It was not long before Madame de Maintenon began to feel impatient at the

long-delayed departure of Madame des Ursins. She spoke at last upon the

subject, and pressed Madame des Ursins to set out for Spain. This was

just what the other wanted. She said that as she had been driven out of

Spain like a criminal, she must go back with honour, if Madame de

Maintenon wished her to gain the confidence and esteem of the Spaniards.

That although she had been treated by the King with every consideration

and goodness, many people in Spain were, and would be, ignorant of it,

and that, therefore, her return to favour ought to be made known in as

public and convincing a manner as was her disgrace. This was said with

all that eloquence and persuasiveness for which Madame des Ursins was

remarkable. The effect of it exceeded her hopes.

The favours she obtained were prodigious. Twenty thousand livres by way

of annual pension, and thirty thousand for her journey. One of her

brothers, M. de Noirmoutiers, blind since the age of eighteen or twenty,

was made hereditary duke; another, the Abbe de la Tremoille, of exceeding

bad life, and much despised in Rome, where he lived, was made cardinal.

What a success was this! How many obstacles had to be overcome in order

to attain it! Yet this was what Madame des Ursins obtained, so anxious

was Madame de Maintenon to get rid of her and to send her to reign in

Spain, that she might reign there herself. Pleased and loaded with

favour as never subject was before, Madame des Ursins set out towards the

middle of July, and was nearly a month on the road. It may be imagined

what sort of a reception awaited her in Spain. The King and the Queen

went a day's journey out of Madrid to meet her. Here, then, we see again

at the height of power this woman, whose fall the King but a short time

since had so ardently desired, and whose separation from the King and

Queen of Spain he had applauded himself for bringing about with so much

tact. What a change in a few months!

The war continued this year, but without bringing any great success to

our arms. Villars, at Circk, outmanoeuvred Marlborough in a manner that

would have done credit to the greatest general. Marlborough, compelled

to change the plan of campaign he had determined on, returned into

Flanders, where the Marechal de Villeroy was stationed with his forces.

Nothing of importance occurred during the campaign, and the two armies

went into winter quarters at the end of October.

I cannot quit Flanders without relating another instance of the pleasant

malignity of M. de Lauzun. In marrying a daughter of the Marechal de

Lorges, he had hoped, as I have already said, to return into the

confidence of the King by means of the Marechal, and so be again

entrusted with military command. Finding these hopes frustrated, he

thought of another means of reinstating himself in favour. He determined

to go to the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle, not, as may be believed, for his

health, but in order to ingratiate himself with the important foreigners

whom he thought to find there, learn some of the enemy's plans, and come

back with an account of them to the King, who would, no doubt, reward him

for his zeal. But he was deceived in his calculation. Aix-la-Chapelle,

generally so full of foreigners of rank, was this year, owing to the war,

almost empty. M. de Lauzun found, therefore, nobody of consequence from

whom he could obtain any useful information. Before his return, he

visited the Marechal de Villeroy, who received him with all military

honours, and conducted him all over the army, pointing out to him the

enemy's post; for the two armies were then quite close to each other.

His extreme anxiety, however, to get information, and the multitude of

his questions, irritated the officers who were ordered to do the honours

to him; and, in going about, they actually, at their own risk, exposed

him often to be shot or taken. They did not know that his courage was

extreme; and were quite taken aback by his calmness, and, his evident

readiness to push on even farther than they chose to venture.

On returning to Court, M. de Lauzun was of course pressed by everybody to

relate all he knew of the position of the two armies. But he held

himself aloof from all questioners, and would not answer. On the day

after his arrival he went to pay his court to Monseigneur, who did not

like him, but who also was no friend to the Marechal de Villeroy.

Monseigneur put many questions to him upon the situation of the two

armies, and upon the reasons which had prevented them from engaging each

other. M. de Lauzun shirked reply, like a man who wished to be pressed;

did not deny that he had well inspected the position of the two armies,

but instead of answering Monseigneur, dwelt upon the beauty of our

troops, their gaiety at finding themselves so near an enemy, and their

eagerness to fight. Pushed at last to the point at which he wished to

arrive, "I will tell you, Monseigneur," said he, "since you absolutely

command me; I scanned most minutely the front of the two armies to the

right and to the left, and all the ground between them. It is true there

is no brook, and that I saw; neither are there any ravines, nor hollow

roads ascending or descending; but it is true that there were other

hindrances which I particularly remarked."

"But what hindrance could there be," said Monseigneur, "since there was

nothing between the two armies?"

M. de Lauzun allowed himself to be pressed upon this point, constantly

repeating the list of hindrances that did not exist, but keeping silent

upon the others. At last, driven into a corner, he took his snuff-box

from his pocket.

"You see," said he, to Monseigneur, "there is one thing which much

embarrasses the feet, the furze that grows upon the ground, where M. le

Marechal de Villeroy is encamped. The furze, it is true, is not mixed

with any other plant, either hard or thorny; but it is a high furze, as

high, as high, let me see, what shall I say?"--and he looked all around

to find some object of comparison--"as high, I assure you, as this

snuffbox!"

Monseigneur burst out laughing at this sally, and all the company

followed his example, in the midst of which M. de Lauzun turned on his

heel and left the room. His joke soon spread all over the Court and the

town, and in the evening was told to the King. This was all the thanks

M. de Villeroy obtained from M. de Lauzun for the honours he had paid

him; and this was M. de Lauzun's consolation for his ill-success at Aix-

la-Chapelle.

In Italy our armies were not more successful than elsewhere. From time

to time, M. de Vendome attacked some unimportant post, and, having

carried it, despatched couriers to the King, magnifying the importance

of the exploit. But the fact was, all these successes led to nothing.

On one occasion, at Cassano, M. de Vendome was so vigorously attacked by

Prince Louis of Baden that, in spite of his contempt and his audacity,

he gave himself up for lost. When danger was most imminent, instead of

remaining at his post, he retired from the field of battle to a distant

country-house, and began to consider how a retreat might be managed.

The Grand Prieur, his brother, was in command under him, and was ordered

to remain upon the field; but he was more intent upon saving his skin

than on obeying orders, and so, at the very outset of the fight, ran away

to a country-house hard by. M. de Vendome strangely enough had sat down

to eat at the country-house whither he had retired, and was in the midst

of his meal when news was brought him that, owing to the prodigies

performed by one of his officers, Le Guerchois, the fortunes of the day

had changed, and Prince Louis of Baden was retiring. M. Vendome had

great difficulty to believe this, but ordered his horse, mounted, and,

pushing on, concluded the combat gloriously. He did not fail, of course,

to claim all the honours of this victory, which in reality was a barren

one; and sent word of his triumph to the King. He dared to say that the

loss of the enemy was more than thirteen thousand; and our loss less than

three thousand--whereas, the loss was at least equal. This exploit,

nevertheless, resounded at the Court and through the town as an advantage

the most complete and the most decisive, and due entirely to the

vigilance, valour, and capacity of Vendome. Not a word was said of his

country-house, or the interrupted meal. These facts were only known

after the return of the general officers. As for the Grand Prieur, his

poltroonery had been so public, his flight so disgraceful--for he had

taken troops with him to protect the country-house in which he sought

shelter--that he could not be pardoned. The two brothers quarrelled upon

these points, and in the end the Grand Prieur was obliged to give up his

command. He retired to his house at Clichy, near Paris; but, tiring of

that place, he went to Rome, made the acquaintance there of the Marquise

de Richelieu, a wanderer like himself, and passed some time with her at

Genoa. Leaving that city, he went to Chalons-sur-Saone, which had been

fixed upon as the place of his a exile, and there gave himself up to the

debaucheries in which he usually lived. From this time until the Regency

we shall see nothing more of him. I shall only add, therefore, that he

never went sober to bed during thirty years, but was always carried

thither dead drunk: was a liar, swindler, and thief; a rogue to the

marrow of his bones, rotted with vile diseases; the most contemptible and

yet most dangerous fellow in the world.

One day-I am speaking of a time many years previous to the date of the

occurrences just related-one day there was a great hunting party at Saint

Germain. The chase was pursued so long, that the King gave up, and

returned to Saint Germain. A number of courtiers, among whom was M. de

Lauzun, who related this story to me, continued their sport; and just as

darkness was coming on, discovered that they had lost their way. After a

time, they espied a light, by which they guided their steps, and at

length reached the door of a kind of castle. They knocked, they called

aloud, they named themselves, and asked for hospitality. It was then

between ten and eleven at night, and towards the end of autumn. The door

was opened to them. The master of the house came forth. He made them

take their boots off, and warm themselves; he put their horses into his

stables; and at the same time had a supper prepared for his guests, who

stood much in need of it. They did not wait long for the meal; yet when

served it proved excellent; the wines served with it, too, were of

several kinds, and excellent likewise: as for the master of the house, he

was so polite and respectful, yet without being ceremonious or eager,

VOLUME 5.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Two very different persons died towards the latter part of this year.

The first was Lamoignon, Chief President; the second, Ninon, known by the

name of Mademoiselle de l'Enclos. Of Lamoignon I will relate a single

anecdote, curious and instructive, which will show the corruption of

which he was capable.

One day--I am speaking of a time many years previous to the date of the

occurrences just related--one day there was a great hunting party at

Saint Germain. The chase was pursued so long, that the King gave up,

and returned to Saint Germain. A number of courtiers, among whom was

M. de Lauzun, who related this story to me, continued their sport; and

just as darkness was coming on, discovered that they had lost their way.

After a time, they espied a light, by which they guided their steps, and

at length reached the door of a kind of castle. They knocked, they

called aloud, they named themselves, and asked for hospitality. It was

then between ten and eleven at night, and towards the end of autumn.

The door was opened to them. The master of the house came forth.

He made them take their boots off, and warm themselves; he put their

horses into his stables; and at the same time had a supper prepared for

his guests, who stood much in need of it. They did not wait long for the

meal; yet when served it proved excellent; the wines served with it, too,

were of several kinds, and excellent likewise: as for the master of the

house, he was so polite and respectful, yet without being ceremonious or

eager, that it was evident he had frequented the best company. The

courtiers soon learnt that his name vitas Fargues, that the place was

called Courson, and that he had lived there in retirement several years.

After having supped, Fargues showed each of them into a separate bedroom,

where they were waited upon by his valets with every proper attention.

In the morning, as soon as the courtiers had dressed themselves, they

found an excellent breakfast awaiting them; and upon leaving the table

they saw their horses ready for them, and as thoroughly attended to as

they had been themselves. Charmed with the politeness and with the

manners of Fargues, and touched by his hospitable reception of them, they

made him many offers of service, and made their way back to Saint

Germain. Their non-appearance on the previous night had been the common

talk, their return and the adventure they had met with was no less so.

