On Thursday, the 8th of June, he went from Saint Cloud to dine with the

King at Marly; and, as was his custom, entered the cabinet as soon as the

Council of State went out. He found the King angry with M. de Chartres

for neglecting his wife, and allowing her to seek consolation for this

neglect in the society of others. M. de Chartres was at that time

enamoured of Mademoiselle de Sary, maid of honour to Madame, and carried

on his suit in the most open and flagrant manner. The King took this for

his theme, and very stiffly reproached Monsieur for the conduct of his

son. Monsieur, who needed little to exasperate him, tartly replied, that

fathers who had led certain lives had little authority over their

children, and little right to blame them. The King, who felt the point

of the answer, fell back on the patience of his daughter, and said that

at least she ought not to be allowed to see the truth so clearly. But

Monsieur was resolved to have his fling, and recalled, in the most

aggravating manner, the conduct the King had adopted towards his Queen,

with respect to his mistresses, even allowing the latter to accompany him

in his journeys--the Queen at his side, and all in the same coach. This

last remark drove the King beyond all patience, and he redoubled his

reproaches, so that presently both were shouting to each other at the top

of their voices. The door of the room in which they wrangled was open,

and only covered by a curtain, as was the custom at Marly, and the

adjoining room was full of courtiers, waiting to see the King go by to

dinner. On the other side was a little salon, devoted to very private

purposes, and filled with valets, who could hear distinctly every word of

what passed. The attendant without, upon hearing this noise, entered,

and told the King how many people were within hearing, and immediately

retired. The conversation did not stop, however; it was simply carried

on in a lower tone. Monsieur continued his reproaches; said that the

King, in marrying his daughter to M. de Chartres, had promised marvels,

and had done nothing; that for his part he had wished his son to serve,

to keep him out of the way of these intrigues, but that his demands had

been vain; that it was no wonder M. de Chartres amused himself, by way of

consolation, for the neglect he had been treated with. Monsieur added,

that he saw only too plainly the truth of what had been predicted,

namely, that he would have all the shame and dishonour of the marriage

without ever deriving any profit from it. The King, more and more

carried away by anger, replied, that the war would soon oblige him to

make some retrenchments, and that he would commence by cutting down the

pensions of Monsieur, since he showed himself so little accommodating.

At this moment the King was informed that his dinner was ready, and both

he and Monsieur left the room and went to table, Monsieur, all fury,

flushed, and with eyes inflamed by anger. His face thus crimsoned

induced some ladies who were at table, and some courtiers behind--but

more for the purpose of saying something than anything else--to make the

remark, that Monsieur, by his appearance, had great need of bleeding.

The same thing had been said some time before at Saint Cloud; he was

absolutely too full; and, indeed, he had himself admitted that it was

true. Even the King, in spite of their squabbles, had more than once

pressed him to consent. But Tancrede, his head surgeon, was old, and an

unskilful bleeder: he had missed fire once. Monsieur would not be bled

by him; and not to vex him was good enough to refuse being bled by

another, and to die in consequence.

Upon hearing this observation about bleeding, the King spoke to him again

on the subject; and said that he did not know what prevented him from

having him at once taken to his room, and bled by force. The dinner

passed in the ordinary manner; and Monsieur ate extremely, as he did at

all his meals, to say nothing of an abundant supply of chocolate in the

morning, and what he swallowed all day in the shape of fruit, pastry,

preserves, and every kind of dainties, with which indeed the tables of

his cabinets and his pockets were always filled.

Upon rising from the table, the King, in his carriage, alone went to

Saint Germain, to visit the King and Queen of England. Other members of

the family went there likewise separately; and Monsieur, after going

there also, returned to Saint Cloud.

In the evening, after supper, the King was in his cabinet, with

Monseigneur and the Princesses, as at Versailles, when a messenger came

from Saint Cloud, and asked to see the King in the name of the Duc de

Chartres. He was admitted into the cabinet, and said that Monsieur had

been taken very ill while at supper; that he had been bled, that he was

better, but that an emetic had been given to him. The fact was, Monsieur

had supped as usual with the ladies, who were at Saint Cloud. During the

meal, as he poured out a glass of liqueur for Madame de Bouillon, it was

perceived that he stammered, and pointed at something with his hand. As

it was customary with him sometimes to speak Spanish, some of the ladies

asked what he said, others cried aloud. All this was the work of an

instant, and immediately afterwards Monsieur fell in a fit of apoplexy

upon M. de Chartres, who supported him. He was taken into his room,

shaken, moved about, bled considerably, and had strong emetics

administered to him, but scarcely any signs of life did he show.

Upon hearing this news, the King, who had been accustomed to fly to visit

Monsieur for a mere nothing, went to Madame de Maintenon's, and had her

waked up. He passed a quarter of an hour with her, and then, towards

midnight, returning to his room, ordered his coach to be got ready, and

sent the Marquis de Gesvres to Saint Cloud, to see if Monsieur was worse,

in which case he was to return and wake him; and they went quickly to

bed. Besides the particular relations in which they were at that time, I

think that the King suspected some artifice; that he went in consequence

to consult Madame de Maintenon, and preferred sinning against all laws of

propriety to running the chance of being duped. Madame de Maintenon did

not like Monsieur. She feared him. He paid her very little court, and

despite all his timidity and his more than deference, observations

escaped him at times, when he was with the King, which marked his disdain

of her, and the shame that he felt of public opinion. She was not eager,

therefore, to advise the King to go and visit him, still less to commence

a journey by night, the loss of rest, and the witnessing a spectacle so

sad, and so likely to touch him, and make him make reflections on

himself; for she hoped that if things went quietly he might be spared the

trouble altogether.

A moment after the King had got into bed, a page came to say that

Monsieur was better, and that he had just asked for some Schaffhausen

water, which is excellent for apoplexy. An hour and a half later,

another messenger came, awakened the King, and told him that the emetic

had no effect, and that Monsieur was very ill. At this the King rose and

set out at once. On the way he met the Marquis de Gesvres, who was

coming to fetch him, and brought similar news. It may be imagined what a

hubbub and disorder there was this night at Marly, and what horror at

Saint Cloud, that palace of delight! Everybody who was at Marly hastened

as he was best able to Saint Cloud. Whoever was first ready started

together. Men and women jostled each other, and then threw themselves

into the coaches without order and without regard to etiquette.

Monseigneur was with Madame la Duchesse. He was so struck by what had

occurred, and its resemblance to what he himself had experienced, that he

could scarcely stand, and was dragged, almost carried, to the carriage,

all trembling.

The King arrived at Saint Cloud before three o'clock in the morning.

Monsieur had not had a moment's consciousness since his attack. A ray of

intelligence came to him for an instant, while his confessor, Pere du

Trevoux, went to say mass, but it returned no more. The most horrible

sights have often ridiculous contrasts. When the said confessor came

back, he cried, "Monsieur, do you not know your confessor? Do you not

know the good little Pere du Trevoux, who is speaking to you?" and thus

caused the less afflicted to laugh indecently.

The King appeared much moved; naturally he wept with great facility; he

was, therefore, all tears. He had never had cause not to love his

brother tenderly; although on bad terms with him for the last two months,

these sad moments recalled all his tenderness; perhaps, too, he

reproached himself for having hastened death by the scene of the morning.

And finally, Monsieur was younger than he by two years, and all his life

had enjoyed as good health as he, and better! The King heard mass at

Saint Cloud; and, towards eight o'clock in the morning, Monsieur being

past all hope, Madame de Maintenon and Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne

persuaded the King to stay no longer, and accordingly returned with him

in his carriage to Marly. As he was going out and was showing some sign

of affection to M. de Chartres--both weeping very much--that young Prince

did not fail to take advantage of the opportunity. "Oh Sire!" he

exclaimed, embracing the King's thighs, "what will become of me? I lose

Monsieur, and I know that you do not like me." The King, surprised and

much touched, embraced him, and said all the tender things he could.

On arriving at Marly, the King went with the Duchesse de Bourgogne to

Madame de Maintenon. Three hours after came M. Fagon, who had been

ordered not to leave Monsieur until he was dead or better--which could

not be but by miracle. The King said, as soon as he saw him: "Well!

M. Fagon, my brother is dead?"--"Yes, Sire," said Fagon, "no remedy has

taken effect."

The King wept a good deal. He was pressed to dine with Madame de

Maintenon; but he would not do so, and had his dinner, as usual, with the

ladies. The tears often ran down his cheek, during the meal, which was

short. After this, he shut himself up in Madame de Maintenon's rooms

until seven o'clock, and then took a turn in his garden. Afterwards he

worked with Chamillart and Pontchartrain; and arranged all the funeral

ceremonies of Monsieur. He supped an hour before his customary time, and

went to bed soon afterwards.

At the departure from St. Cloud of the King, all the crowd assembled

there little by little withdrew, so that Monsieur dying, stretched upon a

couch in his cabinet, remained exposed to the scullions and the lower

officers of the household, the majority of whom, either by affection or

interest, were much afflicted. The chief officers and others who lost

posts and pensions filled the air with their cries; whilst all the women

who were at Saint Cloud, and who lost their consideration and their

amusement, ran here and there, crying, with dishevelled hair, like

Bacchantes. The Duchesse de la Ferme, who had basely married her

daughter to one of Monsieur's minions, named La Carte, came into the

cabinet; and, whilst gazing on the Prince, who still palpitated there,

exclaimed, giving vent to her profound reflections, "Pardi! Here is a

daughter well married!"

"A very important matter!" cried Chatillon, who himself lost everything

by this death. "Is this a moment to consider whether your daughter is

well married or not?"

Madame, who had never had great affection or great esteem for Monsieur,

but who felt her loss and her fall, meanwhile remained in her cabinet,

and in the midst of her grief cried out, with all her might, "No convent!

Let no one talk of a convent! I will have nothing to do with a convent!"

The good Princess had not lost her judgment. She knew that, by her

compact of marriage, she had to choose, on becoming a widow, between a

convent and the chateau of Montargis. She liked neither alternative; but

she had greater fear of the convent than of Montargis; and perhaps

thought it would be easier to escape from the latter than the former.

She knew she had much to fear from the King, although she did not yet

know all, and although he had been properly polite to her, considering

the occasion.

Next morning, Friday, M. de Chartres, came to the King, who was still in

bed, and who spoke to him in a very friendly manner. He said that the

Duke must for the future regard him as his father; that he would take

care of his position and his interests; that he had forgotten all the

little causes of anger he had had against him; that he hoped the Duke

would also forget them; that he begged that the advances of friendship he

made, might serve to attach him to him, and make their two hearts belong

to one another again. It may easily be conceived how well M. de Chartres

answered all this.

