M. de Mantua having surrendered his state to the King, thereby rendering

us a most important service in Italy, found himself ill at ease in his

territory, which had become the theatre of war, and had come incognito to

Paris. He had apartments provided for him in the Luxembourg, furnished

magnificently with the Crown furniture, and was very graciously received

by the King. The principal object of his journey was to marry some

French lady; and as he made no secret of this intention, more than one

plot was laid in order to provide him with a wife. M. de Vaudemont,

intent upon aggrandizing the house of Lorraine, wished. M de Mantua to

marry a member of that family, and fixed upon Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf for

his bride. The Lorraines did all in their power to induce M. de Mantua

to accept her. But M. le Prince had also his designs in this matter. He

had a daughter; whom he knew not how to get off his hands, and he thought

that in more ways than one it would be to his advantage to marry her to

the Duke of Mantua. He explained his views to the King, who gave him

permission to follow them out, and promised to serve him with all his

protection. But when the subject was broached to M. de Mantua, he

declined this match in such a respectful, yet firm, manner that M. le

Prince felt he must abandon all hope of carrying it out. The Lorraines

were not more successful in their designs. When M. de Vaudemont had

first spoken of Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf, M. de Mantua had appeared to

listen favourably. This was in Italy. Now that he was in Paris he acted

very differently. It was in vain that Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf was thrust

in his way, as though by chance, at the promenades, in the churches; her

beauty, which might have touched many others, made no impression upon

him. The fact was that M. de Mantua, even long before leaving his state,

had fixed upon a wife.

Supping one evening with the Duc de Lesdiguieres, a little before the

death of the latter, he saw a ring with a portrait in it; upon the Duke’s

finger. He begged to be allowed to look at the portrait, was charmed

with it, and said he should be very happy to have such a beautiful

mistress. The Duke at this burst out laughing, and said it was the

portrait of his wife. As soon as the Duc de Lesdiguieres was dead,

de Mantua thought only of marrying the young widowed Duchess. He sought

her everywhere when he arrived in Paris, but without being able to find

her; because she was in the first year of her widowhood. He therefore

unbosomed himself to Torcy, who reported the matter to the King. The

King approved of the design of M. de Mantua, and charged the Marechal de

Duras to speak to the Duchesse de Lesdiguieres, who was his daughter.

The Duchess was equally surprised and afflicted when she learned what was

in progress. She testified to her father her repugnance to abandon

herself to the caprices and the jealousy of an old Italian ‘debauche’ the

horror she felt at the idea of being left alone with him in Italy; and

the reasonable fear she had of her health, with a man whose own could not

be good.

I was promptly made acquainted with this affair; for Madame de

Lesdiguieres and Madame de Saint-Simon were on the most intimate terms.

I did everything in my power to persuade Madame de Lesdirguieres to

content to the match, insisting at once on her family position, on the

reason of state, and on the pleasure of ousting Madame d’Elboeuf,--but it

was all in vain. I never saw such firmness. Pontchartrain, who came and

reasoned with her, was even less successful than I, for he excited her by

threats and menaces. M. le Prince himself supported us--having no longer

any hope for himself, and fearing, above all things, M. de Mantua’s

marriage with a Lorraine--and did all he could to persuade Madame de

Lesdiguieres to give in. I renewed my efforts in the same direction, but

with no better success than before. Nevertheless, M. de Mantua,

irritated by not being able to see Madame de Lesdirguieres, resolved to

go and wait for her on a Sunday at the Minimes. He found her shut up in

a chapel, and drew near the door in order to see her as she went out. He

was not much gratified; her thick crape veil was lowered; it was with

difficulty he could get a glance at her. Resolved to succeed, he spoke

to Torcy, intimating that Madame de Lesdiguieres ought not to refuse such

a slight favour as to allow herself to be seen in a church. Torcy

communicated this to the King, who sent word to Madame de Lesdiguieres

that she must consent to the favour M. de Mantua demanded. She could not

refuse after this. M. de Mantua went accordingly, and waited for her in

the same place, where he had once already so badly seen her. He found

her, in the chapel, and drew near the door, as before. She came out, her

veil raised, passed lightly before him, made him a sliding courtesy as

she glided by, in reply to his bow, and reached her coach.

M. de Mantua was charmed; he redoubled his efforts with the King and M.

de Duras; the matter was discussed in full council, like an affair of

state--indeed it was one; and it was resolved to amuse M. de Mantua, and

yet at the same time to do everything to vanquish this resistance of

Madame de Lesdiguieres, except employing the full authority of the King,

which the King himself did not wish to exert. Everything was promised to

her on the part of the King: that it should be his Majesty who would make

the stipulations of the marriage contract; that it should be his Majesty

who would give her a dowry, and would guarantee her return to France if

she became a widow, and assure her his protection while she remained a

wife; in one word, everything was tried, and in the gentlest and most

honourable manner, to persuade her. Her mother lent us her house one

afternoon, in order that we might speak more at length and more at our

ease there to Madame de Lesdiguieres than we could at the Hotel de Duras.

We only gained a torrent of tears for our pains.

A few days after this, I was very much astonished to hear Chamillart

relate to me all that had passed at this interview. I learnt afterwards

that Madame de Lesdiguieres, fearing that if, entirely unsupported, she

persisted in her refusal, it might draw upon her the anger of the King,

had begged Chamillart to implore his Majesty not to insist upon this

marriage. M. de Mantua hearing this, turned his thoughts elsewhere; and

she was at last delivered of a pursuit which had become a painful

persecution to her. Chamillart served her so well that the affair came

to an end; and the King, flattered perhaps by the desire this young

Duchess showed to remain his subject instead of becoming a sovereign,

passed a eulogium upon her the same evening in his cabinet to his family

and to the Princesses, by whom it was spread abroad through society.

I may as well finish this matter at once. The Lorraines, who had watched

very closely the affair up to this point, took hope again directly they

heard of the resolution M. de Mantua had formed to abandon his pursuit of

Madame de Lesdiguieres. They, in their turn, were closely watched by

M. le Prince, who so excited the King against them, that Madame d’Elboeuf

received orders from him not to continue pressing her suit upon M. de

Mantua. That did not stop them. They felt that the King would not

interfere with them by an express prohibition, and sure, by past

experience, of being on better terms with him afterwards than before,

they pursued their object with obstinacy. By dint of much plotting and

scheming, and by the aid of their creatures, they contrived to overcome

the repugnance of M. de Mantua to Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf, which at bottom

could be only caprice--her beauty, her figure, and her birth taken into

account. But Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf, in her turn, was as opposed to

marriage with M. de Mantua as Madame de Lesdiguieres had been. She was,

however, brought round ere long, and then the consent of the King was the

only thing left to be obtained. The Lorraines made use of their usual

suppleness in order to gain that. They represented the impolicy of

interfering with the selection of a sovereign who was the ally of France,

and who wished to select a wife from among her subjects, and succeeded so

well, that the King determined to become neutral; that is to say, neither

to prohibit nor to sanction this match. M. le Prince was instrumental in

inducing the King to take this neutral position; and he furthermore

caused the stipulation to be made, that it should not be celebrated in

France, but at Mantua.

