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 riot 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.

VOLUME 2.

CHAPTER IX

To return now to the date from which I started. On the 6th of August,

1695, Harlay, Arch-bishop of Paris, died of epilepsy at Conflans. He was

a prelate of profound knowledge and ability, very amiable, and of most

gallant manners. For some time past he had lost favour with the King and

with Madame de Maintenon, for opposing the declaration of her marriage--

of which marriage he had been one of the three witnesses. The clergy,

who perceived his fall, and to whom envy is not unfamiliar, took pleasure

in revenging themselves upon M. de Paris, for the domination, although

gentle and kindly, he had exercised. Unaccustomed to this decay of his

power, all the graces of his mind and body withered. He could find no

resource but to shut himself up with his dear friend the Duchesse de

Lesdiguieres, whom he saw every day of his life, either at her own house

or at Conflans, where he had laid out a delicious garden, kept so

strictly clean, that as the two walked, gardeners followed at a distance,

and effaced their footprints with rakes. The vapours seized the

Archbishop, and turned themselves into slight attacks of epilepsy. He

felt this, but prohibited his servants to send for help, when they should

see him attacked; and he was only too well obeyed. The Duchesse de

Lesdiguieres never slept at Conflans, but she went there every afternoon,

and was always alone with him. On the 6th of August, he passed the

morning, as usual, until dinner-time; his steward came there to him, and

found him in his cabinet, fallen back upon a sofa; he was dead. The

celebrated Jesuit-Father Gaillard preached his funeral sermon, and

carefully eluded pointing the moral of the event. The King and Madame de

Maintenon were much relieved by the loss of M. de Paris. Various places

he had held were at once distributed. His archbishopric and his

nomination to the cardinalship required more discussion. The King learnt

the news of the death of M. de Paris on the 6th. On the 8th, in going as

usual to his cabinet, he went straight up to the Bishop of Orleans, led

him to the Cardinals de Bouillon and de Fursternberg, and said to them:-

"Gentlemen, I think you will thank me for giving you an associate like M.

d'Orleans, to whom I give my nomination to the cardinalship." At this

word the Bishop, who little expected such a scene, fell at the King's

feet and embraced his knees. He was a man whose face spoke at once of

the virtue and benignity he possessed. In youth he was so pious, that

young and old were afraid to say afoul word in his presence. Although

very rich, he appropriated scarcely any of his wealth to himself, but

gave it away for good works. The modesty and the simplicity with which

M. d'Orleans sustained his nomination, increased the universal esteem in

which he was held.

The archbishopric of Paris was given to a brother of the Duc de Noailles-

the Bishop of Chalons-sur-Marne--M. de Noailles thus reaping the fruit of

his wise sacrifice to M. de Vendome, before related. M. de Chalons was

of singular goodness and modesty. He did not wish for this preferment,

and seeing from far the prospect of its being given to him, hastened to

declare himself against the Jesuits, in the expectation that Pere la

Chaise, who was of them, and who was always consulted upon these

occasions, might oppose him. But it happened, perhaps for the first

time, that Madame de Maintenon, who felt restrained by the Jesuits, did

not consult Pere la Chaise, and the preferment was made without his

knowledge, and without that of M. de Chalons. The affront was a violent

one, and the Jesuits never forgave the new Archbishop: he was, however,

so little anxious for the office, that it was only after repeated orders

he could be made to accept it.

The Bishop of Langres also died about this time. He was a true

gentleman, much liked, and called "the good Langres." There was nothing

bad about him, except his manners; he was not made for a bishop--gambled

very much, and staked high. M. de Vendome and others won largely at

billiards of him, two or three times. He said no word, but, on returning

to Langres, did nothing but practise billiards in secret for six months.

When next in Paris, he was again asked to play, and his adversaries, who

thought him as unskilful as before, expected an easy victory but, to

their astonishment, he gained almost every game, won back much more than

he had lost, and then laughed in the faces of his companions.

I paid about this time, my first journey to Marly, and a singular scene

happened there. The King at dinner, setting aside his usual gravity,

laughed and joked very much with Madame la Duchesse, eating olives with

her in sport, and thereby causing her to drink more than usual--which he

also pretended to do. Upon rising from the table the King, seeing the

Princesse de Conti look extremely serious, said, dryly, that her gravity

did not accommodate itself to their drunkenness. The Princess, piqued,

allowed the King to pass without saying anything; and then, turning to

Madame de Chatillon, said, in the midst of the noise, whilst everybody

was washing his mouth, "that she would rather be grave than be a wine-

sack" (alluding to some bouts a little prolonged that her sister had

recently had).

The saying was heard by the Duchesse de Chartres, who replied, loud

enough to be heard, in her slow and trembling voice, that she preferred

to be a "winesack" rather than a "rag-sack" (sac d guenilles) by which

she alluded to the Clermont and La Choin adventure I have related before.

This remark was so cruel that it met with no reply; it spread through

Marly, and thence to Paris; and Madame la Duchesse, who had the art of

writing witty songs, made one upon this theme. The Princesse de Conti

was in despair, for she had not the same weapon at her disposal.