CHAPTER XXII

After such a frightful spectacle as had been witnessed, so many tears and

so much tenderness, nobody doubted that the three, days which remained of

the stay at Marly would be exceedingly sad. But, on the very morrow of

the day on which Monsieur died, some ladies of the palace, upon entering

the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, where was the King with the

Duchesse de Bourgogne, about twelve o'clock, heard her from the chamber

where they were, next to hers, singing opera tunes. A little while

after, the King, seeing the Duchesse de Bourgogne very sad in a corner of

the room, asked Madame de Maintenon, with surprise, why the said Duchess

was so melancholy; set himself to work to rouse her; then played with her

and some ladies of the palace he had called in to join in the sport.

This was not all. Before rising from the dinner table, at a little after

two o'clock, and twenty-six hours after the death of Monsieur,

Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne asked the Duc de Montfort if he would

play at brelan.

"At brelan!" cried Montfort, in extreme astonishment; "you cannot mean

it! Monsieur is still warm."

"Pardon me," replied the Prince, "I do mean it though. The King does not

wish that we should be dull here at Marly, and has ordered me to make

everybody play; and, for fear that nobody should dare to begin, to set,

myself, the example;" and with this he began to play at brelan; and the

salon was soon filled with gaming tables.

Such was the affection of the King: such that of Madame de Maintenon!

She felt the loss of Monsieur as a deliverance, and could scarcely

restrain her joy; and it was with the greatest difficulty she succeeded

in putting on a mournful countenance. She saw that the King was already

consoled; nothing could therefore be more becoming than for her to divert

him, and nothing suited her better than to bring things back into their

usual course, so that there might be no more talk of Monsieur nor of

affliction. For propriety of appearance she cared nothing. The thing

could not fail, however, to be scandalous; and in whispers was found so.

Monseigneur, though he had appeared to like Monsieur, who had given him

all sorts of balls and amusements, and shown him every kind of attention

and complaisance, went out wolf hunting the very day after his death;

and, upon his return, finding play going on in the salons, went without

hesitation and played himself like the rest. Monseigneur le Duc de

Bourgogne and M. le Duc de Berry only saw Monsieur on public occasions,

and therefore could not be much moved by his loss. But Madame la

Duchesse was extremely touched by this event. He was her grandfather;

and she tenderly loved her mother, who loved Monsieur; and Monsieur had

always been very kind to her, and provided all kinds of diversion for

her. Although not very loving to anybody, she loved Monsieur; and was

much affected not to dare to show her grief, which she indulged a long

time in private. What the grief of Madame was has already been seen.

As for M. de Chartres, he was much affected by his loss. The father and

son loved each other extremely. Monsieur was a gentle and indulgent

parent, who had never constrained his son. But if the Duke's heart was

touched, his reason also was. Besides the great assistance it was to him

to have a father, brother of the King, that father was, as it were,

a barrier between him and the King, under whose hand he now found himself

directly placed. His greatness, his consideration, the comfort of his

house and his life, would, therefore, depend on him alone. Assiduity,

propriety of conduct, a certain manner, and, above all, a very different

deportment towards his wife, would now become the price of everything he

could expect to obtain from the King. Madame la Duchesse de Chartres,

although well treated by Monsieur, was glad to be delivered from him; for

he was a barrier betwixt her and the King, that left her at the mercy of

her husband. She was charmed to be quit of the duty of following

Monsieur to Paris or Saint Cloud, where she found herself, as it were, in

a foreign country, with faces which she never saw anywhere else, which

did not make her welcome; and where she was exposed to the contempt and

humour of Madame, who little spared her. She expected for the future

never to leave the Court, and to be not only exempt from paying her court

to Monsieur, but that Madame and her husband would for the future be

obliged to treat her in quite another manner.

The bulk of the Court regretted Monsieur, for it was he who set all

pleasure a-going; and when he left it, life and merriment seemed to have

disappeared likewise. Setting aside his obstinacy with regard to the

Princes, he loved the order of rank; preferences, and distinctions: he

caused them to be observed as much as possible, and himself set the

example. He loved great people; and was so affable and polite, that

crowds came to him. The difference which he knew how to make, and which

he never failed to make, between every one according to his position,

contributed greatly to his popularity. In his receptions, by his greater

or less, or more neglectful attention, and by his words, he always marked

in a flattering manner the differences made by birth and dignity, by age

and merit, and by profession; and all this with a dignity natural to him,

and a constant facility which he had acquired. His familiarity obliged,

and yet no rash people ever ventured to take advantage of it. He visited

or sent exactly when it was proper; and under his roof he allowed a

complete liberty, without injury to the respect shown him, or to a

perfect court air.

He had learned from the Queen his mother, and well remembered this art.

The crowd, therefore, constantly flocked towards the Palais Royal.

At Saint Cloud, where all his numerous household used to assemble, there

were many ladies who, to speak the truth, would scarcely have been

received elsewhere, but many also of a higher set, and great store of

gamblers. The pleasures of all kinds of games, and the singular beauty

of the place, where a thousand caleches were always ready to whirl even

the most lazy ladies through the walks, soft music and good cheer, made

it a palace of delight, grace, and magnificence.

All this without any assistance from Madame, who dined and supped with

the ladies and Monsieur, rode out sometimes in a caleche with one of

them, often sulked with the company, made herself feared for her harsh

and surly temper--frequently even for her words; and passed her days in a

little cabinet she had chosen, where the windows were ten feet from the

ground, gazing perpetually on the portraits of Paladins and other German

princes, with which she had tapestried the walls; and writing every day

with her own hand whole volumes of letters, of which she always kept

autograph copies. Monsieur had never been able to bend her to a more

human way of life; and lived decently with her, without caring for her

person in any way.

For his part, Monsieur, who had very gallantly won the battle of Cassel,

and who had always shown courage in the sieges where he had served, had

only the bad qualities that distinguish women. With more knowledge of

the world than wit, with no reading, though he had a vast and exact

acquaintance with noble houses, their births and marriages, he was good

for nothing. Nobody was so flabby in body and mind, no one so weak,

so timid, so open to deception, so led by the nose, so despised by his

favourites, often so roughly treated by them. He was quarrelsome in

small matters, incapable of keeping any secret, suspicious, mistrustful;

fond of spreading reports in his Court to make mischief, to learn what

was really going on or just to amuse himself: he fetched and carried from

one to the other. With so many defects, unrelated to any virtue, he had

such an abominable taste, that his gifts and the fortunes that he gave to

those he took into favour had rendered him publicly scandalous. He

neither respected times nor places. His minions, who owed him

everything, sometimes treated him most insolently; and he had often much

to do to appease horrible jealousies. He lived in continual hot water

with his favourites, to say nothing of the quarrels of that troop of

ladies of a very decided character--many of whom were very malicious,

and, most, more than malicious--with whom Monsieur used to divert

himself, entering into all their wretched squabbles.

The Chevaliers de Lorraine and Chatillon had both made a large fortune by

their good looks, with which he was more smitten than with those of any

other of his favourites. Chatillon, who had neither head, nor sense, nor

wit, got on in this way, and acquired fortune. The other behaved like a

Guisard, who blushes at nothing provided he succeeds; and governed

Monsieur with a high hand all his life, was overwhelmed with money and

benefices, did what he liked for his family, lived always publicly as the

master with Monsieur; and as he had, with the pride of the Guises, their

art and cleverness, he contrived to get between the King and Monsieur,

to be dealt with gingerly, if not feared by both, and was almost as

important a man with the one as with the other. He had the finest

apartments in the Palais Royal and Saint Cloud, and a pension of ten

thousand crowns. He remained in his apartments after the death of

Monsieur, but would not from pride continue to receive the pension, which

from pride was offered him. Although it would have been difficult to be

more timid and submissive than was Monsieur with the King--for he

flattered both his ministers and his mistresses--he, nevertheless,

mingled with his respectful demeanour the demeanour of a brother, and the

free and easy ways of one. In private, he was yet more unconstrained;

always taking an armed chair, and never waiting until the King told him

to sit. In the Cabinet, after the King appeared, no other Prince sat

besides him, not even Monseigneur. But in what regarded his service, and

his manner of approaching and leaving the King, no private person could

behave with more respect; and he naturally did everything with grace and

dignity. He never, however, was able to bend to Madame de Maintenon

completely, nor avoid making small attacks on her to the King, nor avoid

satirising her pretty broadly in person. It was not her success that

annoyed him; but simply the idea that La Scarron had become his sister-

in-law; this was insupportable to him. Monsieur was extremely vain, but

not haughty, very sensitive, and a great stickler for what was due to

him. Upon one occasion he complained to the King that M. le Duc had for

some time neglected to attend upon him, as he was bound, and had boasted

that he would not do it. The King replied, that it was not a thing to be

angry about, that he ought to seek an opportunity to be served by M. le

Duc, and if he would not, to affront him. Accordingly, one morning at

Marly, as he was dressing, seeing M. le Duc walking in the garden,

Monsieur opened the window and called to him. Monsieur le Duc came up,

and entered the room. Then, while one remark was leading to another,

Monsieur slipped off his dressing-gown, and then his shirt. A valet de

chambre standing by, at once slipped a clean shirt into the hands of M.

le Duc, who, caught thus in a trap, was compelled to offer the garment to

Monsieur, as it was his duty to do. As soon as Monsieur had received it,

he burst out laughing, and said--"Good-bye, cousin, go away. I do not

want to delay you longer." M. le Duc felt the point of this, and went

away very angry, and continued so in consequence of the high tone

Monsieur afterwards kept up on the subject.

Monsieur was a little round-bellied man, who wore such high-heeled shoes

that he seemed mounted always upon stilts; was always decked out like a

woman, covered everywhere with rings, bracelets, jewels; with a long

black wig, powdered, and curled in front; with ribbons wherever he could

put them; steeped in perfumes, and in fine a model of cleanliness. He

was accused of putting on an imperceptible touch of rouge. He had a long

nose, good eyes and mouth, a full but very long face. All his portraits

resembled him. I was piqued to see that his features recalled those of

Louis XIII., to whom; except in matters of courage, he was so completely

dissimilar.

On Saturday, the 11th of June, the Court returned to Versailles. On

arriving there the King went to visit Madame and her son and daughter-in-

law separately. Madame, very much troubled by reflection on her position

with regard to the King, had sent the Duchesse de Ventadour to Madame de

Maintenon. The latter replied to the message only in general terms; said

she would visit Madame after dinner, and requested that the Duchess might

be present at the interview. It was Sunday, the morning after the return

from Marly. After the first compliments, every one went out except

Madame de Ventadour. Then Madame requested Madame de Maintenon to sit

down; and she must have felt her position keenly to bring her to this.

