summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/files/relative.htm
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      MEMOIRS OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN
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    <h2>
      MEMOIRS OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN,<br /> By Madame de Montespan
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, Complete
by Madame La Marquise De Montespan

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net


Title: The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, Complete

Author: Madame La Marquise De Montespan

Release Date: September 29, 2006 [EBook #3854]
Last Updated: April 3, 2013

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADAME DE MONTESPAN ***




Produced by David Widger





</pre>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      MEMOIRS OF MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      Written by Herself
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      Being the Historic Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV.
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="cover.jpg (116K)" src="images/cover.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="titlepage.jpg (61K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
    </h2>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#montespan">Madame de Montespan</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Etching
          by Mercier</i><br /><br /> <a href="#p052">Hortense Mancini</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Drawing
          in the Louvre</i><br /><br /> <a href="#p074">Madame de la Valliere</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Painting
          by Francois</i><br /><br /> <a href="#p104">Moliere</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Original
          Etching by Lalauze</i><br /><br /> <a href="#p153">Boileau</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Etching
          by Lalauze</i><br /><br /> <a href="#p288">A French Courtier</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Photogravure
          from a Painting</i><br /><br /> <a href="#maintenon">Madame de Maintenon</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Etching
          by Mercier from Painting by Hule</i><br /><br /> <a href="#pb034">Charles
          II.</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Original Etching by Ben Damman</i><br /><br />
          <a href="#pb068">Bosseut</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Etching by Lalauze</i><br /><br />
          <a href="#pb110">Louis XIV. Knighting a Subject</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Photogravure
          from a Rare Print</i><br /><br /> <a href="#pb236">A French Actress</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Painting
          by Leon Comerre</i><br /><br /> <a href="#pb256">Racine</a>&mdash;&mdash;<i>Etching
          by Lalauze</i><br /><br />
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 1.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Historians have, on the whole, dealt somewhat harshly with the fascinating
      Madame de Montespan, perhaps taking their impressions from the judgments,
      often narrow and malicious, of her contemporaries. To help us to get a
      fairer estimate, her own "Memoirs," written by herself, and now first
      given to readers in an English dress, should surely serve. Avowedly
      compiled in a vague, desultory way, with no particular regard to
      chronological sequence, these random recollections should interest us, in
      the first place, as a piece of unconscious self-portraiture. The cynical
      Court lady, whose beauty bewitched a great King, and whose ruthless
      sarcasm made Duchesses quail, is here drawn for us in vivid fashion by her
      own hand, and while concerned with depicting other figures she really
      portrays her own. Certainly, in these Memoirs she is generally content to
      keep herself in the background, while giving us a faithful picture of the
      brilliant Court at which she was for long the most lustrous ornament. It
      is only by stray touches, a casual remark, a chance phrase, that we, as it
      were, gauge her temperament in all its wiliness, its egoism, its love of
      supremacy, and its shallow worldly wisdom. Yet it could have been no
      ordinary woman that held the handsome Louis so long her captive. The fair
      Marquise was more than a mere leader of wit and fashion. If she set the
      mode in the shape of a petticoat, or devised the sumptuous splendours of a
      garden fete, her talent was not merely devoted to things frivolous and
      trivial. She had the proverbial 'esprit des Mortemart'. Armed with beauty
      and sarcasm, she won a leading place for herself at Court, and held it in
      the teeth of all detractors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her beauty was for the King, her sarcasm for his courtiers. Perhaps little
      of this latter quality appears in the pages bequeathed to us, written, as
      they are, in a somewhat cold, formal style, and we may assume that her
      much-dreaded irony resided in her tongue rather than in her pen. Yet we
      are glad to possess these pages, if only as a reliable record of Court
      life during the brightest period of the reign of Louis Quatorze.
    </p>
    <p>
      As we have hinted, they are more, indeed, than this. For if we look closer
      we shall perceive, as in a glass, darkly, the contour of a subtle, even a
      perplexing, personality.
    </p>
    <p>
      P. E. P.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="montespan" id="montespan"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="montespan.jpg (102K)" src="images/montespan.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.
    </h1>
    <h1>
      MADAME DE MONTESPAN.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Reason for Writing These Memoirs.&mdash;Gabrielle d'Estrees.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The reign of the King who now so happily and so gloriously rules over
      France will one day exercise the talent of the most skilful historians.
      But these men of genius, deprived of the advantage of seeing the great
      monarch whose portrait they fain would draw, will search everywhere among
      the souvenirs of contemporaries and base their judgments upon our
      testimony. It is this great consideration which has made me determined to
      devote some of my hours of leisure to narrating, in these accurate and
      truthful Memoirs, the events of which I myself am witness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Naturally enough, the position which I fill at the great theatre of the
      Court has made me the object of much false admiration, and much real
      satire. Many men who owed to me their elevation or their success have
      defamed me; many women have belittled my position after vain efforts to
      secure the King's regard. In what I now write, scant notice will be taken
      of all such ingratitude. Before my establishment at Court I had met with
      hypocrisy of this sort in the world; and a man must, indeed, be reckless
      of expense who daily entertains at his board a score of insolent
      detractors.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have too much wit to be blind to the fact that I am not precisely in my
      proper place. But, all things considered, I flatter myself that posterity
      will let certain weighty circumstances tell in my favour. An accomplished
      monarch, to greet whom the Queen of Sheba would have come from the
      uttermost ends of the earth, has deemed me worthy of his entertainment,
      and has found amusement in my society. He has told me of the esteem which
      the French have for Gabrielle d'Estrees, and, like that of Gabrielle, my
      heart has let itself be captured, not by a great king, but by the most
      honest man of his realm.
    </p>
    <p>
      To France, Gabrielle gave the Vendome, to-day our support. The princes, my
      sons, give promise of virtues as excellent, and will be worthy to aspire
      to destinies as noble. It is my desire and my duty to give no thought to
      my private griefs begotten of an ill-assorted marriage. May the King ever
      be adored by his people; may my children ever be beloved and cherished by
      the King; I am happy, and I desire to be so.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      That Which Often It is Best to Ignore.&mdash;A Marriage Such as One
      Constantly Sees.&mdash;It is Too Late.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      My sisters thought it of extreme importance to possess positive knowledge
      as to their future condition and the events which fate held in store for
      them. They managed to be secretly taken to a woman famed for her talent in
      casting the horoscope. But on seeing how overwhelmed by chagrin they both
      were after consulting the oracle, I felt fearful as regarded myself, and
      determined to let my star take its own course, heedless of its existence,
      and allowing it complete liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      My mother occasionally took me out into society after the marriage of my
      sister, De Thianges; and I was not slow to perceive that there was in my
      person something slightly superior to the average intelligence,&mdash;certain
      qualities of distinction which drew upon me the attention and the sympathy
      of men of taste. Had any liberty been granted to it, my heart would have
      made a choice worthy alike of my family and of myself. They were eager to
      impose the Marquis de Montespan upon me as a husband; and albeit he was
      far from possessing those mental perfections and that cultured charm which
      alone make an indefinite period of companionship endurable, I was not slow
      to reconcile myself to a temperament which, fortunately, was very
      variable, and which thus served to console me on the morrow for what had
      troubled me to-day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hardly had my marriage been arranged and celebrated than a score of the
      most brilliant suitors expressed, in prose and in verse, their regret at
      having lost beyond recall Mademoiselle de Tonnai-Charente. Such elegiac
      effusions seemed to me unspeakably ridiculous; they should have explained
      matters earlier, while the lists were still open. For persons of this sort
      I conceived aversion, who were actually so clumsy as to dare to tell me
      that they had forgotten to ask my hand in marriage!