These gentlemen were then the very flower of the Court, and all of them

very intimate with the King. They related to him, therefore, their

story, the manner of their reception, and highly praised the master of

the house and his good cheer. The King asked his name, and, as soon as

he heard it, exclaimed, "What, Fargues! is he so near here, then?"

The courtiers redoubled their praises, and the King said no more; but

soon after, went to the Queen-mother, and told her what had happened.

Fargues, indeed, was no stranger, either to her or to the King. He had

taken a prominent part in the movements of Paris against the Court and

Cardinal Mazarin. If he had not been hanged, it was because he was well

supported by his party, who had him included in the amnesty granted to

those who had been engaged in these troubles. Fearing, however, that the

hatred of his enemies might place his life in danger if he remained in

Paris, he retired from the capital to this country-house which has just

been mentioned, where he continued to live in strict privacy, even when

the death of Cardinal Mazarin seemed to render such seclusion no longer

necessary.

The King and the Queen-mother, who had pardoned Fargues in spite of

themselves, were much annoyed at finding that he was living in opulence

and tranquillity so near the Court; thought him extremely bold to do so;

and determined to punish him for this and for his former insolence. They

directed Lamoignon, therefore, to find out something in the past life of

Fargues for which punishment might be awarded; and Lamoignon, eager to

please, and make a profit out of his eagerness, was not long in

satisfying them. He made researches, and found means to implicate

Fargues in a murder that had been committed in Paris at the height of the

troubles. Officers were accordingly sent to Courson, and its owner was

arrested.

Fargues was much astonished when he learnt of what he was accused. He

exculpated himself, nevertheless, completely; alleging, moreover, that as

the murder of which he was accused had been committed during the

troubles, the amnesty in which he was included effaced all memory of the

deed, according to law and usage, which had never been contested until

this occasion. The courtiers who had been so well treated by the unhappy

man, did everything they could with the judges and the King to obtain the

release of the accused. It was all in vain. Fargues was decapitated at

once, and all his wealth was given by way of recompense to the Chief-

President Lamoignon, who had no scruple thus to enrich himself with the

blood of the innocent.

The other person who died at the same time was, as I have said, Ninon,

the famous courtesan, known, since age had compelled her to quit that

trade, as Mademoiselle de l'Enclos. She was a new example of the triumph

of vice carried on cleverly and repaired by some virtue. The stir that

she made, and still more the disorder that she caused among the highest

and most brilliant youth, overcame the extreme indulgence that, not

without cause, the Queen-mother entertained for persons whose conduct was

gallant, and more than gallant, and made her send her an order to retire

into a convent. But Ninon, observing that no especial convent was named,

said, with a great courtesy, to the officer who brought the order, that,

as the option was left to her, she would choose "the convent of the

Cordeliers at Paris;" which impudent joke so diverted the Queen that she

left her alone for the future. Ninon never had but one lover at a time--

but her admirers were numberless--so that when wearied of one incumbent

she told him so frankly, and took another: The abandoned one might groan

and complain; her decree was without appeal; and this creature had

acquired such an influence, that the deserted lovers never dared to take

revenge on the favoured one, and were too happy to remain on the footing

of friend of the house. She sometimes kept faithful to one, when he

pleased her very much, during an entire campaign.

Ninon had illustrious friends of all sorts, and had so much wit that she

preserved them all and kept them on good terms with each other; or, at

least, no quarrels ever came to light. There was an external respect and

decency about everything that passed in her house, such as princesses of

the highest rank have rarely been able to preserve in their intrigues.

In this way she had among her friends a selection of the best members of

the Court; so that it became the fashion to be received by her, and it

was useful to be so, on account of the connections that were thus formed.

There was never any gambling there, nor loud laughing, nor disputes, nor

talk about religion or politics; but much and elegant wit, ancient and

modern stories, news of gallantries, yet without scandal. All was

delicate, light, measured; and she herself maintained the conversation by

her wit and her great knowledge of facts. The respect which, strange to

say, she had acquired, and the number and distinction of her friends and

acquaintances, continued when her charms ceased to attract; and when

propriety and fashion compelled her to use only intellectual baits. She

knew all the intrigues of the old and the new Court, serious and

otherwise; her conversation was charming; she was disinterested,

faithful, secret, safe to the last degree; and, setting aside her

frailty, virtuous and full of probity. She frequently succoured her

friends with money and influence; constantly did them the most important

services, and very faithfully kept the secrets or the money deposits that

were confided to her.

She had been intimate with Madame de Maintenon during the whole of her

residence at Paris; but Madame de Maintenon, although not daring to

disavow this friendship, did not like to hear her spoken about.

She wrote to Ninon with amity from time to time, even until her death;

and Ninon in like manner, when she wanted to serve any friend in whom she

took great interest, wrote to Madame de Maintenon, who did her what

service she required efficaciously and with promptness.

But since Madame de Maintenon came to power, they had only seen each

other two or three times, and then in secret.

Ninon was remarkable for her repartees. One that she made to the last

Marechal de Choiseul is worth repeating. The Marechal was virtue itself,

but not fond of company or blessed with much wit. One day, after a long

visit he had paid her, Ninon gaped, looked at the Marechal, and cried:

"Oh, my lord! how many virtues you make me detest!"

A line from I know not what play. The laughter at this may be imagined.

L'Enclos lived, long beyond her eightieth year, always healthy, visited,

respected. She gave her last years to God, and her death was the news of

the day. The singularity of this personage has made me extend my

observations upon her.

A short time after the death of Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, a terrible

adventure happened to Courtenvaux, eldest son of M. de Louvois.

Courtenvaux was commander of the Cent-Suisses, fond of obscure debauches;

with a ridiculous voice, miserly, quarrelsome, though modest and

respectful; and in fine a very stupid fellow. The King, more eager to

know all that was passing than most people believed, although they gave

him credit for not a little curiosity in this respect, had authorised

Bontems to engage a number of Swiss in addition to those posted at the

doors, and in the parks and gardens. These attendants had orders to

stroll morning, noon, and night, along the corridors, the passages, the

staircases, even into the private places, and, when it was fine, in the

court-yards and gardens; and in secret to watch people, to follow them,

to notice where they went, to notice who was there, to listen to all the

conversation they could hear, and to make reports of their discoveries.

This was assiduously done at Versailles, at Marly, at Trianon, at

Fontainebleau, and in all the places where the King was. These new

attendants vexed Courtenvaux considerably, for over such new-comers he

had no sort of authority. This season, at Fontainebleau, a room, which

had formerly been occupied by a party of the Cent-Suisses and of the

body-guard, was given up entirely to the new corps. The room was in a

public passage of communication indispensable to all in the chateau, and

in consequence, excellently well adapted for watching those who passed

through it. Courtenvaux, more than ever vexed by this new arrangement,

regarded it as a fresh encroachment upon his authority, and flew into a

violent rage with the new-comers, and railed at them in good set terms.

They allowed him to fume as he would; they had their orders, and were too

wise to be disturbed by his rage. The King, who heard of all this, sent

at once for Courtenvaux. As soon as he appeared in the cabinet, the King

called to him from the other end of the room, without giving him time to

approach, and in a rage so terrible, and for him so novel, that not only

Courtenvaux, but Princes, Princesses, and everybody in the chamber,

trembled. Menaces that his post should be taken away from him, terms the

most severe and the most unusual, rained upon Courtenvaux, who, fainting

with fright, and ready to sink under the ground, had neither the time nor

the means to prefer a word. The reprimand finished by the King saying,

"Get out." He had scarcely the strength to obey.

The cause of this strange scene was that Courtenvaux, by the fuss he had

made, had drawn the attention of the whole Court to the change effected

by the King, and that, when once seen, its object was clear to all eyes.

The King, who hid his spy system with the greatest care, had counted upon

this change passing unperceived, and was beside himself with anger when

he found it made apparent to everybody by Courtenvaux's noise. He never

regained the King's favour during the rest of his life; and but for his

family he would certainly have been driven away, and his office taken

from him.

Let me speak now of something of more moment.

The war, as I have said, still continued, but without bringing us any

advantages. On the contrary, our losses in Germany and Italy by

sickness, rather than by the sword, were so great that it was resolved to

augment each company by five men; and, at the same time, twenty-five

thousand militia were raised, thus causing great ruin and great

desolation in the provinces. The King was rocked into the belief that

the people were all anxious to enter this militia, and, from time to

time, at Marly, specimens of those enlisted were shown to him, and their

joy and eagerness to serve made much of. I have heard this often; while,

at the same time, I knew from my own tenantry, and from everything that

was said, that the raising of this militia carried despair everywhere,

and that many people mutilated themselves in order to exempt themselves

from serving. Nobody at the Court was ignorant of this. People lowered

their eyes when they saw the deceit practised upon the King, and the

credulity he displayed, and afterwards whispered one to another what they

thought of flattery so ruinous. Fresh regiments, too, were raised at

this time, and a crowd of new colonels and staffs created, instead of

giving a new battalion or a squadron additional to regiments already in

existence. I saw quite plainly towards what rock we were drifting. We

had met losses at Hochstedt, Gibraltar, and Barcelona; Catalonia and the

neighbouring countries were in revolt; Italy yielding us nothing but

miserable successes; Spain exhausted; France, failing in men and money,

and with incapable generals, protected by the Court against their faults.

I saw all these things so plainly that I could not avoid making

reflections, or reporting them to my friends in office. I thought that

it was time to finish the war before we sank still lower, and that it

might be finished by giving to the Archduke what we could not defend, and

making a division of the rest. My plan was to leave Philip V.

possession of all Italy, except those parts which belonged to the Grand

Duke, the republics of Venice and Genoa, and the ecclesiastical states of

Naples and Sicily; our King to have Lorraine and some other slight

additions of territory; and to place elsewhere the Dukes of Savoy, of

Lorraine, of Parma, and of Modem. I related this plan to the Chancellor

and to Chamillart, amongst others. The contrast between their replies

was striking. The Chancellor, after having listened to me very

attentively, said, if my plan were adopted, he would most willingly kiss

my toe for joy. Chamillart, with gravity replied, that the King would

not give up a single mill of all the Spanish succession. Then I felt the

blindness which had fallen upon us, and how much the results of it were

to be dreaded.

Nevertheless, the King, as if to mock at misfortune and to show his

enemies the little uneasiness he felt, determined, at the commencement of

the new year, 1706, that the Court should be gayer than ever. He

announced that there would be balls at Marly every time he was there this

winter, and he named those who were to dance there; and said he should be

very glad to see balls given to Madame de Bourgogne at Versailles.