She began the conversation by complaining of the indifference with which

the King had treated her during her illness. Madame de Maintenon allowed

her to talk on; and when she had finished, said that the King had

commanded her to say that their common loss effaced all the past,

provided that he had reason to be better satisfied for the future, not

only as regarded M. le Duc de Chartres, but other matters also. Upon

this Madame exclaimed and protested that, except in as far as regarded

her son, she had never given cause for displeasure; and went on

alternating complaints and justifications. Precisely at the point when

she was most emphatic, Madame de Maintenon drew forth a letter from her

pocket and asked if the handwriting was known to her. It was a letter

from Madame to the Duchess of Hanover, in which she said, after giving

news of the Court, that no one knew what to say of the intercourse

between the King and Madame de Maintenon, whether it was that of marriage

or of concubinage; and then, touching upon other matters, launched out

upon the misery of the realm: that, she said, was too great to be

relieved. This letter had been opened at the post--as almost all letters

were at that time, and are indeed still--and sent to the King. It may be

imagined that this was a thunderstroke to Madame: it nearly killed her.

She burst into tears; and Madame de Maintenon very quietly and demurely

began to represent to her the contents of the letter in all its parts,

especially as it was addressed to a foreign country. Madame de Ventadour

interposed with some twaddle, to give Madame time to breathe and recover

sufficiently to say something. The best excuse was the admission of what

could not be denied, with supplications for pardon, expressions of

repentance, prayers, promises. But Madame de Maintenon had not finished

yet. Having got rid of the commission she had been charged with by the

King, she next turned to her own business: she asked Madame how it was,

that after being so friendly with her a long time ago, she had suddenly

ceased to bestow any regard upon her, and had continued to treat her with

coldness ever since. At this, Madame thinking herself quite safe, said

that the coldness was on the part of Madame de Maintenon, who had all on

a sudden discontinued the friendly intercourse which formerly existed

between them. As before, Madame de Maintenon allowed Madame to talk her

fill before she replied. She then said she was about to divulge a secret

which had never escaped her mouth, although she had for ten years been at

liberty to tell it; and she forthwith related a thousand most offensive

things which had been uttered against her by Madame to the late Madame la

Dauphine. This latter, falling out with Madame, had related all these

things to Madame de Maintenon, who now brought them forward triumphantly.

At this new blow, Madame was thunderstruck, and stood like a statue.

There was nothing for it but to behave as before--that is to say, shed

tears, cry, ask pardon, humble herself, and beg for mercy. Madame de

Maintenon triumphed coldly over her for a long time,--allowing her to

excite herself in talking, and weeping, and taking her hands, which she

did with increasing energy and humility. This was a terrible humiliation

for such a haughty German. Madame de Maintenon at last gave way, as she

had always meant to do after having satiated her vengeance. They

embraced, promised forgetfulness on both sides, and a new friendship from

that time. The King, who was not ignorant of what had occurred, took

back Madame into favour. She went neither to a convent nor to Montargis,

but was allowed to remain in Paris, and her pension was augmented. As

for M. le Duc de Chartres, he was prodigiously well treated. The King

gave him all the pensions Monsieur had enjoyed, besides allowing him to

retain his own; so that he had one million eight hundred thousand livres

a year; added to the Palais Royal, Saint Cloud, and other mansions. He

had a Swiss guard, which none but the sons of France had ever had before;

in fact he retained all the privileges his father had enjoyed, and he

took the name of Duc d'Orleans. The pensions of Madame de Chartres were

augmented. All these honours so great and so unheard of bestowed on M.

de Chartres, and an income of a hundred thousand crowns more than his

father, were due solely to the quarrel which had recently taken place

between Monsieur and the King, as to the marriage M. de Chartres had

made. People accustom themselves to everything, but this prodigious good

fortune infinitely surprised everybody. The Princes of the blood were

extremely mortified. To console them, the King immediately gave to M. le

Prince all the advantages of a first Prince of the blood, and added ten

thousand crowns to his pension.

Madame wore deep mourning for forty days, after which she threw it almost

entirely aside, with the King's permission. He did not like to see such

sad-looking things before his eyes every day. Madame went about in

public, and with the Court, in her half-mourning, under pretence that

being with the King, and living under his roof, she was of the family.

But her conduct was not the less thought strange in spite of this excuse.

During the winter, as the King could not well go to the theatre, the

theatre cane to him, in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, where

comedies with music were played. The King wore mourning for six months,

and paid all the expenses of the superb funeral which took place on the

13th of June.

While upon the subject of Monsieur, I will relate an anecdote known to

but few people, concerning the death of his first wife, Henriette

d'Angleterre, whom nobody doubts was poisoned. Her gallantries made

Monsieur jealous; and his tastes made her furious. His favourites, whom

she hated, did all in their power to sow discord between them, in order

to dispose of Monsieur at their will. The Chevalier de Lorraine, then in

the prime of his first youth (having been born in 1643) completely ruled

over Monsieur, and made Madame feel that he had this power. She,

charming and young, could not suffer this, and complained to the King,

so that M. de Lorraine was exiled. When Monsieur heard this, he swooned,

then melted into tears, and throwing himself at the feet of the King,

implored him to recall M. de Lorraine. But his prayers were useless,

and, rushing away in fury, he retired into the country and remained there

until, ashamed of a thing so publicly disgraceful, he returned to Paris

and lived with Madame as before.

Although M. de Lorraine was banished, two of his intimate friends,

D'Effiat and the Count de Beuvron, remained in the household of Monsieur.

The absence of M. de Lorraine nipped all their hopes of success, and made

them fear that some other favourite might arrive from whom they could

hope for nothing. They saw no chance that M. de Lorraine's exile would

speedily terminate; for Madame (Henriette d'Angleterre) was in greater

favour with the King than ever, and had just been sent by him into

England on a mysterious errand in which she had perfectly succeeded.

She returned triumphant and very well in health. This gave the last blow

to the hopes of D'Effiat and Beuvron, as to the return of M. de Lorraine,

who had gone to Italy to try to get rid of his vexation. I know not

which of the three thought of it first, but the Chevalier de Lorraine

sent a sure and rapid poison to his two friends by a messenger who did

not probably know what he carried.

At Saint Cloud, Madame was in the habit of taking a glass of endive-

water, at about seven o'clock in the evening. A servant of hers used to

make it, and then put it away in a cupboard where there was some ordinary

water for the use of Madame if she found the other too bitter. The

cupboard was in an antechamber which served as the public passage by

which the apartments of Madame were reached. D'Effiat took notice of all

these things, and on the 29th of June, 1670, he went to the ante-chamber;

saw that he was unobserved and that nobody was near, and threw the poison

into the endive-water; then hearing some one approaching, he seized the

jug of common water and feigned to be putting it back in its place just

as the servant, before alluded to, entered and asked him sharply what he

was doing in that cupboard. D'Effiat, without losing countenance, asked

his pardon, and said, that being thirsty, and knowing there was some

water in the cupboard, he could not resist drinking. The servant

grumbled; and D'Effiat, trying to appease him, entered the apartments of

Madame, like the other courtiers, and began talking without the slightest

emotion.

What followed an hour afterwards does not belong to my subject, and has

made only too much stir throughout all Europe. Madame died on the

morrow, June 30, at three o'clock in the morning; and the King was

profoundly prostrated with grief. Apparently during the day, some

indications showed him that Purnon, chief steward of Madame, was in the

secret of her decease. Purnon was brought before him privately, and was

threatened with instant death, unless he disclosed all; full pardon being

on the contrary promised him if he did. Purnon, thus pressed, admitted

that Madame had been poisoned, and under the circumstance I have just

related. "And my brother," said the King, "did he know of this?"--

"No, Sire, not one of us was stupid enough to tell him; he has no

secrecy, he would have betrayed us." On hearing this answer the King

uttered a great "ah!" like a man oppressed, who suddenly breathes again.

Purnon was immediately set at liberty; and years afterwards related this

narrative to M. Joly de Fleury, procureur-general of the Parliament, by

which magistrate it was related to me. From this same magistrate I

learned that, a few days before the second marriage of Monsieur, the King

took Madame aside and told her that circumstance, assuring her that he

was too honest a man to wish her to marry his brother, if that brother

could be capable of such a crime. Madame profited by what she heard.

Purnon remained in her service; but after a time she pretended to find

faults in him, and made him resign; he sold his post accordingly, towards

the end of 1674, to Maurel de Vaulonne, and quitted her service.

CHAPTER XXIII

A the breaking out of the war in Italy this year Segur bought the

government of the Foix country from Tallard, one of the generals called

away to serve in that war. Segur had been in his youth a very handsome

fellow; he was at that time in the Black Musketeers, and this company was

always quartered at Nemours while the Court was at Fontainebleau. Segur

played very well upon the lute; but found life dull, nevertheless, at

Nemours, made the acquaintance of the Abbesse de la Joye, a place hard

by, and charmed her ears and eyes so much that she became with child by

him. After some months the Abbess pleaded illness, left the convent, and

set out for the waters, as she said. Putting off her journey too long,

she was obliged to stop a night at Fontainebleau; and in consequence of

the Court being there, could find no accommodation, except in a wretched

little inn already full of company. She had delayed so long that the

pangs of labour seized her in the night, and the cries she uttered

brought all the house to her assistance. She was delivered of a child

then and there; and the next morning this fact was the talk of the town.

The Duc de Saint Aignan, one of the first of the courtiers who learned

it, went straight to the King, who was brisk and free enough in those

days, and related to him what had occurred; the King laughed heartily at

the poor Abbess, who, while trying to hide her shame, had come into the

very midst of the Court. Nobody knew then that her abbey was only four

leagues distant, but everybody learned it soon, and the Duc de Saint

Aignan among the first.

When he returned to his house, he found long faces on every side. His

servants made signs one to another, but nobody said a word. He perceived

this, and asked what was the matter; but, for some time, no one dared to

reply. At last a valet-de-chambre grew bold enough to say to Saint

Aignan, that the Abbess, whose adventure had afforded so much mirth, was

his own daughter; and that, after he had gone to the King, she had sent

for assistance, in order to get out of the place where she was staying.

It was now the Duke's turn to be confused. After having made the King

and all the Court laugh at this adventure, he became himself the

laughing-stock of everybody. He bore the affair as well as he could;

carried away the Abbess and her baggage; and, as the scandal was public,

made her send in her resignation and hide herself in another convent,

where she lived more than forty years.

That worthy man, Saint-Herem, died this year at his house in Auvergne, to

which he had retired. Everybody liked him; and M. de Rochefoucauld had

reproached the King for not making him Chevalier of the Order. The King

had confounded him with Courtine, his brother-in-law, for they had

married two sisters; but when put right had not given the favour.

Madame de Saint-Herem was the most singular creature in the world, not

only in face but in manners. She half boiled her thigh one day in the

Seine, near Fontainebleau, where she was bathing. The river was too

cold; she wished to warm it, and had a quantity of water heated and

thrown into the stream just above her. The water reaching her before it

could grow cold, scalded her so much that she was forced to keep her bed.