After parting with the King, M. de Mantua, on the 21st of September, went

to Nemours, slept there, and then set out for Italy. At the same time

Madame and Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf, with Madame de Pompadour, sister of

the former, passed through Fontainebleau without going to see a soul, and

followed their prey lest he should change his mind and escape them until

the road he was to take branched off from that they were to go by; he in

fact intending to travel by sea and they by land. On the way their fears

redoubled. Arrived at Nevers, and lodged in a hostelrie, they thought it

would not be well to commit themselves further without more certain

security: Madame de Pompadour therefore proposed to M. de Mantua not to

delay his happiness any longer, but to celebrate his marriage at once.

He defended himself as well as he could, but was at last obliged to give

in. During this indecent dispute, the Bishop was sent to. He had just

died, and the Grand Vicar, not knowing what might be the wishes of the

King upon this marriage, refused to celebrate it. The chaplain was

therefore appealed to, and he at once married Mademoiselle d’Elboeuf to

M. de Mantua in the hotel. As soon as the ceremony was over, Madame

d’Elboeuf wished to leave her daughter alone with M. de Mantua, and

although he strongly objected to this, everybody quitted the room,

leaving only the newly married couple there, and Madame de Pompadour

outside upon the step listening to what passed between them. But finding

after a while that both were very much embarrassed, and that M. de Mantua

did little but cry out for the company to return, she conferred with her

sister, and they agreed to give him his liberty. Immediately he had

obtained it, he mounted his horse, though it was not early, and did not

see them again until they reached Italy--though all went the same road as

far as Lyons. The news of this strange celebration of marriage was soon

spread abroad with all the ridicule which attached to it.

The King was very much annoyed when he learnt that his orders had been

thus disobeyed. The Lorraines plastered over the affair by representing

that they feared an affront from M. de Mantua, and indeed it did not seem

at all unlikely that M. de Mantua, forced as it were into compliance with

their wishes, might have liked nothing better than to reach Italy and

then laugh at them. Meanwhile, Madame d’Elboeuf and her daughter

embarked on board the royal galleys and started for Italy. On the way

they were fiercely chased by some African corsairs, and it is a great

pity they were not taken to finish the romance.

However, upon arriving in Italy, the marriage was again celebrated, this

time with all the forms necessary for the occasion. But Madame d’Elboeuf

had no cause to rejoice that she had succeeded in thus disposing of her

daughter. The new Duchesse de Mantua was guarded by her husband with the

utmost jealousy. She was not allowed to see anybody except her mother,

and that only for an hour each day. Her women entered her apartment only

to dress and undress her. The Duke walled up very high all the windows

of his house, and caused his wife to, be guarded by old women. She

passed her days thus in a cruel prison. This treatment, which I did not

expect, and the little consideration, not to say contempt, shown here for

M. de Mantua since his departure, consoled me much for the invincible

obstinacy of Madame de Lesdiguieres. Six months after, Madame d’Elboeuf

returned, beside herself with vexation, but too vain to show it. She

disguised the misfortune of her daughter, and appeared to be offended if

it was spoken of; but all our letters from the army showed that the news

was true. The strangest thing of all is, that the Lorraines after this

journey were as well treated by the King as if they had never undertaken

it; a fact which shows their art and ascendency.

I have dwelt too long perhaps upon this matter. It appeared to me to

merit attention by its singularity, and still more so because it is by

facts of this sort that is shown what was the composition of the Court of

the King.

About this time the Comtesse d’Auvergne finished a short life by an

illness very strange and uncommon. When she married the Comte d’Auvergne

she was a Huguenot, and he much wanted to make her turn Catholic.

A famous advocate of that time, who was named Chardon, had been a

Huguenot, and his wife also; they had made a semblance, however, of

abjuring, but made no open profession of Catholicism. Chardon was

sustained by his great reputation, and by the number of protectors he had

made for himself.

One morning he and his wife were in their coach before the Hotel-Dieu,

waiting for a reply that their lackey was a very long time in bringing

them. Madame Chardon glanced by chance upon the grand portal of Notre

Dame, and little by little fell into a profound reverie, which might be

better called reflection. Her husband, who at last perceived this, asked

her what had sent her into such deep thought, and pushed her elbow even

to draw a reply from her. She told him then what she was thinking about.

Pointing to Notre Dame, she said that it was many centuries before Luther

and Calvin that those images of saints had been sculptured over that

portal; that this proved that saints had long since been invoked; the

opposition of the reformers to this ancient opinion was a novelty; that

this novelty rendered suspicious other dogmas against the antiquity of

Catholicism that they taught; that these reflections, which she had never

before made, gave her much disquietude, and made her form the resolution

to seek to enlighten herself.

Chardon thought his wife right, and from that day they laid themselves

out to seek the truth, then to consult, then to be instructed. This

lasted a year, and then they made a new abjuration, and both ever

afterwards passed their lives in zeal and good works. Madame Chardon

converted many Huguenots. The Comte d’Auvergne took his wife to her.

The Countess was converted by her, and became a very good Catholic. When

she died she was extremely regretted by all the relatives of her husband,

although at first they had looked upon her coldly.

In the month of this September, a strange attempt at assassination

occurred. Vervins had been forced into many suits against his relatives,

and was upon the point of gaining them all, when one of his cousins-

german, who called himself the Abbe de Pre, caused him to be attacked as

he passed in his coach along the Quai de la Tournelle, before the

community of Madame de Miramion. Vervins was wounded with several sword

cuts, and also his coachman, who wished to defend him. In consequence of

the complaint Vervins made, the Abbe escaped abroad, whence he never

returned, and soon after, his crime being proved, was condemned to be

broken alive on the wheel. Vervins had long been menaced with an attack

by the Abbe. Vervins was an agreeable, well-made man, but very idle.

He had entered the army; but quitted it soon, and retired to his estates

in Picardy. There he shut himself up without any cause of disgust or of

displeasure, without being in any embarrassment, for on the contrary he

was well to do, and all his affairs were in good order, and he never

married; without motives of piety, for piety was not at all in his vein;

without being in bad health, for his health was always perfect; without a

taste for improvement, for no workmen were ever seen in his house; still

less on account of the chase, for he never went to it. Yet he stayed in

his house for several years, without intercourse with a soul, and, what

is most incomprehensible, without budging from his bed, except to allow

it to be made. He dined there, and often all alone; he transacted what

little business he had to do there, and received while there the few

people he could not refuse admission to; and each day, from the moment he

opened his eyes until he closed them again, worked at tapestry, or read a

little; he persevered until his death in this strange fashion of

existence; so uniquely singular, that I have wished to describe it.

