By the next day, the news of my bet had spread a frightful uproar. The

partisans of M. de Vendome, knowing I was no friend to them, took this

opportunity to damage me in the eyes of the King. They so far succeeded

that I entirely lost favour with him, without however suspecting it, for

more than two months. All that I could do then, was to let the storm

pass over my head and keep silent, so as not to make matters worse.

Meanwhile, M. de Vendome continued the inactive policy he had hitherto

followed. In despite of reiterated advice from the King, he took no

steps to attack the enemy. Monseigneur de Bourgogne was for doing so,

but Vendome would make no movement. As before, too, he contrived to

throw all the blame of his inactivity upon Monseigneur de Bourgogne. He

succeeded so well in making this believed, that his followers in the army

cried out against the followers of Monseigneur de Bourgogne wherever they

appeared. Chamillart was sent by the King to report upon the state and

position of our troops, and if a battle had taken place and proved

unfavourable to us, to prevent such sad results as had taken place after

Ramillies. Chamillart came back on the 18th of September. No battle had

been fought, but M. de Vendome felt sure, he said, of cutting off all

supplies from the enemy, and thus compelling them to raise the siege.

The King had need of these intervals of consolation and hope. Master as

he might be of his words and of his features, he profoundly felt the

powerlessness to resist his enemies that he fell into day by day. What I

have related, about Samuel Bernard, the banker, to whom he almost did the

honours of his gardens at Marly, in order to draw from him the assistance

he had refused, is a great proof of this. It was much remarked at

Fontainebleau, just as Lille was invested, that, the city of Paris coming

to harangue him on the occasion of the oath taken by Bignon, new Prevot

des Marchand, he replied, not only with kindness, but that he made use of

the term "gratitude for his good city," and that in doing so he lost

countenance,--two things which during all his reign had never escaped

him. On the other hand, he sometimes had intervals of firmness which

edificed less than they surprised. When everybody at the Court was in

the anxiety I have already described, he offended them by going out every

day hunting or walking, so that they could not know, until after his

return, the news which might arrive when he was out.

As for Monseigneur, he seemed altogether exempt from anxiety. After

Ramillies, when everybody was waiting for the return of Chamillart, to

learn the truth, Monseigneur went away to dine at Meudon, saying he

should learn the news soon enough. From this time he showed no more

interest in what was passing. When news was brought that Lille was

invested, he turned on his heel before the letter announcing it had been

read to the end. The King called him back to hear the rest. He returned

and heard it. The reading finished, he went away, without offering a

word. Entering the apartments of the Princesse de Conti, he found there

Madame d'Espinoy, who had much property in Flanders, and who had wished

to take a trip there.

"Madame," said he, smiling, as he arrived, "how would you do just now to

get to Lille?" And at once made them acquainted with the investment.

These things really wounded the Princesse de Conti. Arriving at

Fontainebleau one day, during the movements of the army, Monseigneur set

to work reciting, for amusement, a long list of strange names of places

in the forest.

"Dear me, Monseigneur," cried she, "what a good memory you have. What a

pity it is loaded with such things only!" If he felt the reproach, he

did not profit by it.

As for Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne, Monseigneur (his father) was ill-

disposed towards him, and readily swallowed all that was said in his

dispraise. Monseigneur had no sympathy with the piety of his son; it

constrained and bothered him. The cabal well profited by this. They

succeeded to such an extent in alienating the father from the son, that

it is only strict truth to say that no one dared to speak well of

Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne in the presence of Monseigneur. From

this it may be imagined what was the licence and freedom of speech

elsewhere against this Prince. They reached such a point, indeed, that

the King, not daring to complain publicly against the Prince de Conti,

who hated Vendome, for speaking in favour of Monseigneur de Bourgogne,

reprimanded him sharply in reality for having done so, but ostensibly

because he had talked about the affairs of Flanders at his sister's.

Madame de Bourgogne did all she could to turn the current that was

setting in against her husband; and in this she was assisted by Madame de

Maintenon, who was annoyed to the last degree to see that other people

had more influence over the King than she had.

The siege of Lille meanwhile continued, and at last it began to be seen

that, instead of attempting to fight a grand battle, the wisest course

would be to throw assistance into the place. An attempt was made to do

so, but it was now too late.

The besieged, under the guidance of Marechal Boufflers, who watched over

all, and attended to all, in a manner that gained him all hearts, made a

gallant and determined resistance. A volume would be necessary in order

to relate all the marvels of capacity and valour displayed in this

defence. Our troops disputed the ground inch by inch. They repulsed,

three times running, the enemy from a mill, took it the third time, and

burnt it. They sustained an attack, in three places at once, of ten

thousand men, from nine o'clock in the evening to three o'clock in the

morning, without giving way. They re-captured the sole traverse the

enemy had been able to take from them. They drove out the besiegers from

the projecting angles of the counterscarp, which they had kept possession

of for eight days. They twice repulsed seven thousand men who attacked

their covered way and an outwork; at the third attack they lost an angle

of the outwork; but remained masters of all the rest.

So many attacks and engagements terribly weakened the garrison. On the

28th of September some assistance was sent to the besieged by the daring

of the Chevalier de Luxembourg. It enabled them to sustain with vigour

the fresh attacks that were directed against them, to repulse the enemy,

and, by a grand sortie, to damage some of their works, and kill many of

their men. But all was in vain. The enemy returned again and again to

the attack. Every attempt to cut off their supplies failed. Finally, on

the 23rd of October, a capitulation was signed. The place had become

untenable; three new breaches had been made on the 20th and 21st; powder

and ammunition were failing; the provisions were almost all eaten up

there was nothing for it but to give in.

Marechal Boufflers obtained all he asked, and retired into the citadel

with all the prisoners of war, after two months of resistance. He

offered discharge to all the soldiers who did not wish to enter the

citadel. But not one of the six thousand he had left to him accepted it.

They were all ready for a new resistance, and when their chief appeared

among them their joy burst out in the most flattering praises of him. It

was on Friday, the 26th of October, that they shut themselves up in the

citadel.

The enemy opened their trenches before the citadel on the 29th of

October. On the 7th of November they made a grand attack, but were

repulsed with considerable loss. But they did not flinch from their

work, and Boufflers began to see that he could not long hold out. By the

commencement of December he had only twenty thousand pounds of powder

left; very little of other munitions, and still less food. In the town

and the citadel they had eaten eight hundred horses. Boufflers, as soon

as the others were reduced to this food, had it served upon his own

table, and ate of it like the rest. The King, learning in what state

these soldiers were, personally sent word to Boufflers to surrender, but

the Marechal, even after he had received this order, delayed many days to

obey it.

At last, in want of the commonest necessaries, and able to protract his

defence no longer, he beat a parley, signed a capitulation on the 9th of

December, obtaining all he asked, and retired from Lille. Prince Eugene,

to whom he surrendered, treated him with much distinction and friendship,

invited him to dinner several times,--overwhelmed him, in fact, with

attention and civilities. The Prince was glad indeed to have brought to

a successful issue such a difficult siege.

CHAPTER XLIII

The position of Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne at the army continued to

be equivocal. He was constantly in collision with M. de Vendome. The

latter, after the loss of Lille, wished to defend the Escaut, without any

regard to its extent of forty miles. The Duc de Bourgogne, as far as he

dared, took the part of Berwick, who maintained that the defence was

impossible. The King, hearing of all these disputes, actually sent

Chamillart to the army to compose them; and it was a curious sight to

behold this penman, this financier, acting as arbiter between generals on

the most delicate operations of war. Chamillart continued to admire

Vendome, and treated the Duc de Bourgogne with little respect, both at

the army, and, after his return, in conversation with the King. His

report was given in presence of Madame de Maintenon, who listened without

daring to say a word, and repeated everything to the Duchesse de

Bourgogne. We may imagine what passed between them, and the anger of the

Princess against the minister. For the present, however, nothing could

be done. Berwick was soon afterwards almost disgraced. As soon as he

was gone, M. de Vendome wrote to the King, saying, that he was sure of

preventing the enemy from passing the Escaut--that he answered for it on

his head. With such a guarantee from a man in such favour at Court, who

could doubt? Yet, shortly after, Marlborough crossed the Escaut in four

places, and Vendome actually wrote to the King, begging him to remember

that he had always declared the defence of the Escaut to be, impossible!

The cabal made a great noise to cover this monstrous audacity, and

endeavoured to renew the attack against the Duc de Bourgogne. We shall

see what success attended their efforts. The army was at Soissons, near

Tournai, in a profound tranquillity, the opium of which had gained the

Duc de Bourgogne when news of the approach of the enemy was brought.

M. de Vendome advanced in that direction, and sent word to the Duke, that

he thought he ought to advance on the morrow with all his army. The Duke

was going to bed when he received the letter; and although it was too

late to repulse the enemy, was much blamed for continuing to undress

himself, and putting off action till the morrow.

To this fault he added another. He had eaten; it was very early; and it

was no longer proper to march. It was necessary to wait fresh orders

from M. de Vendome. Tournai was near. The Duc de Bourgogne went there

to have a game at tennis. This sudden party of pleasure strongly

scandalized the army, and raised all manner of unpleasant talk.

Advantage was taken of the young Prince's imprudence to throw upon him

the blame of what was caused by the negligence of M. de Vendome.

A serious and disastrous action that took place during these operations

was actually kept a secret from the King, until the Duc de la Tremoille,

whose son was engaged there, let out the truth. Annoyed that the King

said nothing to him on the way in which his son had distinguished

himself, he took the opportunity, whilst he was serving the King, to talk

of the passage of the Escaut, and said that his son's regiment had much

suffered. "How, suffered?" cried the King; "nothing has happened."

Whereupon the Duke related all to him. The King listened with the

greatest attention, and questioned him, and admitted before everybody

that he knew nothing of all this. His surprise, and the surprise it

occasioned, may be imagined. It happened that when the King left table,

Chamillart unexpectedly came into his cabinet. He was soon asked about

the action of the Escaut, and why it had not been reported. The

minister, embarrassed, said that it was a thing of no consequence. The

king continued to press him, mentioned details, and talked of the

regiment of the Prince of Tarento. Chamillart then admitted that what

happened at the passage was so disagreeable, and the combat so

disagreeable, but so little important, that Madame de Maintenon, to whom

he had reported all, had thought it best not to trouble the King upon the

matter, and it had accordingly been agreed not to trouble him. Upon this

singular answer the King stopped short in his questions, and said not a

word more.

The Escaut being forced, the citadel of Lille on the point of being

taken, our army exhausted with fatigue was at last dispersed, to the

scandal of everybody; for it was known that Ghent was about to be

besieged. The Princes received orders to return to Court, but they

insisted on the propriety of remaining with the army. M. de Vendome, who

began to fear the effect of his rashness and insolence, tried to obtain

permission to pass the winter with the army on the frontier.

He was not listened to. The Princes received orders most positively to

return to Court, and accordingly set out.