When it thundered, she used to squat herself under a couch and make all

her servants lie above, one upon the other, so that if the thunderbolt

fell, it might have its effect upon them before penetrating to her. She

had ruined herself and her husband, though they were rich, through sheer

imbecility; and it is incredible the amount of money she spent in her

absurdities.

The best adventure which happened to her, among a thousand others, was at

her house in the Place Royale, where she was one day attacked by a

madman, who, finding her alone in her chamber, was very enterprising.

The good lady, hideous at eighteen, but who was at this time eighty and a

widow, cried aloud as well as she could. Her servants heard her at last,

ran to her assistance, and found her all disordered, struggling in the

hands of this raging madman. The man was found to be really out of his

senses when brought before the tribunal, and the story amused everybody.

The health of the King of England (James II.), which had for some time

been very languishing, grew weaker towards the middle of August of this

year, and by the 8th of September completely gave way. There was no

longer any hope. The King, Madame de Maintenon, and all the royal

persons, visited him often. He received the last sacrament with a piety

in keeping with his past life, and his death was expected every instant.

In this conjuncture the King made a resolve more worthy of Louis XII., or

Francis I., than of his own wisdom. On Tuesday, the 13th of September,

he went from Marly to Saint Germain. The King of England was so ill that

when the King was announced to him he scarcely opened his eyes for an

instant. The King told him that he might die in peace respecting the

Prince of Wales, whom he would recognise as King of England, Scotland,

and Ireland.

The few English who were there threw themselves upon their knees, but the

King of England gave no signs of life. The gratitude of the Prince of

Wales and of his mother, when they heard what the King had said, may be

imagined. Returned to Marly, the King repeated to all the Court what he

had said. Nothing was heard but praises and applause.

Yet reflections did not fail to be made promptly, if not publicly. It

was seen, that to recognise the Prince of Wales was to act in direct

opposition to the recognition of the Prince of Orange as King of England,

that the King had declared at the Peace of Ryswick. It was to wound the

Prince of Orange in the tenderest point, and to invite England and

Holland to become allies of the Emperor against France. As for the

Prince of Wales, this recognition was no solid advantage to him, but was

calculated to make the party opposed to him in England only more bitter

and vigilant in their opposition.

The King of England, in the few intervals of intelligence he had,

appeared much impressed by what the King had done. He died about three

o'clock in the afternoon of the 16th September of this year, 1701.

He had requested that there might he no display at his funeral, and his

wish was faithfully observed. He was buried on the Saturday, at seven

o'clock in the evening, in the church of the English Benedictines at

Paris, Rue St. Jacques, without pomp, and attended by but few mourners.

His body rests in the chapel, like that of the simplest private person,

until the time, apparently very distant, when it shall be transported to

England. His heart is at the Filles de Sainte Marie, of Chaillot.

Immediately afterwards, the Prince of Wales was received by the King as

King of England, with all the formalities and state with which his father

before him had been received. Soon afterwards he was recognised by the

new King of Spain.

The Count of Manchester, English ambassador in France, ceased to appear

at Versailles after this recognition of the Prince of Wales by the King,

and immediately quitted his post and left the country without any leave-

taking. King William heard, while in Holland, of the death of James II.

and of this recognition. He was at table with some German princes and

other lords when the news arrived; did not utter a word, except to

announce the death; but blushed, pulled down his hat, and could not keep

his countenance. He sent orders to London, to drive out Poussin, acting

as French ambassador, immediately; and Poussin directly crossed the sea

and arrived at Calais.

This event was itself followed by the signing of the great treaty of

alliance, offensive and defensive, against France and Spain, by Austria,

England, and Holland; in which they afterwards succeeded in engaging

other powers, which compelled the King to increase the number of his

troops.

Just after the return of the Court from Fontainebleau, a strange scene

happened at St. Maur, in a pretty house there which M. le Duc possessed.

He was at this house one night with five or six intimate friends, whom he

had invited to pass the night there. One of these friends was the Comte

de Fiesque. At table, and before the wine had begun to circulate, a

dispute upon some historical point arose between him and M. le Duc. The

Comte de Fiesque, who had some intellect and learning, strongly sustained

his opinion. M. le Duc sustained his; and for want of better reasons,

threw a plate at the head of Fiesque, drove him from the table and out of

the house. So sudden and strange a scene frightened the guests. The

Comte de Fiesque, who had gone to M. le Duc's house with the intention of

passing the night there, had not retained a carriage, went to ask shelter

of the cure, and got back to Paris the next day as early in the morning

as he could. It may be imagined that the rest of the supper and of the

evening was terribly dull. M. le Duc remained fuming (perhaps against

himself, but without saying so), and could not be induced to apologise

for the affront. It made a great stir in society, and things remained

thus several months. After a while, friends mixed themselves in the

matter; M. le Duc, completely himself again, made all the advances

towards a reconciliation. The Comte de Fiesque received them, and the

reconciliation took place. The most surprising thing is, that after this

they continued on as good terms as though nothing had passed between

them.

The year 1702 commenced with balls at Versailles, many of which were

masquerades. Madame du Maine gave several in her chamber, always keeping

her bed because she was in the family-way; which made rather a singular

spectacle. There were several balls at Marly, but the majority were not

masquerades. The King often witnessed, but in strict privacy, and always

in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, sacred dramas such as

"Absalon," "Athalie," &c. Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, M. le Duc

d'Orleans, the Comte and Comtesse d'Anjou, the young Comte de Noailles,

Mademoiselle de Melun, urged by the Noailles, played the principal

characters in very magnificent stage dresses. Baron, the excellent old

actor, instructed them and played with them. M. de Noailles and his

clever wife were the inventors and promoters of these interior pleasures,

for the purpose of intruding themselves more and more into the society of

the King, in support of the alliance of Madame de Maintenon.

Only forty spectators were admitted to the representations. Madame was

sometimes invited by the King, because she liked plays. This favour was

much sought after. Madame de Maintenon wished to show that she had

forgotten the past.

Longepierre had written a very singular piece called "Electra," which was

played on a magnificent stage erected in Madame de Conti's house, and all

the Court flocked several times to see it. This piece was without love,

but full of other passions and of most interesting situations. I think

it had been written in the hopes that the King would go and see it. But

he contented himself with hearing it talked about, and the representation

was confined to the Hotel de Conti. Longepierre would not allow it to be

given elsewhere. He was an intriguing fellow of much wit, gentle,

insinuating, and who, under a tranquillity and indifference and a very

deceitful philosophy, thrust himself everywhere, and meddled with

everything in order to make his fortune. He succeeded in intruding

himself into favour with the Duc d'Orleans, but behaved so badly that he

was driven away.

The death of the Abbe de Vatteville occurred at the commencement of this

year, and made some noise, on account of the prodigies of the Abbe's

life. This Vatteville was the younger son of a Franche-Comte family;

early in life he joined the Order of the Chartreux monks, and was

ordained priest. He had much intellect, but was of an impetuous spirit,

and soon began to chafe under the yoke of a religious life. He

determined, therefore, to set himself free from it, and procured some

secular habits, pistols, and a horse. Just as he was about to escape

over the walls of the monastery by means of a ladder, the prior entered

his cell.

Vatteville made no to-do, but at once drew a pistol, shot the prior dead,

and effected his escape.

Two or three days afterwards, travelling over the country and avoiding

as much as possible the frequented places, he arrived at a wretched

roadside inn, and asked what there was in the house. The landlord

replied--"A leg of mutton and a capon."--"Good!" replied our unfrocked

monk; "put them down to roast."

The landlord replied that they were too much for a single person, and

that he had nothing else for the whole house. The monk upon this flew

into a passion, and declared that the least the landlord could do was to

give him what he would pay for; and that he had sufficient appetite to

eat both leg of mutton and capon. They were accordingly put down to the

fire, the landlord not daring to say another word. While they were

cooking, a traveller on horseback arrived at the inn, and learning that

they were for one person, was much astonished. He offered to pay his

share to be allowed to dine off them with the stranger who had ordered

this dinner; but the landlord told him he was afraid the gentleman would

not consent to the arrangement. Thereupon the traveller went upstairs,

and civilly asked Vatteville if he might dine with him on paying half of

the expense. Vatteville would not consent, and a dispute soon arose

between the two; to be brief, the monk served this traveller as he had

served the prior, killed him with a pistol shot. After this he went

downstairs tranquilly, and in the midst of the fright of the landlord and

of the whole house, had the leg of mutton and capon served up to him,

picked both to the very bone, paid his score, remounted his horse, and

went his way.

Not knowing what course to take, he went to Turkey, and in order to

succeed there, had himself circumcised, put on the turban, and entered

into the militia. His blasphemy advanced him, his talents and his colour

distinguished him; he became Bacha, and the confidential man in the

Morea, where the Turks were making war against the Venetians. He

determined to make use of this position in order to advance his own

interests, and entering into communication with the generalissimo of the

Republic, promised to betray into his hands several secret places

belonging to the Turks, but on certain conditions. These were,

absolution from the Pope for all crimes of his life, his murders and his

apostasy included; security against the Chartreux and against being

placed in any other Order; full restitution of his civil rights, and

liberty to exercise his profession of priest with the right of possessing

all benefices of every kind. The Venetians thought the bargain too good

to be refused, and the Pope, in the interest of the Church, accorded all

the demands of the Bacha. When Vatteville was quite assured that his

conditions would be complied with, he took his measures so well that he

executed perfectly all he had undertaken. Immediately after he threw

himself into the Venetian army, and passed into Italy. He was well

received at Rome by the Pope, and returned to his family in Franche-

Comte, and amused himself by braving the Chartreux.

At the first conquest of the Franche-Comte, he intrigued so well with the

Queen-mother and the ministry, that he was promised the Archbishopric of

Besancon; but the Pope cried out against this on account of his murders,

circumcision, and apostasy. The King sided with the Pope, and Vatteville

was obliged to be contented with the abbey of Baume, another good abbey

in Picardy, and divers other advantages.

Except when he came to the Court, where he was always received with great

distinction, he remained at his abbey of Baume, living there like a grand

seigneur, keeping a fine pack of hounds, a good table, entertaining

jovial company, keeping mistresses very freely; tyrannising over his

tenants and his neighbours in the most absolute manner. The intendants

gave way to him, and by express orders of the Court allowed him to act

much as he pleased, even with the taxes, which he regulated at his will,

and in his conduct was oftentimes very violent. With these manners and

this bearing, which caused him to be both feared and respected, he would

often amuse himself by going to see the Chartreux, in order to plume

himself on having quitted their frock. He played much at hombre, and

frequently gained 'codille' (a term of the game), so that the name of the

Abbe Codille was given to him. He lived in this manner always with the

same licence and in the same consideration, until nearly ninety years of

age.