CHAPTER XXXI

There presents itself to my memory an anecdote which it would be very

prudent perhaps to be silent upon, and which is very curious for anybody

who has seen things so closely as I have, to describe. What determines

me to relate it is that the fact is not altogether unknown, and that

every Court swarms with similar adventures. Must it be said then? We

had amongst us a charming young Princess who, by her graces, her

attentions, and her original manners, had taken possession of the hearts

of the King, of Madame de Maintenon, and of her husband, Monseigneur le

Duc de Bourgogne. The extreme discontent so justly felt against her

father, M. de Savoie, had not made the slightest alteration in their

tenderness for her. The King, who hid nothing from her, who worked with

his ministers in her presence whenever she liked to enter, took care not

to say a word in her hearing against her father. In private, she clasped

the King round the neck at all hours, jumped upon his knees, tormented

him with all sorts of sportiveness, rummaged among his papers, opened his

letters end read them in his presence, sometimes in spite of him; and

acted in the same manner with Madame de Maintenon. Despite this extreme

liberty, she never spoke against any one: gracious to all, she

endeavoured to ward off blows from all whenever she could; was attentive

to the private comforts of the King, even the humblest: kind to all who

served her, and living with her ladies, as with friends, in complete

liberty, old and young; she was the darling of the Court, adored by all;

everybody, great and small, was anxious to please her; everybody missed

her when she was away; when she reappeared the void was filled up; in a

word, she had attached all hearts to her; but while in this brilliant

situation she lost her own.

Nangis, now a very commonplace Marshal of France, was at that time in

full bloom. He had an agreeable but not an uncommon face; was well made,

without anything marvellous; and had been educated in intrigue by the

Marechale de Rochefort, his grandmother, and Madame de Blansac, his

mother, who were skilled mistresses of that art. Early introduced by

them into the great world of which they were, so to speak, the centre,

he had no talent but that of pleasing women, of speaking their language,

and of monopolising the most desirable by a discretion beyond his years,

and which did not belong to his time. Nobody was more in vogue than he.

He had had the command of a regiment when he was quite a child. He had

shown firmness, application, and brilliant valour in war, that the ladies

had made the most of, and they sufficed at his age; he was of the Court

of Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne, about the same age, and well treated

by him.

The Duc de Bourgogne, passionately in love with his wife, was not so well

made as Nangis; but the Princess reciprocated his ardor so perfectly that

up to his death he never suspected that her glances had wandered to any

one else. They fell, however, upon Nangis, and soon redoubled. Nangis

was not ungrateful, but he feared the thunderbolt; and his heart, too,

was already engaged. Madame de la Vrilliere, who, without beauty, was

pretty and grateful as Love, had made this conquest. She was, as I have

said, daughter of Madame de Mailly, Dame d’Atours of Madame la Duchesse

de Bourgogne; and was always near her. Jealousy soon enlightened her as

to what was taking place. Far from yielding her conquest to the Duchess;

she made a point of preserving it, of disputing its possession, and

carrying it off. This struggle threw Nangis into a terrible

embarrassment. He feared the fury of Madame de la Vrilliere, who

affected to be more ready to break out than in reality she was. Besides

his love for her, he feared the result of an outburst, and already saw

his fortune lost. On the other hand, any reserve of his towards the

Duchess, who had so much power in her hands--and seemed destined to

have more--and who he knew was not likely to suffer a rival

--might, he felt, be his ruin. This perplexity, for those who were aware

of it, gave rise to continual scenes. I was then a constant visitor of

Madame de Blansac, at Paris, and of the Marechale de Rochefort, at

Versailles; and, through them and several other ladies of the Court, with

whom I was intimate, I learnt, day by day, everything that passed. In

addition to the fact that nothing diverted me more, the results of this

affair might be great; and it was my especial ambition to be well

informed of everything. At length, all members of the Court who were

assiduous and enlightened understood the state of affairs; but either

through fear or from love to the Duchess, the whole Court was silent, saw

everything, whispered discreetly, and actually kept the secret that was

not entrusted to it. The struggle between the two ladies, not without

bitterness, and sometimes insolence on the part of Madame de la

Vrilliere, nor without suffering and displeasure gently manifested on the

part of Madame de Bourgogne, was for a long time a singular sight.

Whether Nangis, too faithful to his first love, needed some grains of

jealousy to excite him, or whether things fell out naturally, it happened

that he found a rival. Maulevrier, son of a brother of Colbert who had

died of grief at not being named Marshal of France, was this rival. He

had married a daughter of the Marechal de Tesse, and was not very

agreeable in appearance--his face, indeed, was very commonplace. He was

by no means framed for gallantry; but he had wit, and a mind fertile in

intrigues, with a measureless ambition that was sometimes pushed to

madness. His wife was pretty, not clever, quarrelsome, and under a

virginal appearance; mischievous to the last degree. As daughter of a

man for whom Madame de Bourgogne had much gratitude for the part he had

taken in negotiating her marriage, and the Peace of Savoy, she was easily

enabled to make her way at Court, and her husband with her. He soon

sniffed what was passing in respect to Nangis, and obtained means of

access to Madame de Bourgogne, through the influence of his father-in-

law; was assiduous in his attentions; and at length, excited by example,

dared to sigh. Tired of not being understood, he ventured to write. It

is pretended that he sent his letters through one of the Court ladies,

who thought they came from Tesse, delivered them, and handed him back the

answers, as though for delivery by him. I will not add what more was

believed. I will simply say that this affair was as soon perceived as

had been the other, and was treated, with the same silence.

Under pretext of friendship, Madame de Bourgogne went more than once--on

account of the speedy departure of her husband (for the army), attended

some, times by La Maintenon,--to the house of Madame de Maulevrier, to

weep with her. The Court smiled. Whether the tears were for Madame de

Maulevrier or for Nangis, was doubtful. But Nangis, nevertheless,

aroused by this rivalry, threw Madame de la Vrilliere into terrible

grief, and into a humour over which she was not mistress.

This tocsin made itself heard by Maulevrier. What will not a man think

of doing when possessed to excess by love or ambition? He pretended to

have something the matter with his chest, put himself on a milk diet,

made believe that he had lost his voice, and was sufficiently master of

himself to refrain from uttering an intelligible word during a whole

year; by these means evading the campaign and remaining at the Court.

