MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV AND HIS COURT AND OF THE REGENCY

 BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON

VOLUME 3. 

CHAPTER XVIII

For the last two or three years the King of Spain had been in very weakhealth, and in danger of his life several times. He had no children, andno hope of having any. The question, therefore, of the succession to hisvast empire began now to agitate every European Court. The King ofEngland (William III. ), who since his usurpation had much augmented hiscredit by the grand alliance he had formed against France, and of whichhe had been the soul and the chief up to the Peace of Ryswick, undertookto arrange this question in a manner that should prevent war when theKing of Spain died. His plan was to give Spain, the Indies, the LowCountries, and the title of King of Spain to the Archduke, second son ofthe Emperor; Guipuscoa, Naples, Sicily, and Lorraine to France; and theMilanese to M. De Lorraine, as compensation for taking away from him histerritory. 

The King of England made this proposition first of all to our King; who, tired of war, and anxious for repose, as was natural at his age, made fewdifficulties, and soon accepted. M. De Lorraine was not in a position torefuse his consent to a change recommended by England, France, andHolland. Thus much being settled, the Emperor was next applied to. Buthe was not so easy to persuade: he wished to inherit the entiresuccession, and would not brook the idea of seeing the House of Austriadriven from Italy, as it would have been if the King of England'sproposal had been carried out. He therefore declared it was altogetherunheard of and unnatural to divide a succession under such circumstances, and that he would hear nothing upon the subject until after the death ofthe King of Spain. The resistance he made caused the whole scheme tocome to the ears of the King of Spain, instead of remaining a secret, aswas intended. 

The King of Spain made a great stir in consequence of what had takenplace, as though the project had been formed to strip him, during hislifetime, of his realm. His ambassador in England spoke so insolentlythat he was ordered to leave the country by William, and retired toFlanders. The Emperor, who did not wish to quarrel with England, intervened at this point, and brought about a reconciliation between thetwo powers. The Spanish ambassador returned to London. 

The Emperor next endeavoured to strengthen his party in Spain. Thereigning Queen was his sister-in-law and was all-powerful. Such of thenobility and of the ministers who would not bend before her she caused tobe dismissed; and none were favoured by her who were not partisans of theHouse of Austria. The Emperor had, therefore, a powerful ally at theCourt of Madrid to aid him in carrying out his plans; and the King was somuch in his favour, that he had made a will bequeathing his succession tothe Archduke. Everything therefore seemed to promise success to theEmperor. 

But just at this time, a small party arose in Spain, equally opposed tothe Emperor, and to the propositions of the King of England. This partyconsisted at first of only five persons: namely, Villafranca, Medina-Sidonia, Villagarcias, Villena, and San Estevan, all of them nobles, andwell instructed in the affairs of government. Their wish was to preventthe dismemberment of the Spanish kingdom by conferring the wholesuccession upon the son of the only son of the Queen of France, MariaTheresa, sister of the King of Spain. There were, however, two greatobstacles in their path. Maria Theresa, upon her marriage with our King, had solemnly renounced all claim to the Spanish throne, and theserenunciations had been repeated at the Peace of the Pyrenees. The otherobstacle was the affection the King of Spain bore to the House ofAustria, --an affection which naturally would render him opposed to anyproject by which a rival house would be aggrandised at its expense. 

As to the first obstacle, these politicians were of opinion that therenunciations made by Maria Theresa held good only as far as they appliedto the object for which they were made. That object was to prevent thecrowns of France and Spain from being united upon one head, as might havehappened in the person of the Dauphin. But now that the Dauphin hadthree sons, the second of whom could be called to the throne of Spain, the renunciations of the Queen became of no import. As to the secondobstacle, it was only to be removed by great perseverance and exertions;but they determined to leave no stone unturned to achieve their ends. 

One of the first resolutions of this little party was to bind one anotherto secrecy. Their next was to admit into their confidence CardinalPortocarrero, a determined enemy to the Queen. Then they commenced anattack upon the Queen in the council; and being supported by the popularvoice, succeeded in driving out of the country Madame Berlips, a Germanfavourite of hers, who was much hated on account of the undue influenceshe exerted, and the rapacity she displayed. The next measure was ofequal importance. Madrid and its environs groaned under the weight ofa regiment of Germans commanded by the Prince of Darmstadt. The councildecreed that this regiment should be disbanded, and the Prince thankedfor his assistance. These two blows following upon each other soclosely, frightened the Queen, isolated her, and put it out of her powerto act during the rest of the life of the King. 

There was yet one of the preliminary steps to take, without which it wasthought that success would not be certain. This was to dismiss theKing's Confessor, who had been given to him by the Queen, and who was azealous Austrian. 

Cardinal Portocarrero was charged with this duty, and he succeeded sowell, that two birds were killed with one stone. The Confessor wasdismissed, and another was put in his place, who could be relied upon todo and say exactly as he was requested. Thus, the King of Spain wasinfluenced in his conscience, which had over him so much the more power, because he was beginning to look upon the things of this world by theglare of that terrible flambeau that is lighted for the dying. TheConfessor and the Cardinal, after a short time, began unceasingly toattack the King upon the subject of the succession. The King, enfeebledby illness, and by a lifetime of weak health, had little power ofresistance. Pressed by the many temporal, and affrighted by the manyspiritual reasons which were brought forward by the two ecclesiastics, with no friend near whose opinion he could consult, no Austrian at handto confer with, and no Spaniard who was not opposed to Austria;--the Kingfell into a profound perplexity, and in this strait, proposed to consultthe Pope, as an authority whose decision would be infallible. TheCardinal, who felt persuaded that the Pope was sufficiently enlightenedand sufficiently impartial to declare in favour of France, assented tothis step; and the King of Spain accordingly wrote a long letter to Rome, feeling much relieved by the course he had adopted. 

The Pope replied at once and in the most decided manner. He said he sawclearly that the children of the Dauphin were the next heirs to theSpanish throne, and that the House of Austria had not the smallest rightto it. He recommended therefore the King of Spain to render justice towhom justice was due, and to assign the succession of his monarchy to ason of France. This reply, and the letter which had given rise to it, were kept so profoundly secret that they were not known in Spain untilafter the King's death. 

Directly the Pope's answer had been received the King was pressed to makea fresh will, and to destroy that which he had previously made in favourof the Archduke. The new will accordingly was at once drawn up andsigned; and the old one burned in the presence, of several witnesses. Matters having arrived at this point, it was thought opportune to admitothers to the knowledge of what had taken place. The council of state, consisting of eight members, four of whom were already in the secret, wasmade acquainted with the movements of the new party; and, after a littlehesitation, were gained over. 

The King, meantime, was drawing near to his end. A few days after he hadsigned the new will he was at the last extremity, and in a few days morehe died. In his last moments the Queen had been kept from him as much aspossible, and was unable in any way to interfere with the plans that hadbeen so deeply laid. As soon as the King was dead the first thing to bedone was to open his will. The council of state assembled for thatpurpose, and all the grandees of Spain who were in the capital took partin it, The singularity and the importance of such an event, interestingmany millions of men, drew all Madrid to the palace, and the roomsadjoining that in which the council assembled were filled to suffocation. All the foreign ministers besieged the door. Every one sought to be thefirst to know the choice of the King who had just died, in order to bethe first to inform his court. Blecourt, our ambassador, was there withthe others, without knowing more than they; and Count d'Harrach, ambassador from the Emperor, who counted upon the will in favour of theArchduke, was there also, with a triumphant look, just opposite the door, and close by it. 

At last the door opened, and immediately closed again. The Ducd'Abrantes, a man of much wit and humour, but not to be trifled with, came out. He wished to have the pleasure of announcing upon whom thesuccessorship had fallen, and was surrounded as soon as he appeared. Keeping silence, and turning his eyes on all sides, he fixed them for amoment on Blecourt, then looked in another direction, as if seeking someone else. Blecourt interpreted this action as a bad omen. The Ducd'Abrantes feigning at last to discover the Count d'Harrach, assumed agratified look, flew to him, embraced him, and said aloud in Spanish, "Sir, it is with much pleasure;" then pausing, as though to embrace himbetter, he added: "Yes, sir, it is with an extreme joy that for all mylife, " here the embraces were redoubled as an excuse for a second pause, after which he went on--"and with the greatest contentment that I partfrom you, and take leave of the very august House of Austria. " So sayinghe clove the crowd, and every one ran after him to know the name of thereal heir. 

The astonishment and indignation of Count d'Harrach disabled him fromspeaking, but showed themselves upon his face in all their extent. Heremained motionless some moments, and then went away in the greatestconfusion at the manner in which he had been duped. 

Blecourt, on the other hand, ran home without asking other information, and at once despatched to the King a courier, who fell ill at Bayonne, and was replaced by one named by Harcourt, then at Bayonne getting readyfor the occupation of Guipuscoa. The news arrived at Court(Fontainebleau) in the month of November. The King was going outshooting that day; but, upon learning what had taken place, at oncecountermanded the sport, announced the death of the King of Spain, and atthree o'clock held a council of the ministers in the apartments of Madamede Maintenon. This council lasted until past seven o'clock in theevening. Monseigneur, who had been out wolf-hunting, returned in time toattend it. On the next morning, Wednesday, another council was held, andin the evening a third, in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon. However accustomed persons were at the Court to the favour Madame deMaintenon enjoyed there, they were extremely surprised to see twocouncils assembled in her rooms for the greatest and most importantdeliberation that had taken place during this long reign, or indeedduring many others. 

The King, Monseigneur, the Chancellor, the Duc de Brinvilliers, Torcy, and Madame de Maintenon, were the only persons who deliberated upon thisaffair. Madame de Maintenon preserved at first a modest silence; but theKing forced her to give her opinion after everybody had spoken exceptherself. The council was divided. Two were for keeping to the treatythat had been signed with King William, two for accepting the will. Monseigneur, drowned as he was in fat and sloth, appeared in quiteanother character from his usual ones at these councils. To the greatsurprise of the King and his assistants, when it was his turn to speak heexpressed himself with force in favour of accepting the testament. Then, turning towards the King in a respectful but firm manner, he said that hetook the liberty of asking for his inheritance, that the monarchy ofSpain belonged to the Queen his mother, and consequently to him; that hesurrendered it willingly to his second son for the tranquillity ofEurope; but that to none other would he yield an inch of ground. Thesewords, spoken with an inflamed countenance, caused excessive surprise, The King listened very attentively, and then said to Madame de Maintenon, "And you, Madame, what do you think upon all this?" She began byaffecting modesty; but pressed, and even commanded to speak, sheexpressed herself with becoming confusion; briefly sang the praises ofMonseigneur, whom she feared and liked but little--sentiments perfectlyreciprocated--and at last was for accepting the will. 

[Illustration: Madame Maintenon In Conferance--Painted by Sir John Gilbert--front1]

The King did not yet declare himself. He said that the affair might wellbe allowed to sleep for four-and-twenty hours, in order that they mightascertain if the Spaniards approved the choice of their King. Hedismissed the council, but ordered it to meet again the next evening atthe same hour and place. Next day, several couriers arrived from Spain, and the news they brought left no doubt upon the King's mind as to thewishes of the Spanish nobles and people upon the subject of the will. When therefore the council reassembled in the apartments of Madame deMaintenon, the King, after fully discussing the matter, resolved toaccept the will. 

At the first receipt of the news the King and his ministers had beenoverwhelmed with a surprise that they could not recover from for severaldays. When the news was spread abroad, the Court was equally surprised. The foreign ministers passed whole nights deliberating upon the coursethe King would adopt. Nothing else was spoken of but this matter. TheKing one evening, to divert himself, asked the princesses their opinion. They replied that he should send M. Le Duc d'Anjou (the second son ofMonseigneur), into Spain, and that this was the general sentiment. "I am sure, " replied the King, "that whatever course I adopt many peoplewill condemn me. "

At last, on Tuesday, the 16th of November, the King publicly declaredhimself. The Spanish ambassador had received intelligence which provedthe eagerness of Spain to welcome the Duc d'Anjou as its King. Thereseemed to be no doubt of the matter. The King, immediately after gettingup, called the ambassador into his cabinet, where M. Le Duc d'Anjou hadalready arrived. Then, pointing to the Duke, he told the ambassador hemight salute him as King of Spain. The ambassador threw himself upon hisknees after the fashion of his country, and addressed to the Duke atolerably long compliment in the Spanish language. Immediatelyafterwards, the King, contrary to all custom, opened the two foldingdoors of his cabinet, and commanded everybody to enter. It was a veryfull Court that day. The King, majestically turning his eyes towards thenumerous company, and showing them M. Le Duc d'Anjou said--"Gentlemen, behold the King of Spain. His birth called him to that crown: the lateKing also has called him to it by his will; the whole nation wished forhim, and has asked me for him eagerly; it is the will of heaven: I haveobeyed it with pleasure. " And then, turning towards his grandson, hesaid, "Be a good Spaniard, that is your first duty; but remember that youare a Frenchman born, in order that the union between the two nations maybe preserved; it will be the means of rendering both happy, and ofpreserving the peace of Europe. " Pointing afterwards with his finger tothe Duc d'Anjou, to indicate him to the ambassador, the King added, "Ifhe follows my counsels you will be a grandee, and soon; he cannot dobetter than follow your advice. "

When the hubbub of the courtiers had subsided, the two other sons ofFrance, brothers of M. D'Anjou, arrived, and all three embraced oneanother tenderly several times, with tears in their eyes. The ambassadorof the Emperor immediately entered, little suspecting what had takenplace, and was confounded when he learned the news. The King afterwardswent to mass, during which at his right hand was the new King of Spain, who during the rest of his stay in France, was publicly treated in everyrespect as a sovereign, by the King and all the Court. 

The joy of Monseigneur at all this was very great. He seemed besidehimself, and continually repeated that no man had ever found himself in acondition to say as he could, "The King my father, and the King my son. "If he had known the prophecy which from his birth had been said of him, "A King's son, a King's father, and never a King, " which everybody hadheard repeated a thousand times, I think he would not have so muchrejoiced, however vain may be such prophecies. The King himself was soovercome, that at supper he turned to the Spanish ambassador and saidthat the whole affair seemed to him like a dream. In public, as I haveobserved, the new King of Spain was treated in every respect as asovereign, but in private he was still the Duc d'Anjou. He passed hisevenings in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, where he played at allsorts of children's games, scampering to and fro with Messeigneurs hisbrothers, with Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, and with the few ladiesto whom access was permitted. 

