Vatteville was the younger son of a Franche-Comte family;
early in life he joined the Order of the Chartreux monks, and was
ordained priest. He had much intellect, but was of an impetuous spirit,
and soon began to chafe under the yoke of a religious life. He
determined, therefore, to set himself free from it, and procured some
secular habits, pistols, and a horse. Just as he was about to escape
over the walls of the monastery by means of a ladder, the prior entered
his cell.
Vatteville made no to-do, but at once drew a pistol, shot the prior dead,
and effected his escape.
Two or three days afterwards, travelling over the country and avoiding
as much as possible the frequented places, he arrived at a wretched
roadside inn, and asked what there was in the house. The landlord
replied--"A leg of mutton and a capon."--"Good!" replied our unfrocked
monk; "put them down to roast."
The landlord replied that they were too much for a single person, and
that he had nothing else for the whole house. The monk upon this flew
into a passion, and declared that the least the landlord could do was to
give him what he would pay for; and that he had sufficient appetite to
eat both leg of mutton and capon. They were accordingly put down to the
fire, the landlord not daring to say another word. While they were
cooking, a traveller on horseback arrived at the inn, and learning that
they were for one person, was much astonished. He offered to pay his
share to be allowed to dine off them with the stranger who had ordered
this dinner; but the landlord told him he was afraid the gentleman would
not consent to the arrangement. Thereupon the traveller went upstairs,
and civilly asked Vatteville if he might dine with him on paying half of
the expense. Vatteville would not consent, and a dispute soon arose
between the two; to be brief, the monk served this traveller as he had
served the prior, killed him with a pistol shot. After this he went
downstairs tranquilly, and in the midst of the fright of the landlord and
of the whole house, had the leg of mutton and capon served up to him,
picked both to the very bone, paid his score, remounted his horse, and
went his way.
Not knowing what course to take, he went to Turkey, and in order to
succeed there, had himself circumcised, put on the turban, and entered
into the militia. His blasphemy advanced him, his talents and his colour
distinguished him; he became Bacha, and the confidential man in the
Morea, where the Turks were making war against the Venetians. He
determined to make use of this position in order to advance his own
interests, and entering into communication with the generalissimo of the
Republic, promised to betray into his hands several secret places
belonging to the Turks, but on certain conditions. These were,
absolution from the Pope for all crimes of his life, his murders and his
apostasy included; security against the Chartreux and against being
placed in any other Order; full restitution of his civil rights, and
liberty to exercise his profession of priest with the right of possessing
all benefices of every kind. The Venetians thought the bargain too good
to be refused, and the Pope, in the interest of the Church, accorded all
the demands of the Bacha. When Vatteville was quite assured that his
conditions would be complied with, he took his measures so well that he
executed perfectly all he had undertaken. Immediately after he threw
himself into the Venetian army, and passed into Italy. He was well
received at Rome by the Pope, and returned to his family in Franche-
Comte, and amused himself by braving the Chartreux.
At the first conquest of the Franche-Comte, he intrigued so well with the
Queen-mother and the ministry, that he was promised the Archbishopric of
Besancon; but the Pope cried out against this on account of his murders,
circumcision, and apostasy. The King sided with the Pope, and Vatteville
was obliged to be contented with the abbey of Baume, another good abbey
in Picardy, and divers other advantages.
Except when he came to the Court, where he was always received with great
distinction, he remained at his abbey of Baume, living there like a grand
seigneur, keeping a fine pack of hounds, a good table, entertaining
jovial company, keeping mistresses very freely; tyrannising over his
tenants and his neighbours in the most absolute manner. The intendants
gave way to him, and by express orders of the Court allowed him to act
much as he pleased, even with the taxes, which he regulated at his will,
and in his conduct was oftentimes very violent. With these manners and
this bearing, which caused him to be both feared and respected, he would
often amuse himself by going to see the Chartreux, in order to plume
himself on having quitted their frock. He played much at hombre, and
frequently gained 'codille' (a term of the game), so that the name of the
Abbe Codille was given to him. He lived in this manner always with the
same licence and in the same consideration, until nearly ninety years of
age.