He was mad enough to relate this project, and many others, to his friend

the Duc de Lorges, from whom, in turn, I learnt it. The fact was, that

bringing himself thus to the necessity of never speaking to anybody

except in their ear, he had the liberty of speaking low to--Madame la

Duchesse de Bourgogne before all the Court without impropriety and

without suspicion. In this manner he said to her whatever he wished day

by day, and was never overheard. He also contrived to say things the

short answers to which were equally unheard. He so accustomed people to

this manner of speaking that they took no more notice of it than was

expressed in pity for such a sad state; but it happened that those who

approached the nearest to Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne when Maulevrier

was at her side, soon knew enough not to be eager to draw near her again

when she was thus situated. This trick lasted more than a year: his

conversation was principally composed of reproaches--but reproaches

rarely succeed in love. Maulevrier, judging by the ill-humour of Madame

de la Vrilliere, believed Nangis to be happy. Jealousy and rage

transported him at last to the extremity of folly.

One day, as Madame de Bourgogne was coming from mass and he knew that

Dangeau, her chevalier d’honneur, was absent, he gave her his hand. The

attendants had accustomed themselves to let him have this honour, on

account of his distinguished voice, so as to allow him to speak by the

way, and retired respectfully so as not to hear what he said. The ladies

always followed far behind, so that, in the midst of all the Court, he

had, from the chapel to the apartments of Madame de Bourgogne, the full

advantages of a private interview--advantages that he had availed himself

of several times. On this day he railed against Nangis to Madame de

Bourgogne, called him by all sorts of names, threatened to tell

everything to the King and to Madame de Maintenon, and to the Duc de

Bourgogne, squeezed her fingers as if he would break them, and led her in

this manner, like a madman as he was, to her apartments. Upon entering

them she was ready to swoon. Trembling all over she entered her

wardrobe, called one of her favourite ladies, Madame de Nogaret, to her,

related what had occurred, saying she knew not how she had reached her

rooms, or how it was she had not sunk beneath the floor, or died. She

had never been so dismayed. The same day Madame de Nogaret related this

to Madame de Saint-Simon and to me, in the strictest confidence. She

counselled the Duchess to behave gently with such a dangerous madman, and

to avoid committing herself in any way with him. The worst was, that

after this he threatened and said many things against Nangis, as a man

with whom he was deeply offended, and whom he meant to call to account.

Although he gave no reason for this, the reason was only too evident.

The fear of Madame de Bourgogne at this may be imagined, and also that of

Nangis. He was brave and cared for nobody; but to be mixed up in such an

affair as this made him quake with fright. He beheld his fortune and his

happiness in the hands of a furious madman. He shunned Maulevrier from

that time as much as possible, showed himself but little, and held his

peace.

For six weeks Madame de Bourgogne lived in the most measured manner, and

in mortal tremors of fear, without, however, anything happening. I know

not who warned Tesse of what was going on. But when he learnt it he

acted like a man of ability. He persuaded his son-in-law, Maulevrier, to

follow him to Spain, as to a place where his fortune was assured to him.

He spoke to Fagon, who saw all and knew all. He understood matters in a

moment, and at once said, that as so many remedies had been tried

ineffectually for Maulevrier, he must go to a warmer climate, as a winter

in France would inevitably kill him. It was then as a remedy, and as

people go to the waters, that he went to Spain. The King and all the

Court believed this, and neither the King nor Madame de Maintenon offered

any objections. As soon as Tesse knew this he hurried his son-in-law out

of the realm, and so put a stop to his follies and the mortal fear they

had caused. To finish this adventure at once, although it will lead me

far beyond the date of other matters to be spoken of after, let me say

what became of Maulevrier after this point of the narrative.

He went first to Spain with Tesse. On the way they had an interview with

Madame des Ursins, and succeeded in gaining her favour so completely,

that, upon arriving at Madrid, the King and Queen of Spain, informed of

this, welcomed them with much cordiality. Maulevrier soon became a great

favourite with the Queen of Spain. It has been said, that he wished to

please her, and that he succeeded. At all events he often had long

interviews with her in private, and these made people think and talk.

Maulevrier began to believe it time to reap after having so well sown.

He counted upon nothing less than being made grandee of Spain, and would

have obtained this favour but for his indiscretion. News of what was in

store for him was noised abroad. The Duc de Grammont, then our

ambassador at Madrid, wrote word to the King of the rumours that were in

circulation of Maulevrier’s audacious conduct towards the Queen of Spain,

and of the reward it was to meet with. The King at once sent a very

strong letter to the King of Spain about Maulevrier, who, by the same

courier, was prohibited from accepting any favour that might be offered

him. He was ordered at the same time to join Tesse at Gibraltar. He had

already done so at the instance of Tesse himself; so the courier went

from Madrid to Gibraltar to find him. His rage and vexation upon seeing

himself deprived of the recompense he had considered certain were very

great. But they yielded in time to the hopes he formed of success, and

he determined to set off for Madrid and thence to Versailles. His

father-in-law tried to retain him at the siege, but in vain. His

representations and his authority were alike useless. Maulevrier hoped

to gain over the King and Queen of Spain so completely, that our King

would be forced, as it were, to range himself on their side; but the Duc

de Grammont at once wrote word that Maulevrier had left the siege of

Gibraltar and returned to Madrid. This disobedience was at once

chastised. A courier was immediately despatched to Maulevrier,

commanding him to set out for France. He took leave of the King and

Queen of Spain like a man without hope, and left Spain. The most

remarkable thing is, that upon arriving at Paris, and finding the Court

at Marly, and his wife there also, he asked permission to go too, the

husbands being allowed by right to accompany their wives there, and the

King, to avoid a disturbance, did not refuse him.

At first everything seemed to smile upon Maulervrier. He had, as I have

said, made friends with Madame des Ursins when he was on the road to

Spain. He had done so chiefly by vaunting his intimacy with Madame de

Bourgogne, and by showing to Madame des Ursins that he was in many of the

secrets of the Court. Accordingly, upon his return, she took him by the

hand and showed a disposition towards him which could not fail to

reinstate him in favour. She spoke well of him to Madame de Maintenon,

who, always much smitten with new friends, received him well, and often

had conversations with him which lasted more than three hours. Madame de

Maintenon mentioned him to the King, and Maulevrier, who had returned out

of all hope, now saw himself in a more favourable position than ever.

But the old cause of trouble still existed, and with fresh complications.

Nangis was still in favour, and his appearance made Maulevrier miserable.

There was a new rival too in the field, the Abbe de Polignac.

Pleasing, nay most fascinating in manner, the Abbe was a man to gain all

hearts. He stopped at no flattery to succeed in this. One day when

following the King through the gardens of Marly, it came on to rain.