On Friday, the 19th of November, the new King of Spain put on mourning. Two days after, the King did the same. On Monday, the 22nd, letters werereceived from the Elector of Bavaria, stating that the King of Spain hadbeen proclaimed at Brussels with much rejoicing and illuminations. OnSunday, the 28th, M. Vaudemont, governor of the Milanese, sent word thathe had been proclaimed in that territory, and with the samedemonstrations of joy as at Brussels. 

On Saturday, the 4th of December, the King of Spain set out for hisdominions. The King rode with him in his coach as far as Sceaux, surrounded in pomp by many more guards than usual, gendarmes and lighthorse, all the road covered with coaches and people; and Sceaux, wherethey arrived a little after midday, full of ladies and courtiers, guardedby two companies of Musketeers. There was a good deal of leave-taking, and all the family was collected alone in the last room of the apartment;but as the doors were left open, the tears they shed so bitterly could beseen. In presenting the King of Spain to the Princes of the blood, theKing said--"Behold the Princes of my blood and of yours; the two nationsfrom this time ought to regard themselves as one nation; they ought tohave the same interests; therefore I wish these Princes to be attached toyou as to me; you cannot have friends more faithful or more certain. "All this lasted a good hour and a half. But the time of separation atlast came. The King conducted the King of Spain to the end of theapartment, and embraced him several times, holding him a long while in. His arms. Monseigneur did the same. The spectacle was extremelytouching. 

The King returned into the palace for some time, in order to recoverhimself. Monseigneur got into a caleche alone, and went to Meudon; andthe King of Spain, with his brother, M. De Noailles, and a large numberof courtiers, set out on his journey. The King gave to his grandsontwenty-one purses of a thousand louis each, for pocket-money, and muchmoney besides for presents. Let us leave them on their journey, andadmire the Providence which sports with the thoughts of men and disposesof states. What would have said Ferdinand and Isabella, Charles V. AndPhilip II. , who so many times attempted to conquer France, and who havebeen so frequently accused of aspiring to universal monarchy, and PhilipIV. , even, with all his precautions at the marriage of the King and atthe Peace of the Pyrenees, --what would they have said, to see a son ofFrance become King of Spain, by the will and testament of the last oftheir blood in Spain, and by the universal wish of all the Spaniards--without plot, without intrigue, without a shot being fired on our part, and without the sanction of our King, nay even to his extreme surpriseand that of all his ministers, who had only the trouble of making uptheir minds and of accepting? What great and wise reflections might bemade thereon! But they would be out of place in these Memoirs. 

The King of Spain arrived in Madrid on the 19th February. From his firstentrance into the country he had everywhere been most warmly welcomed. Acclamations were uttered when he appeared; fetes and bull-fights weregiven in his honour; the nobles and ladies pressed around him. He hadbeen proclaimed in Madrid some time before, in the midst ofdemonstrations of joy. Now that he had arrived among his subjects there, that joy burst out anew. There was such a crowd in the streets thatsixty people were stifled! All along the line of route were an infinityof coaches filled with ladies richly decked. The streets through whichhe passed were hung in the Spanish fashion; stands were placed, adornedwith fine pictures and a vast number of silver vessels; triumphal archeswere built from side to side. It is impossible to conceive a greater ormore general demonstration of joy. The Buen-Retiro, where the new Kingtook up his quarters, was filled with the Court and the nobility. Thejunta and a number of great men received him at the door, and theCardinal Portocarrero, who was there, threw himself on his knees, andwished to kiss the King's hand. But the King would not permit this;raised the Cardinal, embraced him, and treated him as his father. TheCardinal wept with joy, and could not take his eyes off the King. He wasjust then in the flower of his first youth--fair like the late KingCharles, and the Queen his grandmother; grave, silent, measured, self-contained, formed exactly to live among Spaniards. With all this, veryattentive in his demeanour, and paying everybody the attention due tohim, having taken lessons from d'Harcourt on the way. Indeed he took offhis hat or raised it to nearly everybody, so that the Spaniards spoke onthe subject to the Duc d'Harcourt, who replied to them that the King inall essential things would conform himself to usage, but that in othershe must be allowed to act according to French politeness. It cannot beimagined how much these trifling external attentions attached all heartsto this Prince. 

He was, indeed, completely triumphant in Spain, and the Austrian party ascompletely routed. The Queen of Spain was sent away from Madrid, andbanished to Toledo, where she remained with but a small suite, and stillless consideration. Each day the nobles, the citizens, and the peoplehad given fresh proof of their hatred against the Germans and against theQueen. She had been almost entirely abandoned, and was refused the mostordinary necessaries of her state. 

CHAPTER XIX

Shortly after his arrival in Madrid, the new King of Spain began to lookabout him for a wife, and his marriage with the second daughter of M. DeSavoie (younger sister of Madame de Bourgogne) was decided upon as analliance of much honour and importance to M. De Savoie, and, by bindinghim to her interest, of much utility to France. An extraordinaryambassador (Homodei, brother of the Cardinal of that name) was sent toTurin to sign the contract of marriage, and bring back the new Queen intoSpain. He was also appointed her Ecuyer, and the Princesse des Ursinswas selected as her 'Camarera Mayor', a very important office. ThePrincesse des Ursins seemed just adapted for it. A Spanish lady couldnot have been relied upon: a lady of our court would not have been fitfor the post. The Princesse des Ursins was, as it were, both French andSpanish--French by birth, Spanish by marriage. She had passed thegreater part of her life in Rome and Italy, and was a widow withoutchildren. I shall have more hereafter to say of this celebrated woman, who so long and so publicly governed the Court and Crown of Spain, andwho has made so much stir in the world by her reign and by her fall; atpresent let me finish with the new Queen of Spain. 

She was married, then, at Turin, on the 11th of September, with butlittle display, the King being represented by procuration, and set out onthe 13th for Nice, where she was to embark on board the Spanish galleysfor Barcelona. The King of Spain, meanwhile, after hearing news that hehad been proclaimed with much unanimity and rejoicing in Peru and Mexico, left Madrid on the 5th of September, to journey through Aragon andCatalonia to Barcelona to meet his wife. He was much welcomed on hisroute, above all by Saragossa, which received him magnificently. 

The new Queen of Spain, brought by the French galleys to Nice, was sofatigued with the sea when she arrived there, that she determined tofinish the rest of the journey by land, through Provence and Languedoc. Her graces, her presence of mind, the aptness and the politeness of hershort replies, and her judicious curiosity, remarkable at her age, surprised everybody, and gave great hopes to the Princesse des Ursins. 

When within two days' journey of Barcelona, the Queen was met by amessenger, bearing presents and compliments from the King. All herhousehold joined her at the same time, being sent on in advance for thatpurpose, and her Piedmontese attendants were dismissed. She appearedmore affected by this separation than Madame de Bourgogne had been whenparting from her attendants. She wept bitterly, and seemed quite lost inthe midst of so many new faces, the most familiar of which (that ofMadame des Ursins) was quite fresh to her. Upon arriving at Figueras, the King, impatient to see her, went on before on horseback. In thisfirst embarrassment Madame des Ursins, although completely unknown to theKing, and but little known to the Queen, was of great service to both. 

Upon arriving at Figueras, the bishop diocesan married them anew, withlittle ceremony, and soon after they sat down to supper, waited upon bythe Princesse des Ursins and the ladies of the palace, half the dishesbeing French, half Spanish. This mixture displeased the ladies of thepalace and several of the Spanish grandees, who plotted with the ladiesopenly to mark their displeasure; and they did so in a scandalous manner. Under one pretext or another--such as the weight or heat of the dishes--not one of the French dishes arrived upon the table; all were upset;while the Spanish dishes, on the contrary, were served without anyaccident. The affectation and air of chagrin, to say the least of it, of the ladies of the palace, were too visible not to be perceived. Butthe King and Queen were wise enough to appear not to notice this; andMadame des Ursins, much astonished, said not a word. 

After a long and disagreeable supper, the King and Queen withdrew. Thenfeelings which had been kept in during supper overflowed. The Queen weptfor her Piedmontese women. Like a child, as she was, she thought herselflost in the hands of ladies so insolent; and when it was time to go tobed, she said flatly that she would not go, and that she wished to returnhome. Everything was done to console her; but the astonishment andembarrassment were great indeed when it was found that all was of noavail. The King had undressed, and was awaiting her. Madame des Ursinswas at length obliged to go and tell him the resolution the Queen hadtaken. He was piqued and annoyed. He had until that time lived with thecompletest regularity; which had contributed to make him find thePrincess more to his taste than he might otherwise have done. He wastherefore affected by her 'fantaisie', and by the same reason easilypersuaded that she would not keep to it beyond the first night. They didnot see each other therefore until the morrow, and after they weredressed. It was lucky that by the Spanish custom no one was permitted tobe present when the newly-married pair went to bed; or this affair, whichwent no further than the young couple, Madame des Ursins, and one or twodomestics, might have made a very unpleasant noise. 

Madame des Ursins consulted with two of the courtiers, as to the bestmeasures to be adopted with a child who showed so much force andresolution. The night was passed in exhortations and in promises uponwhat had occurred at the supper; and the Queen consented at last toremain Queen. The Duke of Medina-Sidonia and Count San Estevan wereconsulted on the morrow. They were of opinion that in his turn the King, in order to mortify her and reduce her to terms, should not visit theQueen on the following night. This opinion was acted upon. The King andQueen did not see each other in private that day. In the evening theQueen was very sorry. Her pride and her little vanity were wounded;perhaps also she had found the King to her taste. 

The ladies and the grand seigneurs who had attended at the supper werelectured for what had occurred there. Excuses, promises, demands forpardon, followed; all was put right; the third day was tranquil, and thethird night still more agreeable to the young people. On the fourth daythey went to Barcelona, where only fetes and pleasures awaited them. Soon after they set out for Madrid. 

At the commencement of the following year (1702), it was resolved, aftermuch debate, at our court, that Philip V. Should make a journey to Italy, and on Easter-day he set out. He went to Naples, Leghorn, Milan, andAlessandria. While at the first-named place a conspiracy which had beenhatching against his life was discovered, and put down. But other thingswhich previously occurred in Italy ought to have been related before. Imust therefore return to them now. 

From the moment that Philip V. Ascended the Spanish throne it was seenthat a war was certain. England maintained for some time an obstinatesilence, refusing to acknowledge the new King; the Dutch secretlymurmured against him, and the Emperor openly prepared for battle. Italy, it was evident at once, would be the spot on which hostilities wouldcommence, and our King lost no time in taking measures to be ready forevents. By land and by sea every preparation was made for the struggleabout to take place. 

After some time the war, waited for and expected by all Europe, at lastbroke out, by some Imperialist troops firing upon a handful of men nearAlbaredo. One Spaniard was killed, and all the rest of the men weretaken prisoners. The Imperialists would not give them up until a cartelwas arranged. The King, upon hearing this, at once despatched thegeneral officers to Italy. Our troops were to be commanded by Catinat, under M. De Savoie; and the Spanish troops by Vaudemont, who wasGovernor-General of the Milanese, and to whom, and his dislike to ourKing, I have before alluded. 

Vaudemont at once began to plot to overthrow Catinat, in conjunction withTesse, who had expected the command, and who was irritated because it hadnot been given to him. They were in communication with Chamillart, Minister of War, who aided them, as did other friends at Court, to behereafter named, in carrying out their object. It was all the more easybecause they had to do with a man who depended for support solely uponhis own talent, and whose virtue and simplicity raised him above allintrigue and scheming; and who, with much ability and intelligence, wassevere in command, very laconic, disinterested, and of exceeding purelife. 

Prince Eugene commanded the army of the Emperor in Italy. The first twogenerals under him, in order of rank, were allied with Vaudemont: one, infact, was his only son; the other was the son of a friend of his. Theleast reflection ought to have opened all eyes to the conduct ofVaudemont, and to have discerned it to be more than suspicious. Catinatsoon found it out. He could plan nothing against the enemy that they didnot learn immediately; and he never attempted any movement withoutfinding himself opposed by a force more than double his own; so gross wasthis treachery. 

Catinat often complained of this: he sent word of it to the Court, butwithout daring to draw any conclusion from what happened. Nobodysustained him at Court, for Vaudemont had everybody in his favour. Hecaptured our general officers by his politeness, his magnificence, and, above all, by presenting them with abundant supplies. All the useful, and the agreeable, came from his side; all the dryness, all theexactitude, came from Catinat. It need not be asked which of the two hadall hearts. In fine, Tesse and Vaudemont carried out their schemes sowell that Catinat could do nothing. 

While these schemes were going on, the Imperialists were enabled to gaintime, to strengthen themselves, to cross the rivers without obstacle, to, approach us; and, acquainted with everything as they were, to attack aportion of our army on the 9th July, at Capri, with five regiments ofcavalry and dragoons. Prince Eugene led this attack without his comingbeing in the least degree suspected, and fell suddenly upon our troops. Tesse, who was in the immediate neighbourhood with some dragoons, advanced rapidly upon hearing this, but only with a few dragoons. A longresistance was made, but at last retreat became necessary. It wasaccomplished in excellent order, and without disturbance from the enemy;but our loss was very great, many officers of rank being among the dead. 

Such was our first exploit in Italy; all the fault of which wasattributed to Catinat. Tesse and Vaudemont did everything in their powerto secure his disgrace. The King, indeed, thus prejudiced againstCatinat, determined to take from him the command, and appointed theMarechal de Villeroy as his successor. The surprise of everybody at thiswas very great, for no one expected that the Marechal de Villeroy wouldrepair the fault of Catinat. On the evening of his appointment, thisgeneral was exposed in a very straightforward and public manner by M. DeDuras. He did not like the Marechal de Villeroy; and, while everybodyelse was applauding, took the Marechal by the arm, and said, "Monsieur leMarechal, everybody is paying you compliments upon your departure toItaly, I keep mine until you return;" and then, bursting out laughing, helooked round upon the company. Villeroy remained confounded, withoutoffering a word. Everybody smiled and looked down. The King took nonotice. 