Monsieur tried to reconcile them gave them a dinner at Meudon--but they

returned from it as they went.

The end of the year was stormy at Marly. One evening, after the King had

gone to bed, and while Monseigneur was playing in the saloon, the

Duchesse de Chartres and Madame la Duchesse (who were bound together by

their mutual aversion to the Princesse de Conti) sat down to a supper in

the chamber of the first-named. Monseigneur, upon retiring late to his

own room, found them smoking with pipes, which they had sent for from the

Swiss Guards! Knowing what would happen if the smell were discovered, he

made them leave off, but the smoke had betrayed them. The King next day

severely scolded them, at which the Princesse de Conti triumphed.

Nevertheless, these broils multiplied, and the King at last grew so weary

of them that one evening he called the Princesses before him, and

threatened that if they did not improve he would banish them all from the

Court. The measure had its effect; calm and decorum returned, and

supplied the place of friendship.

There were many marriages this winter, and amongst them one very strange

--a marriage of love, between a brother of Feuquiere's, who had never

done much, and the daughter of the celebrated Mignard, first painter of

his time. This daughter was still so beautiful, that Bloin, chief valet

of the King, had kept her for some time, with the knowledge of every one,

and used his influence to make the King sign the marriage-contract.

There are in all Courts persons who, without wit and without

distinguished birth, without patrons, or service rendered, pierce into

the intimacy of the most brilliant, and succeed at last, I know not how,

in forcing the world to look upon them as somebody. Such a person was

Cavoye. Rising from nothing, he became Grand Marechal des Logis in the

royal household: he arrived at that office by a perfect romance. He was

one of the best made men in France, and was much in favour with the

ladies. He first appeared at the Court at a time when much duelling was

taking place, in spite of the edicts. Cavoye, brave and skilful,

acquired so much reputation in this particular, that the name of "Brave

Cavoye" has stuck to him ever since. An ugly but very good creature,

Mademoiselle de Coetlogon, one of the Queen's waiting-women, fill in love

with him, even to madness. She made all the advances; but Cavoye treated

her so cruelly, nay, sometimes so brutally, that (wonderful to say)

everybody pitied her, and the King at last interfered, and commanded him

to be more humane. Cavoye went to the army; the poor Coetlogon was in

tears until his return. In the winter, for being second in a duel, he

was sent to the Bastille. Then the grief of Coetlogon knew no bounds:

she threw aside all ornaments, and clad herself as meanly as possible;

she begged the King to grant Cavoye his liberty, and, upon the King's

refusing, quarrelled with him violently, and when in return he laughed at

her, became so furious, that she would have used her nails, had he not

been too wise to expose himself to them. Then she refused to attend to

her duties, would not serve the King, saying, that he did not deserve it,

and grew so yellow and ill, that at last she was allowed to visit her

lover at the Bastille. When he was liberated, her joy was extreme, she

decked herself out anon, but it was with difficulty that she consented to

be reconciled to the King.

Cavoye had many times been promised an appointment, but had never

received one such as he wished. The office of Grand Marechal des Logis

had just become vacant: the King offered it to Cavoye, but on condition

that he should marry Mademoiselle Coetlogon. Cavoye sniffed a little

longer, but was obliged to submit to this condition at last. They were

married, and she has still the same admiration for him, and it is

sometimes fine fun to see the caresses she gives him before all the

world, and the constrained gravity with which he receives them. The

history of Cavoye would fill a volume, but this I have selected suffices

for its singularity, which assuredly is without example.

About this time the King of England thought matters were ripe for an

attempt to reinstate himself upon the throne. The Duke of Berwick had

been secretly into England, where he narrowly escaped being arrested,

and upon his report these hopes were built. Great preparations were

made, but they came to nothing, as was always the case with the projects

of this unhappy prince.

Madame de Guise died at this time. Her father was the brother of Louis

XIII., and she, humpbacked and deformed to excess, had married the last

Duc de Guise, rather than not marry at all. During all their lives, she

compelled him to pay her all the deference due to her rank. At table he

stood while she unfolded her napkin and seated herself, and did not sit

until she told him to do so, and then at the end of the table. This form

was observed every day of their lives. She was equally severe in such

matters of etiquette with all the rest of the world. She would keep her

diocesan, the Bishop of Seez, standing for entire hours, while she was

seated in her arm-chair and never once offered him a seat even in the

corner. She was in other things an entirely good and sensible woman.

Not until after her death was it discovered that she had been afflicted

for a long time with a cancer, which appeared as though about to burst.

God spared her this pain.

We lost, in the month of March, Madame de Miramion, aged sixty-six. She

was a bourgeoise, married, and in the same year became a widow very rich,

young, and beautiful. Bussy Rabutin, so known by his 'Histoire Amoureuse

des Gaules', and by the profound disgrace it drew upon him, and still

more by the vanity of his mind and the baseness of his heart, wished

absolutely to marry her, and actually carried her off to a chateau. Upon

arriving at the place, she pronounced before everybody assembled there a

vow of chastity, and then dared Bussy to do his worst. He, strangely

discomfited by this action, at once set her at liberty, and tried to

accommodate the affair. From that moment she devoted herself entirely,

to works of piety, and was much esteemed by the King. She was the first

woman of her condition who wrote above her door, "Hotel de Nesmond."