Accordingly, many took place there, and also at Marly, and from time to

time there were masquerades. One day, the King wished that everybody,

even the most aged, who were at Marly, should go to the ball masked; and,

to avoid all distinction, he went there himself with a gauze robe above

his habit; but such a slight disguise was for himself alone; everybody

else was completely disguised. M. and Madame de Beauvilliers were there

perfectly disguised. When I say they were there, those who knew the

Court will admit that I have said more than enough. I had the pleasure

of seeing them, and of quietly laughing with them. At all these balls

the King made people dance who had long since passed the age for doing

so. As for the Comte de Brionne and the Chevalier de Sully, their

dancing was so perfect that there was no age for them.

CHAPTER XXXIV

In the midst of all this gaiety, that is to say on the 12th of February,

1706, one of our generals, of whom I have often spoken, I mean M. de

Vendome, arrived at Marly. He had not quitted Italy since succeeding to

Marechal de Villeroy, after the affair of Cremona. His battles, such as

they were, the places he had taken, the authority he had assumed, the

reputation he had usurped, his incomprehensible successes with the King,

the certainty of the support he leaned on,--all this inspired him with

the desire to come and enjoy at Court a situation so brilliant, and which

so far surpassed what he had a right to expect. But before speaking of

the reception which was given him, and of the incredible ascendancy he

took, let me paint him from the life a little more completely than I have

yet done.

Vendome was of ordinary height, rather stout, but vigorous and active:

with a very noble countenance and lofty mien. There was much natural

grace in his carriage and words; he had a good deal of innate wit, which

he had not cultivated, and spoke easily, supported by a natural boldness,

which afterwards turned to the wildest audacity; he knew the world and

the Court; was above all things an admirable courtier; was polite when

necessary, but insolent when he dared--familiar with common people--in

reality, full of the most ravenous pride. As his rank rose and his

favour increased, his obstinacy, and pig-headedness increased too, so

that at last he would listen to no advice whatever, and was inaccessible

to all, except a small number of familiars and valets. No one better

than he knew the subserviency of the French character, or took more

advantage of it. Little by little he accustomed his subalterns, and then

from one to the other all his army, to call him nothing but

"Monseigneur," and "Your Highness." In time the gangrene spread, and

even lieutenant-generals and the most distinguished people did not dare

to address him in any other manner.

The most wonderful thing to whoever knew the King--so gallant to the

ladies during a long part of his life, so devout the other, and often

importunate to make others do as he did--was that the said King had

always a singular horror of the inhabitants of the Cities of the Plain;

and yet M. de Vendome, though most odiously stained with that vice--so

publicly that he treated it as an ordinary gallantry--never found his

favour diminished on that account. The Court, Anet, the army, knew of

these abominations. Valets and subaltern officers soon found the way to

promotion. I have already mentioned how publicly he placed himself in

the doctor's hands, and how basely the Court acted, imitating the King,

who would never have pardoned a legitimate prince what he indulged so

strangely in Vendome.

The idleness of M. de Vendome was equally matter of notoriety. More than

once he ran the risk of being taken prisoner from mere indolence. He

rarely himself saw anything at the army, trusting to his familiars when

ready to trust anybody. The way he employed his day prevented any real

attention to business. He was filthy in the extreme, and proud of it.

Fools called it simplicity. His bed was always full of dogs and bitches,

who littered at his side, the pops rolling in the clothes. He himself

was under constraint in nothing. One of his theses was, that everybody

resembled him, but was not honest enough to confess it as he was. He

mentioned this once to the Princesse de Conti--the cleanest person in the

world, and the most delicate in her cleanliness.

He rose rather late when at the army. In this situation he wrote his

letters, and gave his morning orders. Whoever had business with him,

general officers and distinguished persons, could speak to him then. He

had accustomed the army to this infamy. At the same time he gobbled his

breakfast; and whilst he ate, listened, or gave orders, many spectators

always standing round.... (I must be excused these disgraceful details,

in order better to make him known).... On shaving days he used the same

vessel to lather his chin in. This, according to him, was a simplicity

of manner worthy of the ancient Romans, and which condemned the splendour

and superfluity of the others. When all was over, he dressed; then

played high at piquet or hombre; or rode out, if it was absolutely

necessary. All was now over for the day. He supped copiously with his

familiars: was a great eater, of wonderful gluttony; a connoisseur in no

dish, liked fish much, but the stale and stinking better than the good.

The meal prolonged itself in theses and disputes, and above all in praise

and flattery.

He would never have forgiven the slightest blame from any one. He wanted

to pass for the first captain of his age, and spoke with indecent

contempt of Prince Eugene and all the others. The faintest contradiction

would have been a crime. The soldier and the subaltern adored him for

his familiarity with them, and the licence he allowed in order to gain

their hearts; for all which he made up by excessive haughtiness towards

whoever was elevated by rank or birth.

On one occasion the Duke of Parma sent the bishop of that place to

negotiate some affair with him; but M. de Vendome took such disgusting

liberties in his presence, that the ecclesiastic, though without saying a

word, returned to Parma, and declared to his master that never would he

undertake such an embassy again. In his place another envoy was sent,

the famous Alberoni. He was the son of a gardener, who became an Abbe in

order to get on. He was full of buffoonery; and pleased M. de Parma as

might a valet who amused him, but he soon showed talent and capacity for

affairs. The Duke thought that the night-chair of M. de Vendome required

no other ambassador than Alberoni, who was accordingly sent to conclude

what the bishop had left undone. The Abbe determined to please, and was

not proud. M. de Vendome exhibited himself as before; and Alberoni, by

an infamous act of personal adoration, gained his heart. He was

thenceforth much with him, made cheese-soup and other odd messes for him;

and finally worked his way. It is true he was cudgelled by some one he

had offended, for a thousand paces, in sight of the whole army, but this

did not prevent his advancement. Vendome liked such an unscrupulous

flatterer; and yet as we have seen, he was not in want of praise. The

extraordinary favour shown him by the King--the credulity with which his

accounts of victories were received--showed to every one in what

direction their laudation was to be sent.

Such was the man whom the King and the whole Court hastened to caress and

flatter from the first moment of his arrival amongst us. There was a

terrible hubbub: boys, porters, and valets rallied round his postchaise

when he reached Marly. Scarcely had he ascended into his chamber, than

everybody, princes, bastards and all the rest, ran after him. The

ministers followed: so that in a short time nobody was left in the salon

but the ladies. M. de Beauvilliers was at Vaucresson. As for me, I

remained spectator, and did not go and adore this idol.

In a few minutes Vendome was sent for by the King and Monseigneur. As

soon as he could dress himself, surrounded as he was by such a crowd, he

went to the salon, carried by it rather than environed. Monseigneur

stopped the music that was playing, in order to embrace him. The King

left the cabinet where he was at work, and came out to meet him,

embracing him several times. Chamillart on the morrow gave a fete in his

honour at L'Etang, which lasted two days. Following his example,

Pontchartrain, Torcy, and the most distinguished lords of the Court, did

the same. People begged and entreated to give him fetes; people begged

and entreated to be invited to them. Never was triumph equal to his;

each step he took procured him a new one. It is not too much to say,

that everybody disappeared before him; Princes of the blood, ministers,

the grandest seigneurs, all appeared only to show how high he was above

them; even the King seemed only to remain King to elevate him more.

The people joined in this enthusiasm, both in Versailles and at Paris,

where he went under pretence of going to the opera. As he passed along

the streets crowds collected to cheer him; they billed him at the doors,

and every seat was taken in advance; people pushed and squeezed

everywhere, and the price of admission was doubled, as on the nights of

first performances. Vendome, who received all these homages with extreme

ease, was yet internally surprised by a folly so universal. He feared

that all this heat would not last out even the short stay he intended to

make. To keep himself more in reserve, he asked and obtained permission

to go to Anet, in the intervals between the journeys to Marly. All the

Court, however, followed him there, and the King was pleased rather than

otherwise, at seeing Versailles half deserted for Anet, actually asking

some if they had been, others, when they intended to go.

It was evident that every one had resolved to raise M. de Vendome to the

rank of a hero. He determined to profit by the resolution. If they made

him Mars, why should he not act as such? He claimed to be appointed

commander of the Marechals of France, and although the King refused him

this favour, he accorded him one which was but the stepping-stone to it.

M. de Vendome went away towards the middle of March to command the army

in Italy, with a letter signed by the King himself, promising him that if

a Marechal of France were sent to Italy, that Marechal was to take

commands from him. M. de Vendome was content, and determined to obtain

all he asked on a future day. The disposition of the armies had been

arranged just before. Tesse, for Catalonia and Spain; Berwick, for the

frontier of Portugal; Marechal Villars, for Alsace; Marsin, for the

Moselle; Marechal de Villeroy, for Flanders; and M. de Vendome, as I have

said, for Italy.

Now that I am speaking of the armies, let me give here an account of all

our military operations this year, so as to complete that subject at

once.

M. de Vendome commenced his Italian campaign by a victory. He attacked

the troops of Prince Eugene upon the heights of Calcinato, drove them

before him, killed three thousand men, took twenty standards, ten pieces

of cannon, and eight thousand prisoners. It was a rout rather than a

combat. The enemy was much inferior in force to us, and was without its

general, Prince Eugene, he not having returned to open the campaign. He

came back, however, the day after this engagement, soon re-established

order among his troops, and M. de Vendome from that time, far from being

able to recommence the attack, was obliged to keep strictly on the

defensive while he remained in Italy. He did not fail to make the most

of his victory, which, however, to say the truth, led to nothing.

Our armies just now were, it must be admitted, in by no means a good

condition. The generals owed their promotion to favour and fantasy.

The King thought he gave them capacity when he gave them their patents.

Under M. de Turenne the army had afforded, as in a school, opportunities

for young officers to learn the art of warfare, and to qualify themselves

step by step to take command. They were promoted as they showed signs of

their capacity, and gave proof of their talent. Now, however, it was

very different. Promotion was granted according to length of service,

thus rendering all application and diligence unnecessary, except when M.

de Louvois suggested to the King such officers as he had private reasons

for being favourable to, and whose actions he could control. He

persuaded the King that it was he himself who ought to direct the armies

from his cabinet. The King, flattered by this, swallowed the bait, and

Louvois himself was thus enabled to govern in the name of the King, to

keep the generals in leading-strings, and to fetter their every movement.