Catinat, when the command was taken out of his hands by the Marechal deVilleroy, made himself admired on every side by the moderation andtranquillity with which he conducted himself. If Vaudemont was satisfiedwith the success of his schemes, it was far otherwise with Tesse, who hadmerely intrigued against Catinat for the purpose of obtaining the commandof the army. He did all in his power to ingratiate himself into thefavour of the Marechal de Villeroy; but the Marechal received theseadvances very coldly. Tesse's schemes against Catinat were beginning tobe scented out; he was accused of having wished the Imperialists tosucceed at Capri, and of indirectly aiding them by keeping back histroops; his tirades against Catinat, too, made him suspected. TheMarechal de Villeroy would have nothing to do with him. His conduct wascontrasted with that of Catinat, who, free after his fall to retire fromthe army, continued to remain there, with rare modesty, interfering innothing. 

The first campaign passed without notable incident, except anunsuccessful attack upon Chiari, by our troops on the 1st of September. M. De Savoie led the attack; but was so firmly met by Prince Eugene, whowas in an excellent position for defence, that he could do nothing, andin the end was compelled to retire disgracefully. We lost five or sixcolonels and many men, and had a large number wounded. This action muchastonished our army, and encouraged that of the enemy, who did almost asthey wished during the rest of the campaign. 

Towards the end of this campaign, the grand airs of familiarity which theMarechal de Villeroy gave himself with M. De Savoie drew upon him a cruelrebuke, not to say an affront. M. De Savoie being in the midst of allthe generals and of the flower of the army, opened, while talking, hissnuff-box, and was about to take a pinch of snuff, when M. De Villeroy, who was standing near, stretched out his hand and put it into the boxwithout saying a word. M. De Savoie flushed up, and instantly threw allthe snuff upon the ground, gave the box to one of his attendants, andtold him to fill it again. The Marechal, not knowing what to do withhimself, swallowed his shame without daring to say a word, M. De Savoiecontinuing the conversation that he had not interrupted, except to askfor the fresh snuff. 

The campaign passed away, our troops always retreating, the Imperialistsalways gaining ground; they continually increasing in numbers; wediminishing little by little every day. The Marechal de Villeroy andPrince Eugene each took up his winter quarters and crossed the frontier:M. De Savoie returned to Turin, and Catinat went to Paris. The Kingreceived him well, but spoke of nothing but unimportant matters, and gavehim no private audience, nor did he ask for one. 

Prince Eugene, who was more knowing than the Marechal de Villeroy, hadobliged him to winter in the midst of the Milanese, and kept him closelypressed there, while his own troops enjoyed perfect liberty, by means ofwhich they much disturbed ours. In this advantageous situation, PrinceEugene conceived the design of surprising the centre of our quarters, andby that blow to make himself master of our positions, and afterwards ofMilan, and other places of the country, all in very bad order; thusfinishing effectively and suddenly his conquest. 

Cremona was our centre, and it was defended by a strong garrison. PrinceEugene ascertained that there was at Cremona an ancient aqueduct whichextended far out into the country, and which started from the town in thevault of a house occupied by a priest. He also learnt that this aqueducthad been recently cleaned, but that it carried very little water, andthat in former times the town had been surprised by means of it. Hecaused the entrance of the aqueduct, in the country, to be reconnoitred, he gained over the priest in whose vault it ended, and who lived close toone of the gates of the city, which was walled up and but little guarded;he sent into Cremona as many chosen soldiers as he could, disguised aspriests or peasants, and these hiding themselves in the house of thefriendly priest, obtained secretly as many axes as they could. Then thePrince despatched five hundred picked men and officers to march by theaqueduct to the priest's vault; he put Thomas de Vaudemont, son of theGovernor General of the Milanese, at the head of a large detachment oftroops, with orders to occupy a redoubt that defended the Po, and to comeby the bridge to his assistance, when the struggle commenced in the town;and he charged the soldiers secreted in the priest's house to break downthe walled-up gate, so as to admit the troops whom he would lead there. 

Everything, thus concerted with exactness, was executed with precision, and with all possible secrecy and success. It was on the 1st ofFebruary, 1702, at break of day, that the surprise was attempted. TheMarechal de Villeroy had only arrived in the town on the previous night. The first person who got scent of what was going forward was the cook ofthe Lieutenant-General Crenan, who going out in the early morning to buyprovisions, saw the streets full of soldiers, whose uniforms were unknownto him. He ran back and awakened his master. Neither he nor his valetswould believe what the cook said, but nevertheless Crenan hurriedlydressed himself, went out, and was only too soon convinced that it wastrue. 

At the same time, by a piece of good luck, which proved the saving ofCremona, a regiment under the command of D'Entragues, drew up in battlearray in one of the public places. D'Entragues was a bold and skilfulsoldier, with a great desire to distinguish himself. He wished to reviewthis regiment, and had commenced business before the dawn. While thelight was still uncertain and feeble, and his battalions were under arms, he indistinctly perceived infantry troops forming at the end of thestreet, in front of him. He knew by the order's given on the previousevening that no other review was to take place except his own. Heimmediately feared, therefore, some surprise, marched at once to thesetroops, whom he found to be Imperialists, charged them, overthrew them, sustained the shock of the fresh troops which arrived, and kept up adefence so obstinate, that he gave time to all the town to awake, and tothe majority of the troops to take up arms. Without him, all would havebeen slaughtered as they slept. 

Just at dawn the Marechal de Villeroy, already up and dressed, waswriting in his chamber. He heard a noise, called for a horse, andfollowed by a single aide-de-camp and a page, threaded his way throughthe streets to the grand place, which is always the rendezvous in case ofalarm. At the turning of one of the streets he fell into the midst of anImperialist corps de garde, who surrounded him and arrested him. Feelingthat it was impossible to defend himself, the Marechal de Villeroywhispered his name to the officer, and promised him ten thousandpistoles, a regiment, and the grandest recompenses from the King, to beallowed to escape. The officer was, however, above all bribes, said hehad not served the Emperor so long in order to end by betraying him, andconducted the Marechal de Villeroy to Prince Eugene, who did not receivehim so well as he himself would have been received, under similarcircumstances, by the Marechal. While in the suite of Prince Eugene, Villeroy saw Crenan led in prisoner, and wounded to the death, andexclaimed that he should like to be in his place. A moment after theywere both sent out of the town, and passed the day, guarded, in the coachof Prince Eugene. 

Revel, become commander-in-chief by the capture of the Marechal deVilleroy, tried to rally the troops. There was a fight in every street;the troops dispersed about, some in detachments, several scarcely armed;some only in their shirts fought with the greatest bravery. They weredriven at last to the ramparts, where they had time to look about them, to rally and form themselves. If the enemy had not allowed our troopstime to gain the ramparts, or if they had driven them beyond thisposition, when they reached it, the town could never have held out. Butthe imperialists kept themselves entirely towards the centre of the town, and made no effort to fall upon our men, or to drive them from theramparts. 

Praslin, who had the command of our cavalry, put himself at the head ofsome Irish battalions which under him did wonders. Although continuallyoccupied in defending and attacking, Praslin conceived the idea that thesafety of Cremona depended upon the destruction of the bridge of the Po, so that the Imperialists could not receive reinforcements from thatpoint. He repeated this so many times, that Revel was informed of it, and ordered Praslin to do what he thought most advisable in the matter. Thereupon, Praslin instantly commanded the bridge to be broken down:There was not a moment to lose. Thomas de Vaudemont was alreadyapproaching the bridge at the head of his troops. But the bridge, nevertheless, was destroyed before his eyes, and with all his musketeershe was not able to prevent it. 

It was now three o'clock in the afternoon. Prince Eugene was at theHotel de Ville, swearing in the magistrates. Leaving that place, andfinding that his troops were giving way, he ascended the cathedralsteeple to see what was passing in different parts of the town, and todiscover why the troops of Thomas de Vaudemont did not arrive. He hadscarcely reached the top of the steeple, when he saw his detachments onthe banks of the Po, and the bridge broken, thus rendering theirassistance useless. He was not more satisfied with what he discovered inevery other direction. Furious at seeing his enterprise in such badcase, after having been so nearly successful, he descended, tearing hishair and yelling. From that time, although superior in force, he thoughtof nothing but retreat. 

Revel, who saw that his troops were overwhelmed by hunger, fatigue, andwounds, for since the break of day they had had no repose or leisure, thought on his side of withdrawing his men into the castle of Cremona, in order, at least, to defend himself under cover, and to obtain acapitulation. So that the two opposing chiefs each thought at one andthe same time of retreat. 

Towards the evening therefore the combat slackened on both sides, untilour troops made a last effort to drive the enemy from one of the gates ofthe town; so as to have that gate free and open during the night to letin assistance. The Irish seconded so well this attack, that it was atlength successful. A tolerably long calm succeeded this last struggle. Revel, nevertheless, thought of withdrawing his troops to the castle, when Mahony, an Irish officer who had fought bravely as a lion all day, proposed to go and see what was passing all around. It was alreadygrowing dark; the reconnoiterers profited by this. They saw thateverything was tranquil, and understood that the enemy had retreated. This grand news was carried to Revel, who, with many around him, was along time in believing it. Persuaded at last, he left everything as itwas then, until broad daylight, when he found that the enemy had gone, and that the streets and public places were filled with the wounded, thedying, and the dead. He made arrangements for everything, and dispatchedMahony to the King. 

Prince Eugene retreated all that night with the detachment he had led, and made the Marechal de Villeroy, disarmed and badly mounted, followhim, very indecently. The Marechal was afterwards sent to Gratz inStyria. Crenan died in the coach of the Marechal de Villeroy. D'Entragues, to whose valour the safety of Cremona was owing, did notsurvive this glorious day. Our loss was great; that of the enemygreater. 

The news of this, the most surprising event that has been heard of inrecent ages, was brought to the King at Marly on the 9th of February, 1702, by Mahony. Soon after it arrived I heard of it, and at oncehastened to the chateau, where I found a great buzzing and several groupsof people talking. Mahony was closeted a long time with the King. Atthe end of an hour the King came out of his cabinet, and spoke stronglyin praise of what had occurred. He took pleasure in dwelling at greatlength upon Mahony, and declared that he had never heard anybody givesuch a clear and good account of an occurrence as he. The King kindlyadded that he should bestow a thousand francs a year upon Mahony, and abrevet of Colonel. 

In the evening M. Le Prince de Conti told me that the King had decoratedRevel, and made Praslin Lieutenant-General. As the latter was one of myparticular friends, this intelligence gave me much joy. I asked again tobe more sure of the news. The other principal officers were advanced inproportion to their grades, and many received pensions. 

As for the Marechal de Villeroy he was treated as those who excite envyand then become unfortunate are always treated. The King, however, openly took his part; and in truth it was no fault of the Marechal, whohad arrived at Cremona the day before the surprise, that he was takenprisoner directly he set his foot in the street. --How could he know ofthe aqueduct, the barred-up gate, and the concealed soldiers?Nevertheless, his friends were plunged into the greatest grief, and hiswife, who had not been duped by the eclat which accompanied her husbandupon his departure for Italy, but who feared for the result, wascompletely overwhelmed, and for a long time could not be prevailed uponto see anybody. 

M. De Vendome was appointed successor to M. De Villeroy, in command ofthe army in Italy. 

CHAPTER XX

But it is time now for me to go back to other matters, and to start againfrom the commencement of 1701, from which I have been led by reciting, ina continuous story, the particulars of our first campaign in Italy. 

Barbezieux had viewed with discontent the elevation of Chamillart. Hispride and presumption rose in arms against it; but as there was no remedyhe gave himself up to debauch, to dissipate his annoyance. He had builtbetween Versailles and Vaucresson, at the end of the park of Saint Cloud, a house in the open fields, called l'Etang, which though in the dismalestposition in the world had cost him millions. He went there to feast andriot with his friends; and committing excesses above his strength, wasseized with a fever, and died in a few days, looking death steadily inthe face. He was told of his approaching end by the Archbishop ofRheims; for he would not believe Fagon. 

He was thirty-three years of age, with a striking and expressivecountenance, and much wit and aptitude for labour. He was remarkable forgrace, fine manners, and winning ways; but his pride and ambition wereexcessive, and when his fits of ill-temper came, nothing could repressthem. Resistance always excited and irritated him. He had accustomedthe King--whenever he had drunk too much, or when a party of pleasure wastoward--to put off work to another time. It was a great question, whether the State gained or lost most by his death?

As soon as he was dead, Saint-Pouange went to Marly to tell the news tothe King, who was so prepared for it that two hours before, starting fromVersailles, he had left La Vrilliere behind to put the seals everywhere. Fagon, who had condemned him at once, had never loved him or his father, and was accused of over-bleeding him on purpose. At any rate he allowed, at one of his last visits, expressions of joy to escape him becauserecovery was impossible. Barbezieux used to annoy people very much byanswering aloud when they spoke to him in whispers, and by keepingvisitors waiting whilst he was playing with his dogs or some baseparasite. 

Many people, especially divers beautiful ladies, lost much by his death. Some of the latter looked very disconsolate in the salon at Marly; butwhen they had gone to table, and the cake had been cut (it was TwelfthNight), the King manifested a joy which seemed to command imitation. He was not content with exclaiming "The Queen drinks, " but as in a commonwine-shop, he clattered his spoon and fork on his plate, and made othersdo so likewise, which caused a strange din, that lasted at intervals allthrough the supper. The snivellers made more noise than the others, anduttered louder screams of laughter; and the nearest relatives and bestfriends were still more riotous. On the morrow all signs of grief haddisappeared. 