Everybody cried out, and was scandalised, but the writing remained, and

became the example and the father of those of all kinds which little by

little have inundated Paris.

Madame de Sevigne, so amiable and of such excellent company, died some

time after at Grignan, at the house of her daughter, her idol, but who

merited little to be so. I was very intimate with the young Marquis de

Grignan, her grandson. This woman, by her natural graces, the sweetness

of her wit, communicated these qualities to those who had them not; she

was besides extremely good, and knew thoroughly many things without ever

wishing to appear as though she knew anything.

Father Seraphin preached during Lent this year at the Court. His

sermons, in which he often repeated twice running the same phrase, were

much in vogue. It was from him that came the saying, "Without God there

is no wit." The King was much pleased with him, and reproached M. de

Vendome and M. de la Rochefoucauld because they never went to hear his

sermons. M. de Vendome replied off-hand, that he did not care to go to

hear a man who said whatever he pleased without allowing anybody to reply

to him, and made the King smile by this sally. But M. de la

Rochefoucauld treated the matter in another manner he said that he could

not induce himself to go like the merest hanger-on about the Court, and

beg a seat of the officer who distributed them, and then betake himself

early to church in order to have a good one, and wait about in order to

put himself where it might please that officer to place him. Whereupon

the King immediately gave him a fourth seat behind him, by the side of

the Grand Chamberlain, so that everywhere he is thus placed.

M. d'Orleans had been in the habit of seating himself there (although his

right place was on the prie-Dieu), and little by little had accustomed

himself to consider it as his proper place. When he found himself driven

away, he made a great ado, and, not daring to complain to the King,

quarrelled with M. de la Rochefoucauld, who, until then, had been one of

his particular friends. The affair soon made a great stir; the friends

of both parties mixed themselves up in it. The King tried in vain to

make M. d'Orleans listen to reason; the prelate was inflexible, and when

he found he could gain nothing by clamour and complaint, he retired in

high dudgeon into his diocese: he remained there some time, and upon his

return resumed his complaints with more determination than ever; he fell

at the feet of the King, protesting that he would rather die than see his

office degraded. M. de la Rochefoucauld entreated the King to be allowed

to surrender the seat in favour of M. d'Orleans. But the King would not

change his decision; he said that if the matter were to be decided

between M. d'Orleans and a lackey, he would give the seat to the lackey

rather than to M. d'Orleans. Upon this the prelate returned to his

diocese, which he would have been wiser never to have quitted in order to

obtain a place which did not belong to him.

As the King really esteemed M. d'Orleans, he determined to appease his

anger; and to put an end to this dispute he gave therefore the bishopric

of Metz to the nephew of M. d'Orleans; and by this means a reconciliation

was established. M. d'Orleans and M. de la Rochefoucauld joined hands

again, and the King looked on delighted.

The public lost soon after a man illustrious by his genius, by his style,

and by his knowledge of men, I mean La Bruyere, who died of apoplexy at

Versailles, after having surpassed Theophrastus in his own manner, and

after painting, in the new characters, the men of our days in a manner

inimitable. He was besides a very honest man, of excellent breeding,

simple, very disinterested, and without anything of the pedant. I had

sufficiently known him to regret his death, and the works that might have

been hoped from him.

The command of the armies was distributed in the same manner as before,

with the exception that M. de Choiseul had the army of the Rhine in place

of M. de Lorges. Every one set out to take the field. The Duc de la

Feuillade in passing by Metz, to join the army in Germany, called upon

his uncle, who was very rich and in his second childhood. La Feuillade

thought fit to make sure of his uncle's money beforehand, demanded the

key of the cabinet and of the coffers, broke them open upon being refused

by the servants, and took away thirty thousand crowns in gold, and many

jewels, leaving untouched the silver. The King, who for a long time had

been much discontented with La Feuillade for his debauches and his

negligence, spoke very strongly and very openly upon this strange

forestalling of inheritance. It was only with great difficulty he could

be persuaded not to strip La Feuillade of his rank.

Our campaign was undistinguished by any striking event. From June to

September of this year (1696), we did little but subsist and observe,

after which we recrossed the Rhine at Philipsburg, where our rear guard

was slightly inconvenienced by the enemy. In Italy there was more

movement. The King sought to bring about peace by dividing the forces of

his enemies, and secretly entered into a treaty with Savoy. The

conditions were, that every place belonging to Savoy which had been taken

by our troops should be restored, and that a marriage should take place

between Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne and the daughter of the Duke of

Savoy, when she became twelve years of age. In the mean time she was to

be sent to the Court of France, and preparations were at once made there

to provide her with a suitable establishment.