In consequence of the way in which promotions were made, the greatest

ignorance prevailed amongst all grades of officers. None knew scarcely

anything more than mere routine duties, and sometimes not even so much as

that. The luxury which had inundated the army, too, where everybody

wished to live as delicately as at Paris, hindered the general officers

from associating with the other officers, and in consequence from knowing

and appreciating them. As a matter of course, there were no longer any

deliberations upon the state of affairs, in which the young might profit

by the counsels of the old, and the army profit by the discussions of

all. The young officers talked only of pay and women; the old, of forage

and equipages; the generals spent half their time in writing costly

despatches, often useless, and sending them away by couriers. The luxury

of the Court and city had spread into the army, so that delicacies were

carried there unknown formerly. Nothing was spoken of but hot dishes in

the marches and in the detachments; and the repasts that were carried to

the trenches, during sieges, were not only well served, but ices and

fruits were partaken of as at a fete, and a profusion of all sorts of

liqueurs. Expense ruined the officers, who vied with one another in

their endeavours to appear magnificent; and the things to be carried, the

work to be done, quadrupled the number of domestics and grooms, who often

starved. For a long time, people had complained of all this; even those

who were put to the expenses, which ruined them; but none dared to spend

less. At last, that is to say, in the spring of the following year, the

King made severe rules, with the object of bringing about a reform in

this particular. There is no country in Europe where there are so many

fine laws, or where the observance of them is of shorter duration. It

often happens, that in the first year all are infringed, and in the

second, forgotten. Such was the army at this time, and we soon had

abundant opportunities to note its incapacity to overcome the enemies

with whom we had to contend.

The King wished to open this campaign with two battles; one in Italy, the

other in Flanders. His desire was to some extent gratified in the former

case; but in the other he met with a sad and cruel disappointment. Since

the departure of Marechal de Villeroy for Flanders, the King had more

than once pressed him to engage the enemy. The Marechal, piqued with

these reiterated orders, which he considered as reflections upon his

courage, determined to risk anything in order to satisfy the desire of

the King. But the King did not wish this. At the same time that he

wished for a battle in Flanders, he wished to place Villeroy in a state

to fight it. He sent orders, therefore, to Marsin to take eighteen

battalions and twenty squadrons of his army, to proceed to the Moselle,

where he would find twenty others, and then to march with the whole into

Flanders, and join Marechal de Villeroy. At the same time he prohibited

the latter from doing anything until this reinforcement reached him.

Four couriers, one after the other, carried this prohibition to the

Marechal; but he had determined to give battle without assistance, and he

did so, with what result will be seen.

On the 24th of May he posted himself between the villages of Taviers and

Ramillies. He was superior in force to the Duke of Marlborough, who was

opposed to him, and this fact gave him confidence. Yet the position

which he had taken up was one which was well known to be bad. The late

M. de Luxembourg had declared it so, and had avoided it. M. de Villeroy

had been a witness of this, but it was his destiny and that of France

that he should forget it. Before he took up this position he announced

that it was his intention to do so to M. d'Orleans. M. d'Orleans said

publicly to all who came to listen, that if M. de Villeroy did so he

would be beaten. M. d'Orleans proved to be only too good a prophet.

Just as M. de Villeroy had taken up his position and made his

arrangements, the Elector arrived in hot haste from Brussels. It was

too late now to blame what had been done. There was nothing for it but

to complete what had been already begun, and await the result.

It was about two hours after midday when the enemy arrived within range,

and came under our fire from Ramillies. It forced them to halt until

their cannon could be brought into play, which was soon done. The

cannonade lasted a good hour. At the end of that time they marched to

Taviers, where a part of our army was posted, found but little

resistance, and made themselves masters of that place. From that moment

they brought their cavalry to bear. They perceived that there was a

marsh which covered our left, but which hindered our two wings from

joining. They made good use of the advantage this gave them. We were

taken in the rear at more than one point, and Taviers being no longer

able to assist us, Ramillies itself fell, after a prodigious fire and an

obstinate resistance. The Comte de Guiche at the head of the regiment of

Guards defended it for four hours, and performed prodigies, but in the

end he was obliged to give way. All this time our left had been utterly

useless with its nose in the marsh, no enemy in front of it, and with

strict orders not to budge from its position.

[Illustration: Marlborough At Ramillies--Painted by R. Canton Woodville--418]

Our retreat commenced in good order, but soon the night came and threw us

into confusion. The defile of Judoigne became so gorged with baggage and

with the wrecks of the artillery we had been able to save, that

everything was taken from us there. Nevertheless, we arrived at Louvain,

and then not feeling in safety, passed the canal of Wilworde without

being very closely followed by the enemy.

We lost in this battle four thousand men, and many prisoners of rank, all

of whom were treated with much politeness by Marlborough. Brussels was

one of the first-fruits he gathered of this victory, which had such grave

and important results.

The King did not learn this disaster until Wednesday, the 26th of May,

at his waking. I was at Versailles. Never was such trouble or such

consternation. The worst was, that only the broad fact was known; for

six days we were without a courier to give us details. Even the post was

stopped. Days seemed like years in the ignorance of everybody as to

details, and in the inquietude of everybody for relatives and friends.

The King was forced to ask one and another for news; but nobody could

tell him any. Worn out at last by the silence, he determined to despatch

Chamillart to Flanders to ascertain the real state of affairs.

Chamillart accordingly left Versailles on Sunday, the 30th of May, to the

astonishment of all the Court, at seeing a man charged with the war and

the finance department sent on such an errand. He astonished no less the

army when he arrived at Courtrai, where it had stationed itself. Having

gained all the information he sought, Chamillart returned to Versailles

on Friday, the 4th of June, at about eight o'clock in the evening, and at

once went to the King, who was in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon.

It was known then that the army, after several hasty marches, finding

itself at Ghent, the Elector of Bavaria had insisted that it ought at

least to remain there. A council of war was held, the Marechal de

Villeroy, who was quite discouraged by the loss he had sustained, opposed

the advice of the Elector. Ghent was abandoned, so was the open country.

The army was separated and distributed here and there, under the command

of the general officers. In this way, with the exception of Namur, Mons,

and a very few other places, all the Spanish Low Countries were lost, and

a part of ours, even. Never was rapidity equal to this. The enemies

were as much astonished as we.

However tranquilly the King sustained in appearance this misfortune, he

felt it to the quick. He was so affected by what was said of his body-

guards, that he spoke of them himself with bitterness. Court warriors

testified in their favour, but persuaded nobody. But the King seized

these testimonies with joy, and sent word to the Guards that he was well

contended with them. Others, however, were not so easily satisfied.

This sad reverse and the discontent of the Elector made the King feel at

last that his favourites must give way to those better able to fill their

places. Villeroy, who, since his defeat, had quite lost his head, and

who, if he had been a general of the Empire, would have lost it in

reality in another manner, received several strong hints from the King

that he ought to give up his command. But he either could not or would

not understand them, and so tired out the King's patience, at length.

But he was informed in language which admitted of no misapprehension that

he must return. Even then, the King was so kindly disposed towards him,

that he said the Marechal had begged to be recalled with such obstinacy

that he could not refuse him. But M. de Villeroy was absurd enough to

reject this salve for his honour; which led to his disgrace. M. de

Vendome had orders to leave Italy, and succeed to the command in

Flanders, where the enemies had very promptly taken Ostend and Nieuport.

CHAPTER XXXV

Meanwhile, as I have promised to relate, in a continuous narrative, all

our military operations of this year, let me say what passed in other

directions. The siege of Barcelona made no progress. Our engineers were

so slow and so ignorant, that they did next to nothing. They were so

venal, too, that they aided the enemy rather than us by their movements.

According to a new rule made by the King, whenever they changed the

position of their guns, they were entitled to a pecuniary recompense.

Accordingly, they passed all their time in uselessly changing about from

place to place, in order to receive the recompense which thus became due

to them.

Our fleet, too, hearing that a much superior naval force was coming to

the assistance of the enemy, and being, thanks to Pontchartrain, utterly

unable to meet it, was obliged to weigh anchor, and sailed away to

Toulon. The enemy's fleet arrived, and the besieged at once took new

courage. Tesse, who had joined the siege, saw at once that it was

useless to continue it. We had for some time depended upon the open sea

for supplies. Now that the English fleet had arrived, we could depend

upon the sea no longer. The King of Spain saw, at last, that there was

no help for it but to raise the siege.

It was raised accordingly on the night between the 10th and 11th of May,

after fourteen days' bombardment. We abandoned one hundred pieces of

artillery; one hundred and fifty thousand pounds of powder; thirty

thousand sacks of flour; twenty thousand sacks of sevade, a kind of oats;

and a great number of bombs, cannon-balls, and implements. As Catalonia

was in revolt, it was felt that retreat could not take place in that

direction; it was determined, therefore, to retire by the way of the

French frontier. For eight days, however, our troops were harassed in

flank and rear by Miquelets, who followed us from mountain to mountain.

It was not until the Duc de Noailles, whose father had done some service

to the chiefs of these Miquelets, had parleyed with them, and made terms

with them, that our troops were relieved from these cruel wasps. We

suffered much loss in our retreat, which, with the siege, cost us full

four thousand men. The army stopped at Roussillon, and the King of

Spain, escorted by two regiments of dragoons, made the best of his way to

Madrid. That city was itself in danger from the Portuguese, and, indeed,

fell into their hands soon after. The Queen, who, with her children, had

left it in time to avoid capture, felt matters to be in such extremity,

that she despatched all the jewels belonging to herself and her husband

to France. They were placed in the custody of the King. Among them was

that famous pear-shaped pearl called the Peregrine, which, for its

weight, its form, its size, and its water, is beyond all price and all

comparison.

The King of Spain effected a junction with the army of Berwick, and both

set to work to reconquer the places the Portuguese had taken from them.

In this they were successful. The Portuguese, much harassed by the

people of Castille, were forced to abandon all they had gained; and the

King of Spain was enabled to enter Madrid towards the end of September,

where he was received with much rejoicing.

In Italy we experienced the most disastrous misfortunes. M. de Vendome,

having been called from the command to go into Flanders, M. d'Orleans,

after some deliberation, was appointed to take his place. M. d'Orleans

set out from Paris on the 1st of July, with twenty-eight horses and five

chaises, to arrive in three days at Lyons, and then to hasten on into

Italy. La Feuillade was besieging Turin. M. d'Orleans went to the

siege. He was magnificently received by La Feuillade, and shown all over

the works. He found everything defective. La Feuillade was very young,

and very inexperienced. I have already related an adventure of his, that

of his seizing upon the coffers of his uncle, and so forestalling his

inheritance. To recover from the disgrace this occurrence brought upon

him, he had married a daughter of Chamillart. Favoured by this minister,

but coldly looked upon by the King, he had succeeded in obtaining command

in the army, and had been appointed to conduct this siege. Inflated by

the importance of his position, and by the support of Chamillart, he

would listen to no advice from any one. M. d'Orleans attempted to bring

about some changes, and gave orders to that effect, but as soon as he was

gone, La Feuillade countermanded those orders and had everything his own

way. The siege accordingly went on with the same ill-success as before.