The King considerately noticed the Abbe’s dress, little calculated to

keep off rain. “It is no matter, Sire,” said De Polignac, “the rain of

Marly does not wet.” People laughed much at this, and these words were a

standing reproach to the soft-spoken Abbe.

One of the means by which the Abbe gained the favour of the King was by

being the lover of Madame du Maine. His success at length was great in

every direction. He even envied the situations of Nangis and Maulevrier;

and sought to participate in the same happiness. He took the same road.

Madame d’O and the Marechale de Coeuvres became his friends.

He sought to be heard, and was heard. At last he faced the danger of the

Swiss, and on fine nights was seen with the Duchess in the gardens.

Nangis diminished in favour. Maulevrier on his return increased in fury.

The Abbe met with the same fate as they: everything was perceived: people

talked about the matter in whispers, but silence was kept. This triumph,

in spite of his age, did not satisfy the Abbe: he aimed at something more

solid. He wished to arrive at the cardinalship, and to further his views

he thought it advisable to ingratiate himself into the favour of Monsieur

de Bourgogne. He sought introduction to them through friends of mine,

whom I warned against him as a man without scruple, and intent only upon

advancing himself. My warnings were in vain. My friends would not heed

me, and the Abbe de Polignac succeeded in gaining the confidence of

Monsieur de Bourgogne, as well as the favour of Madame de Bourgogne.

Maulevrier had thus two sources of annoyance--the Abbe de Polignac and

Nangis. Of the latter he showed himself so jealous, that Madame de

Maulevrier, out of pique, made advances to him. Nangis, to screen

himself the better, replied to her. Maulevrier perceived this. He knew

his wife to be sufficiently wicked to make him fear her. So many

troubles of heart and brain transported him. He lost his head.

One day the Marechale de Coeuvres came to see him, apparently on some

message of reconciliation. He shut the door upon her; barricaded her

within, and through the door quarrelled with her, even to abuse, for an

hour, during which she had the patience to remain there without being

able to see him. After this he went rarely to Court, but generally kept

himself shut up at home.

Sometimes he would go out all alone at the strangest hours, take a fiacre

and drive away to the back of the Chartreux or to other remote spots.

Alighting there, he would whistle, and a grey-headed old man would

advance and give him a packet, or one would be thrown to him from a

window, or he would pick up a box filled with despatches, hidden behind a

post. I heard of these mysterious doings from people to whom he was vain

and indiscreet enough to boast of them. He continually wrote letters to

Madame de Bourgogne, and to Madame de Maintenon, but more frequently to

the former. Madame Cantin was their agent; and I know people who have

seen letters of hers in which she assured Maulevrier, in the strongest

terms, that he might ever reckon on the Duchess.

He made a last journey to Versailles, where he saw his mistress in

private, and quarrelled with her cruelly. After dining with Torcy he

returned to Paris. There, torn by a thousand storms of love, of

jealousy, of ambition, his head was so troubled that doctors were obliged

to be called in, and he was forbidden to see any but the most

indispensable persons, and those at the hours when he was least ill.

A hundred visions passed through his brain. Now like a madman he would

speak only of Spain, of Madame de Bourgogne, of Nangis, whom he wished to

kill or to have assassinated; now full of remorse towards M. de

Bourgogne, he made reflections so curious to hear, that no one dared to

remain with him, and he was left alone. At other times, recalling his

early days, he had nothing but ideas of retreat and penitence. Then a

confession was necessary in order to banish his despair as to the mercy

of God. Often he thought himself very ill and upon the point of death.

The world, however, and even his nearest friends persuaded themselves

that he was only playing a part; and hoping to put an end to it, they

declared to him that he passed for mad in society, and that it behoved

him to rise out of such a strange state and show himself. This was the

last blow and it overwhelmed him. Furious at finding that this opinion

was ruining all the designs of his ambition, he delivered himself up to

despair. Although watched with extreme care by his wife, by particular

friends, and by his servants, he took his measures so well, that on the

Good Friday of the year 1706, at about eight o’clock in the morning, he

slipped away from them all, entered a passage behind his room, opened the

window, threw himself into the court below, and dashed out his brains

upon the pavement. Such was the end of an ambitious man, who, by his

wild and dangerous passions, lost his wits, and then his life, a tragic

victim of himself.

Madame de Bourgogne learnt the news at night. In public she showed no

emotion, but in private some tears escaped her. They might have been of

pity, but were not so charitably interpreted. Soon after, it was noticed

that Madame de Maintenon seemed embarrassed and harsh towards Madame de

Bourgogne. It was no longer doubted that Madame de Maintenon had heard

the whole story. She often had long interviews with Madame de Bourgogne,

who always left them in tears. Her sadness grew so much, and her eyes

were so often red, that Monsieur de Bourgogne at last became alarmed.

But he had no suspicion of the truth, and was easily satisfied with the

explanation he received. Madame de Bourgogne felt the necessity,

however, of appearing gayer, and showed herself so. As for the Abbe de

Polignac, it was felt that that dangerous person was best away. He

received therefore a post which called him away, as it were, into exile;

and though he delayed his departure as long as possible, was at length

obliged to go. Madame de Bourgogne took leave of him in a manner that

showed how much she was affected. Some rather insolent verses were

written upon this event; and were found written on a balustrade by

Madame, who was not discreet enough or good enough to forget them. But

they made little noise; everybody loved Madame de Bourgogne, and hid

these verses as much as possible.

CHAPTER XXXII

At the beginning of October, news reached the Court, which was at

Fontainebleau, that M. de Duras was at the point of death. Upon hearing

this, Madame de Saint-Simon and Madame de Lauzun, who were both related

to M. Duras, wished to absent themselves from the Court performances that

were to take place in the palace that evening. They expressed this wish

to Madame de Bourgogne, who approved of it, but said she was afraid the

King would not do the same. He had been very angry lately because the

ladies had neglected to go full dressed to the Court performances. A few

words he had spoken made everybody take good care not to rouse his anger

on this point again. He expected so much accordingly from everybody who

attended the Court, that Madame de Bourgogne was afraid he would not

consent to dispense with the attendance of Madame de Saint-Simon and

Madame de Lauzun on this occasion. They compromised the matter,

therefore, by dressing themselves, going to the room where the

performance was held, and, under pretext of not finding places, going

away; Madame de Bourgogne agreeing to explain their absence in this way

to the King. I notice this very insignificant bagatelle to show how the

King thought only of himself, and how much he wished to be obeyed; and

that that which would not have been pardoned to the nieces of a dying

man, except at the Court, was a duty there, and one which it needed great

address to escape from, without seriously infringing the etiquette

established.