CHAPTER XXIV

The changes which took place in the army after the Peace of Ryswick, were

very great and very strange. The excellence of the regiments, the merits

of the officers, those who commanded, all were forgotten by Barbezieux,

young and impetuous, whom the King allowed to act as he liked. My

regiment was disbanded, and my company was incorporated with that of

Count d'Uzes, brother-in-law of Duras, who looked well after the

interests of his relative. I was thus deprived of command, without

regiment, without company, and the only opportunity offered me was to

serve in a regiment commanded by Saint Morris, where I should have been,

as it were, at the lowest step of the ladder, with my whole military

career to begin over again.

I had served at the head of my regiment during four campaigns, with

applause and reputation, I am bold enough to say it. I thought therefore

I was entitled to better treatment than this. Promotions were made; five

officers, all my juniors, were placed over my head. I resolved then to

leave the service, but not to take a rash step. I consulted first with

several friends before sending in my resignation. All whom I consulted

advised me to quit the service, but for a long time I could not resolve

to do so. Nearly three months passed, during which I suffered cruel

anguish of mind from my irresolution. I knew that if I left the army I

should be certain to incur the anger of the King, and I do not hesitate

to say that this was not a matter of indifference to me. The King was

always annoyed when anybody ceased to serve; he called it "quitting him;"

and made his anger felt for a long time. At last, however, I determined

on my course of action.

I wrote a short letter to the King, in which, without making any

complaints, I said that as my health was not good (it had given me some

trouble on different occasions) I begged to be allowed to quit his

service, and said that I hoped I should be permitted to console myself

for leaving the army by assiduously attending upon him at the Court:

After despatching this letter I went away immediately to Paris.

I learnt afterwards from my friends, that upon receiving my letter the

King called Chamillart to him, and said with emotion: "Well! Monsieur,

here is another man who quits us!--" and he read my letter word for word.

I did not learn that anything else escaped him.

As for me, I did not return to Versailles for a whole week, or see the

King again until Easter Monday. After his supper that evening, and when

about to undress himself, he paid me a distinction, a mere trifle I

admit, and which I should be ashamed to mention if it did not under the

circumstances serve as a characteristic of him.

Although the place he undressed in was very well illuminated, the

chaplain at the evening prayers there held in his hand a lighted candle,

which he gave afterwards to the chief valet-de-chambre, who carried it

before the King until he reached his arm-chair, and then handed it to

whomever the King ordered him to give it to. On this evening the King,

glancing all around him, cast his eye upon me, and told the valet to give

the candle to me. It was an honour which he bestowed sometimes upon one,

sometimes upon another, according to his whim, but which, by his manner

of bestowing it, was always coveted, as a great distinction. My surprise

may be imagined when I heard myself named aloud for this office, not only

on this but on many other occasions. It was not that there was any lack

of people of consideration to hold the candle; but the King was

sufficiently piqued by my retirement not to wish everybody to see that

he was so.

For three years he failed not to make me feel to what extent he was angry

with me. He spoke to me no longer; he scarcely bestowed a glance upon

me, and never once alluded to my letter. To show that his annoyance did

not extend to my wife, but that it was solely and wholly directed against

me, he bestowed, about eight months after, several marks of favour upon

Madame de Saint-Simon. She was continually invited to the suppers at

Trianon--an honour which had never before been granted her. I only

laughed at this. Madame de Saint-Simon was not invited to Marly; because

the husbands always, by right, accompanied their wives there, apartments

being given for both. At Trianon it was different. Nobody was allowed

to sleep there except those absolutely in attendance. The King wished,

therefore, the better to mark by this distinction that the exclusion was

intended for me alone, and that my wife had no part in it.

Notwithstanding this; I persevered in my ordinary assiduity, without ever

asking to be invited to Marly, and lived agreeably with my wife and my

friends. I have thought it best to finish with this subject at once--now

I must go back to my starting point.

At the commencement of this year (1702) it seemed as though the

flatterers of the King foresaw that the prosperity of his reign was at

an end, and that henceforth they would only have to praise him for his

constancy. The great number of medals that had been struck on all

occasions--the most ordinary not having been forgotten--were collected,

engraved, and destined for a medallic history. The Abbes Tallemant,

Toureil, and Dacier, three learned members of the Academy, were charged

with the explanation to be placed opposite each of these medals, in a

large volume of the most magnificent impression of the Louvre. As the

history commenced at the death of Louis XIII., his medal was placed at

the head of the book, and thus it became necessary to say something of

him in the preface.

As it was known that I had a correct knowledge of Louis XIII., I was

asked to write that portion of the preface which related to him. I

consented to this, but on condition that I should be spared the ridicule

of it in society, and that the matter should be faithfully kept secret.

I wrote my theme then, which cost me little more than a morning, being of

small extent. I had the fate of authors: my writing was praised, and

appeared to answer all expectations. I congratulated myself, delighted

at having devoted two or three hours to a grateful duty--for so I

considered it.

But when my essay was examined, the three gentlemen above-named were

affrighted. There are truths the unstudied simplicity of which emits a

lustre which obscures all the results of an eloquence which exaggerates

or extenuates; Louis XIII. furnished such proofs in abundance. I had

contented myself by showing them forth; but this picture tarnished those

which followed--so at least it appeared to those who had gilded the

latter. They applied themselves, therefore, to cut out, or weaken,

everything that might, by comparison, obscure their hero. But as they

found at last that it was not me they had to correct, but the thing

itself, they gave up the task altogether, threw aside my writing, and

printed the history without any notice whatever of Louis XIII. under his

portrait--except to note that his death caused his son to ascend the

throne.

Reflections upon this kind of iniquity would carry me too far.

In the early part of this year (1702), King William (of England), worn

out before his time with labours and business, in which he had been

engaged all his life, and which he had carried on with a capacity, an

address, a superiority of genius that acquired for him supreme authority

in Holland, the crown of England, the confidence, and, to speak the

truth, the complete dictatorship of all Europe--except France;--King

William, I say, had fallen into a wasting of strength and of health

which, without attacking or diminishing his intellect, or causing him to

relax the infinite labours of his cabinet, was accompanied by a

deficiency of breath, which aggravated the asthma he had had for several

years. He felt his condition, and his powerful genius did not disavow

it. Under forged names he consulted the most eminent physicians of

Europe, among others, Fagon; who, having to do, as he thought, with a

cure, replied in all sincerity, and with out dissimulation, that he must

prepare for a speedy death. His illness increasing, William consulted

Fagon, anew, but this time openly. The physician recognised the malady

of the cure--he did not change his opinion, but expressed it in a less

decided manner, and prescribed with much feeling the remedies most likely

if not to cure, at least to prolong. These remedies were followed and

gave relief; but at last the time had arrived when William was to feel

that the greatest men finish like the humblest and to see the nothingness

of what the world calls great destinies.

He rode out as often as he could; but no longer having the strength to

hold himself on horseback, received a fall, which hastened his end by the

shock it gave him. He occupied himself with religion as little as he had

all his life. He ordered everything, and spoke to his ministers and his

familiars with a surprising tranquillity, which did not abandon him until

the last moment. Although crushed with pain, he had the satisfaction of

thinking that he had consummated a great alliance, which would last after

his death, and that it would strike the great blow against France, which

he had projected. This thought, which flattered him even in the hour of

death, stood in place of all other consolation,--a consolation frivolous

and cruelly deceitful, which left him soon the prey to eternal truths!

For two days he was sustained by strong waters and spirituous liquors.

His last nourishment was a cup of chocolate. He died the 19th March,

1702, at ten o'clock in the morning.

The Princess Anne, his sister-in-law, wife of Prince George of Denmark,

was at the same time proclaimed queen. A few days after, she declared

her husband Grand Admiral and Commander-in-Chief (generalissimo),

recalled the Earl of Rochester, her maternal uncle, and the Earl of

Sunderland, and sent the Count of Marlborough, afterwards so well known,

to Holland to follow out there all the plans of his predecessor.

The King did not learn this death until the Saturday morning following,

by a courier from Calais. A boat had escaped, in spite of the vigilance

which had closed the ports. The King was silent upon the news, except to

Monseigneur and to Madame de Maintenon. On the next day confirmation of

the intelligence arrived from all parts. The King no longer made a

secret of it, but spoke little on the subject, and affected much

indifference respecting it. With the recollection of all the indecent

follies committed in Paris during the last war, when it was believed that

William had been killed at the battle of the Boyne in Ireland, the

necessary precautions against falling into the same error were taken by

the King's orders.

The King simply declared that he would not wear mourning, and prohibited

the Duc de Bouillon, the Marechal de Duras and the Marechal de Lorges,

who were all related to William, from doing so--an act probably without

example. Nearly all England and the United Provinces mourned the loss of

William. Some good republicans alone breathed again with joy in secret,

at having recovered their liberty. The grand alliance was very sensibly

touched by this loss, but found itself so well cemented, that the spirit

of William continued to animate it; and Heinsius, his confidant,

perpetuated it, and inspired all the chiefs of the republic, their allies

and their generals, with it, so that it scarcely appeared that William

was no more.

I have related, in its proper place, all that happened to Catinat in

Italy, when the schemes of Tesse and M. de Vaudemont caused him to be

dismissed from the command of the army. After the signing of the

alliance against France by the Emperor, England, and Holland, the war

took a more extended field. It became necessary to send an army to the

Rhine. There was nothing for it but to have recourse to Catinat.

Since his return from Italy, he had almost always lived at his little

house of Saint Gratien, beyond Saint Denis, where he bore with wisdom the

injury that had been done him and the neglect he had experienced upon his

return, surrounded by his family and a small number of friends.

Chamillart one day sent for him, saying that he had the King's order to

talk with him. Catinat went accordingly to Chamillart, from whom he

learned that he was destined for the Rhine; he refused the command, and

only accepted it after a long dispute, by the necessity of obedience.

On the morrow, the 11th of March, the King called Catinat into his

cabinet. The conversation was amiable on the part of the King, serious

and respectful on the part of Catinat. The King, who perceived this,

wished to make him speak about Italy, and pressed him to explain what had

really passed there. Catinat excused himself, saying that everything

belonged to the past, and that it was useless now to rake up matters

which would give him a bad opinion of the people who served him, and

nourish eternal enmity. The King admired the sagacity and virtue of

Catinat, but, wishing to sound the depths of certain things, and discover

who was really to blame, pressed him more and more to speak out;

mentioning certain things which Catinat had not rendered an account of,

and others he had been silent upon, all of which had come to him from

other sources.

Catinat, who, by his conversation of the previous evening with

Chamillart, suspected that the King would say something to him, had

brought his papers to Versailles. Sure of his position, he declared that

he had not in any way failed to render account to Chamillart or to the

King, and detailed the very things that had just been mentioned to him.

He begged that a messenger might be despatched in order to search his

cassette, in which the proofs of what he had advanced could be seen,

truths that Chamillart, if present, he said, would not dare to disavow.

The King took him at his word, and sent in search of Chamillart.