The King was ill with an anthrax in the throat. The eyes of all Europe

were turned towards him, for his malady was not without danger;

nevertheless in his bed he affected to attend to affairs as usual; and he

arranged there with Madame de Maintenon, who scarcely ever quitted his

side, the household of the Savoy Princess. The persons selected for the

offices in that household were either entirely devoted to Madame de

Maintenon, or possessed of so little wit that she had nothing to fear

from them. A selection which excited much envy and great surprise was

that of the Duchesse de Lude to be lady of honour. The day before she

was appointed, Monsieur had mentioned her name in sport to the King.

"Yes," said the King, "she would be the best woman in the world to teach

the Princess to put rouge and patches on her cheek;" and then, being

more devout than usual, he said other things as bitter and marking strong

aversion on his part to the Duchess. In fact, she was no favourite of

his nor of Madame de Maintenon; and this was so well understood that the

surprise of Monsieur and of everybody else was great, upon finding, the

day after this discourse, that she had been appointed to the place.

The cause of this was soon learnt. The Duchesse de Lude coveted much to

be made lady of honour to the Princess, but knew she had but little

chance, so many others more in favour than herself being in the field.

Madame de Maintenon had an old servant named Nanon, who had been with her

from the time of her early days of misery, and who had such influence

with her, that this servant was made much of by everybody at Court, even

by the ministers and the daughters of the King. The Duchesse de Lude had

also an old servant who was on good terms with the other. The affair

therefore was not difficult. The Duchesse de Lude sent twenty thousand

crowns to Nanon, and on the very evening of the day on which the King had

spoken to Monsieur, she had the place. Thus it is! A Nanon sells the

most important and the most brilliant offices, and a Duchess of high

birth is silly enough to buy herself into servitude!

This appointment excited much envy. The Marechal de Rochefort, who had

expected to be named, made a great ado. Madame de Maintenon, who

despised her, was piqued, and said that she should have had it but for

the conduct of her daughter. This was a mere artifice; but the daughter

was, in truth, no sample of purity. She had acted in such a manner with

Blansac that he was sent for from the army to marry her, and on the very

night of their wedding she gave birth to a daughter. She was full of

wit, vivacity, intrigue, and sweetness; yet most wicked, false, and

artificial, and all this with a simplicity of manner, that imposed even

upon those who knew her best. More than gallant while her face lasted,

she afterwards was easier of access, and at last ruined herself for the

meanest valets. Yet, notwithstanding her vices, she was the prettiest

flower of the Court bunch, and had her chamber always full of the best

company: she was also much sought after by the three daughters of the

King. Driven away from the Court, she was after much supplication

recalled, and pleased the King so much that Madame de Maintenon, in fear

of her, sent her away again. But to go back again to the household of

the Princess of Savoy.

Dangeau was made chevalier d'honneur. He owed his success to his good

looks, to the court he paid to the King's mistresses, to his skilfulness

at play, and to a lucky stroke of fortune. The King had oftentimes been

importuned to give him a lodging, and one day, joking with him upon his

fancy of versifying; proposed to him some very hard rhymes, and promised

him a lodging if he filled them up upon the spot. Dangeau accepted,

thought but for a moment, performed the task, and thus gained his

lodging. He was an old friend of Madame de Maintenon, and it was to her

he was indebted for his post of chevalier d'honneur in the new household.

Madame d'O was appointed lady of the palace. Her father, named

Guilleragues, a gluttonous Gascon, had been one of the intimate friends

of Madame Scarron, who, as Madame de Maintenon, did not forget her old

acquaintance, but procured him the embassy to Constantinople. Dying

there, he left an only daughter, who, on the voyage home to France,

gained the heart of Villers, lieutenant of the vessel, and became his

wife in Asia-Minor, near the ruins of Troy. Villers claimed to be of the

house of d'O; hence the name his wife bore.

Established at the Court, the newly-married couple quickly worked

themselves into the favour of Madame de Maintenon, both being very clever

in intrigue. M. d'O was made governor of the Comte de Toulouse, and soon

gained his entire confidence. Madame d'O, too, infinitely pleased the,

young Count, just then entering upon manhood, by her gallantry, her wit,

and the facilities she allowed him. Both, in consequence, grew in great

esteem with the King. Had they been attendants upon Princes of the

blood, he would assuredly have slighted them. But he always showed great

indulgence to those who served his illegitimate children. Hence the

appointment of Madame d'O to be lady of the palace.

The household of the Princess of Savoy being completed, the members of it

were sent to the Pont Beauvosin to meet their young mistress. She

arrived early on the 16th of October, slept at the Pont Beauvosin that

night, and on the morrow parted with her Italian attendants without

shedding a single tear. On the 4th of November she arrived at Montargis,

and was received by the King, Monseigneur, and Monsieur. The King handed

her down from her coach, and conducted her to the apartment he had

prepared for her. Her respectful and flattering manners pleased him

highly. Her cajoleries, too, soon bewitched Madame de Maintenon, whom

she never addressed except as "Aunt;" whom she treated with a respect,

and yet with a freedom, that ravished everybody. She became the doll of

Madame de Maintenon and the King, pleased them infinitely by her

insinuating spirit, and took greater liberties with them than the

children of the King had ever dared to attempt.