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Montespan at the Palace.&mdash;M. de Montespan.&mdash;His
      Indiscreet Language.&mdash;His Absence.&mdash;Specimen of His Way of
      Writing.&mdash;A Refractory Cousin.&mdash;The King Interferes.&mdash;M. de
      Montespan a Widower.&mdash;Amusement of the King.&mdash;Clemency of Madame
      de Montespan.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc and Duchesse de Navailles had long been friends of my father's and
      of my family. When the Queen-mother proceeded to form the new household of
      her niece and daughter-in-law, the Infanta, the Duchesse de Navailles,
      chief of the ladies-in-waiting, bethought herself of me, and soon the
      Court and Paris learnt that I was one of the six ladies in attendance on
      the young Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      This princess, who while yet at the Escurial had been made familiar with
      the notable names of the French monarchy, honoured me during the journey
      by alluding in terms of regard to the Mortemarts and Rochechouarts,&mdash;kinsmen
      of mine. She was even careful to quote matters of history concerning my
      ancestors. By such marks of good sense and good will I perceived that she
      would not be out of place at a Court where politeness of spirit and
      politeness of heart ever go side by side, or, to put it better, where
      these qualities are fused and united.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. le Marquis de Montespan, scion of the old house of Pardaillan de
      Gondrin, had preferred what he styled "my grace and beauty" to the most
      wealthy partis of France. He was himself possessed of wealth, and his
      fortune gave him every facility for maintaining at Court a position of
      advantage and distinction.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first the honour which both Queens were graciously pleased to confer
      upon me gave my husband intense satisfaction. He affectionately thanked
      the Duc and Duchesse de Navailles, and expressed his most humble gratitude
      to the two Queens and to the King. But it was not long before I perceived
      that he had altered his opinion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The love-affair between Mademoiselle de la Valliere and the King having
      now become public, M. de Montespan condemned this attachment in terms of
      such vehemence that I perforce felt afraid of the consequences of such
      censure. He talked openly about the matter in society, airing his views
      thereanent. Impetuously and with positive hardihood, he expressed his
      disapproval in unstinted terms, criticising and condemning the prince's
      conduct. Once, at the ballet, when within two feet of the Queen, it was
      with the utmost difficulty that he could be prevented from discussing so
      obviously unfitting a question, or from sententiously moralising upon the
      subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      All at once the news of an inheritance in the country served to occupy his
      attention. He did all that he could to make me accompany him on this
      journey. He pointed out to me that it behoved no young wife to be anywhere
      without her husband. I, for my part, represented to him all that in my
      official capacity I owed to the Queen. And as at that time I still loved
      him heartily (M. de Montespan, I mean), and was sincerely attached to him,
      I advised him to sell off the whole of the newly inherited estate to some
      worthy member of his own family, so that he might remain with us in the
      vast arena wherein I desired and hoped to achieve his rapid advance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never was there man more obstinate or more selfwilled than the Marquis.
      Despite all my friendly persuasion, he was determined to go. And when once
      settled at the other end of France, he launched out into all sorts of
      agricultural schemes and enterprises, without even knowing why he did so.
      He constructed roads, built windmills, bridged over a large torrent,
      completed the pavilions of his castle, replanted coppices and vineyards,
      and, besides all this, hunted the chamois, bears, and boars of the
      Nebouzan and the Pyrenees. Four or five months after his departure I
      received a letter from him of so singular a kind that I kept it in spite
      of myself, and in the Memoirs it will not prove out of place. Far better
      than any words of mine, it will depict the sort of mind, the logic, and
      the curious character of the man who was my husband.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          MONTESPAN,&mdash;May 15, 1667.
        </p>
        <p>
          I count more than ever, madame, upon your journey to the Pyrenees. If
          you love me, as all your letters assure me, you should promptly take a
          good coach and come. We are possessed of considerable property here,
          which of late years my family have much neglected. These domains
          require my presence, and my presence requires yours. Enough is yours
          of wit or of good sense to understand that.
        </p>
        <p>
          The Court is, no doubt, a fine country,&mdash;finer than ever under
          the present reign. The more magnificent the Court is, the more uneasy
          do I become. Wealth and opulence are needed there; and to your family
          I never figured as a Croesus. By dint of order and thrift, we shall
          ere long have satisfactorily settled our affairs; and I promise you
          that our stay in the Provinces shall last no longer than is necessary
          to achieve that desirable result. Three, four, five,&mdash;let us say,
          six years. Well, that is not an eternity! By the time we come back we
          shall both of us still be young. Come, then, my dearest Athenais,
          come, and make closer acquaintance with these imposing Pyrenees, every
          ravine of which is a landscape and every valley an Eden. To all these
          beauties, yours is missing; you shall be here, like Dian, the goddess
          of these noble forests. All our gentlefolk await you, admiring your
          picture on the sweetmeat-box. They are minded to hold many pleasant
          festivals in your honour; you may count upon having a veritable Court.
          Here it is that you will meet the old Warnais nobility that followed
          Henri IV. and placed the sceptre in his hand. Messieurs de Grammont
          and de Biron are our neighbours; their grim castles dominate the whole
          district, so that they seem like kings.
        </p>
        <p>
          Our Chateau de Montespan will offer you something less severe; the
          additions made for my mother twenty years ago are infinitely better
          than anything that you will leave behind you in Paris. We have here
          the finest fruits that ever grew in any earthly paradise. Our huge,
          luscious peaches are composed of sugar, violets, carnations, amber,
          and jessamine; strawberries and raspberries grow everywhere; and
          naught may vie with the excellence of the water, the vegetables, and
          the milk.
        </p>
        <p>
          You are fond of scenery and of sketching from nature; there are half a
          dozen landscapes here for you that leave Claude Lorrain far behind. I
          mean to take you to see a waterfall, twelve hundred and seventy feet
          in height, neither more nor less. What are your fountains at Saint
          Germain and Chambord compared with such marvellous things as these?
        </p>
        <p>
          Now, madame, I am really tired of coaxing and flattering you, as I
          have done in this letter and in preceding ones. Do you want me, or do
          you not? Your position as Court lady, so you say, keeps you near the
          monarch; ask, then, or let me ask, for leave of absence. After having
          been for four consecutive years Lady of the Palace, consent to become
          Lady of the Castle, since your duties towards your spouse require it.
          The young King, favourite as he is with the ladies, will soon find ten
          others to replace you. And I, dearest Athenais, find it hard even to
          think of replacing you, in spite of your cruel absence, which at once
          annoys and grieves me. I am&mdash;no, I shall be&mdash;always and ever
          yours, when you are always and ever mine.
        </p>
        <p>
          MONTESPAN.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      I hastened to tell my husband in reply that his impatience and ill-humour
      made me most unhappy; that as, through sickness or leave of absence, five
      or six of the Court ladies were away, I could not possibly absent myself
      just then; that I believed that I sufficiently merited his confidence to
      let me count upon his attachment and esteem, whether far or near. And I
      gave him my word of honour that I would join him after the Court moved to
      Fontainebleau, that is to say, in the autumn.