Chamillart was appointed in the place of Barbezieux, as Secretary ofState; and wanted to give up the Finance, but the King, remembering thedisputes of Louvois and Colbert, insisted on his occupying both posts. Chamillart was a very worthy man, with clean hands and the bestintentions; polite, patient, obliging, a good friend, and a moderateenemy, loving his country, but his King better; and on very good termswith him and Madame de Maintenon. His mind was limited and; like allpersons of little wit and knowledge, he was obstinate and pig-headed--smiling affectedly with a gentle compassion on whoever opposed reasons tohis, but utterly incapable of understanding them--consequently a dupe infriendship, in business, in everything; governed by all who could manageto win his admiration, or on very slight grounds could claim hisaffection. His capacity was small, and yet he believed he kneweverything, which was the more pitiable, as all this came to him with hisplaces, and arose more from stupidity than presumption--not at all fromvanity, of which he was divested. The most remarkable thing is that thechief origin of the King's tender regard for him was this veryincapacity. He used to confess it to the King at every opportunity; andthe King took pleasure in directing and instructing him, so that he wasinterested in his successes as if they had been his own, and alwaysexcused him. The world and the Court excused him also, charmed by thefacility with which he received people, the pleasure he felt in grantingrequests and rendering services, the gentleness and regretfulness of hisrefusals, and his indefatigable patience as a listener. His memory wasso great that he remembered all matters submitted to him, which gavepleasure to people who were afraid of being forgotten. He wroteexcellently; and his clear, flowing, and precise style was extremelypleasing to the King and Madame de Maintenon, who were never weary ofpraising him, encouraging him, and congratulating themselves for havingplaced upon such weak shoulders two burdens, each of which was sufficientto overwhelm the most sturdy. 

Rose, secretary in the King's cabinet, died, aged about eighty-six, atthe commencement of the year 1701. For nearly fifty years he had heldthe office of the "pen, " as it is called. To have the "pen, " is to be apublic forger, and to do what would cost anybody else his life. Thisoffice consists in imitating so exactly the handwriting of the King; thatthe real cannot be distinguished from the counterfeit. In this mannerare written all the letters that the King ought or wishes to write withhis own hand, but which, nevertheless, he will not take the trouble towrite. Sovereigns and people of high rank, even generals and others ofimportance, employ a secretary of this kind. It is not possible to makea great King speak with more dignity than did Rose; nor with more fitnessto each person, and upon every subject. The King signed all the lettersRose wrote, and the characters were so alike it was impossible to findthe smallest difference. Many important things had passed through thehands of Rose: He was extremely faithful and secret, and the King putentire trust in him. 

Rose was artful, scheming, adroit, and dangerous. There are storieswithout number of him; and I will relate one or two solely because theycharacterise him, and those to whom they also relate. 

He had, near Chantilly, a nice house and grounds that he much liked, andthat he often visited. This little property bordered the estate of M. LePrince, who, not liking so close a neighbour, wished to get rid of him. M. Le Prince endeavoured to induce Rose to give up his house and grounds, but all to no effect; and at last tried to annoy him in various ways intoacquiescence. Among other of his tricks, he put about four hundredfoxes, old and young, into Rose's park. It may be imagined what disorderthis company made there, and the surprise of Rose and his servants at aninexhaustible ant-hill of foxes come to one night!

The worthy fellow, who was anger and vehemence itself, knew only too wellwho had treated him thus scurvily, and straightway went to the King, requesting to be allowed to ask him rather a rough question. The King, quite accustomed to him and to his jokes, --for he was pleasant and verywitty, demanded what was the matter. 

"What is the matter, Sire?" replied Rose, with a face all flushed. "Why, I beg you will tell me if we have two Kings in France?"

"What do you mean?" said the King, surprised, and flushing in his turn. 

"What I mean, Sire, is, that if M. Le Prince is King like you, folks mustweep and lower their heads before that tyrant. If he is only Prince ofthe blood, I ask justice from you, Sire, for you owe it to all yoursubjects, and you ought not to suffer them to be the prey of M. LePrince, " said Rose; and he related everything that had taken place, concluding with the adventure of the foxes. 

The King promised that he would speak to M. Le Prince in a manner toinsure the future repose of Rose; and, indeed, he ordered all the foxesto be removed from the worthy man's park, all the damages they had madeto be repaired, and all the expenses incurred to be paid by M. Le Prince. M. Le Prince was too good a courtier to fail in obeying this order, andnever afterwards troubled Rose in the least thing; but, on the contrary, made all the advances towards a reconciliation. Rose was obliged toreceive them, but held himself aloof, nevertheless, and continually letslip some raillery against M. Le Prince. I and fifty others were one daywitnesses of this. 

M. Le Prince was accustomed to pay his court to the ministers as theystood waiting to attend the council in the King's chamber; and althoughhe had nothing to say, spoke to them with the mien of a client obliged tofawn. One morning, when there was a large assembly of the Court in thischamber, and M. Le Prince had been cajoling the ministers with muchsuppleness and flattery, Secretary Rose, who saw what had been going on, went up to him on a sudden, and said aloud, putting one finger under hisclosed eye, as was sometimes his habit, "Sir, I have seen your scheminghere with all these gentlemen, and for several days; it is not fornothing. I have known the Court and mankind many years; and am not to beimposed upon: I see clearly where matters point:" and this with turns andinflections of voice which thoroughly embarrassed M. Le Prince, whodefended himself as he could. Every one crowded to hear what was goingon; and at last Rose, taking M. Le Prince respectfully by his arm, said, with a cunning and meaning smile; "Is it not that you wish to be madefirst Prince of the blood royal?" Then he turned on his heel, andslipped off. The Prince was stupefied; and all present tried in vain torestrain their laughter. 

Rose had never pardoned M. De Duras an ill turn the latter had servedhim. During one of the Court journeys, the carriage in which Rose wasriding broke down. He took a horse; but, not being a good equestrian, was very soon pitched into a hole full of mud. While there M. De Duraspassed, and Rose from the midst of the mire cried for help. But M. DeDuras, instead of giving assistance, looked from his coach-window, burstout laughing, and cried out: "What a luxurious horse thus to roll uponRoses!"--and with this witticism passed gently on through the mud. Thenext comer, the Duc de Coislin, was more charitable; he picked up theworthy man, who was so furious, so carried away by anger, that it wassome time before he could say who he was. But the worst was to come; forM. De Duras, who feared nobody, and whose tongue was accustomed to wag asfreely as that of Rose, told the story to the King and to all the Court, who much laughed at it. This outraged Rose to such a point, that henever afterwards approached M. De Duras, and only spoke of him in fury. Whenever he hazarded some joke upon M. De Duras, the King began to laugh, and reminded him of the mud-ducking he had received. 

Towards the end of his life, Rose married his granddaughter, who was tobe his heiress, to Portail, since Chief President of the Parliament. The marriage was not a happy one; the young spouse despised her husband;and said that instead of entering into a good house, she had remained atthe portal. At last her husband and his father complained to Rose. Hepaid no attention at first; but, tired out at last, said if hisgranddaughter persisted in her bad conduct, he would disinherit her. There were no complaints after this. 

Rose was a little man, neither fat nor lean, with a tolerably handsomeface, keen expression, piercing eyes sparkling with cleverness; a littlecloak, a satin skull-cap over his grey hairs, a smooth collar, almostlike an Abbe's, and his pocket-handkerchief always between his coat andhis vest. He used to say that it was nearer his nose there. He hadtaken me into his friendship. He laughed very freely at the foreignprinces; and always called the Dukes with whom he was familiar, "YourDucal Highness, " in ridicule of the sham Highnesses. He was extremelyneat and brisk, and full of sense to the last; he was a sort ofpersonage. 

CHAPTER XXI

On Saturday, the 19th of March, in the evening, the King was about toundress himself, when he heard cries in his chamber, which was full ofcourtiers; everybody calling for Fagon and Felix. Monseigneur had beentaken very ill. He had passed the day at Meudon, where he had eaten onlya collation; at the King's supper he had made amends by gorging himselfnigh to bursting with fish. He was a great eater, like the King, andlike the Queens his mother and grandmother. He had not appeared aftersupper, but had jest gone down to his own room from the King's cabinet, and was about to undress himself, when all at once he lost consciousness. His valets, frightened out of their wits, and some courtiers who werenear, ran to the King's chambers, to his chief physician and his chiefsurgeon with the hubbub which I have mentioned above. The King, allunbuttoned, started to his feet immediately, and descended by a littledark, narrow, and steep staircase towards the chamber of Monseigneur. Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne arrived at the same time, and in aninstant the chamber, which was vast, was filled. 

They found Monseigneur half naked: his servants endeavouring to make himwalk erect, and dragging rather than leading him about. He did not knowthe King, who spoke to him, nor anybody else; and defended himself aslong as he could against Felix, who, in this pressing necessity, hazardedbleeding him, and succeeded. Consciousness returned. Monseigneur askedfor a confessor; the King had already sent for, the cure. Many emeticswere given to him: but two hours passed before they operated. At half-past two in the morning, no further danger appearing, the King, who hadshed tears, went to bed, leaving orders that he was to be awakened if anyfresh accident happened. At five o'clock, however, all the effect havingpassed, the doctors went away, and made everybody leave the sick chamber. During the night all Paris hastened hither. Monseigneur was compelled tokeep his room for eight or ten days; and took care in future not to gorgehimself so much with food. Had this accident happened a quarter of anhour later, the chief valet de chambre, who slept in his room, would havefound him dead in his bed. 

Paris loved Monseigneur, perhaps because he often went to the opera. The fish-fags of the Halles thought it would be proper to exhibit theiraffection, and deputed four stout gossips to wait upon him: they wereadmitted. One of them took him round the neck and kissed him on bothcheeks; the others kissed his hand. They were all very well received. Bontems showed them over the apartments, and treated them to a dinner. Monseigneur gave them some money, and the King did so also. Theydetermined not to remain in debt, and had a fine Te Deum sung at SaintEustache, and then feasted. 

For some time past Monsieur had been sorely grieved that his son, M. LeDuc de Chartres, had not been appointed to the command of an army. WhenM. De Chartres married, the King, who had converted his nephew by forceinto a son-in-law, promised him all kinds of favours; but except thosewhich were written down in black and white had not given him any. M. DeChartres, annoyed at this, and at the manner m which the illegitimatechildren were promoted over his head, had given himself up to all kindsof youthful follies and excesses. The King was surprised to findMonsieur agree with his son's ambition; but gave a flat refusal whenovertures were made to him on the subject. All hope of rising to a highcommand was thus forbidden to the Duc de Chartres; so that Madame had afine excuse for sneering at the weakness which had been shown byMonsieur, who, on his part, had long before repented of it. He winked, therefore, at all the escapades performed or threatened by his son, andsaid nothing, not being sorry that the King should become uneasy, whichwas soon the case. 

The King at last spoke to Monsieur; and being coldly received, reproachedhim for not knowing how to exercise authority over his son. Upon thisMonsieur fired up; and, quite as much from foregone decision as fromanger, in his turn asked the King what was to be done with a son at suchan age: who was sick of treading the galleries of Versailles and thepavement of the Court; of being married as he was, and of remaining, asit were, naked, whilst his brothers-in-law were clothed in dignities, governments, establishments, and offices, --against all policy and allexample. His son, he said, was worse off than any one in the King'sservice, for all others could earn distinction; added, that idleness wasthe mother of all vice, and that it gave him much pain to see his onlyson abandon himself to debauchery and bad company; but that it would becruel to blame a young man, forced as it were into these follies, and tosay nothing against him by whom he was thus forced. 

Who was astonished to hear this straightforward language? Why, the King. Monsieur had never let out to within a thousand leagues of this tone, which was only the more annoying because supported by unanswerablereasons that did not convince. Mastering his embarrassments however, theKing answered as a brother rather than as a sovereign; endeavouring, bygentle words, to calm the excitement of Monsieur. But Monsieur was stungto the quick by the King's neglect of M. De Chartres, and would not bepacified; yet the real subject of the annoyance was never once alludedto, whilst the one kept it steadily in his mind; and the other wasdetermined not to yield. The conversation lasted very long, and waspushed very far; Monsieur throughout taking the high tone, the King verygentle. They separated in this manner, --Monsieur frowning, but notdaring to burst out; the King annoyed, but not wishing to estrange hisbrother, much less to let their squabble be known. 

As Monsieur passed most of his summers at Saint Cloud, the separationwhich this occasioned put them at their ease whilst waiting for areconciliation; and Monsieur came less often than before, but when he didfilled all their private interviews with bitter talk. In public littleor nothing appeared, except that familiar people remarked politeness andattention on the King's part, coldness on that of Monsieur--moods notcommon to either. Nevertheless, being advised not to push matters toofar, he read a lecture to his son, and made him change his conduct bydegrees. But Monsieur still remained irritated against the King; andthis completely upset him, accustomed as he always had been to live onthe best of terms with his brother, and to be treated by him in everyrespect as such--except that the King would not allow Monsieur to becomea great personage. 

Ordinarily, whenever Monsieur or Madame were unwell, even if their littlefinger ached, the King visited them at once; and continued his visits ifthe sickness lasted. But now, Madame had been laid up for six weeks witha tertian fever, for which she would do nothing, because she treatedherself in her German fashion, and despised physic and doctors. TheKing, who, besides the affair of M. Le Duc de Chartres, was secretlyangered with her, as will presently be seen, had not been to see her, although Monsieur had urged him to do so during those flying visits whichhe made to Versailles without sleeping there. This was taken byMonsieur, who was ignorant of the private cause of indignation alludedto, for a public mark of extreme disrespect; and being proud andsensitive he was piqued thereby to the last degree. 

He had other mental troubles to torment him. For some time past he hadhad a confessor who, although a Jesuit, kept as tight a hand over him ashe could. He was a gentleman of good birth, and of Brittany, by name lePere du Trevoux. He forbade Monsieur not only certain strange pleasures, but many which he thought he could innocently indulge in as a penance forhis past life. He often told him that he had no mind to be damned on hisaccount; and that if he was thought too harsh let another confessor beappointed. He also told him to take great care of himself, as he wasold, worn out with debauchery, fat, short-necked, and, according to allappearance, likely to die soon of apoplexy. These were terrible words toa prince the most voluptuous and the most attached to life that had beenseen for a long time; who had always passed his days in the mostluxurious idleness and who was the most incapable by nature of allserious application, of all serious reading, and of all self-examination. He was afraid of the devil; and he remembered that his former confessorhad resigned for similar reasons as this new one was actuated by. He wasforced now, therefore, to look a little into himself, and to live in amanner that, for him, might be considered rigid. From time to time hesaid many prayers; he obeyed his confessor, and rendered an account tohim of the conduct he had prescribed in respect to play and many otherthings, and patiently suffered his confessor's long discourses. Hebecame sad, dejected, and spoke less than usual--that is to say, onlyabout as much as three or four women--so that everybody soon saw thisgreat change. It would have been strange if all these troubles togetherhad not made a great revolution in a man like Monsieur, full-bodied, anda great eater, not only at meals, but all the day. 