The Duchesse de Bourgogne was very anxious about the way in which the

Duke was to be received, and eager to talk to him and explain how matters

stood, before he saw the King or anybody else. I sent a message to him

that he ought to contrive to arrive after midnight, in order to pass two

or three hours with the Duchess, and perhaps see Madame de Maintenon

early in the morning. My message was not received; at any rate not

followed. The Duc de Bourgogne arrived on the 11th of December, a little

after seven o'clock in the evening, just as Monseigneur had gone to the

play, whither the Duchess had not gone, in order to wait for her husband.

I know not why he alighted in the Cour des Princes, instead of the Great

Court. I was put then in the apartments of the Comtesse de Roncy, from

which I could see all that passed. I came down, and saw the Prince

ascending the steps between the Ducs de Beauvilliers and De la

Rocheguyon, who happened to be there. He looked quite satisfied, was

gay, and laughing, and spoke right and left. I bowed to him. He did me

the honour to embrace me in a way that showed me he knew better what was

going on than how to maintain his dignity. He then talked only to me,

and whispered that he knew what I had said. A troop of courtiers met

him. In their midst he passed the Great Hall of the Guards, and instead

of going to Madame de Maintenon's by the private door, though the nearest

way, went to the great public entrance. There was no one there but the

King and Madame de Maintenon, with Pontchartrain; for I do not count the

Duchesse de Bourgogne. Pontchartrain noted well what passed at the

interview, and related it all to me that very evening.

As soon as in Madame de Maintenon's apartment was heard the rumour which

usually precedes such an arrival, the King became sufficiently

embarrassed to change countenance several times. The Duchesse de

Bourgogne appeared somewhat tremulous, and fluttered about the room to

hide her trouble, pretending not to know exactly by which door the Prince

would arrive. Madame de Maintenon was thoughtful. Suddenly all the

doors flew open: the young Prince advanced towards the King, who, master

of himself, more than any one ever was, lost at once all embarrassment,

took two or three steps towards his grandson, embraced him with some

demonstration of tenderness, spoke of his voyage, and then pointing to

the Princess, said, with a smiling countenance: "Do you say nothing to

her?" The Prince turned a moment towards her, and answered respectfully,

as if he dared not turn away from the King, and did not move. He then

saluted Madame de Maintenon, who received him well. Talk of travel,

beds, roads, and so forth, lasted, all standing, some half-quarter of an

hour; then the King said it would not be fair to deprive him any longer

of the pleasure of being alone with Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, and

that they would have time enough to see each other. The Prince made a

bow to the King, another to Madame de Maintenon, passed before the few

ladies of the palace who had taken courage to put their heads into the

room, entered the neighbouring cabinet, where he embraced the Duchess,

saluted the ladies who were there, that is, kissed them; remained a few

moments, and then went into his apartment, where he shut himself up with

the Duchesse de Bourgogne.

Their tete-a-tete lasted two hours and more: just towards the end, Madame

d'O was let in; soon after the Marechal d'Estrees entered, and soon after

that the Duchesse de Bourgogne came out with them, and returned into the

great cabinet of Madame de Maintenon. Monseigneur came there as usual,

on returning from the comedy. Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, troubled

that the Duke did not hurry himself to come and salute his father, went

to fetch him, and came back saying that he was putting on his powder; but

observing that Monseigneur was little satisfied with this want of

eagerness, sent again to hurry him. Just then the Marechale d'Estrees,

hair-brained and light, and free to say just what came into her head,

began to attack Monseigneur for waiting so tranquilly for his son,

instead of going himself to embrace him. This random expression did not

succeed. Monseigneur replied stiffly that it was not for him to seek the

Duc de Bourgogne; but the duty of the Duc de Bourgogne to seek him. He

came at last. The reception was pretty good, but did not by any means

equal that of the King. Almost immediately the King rang, and everybody

went to the supper-room.

During the supper, M. le Duc de Berry arrived, and came to salute the

King at table. To greet him all hearts opened. The King embraced him

very tenderly. Monseigneur only looked at him tenderly, not daring to

embrace his (youngest) son in presence of the King. All present courted

him. He remained standing near the King all the rest of the supper, and

there was no talk save of post-horses, of roads, and such like trifles.

The King spoke sufficiently at table to Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne;

but to the Duc de Berry, he assumed a very different air. Afterwards,

there was a supper for the Duc de Berry in the apartments of the Duchesse

de Bourgogne; but the conjugal impatience of the Duc de Bourgogne cut it

rather too short.

I expressed to the Duc de Beauvilliers, with my accustomed freedom, that

the Duc de Bourgogne seemed to me very gay on returning from so sad a

campaign. He could not deny this, and made up his mind to give a hint on

the subject. Everybody indeed blamed so misplaced a gaiety. Two or

three days after his arrival the Duc de Bourgogne passed three hours with

the King in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon. I was afraid that,

his piety would withhold him from letting out on the subject of M. de

Vendome, but I heard that he spoke on that subject without restraint,

impelled by the advice of the Duchesse de Bourgogne, and also by the Duc

de Beauvilliers, who set his conscience at ease. His account of the

campaign, of affairs, of things, of advices, of proceedings, was

complete. Another, perhaps, less virtuous, might have used weightier

terms; but at any rate everything was said with a completeness beyond all

hope, if we consider who spoke and who listened. The Duke concluded with

an eager prayer to be given an army in the next campaign, and with the

promise of the King to that effect. Soon after an explanation took place

with Monseigneur at Meudon, Mademoiselle Choin being present. With the

latter he spoke much more in private: she had taken his part with

Monseigneur. The Duchesse de Bourgogne had gained her over. The

connection of this girl with Madame de Maintenon was beginning to grow

very close indeed.

Gamaches had been to the army with the Duc do Bourgogne, and being a

free-tongued man had often spoken out very sharply on the puerilities in

which he indulged in company with the Duc de Berry, influenced by his

example. One day returning from mass, in company with the Duke on a

critical day, when he would rather have seen him on horseback; he said

aloud, "You will certainly win the kingdom of heaven; but as for the

kingdom of the earth, Prince Eugene and Marlborough know how to seek it

better than you." What he said quite as publicly to the two Princes on

their treatment of the King of England, was admirable. That Prince

(known as the Chevalier de Saint George) served incognito, with a modesty

that the Princes took advantage of to treat him with the greatest

indifference and contempt. Towards the end of the campaign, Gamaches,

exasperated with their conduct, exclaimed to them in the presence of

everybody: "Is this a wager? speak frankly; if so, you have won, there

can be no doubt of that; but now, speak a little to the Chevalier de

Saint George, and treat him more politely." These sallies, however, were

too public to produce any good effect. They were suffered, but not

attended to.

The citadel of Lille capitulated as we have seen, with the consent of the

King, who was obliged to acknowledge that the Marechal de Boufflers had

done all he could, and that further defence was impossible. Prince

Eugene treated Boufflers with the greatest possible consideration. The

enemy at this time made no secret of their intention to invest Ghent,

which made the dispersal of our army the more shameful; but necessity

commanded, for no more provisions were to be got.

M. de Vendome arrived at Versailles on the morning of December 15th, and

saluted the King as he left table. The King embraced him with a sort of

enthusiasm that made his cabal triumph. He monopolised all conversation

during the dinner, but only trifles were talked of. The King said he

would talk to him next day at Madame de Maintenon's. This delay, which

was new to him, did not seem of good augury. He went to pay his respects

to M. de Bourgogne, who received him well in spite of all that had

passed. Then Vendome went to wait on Monseigneur at the Princesse de

Coriti's: here he thought himself in his stronghold. He was received

excellently, and the conversation turned on nothings. He wished to take

advantage of this, and proposed a visit to Anet. His surprise and that

of those present were great at the uncertain reply of Monseigneur, who

caused it to be understood, and rather stiffly too, that he would not go.

Vendome appeared embarrassed, and abridged his visit. I met him at the

end of the gallery of the new wing, as I was coming from M. de

Beauvilliers, turning towards the steps in the middle of the gallery. He

was alone, without torches or valets, with Alberoni, followed by a man I

did not know. I saw him by the light of my torches; we saluted each

other politely, though we had not much acquaintance one with the other.

He seemed chagrined, and was going to M. du Maine, his counsel and

principal support.

Next day he passed an hour with the King at Madame de Maintenon's. He

remained eight or ten days at Versailles or at Meudon, and never went to

the Duchesse de Bourgogne's. This was nothing new for him. The mixture

of grandeur and irregularity which he had long affected seemed to him to

have freed him from the most indispensable duties. His Abbe Alberoni

showed himself at the King's mass in the character of a courtier with

unparalleled effrontery. At last they went to Anet. Even before he went

he perceived some diminution in his position, since he lowered himself so

far as to invite people to come and see him, he, who in former years made

it a favour to receive the most distinguished persons. He soon perceived

the falling-off in the number of his visitors. Some excused themselves

from going; others promised to go and did not. Every one made a

difficulty about a journey of fifteen leagues, which, the year before,

was considered as easy and as necessary as that of Marly. Vendome

remained at Anet until the first voyage to Marly, when he came; and he

always came to Marly and Meudon, never to Versailles, until the change of

which I shall soon have occasion to speak.

The Marechal de Boufflers returned to Court from his first but

unsuccessful defence of Lille, and was received in a triumphant manner,

and overwhelmed with honours and rewards. This contrast with Vendome was

remarkable: the one raised by force of trickery, heaping up mountains

like the giants, leaning on vice, lies, audacity, on a cabal inimical to

the state and its heirs, a factitious hero, made such by will in despite

of truth;--the other, without cabal, with no support but virtue and

modesty, was inundated with favours, and the applause of enemies was

followed by the acclamations of the public, so that the nature of even

courtiers changed, and they were happy in the recompenses showered upon

him!

Some days after the return of the Duc de Bourgogne Cheverny had an

interview with him, on leaving which he told me what I cannot refrain

from relating here, though it is necessarily with confusion that I write

it. He said that, speaking freely with him on what had been circulated

during the campaign, the Prince observed that he knew how and with what

vivacity I had expressed myself, and that he was informed of the manner

in which the Prince de Conti had given his opinion, and added that with

the approval of two such men, that of others might be dispensed with.

Cheverny, a very truthful man, came full of this to tell it to me at

once. I was filled with confusion at being placed beside a man as

superior to me in knowledge of war as he was in rank and birth; but I

felt with gratitude how well M. de Beauvilliers had kept his word and

spoken in my favour.

The last evening of this year (1708) was very remarkable, because there

had not yet been an example of any such thing. The King having retired

after supper to his cabinet with his family, as usual, Chamillart came

without being sent for. He whispered in the King's ear that he had a

long despatch from the Marechal de Boufflers. Immediately the King said

good-night to Monseigneur and the Princesses, who went out with every one

else; and the King actually worked for an hour with his minister before

going to bed, so excited was he by the great project for retaking Lille!