    </p>
    <p>
      My answer, far from soothing or calming him, produced quite a contrary
      effect. I received the following letter, which greatly alarmed and
      agitated me:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          Your allegations are only vain pretexts, your pretexts mask your
          falsehoods, your falsehoods confirm all my suspicions; you are
          deceiving me, madame, and it is your intention to dishonour me. My
          cousin, who saw through you better than I did before my wretched
          marriage,&mdash;my cousin, whom you dislike and who is no whit afraid
          of you,&mdash;informs me that, under the pretext of going to keep
          Madame de la Valliere company, you never stir from her apartments
          during the time allotted to her by the King, that is to say, three
          whole hours every evening. There you pose as sovereign arbiter; as
          oracle, uttering a thousand divers decisions; as supreme purveyor of
          news and gossip; the scourge of all who are absent; the complacent
          promoter of scandal; the soul and the leader of sparkling
          conversation.
        </p>
        <p>
          One only of these ladies became ill, owing to an extremely favourable
          confinement, from which she recovered a week ago. At the outset, the
          King fought shy of your raillery, but in a thousand discreditable ways
          you set your cap at him and forced him to pay you attention. If all
          the letters written to me (all of them in the same strain) are not
          preconcerted, if your misconduct is such as I am told it is, if you
          have dishonoured and disgraced your husband, then, madame, expect all
          that your excessive imprudence deserves. At this distance of two
          hundred and fifty leagues I shall not trouble you with complaints and
          vain reproaches; I shall collect all necessary information and
          documentary evidence at headquarters; and, cost me what it may, I
          shall bring action against you, before your parents, before a court of
          law, in the face of public opinion, and before your protector, the
          King. I charge you instantly to deliver up to me my child. My
          unfortunate son comes of a race which never yet has had cause to blush
          for disgrace such as this. What would he gain, except bad example, by
          staying with a mother who has no virtue and no husband? Give him up to
          me, and at once let Dupre, my valet, have charge of him until my
          return. This latter will occur sooner than you think; and I shall shut
          you up in a convent, unless you shut me up in the Bastille.
        </p>
        <p>
          Your unfortunate husband, MONTESPAN.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The officious cousin to whom he alluded in this threatening letter had
      been so bold as to sue for my hand, although possessed of no property.
      Ever since that time he remained, as I knew, my enemy, though I did not
      know, nor ever suspected, that such a man would find pleasure in spying
      upon my actions and in effecting the irrevocable estrangement of a husband
      and a wife, who until then had been mutually attached to each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, whose glance, though very sweet, is very searching, said to me
      that evening, "Something troubles you; what is it?" He felt my pulse, and
      perceived my great agitation. I showed him the letter just transcribed,
      and his Majesty changed colour.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a matter requiring caution and tact," added the prince after brief
      meditation. "At any rate we can prevent his showing you any disrespect.
      Give up the Marquis d'Antin to him," continued the King, after another
      pause. "He is useless, perhaps an inconvenience, to you; and if deprived
      of his child he might be driven to commit some desperate act."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would rather die!" I exclaimed, bursting into tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King affectionately took hold of both my hands, and gently said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well, then, keep him yourself, and don't give him up."
    </p>
    <p>
      As God is my witness, M. de Montespan had already neglected me for some
      time before he left for the Pyrenees; and to me this sudden access of
      fervour seemed singularly strange. But I am not easily hoodwinked; I
      understood him far better and far quicker than he expected. The Marquis is
      one of those vulgar-minded men who do not look upon a woman as a friend, a
      companion, a frank, free associate, but as a piece of property or of
      furniture, useful to his house, and which he has procured for that purpose
      only.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am told that in England a man is the absolute proprietor of his wife,
      and that if he took her to the public market with a cord round her neck
      and exhibited her for sale, such sale is perfectly valid in the eyes of
      the law. Laws such as these inspire horror. Yet they should hardly
      surprise one among a semibarbarous nation, which does nothing like other
      peoples, and which deems itself authorised to place the censer in the
      hands of its monarch, and its monarch in the hands of the headsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Montespan came to Paris and instituted proceedings against me before
      the Chatelet authorities. To the King he sent a letter full of
      provocations and insults. To the Pope he sent a formal complaint,
      accompanied by a most carefully prepared list of opinions which no lawyer
      was willing to sign. For three whole months he tormented the Pope, in
      order to induce him to annul our marriage. Of a truth, our Sovereign
      Pontiff could have done nothing better, but in Rome justice and religion
      always rank second to politics. The cardinals feared to offend a great
      prince, and so they suffered me to remain the wife of my husband. When he
      saw that on every side his voice was lost in the desert, and that the
      King, being calmer and more prudent than he, did not deign to pick up the
      glove, his folly reached its utmost limit. He went into the deepest
      mourning ever seen. He draped his horses and carriages with black. He gave
      orders for a funeral service to be held in his parish, which the whole
      town and its suburbs were invited to attend. He declared, verbally and in
      writing, that he no longer possessed a wife; that Madame de Montespan had
      died of an attack of coquetry and ambition; and he talked of marrying
      again when the year of mourning and of widowhood should be over.
    </p>
    <p>
      His first outbursts of wrath were the source of much amusement to the
      King, who naturally was on the side of decorum and averse to hostile
      opinion. Pranks such as these seemed to him more a matter for mirth than
      fear, and, on hearing the story of the catafalque, he laughingly said to
      me, "Now that he has buried you, it is to be hoped that he will let you
      repose in peace." But hearing each day of fresh absurdities, his Majesty
      grew at last impatient. Luckily, M. de Montespan, perceiving that every
      house had closed its doors to him, decided to close his own altogether and
      travel abroad.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not being of a vindictive disposition, I never would allow M. de Louvois
      to shut him up in the Bastille. On the contrary I privately paid more than
      fifty thousand crowns to defray his debts, being glad to render him some
      good service in exchange for all the evil that he spoke of me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I reflected that he had been my husband, my confidant, my friend; that his
      only faults were bad temper, love of sport, and love of wine; that he
      belonged to one of the very first families of France; and that, despite
      all that was said, my son D'Antin certainly was nothing to the King, and
      that the Marquis was his father.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de la Valliere Jealous.&mdash;The King Wishes All to Enjoy
      Themselves.&mdash;The Futility of Fighting against Fate.&mdash;What is
      Dead is Dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIERE was tall, shapely, and extremely pretty, with
      as sweet and even a temper as one could possibly imagine, which eminently
      fitted her for dreamy, contemplative love-making, such as one reads of in
      idyls and romances. She would willingly have spent her life in.
      contemplating the King,&mdash;in loving and adoring him without ever
      opening her mouth; and to her, the sweet silence of a tete-a-tete seemed
      preferable to any conversation enlivened by wit.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King's character was totally different. His imagination was vivid, and
      mere love-making, however pleasant, bored him at last if the charm of
      ready speech and ready wit were wanting.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not profess to be a prodigy, but those who know me do me the justice
      to admit that where I am it is very difficult for boredom to find ever so
      small a footing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de la Valliere, after having begged me, and begged me often,
      to come and help her to entertain the King, grew suddenly suspicious and
      uneasy. She is candour itself, and one day, bursting into tears, she said
      to me, in that voice peculiar to her alone, "For Heaven's sake, my good
      friend, do not steal away the King's heart from me!" When mademoiselle
      said this to me, I vow and declare in all honesty that her fears were
      unfounded, and that (for my part at least) I had only just a natural
      desire to gain the good-will of a great prince. My friendship for La
      Valliere was so sincere, so thorough, that I often used to superintend
      little details of her toilet and give her various little hints as to
      attentive conduct of the sort which cements and revives attachments. I
      even furnished her with news and gossip, composing for her a little
      repertoire, of which, when needful, she made use.