On Thursday, the 8th of June, he went from Saint Cloud to dine with theKing at Marly; and, as was his custom, entered the cabinet as soon as theCouncil of State went out. He found the King angry with M. De Chartresfor neglecting his wife, and allowing her to seek consolation for thisneglect in the society of others. M. De Chartres was at that timeenamoured of Mademoiselle de Sary, maid of honour to Madame, and carriedon his suit in the most open and flagrant manner. The King took this forhis theme, and very stiffly reproached Monsieur for the conduct of hisson. Monsieur, who needed little to exasperate him, tartly replied, thatfathers who had led certain lives had little authority over theirchildren, and little right to blame them. The King, who felt the pointof the answer, fell back on the patience of his daughter, and said thatat least she ought not to be allowed to see the truth so clearly. ButMonsieur was resolved to have his fling, and recalled, in the mostaggravating manner, the conduct the King had adopted towards his Queen, with respect to his mistresses, even allowing the latter to accompany himin his journeys--the Queen at his side, and all in the same coach. Thislast remark drove the King beyond all patience, and he redoubled hisreproaches, so that presently both were shouting to each other at the topof their voices. The door of the room in which they wrangled was open, and only covered by a curtain, as was the custom at Marly, and theadjoining room was full of courtiers, waiting to see the King go by todinner. On the other side was a little salon, devoted to very privatepurposes, and filled with valets, who could hear distinctly every word ofwhat passed. The attendant without, upon hearing this noise, entered, and told the King how many people were within hearing, and immediatelyretired. The conversation did not stop, however; it was simply carriedon in a lower tone. Monsieur continued his reproaches; said that theKing, in marrying his daughter to M. De Chartres, had promised marvels, and had done nothing; that for his part he had wished his son to serve, to keep him out of the way of these intrigues, but that his demands hadbeen vain; that it was no wonder M. De Chartres amused himself, by way ofconsolation, for the neglect he had been treated with. Monsieur added, that he saw only too plainly the truth of what had been predicted, namely, that he would have all the shame and dishonour of the marriagewithout ever deriving any profit from it. The King, more and morecarried away by anger, replied, that the war would soon oblige him tomake some retrenchments, and that he would commence by cutting down thepensions of Monsieur, since he showed himself so little accommodating. 

At this moment the King was informed that his dinner was ready, and bothhe and Monsieur left the room and went to table, Monsieur, all fury, flushed, and with eyes inflamed by anger. His face thus crimsonedinduced some ladies who were at table, and some courtiers behind--butmore for the purpose of saying something than anything else--to make theremark, that Monsieur, by his appearance, had great need of bleeding. The same thing had been said some time before at Saint Cloud; he wasabsolutely too full; and, indeed, he had himself admitted that it wastrue. Even the King, in spite of their squabbles, had more than oncepressed him to consent. But Tancrede, his head surgeon, was old, and anunskilful bleeder: he had missed fire once. Monsieur would not be bledby him; and not to vex him was good enough to refuse being bled byanother, and to die in consequence. 

Upon hearing this observation about bleeding, the King spoke to him againon the subject; and said that he did not know what prevented him fromhaving him at once taken to his room, and bled by force. The dinnerpassed in the ordinary manner; and Monsieur ate extremely, as he did atall his meals, to say nothing of an abundant supply of chocolate in themorning, and what he swallowed all day in the shape of fruit, pastry, preserves, and every kind of dainties, with which indeed the tables ofhis cabinets and his pockets were always filled. 

Upon rising from the table, the King, in his carriage, alone went toSaint Germain, to visit the King and Queen of England. Other members ofthe family went there likewise separately; and Monsieur, after goingthere also, returned to Saint Cloud. 

In the evening, after supper, the King was in his cabinet, withMonseigneur and the Princesses, as at Versailles, when a messenger camefrom Saint Cloud, and asked to see the King in the name of the Duc deChartres. He was admitted into the cabinet, and said that Monsieur hadbeen taken very ill while at supper; that he had been bled, that he wasbetter, but that an emetic had been given to him. The fact was, Monsieurhad supped as usual with the ladies, who were at Saint Cloud. During themeal, as he poured out a glass of liqueur for Madame de Bouillon, it wasperceived that he stammered, and pointed at something with his hand. Asit was customary with him sometimes to speak Spanish, some of the ladiesasked what he said, others cried aloud. All this was the work of aninstant, and immediately afterwards Monsieur fell in a fit of apoplexyupon M. De Chartres, who supported him. He was taken into his room, shaken, moved about, bled considerably, and had strong emeticsadministered to him, but scarcely any signs of life did he show. 

Upon hearing this news, the King, who had been accustomed to fly to visitMonsieur for a mere nothing, went to Madame de Maintenon's, and had herwaked up. He passed a quarter of an hour with her, and then, towardsmidnight, returning to his room, ordered his coach to be got ready, andsent the Marquis de Gesvres to Saint Cloud, to see if Monsieur was worse, in which case he was to return and wake him; and they went quickly tobed. Besides the particular relations in which they were at that time, Ithink that the King suspected some artifice; that he went in consequenceto consult Madame de Maintenon, and preferred sinning against all laws ofpropriety to running the chance of being duped. Madame de Maintenon didnot like Monsieur. She feared him. He paid her very little court, anddespite all his timidity and his more than deference, observationsescaped him at times, when he was with the King, which marked his disdainof her, and the shame that he felt of public opinion. She was not eager, therefore, to advise the King to go and visit him, still less to commencea journey by night, the loss of rest, and the witnessing a spectacle sosad, and so likely to touch him, and make him make reflections onhimself; for she hoped that if things went quietly he might be spared thetrouble altogether. 

A moment after the King had got into bed, a page came to say thatMonsieur was better, and that he had just asked for some Schaffhausenwater, which is excellent for apoplexy. An hour and a half later, another messenger came, awakened the King, and told him that the emetichad no effect, and that Monsieur was very ill. At this the King rose andset out at once. On the way he met the Marquis de Gesvres, who wascoming to fetch him, and brought similar news. It may be imagined what ahubbub and disorder there was this night at Marly, and what horror atSaint Cloud, that palace of delight! Everybody who was at Marly hastenedas he was best able to Saint Cloud. Whoever was first ready startedtogether. Men and women jostled each other, and then threw themselvesinto the coaches without order and without regard to etiquette. Monseigneur was with Madame la Duchesse. He was so struck by what hadoccurred, and its resemblance to what he himself had experienced, that hecould scarcely stand, and was dragged, almost carried, to the carriage, all trembling. 

The King arrived at Saint Cloud before three o'clock in the morning. Monsieur had not had a moment's consciousness since his attack. A ray ofintelligence came to him for an instant, while his confessor, Pere duTrevoux, went to say mass, but it returned no more. The most horriblesights have often ridiculous contrasts. When the said confessor cameback, he cried, "Monsieur, do you not know your confessor? Do you notknow the good little Pere du Trevoux, who is speaking to you?" and thuscaused the less afflicted to laugh indecently. 

The King appeared much moved; naturally he wept with great facility; hewas, therefore, all tears. He had never had cause not to love hisbrother tenderly; although on bad terms with him for the last two months, these sad moments recalled all his tenderness; perhaps, too, hereproached himself for having hastened death by the scene of the morning. And finally, Monsieur was younger than he by two years, and all his lifehad enjoyed as good health as he, and better! The King heard mass atSaint Cloud; and, towards eight o'clock in the morning, Monsieur beingpast all hope, Madame de Maintenon and Madame la Duchesse de Bourgognepersuaded the King to stay no longer, and accordingly returned with himin his carriage to Marly. As he was going out and was showing some signof affection to M. De Chartres--both weeping very much--that young Princedid not fail to take advantage of the opportunity. "Oh Sire!" heexclaimed, embracing the King's thighs, "what will become of me? I loseMonsieur, and I know that you do not like me. " The King, surprised andmuch touched, embraced him, and said all the tender things he could. 

On arriving at Marly, the King went with the Duchesse de Bourgogne toMadame de Maintenon. Three hours after came M. Fagon, who had beenordered not to leave Monsieur until he was dead or better--which couldnot be but by miracle. The King said, as soon as he saw him: "Well!M. Fagon, my brother is dead?"--"Yes, Sire, " said Fagon, "no remedy hastaken effect. "

The King wept a good deal. He was pressed to dine with Madame deMaintenon; but he would not do so, and had his dinner, as usual, with theladies. The tears often ran down his cheek, during the meal, which wasshort. After this, he shut himself up in Madame de Maintenon's roomsuntil seven o'clock, and then took a turn in his garden. Afterwards heworked with Chamillart and Pontchartrain; and arranged all the funeralceremonies of Monsieur. He supped an hour before his customary time, andwent to bed soon afterwards. 

At the departure from St. Cloud of the King, all the crowd assembledthere little by little withdrew, so that Monsieur dying, stretched upon acouch in his cabinet, remained exposed to the scullions and the lowerofficers of the household, the majority of whom, either by affection orinterest, were much afflicted. The chief officers and others who lostposts and pensions filled the air with their cries; whilst all the womenwho were at Saint Cloud, and who lost their consideration and theiramusement, ran here and there, crying, with dishevelled hair, likeBacchantes. The Duchesse de la Ferme, who had basely married herdaughter to one of Monsieur's minions, named La Carte, came into thecabinet; and, whilst gazing on the Prince, who still palpitated there, exclaimed, giving vent to her profound reflections, "Pardi! Here is adaughter well married!"

"A very important matter!" cried Chatillon, who himself lost everythingby this death. "Is this a moment to consider whether your daughter iswell married or not?"

Madame, who had never had great affection or great esteem for Monsieur, but who felt her loss and her fall, meanwhile remained in her cabinet, and in the midst of her grief cried out, with all her might, "No convent!Let no one talk of a convent! I will have nothing to do with a convent!"The good Princess had not lost her judgment. She knew that, by hercompact of marriage, she had to choose, on becoming a widow, between aconvent and the chateau of Montargis. She liked neither alternative; butshe had greater fear of the convent than of Montargis; and perhapsthought it would be easier to escape from the latter than the former. She knew she had much to fear from the King, although she did not yetknow all, and although he had been properly polite to her, consideringthe occasion. 

Next morning, Friday, M. De Chartres, came to the King, who was still inbed, and who spoke to him in a very friendly manner. He said that theDuke must for the future regard him as his father; that he would takecare of his position and his interests; that he had forgotten all thelittle causes of anger he had had against him; that he hoped the Dukewould also forget them; that he begged that the advances of friendship hemade, might serve to attach him to him, and make their two hearts belongto one another again. It may easily be conceived how well M. De Chartresanswered all this. 

CHAPTER XXII

After such a frightful spectacle as had been witnessed, so many tears andso much tenderness, nobody doubted that the three, days which remained ofthe stay at Marly would be exceedingly sad. But, on the very morrow ofthe day on which Monsieur died, some ladies of the palace, upon enteringthe apartments of Madame de Maintenon, where was the King with theDuchesse de Bourgogne, about twelve o'clock, heard her from the chamberwhere they were, next to hers, singing opera tunes. A little whileafter, the King, seeing the Duchesse de Bourgogne very sad in a corner ofthe room, asked Madame de Maintenon, with surprise, why the said Duchesswas so melancholy; set himself to work to rouse her; then played with herand some ladies of the palace he had called in to join in the sport. This was not all. Before rising from the dinner table, at a little aftertwo o'clock, and twenty-six hours after the death of Monsieur, Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne asked the Duc de Montfort if he wouldplay at brelan. 

"At brelan!" cried Montfort, in extreme astonishment; "you cannot meanit! Monsieur is still warm. "

"Pardon me, " replied the Prince, "I do mean it though. The King does notwish that we should be dull here at Marly, and has ordered me to makeeverybody play; and, for fear that nobody should dare to begin, to set, myself, the example;" and with this he began to play at brelan; and thesalon was soon filled with gaming tables. 

Such was the affection of the King: such that of Madame de Maintenon!She felt the loss of Monsieur as a deliverance, and could scarcelyrestrain her joy; and it was with the greatest difficulty she succeededin putting on a mournful countenance. She saw that the King was alreadyconsoled; nothing could therefore be more becoming than for her to diverthim, and nothing suited her better than to bring things back into theirusual course, so that there might be no more talk of Monsieur nor ofaffliction. For propriety of appearance she cared nothing. The thingcould not fail, however, to be scandalous; and in whispers was found so. Monseigneur, though he had appeared to like Monsieur, who had given himall sorts of balls and amusements, and shown him every kind of attentionand complaisance, went out wolf hunting the very day after his death;and, upon his return, finding play going on in the salons, went withouthesitation and played himself like the rest. Monseigneur le Duc deBourgogne and M. Le Duc de Berry only saw Monsieur on public occasions, and therefore could not be much moved by his loss. But Madame laDuchesse was extremely touched by this event. He was her grandfather;and she tenderly loved her mother, who loved Monsieur; and Monsieur hadalways been very kind to her, and provided all kinds of diversion forher. Although not very loving to anybody, she loved Monsieur; and wasmuch affected not to dare to show her grief, which she indulged a longtime in private. What the grief of Madame was has already been seen. 

As for M. De Chartres, he was much affected by his loss. The father andson loved each other extremely. Monsieur was a gentle and indulgentparent, who had never constrained his son. But if the Duke's heart wastouched, his reason also was. Besides the great assistance it was to himto have a father, brother of the King, that father was, as it were, a barrier between him and the King, under whose hand he now found himselfdirectly placed. His greatness, his consideration, the comfort of hishouse and his life, would, therefore, depend on him alone. Assiduity, propriety of conduct, a certain manner, and, above all, a very differentdeportment towards his wife, would now become the price of everything hecould expect to obtain from the King. Madame la Duchesse de Chartres, although well treated by Monsieur, was glad to be delivered from him; forhe was a barrier betwixt her and the King, that left her at the mercy ofher husband. She was charmed to be quit of the duty of followingMonsieur to Paris or Saint Cloud, where she found herself, as it were, ina foreign country, with faces which she never saw anywhere else, whichdid not make her welcome; and where she was exposed to the contempt andhumour of Madame, who little spared her. She expected for the futurenever to leave the Court, and to be not only exempt from paying her courtto Monsieur, but that Madame and her husband would for the future beobliged to treat her in quite another manner. 