Since the fall of Lille, in fact, Chamillart, impressed with the

importance of the place being in our possession, had laid out a plan by

which he were to lay siege to it and recapture it. One part of his plan

was, that the King should conduct the siege in person. Another was that,

as money was so difficult to obtain, the ladies of the Court should not

accompany the King, as their presence caused a large increase of expense

for carriages, servants, and so on. He confided his project to the King,

under a strict promise that it would be kept secret from Madame de

Maintenon. He feared, and with reason, that if she heard of it she would

object to being separated from the King for such a long time as would be

necessary for the siege: Chamillart was warned that if he acted thus,

hiding his plant from Madame de Maintenon, to whom he owed everything,

she would assuredly ruin him, but he paid no attention to the warning.

He felt all the danger he ran, but he was courageous; he loved the State,

and, if I may say so, he loved the King as a mistress. He followed his

own counsels then, and made the King acquainted with his project.

The King was at once delighted with it. He entered into the details

submitted to him by Chamillart with the liveliest interest, and promised

to carry out all that was proposed. He sent for Boufflers, who had

returned from Lille, and having, as I have said, recompensed him for his

brave defence of that place with a peerage and other marks of favour,

despatched him privately into Flanders to make preparations for the

siege. The abandonment of Ghent by our troop, after a short and

miserable defence, made him more than ever anxious to carry out this

scheme.

But the King had been so unused to keep a secret from Madame de

Maintenon, that he felt himself constrained in attempting to do so now.

He confided to her, therefore, the admirable plan of Chamillart. She had

the address to hide her surprise, and the strength to dissimulate

perfectly her vexation; she praised the project; she appeared charmed

with it; she entered into the details; she spoke of them to Chamillart;

admired his zeal, his labour, his diligence, and, above all, his ability,

in having conceived and rendered possible so fine and grand a project.

From that moment, however, she forgot nothing in order to ensure its

failure. The first sight of it had made her tremble. To be separated

from the King during a long siege; to abandon him to a minister to whom

he would be grateful for all the success of that siege; a minister, too,

who, although her creature, had dared to submit this project to the King

without informing her; who, moreover, had recently offended her by

marrying his son into a family she considered inimical to her, and by

supporting M. de Vendome against Monseigneur de Bourgogne! These were

considerations that determined her to bring about the failure of

Chamillart's project and the disgrace of Chamillart himself.

She employed her art so well, that after a time the project upon Lille

did not appear so easy to the King as at first. Soon after, it seemed

difficult; then too hazardous and ruinous; so that at last it was

abandoned, and Boufflers had orders to cease his preparations and return

to France! She succeeded thus in an affair she considered the most

important she had undertaken during all her life. Chamillart was much

touched, but little surprised: As soon as he knew his secret had been

confided to Madame de Maintenon he had feeble hope for it. Now he began

to fear for himself.

CHAPTER XLIV.

One of the reasons Madame de Maintenon had brought forward, which much

assisted her in opposing the siege of Lille, was the excessive cold of

this winter. The winter was, in fact, terrible; the memory of man could

find no parallel to it. The frost came suddenly on Twelfth Night, and

lasted nearly two months, beyond all recollection. In four days the

Seine and all the other rivers were frozen, and,--what had never been

seen before,--the sea froze all along the coasts, so as to bear carts,

even heavily laden, upon it. Curious observers pretended that this cold

surpassed what had ever been felt in Sweden and Denmark. The tribunals

were closed a considerable time. The worst thing was, that it completely

thawed for seven or eight days, and then froze again as rudely as before.

This caused the complete destruction of all kinds of vegetation--even

fruit-trees; and others of the most hardy kind, were destroyed. The

violence of the cold was such, that the strongest elixirs and the most

spirituous liquors broke their bottles in cupboards of rooms with fires

in them, and surrounded by chimneys, in several parts of the chateau of

Versailles. As I myself was one evening supping with the Duc de

Villeroy, in his little bedroom, I saw bottles that had come from a well-

heated kitchen, and that had been put on the chimney-piece of this bed-

room (which was close to the kitchen), so frozen, that pieces of ice fell

into our glasses as we poured out from them. The second frost ruined

everything. There were no walnut-trees, no olive-trees, no apple-trees,

no vines left, none worth speaking of, at least. The other trees died in

great numbers; the gardens perished, and all the grain in the earth. It

is impossible to imagine the desolation of this general ruin. Everybody

held tight his old grain. The price of bread increased in proportion to

the despair for the next harvest. The most knowing resowed barley where

there had been wheat, and were imitated by the majority. They were the

most successful, and saved all; but the police bethought themselves of

prohibiting this, and repented too late! Divers edicts were published

respecting grain, researches were made and granaries filled;

commissioners were appointed to scour the provinces, and all these steps

contributed to increase the general dearness and poverty, and that, too,

at a time when, as was afterwards proved, there was enough corn in the

country to feed all France for two years, without a fresh ear being

reaped.

Many people believed that the finance gentlemen had clutched at this

occasion to seize upon all the corn in the kingdom, by emissaries they

sent about, in order to sell it at whatever price they wished for the

profit of the King, not forgetting their own. The fact that a large

quantity of corn that the King had bought, and that had spoiled upon the

Loire, was thrown into the water in consequence, did not shake this

opinion, as the accident could not be hidden. It is certain that the

price of corn was equal in all the markets of the realm; that at Paris,

commissioners fixed the price by force, and often obliged the vendors to

raise it in spite of themselves; that when people cried out, "How long

will this scarcity last?" some commissioners in a market, close to my

house, near Saint Germain-des-Pres, replied openly, "As long as you

please," moved by compassion and indignation, meaning thereby, as long as

the people chose to submit to the regulation, according to which no corn

entered Paris, except on an order of D'Argenson. D'Argenson was the

lieutenant of police. The bakers were treated with the utmost rigour in

order to keep up the price of bread all over France. In the provinces,

officers called intendents did what D'Argenson did at Paris. On all the

markets, the corn that was not sold at the hour fixed for closing was

forcibly carried off; those who, from pity, sold their corn lower than

the fixed rate were punished with cruelty!

Marechal, the King's surgeon, had the courage and the probity to tell all

these things to the King, and to state the sinister opinions it gave rise

to among all classes, even the most enlightened. The King appeared

touched, was not offended with Marechal, but did nothing.

In several places large stores of corn were collected; by the government

authorities, but with the greatest possible secrecy. Private people were

expressly forbidden to do this, and informers were encouraged to; betray

them. A poor fellow, having bethought himself of informing against one

of the stores alluded to above, was severely punished for his pains. The

Parliament assembled to debate upon these disorders. It came to the

resolution of submitting various proposals to the King, which it deemed

likely to improve the condition of the country, and offered to send its

Conseillers to examine into the conduct of the monopolists. As soon as

the King heard of this, he flew into a strange passion, and his first

intention was to send a harsh message to the Parliament to attend to law

trials, and not to mix with matters that did not concern it. The

chancellor did not dare to represent to, the King that what the

Parliament wished to do belonged to its province, but calmed him by

representing the respect and affection with which the Parliament regarded

him, and that he was master either to accept or refuse its offers. No

reprimand was given, therefore, to the Parliament, but it was informed

that the King prohibited it from meddling with the corn question.

However accustomed the Parliament, as well as all the other public

bodies, might be to humiliations, it was exceedingly vexed by this

treatment, and obeyed with the greatest grief. The public was,

nevertheless, much affected by the conduct of the Parliament, and felt

that if the Finance Ministry had been innocent in the matter, the King

would have been pleased with what had taken place, which was in no

respect an attack on the absolute and unbounded authority of which he was

so vilely jealous.

In the country a somewhat similar incident occurred. The Parliament of

Burgundy, seeing the province in the direst necessity, wrote to the

Intendant, who did not bestir himself the least in the world. In this

pressing danger of a murderous famine, the members assembled to debate

upon the course to adopt. Nothing was said or done more than was

necessary, and all with infinite discretion, yet the King was no sooner

informed of it than he grew extremely irritated. He sent a severe

reprimand to this Parliament; prohibited it from meddling again in the

matter; and ordered the President, who had conducted the assembly, to

come at once to Court to explain his conduct. He came, and but for the

intervention of M. le Duc would have been deprived of his post,

irreproachable as his conduct had been. He received a sharp scolding

from the King, and was then allowed to depart. At the end of a few weeks

he returned to Dijon, where it had been resolved to receive him in

triumph; but, like a wise and experienced man, he shunned these

attentions, arranging so that he arrived at Dijon at four o'clock in the

morning. The other Parliaments, with these examples before them, were

afraid to act, and allowed the Intendants and their emissaries to have it

all their own way. It was at this time that those commissioners were

appointed, to whom I have already alluded, who acted under the authority

of the Intendants, and without dependence of any kind upon the

Parliaments. True, a court of appeal against their decisions was

established, but it was a mere mockery. The members who composed it did

not set out to fulfil their duties until three months after having been

appointed.

Then, matters had been so arranged that they received no appeals, and

found no cases to judge. All this dark work remained, therefore, in the

hands of D'Argenson and the Intendants, and it continued to be done with

the same harshness as ever.

Without passing a more definite judgment on those who invented and

profited by this scheme, it may be said that there has scarcely been a

century which has produced one more mysterious, more daring, better

arranged, and resulting in an oppression so enduring, so sure, so cruel.

The sums it produced were innumerable; and innumerable were the people

who died literally of hunger, and those who perished afterwards of the

maladies caused by the extremity of misery; innumerable also were the

families who were ruined, whose ruin brought down a torrent of other

ills.

Despite all this, payments hitherto most strictly made began to cease.

Those of the customs, those of the divers loans, the dividends upon the

Hotel de Ville--in all times so sacred--all were suspended; these last

alone continued, but with delays, then with retrenchments, which

desolated nearly all the families of Paris and many others. At the same

time the taxes--increased, multiplied, and exacted with the most extreme

rigour--completed the devastation of France.

Everything rose incredibly in price, while nothing was left to buy with,

even at the cheapest rate; and although--the majority of the cattle had

perished for want of food, and by the misery of those who kept them, a

new monopoly was established upon, horned beasts. A great number of

people who, in preceding years, used to relieve the poor, found,

themselves so reduced as to be able to subsist only with great

difficulty, and many of them received alms in secret. It is impossible

to say how many others laid siege to the hospitals, until then the ,

shame and punishment of the poor; how many ruined hospitals revomited

forth their inmates to the public charge--that is to say, sent them away

to die actually of hunger; and how many decent families shut themselves

up in garrets to die of want.

It is impossible to say, moreover, how all this misery warmed up zeal and

charity, or how immense were the alms distributed. But want increasing

each instant, an indiscreet and tyrannical charity imagined new taxes for

the benefit of the poor. They were imposed, and, added to so many

others, vexed numbers of people, who were annoyed at being compelled to

pay, who would have preferred giving voluntarily. Thus, these new taxes,

instead of helping the poor, really took away assistance from them, and

left them worse off than before. The strangest thing of all is, that

these taxes in favour of the poor were, perpetuated and appropriated by

the King, and are received by the financiers on his account to this day

as a branch of the revenue, the name of them not having even been

changed. The same thing has happened with respect to the annual tax for

keeping up the highways and thoroughfares of the kingdom. The majority

of the bridges were broken, and the high roads had become impracticable.