When he arrived, the King related to him the conversation that had just

taken place. Chamillart replied with an embarrassed voice, that there

was no necessity to wait for the cassette of Catinat, for he admitted

that the accusation against him was true in every respect. The King,

much astonished, reproved him for his infidelity in keeping silence upon

these comments, whereby Catinat had lost his favour.

Chamillart, his eyes lowered, allowed the King to say on; but as he felt

that his anger was rising; said. "Sire, you are right; but it is not my

fault."

"And whose is it, then?" replied the King warmly. "Is it mine?"

"Certainly not, Sire," said Chamillart, trembling; "but I am bold enough

to tell you, with the most exact truth, that it is not mine."

The King insisting, Chamillart was obliged to explain, that having shown

the letters of Catinat to Madame de Maintenon, she had commanded him to

keep them from his Majesty, and to say not a syllable about them.

Chamillart added, that Madame de Maintenon was not far off, and

supplicated the King to ask her the truth of this matter.

In his turn, the King was now more embarrassed than Chamillart; lowering

his voice, he said that it was inconceivable how Madame de Maintenon felt

interested in his comfort, and endeavoured to keep from him everything

that might vex him, and without showing any more displeasure, turned to

Marshal Catinat, said he was delighted with an explanation which showed

that nobody was wrong; addressed several gracious remarks to the Marshal;

begged him to remain on good terms with Chamillart, and hastened to quit

them and enter into his private cabinet.

Catinat, more ashamed of what he had just heard and seen than pleased

with a justification so complete, paid some compliments to Chamillart,

who, out of his wits at the perilous explanation he had given, received

them, and returned them as well as he could. They left the cabinet soon

after, and the selection of Catinat by the King for the command of the

army of the Rhine was declared.

Reflections upon this affair present themselves of their, own accord.

The King verified what had been said that very evening with Madame de

Maintenon. They were only on better terms than ever in consequence. She

approved of Chamillart for avowing all; and this minister was only the

better treated afterwards by the King and by Madame de Maintenon.

As for Catinat, he took the command he had been called to, but did not

remain long in it. The explanations that had passed, all the more

dangerous because in his favour, were not of a kind to prove otherwise

than hurtful to him. He soon resigned his command, finding himself too

much obstructed to do anything, and retired to his house of Saint

Gratien, near Saint Denis, which he scarcely ever left, and where he saw

only a few private friends, sorry that he had ever left it, and that he

had listened to the cajoleries of the King.

VOLUME 4.

CHAPTER XXV

Canaples, brother of the Marechal de Crequi, wished to marry Mademoiselle

de Vivonne who was no longer young, but was distinguished by talent,

virtue and high birth; she had not a penny. The Cardinal de Coislin,

thinking Canaples too old to marry, told him so. Canaples said he wanted

to have children. "Children!" exclaimed the Cardinal. "But she is so

virtuous!" Everybody burst out laughing; and the more willingly, as the

Cardinal, very pure in his manners, was still more so in his language.

His saying was verified by the event: the marriage proved sterile.

The Duc de Coislin died about this time. I have related in its proper

place an adventure that happened to him and his brother, the Chevalier de

Coislin: now I will say something more of the Duke. He was a very little

man, of much humour and virtue, but of a politeness that was unendurable,

and that passed all bounds, though not incompatible with dignity. He had

been lieutenant-general in the army. Upon one occasion, after a battle

in which he had taken part, one of the Rhingraves who had been made

prisoner, fell to his lot. The Duc de Coislin wished to give up to the

other his bed, which consisted indeed of but a mattress. They

complimented each other so much, the one pressing, the other refusing,

that in the end they both slept upon the ground, leaving the mattress

between them. The Rhingrave in due time came to Paris and called on the

Duc de Coislin. When he was going, there was such a profusion of

compliments, and the Duke insisted so much on seeing him out, that the

Rhingrave, as a last resource, ran out of the room, and double locked the

door outside. M. de Coislin was not thus to be outdone. His apartments

were only a few feet above the ground. He opened the window accordingly,

leaped out into the court, and arrived thus at the entrance-door before

the Rhingrave, who thought the devil must have carried him there. The

Duc de Coislin, however, had managed to put his thumb out of joint by

this leap. He called in Felix, chief surgeon of the King, who soon put

the thumb to rights. Soon afterwards Felix made a call upon M. de

Coislin to see how he was, and found that the cure was perfect. As he

was about to leave, M. de Coislin must needs open the door for him.

Felix, with a shower of bows, tried hard to prevent this, and while they

were thus vying in politeness, each with a hand upon the door, the Duke

suddenly drew back; he had put his thumb out of joint again, and Felix

was obliged to attend to it on the spot! It may be imagined what

laughter this story caused the King, and everybody else, when it became

known.

There was no end to the outrageous civilities of M. de Coislin. On

returning from Fontainebleau one day, we, that is Madame de Saint-Simon

and myself, encountered M. de Coislin and his son, M. de Metz, on foot

upon the pavement of Ponthierry, where their coach had broken down. We

sent word, accordingly, that we should be glad to accommodate them in

ours. But message followed message on both sides; and at last I was

compelled to alight and to walk through the mud, begging them to mount

into my coach. M. de Coislin, yielding to my prayers, consented to this.

M. de Metz was furious with him for his compliments, and at last

prevailed on him. When M. de Coislin had accepted my offer and we had

nothing more to do than to gain the coach, he began to capitulate, and to

protest that he would not displace the two young ladies he saw seated in

the vehicle. I told him that the two young ladies were chambermaids, who

could well afford to wait until the other carriage was mended, and then

continue their journey in that. But he would not hear of this; and at

last all that M. de Metz and I could do was to compromise the matter, by

agreeing to take one of the chambermaids with us. When we arrived at the

coach, they both descended, in order to allow us to mount. During the

compliments that passed--and they were not short--I told the servant who

held the coach-door open, to close it as soon as I was inside, and to

order the coachman to drive on at once. This was done; but M. de Coislin

immediately began to cry aloud that he would jump out if we did not stop

for the young ladies; and he set himself to do so in such an odd manner,

that I had only time to catch hold of the belt of his breeches and hold

him back; but he still, with his head hanging out of the window,

exclaimed that he would leap out, and pulled against me. At this

absurdity I called to the coachman to stop; the Duke with difficulty

recovered himself, and persisted that he would have thrown himself out.

The chambermaid was ordered to mount, and mount she did, all covered with

mud, which daubed us; and she nearly crushed M. de Metz and me in this

carriage fit only for four.

M. de Coislin could not bear that at parting anybody should give him the

"last touch;" a piece of sport, rarely cared for except in early youth,

and out of which arises a chase by the person touched, in order to catch

him by whom he has been touched. One evening, when the Court was at

Nancy, and just as everybody was going to bed, M. de Longueville spoke a

few words in private to two of his torch-bearers, and then touching the

Duc de Coislin, said he had given him the last touch, and scampered away,

the Duke hotly pursuing him. Once a little in advance, M. de Longueville

hid himself in a doorway, allowed M. de Coislin to pass on, and then went

quietly home to bed. Meanwhile the Duke, lighted by the torch-bearers,

searched for M. de Longueville all over the town, but meeting with no

success, was obliged to give up the chase, and went home all in a sweat.

He was obliged of course to laugh a good deal at this joke, but he

evidently did not like it over much.

With all his politeness, which was in no way put on, M. de Coislin could,

when he pleased, show a great deal of firmness, and a resolution to

maintain his proper dignity worthy of much praise. At Nancy, on this

same occasion, the Duc de Crequi, not finding apartments provided for him

to his taste on arriving in town, went, in his brutal manner, and seized

upon those allotted to the Duc de Coislin. The Duke, arriving a moment

after, found his servants turned into the street, and soon learned who

had sent them there. M. de Crequi had precedence of him in rank; he said

not a word, therefore, but went to the apartments provided for the

Marechal de Crequi (brother of the other), served him exactly as he

himself had just been served, and took up his quarters there. The

Marechal de Crequi arrived in his turn, learned what had occurred, and

immediately seized upon the apartments of Cavoye, in order to teach him

how to provide quarters in future so as to avoid all disputes.

On another occasion, M. de Coislin went to the Sorbonne to listen to a

thesis sustained by the second son of M. de Bouillon. When persons of

distinction gave these discourses, it was customary for the Princes of

the blood, and for many of the Court, to go and hear them. M. de Coislin

was at that time almost last in order of precedence among the Dukes.

When he took his seat, therefore, knowing that a number of them would

probably arrive, he left several rows of vacant places in front of him,

and sat himself down. Immediately afterwards, Novion, Chief President of

the Parliament, arrived, and seated himself in front of M. de Coislin.

Astonished at this act of madness, M. de Coislin said not a word, but

took an arm-chair, and, while Novion turned his head to speak to Cardinal

de Bouillon, placed that arm-chair in front of the Chief President in

such a manner that he was as it were imprisoned, and unable to stir.

M. de Coislin then sat down. This was done so rapidly, that nobody saw

it until it was finished. When once it was observed, a great stir arose.

Cardinal de Bouillon tried to intervene. M. de Coislin replied, that

since the Chief President had forgotten his position he must be taught

it, and would not budge. The other presidents were in a fright, and

Novion, enraged by the offence put on him, knew not what to do. It was

in vain that Cardinal de Bouillon on one side, and his brother on the

other, tried to persuade M. de Coislin to give way. He would not listen

to them. They sent a message to him to say that somebody wanted to see

him at the door on most important business. But this had no effect.

"There is no business so important," replied M. de Coislin, "as that of

teaching M. le Premier President what he owes me, and nothing will make

me go from this place unless M. le President, whom you see behind me,

goes away first."

At last M. le Prince was sent for, and he with much persuasion

endeavoured to induce M. de Coislin to release the Chief President from

his prison. But for some time M. de Coislin would listen as little to M.

le Prince as he had listened to the others, and threatened to keep Novion

thus shut up during all the thesis. At length, he consented to set the

Chief President free, but only on condition that he left the building

immediately; that M. le Prince should guarantee this; and that no

"juggling tricks" (that was the term he made use of), should be played

off to defeat the agreement. M. le Prince at once gave his word that

everything should be as he required, and M. de Coislin then rose, moved

away his arm-chair, and said to the Chief President, "Go away, sir! go

away, sir! "Novion did on the instant go away, in the utmost confusion,

and jumped into his coach. M. de Coislin thereupon took back his chair

to its former position and composed himself to listen again.

On every side M. de Coislin was praised for the firmness he had shown.

The Princes of the blood called upon him the same evening, and

complimented him for the course he had adopted; and so many other

visitors came during the evening that his house was quite full until a

late hour. On the morrow the King also praised him for his conduct, and

severely blamed the Chief President. Nay more, he commanded the latter

to go to M. de Coislin, at his house, and beg pardon of him. It is easy

to comprehend the shame and despair of Novion at being ordered to take so

humiliating a step, especially after what had already happened to him.