CHAPTER X

Meanwhile our campaign upon the Rhine proceeded, and the enemy, having

had all their grand projects of victory defeated by the firmness and the

capacity of the Marechal de Choiseul, retired into winter-quarters, and

we prepared to do the same. The month of October was almost over when

Madame de Saint-Simon lost M. Fremont, father of the Marechal de Lorges.

She had happily given birth to a daughter on the 8th of September. I was

desirous accordingly to go to Paris, and having obtained permission from

the Marechal de Choiseul, who had treated me throughout the campaign with

much politeness and attention, I set out. Upon arriving at Paris I found

the Court at Fontainebleau. I had arrived from the army a little before

the rest, and did not wish that the King should know it without seeing

me, lest he might think I had returned in secret. I hastened at once

therefore to Fontainebleau, where the King received me with his usual

goodness,-saying, nevertheless, that I had returned a little too early,

but that it was of no consequence.

I had not long left his presence when I learned a report that made my

face burn again. It was affirmed that when the King remarked upon my

arriving a little early, I had replied that I preferred arriving at once

to see him, as my sole mistress, than to remain some days in Paris, as

did the other young men with their mistresses. I went at once to the

King, who had a numerous company around him; and I openly denied what had

been reported, offering a reward for the discovery of the knave who had

thus calumniated me, in order that I might give him a sound thrashing.

All day I sought to discover the scoundrel. My speech to the King and my

choler were the topic of the day, and I was blamed for having spoken so

loudly and in such terms. But of two evils I had chosen the least,--a

reprimand from the King, or a few days in the Bastille; and I had avoided

the greatest, which was to allow myself to be believed an infamous

libeller of our young men, in order to basely and miserably curry favour

at the Court. The course I took succeeded. The King said nothing of the

matter, and I went upon a little journey I wished particularly to take,

for reasons I will now relate.

I had, as I have already mentioned, conceived a strong attachment and

admiration for M. de La Trappe. I wished to secure a portrait of him,

but such was his modesty and humility that I feared to ask him to allow

himself to be painted. I went therefore to Rigault, then the first

portrait-painter in Europe. In consideration of a sum of a thousand

crowns, and all his expenses paid, he agreed to accompany me to La

Trappe, and to make a portrait of him from memory. The whole affair was

to be kept a profound secret, and only one copy of the picture was to be

made, and that for the artist himself.

My plan being fully arranged, I and Rigault set out. As soon as we

arrived at our journey's end, I sought M. de La Trappe, and begged to be

allowed to introduce to him a friend of mine, an officer, who much wished

to see him: I added, that my friend was a stammerer, and that therefore

he would be importuned merely with looks and not words. M. de La Trappe

smiled with goodness, thought the officer curious about little, and

consented to see him. The interview took place. Rigault excusing

himself on the ground of his infirmity, did little during three-quarters

of an hour but keep his eyes upon M. de La Trappe, and at the end went

into a room where materials were already provided for him, and covered

his canvas with the images and the ideas he had filled himself with.

On the morrow the same thing was repeated, although M. de La Trappe,

thinking that a man whom he knew not, and who could take no part in

conversation, had sufficiently seen him, agreed to the interview only out

of complaisance to me. Another sitting was needed in order to finish the

work; but it was with great difficulty M. de La Trappe could be persuaded

to consent to it. When the third and last interview was at an end, M. de

La Trappe testified to me his surprise at having been so much and so long

looked at by a species of mute. I made the best excuses I could, and

hastened to turn the conversation.

The portrait was at length finished, and was a most perfect likeness of

my venerable friend. Rigault admitted to me that he had worked so hard

to produce it from memory, that for several months afterwards he had been

unable to do anything to his other portraits. Notwithstanding the

thousand crowns I had paid him, he broke the engagement he had made by

showing the portrait before giving it up to me. Then, solicited for

copies, he made several, gaining thereby, according to his own admission,

more than twenty-five thousand francs, and thus gave publicity to the

affair.

I was very much annoyed at this, and with the noise it made in the world;

and I wrote to M. de La Trappe, relating the deception I had practised

upon him, and sued for pardon. He was pained to excess, hurt, and

afflicted; nevertheless he showed no anger. He wrote in return to me,

and said, I was not ignorant that a Roman Emperor had said, "I love

treason but not traitors;" but that, as for himself, he felt on the

contrary that he loved the traitor but could only hate his treason.

I made presents of three copies of the picture to the monastery of La

Trappe. On the back of the original I described the circumstance under

which the portrait had been taken, in order to show that M. de La Trappe

had not consented to it, and I pointed out that for some years he had

been unable to use his right hand, to acknowledge thus the error which

had been made in representing him as writing.

The King, about this time, set on foot negotiations for peace in Holland,

sending there two plenipotentiaries, Courtin and Harlay, and

acknowledging one of his agents, Caillieres, who had been for some little

time secretly in that country.