After the return of the Court from Fontainebleau this year, Puysieux came

back from Switzerland, having been sent there as ambassador. Puysieux

was a little fat man, very agreeable, pleasant, and witty, one of the

best fellows in the world, in fact. As he had much wit, and thoroughly

knew the King, he bethought himself of making the best of his position;

and as his Majesty testified much friendship for him on his return, and

declared himself satisfied with his mission in Switzerland, Puysieux

asked if what he heard was not mere compliment, and whether he could

count upon it. As the King assured him that he might do so, Puysieux

assumed a brisk air, and said that he was not so sure of that, and that

he was not pleased with his Majesty.

“And why not?” said the King.

“Why not?” replied Puysieux; “why, because although the most honest man

in your realm, you have not kept to a promise you made me more than fifty

years ago.”

“What promise?” asked the King.

“What promise, Sire?” said Puysieux; “you have a good memory, you cannot

have forgotten it. Does not your Majesty remember that one day, having

the honour to play at blindman’s buff with you at my grandmother’s, you

put your cordon bleu on my back, the better to hide yourself; and that

when, after the game, I restored it to you, you promised to give it me

when you became master; you have long been so, thoroughly master, and

nevertheless that cordon bleu is still to come.”

The King, who recollected the circumstance, here burst out laughing, and

told Puysieux he was in the right, and that a chapter should be held on

the first day of the new year expressly for the purpose of receiving him

into the order. And so in fact it was, and Puysieux received the cordon

bleu on the day the King had named. This fact is not important, but it

is amusing. It is altogether singular in connection with a prince as

serious and as imposing as Louis XIV.; and it is one of those little

Court anecdotes which are curious.

Here is another more important fact, the consequences of which are still

felt by the State. Pontchartrain, Secretary of State for the Navy, was

the plague of it, as of all those who were under his cruel dependence.

He was a man who, with some-amount of ability, was disagreeable and

pedantic to an excess; who loved evil for its own sake; who was jealous

even of his father; who was a cruel tyrant towards his wife, a woman all

docility and goodness; who was in one word a monster, whom the King kept

in office only because he feared him. An admiral was the abhorrence of

Pontchartrain, and an admiral who was an illegitimate son of the King,

he loathed. There was nothing, therefore, that he had not done during

the war to thwart the Comte de Toulouse; he laid some obstacles

everywhere in his path; he had tried to keep him out of the command of

the fleet, and failing this, had done everything to render the fleet

useless.

These were bold strokes against a person the King so much loved, but

Pontchartrain knew the weak side of the King; he knew how to balance the

father against the master, to bring forward the admiral and set aside the

son. In this manner the Secretary of State was able to put obstacles in

the way of the Comte de Toulouse that threw him almost into despair, and

the Count could do little to defend himself. It was a well-known fact at

sea and in the ports where the ships touched, and it angered all the

fleet. Pontchartrain accordingly was abhorred there, while the Comte de

Toulouse, by his amiability and other good qualities, was adored.

At last, the annoyance he caused became so unendurable, that the Comte de

Toulouse, at the end of his cruise in the Mediterranean, returned to

Court and determined to expose the doings of Pontchartrain to the King.

The very day he had made up his mind to do this, and just before he

intended to have his interview with the King, Madame Pontchartrain,

casting aside her natural timidity and modesty, came to him, and with

tears in her eyes begged him not to bring about the ruin of her husband.

The Comte de Toulouse was softened. He admitted afterwards that he could

not resist the sweetness and sorrow of Madame de Pontchartrain, and that

all his resolutions, his weapons, fell from his hands at the thought of

the sorrow which the poor woman would undergo, after the fall of her

brutal husband, left entirely in the hands of such a furious Cyclops.

In this manner Pontchartrain was saved, but it cost dear to the State.

The fear he was in of succumbing under the glory or under the vengeance

of an admiral who was son of the King determined him to ruin the fleet

itself, so as to render it incapable of receiving the admiral again.

He determined to do this, and kept to his word, as was afterwards only

too clearly verified by the facts. The Comte de Toulouse saw no more

either ports or vessels, and from that time only very feeble squadrons

went out, and even those very seldom. Pontchartrain, had the impudence

to boast of this before my face.

When I last spoke of Madame des Ursins, I described her as living in the

midst of the Court, flattered and caressed by all, and on the highest

terms of favour with the King and Madame de Maintenon. She found her

position, indeed, so far above her hopes, that she began to waver in her

intention of returning to Spain. The age and the health of Madame de

Maintenon tempted her. She would have preferred to govern here rather

than in Spain. Flattered by the attentions paid her, she thought those

attentions, or, I may say, rather those servile adorations, would

continue for ever, and that in time she might arrive at the highest point

of power. The Archbishop of Aix and her brother divined her thoughts,

for she did not dare to avow them, and showed her in the clearest way

that those thoughts were calculated to lead her astray. They explained

to her that the only interest Madame de Maintenon had in favouring her

was on account of Spain. Madame des Ursins--once back in that country,

Madame de Maintenon looked forward to a recommencement of those relations

which had formerly existed between them, by which the government of Spain

in appearance, if not in reality, passed through her hands. They

therefore advised Madame des Ursins on no account to think of remaining

in France, at the same time suggesting that it would not be amiss to stop

there long enough to cause some inquietude to Madame de Maintenon, so as

to gain as much advantage as possible from it.

The solidity of these reasons persuaded Madame des Ursins to follow the

advice given her. She resolved to depart, but not until after a delay by

which she meant to profit to the utmost. We shall soon see what success

attended her schemes. The terms upon which I stood with her enabled me

to have knowledge of all the sentiments that had passed through her mind:

her extreme desire, upon arriving in Paris, to return to Spain; the

intoxication which seized her in consequence of the treatment she

received, and which made her balance this desire; and her final

resolution. It was not until afterwards, however, that I learnt all the

details I have just related.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all that eloquence and persuasiveness for which Madame des Ursins was

remarkable. The effect of it exceeded her hopes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tact. What a change in a few months!

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

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

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

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

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

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

went into winter quarters at the end of October.

I cannot quit Flanders without relating another instance of the pleasant

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

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

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

entrusted with military command. Finding these hopes frustrated, he

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

arrive, “I will tell you, Monseigneur,” said he, “since you absolutely

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

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

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

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

hindrances which I particularly remarked.”

“But what hindrance could there be,” said Monseigneur, “since there was

nothing between the two armies?”

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

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

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

from his pocket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

snuffbox!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

la-Chapelle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yet most dangerous fellow in the world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VOLUME 5.