He prevailed upon M. le Coislin, through the mediation of friends, to

spare him this pain, and M. de Coislin had the generosity to do so. He

agreed therefore that when Novion called upon him he would pretend to be

out, and this was done. The King, when he heard of it, praised very

highly the forbearance of the Duke.

He was not an old man when he died, but was eaten up with the gout, which

he sometimes had in his eyes, in his nose, and in his tongue. When in

this state, his room was filled with the best company. He was very

generally liked, was truth itself in his dealings and his words, and was

one of my friends, as he had been the friend of my father before me.

The President de Novion, above alluded to, was a man given up to

iniquity, whom money and obscure mistresses alone influenced. Lawyers

complained of his caprices, and pleaders of his injustice. At last, he

went so far as to change decisions of the court when they were given him

to sign, which was not found out for some time, but which led to his

disgrace. He was replaced by Harlay in 1689; and lived in ignominy for

four years more.

About this time died Petit, a great physician, who had wit, knowledge,

experience, and probity; and yet lived to the last without being ever

brought to admit the circulation of the blood.

A rather strange novelty was observed at Fontainebleau: Madame publicly

at the play, in the second year of her mourning for Monsieur! She made

some objections at first, but the King persuaded her, saying that what

took place in his palace ought not to be considered as public.

On Saturday, the 22nd of October of this year (1702), at about ten in the

morning, I had the misfortune to lose my father-in-law, the Marechal de

Lorges, who died from the effects of an unskilful operation performed

upon him for the stone. He had been brought up as a Protestant, and had

practised that religion. But he had consulted on the one hand with

Bossuet, and on the other hand with M. Claude, (Protestant) minister of

Charenton, without acquainting them that he was thus in communication

with both. In the end the arguments of Bossuet so convinced him that he

lost from that time all his doubts, became steadfastly attached to the

Catholic religion, and strove hard to convert to it all the Protestants

with whom he spoke. M. de Turenne, with whom he was intimately allied,

was in a similar state of mind, and, singularly enough, his doubts were

resolved at the same time, and in exactly the same manner, as those of M.

de Lorges. The joy of the two friends, who had both feared they should

be estranged from each other when they announced their conversion, was

very great. The Comtesse de Roye, sister to M. de Lorges, was sorely

affected at this change, and she would not consent to see him except on

condition that he never spoke of it.

M. de Lorges commanded with great distinction in Holland and elsewhere,

and at the death of M. de Turenne, took for the time, and with great

honour, his place. He was made Marshal of France on the 21st of

February, 1676, not before he had fairly won that distinction. The

remainder of his career showed his capacity in many ways, and acquired

for him the esteem of all. His family were affected beyond measure at

his loss. That house was in truth terrible to see. Never was man so

tenderly or so universally regretted, or so worthy of being so. Besides

my own grief, I had to sustain that of Madame de Saint-Simon, whom many

times I thought I should lose. Nothing was comparable to the attachment

she had for her father, or the tenderness he had for her; nothing more

perfectly alike than their hearts and their dispositions. As for me, I

loved him as a father, and he loved me as a son, with the most entire and

sweetest confidence.

About the same time died the Duchesse de Gesvres, separated from a

husband who had been the scourge of his family, and had dissipated

millions of her fortune. She was a sort of witch, tall and lean, who

walked like an ostrich. She sometimes came to Court, with the odd look

and famished expression to which her husband had brought her. Virtue,

wit, and dignity distinguished her. I remember that one summer the King

took to going very often in the evening to Trianon, and that once for all

he gave permission to all the Court, men and women, to follow him. There

was a grand collation for the Princesses, his daughters, who took their

friends there, and indeed all the women went to it if they pleased. One

day the Duchesse de Gesvres took it into her head to go to Trianon and

partake of this meal; her age, her rarity at Court, her accoutrements,

and her face, provoked the Princesses to make fun of her in whispers with

their fair visitors. She perceived this, and without being embarrassed,

took them up so sharply, that they were silenced, and looked down. But

this was not all: after the collation she began to talk so freely and yet

so humorously about them that they were frightened, and went and made

their excuses, and very frankly asked for quarter. Madame de Gesvres was

good enough to grant them this, but said it was only on condition that

they learned how to behave. Never afterwards did they venture to look at

her impertinently. Nothing was ever so magnificent as these soirees of

Trianon. All the flowers of the parterres were renewed every day; and I

have seen the King and all the Court obliged to go away because of the

tuberoses, the odour of which perfumed the air, but so powerfully, on

account of their quantity, that nobody could remain in the garden,

although very vast, and stretching like a terrace all along the canal.

CHAPTER XXVI

The Prince d'Harcourt at last obtained permission to wait on the King,

after having never appeared at Court for seventeen years. He had

followed the King in all his conquests in the Low Countries and Franche-

Comte; but he had remained little at the Court since his voyage to Spain,

whither he had accompanied the daughter of Monsieur to the King, Charles

II., her husband. The Prince d'Harcourt took service with Venice, and

fought in the Morea until the Republic made peace with the Turks. He was

tall, well made; and, although he looked like a nobleman and had wit,

reminded one at the same time of a country actor. He was a great liar,

and a libertine in body and mind; a great spendthrift, a great and

impudent swindler, with a tendency to low debauchery, that cursed him all

his life. Having fluttered about a long time after his return, and found

it impossible either to live with his wife--which is not surprising--or

accommodate himself to the Court or to Paris, he set up his rest at Lyons

with wine, street-walkers, a society to match, a pack of hounds, and a

gaming-table to support his extravagance and enable him to live at the

expense of the dupes, the imbeciles, and the sons of fat tradesmen, whom

he could lure into his nets. Thus he spent many years, and seemed to

forget that there existed in the world another country besides Lyons.

At last he got tired, and returned to Paris. The King, who despised him,

let him alone, but would not see him; and it was only after two months of

begging for him by the Lorraines, that he received permission to present

himself. His wife, the Princesse d'Harcourt, was a favourite of Madame

de Maintenon. The origin of their friendship is traced to the fact that

Brancas, the father of the Princess, had been one of the lovers of Madame

de Maintenon. No claim less powerful could have induced the latter to

take into her favour a person who was so little worthy. Like all women

who know nothing but what chance has taught them, and who have long

languished in obscurity before arriving at splendour, Madame de Maintenon

was dazzled by the very name of Princess, even if assumed: as to a real

Princess, nothing equalled her in her opinion. The Princess then tried

hard to get the Prince invited to Marly, but without success. Upon this

she pretended to sulk, in hopes that Madame de Maintenon would exert all

her influence; but in this she was mistaken. The Prince accordingly by

degrees got disgusted with the Court, and retired into the provinces for

a time.

The Princesse d'Harcourt was a sort of personage whom it is good to make

known, in order better to lay bare a Court which did not scruple to

receive such as she. She had once been beautiful and gay; but though not

old, all her grace and beauty had vanished. The rose had become an ugly

thorn. At the time I speak of she was a tall, fat creature, mightily

brisk in her movements, with a complexion like milk-porridge; great,

ugly, thick lips, and hair like tow, always sticking out and hanging down

in disorder, like all the rest of her fittings out. Dirty, slatternly,

always intriguing, pretending, enterprising, quarrelling--always low as

the grass or high as the rainbow, according to the person with whom she

had to deal: she was a blonde Fury, nay more, a harpy: she had all the

effrontery of one, and the deceit and violence; all the avarice and the

audacity; moreover, all the gluttony, and all the promptitude to relieve

herself from the effects thereof; so that she drove out of their wits

those at whose house she dined; was often a victim of her confidence; and

was many a time sent to the devil by the servants of M. du Maine and M.

le Grand. She, however, was never in the least embarrassed, tucked up

her petticoats and went her way; then returned, saying she had been

unwell. People were accustomed to it.

Whenever money was to be made by scheming and bribery, she was there to

make it. At play she always cheated, and if found out stormed and raged;

but pocketed what she had won. People looked upon her as they would have

looked upon a fish-fag, and did not like to commit themselves by

quarrelling with her. At the end of every game she used to say that she

gave whatever might have been unfairly gained to those who had gained it,

and hoped that others would do likewise. For she was very devout by

profession, and thought by so doing to put her conscience in safety;

because, she used to add, in play there is always some mistake. She went

to church always, and constantly took the sacrament, very often after

having played until four o'clock in the morning.

One day, when there was a grand fete at Fontainebleau, Madame la

Marechale de Villeroy persuaded her, out of malice, to sit down and play,

instead of going to evening prayers. She resisted some time, saying that

Madame de Maintenon was going; but the Marechale laughed at her for

believing that her patron could see who was and who was not at the

chapel: so down they sat to play. When the prayers were over, Madame de

Maintenon, by the merest accident--for she scarcely ever visited any one

--went to the apartments of the Marechale de Villeroy. The door was

flung back, and she was announced. This was a thunderbolt for the

Princesse d'Harcourt. "I am ruined," cried she, unable to restrain

herself; "she will see me playing, and I ought to have been at chapel!"

Down fell the cards from her hands, and down fell she all abroad in her

chair. The Marechale laughed most heartily at so complete an adventure.

Madame de Maintenon entered slowly, and found the Princess in this state,

with five or six persons. The Marechale de Villeroy, who was full of

wit, began to say that, whilst doing her a great honour, Madame was the

cause of great disorder; and showed her the Princesse d'Harcourt in her

state of discomfiture. Madame de Maintenon smiled with majestic

kindness, and addressing the Princesse d'Harcourt, "Is this the way,"

said she; "that you go to prayers?" Thereupon the Princess flew out of

her half-faint into a sort of fury; said that this was the kind of trick

that was played off upon her; that no doubt the Marechale knew that

Madame de Maintenon was coming, and for that reason had persecuted her to

play. "Persecuted!" exclaimed the Marechale, "I thought I could not

receive you better than by proposing a game; it is true you were for a

moment troubled at missing the chapel, but your tastes carried the day.

--This, Madame, is my whole crime," continued she, addressing Madame de

Maintenon. Upon this, everybody laughed louder than before: Madame de

Maintenon, in order to stop the quarrel; commanded them both to continue

their game; and they continued accordingly, the Princesse d'Harcourt,

still grumbling, quite beside herself, blinded with fury, so as to commit

fresh mistakes every minute. So ridiculous an adventure diverted the

Court for several days; for this beautiful Princess was equally feared,

hated, and despised.

Monseigneur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne continually played

off pranks upon her. They put, one day, crackers all along the avenue of

the chateau at Marly, that led to the Perspective where she lodged. She

was horribly afraid of everything. The Duke and Duchess bribed two

porters to be ready to take her into the mischief. When she was right in

the middle of the avenue the crackers began to go off; and she to cry

aloud for mercy; the chairman set her down and ran for it. There she

was, then, struggling in her chair, furiously enough to upset it, and

yelling like a demon. At this the company, which had gathered at the

door of the chateau to see the fun, ran to her assistance, in order to

have the pleasure of enjoying the scene more fully. Thereupon she set to

abusing everybody right and left, commencing with Monseigneur and Madame

la Duchesse de Bourgogne. At another time M. de Bourgogne put a cracker

under her chair in the salon, where she was playing at piquet. As he was

about to set fire to this cracker, some charitable soul warned him that

it would maim her, and he desisted.