    </p>
    <p>
      But her star had set, and she had to show the world the touching spectacle
      of love as true, as tender, and as disinterested as any that has ever been
      in this world, followed by a repentance and an expiation far superior to
      the sin, if sin it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      Moreover, Mademoiselle de la Valliere never broke with me. She shed tears
      in abundance, and wounded my heart a thousand times by the sight of her
      grief and her distress. For her sake I was often fain to bid farewell to
      her fickle lover, proud monarch though he was. But by breaking with him I
      should not have reestablished La Valliere. The prince's violent passion
      had changed to mere friendship, blended with esteem. To try and
      resuscitate attachments of this sort is as if one should try to open the
      grave and give life to the dead. God alone can work miracles such as
      these.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Bragelonne, Officer of the Guards.&mdash;His Baleful Love.&mdash;His
      Journey.&mdash;His Death.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Bragelonne was born for Mademoiselle de la Valliere. It was
      this young officer, endowed with all perfections imaginable, whom Heaven
      had designed for her, to complete her happiness. Despite his sincere,
      incomparable attachment for her, she disdained him, preferring a king, who
      soon afterwards wearied of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Bragelonne conceived a passion for the little La Valliere
      as soon as he saw her at the Tuileries with Madame Henrietta of England,
      whose maid of honour at first she was. Having made proof and declaration
      of his tender love, Bragelonne was so bold as to ask her hand of the
      princess. Madame caused her relatives to be apprised of this, and the
      Marquise de Saint-Remy, her stepmother, after all necessary inquiries had
      been made, replied that the fortune of this young man was as yet too
      slender to permit him to think of having an establishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Grieved at this answer, but nothing daunted, Bragelonne conferred
      privately with his lady-love, and told her of his hazardous project. This
      project instantly to realise all property coming to him from his father,
      and furnished with this capital, to go out, and seek his fortune in India
      [West Indies. D.W.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will wait for me, dearest one, will you not?" quoth he. "Heaven, that
      is witness how ardently I long to make you happy, will protect me on my
      journey and guard my ship. Promise me to keep off all suitors, the number
      of whom will increase with your beauty. This promise, for which I desire
      no other guarantee but your candour, shall sustain me in exile, and make
      me count as nought my privations and my hardships."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de la Beaume-le-Blanc allowed the Marquis to hope all that he
      wished from her beautiful soul, and he departed, never imagining that one
      could forget or set at nought so tender a love which had prompted so
      hazardous an enterprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      His journey proved thoroughly successful. He brought back with him
      treasures from the New World; but of all his treasures the most precious
      had disappeared. Restored once more to family and friends, he hastened to
      the capital. Madame d'Orleans no longer resided at the Tuileries, which
      was being enlarged by the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bragelonne, in his impatience, asks everywhere for La Valliere. They tell
      him that she has a charming house between Saint Germain, Lucienne, and
      Versailles. He goes thither, laden with coral and pearls from the Indies.
      He asks to have sight of his love. A tall Swiss repulses him, saying that,
      in order to speak with Madame la Duchesse, it was absolutely necessary to
      make an appointment.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the same moment one of his friends rides past the gateway. They greet
      each other, and in reply to his questioning, this friend informs him that
      Mademoiselle de la Valliere is a duchess, that she is a mother, that she
      is lapped in grandeur and luxury, and that she has as lover a king.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this news, Bragelonne finds nothing further for him to do in this
      world. He grasps his friend's hand, retires to a neighbouring wood, and
      there, drawing his sword, plunges it into his heart,&mdash;a sad requital
      for love so noble!
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Fouquet.&mdash;His Mistake.&mdash;A Woman's Indiscretion May Cause the
      Loss of a Great Minister.&mdash;The Castle of Vaux.&mdash;Fairy-land.&mdash;A
      Fearful Awakening.&mdash;Clemency of the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      On going out into society, I heard everybody talking everywhere about M.
      Fouquet. They praised his good-nature, his affability, his talents, his
      magnificence, his wit. His post as Surintendant-General, envied by a
      thousand, provoked indeed a certain amount of spite; yet all such vain
      efforts on the part of mediocrity to slander him troubled him but little.
      My lord the Cardinal (Mazarin. D.W.) was his support, and so long as the
      main column stood firm, M. Fouquet, lavish of gifts to his protector, had
      really nothing to fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      This minister also largely profited by the species of fame to be derived
      from men of letters. He knew their venality and their needs. His
      sumptuous, well-appointed table was placed in grandiose fashion at their
      disposal. Moreover, he made sure of their attachment and esteem by fees
      and enormous pensions. The worthy La Fontaine nibbled like others at the
      bait, and at any rate paid his share of the reckoning by the most profuse
      gratitude. M. Fouquet had one great defect: he took it into his head that
      every woman is devoid of will-power and of resistance if only one dazzle
      her eyes with gold. Another prejudice of his was to believe, as an article
      of faith, that, if possessed of gold and jewels, the most ordinary of men
      can inspire affection.
    </p>
    <p>
      Making this twofold error his starting-point as a principle that was
      incontestable, he was wont to look upon every beautiful woman who happened
      to appear on the horizon as his property acquired in advance.
    </p>
    <p>
      At Madame's, he saw Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and instantly sent her
      his vows of homage and his proposals.
    </p>
    <p>
      To his extreme astonishment, this young beauty declined to understand such
      language. Couched in other terms, he renewed his suit, yet apparently was
      no whit less obscure than on the first occasion. Such a scandal as this
      well-nigh put him to the blush, and he was obliged to admit that this
      modest maiden either affected to be, or really was, utterly extraordinary.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps Mademoiselle de la Valliere ought to have had the generosity not
      to divulge the proposals made to her; but she spoke about them, so
      everybody said, and the King took a dislike to his minister.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever the cause or the real motives for Fouquet's disgrace, it was
      never considered unjust, and this leads me to tell the tale of his mad
      folly at Vaux.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two palaces built by Cardinal Mazarin and the castles built by
      Cardinal Richelieu served as fine examples for M. Fouquet. He knew that
      handsome edifices embellished the country, and that Maecenas has always
      been held in high renown, because Maecenas built a good deal in his day.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had just built, at great expense, in the neighbourhood of Melun, a
      castle of such superb and elegant proportions that the fame of it had even
      reached foreign parts. All that Fouquet lived for was show and pomp. To
      have a fine edifice and not show it off was as if one only possessed a
      kennel.
    </p>
    <p>
      He spoke of the Castle of Vaux in the Queen's large drawing-room, and
      begged their Majesties to honour by their presence a grand fete that he
      was preparing for them.
    </p>
    <p>
      To invite the royal family was but a trifling matter,&mdash;he required
      spectators proportionate to the scale of decorations and on a par with the
      whole spectacle; so he took upon himself to invite the entire Court to
      Vaux.
    </p>
    <p>
      On reaching Vaux-le-Vicomte, how great and general was our amazement! It
      was not the well-appointed residence of a minister, it was not a human
      habitation that presented itself to our view,&mdash;it was a veritable
      fairy palace. All in this brilliant dwelling was stamped with the mark of
      opulence and of exquisite taste in art. Marbles, balustrades, vast
      staircases, columns, statues, groups, bas-reliefs, vases, and pictures
      were scattered here and there in rich profusion, besides cascades and
      fountains innumerable. The large salon, octagonal in shape, had a high,
      vaulted ceiling, and its flooring of mosaic looked like a rich carpet
      embellished with birds, butterflies, arabesques, fruits, and flowers.