CHAPTER XXXIII

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

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

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

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

which he was capable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

necessary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

arrested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

blood of the innocent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pleased her very much, during an entire campaign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

otherwise; her conversation was charming; she was disinterested,

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

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

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

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

were confided to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

service she required efficaciously and with promptness.

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

other two or three times, and then in secret.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

observations upon her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in consequence, excellently well adapted for watching those who passed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out.” He had scarcely the strength to obey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from him.

Let me speak now of something of more moment.

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

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

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

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

thousand militia were raised, thus causing great ruin and great

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that many people mutilated themselves in order to exempt themselves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

neighbouring countries were in revolt; Italy yielding us nothing but

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to be dreaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXXIV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yet done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Monseigneur,” and “Your Highness.” In time the gangrene spread, and

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

to address him in any other manner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

strangely in Vendome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

world, and the most delicate in her cleanliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and flattery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

whoever was elevated by rank or birth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

did not prevent his advancement. Vendome liked such an unscrupulous

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

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

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

direction their laudation was to be sent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

said, for Italy.

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

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

once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ignorance prevailed amongst all grades of officers. None knew scarcely

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

abundant opportunities to note its incapacity to overcome the enemies

with whom we had to contend.

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

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

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

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

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

these reiterated orders, which he considered as reflections upon his

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the latter from doing anything until this reinforcement reached him.

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

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

did so, with what result will be seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

strict orders not to budge from its position.

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

--418]

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

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

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

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

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

being very closely followed by the enemy.

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

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

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

and important results.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chamillart to Flanders to ascertain the real state of affairs.

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

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

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

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

gained all the information he sought, Chamillart returned to Versailles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

were as much astonished as we.

However tranquilly the King sustained in appearance this misfortune, he

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXXV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no help for it but to raise the siege.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

comparison.

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

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

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

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

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

where he was received with much rejoicing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

inheritance. To recover from the disgrace this occurrence brought upon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

late; the decyphering table having been forgotten at Versailles!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the passage of the Dora.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

misfortunes that might happen in consequence of his advice being

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of Turin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

neither see nor hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feuillade.

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

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

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

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

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

execution, possessed by I know not what demon.

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

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

Prince Eugene poured his troops into those places which the smallness of

our forces had compelled us to leave open. Marsin, towards the middle of

the battle, received a wound which incapacitated him from further

service, end was taken prisoner immediately after. Le Feuillade ran

about like a madman, tearing his hair, and incapable of giving any order.

The Duc d’Orleans preserved his coolness, and did wonders to save the

day. Finding our men beginning to waver, he called the officers by their

names, aroused the soldiers by his voice, and himself led the squadrons

and battalions to the charge. Vanquished at last by pain, and weakened

by the blood he had lost, he was constrained to retire a little, to have

his wounds dressed. He scarcely gave himself time for this, however, but

returned at once where the fire was hottest. Three times the enemy had

been repulsed and their guns spiked by one of our officers, Le Guerchois,

with his brigade of the old marine, when, enfeebled by the losses he had

sustained, he called upon a neighbouring brigade to advance with him to

oppose a number of fresh battalions the enemy had sent against him. This

brigade and its brigadier refused bluntly to aid him. It was positively

known afterwards, that had Le Guerchois sustained this fourth charge,

Prince Eugene would have retreated.

This was the last moment of the little order that there had been at this

battle. All that followed was only trouble, confusion, disorder, flight,

discomfiture. The most terrible thing is, that the general officers,

with but few exceptions, more intent upon their equipage and upon what

they had saved by pillage, added to the confusion instead of diminishing

it, and were worse than useless.

M. d’Orleans, convinced at last that it was impossible to re-establish

the day, thought only how to retire as advantageously as possible. He

withdrew his light artillery, his ammunition, everything that was at the

siege, even at the most advanced of its works, and attended to everything

with a presence of mind that allowed nothing to escape him. Then,

gathering round him all the officers he could collect, he explained to

them that nothing but retreat was open to them, and that the road to

Italy was that which they ought to pursue. By this means they would

leave the victorious army of the enemy in a country entirely ruined and

desolate, and hinder it from returning into Italy, where the army of the

King, on the contrary, would have abundance, and where it would cut off

all succour from the others.

This proposition dismayed to the last degree our officers, who hoped at

least to reap the fruit of this disaster by returning to France with the

money with which they were gorged. La Feuillade opposed it with so much

impatience, that the Prince, exasperated by an effrontery so sustained,

told him to hold his peace and let others speak. Others did speak, but

only one was for following the counsel of M. d’Orleans. Feeling himself

now, however, the master, he stopped all further discussion, and gave

orders that the retreat to Italy should commence. This was all he could

do. His body and his brain were equally exhausted. After having waited

some little time, he was compelled to throw himself into a post-chaise,

and in that to continue the journey.

The officers obeyed his orders most unwillingly. They murmured amongst

each other so loudly that the Duc d’Orleans, justly irritated by so much

opposition to his will, made them hold their peace. The retreat

continued. But it was decreed that the spirit of error and vertigo

should ruin us and save the allies. As the army was about to cross the

bridge over the Ticino, and march into Italy, information was brought to

M. d’Orleans, that the enemy occupied the roads by which it was

indispensable to pass. M. d’Orleans, not believing this intelligence,

persisted in going forward. Our officers, thus foiled, for it was known

afterwards that the story was their invention, and that the passes were

entirely free, hit upon another expedient. They declared there were no

more provisions or ammunition, and that it was accordingly impossible to

go into Italy. M. d’Orleans, worn out by so much criminal disobedience,

and weakened by his wound, could hold out no longer. He threw himself

back in the chaise, and said they might go where they would. The army

therefore turned about, and directed itself towards Pignerol, losing many

equipages from our rear-guard during the night in the mountains, although

that rear-guard was protected by Albergotti, and was not annoyed by the

enemy.

The joy of the enemy at their success was unbounded. They could scarcely

believe in it. Their army was just at its last gasp. They had not more

than four days’ supply of powder left in the place. After the victory,

M. de Savoie and Prince Eugene lost no time in idle rejoicings. They

thought only how to profit by a success so unheard of and so unexpected.

They retook rapidly all the places in Piedmont and Lombardy that we

occupied, and we had no power to prevent them.