The bulk of the Court regretted Monsieur, for it was he who set allpleasure a-going; and when he left it, life and merriment seemed to havedisappeared likewise. Setting aside his obstinacy with regard to thePrinces, he loved the order of rank; preferences, and distinctions: hecaused them to be observed as much as possible, and himself set theexample. He loved great people; and was so affable and polite, thatcrowds came to him. The difference which he knew how to make, and whichhe never failed to make, between every one according to his position, contributed greatly to his popularity. In his receptions, by his greateror less, or more neglectful attention, and by his words, he always markedin a flattering manner the differences made by birth and dignity, by ageand merit, and by profession; and all this with a dignity natural to him, and a constant facility which he had acquired. His familiarity obliged, and yet no rash people ever ventured to take advantage of it. He visitedor sent exactly when it was proper; and under his roof he allowed acomplete liberty, without injury to the respect shown him, or to aperfect court air. 

He had learned from the Queen his mother, and well remembered this art. The crowd, therefore, constantly flocked towards the Palais Royal. 

At Saint Cloud, where all his numerous household used to assemble, therewere many ladies who, to speak the truth, would scarcely have beenreceived elsewhere, but many also of a higher set, and great store ofgamblers. The pleasures of all kinds of games, and the singular beautyof the place, where a thousand caleches were always ready to whirl eventhe most lazy ladies through the walks, soft music and good cheer, madeit a palace of delight, grace, and magnificence. 

All this without any assistance from Madame, who dined and supped withthe ladies and Monsieur, rode out sometimes in a caleche with one ofthem, often sulked with the company, made herself feared for her harshand surly temper--frequently even for her words; and passed her days in alittle cabinet she had chosen, where the windows were ten feet from theground, gazing perpetually on the portraits of Paladins and other Germanprinces, with which she had tapestried the walls; and writing every daywith her own hand whole volumes of letters, of which she always keptautograph copies. Monsieur had never been able to bend her to a morehuman way of life; and lived decently with her, without caring for herperson in any way. 

For his part, Monsieur, who had very gallantly won the battle of Cassel, and who had always shown courage in the sieges where he had served, hadonly the bad qualities that distinguish women. With more knowledge ofthe world than wit, with no reading, though he had a vast and exactacquaintance with noble houses, their births and marriages, he was goodfor nothing. Nobody was so flabby in body and mind, no one so weak, so timid, so open to deception, so led by the nose, so despised by hisfavourites, often so roughly treated by them. He was quarrelsome insmall matters, incapable of keeping any secret, suspicious, mistrustful;fond of spreading reports in his Court to make mischief, to learn whatwas really going on or just to amuse himself: he fetched and carried fromone to the other. With so many defects, unrelated to any virtue, he hadsuch an abominable taste, that his gifts and the fortunes that he gave tothose he took into favour had rendered him publicly scandalous. Heneither respected times nor places. His minions, who owed himeverything, sometimes treated him most insolently; and he had often muchto do to appease horrible jealousies. He lived in continual hot waterwith his favourites, to say nothing of the quarrels of that troop ofladies of a very decided character--many of whom were very malicious, and, most, more than malicious--with whom Monsieur used to diverthimself, entering into all their wretched squabbles. 

The Chevaliers de Lorraine and Chatillon had both made a large fortune bytheir good looks, with which he was more smitten than with those of anyother of his favourites. Chatillon, who had neither head, nor sense, norwit, got on in this way, and acquired fortune. The other behaved like aGuisard, who blushes at nothing provided he succeeds; and governedMonsieur with a high hand all his life, was overwhelmed with money andbenefices, did what he liked for his family, lived always publicly as themaster with Monsieur; and as he had, with the pride of the Guises, theirart and cleverness, he contrived to get between the King and Monsieur, to be dealt with gingerly, if not feared by both, and was almost asimportant a man with the one as with the other. He had the finestapartments in the Palais Royal and Saint Cloud, and a pension of tenthousand crowns. He remained in his apartments after the death ofMonsieur, but would not from pride continue to receive the pension, whichfrom pride was offered him. Although it would have been difficult to bemore timid and submissive than was Monsieur with the King--for heflattered both his ministers and his mistresses--he, nevertheless, mingled with his respectful demeanour the demeanour of a brother, and thefree and easy ways of one. In private, he was yet more unconstrained;always taking an armed chair, and never waiting until the King told himto sit. In the Cabinet, after the King appeared, no other Prince satbesides him, not even Monseigneur. But in what regarded his service, andhis manner of approaching and leaving the King, no private person couldbehave with more respect; and he naturally did everything with grace anddignity. He never, however, was able to bend to Madame de Maintenoncompletely, nor avoid making small attacks on her to the King, nor avoidsatirising her pretty broadly in person. It was not her success thatannoyed him; but simply the idea that La Scarron had become his sister-in-law; this was insupportable to him. Monsieur was extremely vain, butnot haughty, very sensitive, and a great stickler for what was due tohim. Upon one occasion he complained to the King that M. Le Duc had forsome time neglected to attend upon him, as he was bound, and had boastedthat he would not do it. The King replied, that it was not a thing to beangry about, that he ought to seek an opportunity to be served by M. LeDuc, and if he would not, to affront him. Accordingly, one morning atMarly, as he was dressing, seeing M. Le Duc walking in the garden, Monsieur opened the window and called to him. Monsieur le Duc came up, and entered the room. Then, while one remark was leading to another, Monsieur slipped off his dressing-gown, and then his shirt. A valet dechambre standing by, at once slipped a clean shirt into the hands of M. Le Duc, who, caught thus in a trap, was compelled to offer the garment toMonsieur, as it was his duty to do. As soon as Monsieur had received it, he burst out laughing, and said--"Good-bye, cousin, go away. I do notwant to delay you longer. " M. Le Duc felt the point of this, and wentaway very angry, and continued so in consequence of the high toneMonsieur afterwards kept up on the subject. 

Monsieur was a little round-bellied man, who wore such high-heeled shoesthat he seemed mounted always upon stilts; was always decked out like awoman, covered everywhere with rings, bracelets, jewels; with a longblack wig, powdered, and curled in front; with ribbons wherever he couldput them; steeped in perfumes, and in fine a model of cleanliness. Hewas accused of putting on an imperceptible touch of rouge. He had a longnose, good eyes and mouth, a full but very long face. All his portraitsresembled him. I was piqued to see that his features recalled those ofLouis XIII. , to whom; except in matters of courage, he was so completelydissimilar. 

On Saturday, the 11th of June, the Court returned to Versailles. Onarriving there the King went to visit Madame and her son and daughter-in-law separately. Madame, very much troubled by reflection on her positionwith regard to the King, had sent the Duchesse de Ventadour to Madame deMaintenon. The latter replied to the message only in general terms; saidshe would visit Madame after dinner, and requested that the Duchess mightbe present at the interview. It was Sunday, the morning after the returnfrom Marly. After the first compliments, every one went out exceptMadame de Ventadour. Then Madame requested Madame de Maintenon to sitdown; and she must have felt her position keenly to bring her to this. 

She began the conversation by complaining of the indifference with whichthe King had treated her during her illness. Madame de Maintenon allowedher to talk on; and when she had finished, said that the King hadcommanded her to say that their common loss effaced all the past, provided that he had reason to be better satisfied for the future, notonly as regarded M. Le Duc de Chartres, but other matters also. Uponthis Madame exclaimed and protested that, except in as far as regardedher son, she had never given cause for displeasure; and went onalternating complaints and justifications. Precisely at the point whenshe was most emphatic, Madame de Maintenon drew forth a letter from herpocket and asked if the handwriting was known to her. It was a letterfrom Madame to the Duchess of Hanover, in which she said, after givingnews of the Court, that no one knew what to say of the intercoursebetween the King and Madame de Maintenon, whether it was that of marriageor of concubinage; and then, touching upon other matters, launched outupon the misery of the realm: that, she said, was too great to berelieved. This letter had been opened at the post--as almost all letterswere at that time, and are indeed still--and sent to the King. It may beimagined that this was a thunderstroke to Madame: it nearly killed her. She burst into tears; and Madame de Maintenon very quietly and demurelybegan to represent to her the contents of the letter in all its parts, especially as it was addressed to a foreign country. Madame de Ventadourinterposed with some twaddle, to give Madame time to breathe and recoversufficiently to say something. The best excuse was the admission of whatcould not be denied, with supplications for pardon, expressions ofrepentance, prayers, promises. But Madame de Maintenon had not finishedyet. Having got rid of the commission she had been charged with by theKing, she next turned to her own business: she asked Madame how it was, that after being so friendly with her a long time ago, she had suddenlyceased to bestow any regard upon her, and had continued to treat her withcoldness ever since. At this, Madame thinking herself quite safe, saidthat the coldness was on the part of Madame de Maintenon, who had all ona sudden discontinued the friendly intercourse which formerly existedbetween them. As before, Madame de Maintenon allowed Madame to talk herfill before she replied. She then said she was about to divulge a secretwhich had never escaped her mouth, although she had for ten years been atliberty to tell it; and she forthwith related a thousand most offensivethings which had been uttered against her by Madame to the late Madame laDauphine. This latter, falling out with Madame, had related all thesethings to Madame de Maintenon, who now brought them forward triumphantly. 

At this new blow, Madame was thunderstruck, and stood like a statue. There was nothing for it but to behave as before--that is to say, shedtears, cry, ask pardon, humble herself, and beg for mercy. Madame deMaintenon triumphed coldly over her for a long time, --allowing her toexcite herself in talking, and weeping, and taking her hands, which shedid with increasing energy and humility. This was a terrible humiliationfor such a haughty German. Madame de Maintenon at last gave way, as shehad always meant to do after having satiated her vengeance. Theyembraced, promised forgetfulness on both sides, and a new friendship fromthat time. The King, who was not ignorant of what had occurred, tookback Madame into favour. She went neither to a convent nor to Montargis, but was allowed to remain in Paris, and her pension was augmented. Asfor M. Le Duc de Chartres, he was prodigiously well treated. The Kinggave him all the pensions Monsieur had enjoyed, besides allowing him toretain his own; so that he had one million eight hundred thousand livresa year; added to the Palais Royal, Saint Cloud, and other mansions. Hehad a Swiss guard, which none but the sons of France had ever had before;in fact he retained all the privileges his father had enjoyed, and hetook the name of Duc d'Orleans. The pensions of Madame de Chartres wereaugmented. All these honours so great and so unheard of bestowed on M. De Chartres, and an income of a hundred thousand crowns more than hisfather, were due solely to the quarrel which had recently taken placebetween Monsieur and the King, as to the marriage M. De Chartres hadmade. People accustom themselves to everything, but this prodigious goodfortune infinitely surprised everybody. The Princes of the blood wereextremely mortified. To console them, the King immediately gave to M. LePrince all the advantages of a first Prince of the blood, and added tenthousand crowns to his pension. 

Madame wore deep mourning for forty days, after which she threw it almostentirely aside, with the King's permission. He did not like to see suchsad-looking things before his eyes every day. Madame went about inpublic, and with the Court, in her half-mourning, under pretence thatbeing with the King, and living under his roof, she was of the family. But her conduct was not the less thought strange in spite of this excuse. During the winter, as the King could not well go to the theatre, thetheatre cane to him, in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, wherecomedies with music were played. The King wore mourning for six months, and paid all the expenses of the superb funeral which took place on the13th of June. 

While upon the subject of Monsieur, I will relate an anecdote known tobut few people, concerning the death of his first wife, Henrietted'Angleterre, whom nobody doubts was poisoned. Her gallantries madeMonsieur jealous; and his tastes made her furious. His favourites, whomshe hated, did all in their power to sow discord between them, in orderto dispose of Monsieur at their will. The Chevalier de Lorraine, then inthe prime of his first youth (having been born in 1643) completely ruledover Monsieur, and made Madame feel that he had this power. She, charming and young, could not suffer this, and complained to the King, so that M. De Lorraine was exiled. When Monsieur heard this, he swooned, then melted into tears, and throwing himself at the feet of the King, implored him to recall M. De Lorraine. But his prayers were useless, and, rushing away in fury, he retired into the country and remained thereuntil, ashamed of a thing so publicly disgraceful, he returned to Parisand lived with Madame as before. 

Although M. De Lorraine was banished, two of his intimate friends, D'Effiat and the Count de Beuvron, remained in the household of Monsieur. The absence of M. De Lorraine nipped all their hopes of success, and madethem fear that some other favourite might arrive from whom they couldhope for nothing. They saw no chance that M. De Lorraine's exile wouldspeedily terminate; for Madame (Henriette d'Angleterre) was in greaterfavour with the King than ever, and had just been sent by him intoEngland on a mysterious errand in which she had perfectly succeeded. She returned triumphant and very well in health. This gave the last blowto the hopes of D'Effiat and Beuvron, as to the return of M. De Lorraine, who had gone to Italy to try to get rid of his vexation. I know notwhich of the three thought of it first, but the Chevalier de Lorrainesent a sure and rapid poison to his two friends by a messenger who didnot probably know what he carried. 

At Saint Cloud, Madame was in the habit of taking a glass of endive-water, at about seven o'clock in the evening. A servant of hers used tomake it, and then put it away in a cupboard where there was some ordinarywater for the use of Madame if she found the other too bitter. Thecupboard was in an antechamber which served as the public passage bywhich the apartments of Madame were reached. D'Effiat took notice of allthese things, and on the 29th of June, 1670, he went to the ante-chamber;saw that he was unobserved and that nobody was near, and threw the poisoninto the endive-water; then hearing some one approaching, he seized thejug of common water and feigned to be putting it back in its place justas the servant, before alluded to, entered and asked him sharply what hewas doing in that cupboard. D'Effiat, without losing countenance, askedhis pardon, and said, that being thirsty, and knowing there was somewater in the cupboard, he could not resist drinking. The servantgrumbled; and D'Effiat, trying to appease him, entered the apartments ofMadame, like the other courtiers, and began talking without the slightestemotion. 