    </p>
    <p>
      On either side of the main edifice, and somewhat in the rear, the
      architect had placed smaller buildings, yet all of them ornamented in the
      same sumptuous fashion; and these served to throw the chateau itself into
      relief. In these adjoining pavilions there were baths, a theatre, a
      'paume' ground, swings, a chapel, billiard-rooms, and other salons.
    </p>
    <p>
      One noticed magnificent gilt roulette tables and sedan-chairs of the very
      best make. There were elegant stalls at which trinkets were distributed to
      the guests,&mdash;note-books, pocket-mirrors, gloves, knives, scissors,
      purses, fans, sweetmeats, scents, pastilles, and perfumes of all kinds.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was as if some evil fairy had prompted the imprudent minister to act in
      this way, who, eager and impatient for his own ruin, had summoned his King
      to witness his appalling system of plunder in its entirety, and had
      invited chastisement.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the King went out on to the balcony of his apartment to make a
      general survey of the gardens and the perspective, he found everything
      well arranged and most alluring; but a certain vista seemed to him spoiled
      by whitish-looking clearings that gave too barren an aspect to the general
      coup d'oeil.
    </p>
    <p>
      His host readily shared this opinion. He at once gave the requisite
      instructions, which that very night were executed by torchlight with the
      utmost secrecy by all the workmen of the locality whose services at such
      an hour it was possible to secure.
    </p>
    <p>
      When next day the monarch stepped out on to his balcony, he saw a
      beautiful green wood in place of the clearings with which on the previous
      evening he had found fault.
    </p>
    <p>
      Service more prompt or tasteful than this it was surely impossible to
      have; but kings only desire to be obeyed when they command.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fouquet, with airy presumption, expected thanks and praise. This, however,
      was what he had to hear: "I am shocked at such expense!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards the Court moved to Nantes; the ministers followed; M.
      Fouquet was arrested.
    </p>
    <p>
      His trial at the Paris Arsenal lasted several months. Proofs of his
      defalcations were numberless. His family and proteges made frantic yet
      futile efforts to save so great a culprit. The Commission sentenced him to
      death, and ordered the confiscation of all his property.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, content to have made this memorable and salutary example,
      commuted the death penalty, and M. Fouquet learned with gratitude that he
      would have to end his days in prison.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor did the King insist upon the confiscation of his property, which went
      to the culprit's widow and children, all that was retained being the
      enormous sums which he had embezzled.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Close of the Queen-mother's Illness.&mdash;The Archbishop of Auch.&mdash;The
      Patient's Resignation.&mdash;The Sacrament.&mdash;Court Ceremony for its
      Reception.&mdash;Sage Distinction of Mademoiselle de Montpensier.&mdash;Her
      Prudence at the Funeral.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      As the Queen-mother's malady grew worse, the Court left Saint Germain to
      be nearer the experts and the Val-de-Grace, where the princess frequently
      practised her devotions with members of the religious sisterhood that she
      had founded.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly the cancer dried up, and the head physician declared that the
      Queen was lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Archbishop of Auch said to the King, "Sire, there is not an instant to
      be lost; the Queen may die at any moment; she should be informed of her
      condition, so that she may prepare herself to receive the Sacrament."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was troubled, for he dearly loved his mother. "Monsieur," he
      replied, with emotion, "it is impossible for me to sanction your request.
      My mother is resting calmly, and perhaps thinks that she is out of danger.
      We might give her her death-blow."
    </p>
    <p>
      The prelate, a man of firm, religious character, insisted, albeit
      reverently, while the prince continued to object. Then the Archbishop
      retorted, "It is not with nature or the world that we have here to deal.
      We have to save a soul. I have done my duty, and filial tenderness will at
      any rate bear the blame."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King thereupon acceded to the churchman's wishes, who lost no time in
      acquainting the patient with her doom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anne of Austria was grievously shocked at so terrible an announcement, but
      she soon recovered her resignation and her courage; and M. d' Auch made
      noble use of his eloquence when exhorting her to prepare for the change
      that she dreaded.
    </p>
    <p>
      A portable altar was put up in the room, and the Archbishop, assisted by
      other clerics, went to fetch the Holy Sacrament from the church of Saint
      Germain de l'Auxerrois in the Louvre parish.
    </p>
    <p>
      The princes and princesses hereupon began to argue in the little closet as
      to the proper ceremony to be observed on such occasions. Madame de
      Motteville, lady-in-waiting to the Queen, being asked to give an opinion,
      replied that, for the late King, the nobles had gone out to meet the Holy
      Sacrament as far as the outer gate of the palace, and that it would be
      wise to do this on the present occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Montpensier interrupted the lady-in-waiting and those who
      shared her opinion. "I cannot bring myself to establish such a precedent,"
      she said, in her usual haughty tone. "It is I who have to walk first, and
      I shall only go half-way across the courtyard of the Louvre. It's quite
      far enough for the Holy Wafer-box; what's the use of walking any further
      for the Holy Sacrament?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The princes and princesses were of her way of thinking, and the procession
      advanced only to the limits aforesaid.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the time came for taking the Sacred Heart to Val-de-Grace with the
      funeral procession, Mademoiselle, in a long mourning cloak, said to the
      Archbishop before everybody, "Pray, monsieur, put the Sacred Heart in the
      best place, and sit you close beside it. I yield my rank up to you on the
      present occasion." And, as the prelate protested, she added, "I shall be
      very willing to ride in front on account of the malady from which she
      died." And, without altering her resolution, she actually took her seat in
      front.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Cardinal Mazarin.&mdash;Regency of Anne of Austria.&mdash;Her Perseverance
      in Retaining Her Minister.&mdash;Mazarin Gives His Nieces in Marriage.&mdash;M.
      de la Meilleraye.&mdash;The Cardinal's Festivities.&mdash;Madame de
      Montespan's Luck at a Lottery.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Before taking holy orders, Cardinal Mazarin had served as an officer in
      the Spanish army, where he had even won distinction.
    </p>
    <p>
      Coming to France in the train of a Roman cardinal, he took service with
      Richelieu, who, remarking in him all the qualities of a supple,
      insinuating, artificial nature,&mdash;that is to say, the nature of a good
      politician,&mdash;appointed him his private secretary, and entrusted him
      with all his secrets, as if he had singled him out as his successor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon the death of Richelieu, Mazarin did not scruple to avow that the
      great Armand's sceptre had been a tyrant's sceptre and of bronze. By such
      an admission he crept into the good graces of Louis XIII., who, himself
      almost moribund, had shown how pleased he was to see his chief minister go
      before him to the grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      Louis XIII. being dead, his widow, Anne of Austria, in open Parliament
      cancelled the monarch's testamentary depositions and constituted herself
      Regent with absolute authority. Mazarin was her Richelieu.
    </p>
    <p>
      In France, where men affect to be so gallant and so courteous, how is it
      that when women rule their reign is always stormy and troublous? Anne of
      Austria&mdash;comely, amiable, and gracious as she was&mdash;met with the
      same brutal discourtesy which her sister-in-law, Marie de Medici, had been
      obliged to bear. But gifted with greater force of intellect than that
      queen, she never yielded aught of her just rights; and it was her strong
      will which more than once astounded her enemies and saved the crown for
      the young King.