M. d'Orleans joined M. de Vendome on the 17th of July, upon the Mincio.

The pretended hero had just made some irreparable faults. He had allowed

Prince Eugene to pass the Po, nearly in front of him, and nobody knew

what had become of twelve of our battalions posted near the place where

this passage had been made. Prince Eugene had taken all the boats that

we had upon the river. We could not cross it, therefore, and follow the

enemy without making a bridge. Vendome feared lest his faults should be

perceived. He wished that his successor should remain charged with them.

M. d'Orleans, indeed, soon saw all the faults that M. de Vendome had

committed, and tried hard to induce the latter to aid him to repair them.

But M. de Vendome would not listen to his representations, and started

away almost immediately to take the command of the army in Flanders,

leaving M. d'Orleans to get out of the difficulty as he might.

M. d'Orleans, abandoned to himself (except when interfered with by

Marechal de Marsin, under whose tutelage he was), could do nothing. He

found as much opposition to his plans from Marsin as he had found from M.

de Vendome. Marsin wished to keep in the good graces of La Feuillade,

son-in-law of the all-powerful minister, and would not adopt the views of

M. d'Orleans. This latter had proposed to dispute the passage of the

Tanaro, a confluent of the Po, with the enemy, or compel them to accept

battle. An intercepted letter, in cypher, from Prince Eugene to the

Emperor, which fell into our hands, proved, subsequently, that this

course would have been the right one to adopt; but the proof came too

late; the decyphering table having been forgotten at Versailles!

M. d'Orleans had in the mean time been forced to lead his army to Turin,

to assist the besiegers, instead of waiting to stop the passage of the

troops that were destined for the aid of the besieged. He arrived at

Turin on the 28th of August, in the evening. La Feuillade, now under two

masters, grew, it might be imagined, more docile. But no! He allied

himself with Marsin (without whom M. d'Orleans could do nothing), and so

gained him over that they acted completely in accord. When M. d'Orleans

was convinced, soon after his arrival, that the enemy was approaching to

succour Turin, he suggested that they should be opposed as they attempted

the passage of the Dora.

But his advice was not listened to. He was displeased with everything.

He found that all the orders he had given had been disregarded. He found

the siege works bad, imperfect, very wet, and very ill-guarded. He tried

to remedy all these defects, but he was opposed at every step. A council

of war was held. M. d'Orleans stated his views, but all the officers

present, with one honourable exception, servilely chimed in with the

views of Marsin and La Feuillade, and things remained as they were.

M. d'Orleans, thereupon, protested that he washed his hands of all the

misfortunes that might happen in consequence of his advice being

neglected. He declared that as he was no longer master over anything,

it was not just that he should bear any part of the blame which would

entail to those in command. He asked, therefore, for his post-chaise,

and wished immediately to quit the army. La Feuillade and Marsin,

however, begged him to remain, and upon second thoughts he thought it

better to do so. The simple reason of all this opposition was, that La

Feuillade, being very young and very vain, wished to have all the honours

of the siege. He was afraid that if the counsel of M. d'Orleans

prevailed, some of that honour would be taken from him. This was the

real reason, and to this France owes the disastrous failure of the siege

of Turin.

After the council of war, M. d'Orleans ceased to take any share in the

command, walked about or stopped at home, like a man who had nothing to

do with what was passing around him. On the night of the 6th to the 7th

of September, he rose from his bed alarmed by information sent to him in

a letter, that Prince Eugene was about to attack the castle of Pianezza,

in order to cross the Dora, and so proceed to attack the besiegers. He

hastened at once to Marsin, showed him the letter, and recommended that

troops should at once be sent to dispute the passage of a brook that the

enemies had yet to cross, even supposing them to be masters of Pianezza.

Even as he was speaking, confirmation of the intelligence he had received

was brought by one of our officers. But it was resolved, in the Eternal

decrees, that France should be struck to the heart that day.

Marsin would listen to none of the arguments of M. d'Orleans. He

maintained that it would be unsafe to leave the lines; that the news was

false; that Prince Eugene could not possibly arrive so promptly; he would

give no orders; and he counselled M. d'Orleans to go back to bed. The

Prince, more piqued and more disgusted than ever, retired to his quarters

fully resolved to abandon everything to the blind and deaf, who would

neither see nor hear.

Soon after entering his chamber the news spread from all parts of the

arrival of Prince Eugene. He did not stir. Some general officers came,

and forced him to mount his horse. He went forth negligently at a

walking pace. What had taken place during the previous days had made so

much noise that even the common soldiers were ashamed of it. They liked

him, and murmured because he would no longer command them. One of them

called him by his name, and asked him if he refused them his sword. This

question did more than all that the general officers had been able to do.

M. d'Orleans replied to the soldier, that he would not refuse to serve

them, and at once resolved to lend all his aid to Marsin and La

Feuillade.

But it was no longer possible to leave the lines. The enemy was in

sight, and advanced so diligently, that there was no time to make

arrangements. Marsin, more dead than alive, was incapable of giving any

order or any advice. But La Feuillade still persevered in his obstinacy.

He disputed the orders of the Duc d'Orleans, and prevented their

execution, possessed by I know not what demon.

The attack was commenced about ten o'clock in the morning, was pushed

with incredible vigour, and sustained, at first, in the same manner.

Prince Eugene poured his troops into those places which the smallness of

our forces had compelled us to leave open. Marsin, towards the middle of

the battle, received a wound which incapacitated him from further

service, end was taken prisoner immediately after. Le Feuillade ran

about like a madman, tearing his hair, and incapable of giving any order.

The Duc d'Orleans preserved his coolness, and did wonders to save the

day. Finding our men beginning to waver, he called the officers by their

names, aroused the soldiers by his voice, and himself led the squadrons

and battalions to the charge. Vanquished at last by pain, and weakened

by the blood he had lost, he was constrained to retire a little, to have

his wounds dressed. He scarcely gave himself time for this, however, but

returned at once where the fire was hottest. Three times the enemy had

been repulsed and their guns spiked by one of our officers, Le Guerchois,

with his brigade of the old marine, when, enfeebled by the losses he had

sustained, he called upon a neighbouring brigade to advance with him to

oppose a number of fresh battalions the enemy had sent against him. This

brigade and its brigadier refused bluntly to aid him. It was positively

known afterwards, that had Le Guerchois sustained this fourth charge,

Prince Eugene would have retreated.

This was the last moment of the little order that there had been at this

battle. All that followed was only trouble, confusion, disorder, flight,

discomfiture. The most terrible thing is, that the general officers,

with but few exceptions, more intent upon their equipage and upon what

they had saved by pillage, added to the confusion instead of diminishing

it, and were worse than useless.

M. d'Orleans, convinced at last that it was impossible to re-establish

the day, thought only how to retire as advantageously as possible. He

withdrew his light artillery, his ammunition, everything that was at the

siege, even at the most advanced of its works, and attended to everything

with a presence of mind that allowed nothing to escape him. Then,

gathering round him all the officers he could collect, he explained to

them that nothing but retreat was open to them, and that the road to

Italy was that which they ought to pursue. By this means they would

leave the victorious army of the enemy in a country entirely ruined and

desolate, and hinder it from returning into Italy, where the army of the

King, on the contrary, would have abundance, and where it would cut off

all succour from the others.

This proposition dismayed to the last degree our officers, who hoped at

least to reap the fruit of this disaster by returning to France with the

money with which they were gorged. La Feuillade opposed it with so much

impatience, that the Prince, exasperated by an effrontery so sustained,

told him to hold his peace and let others speak. Others did speak, but

only one was for following the counsel of M. d'Orleans. Feeling himself

now, however, the master, he stopped all further discussion, and gave

orders that the retreat to Italy should commence. This was all he could

do. His body and his brain were equally exhausted. After having waited

some little time, he was compelled to throw himself into a post-chaise,

and in that to continue the journey.

The officers obeyed his orders most unwillingly. They murmured amongst

each other so loudly that the Duc d'Orleans, justly irritated by so much

opposition to his will, made them hold their peace. The retreat

continued. But it was decreed that the spirit of error and vertigo

should ruin us and save the allies. As the army was about to cross the

bridge over the Ticino, and march into Italy, information was brought to

M. d'Orleans, that the enemy occupied the roads by which it was

indispensable to pass. M. d'Orleans, not believing this intelligence,

persisted in going forward. Our officers, thus foiled, for it was known

afterwards that the story was their invention, and that the passes were

entirely free, hit upon another expedient. They declared there were no

more provisions or ammunition, and that it was accordingly impossible to

go into Italy. M. d'Orleans, worn out by so much criminal disobedience,

and weakened by his wound, could hold out no longer. He threw himself

back in the chaise, and said they might go where they would. The army

therefore turned about, and directed itself towards Pignerol, losing many

equipages from our rear-guard during the night in the mountains, although

that rear-guard was protected by Albergotti, and was not annoyed by the

enemy.

The joy of the enemy at their success was unbounded. They could scarcely

believe in it. Their army was just at its last gasp. They had not more

than four days' supply of powder left in the place. After the victory,

M. de Savoie and Prince Eugene lost no time in idle rejoicings. They

thought only how to profit by a success so unheard of and so unexpected.

They retook rapidly all the places in Piedmont and Lombardy that we

occupied, and we had no power to prevent them.

Never battle cost fewer soldiers than that of Turin; never was retreat

more undisturbed than ours; yet never were results more frightful or more

rapid. Ramillies, with a light loss, cost the Spanish Low Countries and

part of ours: Turin cost all Italy by the ambition of La Feuillade, the

incapacity of Marsin, the avarice, the trickery, the disobedience of the

general officers opposed to M, d'Orleans. So complete was the rout of

our army, that it was found impossible to restore it sufficiently to send

it back to Italy, not at least before the following spring. M. d'Orleans

returned therefore to Versailles, on Monday, the 8th of November, and was

well received by the King. La Feuillade arrived on Monday, the 13th of

December, having remained several days at Paris without daring to go to

Versailles. He was taken to the King by Chamillart. As soon as the King

saw them enter he rose, went to the door, and without giving them time to

utter a word, said to La Feuillade, "Monsieur, we are both very

unfortunate!" and instantly turned his back upon him. La Feuillade, on

the threshold of the door that he had not had time to cross, left the

place immediately, without having dared to say a single word. The King

always afterwards turned his eye from La Feuillade, and would never speak

to him. Such was the fall of this Phaeton. He saw that he had no more

hope, and retired from the army; although there was no baseness that he

did not afterwards employ to return to command. I think there never was

a more wrong-headed man or a man more radically dishonest, even to the

marrow of his bones. As for Marsin, he died soon after his capture, from

the effect of his wounds.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Such was our military history of the year 1706--history of losses and

dishonour. It may be imagined in what condition was the exchequer with

so many demands upon its treasures. For the last two or three years the

King had been obliged, on account of the expenses of the war, and the

losses we had sustained, to cut down the presents that he made at the

commencement of the year. Thirty-five thousand louis in gold was the sum

he ordinarily spent in this manner. This year, 1707, he diminished it by

ten thousand Louis. It was upon Madame de Montespan that the blow fell.