Never battle cost fewer soldiers than that of Turin; never was retreat

more undisturbed than ours; yet never were results more frightful or more

rapid. Ramillies, with a light loss, cost the Spanish Low Countries and

part of ours: Turin cost all Italy by the ambition of La Feuillade, the

incapacity of Marsin, the avarice, the trickery, the disobedience of the

general officers opposed to M, d’Orleans. So complete was the rout of

our army, that it was found impossible to restore it sufficiently to send

it back to Italy, not at least before the following spring. M. d’Orleans

returned therefore to Versailles, on Monday, the 8th of November, and was

well received by the King. La Feuillade arrived on Monday, the 13th of

December, having remained several days at Paris without daring to go to

Versailles. He was taken to the King by Chamillart. As soon as the King

saw them enter he rose, went to the door, and without giving them time to

utter a word, said to La Feuillade, “Monsieur, we are both very

unfortunate!” and instantly turned his back upon him. La Feuillade, on

the threshold of the door that he had not had time to cross, left the

place immediately, without having dared to say a single word. The King

always afterwards turned his eye from La Feuillade, and would never speak

to him. Such was the fall of this Phaeton. He saw that he had no more

hope, and retired from the army; although there was no baseness that he

did not afterwards employ to return to command. I think there never was

a more wrong-headed man or a man more radically dishonest, even to the

marrow of his bones. As for Marsin, he died soon after his capture, from

the effect of his wounds.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Such was our military history of the year 1706--history of losses and

dishonour. It may be imagined in what condition was the exchequer with

so many demands upon its treasures. For the last two or three years the

King had been obliged, on account of the expenses of the war, and the

losses we had sustained, to cut down the presents that he made at the

commencement of the year. Thirty-five thousand louis in gold was the sum

he ordinarily spent in this manner. This year, 1707, he diminished it by

ten thousand Louis. It was upon Madame de Montespan that the blow fell.

Since she had quitted the Court the King gave her twelve thousand Louis

of gold each year. This year he sent word to her that he could only give

her eight. Madame de Montespan testified not the least surprise. She

replied, that she was only sorry for the poor, to whom indeed she gave

with profusion. A short time after the King had made this reduction,

that is, on the 8th of January, Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne gave

birth to a son. The joy was great, but the King prohibited all those

expenses which had been made at the birth of the first-born of Madame de

Bourgogne, and which had amounted to a large sum. The want of money

indeed made itself felt so much at this time, that the King was obliged

to seek for resources as a private person might have done. A mining

speculator, named Rodes, having pretended that he had discovered many

veins of gold in the Pyrenees, assistance was given him in order that he

might bring these treasures to light.

He declared that with eighteen hundred workmen he would furnish a million

(francs’ worth of gold) each week. Fifty-two millions a-year would have

been a fine increase of revenue. However, after waiting some little

time, no gold was forthcoming, and the money that had been spent to

assist this enterprise was found to be pure loss.

The difficulty of finding money to carry on the affairs of the nation

continued to grow so irksome that Chamillart, who had both the finance

and the war departments under his control, was unable to stand against

the increased trouble and vexation which this state of things brought

him. More than once he had represented that this double work was too

much for him. But the King had in former times expressed so much

annoyance from the troubles that arose between the finance and war

departments, that he would not separate them, after having once joined

them together. At last, Chamillart could bear up against his heavy load

no longer. The vapours seized him: he had attacks of giddiness in the

head; his digestion was obstructed; he grew thin as a lath. He wrote

again to the King, begging to be released from his duties, and frankly

stated that, in the state he was, if some relief was not afforded him,

everything would go wrong and perish. He always left a large margin to

his letters, and upon this the King generally wrote his reply.

Chamillart showed me this letter when it came back to him, and I saw upon

it with great surprise, in the handwriting of the King, this short note:

“Well! let us perish together.”

The necessity for money had now become so great, that all sorts of means

were adopted to obtain it. Amongst other things, a tax was established

upon baptisms and marriages. This tax was extremely onerous and odious.

The result of it was a strange confusion. Poor people, and many of

humble means, baptised their children themselves, without carrying them

to the church, and were married at home by reciprocal consent and before

witnesses, when they could find no priest who would marry them without

formality. In consequence of this there were no longer any baptismal

extracts; no longer any certainty as to baptisms or births; and the

children of the marriages solemnised in the way I have stated above were

illegitimate in the eyes of the law. Researches and rigours in respect

to abuses so prejudicial were redoubled therefore; that is to say, they

were redoubled for the purpose of collecting the tax.

From public cries and murmurs the people in some places passed to

sedition. Matters went so far at Cahors, that two battalions which were

there had great difficulty in holding the town against the armed

peasants; and troops intended for Spain were obliged to be sent there.

It was found necessary to suspend the operation of the tax, but it was

with great trouble that the movement of Quercy was put down, and the

peasants, who had armed and collected together, induced to retire into

their villages. In Perigord they rose, pillaged the bureaux, and

rendered themselves masters of a little town and some castles, and forced

some gentlemen to put themselves at their head. They declared publicly

that they would pay the old taxes to King, curate, and lord, but that

they would pay no more, or hear a word of any other taxes or vexation.

In the end it was found necessary to drop this tax upon baptism and

marriages, to the great regret of the tax-gatherers, who, by all manner

of vexations and rogueries, had enriched themselves cruelly.

It was at this time, and in consequence, to some extent, of these events,

that a man who had acquired the highest distinction in France was brought

to the tomb in bitterness and grief, for that which in any other country

would have covered him with honour. Vauban, for it is to him that I

allude, patriot as he was, had all his life been touched with the misery

of the people and the vexations they suffered. The knowledge that his

offices gave him of the necessity for expense, the little hope he had

that the King would retrench in matters of splendour and amusement, made

him groan to see no remedy to an oppression which increased in weight

from day to day. Feeling this, he made no journey that he did not

collect information upon the value and produce of the land, upon the

trade and industry of the towns and provinces, on the nature of the

imposts, and the manner of collecting them. Not content with this, he

secretly sent to such places as he could not visit himself, or even to

those he had visited, to instruct him in everything, and compare the

reports he received with those he had himself made. The last twenty

years of his life were spent in these researches, and at considerable

cost to himself. In, the end, he convinced himself that the land was the

only real wealth, and he set himself to work to form a new system.

He had already made much progress, when several little books appeared by

Boisguilbert, lieutenant-general at Rouen, who long since had had the

same views as Vauban, and had wanted to make them known. From this

labour had resulted a learned and profound book, in which a system was

explained by which the people could be relieved of all the expenses they

supported, and from every tax, and by which the revenue collected would

go at once into the treasury of the King, instead of enriching, first the

traitants, the intendants, and the finance ministers. These latter,

therefore, were opposed to the system, and their opposition, as will be

seen, was of no slight consequence.

Vauban read this book with much attention. He differed on some points

with the author, but agreed with him in the main. Boisguilbert wished to

preserve some imposts upon foreign commerce and upon provisions. Vauban

wished to abolish all imposts, and to substitute for them two taxes, one

upon the land, the other upon trade and industry. His book, in which he

put forth these ideas, was full of information and figures, all arranged

with the utmost clearness, simplicity, and exactitude.