    </p>
    <p>
      They lampooned her, hissed her, and burlesqued her publicly at the
      theatres, cruelly defaming her intentions and her private life. Strong in
      the knowledge of her own rectitude, she faced the tempest without
      flinching; yet inwardly her soul was torn to pieces. The barricading of
      Paris, the insolence of M. le Prince, the bravado and treachery of
      Cardinal de Retz, burnt up the very blood in her veins, and brought on her
      fatal malady, which took the form of a hideous cancer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our nobility (who are only too glad to go and reign in Naples, Portugal,
      or Poland) openly declared that no foreigner ought to hold the post of
      minister in Paris. Despite his Roman purple, Mazarin was condemned to be
      hanged.
    </p>
    <p>
      The motive for this was some trifling tax which he had ordered to be
      collected before this had been ratified by the magistrates and registered
      in the usual way.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the Queen knew how to win over the nobles. Her cardinal was recalled,
      and the apathy of the Parisians put an end to these dissensions, from
      which, one must admit, the people and the bourgeoisie got all the ills and
      the nobility all the profits.
    </p>
    <p>
      As comptroller of the list of benefices, M. le Cardinal allotted the
      wealthiest abbeys of the realm to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having made himself an absolute master of finance, like M. Fouquet, he
      amassed great wealth. He built a magnificent palace in Rome, and an
      equally brilliant one in Paris, conferring upon himself the wealthy
      governorships of various towns or provinces. He had a guard of honour
      attached to his person, and a captain of the guard in attendance, just as
      Richelieu had.
    </p>
    <p>
      He married one of his nieces to the Prince of Mantua, another to the
      Prince de Conti, a third to the Comte de Soissons, a fourth to the
      Constable Colonna (an Italian prince), a fifth to the Duc de Mercoeur (a
      blood relation of Henri IV.), and a sixth to the Duc de Bouillon. As to
      Hortense, the youngest, loveliest of them all,&mdash;Hortense, the
      beauteous-eyed, his charming favourite,&mdash;he appointed her his sole
      heiress, and having given her jewelry and innumerable other presents, he
      married her to the agreeable Duc de la Meilleraye, son of the marshal of
      that name.
    </p>
    <p>
      Society was much astonished when it came out that M. le Cardinal had
      disinherited his own nephew, a man of merit, handing over his name, his
      fortune, and his arms to a stranger. This was an error; in taking the name
      and arms of Mazarin, young De la Meilleraye was giving up those which he
      ought to have given up, and assuming those which it behove him to assume.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [De Mancini, Duc de Nevers, a relative of the last Duc de Nivernois.
          He married, soon after, Madame de Montespan's niece.&mdash;Editor's
          Note]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Nor did he retain the great possessions of the La Meilleraye family.
      Herein, certainly, he did not consult his devotion; since the secret and
      fatherly avowal of M. le Cardinal he had no right whatever to the estates
      of this family.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beneath the waving folds of his large scarlet robe, the Cardinal showed
      such ease and certainty of address, that he never put one in mind of a
      cardinal and a bishop. To such manners, however, one was accustomed; in a
      leading statesman they were not unpleasant.
    </p>
    <p>
      He often gave magnificent balls, at which he displayed all the
      accomplishments of his nieces and the sumptuous splendour of his
      furniture. At such entertainments, always followed by a grand banquet, he
      was wont to show a liberality worthy of crowned heads. One day, after the
      feast, he announced that a lottery would be held in his palace.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, all the guests repaired to his superb gallery, which had just
      been brilliantly decorated with paintings by Romanelli, and here, spread
      out upon countless tables, we saw pieces of rare porcelain, scent-bottles
      of foreign make, watches of every size and shape, chains of pearls or of
      coral, diamond buckles and rings, gold boxes adorned by portraits set in
      pearls or in emeralds, fans of matchless elegance,&mdash;in a word, all
      the rarest and most costly things that luxury and fashion could invent.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queens distributed the tickets with every appearance of honesty and
      good faith. But I had reason to remark, by what happened to myself, that
      the tickets had been registered beforehand. The young Queen, who felt her
      garter slipping off, came to me in order to tighten it. She handed me her
      ticket to hold for a moment, and when she had fastened her garter, I gave
      her back my ticket instead of her own. When the Cardinal from his dais
      read out the numbers in succession, my number won a portrait of the King
      set in brilliants, much to the surprise of the Queen-mother and his
      Eminence; they could not get over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      To me this lottery of the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Changes
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [The gallery to which the Marquise alludes is to-day called the
          Manuscript Gallery. It belongs to the Royal Library in the Rue de
          Richelieu. Mazarin's house is now the Treasury.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      I brought good luck, and we often talked about it afterwards with the
      King, regarding it as a sort of prediction or horoscope.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p052" id="p052"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p052.jpg (45K)" src="images/p052.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Marriage of Monsieur, the King's Brother.&mdash;His Hope of Mounting a
      Throne.&mdash;His High-heeled Shoes.&mdash;His Dead Child.&mdash;Saint
      Denis.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur would seem to have been created in order to set off his brother,
      the King, and to give him the advantage of such relief. He is small in
      stature and in character, being ceaselessly busied about trifles, details,
      nothings. To his toilet and his mirror, he devotes far more time than a
      pretty woman; he covers himself with scents, with laces, with diamonds.
    </p>
    <p>
      He is passionately fond of fetes, large assemblies, and spectacular
      displays. It was in order to figure as the hero of some such entertainment
      that he suddenly resolved to get married.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle&mdash;the Grande Mademoiselle&mdash;Mademoiselle d'Eu,
      Mademoiselle de Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle de
      Saint-Fargeau, Mademoiselle de la Roche-sur-Yon, Mademoiselle d'Orleans&mdash;had
      come into the world twelve or thirteen years before he had, and they could
      not abide each other. Despite such trifling differences, however, he
      proposed marriage to her. The princess, than whom no one more determined
      exists, answered, "You ought to have some respect for me; I refused two
      crowned husbands the very day you were born."
    </p>
    <p>
      So the Prince begged the Queen of England to give him her charming
      daughter Henrietta, who, having come to France during her unfortunate
      father's captivity, had been educated in Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Princess possessed an admirable admixture of grace and beauty, wit
      being allied to great affability and good-nature; to all these natural
      gifts she added a capacity and intelligence such as one might desire
      sovereigns to possess. Her coquetry was mere amiability; of that I am
      convinced. Being naturally vain, the Prince, her husband, made great use
      at first of his consort's royal coat-of-arms. It was displayed on his
      equipages and stamped all over his furniture.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you know, madame," quoth he gallantly, one day, "what made me
      absolutely desire to marry you? It was because you are a daughter and a
      sister of the Kings of England. In your country women succeed to the
      throne, and if Charles the Second and my cousin York were to die without
      children (which is very likely), you would be Queen and I should be King."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Sire, how wrong of you to imagine such a thing!" replied his wife;
      "it brings tears to my eyes. I love my brothers more than I do myself. I
      trust that they may have issue, as they desire, and that I may not have to
      go back and live with those cruel English who slew my father-in-law."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince sought to persuade her that a sceptre and a crown are always
      nice things to have. "Yes," replied Henrietta slyly, "but one must know
      how to wear them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after this, he again talked of his expectations, saying every minute,
      "If ever I am King, I shall do so; if ever I am King, I shall order this;
      if ever I am King," etc., etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let us hope, my good friend," replied the Princess, "that you won't be
      King in England, where your gewgaws would make people call out after you;
      nor yet in France, where they would think you too little, after the King."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this last snub, Monsieur was much mortified. The very next day he
      summoned his old bootmaker, Lambertin, and ordered him to put extra heels
      two inches high to his shoes. Madame having told this piece of childish
      folly to the King, he was greatly amused, and with a view to perplex his
      brother, he had his own shoe-heels heightened, so that, beside his
      Majesty, Monsieur still looked quite a little man.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Princess gave premature birth to a child that was scarcely
      recognisable; it had been dead in its mother's womb for at least ten days,
      so the doctors averred. Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans, however, insisted upon
      having this species of monstrosity baptised.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister, De Thianges, who is raillery personified, seeing how
      embarrassed was the cure of Saint Cloud by the Prince's repeated requests
      for baptism, gravely said to the cleric in an irresistibly comic fashion,
      "Do you know, sir, that your refusal is contrary to all good sense and
      good breeding, and that to infants of such quality baptism is never
      denied?"