Since she had quitted the Court the King gave her twelve thousand Louis

of gold each year. This year he sent word to her that he could only give

her eight. Madame de Montespan testified not the least surprise. She

replied, that she was only sorry for the poor, to whom indeed she gave

with profusion. A short time after the King had made this reduction,

that is, on the 8th of January, Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne gave

birth to a son. The joy was great, but the King prohibited all those

expenses which had been made at the birth of the first-born of Madame de

Bourgogne, and which had amounted to a large sum. The want of money

indeed made itself felt so much at this time, that the King was obliged

to seek for resources as a private person might have done. A mining

speculator, named Rodes, having pretended that he had discovered many

veins of gold in the Pyrenees, assistance was given him in order that he

might bring these treasures to light.

He declared that with eighteen hundred workmen he would furnish a million

(francs' worth of gold) each week. Fifty-two millions a-year would have

been a fine increase of revenue. However, after waiting some little

time, no gold was forthcoming, and the money that had been spent to

assist this enterprise was found to be pure loss.

The difficulty of finding money to carry on the affairs of the nation

continued to grow so irksome that Chamillart, who had both the finance

and the war departments under his control, was unable to stand against

the increased trouble and vexation which this state of things brought

him. More than once he had represented that this double work was too

much for him. But the King had in former times expressed so much

annoyance from the troubles that arose between the finance and war

departments, that he would not separate them, after having once joined

them together. At last, Chamillart could bear up against his heavy load

no longer. The vapours seized him: he had attacks of giddiness in the

head; his digestion was obstructed; he grew thin as a lath. He wrote

again to the King, begging to be released from his duties, and frankly

stated that, in the state he was, if some relief was not afforded him,

everything would go wrong and perish. He always left a large margin to

his letters, and upon this the King generally wrote his reply.

Chamillart showed me this letter when it came back to him, and I saw upon

it with great surprise, in the handwriting of the King, this short note:

"Well! let us perish together."

The necessity for money had now become so great, that all sorts of means

were adopted to obtain it. Amongst other things, a tax was established

upon baptisms and marriages. This tax was extremely onerous and odious.

The result of it was a strange confusion. Poor people, and many of

humble means, baptised their children themselves, without carrying them

to the church, and were married at home by reciprocal consent and before

witnesses, when they could find no priest who would marry them without

formality. In consequence of this there were no longer any baptismal

extracts; no longer any certainty as to baptisms or births; and the

children of the marriages solemnised in the way I have stated above were

illegitimate in the eyes of the law. Researches and rigours in respect

to abuses so prejudicial were redoubled therefore; that is to say, they

were redoubled for the purpose of collecting the tax.

From public cries and murmurs the people in some places passed to

sedition. Matters went so far at Cahors, that two battalions which were

there had great difficulty in holding the town against the armed

peasants; and troops intended for Spain were obliged to be sent there.

It was found necessary to suspend the operation of the tax, but it was

with great trouble that the movement of Quercy was put down, and the

peasants, who had armed and collected together, induced to retire into

their villages. In Perigord they rose, pillaged the bureaux, and

rendered themselves masters of a little town and some castles, and forced

some gentlemen to put themselves at their head. They declared publicly

that they would pay the old taxes to King, curate, and lord, but that

they would pay no more, or hear a word of any other taxes or vexation.

In the end it was found necessary to drop this tax upon baptism and

marriages, to the great regret of the tax-gatherers, who, by all manner

of vexations and rogueries, had enriched themselves cruelly.

It was at this time, and in consequence, to some extent, of these events,

that a man who had acquired the highest distinction in France was brought

to the tomb in bitterness and grief, for that which in any other country

would have covered him with honour. Vauban, for it is to him that I

allude, patriot as he was, had all his life been touched with the misery

of the people and the vexations they suffered. The knowledge that his

offices gave him of the necessity for expense, the little hope he had

that the King would retrench in matters of splendour and amusement, made

him groan to see no remedy to an oppression which increased in weight

from day to day. Feeling this, he made no journey that he did not

collect information upon the value and produce of the land, upon the

trade and industry of the towns and provinces, on the nature of the

imposts, and the manner of collecting them. Not content with this, he

secretly sent to such places as he could not visit himself, or even to

those he had visited, to instruct him in everything, and compare the

reports he received with those he had himself made. The last twenty

years of his life were spent in these researches, and at considerable

cost to himself. In, the end, he convinced himself that the land was the

only real wealth, and he set himself to work to form a new system.

He had already made much progress, when several little books appeared by

Boisguilbert, lieutenant-general at Rouen, who long since had had the

same views as Vauban, and had wanted to make them known. From this

labour had resulted a learned and profound book, in which a system was

explained by which the people could be relieved of all the expenses they

supported, and from every tax, and by which the revenue collected would

go at once into the treasury of the King, instead of enriching, first the

traitants, the intendants, and the finance ministers. These latter,

therefore, were opposed to the system, and their opposition, as will be

seen, was of no slight consequence.

Vauban read this book with much attention. He differed on some points

with the author, but agreed with him in the main. Boisguilbert wished to

preserve some imposts upon foreign commerce and upon provisions. Vauban

wished to abolish all imposts, and to substitute for them two taxes, one

upon the land, the other upon trade and industry. His book, in which he

put forth these ideas, was full of information and figures, all arranged

with the utmost clearness, simplicity, and exactitude.

But it had a grand fault. It described a course which, if followed,

would have ruined an army of financiers, of clerks, of functionaries of

all kinds; it would have forced them to live at their own expense,

instead of at the expense of the people; and it would have sapped the

foundations of those immense fortunes that are seen to grow up in such a

short time. This was enough to cause its failure.

All the people interested in opposing the work set up a cry. They saw

place, power, everything, about to fly from their grasp, if the counsels

of Vauban were acted upon. What wonder, then, that the King, who was

surrounded by these people, listened to their reasons, and received with

a very ill grace Marechal Vauban when he presented his book to him. The

ministers, it may well be believed, did not give him a better welcome.

From that moment his services, his military capacity (unique of its

kind), his virtues, the affection the King had had for him, all were

forgotten. The King saw only in Marechal Vauban a man led astray by love

for the people, a criminal who attacked the authority of the ministers,

and consequently that of the King. He explained himself to this effect

without scruple.

The unhappy Marechal could not survive the loss of his royal master's

favour, or stand up against the enmity the King's explanations had

created against him; he died a few months after consumed with grief, and

with an affliction nothing could soften, and to which the King was

insensible to such a point, that he made semblance of not perceiving that

he had lost a servitor so useful and so illustrious. Vauban, justly

celebrated over all Europe, was regretted in France by all who were not

financiers or their supporters.

Boisguilbert, whom this event ought to have rendered wise, could not

contain himself. One of the objections which had been urged against his

theories, was the difficulty of carrying out changes in the midst of a

great war. He now published a book refuting this point, and describing

such a number of abuses then existing, to abolish which, he asked, was it

necessary to wait for peace, that the ministers were outraged.

Boisguilbert was exiled to Auvergne. I did all in my power to revoke

this sentence, having known Boisguilbert at Rouen, but did not succeed

until the end of two months. He was then allowed to return to Rouen, but

was severely reprimanded, and stripped of his functions for some little

time. He was amply indemnified, however, for this by the crowd of

people, and the acclamations with which he was received.

It is due to Chamillart to say, that he was the only minister who had

listened with any attention to these new systems of Vauban and

Boisguilbert. He indeed made trial of the plans suggested by the former,

but the circumstances were not favourable to his success, and they of

course failed. Some time after, instead of following the system of

Vauban, and reducing the imposts, fresh ones were added. Who would have

said to the Marechal that all his labours for the relief of the people of

France would lead to new imposts, more harsh, more permanent, and more

heavy than he protested against? It is a terrible lesson against all

improvements in matters of taxation and finance.

But it is time, now, that I should retrace my steps to other matters,

which, if related in due order of time, should have found a place ere

this. And first, let me relate the particulars concerning a trial in

which I was engaged, and which I have deferred allusion to until now, so

as not to entangle the thread of my narrative.

My sister, as I have said in its proper place, had married the Duc de

Brissac, and the marriage had not been a happy one. After a time, in

fact, they separated. My sister at her death left me her universal

legatee; and shortly after this, M. de Brissac brought an action against

me on her account for five hundred thousand francs. After his death, his

representatives continued the action, which I resisted, not only

maintaining that I owed none of the five hundred thousand francs, but

claiming to have two hundred thousand owing to me, out of six hundred

thousand which had formed the dowry of my sister.

When M. de Brissac died, there seemed some probability that his peerage

would become extinct; for the Comte de Cosse, who claimed to succeed him,

was opposed by a number of peers, and but for me might have failed to

establish his pretensions. I, however, as his claim was just, interested

myself in him, supported him with all my influence, and gained for him

the support of several influential peers: so that in the end he was

recognised as Duc de Brissac, and received as such at the parliament on

the 6th of May, 1700.

Having succeeded thus to the titles and estates of his predecessor, he

succeeded also to his liabilities, debts, and engagements. Among these

was the trial against me for five hundred thousand francs. Cosse felt so

thoroughly that he owed his rank to me, that he offered to give me five

hundred thousand francs, so as to indemnify me against an adverse

decision in the cause. Now, as I have said, I not only resisted this

demand made upon me for five hundred thousand francs, but I, in my turn,

claimed two hundred thousand francs, and my claim, once admitted, all the

personal creditors of the late Duc de Brissac (creditors who, of course,

had to be paid by the new Duke) would have been forced to stand aside

until my debt was settled.

I, therefore, refused this offer of Cosse, lest other creditors should

hear of the arrangement, and force him to make a similar one with them.

He was overwhelmed with a generosity so little expected, and we became

more intimately connected from that day.

Cosse, once received as Duc de Brissac, I no longer feared to push

forward the action I had commenced for the recovery of the two hundred

thousand francs due to me, and which I had interrupted only on his

account. I had gained it twice running against the late Duc de Brissac,

at the parliament of Rouen; but the Duchesse d'Aumont, who in the last

years of his life had lent him money, and whose debt was in danger,

succeeded in getting this cause sent up for appeal to the parliament at

Paris, where she threw obstacle upon obstacle in its path, and caused

judgment to be delayed month after month. When I came to take active

steps in the matter, my surprise--to use no stronger word--was great, to

find Cosse, after all I had done for him, favouring the pretensions of

the Duchesse d'Aumont, and lending her his aid to establish them.