Sometimes they used to send about twenty Swiss guards, with drums, into

her chamber, who roused her from her first sleep by their horrid din.

Another time--and these scenes were always at Marly--they waited until

very late for her to go to bed and sleep. She lodged not far from the

post of the captain of the guards, who was at that time the Marechal de

Lorges. It had snowed very hard, and had frozen. Madame la Duchesse de

Bourgogne and her suite gathered snow from the terrace which is on a

level with their lodgings; and, in order to be better supplied, waked up,

to assist them, the Marechal's people, who did not let them want for

ammunition. Then, with a false key, and lights, they gently slipped into

the chamber of the Princesse d'Harcourt; and, suddenly drawing the

curtains of her bed, pelted her amain with snowballs. The filthy

creature, waking up with a start, bruised and stifled in snow, with which

even her ears were filled, with dishevelled hair, yelling at the top of

her voice, and wriggling like an eel, without knowing where to hide,

formed a spectacle that diverted people more than half an hour: so that

at last the nymph swam in her bed, from which the water flowed

everywhere, slushing all the chamber. It was enough to make one die of

laughter. On the morrow she sulked, and was more than ever laughed at

for her pains.

Her fits of sulkiness came over her either when the tricks played were

too violent, or when M. le Grand abused her. He thought, very properly,

that a person who bore the name of Lorraine should not put herself so

much on the footing of a buffoon; and, as he was a rough speaker, he

sometimes said the most abominable things to her at table; upon which the

Princess would burst out crying, and then, being enraged, would sulk.

The Duchesse de Bourgogne used then to pretend to sulk, too; but the

other did not hold out long, and came crawling back to her, crying,

begging pardon for having sulked, and praying that she might not cease to

be a source of amusement! After some time the Duchess would allow

herself to be melted, and the Princess was more villainously treated than

ever, for the Duchesse de Bourgogne had her own way in everything.

Neither the King nor Madame de Maintenon found fault with what she did,

so that the Princesse d'Harcourt had no resource; she did not even dare

to complain of those who aided in tormenting her; yet it would not have

been prudent in any one to make her an enemy.

The Princesse d'Harcourt paid her servants so badly that they concocted a

plan, and one fine day drew up on the Pont Neuf. The coachman and

footmen got down, and came and spoke to her at the door, in language she

was not used to hear. Her ladies and chambermaid got down, and went

away, leaving her to shift as she might. Upon this she set herself to

harangue the blackguards who collected, and was only too happy to find a

man, who mounted upon the seat and drove her home. Another time, Madame

de Saint-Simon, returning from Versailles, overtook her, walking in full

dress in the street, and with her train under her arms. Madame de Saint-

Simon stopped, offered her assistance, and found that she had been left

by her servants, as on the Pont Neuf. It was volume the second of that

story; and even when she came back she found her house deserted, every

one having gone away at once by agreement. She was very violent with her

servants, beat them, and changed diem every day.

Upon one occasion, she took into her service a strong and robust

chambermaid, to whom, from the first day of her arrival, she gave many

slaps and boxes on the ear. The chambermaid said nothing, but after

submitting to this treatment for five or six days, conferred with the

other servants; and one morning, while in her mistress's room, locked the

door without being perceived, said something to bring down punishment

upon her, and at the first box on the ear she received, flew upon the

Princesse d'Harcourt, gave her no end of thumps and slaps, knocked her

down, kicked her, mauled her from her head to her feet, and when she was

tired of this exercise, left her on the ground, all torn and dishevelled,

howling like a devil. The chambermaid then quitted the room, double-

locked the door on the outside, gained the staircase, and fled the house.

Every day the Princess was fighting, or mixed up in some adventures.

Her neighbours at Marly said they could not sleep for the riot she made

at night; and I remember that, after one of these scenes, everybody went

to see the room of the Duchesse de Villeroy and that of Madame d'Espinoy,

who had put their bed in the middle of their room, and who related their

night vigils to every one.

Such was this favourite of Madame de Maintenon; so insolent and so

insupportable to every one, but who had favours and preferences for those

who brought her over, and who had raised so many young men, amassed their

wealth, and made herself feared even by the Prince and minister.

CHAPTER XXVII

In a previous page I have alluded to the Princesse des Ursins, when she

was appointed 'Camerera Mayor' to the Queen of Spain on her marriage.

As I have now to occupy myself more particularly with her, it may be as

well to give a description of this extraordinary woman, which I omitted

when I first spoke of her.

Anne Marie de la Tremoille, was daughter of M. de Noirmoutiers, who

figured sufficiently in the troubles of the minority to be made a 'Duc a

brevet'. She first married M. Talleyrand, who called himself Prince de

Chalais, and who was obliged to quit the kingdom for engaging in the

famous duel against Messieurs de la Frette. She followed her husband to

Spain, where he died. Having gone to Rome, she got into favour with the

Cardinals de Bouillon and d'Estrees, first on account of her name and

nation, and afterwards for more tender reasons. In order to detain her

at Rome, these dignitaries thought of obtaining her an establishment.

She had no children, and almost no fortune, they wrote to Court that so

important a man as the Duc de Bracciano, Prince des Ursins, was worth

gaining; and that the way to arrive at this result was to have him

married to Madame de Chalais. The Duke was persuaded by the two

Cardinals that he was in love with Madame de Chalais: and so the affair

was arranged. Madame des Ursins displayed all her wit and charms at

Rome; and soon her palace became a sort of court, where all the best

company assembled. It grew to be the fashion to go there.

The husband amidst all this counts for not much. There was sometimes a

little disagreement between the two, without open rupture; yet they were

now and then glad to separate. This is why the Duchesse de Bracciano

made two journeys to France: the second time she spent four or five years

there. It was then I knew her, or rather formed a particular friendship

with her. My mother had made her acquaintance during her previous visit.

She lodged near us. Her wit, her grace, her manners enchanted me: she

received me with tenderness and I was always at her house. It was she

who proposed to me a marriage with Mlle. de Royan, which I rejected for

the reason already given.

When Madame des Ursins was appointed 'Camerera Mayor', she was a widow,

without children. No one could have been better suited for the post.

A lady of our court would not have done: a Spanish lady was not to be

depended on, and might have easily disgusted the Queen. The Princesse

des Ursins appeared to be a middle term. She was French, had been in

Spain, and she passed a great part of her life at Rome, and in Italy.

She was of the house of La Tremoille: her husband was chief of the house

of Ursins, a grandee of Spain, and Prince of the Soglio. She was also on

very good terms with the Duchess of Savoy, and with the Queen of

Portugal. The Cardinal d'Estrees, also, was known to have remained her

friend, after having been something more in their youth; and he gave

information that the Cardinal Portocarrero had been much in love with her

at Rome, and that they were then on very good terms. As it was through

the latter Cardinal that it was necessary to govern everything, this

circumstance was considered very important.

Age and health were also appropriate; and likewise her appearance. She

was rather tall than otherwise, a brunette, with blue eyes of the most

varied expression, in figure perfect, with a most exquisite bosom; her

face, without being beautiful, was charming; she was extremely noble in

air, very majestic in demeanour, full of graces so natural and so

continual in everything, that I have never seen any one approach her,

either in form or mind. Her wit was copious and of all kinds: she was

flattering, caressing, insinuating, moderate, wishing to please for

pleasing's sake, with charms irresistible when she strove to persuade and

win over; accompanying all this, she had a grandeur that encouraged

instead of frightening; a delicious conversation, inexhaustible and very

amusing, for she had seen many countries and persons; a voice and way of

speaking extremely agreeable, and full of sweetness. She had read much,

and reflected much. She knew how to choose the best society, how to

receive them, and could even have held a court; was polite,

distinguished; and above all was careful never to take a step in advance

without dignity and discretion. She was eminently fitted for intrigue,

in which, from taste; she had passed her time at Rome; with much

ambition, but of that vast kind, far above her sex, and the common run of

men--a desire to occupy a great position and to govern. A love for

gallantry and personal vanity were her foibles, and these clung to her

until her latest day; consequently, she dressed in a way that no longer

became her, and as she advanced in life, removed further from propriety

in this particular. She was an ardent and excellent friend--of a

friendship that time and absence never enfeebled; and, consequently, an

implacable enemy, pursuing her hatred to the infernal regions. While

caring little for the means by which she gained her ends, she tried as

much as possible to reach them by honest means. Secret, not only for

herself, but for her friends, she was yet, of a decorous gaiety, and so

governed her humours, that at all times and in everything she was

mistress of herself. Such was the Princesse des Ursins.

From the first moment on which she entered the service of the Queen of

Spain, it became her desire to govern not only the Queen, but the King;

and by this means the realm itself. Such a grand project had need of

support from our King, who, at the commencement, ruled the Court of Spain

as much as his own Court, with entire influence over all matters.

The young Queen of Spain had been not less carefully educated than her

sister, the Duchesse de Bourgogne. She had even when so young much

intelligence and firmness, without being incapable of restraint; and as

time went on, improved still further, and displayed a constancy and

courage which were admirably set off by her meekness and natural graces.

According to everything I have heard said in France and in Spain, she

possessed all qualities that were necessary to make her adored. Indeed

she became a divinity among the Spaniards, and to their affection for

her, Philip V. was more than once indebted for his crown. Lords, ladies,

soldiers, and the people still remember her with tears in their eyes; and

even after the lapse of so many years, are not yet consoled for her loss.

Madame des Ursins soon managed to obtain the entire confidence of this

Queen; and during the absence of Philip V. in Italy, assisted her in the

administration of all public offices. She even accompanied her to the

junta, it not being thought proper that the Queen should be alone amid

such an assemblage of men. In this way she became acquainted with

everything that was passing, and knew all the affairs of the Government.

This step gained, it will be imagined that the Princesse des Ursins did

not forget to pay her court most assiduously to our King and to Madame de

Maintenon. She continually sent them an exact account of everything

relating to the Queen--making her appear in the most favourable light

possible. Little by little she introduced into her letters details

respecting public events; without, however, conveying a suspicion of her

own ambition, or that she wished to meddle in these matters. Anchored in

this way, she next began to flatter Madame de Maintenon, and by degrees

to hint that she might rule over Spain, even more firmly than she ruled

over France, if she would entrust her commands to Madame des Ursins.

Madame des Ursins offered, in fact, to be the instrument of Madame de

Maintenon; representing how much better it would be to rule affairs in

this manner, than through the instrumentality of the ministers of either

country.