The year finished with the disgrace of Madame de Saint Geran. She was on

the best of terms with the Princesses, and as much a lover of good cheer

as Madame de Chartres and Madame la Duchesse. This latter had in the

park of Versailles a little house that she called the "Desert." There

she had received very doubtful company, giving such gay repasts that the

King, informed of her doings, was angry, and forbade her to continue

these parties or to receive certain guests. Madame de Saint Geran was

then in the first year of her mourning, so that the King did not think it

necessary to include her among the interdicted; but he intimated that he

did not approve of her. In spite of this, Madame la Duchesse invited her

to an early supper at the Desert a short time after, and the meal was

prolonged so far into the night, and with so much gaiety, that it came to

the ears of the King. He was in great anger, and learning that Madame de

Saint Geran had been of the party, sentenced her to be banished twenty

leagues from the Court. Like a clever woman, she retired into a convent

at Rouen, saying that as she had been unfortunate enough to displease the

King, a convent was the only place for her; and this was much approved.

At the commencement of the next year (1697) the eldest son of the Comte

d'Auvergne completed his dishonour by a duel he fought with the Chevalier

de Caylus, on account of a tavern broil, and a dispute about some

wenches. Caylus, who had fought well, fled from the kingdom; the other,

who had used his sword like a poltroon, and had run away dismayed into

the streets, was disinherited by his father, sent out of the country, and

returned no more. He was in every respect a wretch, who, on account of

his disgraceful adventures, was forced to allow himself to be

disinherited and to take the cross of Malta; he was hanged in effigy at

the Greve, to the great regret of his family, not on account of the

sentence, but because, in spite of every entreaty, he had been proceeded

against like the most obscure gentleman. The exile of Caylus afterwards

made his fortune.

We had another instance, about this time, of the perfidy of Harlay. He

had been entrusted with a valuable deposit by Ruvigny, a Huguenot

officer, who, quitting France, had entered the service of the Prince of

Orange, and who was, with the exception of Marshal Schomberg, the only

Huguenot to whom the King offered the permission of remaining at Court

with full liberty to practise his religion in secret. This, Ruvigny,

like Marshal Schomberg, refused. He was, nevertheless, allowed to retain

the property he possessed in France; but after his death his son, not

showing himself at all grateful for this favour, the King at last

confiscated the property, and publicly testified his anger. This was the

moment that Harlay seized to tell the King of the deposit he had. As a

recompense the King gave it to him as confiscated, and this hypocrite of

justice, of virtue, of disinterestedness, and of rigorism was not ashamed

to appropriate it to himself, and to close his ears and his eyes to the

noise this perfidy excited.

M. de Monaco, who had obtained for himself the title of foreign prince by

the marriage of his son with the Duchesse de Valentinois, daughter of M.

le Grand, and who enjoyed, as it were, the sovereignty of a rock--beyond

whose narrow limits anybody might spit, so to speak, whilst standing in

the middle--soon found, and his son still more so, that they had bought

the title very dearly. The Duchess was charming, gallant, and was

spoiled by the homage of the Court, in a house open night and day, and to

which her beauty attracted all that was young and brilliant. Her

husband, with much intelligence, was diffident; his face and figure had

acquired for him the name of Goliath; he suffered for a long time the

haughtiness and the disdain of his wife and her family. At last he and

his father grew tired and took away Madame de Valentinois to Monaco. She

grieved, and her parents also, as though she had been carried off to the

Indies. After two years of absence and repentance, she promised marvels,

and was allowed to return to Paris. I know not who counselled her, but,

without changing her conduct, she thought only how to prevent a return to

Monaco; and to insure herself against this, she accused her father-in-law

of having made vile proposals to her, and of attempting to take her by

force. This charge made a most scandalous uproar, but was believed by

nobody. M. de Monaco was no longer young; he was a very honest man, and

had always passed for such; besides, he was almost blind in both eyes,

and had a huge pointed belly, which absolutely excited fear, it jutted

out so far!

After some time, as Madame de Valentinois still continued to swim in the

pleasures of the Court under the shelter of her family, her husband

redemanded her; and though he was laughed at at first, she was at last

given up to him.