Trade, which suffered by this, awakened attention. The Intendant of

Champagne determined to mend the roads by parties of men, whom he

compelled to work for nothing, not even giving them bread. He was

imitated everywhere, and was made Counsellor of State. The people died

of hunger and misery at this work, while those who overlooked them made

fortunes. In the end the thing was found to be impracticable, and was

abandoned, and so were the roads. But the impost for making them and

keeping them up did not in the least stop during this experiment or

since, nor has it ceased to be appropriated as a branch of the King's

revenue.

But to return to the year 1709. People never ceased wondering what had

become of all the money of the realm. Nobody could any longer pay,

because nobody was paid: the country-people, overwhelmed with exactions

and with valueless property, had become insolvent: trade no longer

yielded anything--good faith and confidence were at an end. Thus the

King had no resources, except in terror and in his unlimited power,

which, boundless as it was, failed also for want of having something to

take and to exercise itself upon. There was no more circulation, no

means of re-establishing it. All was perishing step by step; the realm

was entirely exhausted; the troops, even, were not paid, although no one

could imagine what was done with the millions that came into the King's

coffers. The unfed soldiers, disheartened too at being so badly

commanded, were always unsuccessful; there was no capacity in generals or

ministers; no appointment except by whim or intrigue; nothing was

punished, nothing examined, nothing weighed: there was equal impotence to

sustain the war and bring about peace: all suffered, yet none dared to

put the hand to this arch, tottering as it was and ready to fall.

This was the frightful state to which we were reduced, when envoys were

sent into Holland to try and bring about peace. The picture is exact,

faithful, and not overcharged. It was necessary to present it as it was,

in order to explain the extremity to which we were reduced, the enormity

of the concessions which the King made to obtain peace, and the visible

miracle of Him who sets bounds to the seas, by which France was allowed

to escape from the hands of Europe, resolved and ready to destroy her.

Meanwhile the money was re-coined; and its increase to a third more than

its intrinsic value, brought some profit to the King, but ruin to private

people, and a disorder to trade which completed its annihilation.

Samuel Bernard, the banker, overthrew all Lyons by his prodigious

bankruptcy, which caused the most terrible results. Desmarets assisted

him as much as possible. The discredit into which paper money had

fallen, was the cause of his failure. He had issued notes to the amount

of twenty millions, and owed almost as much at Lyons. Fourteen millions

were given to him in assignats, in order to draw him out of his

difficulties. It is pretended that he found means to gain much by his

bankruptcy, but this seems doubtful.

The winter at length passed away. In the spring so many disorders took

place in the market of Paris, that more guards than usual were kept in

the city. At Saint Roch there was a disturbance, on account of a poor

fellow who had fallen, and been trampled under foot; and the crowd, which

was very large, was very insolent to D'Argenson, Lieutenant of Police,

who had hastened there. M. de la Rochefoucauld, who had retired from the

Court to Chenil, on account of his loss of sight, received an atrocious

letter against the King, in which it was plainly intimated that there

were still Ravaillacs left in the world; and to this madness was added an

eulogy of Brutus. M. de la Rochefoucauld at once went in all haste to

the King with this letter. His sudden appearance showed that something

important had occurred, and the object of his visit, of course, soon

became known. He was very ill received for coming so publicly on such an

errand. The Ducs de Beauvilliers and de Bouillon, it seems, had received

similar letters, but had given them to the King privately. The King for

some days was much troubled, but after due reflection, he came to the

conclusion that people who menace and warn have less intention of

committing a crime than of causing alarm.

What annoyed the King more was, the inundation of placards, the most

daring and the most unmeasured, against his person, his conduct, and his

government--placards, which for a long time were found pasted upon the

gates of Paris, the churches, the public places; above all upon the

statues; which during the night were insulted in various fashions, the

marks being seen the next morning, and the inscriptions erased. There

were also, multitudes of verses and songs, in which nothing was spared.

We were in this state until the 16th of May. The procession of Saint

Genevieve took place. This procession never takes place except in times

of the direst necessity; and then, only in virtue of orders from the

King, the Parliament, or the Archbishop of Paris. On the one hand, it

was hoped that it would bring succour to the country; on the other, that

it would amuse the people.

It was shortly after this, when the news of the arrogant demands of the

allies, and the vain attempts of the King to obtain an honourable peace

became known, that the Duchesse de Grammont conceived the idea of

offering her plate to the King, to replenish his impoverished exchequer,

and to afford him means carry on the war. She hoped that her example

would be followed by all the Court, and that she alone would have the

merit and the profit of suggesting the idea. Unfortunately for this

hope, the Duke, her husband, spoke of the project to Marechal Boufflers,

who thought it so good, that he noised it abroad, and made such a stir,

exhorting everybody to adopt it, that he passed for the inventor, and; no

mention was made of the Duke or the old Duchesse de Grammont, the latter

of whom was much enraged at this.

The project made a great hubbub at the Court. Nobody dared to refuse to

offer his plate, yet each offered it with much regret. Some had been

keeping it as a last resource, which they; were very sorry to deprive

themselves of; others feared the dirtiness of copper and earthenware;

others again were annoyed at being obliged to imitate an ungrateful

fashion, all the merit of which would go to the inventor. It was in vain

that Pontchartrain objected to the project, as one from which only

trifling benefit could be derived, and which would do great injury to

France by acting as a proclamation of its embarrassed state to all the

world, at home and abroad. The King would not listen to his reasonings,

but declared himself willing to receive all the plate that was sent to

him as a free-will offering. He announced this; and two means were

indicated at the same time, which all good citizens might follow. One

was, to send their plate to the King's goldsmith; the other, to send it

to the Mint. Those who made an unconditional gift of their plate, sent

it to the former, who kept a register of the names and of the number of

marks he received. The King regularly looked over this list; at least at

first, and promised in general terms to restore to everybody the weight

of metal they gave when his affairs permitted--a promise nobody believed

in or hoped to see executed. Those who wished to be paid for their plate

sent it to the Mint. It was weighed on arrival; the names were written,

the marks and the date; payment was made according as money could be

found. Many people were not sorry thus to sell, their plate without

shame. But the loss and the damage were inestimable in admirable

ornaments of all kinds, with which much of the plate of the rich was

embellished. When an account came to be drawn up, it was found that not

a hundred people were upon the list of Launay, the goldsmith; and the

total product of the gift did not amount to three millions. I confess

that I was very late in sending any plate. When I found that I was

almost the only one of my rank using silver, I sent plate to the value of

a thousand pistoles to the Mint, and locked up the rest. All the great

people turned to earthenware, exhausted the shops where it was sold, and

set the trade in it on fire, while common folks continued to use their

silver. Even the King thought of using earthenware, having sent his gold

vessels to the Mint, but afterwards decided upon plated metal and silver;

the Princes and Princesses of the blood used crockery.

Ere three months were over his head the King felt all the shame and the

weakness of having consented to this surrendering of plate, and avowed

that he repented of it. The inundations of the Loire, which happened at

the same time, and caused the utmost disorder, did not restore the Court

or the public to good humour. The losses they caused, and the damage

they did, were very considerable, and ruined many private people, and

desolated home trade.

Summer came. The dearness of all things, and of bread in particular,

continued to cause frequent commotions all over the realm. Although, as

I have said, the guards of Paris were much increased, above all in the

markets and the suspected places, they were unable to hinder disturbances

from breaking out. In many of these D'Argenson nearly lost his life.

Monseigneur arriving and returning from the Opera, was assailed by the

populace and by women in great numbers crying, "Bread! Bread!" so that

he was afraid, even in the midst of his guards, who did not dare to

disperse the crowd for fear of worse happening. He got away by throwing

money to the people, and promising wonders; but as the wonders did not

follow, he no longer dared to go to Paris.

The King himself from his windows heard the people of Versailles crying

aloud in the street. The discourses they held were daring and continual

in the streets and public places; they uttered complaints, sharp, and but

little measured, against the government, and even against the King's

person; and even exhorted each other no longer to be so enduring, saying

that nothing worse could happen to them than what they suffered, dying as

they were of starvation.

To amuse the people, the idle and the poor were employed to level a

rather large hillock which remained upon the Boulevard, between the

Portes Saint Denis and Saint Martin; and for all salary, bad bread in

small quantities was distributed to these workers. If happened that on

Tuesday morning, the 20th of August, there was no bread for a large

number of these people. A woman amongst others cried out at this, which

excited the rest to do likewise. The archers appointed to watch over

these labourers, threatened the woman; she only cried the louder;

thereupon the archers seized her and indiscreetly put her in an adjoining

pillory. In a moment all her companions ran to her aid, pulled down the

pillory, and scoured the streets, pillaging the bakers and pastrycooks.

One by one the shops closed. The disorder increased and spread through

the neighbouring streets; no harm was done anybody, but the cry was

"Bread! Bread!" and bread was seized everywhere.

It so fell out that Marechal Boufflers, who little thought what was

happening, was in the neighbourhood, calling upon his notary. Surprised

at the fright he saw everywhere, and learning, the cause, he wished of

himself to appease it. Accompanied by the Duc de Gramont, he directed

himself towards the scene of the disturbance, although advised not to do

so. When he arrived at the top of the Rue Saint Denis, the crowd and the

tumult made him judge that it would be best to alight from his coach. He

advanced, therefore, on foot with the Duc de Grammont among the furious

and infinite crowd of people, of whom he asked the cause of this uproar,

promised them bread, spoke his best with gentleness but firmness, and

remonstrated with them. He was listened to. Cries, several times

repeated, of "Vive M. le Marechal de Boufflers!" burst from the crowd.

M. de Boufflers walked thus with M. de Grammont all along the Rue aux

Ours and the neighbouring streets, into the very centre of the sedition,

in fact. The people begged him to represent their misery to the King,

and to obtain for them some food. He promised this, and upon his word

being given all were appeased and all dispersed with thanks and fresh

acclamations of "Vive M. le Marechal de Boufflers!" He did a real service

that day. D'Argenson had marched to the spot with troops; and had it not

been for the Marechal, blood would have been spilt, and things might have

gone very far.

The Marechal had scarcely reached his own house in the Place Royale than

he was informed that the sedition had broken out with even greater force

in the Faubourg Saint Antoine. He ran there immediately, with the Duc de

Grammont, and appeased it as he had appeased the other. He returned to

his own home to eat a mouthful or two, and then set out for Versailles.

Scarcely had he left the Place Royale than the people in the streets and

the shopkeepers cried to him to have pity on them, and to get them some

bread, always with "Vive M. le Marechal de Boufflers!" He was conducted

thus as far as the quay of the Louvre.