However, he and the Duchesse d'Aumont lost their cause, for when it was

submitted to the judges of the council at Paris, it was sent back to

Rouen, and they had to pay damages and expenses.

For years the affair had been ready to be judged at Rouen, but M.

d'Aumont every year, by means of his letters of state, obtained a

postponement. At last, however, M. d'Aumont died, and I was assured that

the letters of state should not be again produced, and that in

consequence no further adjournment should take place. I and Madame de

Saint-Simon at once set out, therefore, for Rouen, where we were

exceedingly well received, fetes and entertainments being continually

given in our honour.

After we had been there but eight or ten days, I received a letter from

Pontchartrain, who sent me word that the King had learnt with surprise I

was at Rouen, and had charged him to ask me why I was there: so attentive

was the King as to what became of the people of mark, he was accustomed

to see around him! My reply was not difficult.

Meanwhile our cause proceeded. The parliament, that is to say, the Grand

Chamber, suspended all other business in order to finish ours. The

affair was already far advanced, when it was interrupted by an obstacle,

of all obstacles the least possible to foresee. The letters of state had

again been put in, for the purpose of obtaining another adjournment.

My design is not to weary by recitals, which interest only myself; but I

must explain this matter fully. It was Monday evening. The parliament

of Rouen ended on the following Saturday. If we waited until the opening

of the next parliament, we should have to begin our cause from the

beginning, and with new presidents and judges, who would know nothing of

the facts. What was to be done? To appeal to the King seemed

impossible, for he was at Marly, and, while there, never listened to such

matters. By the time he left Marly, it would be too late to apply to

him.

Madame de Saint-Simon and others advised me, however, at all hazards, to

go straight to the King, instead of sending a courier, as I thought of

doing, and to keep my journey secret. I followed their advice, and

setting out at once, arrived at Marly on Tuesday morning, the 8th of

August, at eight of the clock. The Chancellor and Chamillart, to whom I

told my errand, pitied me, but gave me no hope of success. Nevertheless,

a council of state was to be held on the following morning, presided over

by the King, and my petition was laid before it. The letters of state

were thrown out by every voice. This information was brought to me at

mid-day. I partook of a hasty dinner, and turned back to Rouen, where I

arrived on Thursday, at eight o'clock in the morning, three hours after a

courier, by whom I had sent this unhoped-for news.

I brought with me, besides the order respecting the letters of state, an

order to the parliament to proceed to judgment at once. It was laid

before the judges very early on Saturday, the 11th of August, the last

day of the parliament. From four o'clock in the morning we had an

infinite number of visitors, wanting to accompany us to the palace. The

parliament had been much irritated against these letters of state, after

having suspended all other business for us. The withdrawal of these

letters was now announced. We gained our cause, with penalties and

expenses, amid acclamations which resounded through the court, and which

followed us into the streets. We could scarcely enter our street, so

full was it with the crowd, or our house, which was equally crowded. Our

kitchen chimney soon after took fire, and it was only a marvel that it

was extinguished, without damage, after having strongly warned us, and

turned our joy into bitterness. There was only the master of the house

who was unmoved. We dined, however, with a grand company; and after

stopping one or two days more to thank our friends, we went to see the

sea at Dieppe, and then to Cani, to a beautiful house belonging to our

host at Rouen.

As for Madame d'Aumont, she was furious at the ill-success of her affair.

It was she who had obtained the letters of state from the steward of her

son-in-law. Her son-in-law had promised me that they should not be used,

and wrote at once to say he had had no hand in their production. M. de

Brissac, who had been afraid to look me in the face ever since he had

taken part in this matter, and with whom I had openly broken, was now so

much ashamed that he avoided me everywhere.

CHAPTER XXXVII

It was just at the commencement of the year 1706, that I received a piece

of news which almost took away my breath by its suddenness, and by the

surprise it caused me. I was on very intimate terms with Gualterio, the

nuncio of the Pope. Just about this time we were without an ambassador

at Rome. The nuncio spoke to me about this post; but at my age--I was

but thirty--and knowing the unwillingness of the King to employ young men

in public affairs, I paid no attention to his words. Eight days

afterwards he entered my chamber-one Tuesday, about an hour after mid-

day-his arms open, joy painted upon his face, and embracing me, told me

to shut my door, and even that of my antechamber, so that he should not

be seen. I was to go to Rome as ambassador. I made him repeat this

twice over: it seemed so impossible. If one of the portraits in my

chamber had spoken to me, I could not have been more surprised.

Gualterio begged me to keep the matter secret, saying, that the

appointment would be officially announced to me ere long.

I went immediately and sought out Chamillart, reproaching him for not

having apprised me of this good news. He smiled at my anger, and said

that the King had ordered the news to be kept secret. I admit that I was

flattered at being chosen at my age for an embassy so important. I was

advised on every side to accept it, and this I determined to do. I could

not understand, however, how it was I had been selected. Torcy, years

afterwards, when the King was dead, related to me how it came about. At

this time I had no relations with Torcy; it was not until long afterwards

that friendship grew up between us.

He said, then, that the embassy being vacant, the King wished to fill up

that appointment, and wished also that a Duke should be ambassador. He

took an almanack and began reading the names of the Dukes, commencing

with M. de Uzes. He made no stop until he came to my name. Then he said

(to Torcy), "What do you think of him? He is young, but he is good," &c.

The King, after hearing a few opinions expressed by those around him,

shut up the almanack, and said it was not worth while to go farther,

determined that I should be ambassador, but ordered the appointment to be

kept secret. I learnt this, more than ten years after its occurrence,

from a true man, who had no longer any interest or reason to disguise

anything from me.

Advised on all sides by my friends to accept the post offered to me, I

did not long hesitate to do so. Madame de Saint-Simon gave me the same

advice, although she herself was pained at the idea of quitting her

family. I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of relating here what the

three ministers each said of my wife, a woman then of only twenty-seven

years of age. All three, unknown to each other, and without solicitation

on my part, counselled me to keep none of the affairs of my embassy

secret from her, but to give her a place at the end of the table when I

read or wrote my despatches, and to consult her with deference upon

everything. I have rarely so much relished advice as I did in this case.

Although, as things fell out, I could not follow it at Rome, I had

followed it long before, and continued to do so all my life. I kept

nothing secret from her, and I had good reason to be pleased that I did

not. Her counsel was always wise, judicious, and useful, and oftentimes

she warded off from me many inconveniences.

But to continue the narrative of this embassy. It was soon so generally

known that I was going to Rome, that as we danced at Marly, we heard

people say, "Look! M. l'Ambassadeur and Madame l'Ambassadrice are

dancing." After this I wished the announcement to be made public as soon

as possible, but the King was not to be hurried. Day after day passed

by, and still I was kept in suspense. At last, about the middle of

April, I had an interview with Chamillart one day, just after he came out

of the council at which I knew my fate had been decided. I learnt then

that the King had determined to send no ambassador to Rome. The Abbe de

La Tremoille was already there; he had been made Cardinal, and was to

remain and attend to the affairs of the embassy. I found out afterwards

that I had reason to attribute to Madame de Maintenon and M. du Maine the

change in the King's intention towards me. Madame de Saint-Simon was

delighted. It seemed as though she foresaw the strange discredit in

which the affairs of the King were going to fall in Italy, the

embarrassment and the disorder that public misfortunes would cause the

finances, and the cruel situation to which all things would have reduced

us at Rome. As for me, I had had so much leisure to console myself

beforehand, that I had need of no more. I felt, however, that I had now

lost all favour with the King, and, indeed, he estranged himself from me

more and more each day. By what means I recovered myself it is not yet

time to tell.

On the night between the 3rd and 4th of February, Cardinal Coislin,

Bishop of Orleans, died. He was a little man, very fat, who looked like

a village curate. His purity of manners and his virtues caused him to be

much loved. Two good actions of his life deserve to be remembered.

When, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, the King determined to

convert the Huguenots by means of dragoons and torture, a regiment was

sent to Orleans, to be spread abroad in the diocese. As soon as it

arrived, M. d'Orleans sent word to the officers that they might make his

house their home; that their horses should be lodged in his stables. He

begged them not to allow a single one of their men to leave the town, to

make the slightest disorder; to say no word to the Huguenots, and not to

lodge in their houses. He resolved to be obeyed, and he was. The

regiment stayed a month; and cost him a good deal. At the end of that

time he so managed matters that the soldiers were sent away, and none

came again. This conduct, so full of charity, so opposed to that of

nearly all the other dioceses, gained as many Huguenots as were gained by

the barbarities they suffered elsewhere. It needed some courage, to say

nothing of generosity, to act thus, and to silently blame, as it were,

the conduct of the King.

The other action of M. d'Orleans was less public and less dangerous,

but was not less good. He secretly gave away many alms to the poor,

in addition to those he gave publicly. Among those whom he succoured

was a poor, broken-down gentleman, without wife or child, to whom he gave

four hundred livres of pension, and a place at his table whenever he was

at Orleans. One morning the servants of M. d'Orleans told their master

that ten pieces of plate were missing, and that suspicion fell upon the

gentleman. M. d'Orleans could not believe him guilty, but as he did not

make his appearance at the house for several days, was forced at last to

imagine he was so. Upon this he sent for the gentleman, who admitted

himself to be the offender.

M. d'Orleans said he must have been strangely pressed to commit an action

of this nature, and reproached him for not having mentioned his wants.

Then, drawing twenty Louis from his pocket, he gave them to the

gentleman, told him to forget what had occurred, and to use his table

as before. M. d'Orleans prohibited his servants to mention their

suspicions, and this anecdote would never have been known, had it not

been told by the gentleman himself, penetrated with confusion and

gratitude.

M. d'Orleans, after he became cardinal, was often pressed by his friends

to give up his bishopric. But this he would not listen to. The King had

for him a respect that was almost devotion. When Madame de Bourgogne was

about to be delivered of her first child, the King sent a courier to M.

d'Orleans requesting him to come to Court immediately, and to remain

there until after the delivery. When the child was born, the King would

not allow it to be sprinkled by any other hand than that of M. d'Orleans.

The poor man, very fat, as I have said, always sweated very much;--on

this occasion, wrapped up in his cloak and his lawn, his body ran with

sweat in such abundance, that in the antechamber the floor was wet all

round where he stood. All the Court was much afflicted at his death; the

King more than anybody spoke his praises. It was known after his death,

from his valet de chambre, that he mortified himself continually with

instruments of penitence, and that he rose every night and passed an hour

on his knees in prayer. He received the sacraments with great piety, and

died the night following as he had lived.