A marriage took place at this time between the son of Pontchartrain and

the daughter of the Comte de Roye. The Comte de Roye was a Huguenot,

and, at the revocation of the edict of Nantes, had taken refuge, with his

wife, in Denmark, where he had been made grand marshal and commander of

all the troops. One day, as the Comte de Roye was dining with his wife

and daughter at the King's table, the Comtesse de Roye asked her daughter

if she did not think the Queen of Denmark and Madame Panache resembled

each other like two drops of water? Although she spoke in French and in

a low tone, the Queen both heard and understood her, and inquired at once

who was Madame Panache. The Countess in her surprise replied, that she

was a very amiable woman at the French Court. The Queen, who had noticed

the surprise of the Countess, was not satisfied with this reply. She

wrote to the Danish minister at Paris, desiring to be informed of every

particular respecting Madame Panache, her face, her age, her condition,

and upon what footing she was at the French Court. The minister, all

astonished that the Queen should have heard of Madame Panache, wrote word

that she was a little and very old creature, with lips and eyes so

disfigured that they were painful to look upon; a species of beggar who

had obtained a footing at Court from being half-witted, who was now at

the supper of the King, now at the dinner of Monseigneur, or at other

places, where everybody amused themselves by tormenting her: She in turn

abused the company at these parties, in order to cause diversion, but

sometimes rated them very seriously and with strong words, which

delighted still more those princes and princesses, who emptied into her

pockets meat and ragouts, the sauces of which ran all down her

petticoats: at these parties some gave her a pistole or a crown, and

others a filip or a smack in the face, which put her in a fury, because

with her bleared eyes not being able to see the end of her nose, she

could not tell who had struck her;--she was, in a word, the pastime of

the Court!

Upon learning this, the Queen of Denmark was so piqued, that she could no

longer suffer the Comtesse de Roye near her; she complained to the King:

he was much offended that foreigners, whom he had loaded with favour,

should so repay him. The Comte de Roye was unable to stand up against

the storm, and withdrew to England, where he died a few years after.

The King at this time drove away the company of Italian actors, and would

not permit another in its place. So long as the Italians had simply

allowed their stage to overflow with filth or impiety they only caused

laughter; but they set about playing a piece called "The False Prude," in

which Madame de Maintenon was easily recognised. Everybody ran to see

the piece; but after three or four representations, given consecutively

on account of the gain it brought, the Italians received orders to close

their theatre and to quit the realm in a month. This affair made a great

noise; and if the comedians lost an establishment by their boldness and

folly, they who drove them away gained nothing--such was the licence with

which this ridiculous event was spoken of!

CHAPTER XI

The disposition of the armies was the same this year as last, except that

the Princes did not serve. Towards the end of May I joined the army of

the Rhine, under the Marechal de Choiseul, as before. We made some

skilful manoeuvres, but did little in the way of fighting. For sixteen

days we encamped at Nieder-buhl, where we obtained a good supply of

forage. At the end of that time the Marechal de Choiseul determined to

change his position. Our army was so placed, that the enemy could see

almost all of it quite distinctly; yet, nevertheless, we succeeded in

decamping so quickly, that we disappeared from under their very eyes in

open daylight, and in a moment as it were. Such of the Imperial Generals

as were out riding ran from all parts to the banks of the Murg, to see

our retreat, but it was so promptly executed that there was no time for

them, to attempt to hinder us. When the Prince of Baden was told of our

departure he could not credit it. He had seen us so lately, quietly

resting in our position, that it seemed impossible to him we had left it

in such a short space of time. When his own eyes assured him of the

fact, he was filled with such astonishment and admiration, that he asked

those around him if they had ever seen such a retreat, adding, that he

could not have believed, until then, that an army so numerous and so

considerable should have been able to disappear thus in an instant.

This honourable and bold retreat was attended by a sad accident. One of

our officers, named Blansac, while leading a column of infantry through

the wood, was overtaken by night. A small party of his men heard some

cavalry near them. The cavalry belonged to the enemy, and had lost their

way. Instead of replying when challenged, they said to each other in

German, "Let us run for it." Nothing more was wanting to draw upon them

a discharge from the small body of our men, by whom they had been heard.

To this they replied with their pistols. Immediately, and without

orders, the whole column of infantry fired in that direction, and, before

Blansac could inquire the cause, fired again. Fortunately he was not

wounded; but five unhappy captains were killed, and some subalterns

wounded.

Our campaign was brought to an end by the peace of Ryswick. The first

news of that event arrived at Fontainebleau on the 22nd of September.

Celi, son of Harlay, had been despatched with the intelligence; but he

did not arrive until five o'clock in the morning of the 26th of

September. He had amused himself by the way with a young girl who had

struck his fancy, and with some wine that he equally relished. He had

committed all the absurdities and impertinences which might be expected

of a debauched, hare-brained young fellow, completely spoiled by his

father, and he crowned all by this fine delay.

A little time before the signing of peace, the Prince de Conti, having

been elected King of Poland, set out to take possession of his throne.

The King, ravished with joy to see himself delivered from a Prince whom

he disliked, could not hide his satisfaction--his eagerness--to get rid

of a Prince whose only faults were that he had no bastard blood in his

veins, and that he was so much liked by all the nation that they wished

him at the head of the army, and murmured at the little favour he

received, as compared with that showered down upon the illegitimate

children.

The King made all haste to treat the Prince to royal honours. After an

interview in the cabinet of Madame de Maintenon, he presented him to a

number of ladies, saying, "I bring you a king." The Prince was all along

doubtful of the validity of his election, and begged that the Princess

might not be treated as a queen, until he should have been crowned.

He received two millions in cash from the King, and other assistances.

Samuel Bernard undertook to make the necessary payments in Poland. The

Prince started by way of Dunkerque, and went to that place at such speed,

that an ill-closed chest opened, and two thousand Louis were scattered on

the road, a portion only of which was brought back to the Hotel Conti.