On arriving at Versailles he went straight to the King, told him what had

occurred, and was much thanked. He was even offered by the King the

command of Paris,--troops, citizens, police, and all; but this he

declined, Paris, as he said, having already a governor and proper

officers to conduct its affairs. He afterwards, however, willingly lent

his aid to them in office, and the modesty with which he acted brought

him new glory.

Immediately after, the supply of bread was carefully looked to. Paris

was filled with patrols, perhaps with too many, but they succeeded so

well that no fresh disturbances took place.

CHAPTER XLV

After his return from the campaign, M. de Vendome continued to be paid

like a general serving in winter, and to enjoy many other advantages.

From all this, people inferred that he would serve during the following

campaign; nobody dared to doubt as much, and the cabal derived new

strength therefrom. But their little triumph was not of long

continuance. M. de Vendome came to Versailles for the ceremony of the

Order on Candlemas-Day. He then learned that he was not to serve, and

that he was no longer to receive general's pay. The blow was violent,

and he felt it to its fullest extent; but, with a prudence that equalled

his former imprudence, he swallowed the pill without making a face,

because he feared other more bitter ones, which he felt he had deserved.

This it was that, for the first time in his life, made him moderate. He

did not affect to conceal what had taken place, but did not say whether

it was in consequence of any request of his, or whether he was glad or

sorry,--giving it out as an indifferent piece of news; and changed

nothing but his language, the audacity of which he diminished as no

longer suited to the times. He sold his equipages.

M. le Prince de Conti died February 22, aged not quite forty-five. His

face had been charming; even the defects of his body and mind had

infinite graces. His shoulders were too high; his head was a little on

one side; his laugh would have seemed a bray in any one else; his mind

was strangely absent. He was gallant with the women, in love with many,

well treated by several; he was even coquettish with men. He endeavoured

to please the cobbler, the lackey, the porter, as well as the Minister of

State, the Grand Seigneur, the General, all so naturally that success was

certain. He was consequently the constant delight of every one, of the

Court, the armies; the divinity of the people, the idol of the soldiers,

the hero of the officers, the hope of whatever was most distinguished,

the love of the Parliament, the friend of the learned, and often the

admiration of the historian, of jurisconsults, of astronomers, and

mathematicians, the most profound. He was especially learned in

genealogies, and knew their chimeras and their realities. With him the

useful and the polite, the agreeable and the deep, all was distinct and

in its place. He had friends, knew how to choose them, cultivate them,

visit them, live with them, put himself on their level without

haughtiness or baseness. But this man, so amiable, so charming, so

delicious, loved nothing. He had and desired friends, as other people

have and desire articles of furniture. Although with much self-respect

he was a humble courtier, and showed too much how greatly he was in want

of support and assistance from all sides; he was avaricious, greedy of

fortune, ardent and unjust. The King could not bear him, and was grieved

with the respect he was obliged to show him, and which he was careful

never to trespass over by a single jot. Certain intercepted letters had

excited a hatred against him in Madame de Maintenon, and an indignation

in the King which nothing could efface. The riches, the talents, the

agreeable qualities, the great reputation which this Prince had acquired,

the general love of all, became crimes in him. The contrast with M. du

Maine excited daily irritation and jealousy. The very purity of his

blood was a reproach to him. Even his friends were odious, and felt that

this was so. At last, however, various causes made him to be chosen, in

the midst of a very marked disgrace, to command the army in Flanders. He

was delighted, and gave himself up to the most agreeable hopes. But it

was no longer time: he had sought to drown his sorrow at wearing out his

life unoccupied in wine and other pleasures, for which his age and his

already enfeebled body were no longer suited. His health gave way. He

felt it soon. The tardy return to favour which he had enjoyed made him

regret life more. He perished slowly, regretting to have been brought to

death's door by disgrace, and the impossibility of being restored by the

unexpected opening of a brilliant career.

The Prince, against the custom of those of his rank, had been very well

educated. He was full of instruction. The disorders of his life had

clouded his knowledge but not extinguished it, and he often read to brush

up his learning. He chose M. de la Tour to prepare him, and help him to

die well. He was so attached to life that all his courage was required.

For three months crowds of visitors filled his palace, and the people

even collected in the place before it. The churches echoed with prayers

for his life. The members of his family often went to pay for masses for

him; and found that others had already done so. All questions were about

his health. People stopped each other in the street to inquire; passers-

by were called to by shopmen, anxious to know whether the Prince de Conti

was to live or to die. Amidst all this, Monseigneur never visited him;

and, to the indignation of all Paris, passed along the quay near the

Louvre going to the Opera, whilst the sacraments were being carried to

the Prince on the other side. He was compelled by public opinion to make

a short visit after this. The Prince died at last in his arm-chair,

surrounded by a few worthy people. Regrets were universal; but perhaps

he gained by his disgrace. His heart was firmer than his head. He might

have been timid at the head of an army or in the Council of the King if

he had entered it. The King was much relieved by his death; Madame de

Maintenon also; M. le Duc much more; for M. du Maine it was a

deliverance, and for M. de Vendome a consolation. Monseigneur learned it

at Meudon as he was going out to hunt, and showed no feeling of any kind.

The death of M. le Prince de Conti seemed to the Duc de Vendome a

considerable advantage, because he was thus delivered from a rival most

embarrassing by the superiority of his birth, just when he was about to

be placed in a high military position. I have already mentioned

Vendome's exclusion from command. The fall of this Prince of the Proud

had been begun we have now reached the second step, between which and the

third there was a space of between two and three months; but as the third

had no connection with any other event, I will relate it at once.

Whatever reasons existed to induce the King to take from M. de Vendome

the command of his armies, I know not if all the art and credit of Madame

de Maintenon would not have been employed in vain, together with the

intrigues of M. du Maine, without an adventure, which I must at once

explain, to set before the reader's eyes the issue of the terrible

struggle, pushed to such extremes, between Vendome, seconded by his

formidable cabal, and the necessary, heir of the Crown, supported by his

wife, the favourite of the King, and Madame de Maintenon, which last; to

speak clearly, as all the Court saw, for thirty years governed him

completely.

When M. de Vendome returned from Flanders, he had a short interview with

the King, in which he made many bitter complaints against Pursegur, one

of his lieutenant-generals, whose sole offence was that he was much

attached to M. de Bourgogne. Pursegur was a great favourite with the

King, and often, on account of the business of the infantry regiment, of

which the thought himself the private colonel, had private interviews

with him, and was held in high estimation for his capacity and virtue.

He, in his turn, came back from Flanders, and had a private audience of

the King. The complaints that had been made against him by M. de Vendome

were repeated to him by the King, who, however, did not mention from whom

they came. Pursegur defended himself so well, that the King in his

surprise mentioned this latter fact. At the name of Vendome, Pursegur

lost all patience. He described, to the King all the faults, the

impertinences; the obstinacy, the insolence of M. de Vendome, with a

precision and clearness which made his listener very attentive and very

fruitful in questions. Pursegur, seeing that he might go on, gave

himself rein, unmasked M. de Vendome from top to toe, described his

ordinary life at the army, the incapacity of his body, the incapacity of

his judgment, the prejudice of his mind, the absurdity and crudity of his

maxims, his utter ignorance of the art of war, and showed to

demonstration, that it was only by a profusion of miracles France had not

been ruined by him--lost a hundred times over.

The conversation lasted more than two hours. The' King, long since

convinced of the capacity, fidelity, and truthfulness of Pursegur, at

last opened his eyes to the truth respecting this Vendome, hidden with so

much art until then, and regarded as a hero and the tutelary genius of

France. He was vexed and ashamed of his credulity, and from the date of

this conversation Vendome fell at once from his favour.

Pursegur, naturally humble, gentle, and modest, but truthful, and on this

occasion piqued, went out into the gallery after his conversation, and

made a general report of it to all, virtuously, braving Vendome and all

his cabal. This cabal trembled with rage; Vendome still more so. They

answered by miserable reasonings, which nobody cared for. This was what

led to the suppression of his pay, and his retirement to Anet, where he

affected a philosophical indifference.

Crestfallen as he was, he continued to sustain at Meudon and Marly the

grand manners he had usurped at the time of his prosperity. After having

got over the first embarrassment, he put on again his haughty air, and

ruled the roast. To see him at Meudon you would have said he was

certainly the master of the saloon, and by his free and easy manner to

Monseigneur, and, when he dared, to the King, he would have been thought

the principal person there. Monseigneur de Bourgogne supported this--his

piety made him do so--but Madame de Bourgogne was grievously offended,

and watched her opportunity to get rid of M. de Vendome altogether.

It came, the first journey the King made to Marly after Easter. 'Brelan'

was then the fashion. Monseigneur, playing at it one day with Madame de

Bourgogne and others, and being in want of a fifth player, sent for M. de

Vendome from the other end of the saloon, to come and join the party.

That instant Madame de Bourgogne said modestly, but very intelligibly, to

Monseigneur, that the presence of M. de Vendome at Marly was sufficiently

painful to her, without having him at play with her, and that she begged

he might be dispensed with. Monseigneur, who had sent for Vendome

without the slightest reflection, looked round the room, and sent for

somebody else. When Vendome arrived, his place was taken, and he had to

suffer this annoyance before all the company. It may be imagined to what

an extent this superb gentleman was stung by the affront. He served no

longer; he commanded no longer; he was no longer the adored idol; he

found himself in the paternal mansion of the Prince he had so cruelly

offended, and the outraged wife of that Prince was more than a match for

him. He turned upon his heel, absented himself from the room as soon as

he could, and retired to his own chamber, there to storm at his leisure.

Other and more cruel annoyances were yet in store for him, however.

Madame de Bourgogne reflected on what had just taken place. The facility

with which she had succeeded in one respect encouraged her, but she was a

little troubled to know how the King would take what she had done, and

accordingly, whilst playing, she resolved to push matters still further,

both to ruin her guest utterly and to get out of her embarrassment; for,

despite her extreme familiarity, she was easily embarrassed, being gentle

and timid. The 'brelan' over, she ran to Madame de Maintenon; told her

what had just occurred; said that the presence of M. de Vendome at Marly

was a continual insult to her; and begged her to solicit the King to

forbid M. de Vendome to come there. Madame de Maintenon, only too glad.

to have an opportunity of revenging herself upon an enemy who had set her

at defiance, and against whom all her batteries had at one time failed,

consented to this request. She spoke out to the King, who, completely

weary of M. de Vendome, and troubled to have under his eyes a man whom he

could not doubt was discontented, at once granted what was asked. Before

going to bed, he charged one of his valets to tell M. de Vendome the next

morning, that henceforth he was to absent himself from Marly, his

presence there being disagreeable to Madame de Bourgogne.