What followed an hour afterwards does not belong to my subject, and hasmade only too much stir throughout all Europe. Madame died on themorrow, June 30, at three o'clock in the morning; and the King wasprofoundly prostrated with grief. Apparently during the day, someindications showed him that Purnon, chief steward of Madame, was in thesecret of her decease. Purnon was brought before him privately, and wasthreatened with instant death, unless he disclosed all; full pardon beingon the contrary promised him if he did. Purnon, thus pressed, admittedthat Madame had been poisoned, and under the circumstance I have justrelated. "And my brother, " said the King, "did he know of this?"--"No, Sire, not one of us was stupid enough to tell him; he has nosecrecy, he would have betrayed us. " On hearing this answer the Kinguttered a great "ah!" like a man oppressed, who suddenly breathes again. 

Purnon was immediately set at liberty; and years afterwards related thisnarrative to M. Joly de Fleury, procureur-general of the Parliament, bywhich magistrate it was related to me. From this same magistrate Ilearned that, a few days before the second marriage of Monsieur, the Kingtook Madame aside and told her that circumstance, assuring her that hewas too honest a man to wish her to marry his brother, if that brothercould be capable of such a crime. Madame profited by what she heard. Purnon remained in her service; but after a time she pretended to findfaults in him, and made him resign; he sold his post accordingly, towardsthe end of 1674, to Maurel de Vaulonne, and quitted her service. 

CHAPTER XXIII

A the breaking out of the war in Italy this year Segur bought thegovernment of the Foix country from Tallard, one of the generals calledaway to serve in that war. Segur had been in his youth a very handsomefellow; he was at that time in the Black Musketeers, and this company wasalways quartered at Nemours while the Court was at Fontainebleau. Segurplayed very well upon the lute; but found life dull, nevertheless, atNemours, made the acquaintance of the Abbesse de la Joye, a place hardby, and charmed her ears and eyes so much that she became with child byhim. After some months the Abbess pleaded illness, left the convent, andset out for the waters, as she said. Putting off her journey too long, she was obliged to stop a night at Fontainebleau; and in consequence ofthe Court being there, could find no accommodation, except in a wretchedlittle inn already full of company. She had delayed so long that thepangs of labour seized her in the night, and the cries she utteredbrought all the house to her assistance. She was delivered of a childthen and there; and the next morning this fact was the talk of the town. 

The Duc de Saint Aignan, one of the first of the courtiers who learnedit, went straight to the King, who was brisk and free enough in thosedays, and related to him what had occurred; the King laughed heartily atthe poor Abbess, who, while trying to hide her shame, had come into thevery midst of the Court. Nobody knew then that her abbey was only fourleagues distant, but everybody learned it soon, and the Duc de SaintAignan among the first. 

When he returned to his house, he found long faces on every side. Hisservants made signs one to another, but nobody said a word. He perceivedthis, and asked what was the matter; but, for some time, no one dared toreply. At last a valet-de-chambre grew bold enough to say to SaintAignan, that the Abbess, whose adventure had afforded so much mirth, washis own daughter; and that, after he had gone to the King, she had sentfor assistance, in order to get out of the place where she was staying. 

It was now the Duke's turn to be confused. After having made the Kingand all the Court laugh at this adventure, he became himself thelaughing-stock of everybody. He bore the affair as well as he could;carried away the Abbess and her baggage; and, as the scandal was public, made her send in her resignation and hide herself in another convent, where she lived more than forty years. 

That worthy man, Saint-Herem, died this year at his house in Auvergne, towhich he had retired. Everybody liked him; and M. De Rochefoucauld hadreproached the King for not making him Chevalier of the Order. The Kinghad confounded him with Courtine, his brother-in-law, for they hadmarried two sisters; but when put right had not given the favour. 

Madame de Saint-Herem was the most singular creature in the world, notonly in face but in manners. She half boiled her thigh one day in theSeine, near Fontainebleau, where she was bathing. The river was toocold; she wished to warm it, and had a quantity of water heated andthrown into the stream just above her. The water reaching her before itcould grow cold, scalded her so much that she was forced to keep her bed. 

When it thundered, she used to squat herself under a couch and make allher servants lie above, one upon the other, so that if the thunderboltfell, it might have its effect upon them before penetrating to her. Shehad ruined herself and her husband, though they were rich, through sheerimbecility; and it is incredible the amount of money she spent in herabsurdities. 

The best adventure which happened to her, among a thousand others, was ather house in the Place Royale, where she was one day attacked by amadman, who, finding her alone in her chamber, was very enterprising. The good lady, hideous at eighteen, but who was at this time eighty and awidow, cried aloud as well as she could. Her servants heard her at last, ran to her assistance, and found her all disordered, struggling in thehands of this raging madman. The man was found to be really out of hissenses when brought before the tribunal, and the story amused everybody. 

The health of the King of England (James II. ), which had for some timebeen very languishing, grew weaker towards the middle of August of thisyear, and by the 8th of September completely gave way. There was nolonger any hope. The King, Madame de Maintenon, and all the royalpersons, visited him often. He received the last sacrament with a pietyin keeping with his past life, and his death was expected every instant. In this conjuncture the King made a resolve more worthy of Louis XII. , orFrancis I. , than of his own wisdom. On Tuesday, the 13th of September, he went from Marly to Saint Germain. The King of England was so ill thatwhen the King was announced to him he scarcely opened his eyes for aninstant. The King told him that he might die in peace respecting thePrince of Wales, whom he would recognise as King of England, Scotland, and Ireland. 

The few English who were there threw themselves upon their knees, but theKing of England gave no signs of life. The gratitude of the Prince ofWales and of his mother, when they heard what the King had said, may beimagined. Returned to Marly, the King repeated to all the Court what hehad said. Nothing was heard but praises and applause. 

Yet reflections did not fail to be made promptly, if not publicly. Itwas seen, that to recognise the Prince of Wales was to act in directopposition to the recognition of the Prince of Orange as King of England, that the King had declared at the Peace of Ryswick. It was to wound thePrince of Orange in the tenderest point, and to invite England andHolland to become allies of the Emperor against France. As for thePrince of Wales, this recognition was no solid advantage to him, but wascalculated to make the party opposed to him in England only more bitterand vigilant in their opposition. 

The King of England, in the few intervals of intelligence he had, appeared much impressed by what the King had done. He died about threeo'clock in the afternoon of the 16th September of this year, 1701. He had requested that there might he no display at his funeral, and hiswish was faithfully observed. He was buried on the Saturday, at seveno'clock in the evening, in the church of the English Benedictines atParis, Rue St. Jacques, without pomp, and attended by but few mourners. His body rests in the chapel, like that of the simplest private person, until the time, apparently very distant, when it shall be transported toEngland. His heart is at the Filles de Sainte Marie, of Chaillot. 

Immediately afterwards, the Prince of Wales was received by the King asKing of England, with all the formalities and state with which his fatherbefore him had been received. Soon afterwards he was recognised by thenew King of Spain. 

The Count of Manchester, English ambassador in France, ceased to appearat Versailles after this recognition of the Prince of Wales by the King, and immediately quitted his post and left the country without any leave-taking. King William heard, while in Holland, of the death of James II. And of this recognition. He was at table with some German princes andother lords when the news arrived; did not utter a word, except toannounce the death; but blushed, pulled down his hat, and could not keephis countenance. He sent orders to London, to drive out Poussin, actingas French ambassador, immediately; and Poussin directly crossed the seaand arrived at Calais. 

This event was itself followed by the signing of the great treaty ofalliance, offensive and defensive, against France and Spain, by Austria, England, and Holland; in which they afterwards succeeded in engagingother powers, which compelled the King to increase the number of histroops. 

Just after the return of the Court from Fontainebleau, a strange scenehappened at St. Maur, in a pretty house there which M. Le Duc possessed. He was at this house one night with five or six intimate friends, whom hehad invited to pass the night there. One of these friends was the Comtede Fiesque. At table, and before the wine had begun to circulate, adispute upon some historical point arose between him and M. Le Duc. TheComte de Fiesque, who had some intellect and learning, strongly sustainedhis opinion. M. Le Duc sustained his; and for want of better reasons, threw a plate at the head of Fiesque, drove him from the table and out ofthe house. So sudden and strange a scene frightened the guests. TheComte de Fiesque, who had gone to M. Le Duc's house with the intention ofpassing the night there, had not retained a carriage, went to ask shelterof the cure, and got back to Paris the next day as early in the morningas he could. It may be imagined that the rest of the supper and of theevening was terribly dull. M. Le Duc remained fuming (perhaps againsthimself, but without saying so), and could not be induced to apologisefor the affront. It made a great stir in society, and things remainedthus several months. After a while, friends mixed themselves in thematter; M. Le Duc, completely himself again, made all the advancestowards a reconciliation. The Comte de Fiesque received them, and thereconciliation took place. The most surprising thing is, that after thisthey continued on as good terms as though nothing had passed betweenthem. 

The year 1702 commenced with balls at Versailles, many of which weremasquerades. Madame du Maine gave several in her chamber, always keepingher bed because she was in the family-way; which made rather a singularspectacle. There were several balls at Marly, but the majority were notmasquerades. The King often witnessed, but in strict privacy, and alwaysin the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, sacred dramas such as"Absalon, " "Athalie, " &c. Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, M. Le Ducd'Orleans, the Comte and Comtesse d'Anjou, the young Comte de Noailles, Mademoiselle de Melun, urged by the Noailles, played the principalcharacters in very magnificent stage dresses. Baron, the excellent oldactor, instructed them and played with them. M. De Noailles and hisclever wife were the inventors and promoters of these interior pleasures, for the purpose of intruding themselves more and more into the society ofthe King, in support of the alliance of Madame de Maintenon. 

Only forty spectators were admitted to the representations. Madame wassometimes invited by the King, because she liked plays. This favour wasmuch sought after. Madame de Maintenon wished to show that she hadforgotten the past. 

Longepierre had written a very singular piece called "Electra, " which wasplayed on a magnificent stage erected in Madame de Conti's house, and allthe Court flocked several times to see it. This piece was without love, but full of other passions and of most interesting situations. I thinkit had been written in the hopes that the King would go and see it. Buthe contented himself with hearing it talked about, and the representationwas confined to the Hotel de Conti. Longepierre would not allow it to begiven elsewhere. He was an intriguing fellow of much wit, gentle, insinuating, and who, under a tranquillity and indifference and a verydeceitful philosophy, thrust himself everywhere, and meddled witheverything in order to make his fortune. He succeeded in intrudinghimself into favour with the Duc d'Orleans, but behaved so badly that hewas driven away. 

The death of the Abbe de Vatteville occurred at the commencement of thisyear, and made some noise, on account of the prodigies of the Abbe'slife. This Vatteville was the younger son of a Franche-Comte family;early in life he joined the Order of the Chartreux monks, and wasordained priest. He had much intellect, but was of an impetuous spirit, and soon began to chafe under the yoke of a religious life. Hedetermined, therefore, to set himself free from it, and procured somesecular habits, pistols, and a horse. Just as he was about to escapeover the walls of the monastery by means of a ladder, the prior enteredhis cell. 

Vatteville made no to-do, but at once drew a pistol, shot the prior dead, and effected his escape. 

Two or three days afterwards, travelling over the country and avoidingas much as possible the frequented places, he arrived at a wretchedroadside inn, and asked what there was in the house. The landlordreplied--"A leg of mutton and a capon. "--"Good!" replied our unfrockedmonk; "put them down to roast. "

The landlord replied that they were too much for a single person, andthat he had nothing else for the whole house. The monk upon this flewinto a passion, and declared that the least the landlord could do was togive him what he would pay for; and that he had sufficient appetite toeat both leg of mutton and capon. They were accordingly put down to thefire, the landlord not daring to say another word. While they werecooking, a traveller on horseback arrived at the inn, and learning thatthey were for one person, was much astonished. He offered to pay hisshare to be allowed to dine off them with the stranger who had orderedthis dinner; but the landlord told him he was afraid the gentleman wouldnot consent to the arrangement. Thereupon the traveller went upstairs, and civilly asked Vatteville if he might dine with him on paying half ofthe expense. Vatteville would not consent, and a dispute soon arosebetween the two; to be brief, the monk served this traveller as he hadserved the prior, killed him with a pistol shot. After this he wentdownstairs tranquilly, and in the midst of the fright of the landlord andof the whole house, had the leg of mutton and capon served up to him, picked both to the very bone, paid his score, remounted his horse, andwent his way. 

Not knowing what course to take, he went to Turkey, and in order tosucceed there, had himself circumcised, put on the turban, and enteredinto the militia. His blasphemy advanced him, his talents and his colourdistinguished him; he became Bacha, and the confidential man in theMorea, where the Turks were making war against the Venetians. Hedetermined to make use of this position in order to advance his owninterests, and entering into communication with the generalissimo of theRepublic, promised to betray into his hands several secret placesbelonging to the Turks, but on certain conditions. These were, absolution from the Pope for all crimes of his life, his murders and hisapostasy included; security against the Chartreux and against beingplaced in any other Order; full restitution of his civil rights, andliberty to exercise his profession of priest with the right of possessingall benefices of every kind. The Venetians thought the bargain too goodto be refused, and the Pope, in the interest of the Church, accorded allthe demands of the Bacha. When Vatteville was quite assured that hisconditions would be complied with, he took his measures so well that heexecuted perfectly all he had undertaken. Immediately after he threwhimself into the Venetian army, and passed into Italy. He was wellreceived at Rome by the Pope, and returned to his family in Franche-Comte, and amused himself by braving the Chartreux. 

At the first conquest of the Franche-Comte, he intrigued so well with theQueen-mother and the ministry, that he was promised the Archbishopric ofBesancon; but the Pope cried out against this on account of his murders, circumcision, and apostasy. The King sided with the Pope, and Vattevillewas obliged to be contented with the abbey of Baume, another good abbeyin Picardy, and divers other advantages. 