The celebrated Jean Bart pledged himself to take him safely, despite the

enemy's fleet; and kept his word. The convoy was of five frigates. The

Chevalier de Sillery, before starting, married Mademoiselle Bigot, rich

and witty, with whom he had been living for some time. Meanwhile the

best news arrived from our ambassador, the Abbe de Polignac, to the King;

but all answers were intercepted at Dantzic by the retired Queen of

Poland, who sent on only the envelopes! However, the Prince de Conti

passed up the Sound; and the King and Queen of Denmark watched them from

the windows of the Chateau de Cronenbourg. Jean Bart, against custom,

ordered a salute to be fired. It was returned; and as some light vessels

passing near the frigates said that the King and Queen were looking on,

the Prince ordered another salvo.

There was, however, another claimant to the throne of Poland; I mean the

Elector of Saxony, who had also been elected, and who had many partisans;

so many, indeed, that when the Prince de Conti arrived at Dantzic, he

found himself almost entirely unsupported. The people even refused

provision to his frigates. However, the Prince's partisans at length

arrived to salute him. The Bishop of Plosko gave him a grand repast,

near the Abbey of Oliva. Marege, a Gascon gentleman of the Prince's

suite, was present, but had been ill. There was drinking in the Polish

fashion, and he tried to be let off. The Prince pleaded for him; but

these Poles, who, in order to make themselves understood, spoke Latin--

and very bad Latin indeed--would not accept such an excuse, and forcing

him to drink, howled furiously 'Bibat et Moriatur! Marege, who was very

jocular and yet very choleric; used to tell this story in the same

spirit, and made everyone who heard it laugh.

However, the party of the Prince de Conti made no way, and at length he

was fain to make his way back to France with all speed. The King

received him very graciously, although at heart exceeding sorry to see

him again. A short time after, the Elector of Saxony mounted the throne

of Poland without opposition, and was publicly recognised by the King,

towards the commencement of August.

By the above-mentioned peace of Ryswick, the King acknowledged the Prince

of Orange as King of England. It was, however, a bitter draught for him

to swallow, and for these reasons: Some years before, the King had

offered his illegitimate daughter, the Princesse de Conti, in marriage to

the Prince of Orange, believing he did that Prince great honour by the

proposal. The Prince did not think in the same manner, and flatly

refused; saying, that the House of Orange was accustomed to marry the

legitimate daughters of great kings, and not their bastards. These words

sank so deeply into the heart of the King, that he never forgot them; and

often, against even his most palpable interest, showed how firmly the

indignation he felt at them had taken possession of his mind: Since then,

the Prince of Orange had done all in his power to efface the effect his

words had made, but every attempt was rejected with disdain. The King's

ministers in Holland had orders to do all they could to thwart the

projects of the Prince of Orange, to excite people against him, to

protect openly those opposed to him, and to be in no way niggard of money

in order to secure the election of magistrates unfavourable to him. The

Prince never ceased, until the breaking-out of this war, to use every

effort to appease the anger of the King. At last, growing tired, and

hoping soon to make his invasion into England, he said publicly, that he

had uselessly laboured all his life to gain the favours of the King, but

that he hoped to be more fortunate in meriting his esteem. It may be

imagined, therefore, what a triumph it was for him when he forced the

King to recognise him as monarch of England, and what that recognition

cost the King.

M. le Duc presided this year over the Assembly of the States of Burgundy,

in place of his father M. le Prince, who did not wish to go there. The

Duke gave on that occasion a striking example of the friendship of

princes, and a fine lesson to those who seek it. Santeuil, Canon of

Saint Victor, and the greatest Latin poet who has appeared for many

centuries, accompanied him. Santeuil was an excellent fellow, full of

wit and of life, and of pleasantries, which rendered him an admirable

boon-companion. Fond of wine and of good cheer, he was not debauched;

and with a disposition and talents so little fitted for the cloister,

was nevertheless, at bottom, as good a churchman as with such a character

he could be. He was a great favourite with all the house of Conde, and

was invited to their parties, where his witticisms, his verses, and his

pleasantries had afforded infinite amusement for many years.

M. le Duc wished to take him to Dijon. Santeuil tried to excuse himself,

but without effect; he was obliged to go, and was established at the

house of the Duke while the States were held. Every evening there was a

supper, and Santeuil was always the life of the company. One evening M.

le Duc diverted himself by forcing Santeuil to drink champagne, and

passing from pleasantry to pleasantry, thought it would be a good joke to

empty his snuff-box, full of Spanish snuff, into a large glass of wine,

and to make Santeuil drink it, in order to see what would happen. It was

not long before he was enlightened upon this point. Santeuil was seized

with vomiting and with fever, and in twice twenty-four hours the unhappy

man died-suffering the tortures of the damned, but with sentiments of

extreme penitence, in which he received the sacrament, and edified a

company little disposed towards edification, but who detested such a

cruel joke.