It may be imagined into what an excess of despair M. de Vendome fell, at

a message so unexpected, and which sapped the foundations of all his

hopes. He kept silent, however, for fear of making matters worse, did

not venture attempting, to speak to the King, and hastily retired to

Clichy to hide his rage and shame. The news of his banishment from Marly

soon spread abroad, and made so much stir, that to show it was not worth

attention, he returned two days before the end of the visit, and stopped

until the end in a continual shame and embarrassment. He set out for

Anet at the same time that the King set out for Versailles, and has never

since put his foot in Marly.

But another bitter draught was to be mixed for him. Banished from Marly,

he had yet the privilege of going to Meudon. He did not fail to avail

himself of this every time Monseigneur was there, and stopped as long as

he stopped, although in the times of his splendour he had never stayed

more than one or two days. It was seldom that Monseigneur visited Meudon

without Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne going to see him. And yet M. de

Vendome never failed audaciously to present himself before her, as if to

make her feel that at all events in Monseigneur's house he was a match

for her. Guided by former experience, the Princess gently suffered this

in silence, and watched her opportunity. It soon came.

Two months afterwards it happened that, while Monseigneur was at Meudon,

the King, Madame de Maintenon; and Madame de Bourgogne, came to dine with

him. Madame de Maintenon wished to talk with Mademoiselle Choin without

sending for her to Versailles, and the King, as may be believed, was in

the secret. I mention this to account for the King's visit.

M. de Vendome;: who was at Meudon as usual, was stupid enough to present

himself at the coach door as the King and his companions descended.

Madame de Bourgogne was much offended, constrained herself less than

usual, and turned away her head with affectation, after a sort of sham

salute. He felt the sting, but had the folly to approach her again after

dinner, while she was playing. He experienced the same treatment, but

this time in a still more marked manner. Stung to the quick and out of

countenance, he went up to his chamber, and did not descend until very

late. During this time Madame de Bourgogne spoke to Monseigneur of the

conduct of M. de Vendorne, and the same evening she addressed herself to

Madame de Maintenon, and openly complained to the King. She represented

to him how hard it was to her to be treated by Monseigneur with less

respect than by the King: for while the latter had banished M. de Vendome

from Marly, the former continued to grant him an asylum at Meudon.

M. de Vendome, on his side, complained bitterly to Monseigneur of the

strange persecution that he suffered everywhere from Madame de Bourgogne;

but Monseigneur replied to him so coldly that he withdrew with tears in

his eyes, determined, however, not to give up until he had obtained some

sort of satisfaction. He set his friends to work to speak to

Monseigneur; all they could draw from him was, that M. de Vendome must

avoid Madame de Bourgogne whenever she came to Meudon, and that it was

the smallest respect he owed her until she was reconciled to him. A

reply so dry and so precise was cruelly felt; but M. de Vendome was not

at the end of the chastisement he had more than merited. The next day

put an end to all discussion upon the matter.

He was card-playing after dinner in a private cabinet, when D'Antin

arrived from Versailles. He approached the players, and asked what was

the position of the game, with an eagerness which made M. de Vendome

inquire the reason. D'Antin said he had to render an account to him of

the matter he had entrusted him with.

"I!" exclaimed Vendome, with surprise, "I have entrusted you with

nothing."

"Pardon me," replied D'Antin; "you do not recollect, then, that I have an

answer to make to you?"

From this perseverance M. de Vendome comprehended that something was

amiss, quitted his game, and went into an obscure wardrobe with D'Antin,

who told him that he had been ordered by the King to beg Monseigneur not

to invite M. de Vendome to Meudon any more; that his presence there was

as unpleasant to Madame de Bourgogne as it had been at Marly. Upon this,

Vendome, transported with fury, vomited forth all that his rage inspired

him with. He spoke to Monseigneur in the evening, but was listened to as

coldly as before. Vendome passed the rest of his visit in a rage and

embarrassment easy to conceive, and on the day Monseigneur returned to

Versailles he hurried straight to Anet.

But he was unable to remain quiet anywhere; so went off with his dogs,

under pretence of going a hunting, to pass a month in his estate of La

Ferme-Aleps, where he had no proper lodging and no society, and gave

there free vent to his rage. Thence he returned again to Anet, where he

remained abandoned by every one. Into this solitude, into this startling

and public seclusion, incapable of sustaining a fall so complete, after a

long habit of attaining everything, and doing everything he pleased, of

being the idol of the world, of the Court, of the armies, of making his

very vices adored, and his greatest faults admired, his defects

commended, so that he dared to conceive the prodigious design of ruining

and destroying the necessary heir of the Crown, though he had never

received anything but evidences of tenderness from him, and triumphed

over him for eight months with the most scandalous success; it was, I

say, thus that this Colossus was overthrown by the breath of a prudent

and courageous princess, who earned by this act merited applause. All

who were concerned with her, were charmed to see of what she was capable;

and all who were opposed to her and her husband trembled. The cabal, so

formidable, so lofty, so accredited, so closely united to overthrow them,

and reign, after the King, under Monseigneur in their place--these

chiefs, male and female, so enterprising and audacious, fell now into

mortal discouragement and fear. It was a pleasure to see them work their

way back with art and extreme humility, and turn round those of the

opposite party who remained influential, and whom they had hitherto

despised; and especially to see with what embarrassment, what fear, what

terror, they began to crawl before the young Princess, and wretchedly

court the Duc de Bourgogne and his friends, and bend to them in the most

extraordinary manner.

As for M. de Vendome, without any resource, save what he found in his

vices and his valets, he did not refrain from bragging among them of the

friendship of Monseigneur for him, of which he said he was well assured.

Violence had been done to Monseigneur's feelings. He was reduced to this

misery of hoping that his words would be spread about by these valets,

and would procure him some consideration from those who thought of the

future. But the present was insupportable to him. To escape from it, he

thought of serving in Spain, and wrote to Madame des Ursins asking

employment. The King was annoyed at this step, and flatly refused to let

him go to Spain. His intrigue, therefore, came to an end at once.

Nobody gained more by the fall of M. de Vendome than Madame de Maintenon.

Besides the joy she felt in overthrowing a man who, through M. du Maine,

owed everything to her, and yet dared to resist her so long and

successfully, she felt, also, that her credit became still more the

terror of the Court; for no one doubted that what had occurred was a

great example of her power. We shall presently see how she furnished

another, which startled no less.

CHAPTER XLVI.

It is time now to retrace my steps to the point from which I have been

led away in relating all the incidents which arose out of the terrible

winter and the scarcity it caused.

The Court at that time beheld the renewal of a ministry; which from the

time it had lasted was worn down to its very roots, and which was on

that account only the more agreeable to the King. On the 20th of

January, the Pere La Chaise, the confessor of the King, died at a very

advanced age. He was of good family, and his father would have been rich

had he not had a dozen children. Pere La Chaise succeeded in 1675 to

Pere Ferrier as confessor of the King, and occupied that post thirty-two

years. The festival of Easter often caused him politic absences during

the attachment of the King for Madame de Montespan. On one occasion he

sent in his place the Pere Deschamps, who bravely refused absolution.

The Pere La Chaise was of mediocre mind but of good character, just,

upright, sensible, prudent, gentle, and moderate, an enemy of informers,

and of violence of every kind. He kept clear of many scandalous

transactions, befriended the Archbishop of Cambrai as much as he could,

refused to push the Port Royal des Champs to its destruction, and always

had on his table a copy of the New Testament of Pere Quesnel, saying that

he liked what was good wherever he found it. When near his eightieth

year, with his head and his health still good, he wished to retire, but

the King would not hear of it. Soon after, his faculties became worn

out, and feeling this, he repeated his wish. The Jesuits, who perceived

his failing more than he did himself, and felt the diminution of his

credit, exhorted him to make way for another who should have the grace

and zeal of novelty. For his part he sincerely desired repose, and he

pressed the King to allow him to take it, but all in vain. He was

obliged to bear his burthen to the very end. Even the infirmities and

the decrepitude that afflicted could not deliver him. Decaying legs,

memory extinguished, judgment collapsed, all his faculties confused,

strange inconveniences for a confessor--nothing could disgust the King,

and he persisted in having this corpse brought to him and carrying on

customary business with it. At last, two days after a return from

Versailles, he grew much weaker, received the sacrament, wrote with his

own hand a long letter to the King, received a very rapid and hurried one

in reply, and soon after died at five o'clock in the morning very

peaceably. His confessor asked him two things, whether he had acted

according to his conscience, and whether he had thought of the interests

and honour of the company of Jesuits; and to both these questions he

answered satisfactorily.

The news was brought to the King as he came out of his cabinet. He

received it like a Prince accustomed to losses, praised the Pere La

Chaise for his goodness, and then said smilingly, before all the

courtiers, and quite aloud, to the two fathers who had come to announce

the death: "He was so good that I sometimes reproached him for it, and he

used to reply to me: 'It is not I who am good; it is you who are hard.'"

Truly the fathers and all the auditors were so surprised at this that

they lowered their eyes. The remark spread directly; nobody was able to

blame the Pere La Chaise. He was generally regretted, for he had done

much good and never harm except in self-defence. Marechal, first surgeon

of the King, and possessed of his confidence, related once to me and

Madame de Saint-Simon, a very important anecdote referring to this time.

He said that the King, talking to him privately of the Pere La Chaise,

and praising him for his attachment, related one of the great proofs he

had given of it. A few years before his death the Pere said that he felt

getting old, and that the King might soon have to choose a new confessor;

he begged that that confessor might be chosen from among the Jesuits,

that he knew them well, that they were far from deserving all that had

been said against them, but still--he knew them well--and that attachment

for the King and desire for his safety induced him to conjure him to act

as he requested; because the company contained many sorts of minds and

characters which could not be answered for, and must not be reduced to

despair, and that the King must not incur a risk--that in fact an unlucky

blow is soon given, and had been given before then. Marechal turned pale

at this recital of the King, and concealed as well as he could the

disorder it caused in him. We must remember that Henry IV. recalled the

Jesuits, and loaded them with gifts merely from fear of them. The King

was not superior to Henry IV. He took care not to forget the

communication of the Pere La Chaise, or expose himself to the vengeance

of the company by choosing a confessor out of their limits. He wanted to

live, and to live in safety. He requested the Ducs de Chevreuse and de

Beauvilliers to make secret inquiries for a proper person. They fell

into a trap made, were dupes themselves, and the Church and State the

victims.

The Pere Tellier, in fact, was chosen as successor of Pere La Chaise, and

a terrible successor he made. Harsh, exact, laborious, enemy of all

dissipation, of all amusement, of all society, incapable of associating

even with his colleagues, he demanded no leniency for himself and

accorded none to others. His brain and his health were of iron; his

conduct was so also; his nature was savage and cruel. He was profoundly

false, deceitful, hidden under a thousand folds; and when he could show

himself and make himself feared, he yielded nothing, laughed at the most

express promises when he no longer cared to keep to them, and pursued

with fury those who had trusted to them. He was the terror even of the

Jesuits, and was so violent to them that they scarcely dared approach

him. His exterior kept faith with his interior. He would have been

terrible to meet in a dark lane. His physiognomy was cloudy, false,

terrible; his eyes were burning, evil, extremely squinting; his aspect

struck all with dismay. The whole aim of his life was to advance the

interests of his Society; that was his god; his life had been absorbed in

that study: surprisingly ignorant, insolent, impudent, impetuous, without

measure and without discretion, all means were good that furthered his

designs.