    </p>
    <p>
      When this species of miscarriage had to be buried, as there was urgent
      need to get rid of it, Monsieur uttered loud cries, and said that he had
      written to his brother so that there might be a grand funeral service at
      Saint Denis.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of so absurd a proposal as this no notice was taken, which served to amaze
      Monsieur for one whole month.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Colbert.&mdash;His Origin.&mdash;He Unveils and Displays Mazarin's
      Wealth.&mdash;The Monarch's Liberality.&mdash;Resentment of the Cardinal's
      Heirs.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      A few moments before he died, Cardinal Mazarin, through strategy, not
      through repentance, besought the King to accept a deed of gift whereby he
      was appointed his universal legatee. Touched by so noble a resolve, the
      King gave back the deed to his Eminence, who shed tears of emotion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, I owe all to you," said the dying man to the young prince, "but I
      believe that I shall pay off my debt by giving Colbert, my secretary, to
      your Majesty. Faithful as he has been to me, so will he be to you; and
      while he keeps watch, you may sleep. He comes from the noble family of
      Coodber, of Scottish origin, and his sentiments are worthy of his
      ancestors."
    </p>
    <p>
      A few moments later the death-agony began, and M. Colbert begged the King
      to listen to him in an embrasure. There, taking a pencil, he made out a
      list of all the millions which the Cardinal had hidden away in various
      places. The monarch bewailed his minister, his tutor, his friend, but so
      astounding a revelation dried his tears. He affectionately thanked M.
      Colbert, and from that day forward gave him his entire consideration and
      esteem.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Colbert was diligent enough to seize upon the millions hidden at
      Vincennes, the millions secreted in the old Louvre, at Courbevoie and the
      other country seats. But the millions in gold, hidden in the bastions of
      La Fere, fell into the hands of heirs, who, a few moments after the
      commencement of the Cardinal's death-agony, sent off a valet post-haste.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Cardinal's family pretended to know nothing of this affair; but they
      could never bear M. Colbert nor any of his kinsfolk. The King, being of a
      generous nature, distributed all this wealth in the best and most liberal
      manner possible. M. Colbert told him to what use Mazarin meant to put all
      these riches; he hoped to have prevailed upon the Conclave to elect him
      Pope, with the concurrence of Spain, France, and the Holy Ghost.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Young Queen.&mdash;Her Portrait.&mdash;Her Whims.&mdash;Her Love for
      the King.&mdash;Her Chagrin.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      MARIA THERESA, the King's new consort, was the daughter of the King of
      Spain and Elizabeth of France, daughter of Henri IV. At the time of her
      marriage she had lost her mother, and it was King Philip, Anne of
      Austria's brother, who himself presented her to us at Saint Jean de Luz,
      where he signed the peace-contract. The Spanish monarch admired his
      nephew, the King, whose stalwart figure, comely face, and polished
      manners, were, indeed, well calculated to excite surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anne of Austria had said to him, "My brother, my one fear during your
      journey was lest your ailments and the hardships of travel should hinder
      you from getting back here again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was such your thought, sister?" replied the good man. "I would willingly
      have come on foot, so as to behold with my own eyes the superb cavalier
      that you and I are going to give to my daughter."
    </p>
    <p>
      After the oath of peace had been sworn upon the Gospels, there was a
      general presentation before the two Kings. Cantocarrero, the Castilian
      secretary of state, presented the Spanish notabilities, while Cardinal
      Mazarin, in his pontifical robes, presented the French. As he announced M.
      de Turenne, the old King looked at him repeatedly. "There's one," quoth
      he, "who has given me many a sleepless night."
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Turenne bowed respectfully, and both courts could perceive in his
      simple bearing his unaffected modesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      On leaving Spain and the King, young princess was moved to tears. Next day
      she thought nothing of it at all. She was wholly engrossed by the
      possession of such a King, nor was she at any pains to hide her glee from
      us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of all her Court ladies I was the most youthful and, perhaps, the most
      conspicuous. At the outset the Queen showed a wish to take me into her
      confidence but it was the lady-in-waiting who would never consent to this.
    </p>
    <p>
      When, at that lottery of the Cardinal's, I won the King's portrait, the
      Queen-mother called me into her closet and desired to know how such a
      thing could possibly have happened. I replied that, during the
      garter-incident, the two tickets had got mixed. "Ah, in that case," said
      the princess, "the occurrence was quite a natural one. So keep this
      portrait, since it has fallen into your hands; but, for God's sake, don't
      try and make yourself pleasant to my son; for you're only too fascinating
      as it is. Look at that little La Valliere, what a mess she has got into,
      and what chagrin she has caused my poor Maria Theresa!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I replied to her Majesty that I would rather let myself be buried alive
      than ever imitate La Valliere, and I said so then because that was really
      what I thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen-mother softened, and gave me her hand to kiss, now addressing me
      as "madame," and anon as "my daughter." A few days afterwards she wished
      to walk in the gallery with me, and said to me, "If God suffers me to
      live, I will make you lady-in-waiting; be sure of that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Anne of Austria was a tall, fine, dark woman, with brown eyes, like those
      of the King. The Infanta, her niece, is a very pretty blonde, blue-eyed,
      but short in stature.
    </p>
    <p>
      To her slightest words the Queen-mother gives sense and wit; her
      daughter-in-law's speeches and actions are of the simplest, most
      commonplace kind. Were it not for the King, she would pass her life in a
      dressing-gown, night-cap, and slippers. At Court ceremonies and on
      gala-days, she never appears to be in a good humour; everything seems to
      weigh her down, notably her diamonds.
    </p>
    <p>
      However, she has no remarkable defect, and one may say that she is devoid
      of goodness, just as she is devoid of badness. When coming among us, she
      contrived to bring with her Molina, the daughter of her nurse, a sort of
      comedy confidante, who soon gave herself Court airs, and who managed to
      form a regular little Court of her own. Without her sanction nothing can
      be obtained of the Queen. My lady Molina is the great, the small, and the
      unique counsellor of the princess, and the King, like the others, remains
      submissive to her decisions and her inspection.
    </p>
    <p>
      French cookery, by common consent, is held to be well-nigh perfect in its
      excellence; yet the Infanta could never get used to our dishes. The Senora
      Molina, well furnished with silver kitchen utensils, has a sort of private
      kitchen or scullery reserved for her own use, and there it is that the
      manufacture takes place of clove-scented chocolate, brown soups and
      gravies, stews redolent with garlic, capsicums, and nutmeg, and all that
      nauseous pastry in which the young Infanta revels.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ever since La Valliere's lasting triumph, the Queen seems to have got it
      into her head that she is despised; and at table I have often heard her
      say, "They will help themselves to everything, and won't leave me
      anything."