Heudicourt the younger, a species of very mischievous satyr, and much

mixed up in grand intrigues of gallantry, made, about this time, a song

upon the grand 'prevot' and his family. It was so simple, so true to

nature, withal so pleasant, that some one having whispered it in the ear

of the Marechal de Boufflers at chapel, he could not refrain from

bursting into laughter, although he was in attendance at the mass of the

King. The Marechal was the gravest and most serious man in all France;

the greatest slave to decorum. The King turned round therefore, in

surprise, which augmented considerably when he saw the Marechal de

Boufflers nigh to bursting with laughter, and the tears running down his

cheeks. On turning into his cabinet, he called the Marechal, and asked

what had got him in that state at the mass. The Marechal repeated the

song to him. Thereupon the King burst out louder than the Marechal had,

and for a whole fortnight afterwards could not help smiling whenever he

saw the grand 'prevot' or any of his family. The song soon spread about,

and much diverted the Court and the town.

I should particularly avoid soiling this page with an account of the

operation for fistula which Courcillon, only son of Dangeau, had

performed upon him, but for the extreme ridicule with which it was

accompanied. Courcillon was a dashing young fellow, much given to witty

sayings, to mischief, to impiety, and to the filthiest debauchery, of

which latter, indeed, this operation passed publicly as the fruit. His

mother, Madams Dangeau, was in the strictest intimacy with Madame de

Maintenon. They two alone, of all the Court, were ignorant of the life

Courcillon led. Madame was much afflicted; and quitted his bed-side,

even for a moment, with pain. Madame de Maintenon entered into her

sorrow, and went every day to bear her company at the pillow of

Courcillon. Madame d'Heudicourt, another intimate friend of Madame de

Maintenon, was admitted there also, but scarcely anybody else.

Courcillon listened to them, spoke devotionally to them, and uttered the

reflections suggested by his state. They, all admiration, published

everywhere that he was a saint. Madame d'Heudicourt and a few others who

listened to these discourses, and who knew the pilgrim well, and saw him

loll out his tongue at them on the sly, knew not what to do to prevent

their laughter, and as soon as they could get away went and related all

they had heard to their friends. Courcillon, who thought it a mighty

honour to have Madame de Maintenon every day for nurse, but who,

nevertheless, was dying of weariness, used to see his friends in the

evening (when Madame de Maintenon and his mother were gone), and would

relate to them, with burlesque exaggeration, all the miseries he had

suffered during the day, and ridicule the devotional discourses he had

listened to. All the time his illness lasted, Madame de Maintenon came

every day to see him, so that her credulity, which no one dared to

enlighten, was the laughing-stock of the Court. She conceived such a

high opinion of the virtue of Courcillon, that she cited him always as an

example, and the King also formed the same opinion. Courcillon took good

care not to try and cultivate it when he became cured; yet neither the

King nor Madame de Maintenon opened their eyes, or changed their conduct

towards him. Madame de Maintenon, it must be said, except in the sublime

intrigue of her government and with the King, was always the queen of

dupes.

It would seem that there are, at certain times, fashions in crimes as in

clothes. At the period of the Voysins and the Brinvilliers, there were

nothing but poisoners abroad; and against these, a court was expressly

instituted, called ardente, because it condemned them to the flames. At

the time of which I am now speaking, 1703, for I forgot to relate what

follows in its proper place, forgers of writings were in the ascendant,

and became so common, that a chamber was established composed of

councillors of state and others, solely to judge the accusations which

this sort of criminals gave rise to.

The Bouillons wished to be recognised as descended, by male issue, of the

Counts of Auvergne, and to claim all kinds of distinctions and honours in

consequence. They had, however, no proofs of this, but, on the contrary,

their genealogy proved it to be false. All on a sudden, an old document

that had been interred in the obscurity of ages in the church of Brioude,

was presented to Cardinal Bouillon. It had all the marks of antiquity,

and contained a triumphant proof of the descent of the house of La Tour,

to which the Bouillons belonged, from the ancient Counts of Auvergne.

The Cardinal was delighted to have in his hands this precious document.

But to avoid all suspicion, he affected modesty, and hesitated to give

faith to evidence so decisive. He spoke in confidence to all the learned

men he knew, and begged them to examine the document with care, so that

he might not be the dupe of a too easy belief in it.

Whether the examiners were deceived by the document, or whether they

allowed themselves to be seduced into believing it, as is more than

probable, from fear of giving offence to the Cardinal, need not be

discussed. It is enough to say that they pronounced in favour of the

deed, and that Father Mabillon, that Benedictine so well known throughout

all Europe by his sense and his candour, was led by the others to share

their opinion.

After this, Cardinal de Bouillon no longer affected any doubt about the

authenticity of the discovery. All his friends complimented him upon it,

the majority to see how he would receive their congratulations. It was a

chaos rather than a mixture, of vanity the most outrageous, modesty the

most affected, and joy the most immoderate which he could not restrain.

Unfortunately, De Bar, who had found the precious document, and who had

presented it to Cardinal de Bouillon, was arrested and put in prison a

short time after this, charged with many forgeries. This event made some

stir, and caused suspicion to fall upon the document, which was now

attentively examined through many new spectacles. Learned men

unacquainted with the Bouillons contested it, and De Bar was so pushed

upon this point, that he made many delicate admissions. Alarm at once

spread among the Bouillons. They did all in their power to ward off the

blow that was about to fall. Seeing the tribunal firm, and fully

resolved to follow the affair to the end, they openly solicited for De

Bar, and employed all their credit to gain his liberation. At last,

finding the tribunal inflexible, they were reduced to take an extreme

resolution. M. de Bouillon admitted to the King, that his brother,

Cardinal de Bouillon, might, unknown to all of them, have brought forward

facts he could not prove. He added, that putting himself in the King's

hands, he begged that the affair might be stopped at once, out of

consideration for those whose only guilt was too great credulity, and too

much confidence in a brother who had deceived them. The King, with more

of friendship for M. de Bouillon than of reflection as to what he owed by

way of reparation for a public offence, agreed to this course.

De Bar, convicted of having fabricated this document, by his own

admission before the public tribunal, was not condemned to death, but to

perpetual imprisonment. As may be believed, this adventure made a great

stir; but what cannot be believed so easily is, the conduct of the

Messieurs Bouillon about fifteen months afterwards.

At the time when the false document above referred to was discovered,

Cardinal de Bouillon had commissioned Baluze, a man much given to

genealogical studies, to write the history of the house of Auvergne.

In this history, the descent, by male issue; of the Bouillons from the

Counts of Auvergne, was established upon the evidence supplied by this

document. At least, nobody doubted that such was the case, and the world

was strangely scandalised to see the work appear after that document had

been pronounced to be a forgery. Many learned men and friends of Baluze

considered him so dishonoured by it, that they broke off all relations

with him, and this put the finishing touch to the confusion of this

affair.

On Thursday, the 7th of March, 1707, a strange event troubled the King,

and filled the Court and the town with rumours. Beringhen, first master

of the horse, left Versailles at seven o'clock in the evening of that

day, to go to Paris, alone in one of the King's coaches, two of the royal

footmen behind, and a groom carrying a torch before him on the seventh

horse. The carriage had reached the plain of Bissancourt, and was

passing between a farm on the road near Sevres bridge and a cabaret,

called the "Dawn of Day," when it was stopped by fifteen or sixteen men

on horseback, who seized on Beringhen, hurried him into a post-chaise in

waiting, and drove off with him. The King's carriage, with the coachman,

footmen, and groom, was allowed to go back to Versailles. As soon as it

reached Versailles the King was informed of what had taken place. He

sent immediately to his four Secretaries of State, ordering them to send

couriers everywhere to the frontiers, with instructions to the governors

to guard all the passages, so that if these horsemen were foreign

enemies, as was suspected, they would be caught in attempting to pass out

of the kingdom. It was known that a party of the enemy had entered

Artois, that they had committed no disorders, but that they were there

still. Although people found it difficult, at first, to believe that

Beringhen had been carried off by a party such as this, yet as it was

known that he had no enemies, that he was not reputed sufficiently rich

to afford hope of a large ransom, and that not one of our wealthiest

financiers had been seized in this manner, this explanation was at last

accepted as the right one.

So in fact it proved. A certain Guetem, a fiddler of the Elector of

Bavaria, had entered the service of Holland, had taken part in her war

against France, and had become a colonel. Chatting one evening with his

comrades, he laid a wager that he would carry off some one of mark

between Paris and Versailles. He obtained a passport, and thirty chosen

men, nearly all of whom were officers. They passed the rivers disguised

as traders, by which means they were enabled to post their relays [of

horses]. Several of them had remained seven or eight days at Sevres,

Saint Cloud, and Boulogne, from which they had the hardihood to go to

Versailles and see the King sup. One of these was caught on the day

after the disappearance of Beringhen, and when interrogated by

Chamillart, replied with a tolerable amount of impudence. Another was

caught in the forest of Chantilly by one of the servants of M. le Prince.

From him it became known that relays of horses and a post-chaise had been

provided at Morliere for the prisoner when he should arrive there, and

that he had already passed the Oise.

As I have said, couriers were despatched to the governors of the

frontiers; in addition to this, information of what had taken place was

sent to all the intendants of the frontier, to all the troops in quarters

there. Several of the King's guards, too, and the grooms of the stable,

went in pursuit of the captors of Beringhen. Notwithstanding the

diligence used, the horsemen had traversed the Somme and had gone four

leagues beyond Ham-Beringhen, guarded by the officers, and pledged to

offer no resistance--when the party was stopped by a quartermaster and

two detachments of the Livry regiment. Beringhen was at once set at

liberty. Guetem and his companion were made prisoners.

The grand fault they had committed was to allow the King's carriage and

the footmen to go back to Versailles so soon after the abduction. Had

they led away the coach under cover of the night, and so kept the King in

ignorance of their doings until the next day, they would have had more

time for their retreat. Instead of doing this they fatigued themselves

by too much haste. They had grown tired of waiting for a carriage that

seemed likely to contain somebody of mark. The Chancellor had passed,

but in broad daylight, and they were afraid in consequence to stop him.

M. le Duc d'Orleans had passed, but in a post-chaise, which they

mistrusted. At last Beringhen appeared in one of the King's coaches,

attended by servants in the King's livery, and wearing his cordon Neu, as

was his custom. They thought they had found a prize indeed. They soon

learnt with whom they had to deal, and told him also who they were.

Guetem bestowed upon Beringhen all kinds of attention, and testified a

great desire to spare him as much as possible all fatigue. He pushed his

attentions so far that they caused his failure. He allowed Beringhen to

stop and rest on two occasions. The party missed one of their relays,

and that delayed them very much.

Beringhen, delighted with his rescue, and very grateful for the good

treatment he had received, changed places with Guetem and his companions,

led them to Ham, and in his turn treated them well. He wrote to his wife

and to Charnillart announcing his release, and these letters were read

with much satisfaction by the King.