Except when he came to the Court, where he was always received with greatdistinction, he remained at his abbey of Baume, living there like a grandseigneur, keeping a fine pack of hounds, a good table, entertainingjovial company, keeping mistresses very freely; tyrannising over histenants and his neighbours in the most absolute manner. The intendantsgave way to him, and by express orders of the Court allowed him to actmuch as he pleased, even with the taxes, which he regulated at his will, and in his conduct was oftentimes very violent. With these manners andthis bearing, which caused him to be both feared and respected, he wouldoften amuse himself by going to see the Chartreux, in order to plumehimself on having quitted their frock. He played much at hombre, andfrequently gained 'codille' (a term of the game), so that the name of theAbbe Codille was given to him. He lived in this manner always with thesame licence and in the same consideration, until nearly ninety years ofage. 

CHAPTER XXIV

The changes which took place in the army after the Peace of Ryswick, werevery great and very strange. The excellence of the regiments, the meritsof the officers, those who commanded, all were forgotten by Barbezieux, young and impetuous, whom the King allowed to act as he liked. Myregiment was disbanded, and my company was incorporated with that ofCount d'Uzes, brother-in-law of Duras, who looked well after theinterests of his relative. I was thus deprived of command, withoutregiment, without company, and the only opportunity offered me was toserve in a regiment commanded by Saint Morris, where I should have been, as it were, at the lowest step of the ladder, with my whole militarycareer to begin over again. 

I had served at the head of my regiment during four campaigns, withapplause and reputation, I am bold enough to say it. I thought thereforeI was entitled to better treatment than this. Promotions were made; fiveofficers, all my juniors, were placed over my head. I resolved then toleave the service, but not to take a rash step. I consulted first withseveral friends before sending in my resignation. All whom I consultedadvised me to quit the service, but for a long time I could not resolveto do so. Nearly three months passed, during which I suffered cruelanguish of mind from my irresolution. I knew that if I left the army Ishould be certain to incur the anger of the King, and I do not hesitateto say that this was not a matter of indifference to me. The King wasalways annoyed when anybody ceased to serve; he called it "quitting him;"and made his anger felt for a long time. At last, however, I determinedon my course of action. 

I wrote a short letter to the King, in which, without making anycomplaints, I said that as my health was not good (it had given me sometrouble on different occasions) I begged to be allowed to quit hisservice, and said that I hoped I should be permitted to console myselffor leaving the army by assiduously attending upon him at the Court:After despatching this letter I went away immediately to Paris. 

I learnt afterwards from my friends, that upon receiving my letter theKing called Chamillart to him, and said with emotion: "Well! Monsieur, here is another man who quits us!--" and he read my letter word for word. I did not learn that anything else escaped him. 

As for me, I did not return to Versailles for a whole week, or see theKing again until Easter Monday. After his supper that evening, and whenabout to undress himself, he paid me a distinction, a mere trifle Iadmit, and which I should be ashamed to mention if it did not under thecircumstances serve as a characteristic of him. 

Although the place he undressed in was very well illuminated, thechaplain at the evening prayers there held in his hand a lighted candle, which he gave afterwards to the chief valet-de-chambre, who carried itbefore the King until he reached his arm-chair, and then handed it towhomever the King ordered him to give it to. On this evening the King, glancing all around him, cast his eye upon me, and told the valet to givethe candle to me. It was an honour which he bestowed sometimes upon one, sometimes upon another, according to his whim, but which, by his mannerof bestowing it, was always coveted, as a great distinction. My surprisemay be imagined when I heard myself named aloud for this office, not onlyon this but on many other occasions. It was not that there was any lackof people of consideration to hold the candle; but the King wassufficiently piqued by my retirement not to wish everybody to see thathe was so. 

For three years he failed not to make me feel to what extent he was angrywith me. He spoke to me no longer; he scarcely bestowed a glance uponme, and never once alluded to my letter. To show that his annoyance didnot extend to my wife, but that it was solely and wholly directed againstme, he bestowed, about eight months after, several marks of favour uponMadame de Saint-Simon. She was continually invited to the suppers atTrianon--an honour which had never before been granted her. I onlylaughed at this. Madame de Saint-Simon was not invited to Marly; becausethe husbands always, by right, accompanied their wives there, apartmentsbeing given for both. At Trianon it was different. Nobody was allowedto sleep there except those absolutely in attendance. The King wished, therefore, the better to mark by this distinction that the exclusion wasintended for me alone, and that my wife had no part in it. 

Notwithstanding this; I persevered in my ordinary assiduity, without everasking to be invited to Marly, and lived agreeably with my wife and myfriends. I have thought it best to finish with this subject at once--nowI must go back to my starting point. 

At the commencement of this year (1702) it seemed as though theflatterers of the King foresaw that the prosperity of his reign was atan end, and that henceforth they would only have to praise him for hisconstancy. The great number of medals that had been struck on alloccasions--the most ordinary not having been forgotten--were collected, engraved, and destined for a medallic history. The Abbes Tallemant, Toureil, and Dacier, three learned members of the Academy, were chargedwith the explanation to be placed opposite each of these medals, in alarge volume of the most magnificent impression of the Louvre. As thehistory commenced at the death of Louis XIII. , his medal was placed atthe head of the book, and thus it became necessary to say something ofhim in the preface. 

As it was known that I had a correct knowledge of Louis XIII. , I wasasked to write that portion of the preface which related to him. Iconsented to this, but on condition that I should be spared the ridiculeof it in society, and that the matter should be faithfully kept secret. I wrote my theme then, which cost me little more than a morning, being ofsmall extent. I had the fate of authors: my writing was praised, andappeared to answer all expectations. I congratulated myself, delightedat having devoted two or three hours to a grateful duty--for so Iconsidered it. 

But when my essay was examined, the three gentlemen above-named wereaffrighted. There are truths the unstudied simplicity of which emits alustre which obscures all the results of an eloquence which exaggeratesor extenuates; Louis XIII. Furnished such proofs in abundance. I hadcontented myself by showing them forth; but this picture tarnished thosewhich followed--so at least it appeared to those who had gilded thelatter. They applied themselves, therefore, to cut out, or weaken, everything that might, by comparison, obscure their hero. But as theyfound at last that it was not me they had to correct, but the thingitself, they gave up the task altogether, threw aside my writing, andprinted the history without any notice whatever of Louis XIII. Under hisportrait--except to note that his death caused his son to ascend thethrone. 

Reflections upon this kind of iniquity would carry me too far. 

In the early part of this year (1702), King William (of England), wornout before his time with labours and business, in which he had beenengaged all his life, and which he had carried on with a capacity, anaddress, a superiority of genius that acquired for him supreme authorityin Holland, the crown of England, the confidence, and, to speak thetruth, the complete dictatorship of all Europe--except France;--KingWilliam, I say, had fallen into a wasting of strength and of healthwhich, without attacking or diminishing his intellect, or causing him torelax the infinite labours of his cabinet, was accompanied by adeficiency of breath, which aggravated the asthma he had had for severalyears. He felt his condition, and his powerful genius did not disavowit. Under forged names he consulted the most eminent physicians ofEurope, among others, Fagon; who, having to do, as he thought, with acure, replied in all sincerity, and with out dissimulation, that he mustprepare for a speedy death. His illness increasing, William consultedFagon, anew, but this time openly. The physician recognised the maladyof the cure--he did not change his opinion, but expressed it in a lessdecided manner, and prescribed with much feeling the remedies most likelyif not to cure, at least to prolong. These remedies were followed andgave relief; but at last the time had arrived when William was to feelthat the greatest men finish like the humblest and to see the nothingnessof what the world calls great destinies. 

He rode out as often as he could; but no longer having the strength tohold himself on horseback, received a fall, which hastened his end by theshock it gave him. He occupied himself with religion as little as he hadall his life. He ordered everything, and spoke to his ministers and hisfamiliars with a surprising tranquillity, which did not abandon him untilthe last moment. Although crushed with pain, he had the satisfaction ofthinking that he had consummated a great alliance, which would last afterhis death, and that it would strike the great blow against France, whichhe had projected. This thought, which flattered him even in the hour ofdeath, stood in place of all other consolation, --a consolation frivolousand cruelly deceitful, which left him soon the prey to eternal truths!For two days he was sustained by strong waters and spirituous liquors. His last nourishment was a cup of chocolate. He died the 19th March, 1702, at ten o'clock in the morning. 

The Princess Anne, his sister-in-law, wife of Prince George of Denmark, was at the same time proclaimed queen. A few days after, she declaredher husband Grand Admiral and Commander-in-Chief (generalissimo), recalled the Earl of Rochester, her maternal uncle, and the Earl ofSunderland, and sent the Count of Marlborough, afterwards so well known, to Holland to follow out there all the plans of his predecessor. 

The King did not learn this death until the Saturday morning following, by a courier from Calais. A boat had escaped, in spite of the vigilancewhich had closed the ports. The King was silent upon the news, except toMonseigneur and to Madame de Maintenon. On the next day confirmation ofthe intelligence arrived from all parts. The King no longer made asecret of it, but spoke little on the subject, and affected muchindifference respecting it. With the recollection of all the indecentfollies committed in Paris during the last war, when it was believed thatWilliam had been killed at the battle of the Boyne in Ireland, thenecessary precautions against falling into the same error were taken bythe King's orders. 

The King simply declared that he would not wear mourning, and prohibitedthe Duc de Bouillon, the Marechal de Duras and the Marechal de Lorges, who were all related to William, from doing so--an act probably withoutexample. Nearly all England and the United Provinces mourned the loss ofWilliam. Some good republicans alone breathed again with joy in secret, at having recovered their liberty. The grand alliance was very sensiblytouched by this loss, but found itself so well cemented, that the spiritof William continued to animate it; and Heinsius, his confidant, perpetuated it, and inspired all the chiefs of the republic, their alliesand their generals, with it, so that it scarcely appeared that Williamwas no more. 

I have related, in its proper place, all that happened to Catinat inItaly, when the schemes of Tesse and M. De Vaudemont caused him to bedismissed from the command of the army. After the signing of thealliance against France by the Emperor, England, and Holland, the wartook a more extended field. It became necessary to send an army to theRhine. There was nothing for it but to have recourse to Catinat. 

Since his return from Italy, he had almost always lived at his littlehouse of Saint Gratien, beyond Saint Denis, where he bore with wisdom theinjury that had been done him and the neglect he had experienced upon hisreturn, surrounded by his family and a small number of friends. Chamillart one day sent for him, saying that he had the King's order totalk with him. Catinat went accordingly to Chamillart, from whom helearned that he was destined for the Rhine; he refused the command, andonly accepted it after a long dispute, by the necessity of obedience. 

On the morrow, the 11th of March, the King called Catinat into hiscabinet. The conversation was amiable on the part of the King, seriousand respectful on the part of Catinat. The King, who perceived this, wished to make him speak about Italy, and pressed him to explain what hadreally passed there. Catinat excused himself, saying that everythingbelonged to the past, and that it was useless now to rake up matterswhich would give him a bad opinion of the people who served him, andnourish eternal enmity. The King admired the sagacity and virtue ofCatinat, but, wishing to sound the depths of certain things, and discoverwho was really to blame, pressed him more and more to speak out;mentioning certain things which Catinat had not rendered an account of, and others he had been silent upon, all of which had come to him fromother sources. 

Catinat, who, by his conversation of the previous evening withChamillart, suspected that the King would say something to him, hadbrought his papers to Versailles. Sure of his position, he declared thathe had not in any way failed to render account to Chamillart or to theKing, and detailed the very things that had just been mentioned to him. He begged that a messenger might be despatched in order to search hiscassette, in which the proofs of what he had advanced could be seen, truths that Chamillart, if present, he said, would not dare to disavow. The King took him at his word, and sent in search of Chamillart. 

When he arrived, the King related to him the conversation that had justtaken place. Chamillart replied with an embarrassed voice, that therewas no necessity to wait for the cassette of Catinat, for he admittedthat the accusation against him was true in every respect. The King, much astonished, reproved him for his infidelity in keeping silence uponthese comments, whereby Catinat had lost his favour. 

Chamillart, his eyes lowered, allowed the King to say on; but as he feltthat his anger was rising; said. "Sire, you are right; but it is not myfault. "

"And whose is it, then?" replied the King warmly. "Is it mine?"

"Certainly not, Sire, " said Chamillart, trembling; "but I am bold enoughto tell you, with the most exact truth, that it is not mine. "

The King insisting, Chamillart was obliged to explain, that having shownthe letters of Catinat to Madame de Maintenon, she had commanded him tokeep them from his Majesty, and to say not a syllable about them. Chamillart added, that Madame de Maintenon was not far off, andsupplicated the King to ask her the truth of this matter. 

In his turn, the King was now more embarrassed than Chamillart; loweringhis voice, he said that it was inconceivable how Madame de Maintenon feltinterested in his comfort, and endeavoured to keep from him everythingthat might vex him, and without showing any more displeasure, turned toMarshal Catinat, said he was delighted with an explanation which showedthat nobody was wrong; addressed several gracious remarks to the Marshal;begged him to remain on good terms with Chamillart, and hastened to quitthem and enter into his private cabinet. 

Catinat, more ashamed of what he had just heard and seen than pleasedwith a justification so complete, paid some compliments to Chamillart, who, out of his wits at the perilous explanation he had given, receivedthem, and returned them as well as he could. They left the cabinet soonafter, and the selection of Catinat by the King for the command of thearmy of the Rhine was declared. 

Reflections upon this affair present themselves of their, own accord. The King verified what had been said that very evening with Madame deMaintenon. They were only on better terms than ever in consequence. Sheapproved of Chamillart for avowing all; and this minister was only thebetter treated afterwards by the King and by Madame de Maintenon. 

As for Catinat, he took the command he had been called to, but did notremain long in it. The explanations that had passed, all the moredangerous because in his favour, were not of a kind to prove otherwisethan hurtful to him. He soon resigned his command, finding himself toomuch obstructed to do anything, and retired to his house of SaintGratien, near Saint Denis, which he scarcely ever left, and where he sawonly a few private friends, sorry that he had ever left it, and that hehad listened to the cajoleries of the King. 

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A King's son, a King's father, and never a KingCapacity was small, and yet he believed he knew everythingHe was accused of putting on an imperceptible touch of rougeMonseigneur, who had been out wolf-huntingNever been able to bend her to a more human way of lifeSpoke only about as much as three or four womenSupported by unanswerable reasons that did not convinceThe most horrible sights have often ridiculous contrastsThe nothingness of what the world calls great destiniesWhatever course I adopt many people will condemn me