The first time Pere Tellier saw the King in his cabinet, after having

been presented to him, there was nobody but Bloin and Fagon in a corner.

Fagon, bent double and leaning on his stick, watched the interview and

studied the physiognomy of this new personage his duckings, and

scrapings, and his words. The King asked him if he were a relation of

MM. le Tellier. The good father humbled himself in the dust. "I, Sire!"

answered he, "a relative of MM. le Tellier! I am very different from

that. I am a poor peasant of Lower Normandy, where my father was a

farmer." Fagon, who watched him in every movement, twisted himself up to

look at Bloin, and said, pointing to the Jesuit: "Monsieur, what a cursed

--------!" Then shrugging his shoulders, he curved over his stick again.

It turned out that he was not mistaken in his strange judgment of a

confessor. This Tellier made all the grimaces, not to say the

hypocritical monkey-tricks of a man who was afraid of his place, and only

took it out of, deference to his company.

I have dwelt thus upon this new confessor, because from him have come the

incredible tempests under, which the Church, the State, knowledge, and

doctrine, and many good people of all kinds, are still groaning; and,

because I had a more intimate acquaintance with this terrible personage

than had any man at the Court. He introduced himself to me in fact, to

my surprise; and although I did all in my power to shun his acquaintance,

I could not succeed. He was too dangerous a man to be treated with

anything but great prudence.

During the autumn of this year, he gave a sample of his quality in the

part he took in the destruction of the celebrated monastery of Port Royal

des Champs. I need not dwell at any great length upon the origin and

progress of the two religious parties, the Jansenists and the Molinists;

enough has been written on both sides to form a whole library. It is

enough for me to say that the Molinists were so called because they

adopted the views expounded by, the Pere Molina in a book he wrote

against the doctrines of St. Augustine and of the Church of Rome, upon

the subject of spiritual grace. The Pere Molina was a Jesuit, and it was

by the Jesuits his book was brought forward and supported. Finding,

however, that the views it expounded met with general opposition, not

only throughout France, but at Rome, they had recourse to their usual

artifices on feeling themselves embarrassed, turned themselves into

accusers instead of defendants, and invented a heresy that had neither

author nor follower, which they attributed to Cornelius Jansenius, Bishop

of Ypres. Many and long were the discussions at Rome upon this ideal

heresy, invented by the Jesuits solely for the purpose of weakening the

adversaries of Molina. To oppose his doctrines was to be a Jansenist.

That in substance was what was meant by Jansenism.

At the monastery of Port Royal des Champs, a number of holy and learned

personages lived in retirement. Some wrote, some gathered youths around

them, and instructed them in science and piety. The finest moral works,

works which have thrown the most light upon the science and practice, of

religion, and have been found so by everybody, issued from their hands.

These men entered into the quarrel against Molinism. This was enough to

excite against them the hatred of the Jesuits and to determine that body

to attempt their destruction.

They were accused of Jansenism, and defended themselves perfectly; but at

the same time they carried the war into the enemy's camp, especially by

the ingenious "Provincial Letters" of the famous Pascal.

The quarrel grew more hot between the Jesuits and Port Royal, and was

telling against the former, when the Pere Tellier brought all his

influence to bear, to change the current of success. He was, as I have

said, an ardent man, whose divinity was his Molinism, and the company to

which he belonged. Confessor to the King, he saw himself in a good

position to exercise unlimited authority. He saw that the King was very

ignorant, and prejudiced upon all religious matters; that he was

surrounded by people as ignorant and as prejudiced as himself, Madame de

Maintenon, M. de Beauvilliers, M. de Chevreuse, and others, and he

determined to take good advantage of this state of things.

Step by step he gained over the King to his views, and convinced him that

the destruction of the monastery of Port Royal des Champs was a duty

which he owed to his conscience, and the cause of religion. This point

gained, the means to destroy the establishment were soon resolved on.

There was another monastery called Port Royal, at Paws, in addition to

the one in question. It was now pretended that the latter had only been

allowed to exist by tolerance, and that it was necessary one should cease

to exist. Of the two, it was alleged that it was better to preserve the

one, at Paris. A decree in council was, therefore, rendered, in virtue

of which, on the night from the 28th to the 29th of October, the abbey of

Port Royal des Champs was secretly invested by troops, and, on the next

morning, the officer in command made all the inmates assemble, showed

them a 'lettre de cachet', and, without giving them more than a quarter

of an hour's warning, carried off everybody and everything. He had

brought with him many coaches, with an elderly woman in each; he put the

nuns in these coaches, and sent them away to their destinations, which

were different monasteries, at ten, twenty, thirty, forty, and even fifty

leagues distant, each coach accompanied by mounted archers, just as

public women are carried away from a house of ill-fame! I pass in

silence all the accompaniments of this scene, so touching and so

strangely new. There have been entire volumes written upon it.

The treatment that these nuns received in their various prisons, in order

to force them to sign a condemnation of themselves, is the matter of

other volumes, which, in spite of the vigilance of the oppressors, were

soon in everybody's hands; public indignation so burst out, that the

Court and the Jesuits even were embarrassed with it. But the Pere

Tellier was not a man to stop half-way anywhere. He finished this matter

directly; decree followed decree, 'Lettres de cachet' followed 'lettres

de cachet'. The families who had relatives buried in the cemetery of

Port Royal des Champs were ordered to exhume and carry them elsewhere.

All the others were thrown into the cemetery of an adjoining parish, with

the indecency that may: be imagined. Afterwards, the house, the church,

and all the buildings were razed to the ground, so that not one stone was

left upon another. All the materials were sold, the ground was ploughed

up, and sown--not with salt, it is true, but that was all the favour it

received! The scandal at this reached even to Rome. I have restricted

myself to this simple and short recital of an expedition so military and

so odious.

VOLUME 7.

CHAPTER XLVII

The death of D'Avaux, who had formerly been our ambassador in Holland,

occurred in the early part of this year (1709). D'Avaux was one of the

first to hear of the project of William of Orange upon England, when that

project was still only in embryo, and kept profoundly secret. He

apprised the King (Louis XIV.) of it, but was laughed at. Barillon, then

our ambassador in England, was listened to in preference. He, deceived

by Sunderland and the other perfidious ministers of James II.; assured

our Court that D'Avaux's reports were mere chimeras. It was not until it

was impossible any longer to doubt that credit was given to them. The

steps that we then took, instead of disconcerting all the measures of the

conspirators, as we could have done, did not interfere with the working

out of any one of their plans. All liberty was left, in fact, to William

to carry out his scheme. The anecdote which explains how this happened

is so curious, that it deserves to be mentioned here.

Louvois, who was then Minister of War, was also superintendent of the

buildings. The King, who liked building, and who had cast off all his

mistresses, had pulled down the little porcelain Trianon he had made for

Madame de Montespan, and was rebuilding it in the form it still retains.

One day he perceived, for his glance was most searching, that one window

was a trifle narrower than the others. He showed it to Louvois, in order

that it might be altered, which, as it was not then finished, was easy to

do. Louvois sustained that the window was all right. The King insisted

then, and on the morrow also, but Louvois, pigheaded and inflated with

his authority, would not yield.

The next day the King saw Le Notre in the gallery. Although his trade

was gardens rather than houses, the King did not fail to consult him upon

the latter. He asked him if he had been to Trianon. Le Notre replied

that he had not. The King ordered him to go. On the morrow he saw Le

Notre again; same question, same answer. The King comprehended the

reason of this, and a little annoyed, commanded him to be there that

afternoon at a given time. Le Notre did not dare to disobey this time.

The King arrived, and Louvois being present, they returned to the subject

of the window, which Louvois obstinately said was as broad as the rest.

The King wished Le Notre to measure it, for he knew that, upright and

true, he would openly say what he found. Louvois, piqued, grew angry.

The King, who was not less so, allowed him to say his say. Le Notre,

meanwhile, did not stir. At last, the King made him go, Louvois still

grumbling, and maintaining his assertion with audacity and little

measure. Le Notre measured the window, and said that the King was right

by several inches. Louvois still wished to argue, but the King silenced

him, and commanded him to see that the window was altered at once,

contrary to custom abusing him most harshly.

What annoyed Louvois most was, that this scene passed not only before all

the officers of the buildings, but in presence of all who followed the

King in his promenades, nobles, courtiers, officers of the guard, and

others, even all the rolete. The dressing given to Louvois was smart and

long, mixed with reflections upon the fault of this window, which, not

noticed so soon, might have spoiled all the facade, and compelled it to

be re-built.

Louvois, who was not accustomed to be thus treated, returned home in

fury, and like a man in despair. His familiars were frightened, and in

their disquietude angled to learn what had happened. At last he told

them, said he was lost, and that for a few inches the King forgot all his

services, which had led to so many conquests; he declared that henceforth

he would leave the trowel to the King, bring about a war, and so arrange

matters that the King should have good need of him!

He soon kept his word. He caused a war to grow out of the affair of the

double election of Cologne, of the Prince of Bavaria, and of the Cardinal

of Furstenberg; he confirmed it in carrying the flames into the

Palatinate, and in leaving, as I have said, all liberty to the project

upon England; he put the finishing touch to his work by forcing the Duke

of Savoy into the arms of his enemies, and making him become, by the

position of his country, our enemy, the most difficult and the most

ruinous. All that I have here related was clearly brought to light in

due time.

Boisseuil died shortly after D'Avaux. He was a tall, big man, warm and

violent, a great gambler, bad tempered,--who often treated M. le Grand

and Madame d'Armagnac, great people as they were, so that the company

were ashamed,--and who swore in the saloon of Marly as if he had been in

a tap-room. He was feared; and he said to women whatever came uppermost

when the fury of a cut-throat seized him. During a journey the King and

Court made to Nancy, Boisseuil one evening sat down to play in the house

of one of the courtiers. A player happened to be there who played very

high. Boisseuil lost a good deal, and was very angry. He thought he

perceived that this gentleman, who was only permitted on account of his

play, was cheating, and made such good use of his eyes that he soon found

this was the case, and all on a sudden stretched across the table and

seized the gambler's hand, which he held upon the table, with the cards

he was going to deal. The gentleman, very much astonished, wished to

withdraw his hand, and was angry. Boisseuil, stronger than he, said that

he was a rogue, and that the company should see it, and immediately

shaking his hand with fury put in evidence his deceit. The player,

confounded, rose and went away. The game went on, and lasted long into

the night. When finished, Boisseuil went away. As he was leaving the

door he found a man stuck against the wall--it was the player--who called

him to account for the insult he had received. Boisseuil replied that he

should give him no satisfaction, and that he was a rogue.

"That may be," said the player, "but I don't like to be told so."

They went away directly and fought. Boisseuil received two wounds, from

one of which he was like to die. The other escaped without injury.

I have said, that after the affair of M. de Cambrai, Madame de Maintenon

had taken a rooted dislike to M. de Beauvilliers. She had become

reconciled to him in appearance during the time that Monseigneur de

Bourgogne was a victim to the calumnies of M. de Vendome, because she had

need of him. Now that Monseigneur de Bourgogne was brought back to

favour, and M. de Vendome was disgraced, her antipathy for M, de

Beauvilliers burst out anew, and she set her wits to work to get rid of

him from the Council of State, of which he was a member. The witch

wished to introduce her favourite Harcourt there in his place, and worked

so well to bring about this result that the King promised he should be

received.

His word given, or rather snatched from him, the King was embarrassed as

to how, to keep it, for he did not wish openly to proclaim Harcourt

minister. It was agreed, therefore, that at the next Council Harcourt

should be present, as though by accident, in the King's ante-chamber;

that, Spanish matters being brought up, the King should propose to

consult Harcourt, and immediately after should direct search to be made

far him, to see if, by chance, he was close at hand; that upon finding

him, he should be conducted to the Council, made to enter and seat

himself, and ever afterwards be regarded as a Minister of State.

This arrangement was kept extremely secret, according to the express

commands of the King: I knew it, however, just before it was to be

executed, and I saw at once that the day of Harcourt's entry into the

Council would be the day of M. de Beauvilliers' disgrace. I sent,

therefore, at once for M. de Beauvilliers, begging him to come to my

house immediately, and that I would then tell him why I could not come to

him. Without great precaution everything becomes known at Court.

In less than half an hour M. de Beauvilliers arrived, tolerably disturbed

at my message. I asked him if he knew anything, and I turned him about,

less to pump him than to make him ashamed of his ignorance, and to

persuade him the better afterwards to do what I wished. When I had well

trotted out his ignorance, I apprised him of what I had just learnt. He

was astounded; he so little expected it! I had not much trouble to

persuade him that, although his expulsion might not yet be determined on,

the intrusion of Harcourt must pave the way for it. He admitted to me

that for some days he had found, the King cold and embarrassed with him,

but that he had paid little attention to the circumstance, the reason of

which was now clear. There was no time to lose. In twenty-four hours

all would be over. I therefore took the liberty in the first instance of

scolding him for his profound ignorance of what passed at the Court, and

was bold enough to say to him that he had only to thank himself for the

situation he found himself in. He let me say to the end without growing

angry, then smiled, and said, "Well! what do you think I ought to do?"

That was just what I wanted. I replied that there was only one course

open to him, and that was to have an interview with the King early the

next morning; to say to him, that he had been informed Harcourt was about

to enter the Council; that he thought the affairs of State would suffer

rather than otherwise if Harcourt did so; and finally, to allude to the

change that had taken place in the King's manner towards him lately, and

to say, with all respect, affection, and submission, that he was equally

ready to continue serving the King or to give up his appointments, as his

Majesty might desire.

M. de Beauvilliers took pleasure in listening to me. He embraced me

closely, and promised to follow the course I had marked out.

The next morning I went straight to him, and learned that he had

perfectly succeeded. He had spoken exactly as I had suggested. The King

appeared astonished and piqued that the secret of Harcourt's entry into

the Council was discovered. He would not hear a word as to resignation

of office on the part of M. de Beauvilliers, and appeared more satisfied

with him than ever. Whether, without this interview, he would have been

lost, I know not, but by the coldness and embarrassment of the King

before that interview, and during the first part of it, I am nearly

persuaded that he would. M. de Beauvilliers embraced me again very

tenderly--more than once.

As for Harcourt, sure of his good fortune, and scarcely able to contain

his joy, he arrived at the meeting place. Time ran on. During the

Council there are only the most subaltern people in the antechambers and

a few courtiers who pass that way to go from one wing to another. Each

of these subalterns eagerly asked M. d'Harcourt what he wanted, if he

wished for anything, and importuned him strongly. He was obliged to

remain there, although he had no pretext. He went and came, limping with

his stick, not knowing what to reply to the passers-by, or the attendants

by whom he was remarked. At last, after waiting long, he returned as he

came, much disturbed at not having been called. He sent word so to

Madame de Maintenon, who, in her turn, was as much disturbed, the King

not having said a word to her, and she not having dared to say a word to

him. She consoled Harcourt, hoping that at the next Council he would be

called. At her wish he waited again, as before, during another Council,

but with as little success. He was very much annoyed, comprehending that

the affair had fallen through.

Madame de Maintenon did not, however, like to be defeated in this way.

After waiting some time she spoke to the King, reminding him what he had

promised to do. The King replied in confusion that he had thought better

of it; that Harcourt was on bad terms with all the Ministers, and might,

if admitted to the Council, cause them much embarrassment; he preferred,

therefore, things to remain as they were. This was said in a manner that

admitted of no reply.

Madame de Maintenon felt herself beaten; Harcourt was in despair. M. de

Beauvilliers was quite reestablished in the favour of the King. I

pretended to have known nothing of this affair, and innocent asked many

questions about it when all was over. I was happy to the last degree

that everything had turned out so well.

M. le Prince, who for more than two years had not appeared at the Court,

died at Paris a little after midnight on the night between Easter Sunday

and Monday, the last of March and first of April, and in his seventy-

sixth year. No man had ever more ability of all kinds, extending even to

the arts and mechanics more valour, and, when it pleased him, more

discernment, grace, politeness, and nobility. But then no man had ever

before so many useless talents, so much genius of no avail, or an

imagination so calculated to be a bugbear to itself and a plague to

others. Abjectly and vilely servile even to lackeys, he scrupled not to

use the lowest and paltriest means to gain his ends. Unnatural son,

cruel father, terrible husband, detestable master, pernicious neighbour;

without friendship, without friends--incapable of having any jealous,

suspicious, ever restless, full of slyness and artifices to discover and

to scrutinise all, (in which he was unceasingly occupied, aided by an

extreme vivacity and a surprising penetration,) choleric and headstrong

to excess even for trifles, difficult of access, never in accord with

himself, and keeping all around him in a tremble; to conclude,

impetuosity and avarice were his masters, which monopolised him always.

With all this he was a man difficult to be proof against when he put in

play the pleasing qualities he possessed.

Madame la Princesse, his wife, was his continual victim. She was

disgustingly ugly, virtuous, and foolish, a little humpbacked, and stunk

like a skunk, even from a distance. All these things did not hinder M.

le Prince from being jealous of her even to fury up to the very last.

The piety, the indefatigable attention of Madame la Princesse, her

sweetness, her novice-like submission, could not guarantee her from

frequent injuries, or from kicks, and blows with the fist, which were not

rare. She was not mistress even of the most trifling things; she did not

dare to propose or ask anything. He made her set out from one place to

another the moment the fancy took him. Often when seated in their coach

he made her descend, or return from the end of the street, then

recommence the journey after dinner, or the next day. This see-sawing

lasted once fifteen days running, before a trip to Fontainebleau. At

other times he sent for her from church, made her quit high mass, and

sometimes sent for her the moment she was going to receive the sacrament;

she was obliged to return at once and put off her communion to another

occasion. It was not that he wanted her, but it was merely to gratify

his whim that he thus troubled her.

He was always of, uncertain habits, and had four dinners ready for him

every day; one at Paris, one at Ecouen, one at Chantilly, and one where

the Court was. But the expense of this arrangement was not great; he

dined on soup, and the half of a fowl roasted upon a crust of bread; the

other half serving for the next day. He rarely invited anybody to

dinner, but when he did, no man could be more polite or attentive to his

guests.

Formerly he had been in love with several ladies of the Court; then,

nothing cost too much. He was grace, magnificence, gallantry in person--

a Jupiter transformed into a shower of gold. Now he disguised himself as

a lackey, another time as a female broker in articles for the toilette;

and now in another fashion. He was the most ingenious man in the world.

He once gave a grand fete solely for the purpose of retarding the journey

into Italy of a lady with whom he was enamoured, with whom he was on good

terms, and whose husband he amused by making verses. He hired all the

houses on one side of a street near Saint Sulpice, furnished them, and

pierced the connecting walls, in order to be able thus to reach the place

of rendezvous without being suspected.

Jealous and cruel to his mistresses, he had, amongst others, the Marquise

de Richelieu; whom I name, because she is not worth the trouble of being

silent upon. He was hopelessly smitten and spent millions upon her and

to learn her movements. He knew that the Comte de Roucy shared her

favours (it was for her that sagacious Count proposed to put straw before

the house in order to guarantee her against the sound of the church

bells, of which she complained). M. le Prince reproached her for

favouring the Count. She defended herself; but he watched her so

closely, that he brought home the offence to her without her being able

to deny it. The fear of losing a lover so rich as was M. le Prince

furnished her on the spot with an excellent suggestion for putting him at

ease. She proposed to make an appointment at her own house with the

Comte de Roucy, M. le Prince's people to lie in wait, and when the Count

appeared, to make away with him. Instead of the success she expected

from a proposition so humane and ingenious, M. le Prince was so horror-

struck, that he warned the Comte de Roucy, and never saw the Marquise de

Richelieu again all his life.

The most surprising thing was, that with so much ability, penetration,

activity, and valour, as had M. le Prince, with the desire to be as great

a warrior as the Great Conde, his father, he could never succeed in

understanding even the first elements of the military art. Instructed as

he was by his father, he never acquired the least aptitude in war. It

was a profession was not born for, and for which he could not qualify

himself by study. During the last fifteen or twenty years of his life,

he was accused of something more than fierceness and ferocity.

Wanderings were noticed in his conduct, which were not exhibited in his

own house alone. Entering one morning into the apartment of the

Marechale de Noailles (she herself has related this to me) as her bed was

being made, and there being only the counterpane to put on, he stopped

short at the door, crying with transport, "Oh, the nice bed, the nice

bed!" took a spring, leaped upon the bed, rolled himself upon it seven

or eight times, then descended and made his excuses to the Marechale,

saying that her bed was so clean and so well-made, that he could not

hinder himself from jumping upon it; and this, although there had never

been anything between them; and when the Marechale, who all her life had

been above suspicion, was at an age at which she could not give birth to

any. Her servants remained stupefied, and she as much as they. She got

out of the difficulty by laughing and treating it as a joke. It was

whispered that there were times when M. le Prince believed himself a dog,

or some other beast, whose manners he imitated; and I have known people

very worthy of faith who have assured me they have seen him at the going

to bed of the King suddenly throw his head into the air several times

running, and open his mouth quite wide, like a dog while barking, yet

without making a noise. It is certain, that for a long time nobody saw

him except a single valet, who had control over him, and who did not

annoy him.