    </p>
    <p>
      I am not unjust, and I admit that a husband's public attachments are not
      exactly calculated to fill his legitimate consort with joy. But,
      fortunately for the Infanta, the King abounds in rectitude and
      good-nature. This very good-nature it is which prompts him to use all the
      consideration of which a noble nature is capable, and the more his amours
      give the Queen just cause for anxiety, the more does he redouble his
      kindness and consideration towards her. Of this she is sensible. Thus she
      acquiesces, and, as much through tenderness as social tact, she never
      reproaches or upbraids him with anything. Nor does the King scruple to
      admit that, to secure so good-natured a partner, it is well worth the
      trouble of going to fetch her from the other end of the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de la Valliere Becomes Duchess.&mdash;Her Family is Resigned.&mdash;Her
      Children Recognised by the King.&mdash;Madame Colbert Their Governess.&mdash;The
      King's Passion Grows More Serious.&mdash;Love and Friendship.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Out of affection and respect for the Queen-mother, the King had until then
      sought to conceal the ardour of his attachment for Mademoiselle de la
      Valliere. It was after the six months of mourning that he shook off all
      restraint, showing that, like any private person, he felt himself master
      of his actions and his inclinations.
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave the Vaujours estate to his mistress, after formally constituting
      it a duchy, and, owing to the two children of his duchy, Mademoiselle de
      la Valliere assumed the title of Duchess. What a fuss she made at this
      time! All that was styled disinterestedness, modesty. Not a bit of it. It
      was pusillanimity and a sense of servile fear. La Valliere would have
      liked to enjoy her handsome lover in the shade and security of mystery,
      without exposing herself to the satire of courtiers and of the public,
      and, above all, to the reproaches of her family and relatives, who nearly
      all were very devout.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this head, however, she soon saw that such fears were exaggerated. The
      Marquise de Saint-Remy was but slightly scandalised at what was going on.
      She and the Marquis de Saint-Remy, her second husband, strictly proper
      though they were, came to greet their daughter when proclaimed duchess.
      And when, a few days afterwards, the King declared the rank of the two
      children to the whole of assembled Parliament, the two families of
      Saint-Remy and La Valliere offered congratulations to the Duchess, and
      received those of all Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Colbert, who owed everything to the King, entrusted Madame Colbert with
      the education of the new prince and princess; they were brought up under
      the eyes of this statesman, who for everything found time and
      obligingness. The girl, lovely as love itself, took the name of
      Mademoiselle de Blois, while to her little brother was given the title of
      Comte de Vermandois.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was just about this time that I noticed the beginning of the monarch's
      serious attachment for me. Till then it had been only playful badinage,
      good-humoured teasing, a sort of society play, in which the King was
      rehearsing his part as a lover. I was at length bound to admit that chaff
      of this sort might end in something serious, and his Majesty begged me to
      let him have La Valliere for some time longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have already said that, while becoming her rival, I still remained her
      friend. Of this she had countless proofs, and when, at long intervals, I
      saw her again in her dismal retreat, her good-nature, unchanging as this
      was, caused her to receive and welcome me as one welcomes those one loves.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      First Vocation of Mademoiselle de la Valliere.&mdash;The King Surprises
      His Mistress.&mdash;She is Forced to Retire to a Convent.&mdash;The King
      Hastens to Take Her Back.&mdash;She Was Not Made for Court Life.&mdash;Her
      Farewell to the King.&mdash;Sacrifice.&mdash;The Abbe de Bossuet.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      What I am now about to relate, I have from her own lips, nor am I the only
      one to whom she made such recitals and avowals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her father died when she was quite young, and, when dying, foresaw that
      his widow, being without fortune or constancy, would ere long marry again.
      To little Louise he was devotedly attached. Ardently embracing her, he
      addressed her thus:
    </p>
    <p>
      "In losing me, my poor little Louise, you lose all. What little there is
      of my inheritance ought, undoubtedly, to belong to you; but I know your
      mother; she will dispose of it. If my relatives do not show the interest
      in you which your fatherless state should inspire, renounce this world
      soon, where, separated from your father, there exists for you but danger
      and misfortune. Two of my ancestors left their property to the nuns of
      Saint Bernard at Gomer-Fontaines, as they are perfectly well aware. Go to
      them in all confidence; they will receive you without a dowry even; it is
      their duty to do so. If, disregarding my last counsel, you go astray in
      the world, from the eternal abodes on high I will watch over you; I will
      appear to you, if God empower me to do so; and, at any rate, from time to
      time I will knock at the door of your heart to rouse you from your baleful
      slumber and draw your attention to the sweet paths of light that lead to
      God."
    </p>
    <p>
      This speech of a dying father was graven upon the heart of a young girl
      both timid and sensitive. She never forgot it; and it needed the fierce,
      inexplicable passion which took possession of her soul to captivate her
      and carry her away so far.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before becoming attached to the King, she opened out her heart to me with
      natural candour; and whenever in the country she observed the turrets or
      the spire of a monastery, she sighed, and I saw her beautiful blue eyes
      fill with tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was maid of honour to the Princess Henrietta of England, and I filled
      a like office. Our two companions, being the most quick-witted, durst not
      talk about their love-affairs before Louise, so convinced were we of her
      modesty, and almost of her piety.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of that, as she was gentle, intelligent, and well-bred, the
      Princess plainly preferred her to the other three. In temperament they
      suited each other to perfection.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King frequently came to the Palais Royal, where the bright, pleasant
      conversation of his sister-in-law made amends for the inevitable boredom
      which one suffered when with the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Being brought in such close contact with the King, who in private life is
      irresistibly attractive, Mademoiselle de la Valliere conceived a violent
      passion for him; yet, owing to modesty or natural timidity, it was plain
      that she carefully sought to hide her secret. One fine night she and two
      young persons of her own age were seated under a large oak-tree in the
      grounds of Saint Germain. The Marquis de Wringhen, seeing them in the
      moonlight, said to the King, who was walking with him, "Let us turn aside,
      Sire, in this direction; yonder there are three solitary nymphs, who seem
      waiting for fairies or lovers." Then they noiselessly approached the tree
      that I have mentioned, and lost not a word of all the talk in which the
      fair ladies were engaged.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were discussing the last ball at the chateau. One extolled the charms
      of the Marquis d'Alincour, son of Villeroi; the second mentioned another
      young nobleman; while the third frankly expressed herself in these terms:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Marquis d'Alincour and the Prince de Marcillac are most charming, no
      doubt, but, in all conscience, who could be interested in their merits
      when once the King appeared in their midst?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, oh!" cried the two others, laughing, "it's strange to hear you talk
      like that; so, one has to be a king in order to merit your attention?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "His rank as king," replied Mademoiselle de la Valliere, "is not the
      astonishing part about him; I should have recognised it even in the simple
      dress of a herdsman."
    </p>
    <p>
      The three chatterers then rose and went back to the chateau. Next day, the
      King, wholly occupied with what he had overheard on the previous evening,
      sat musing on a sofa at his sister-in-law's, when all at once the voice of
      Mademoiselle de la Beaume-le-Blanc smote his ear and brought trouble to
      his heart. He saw her, noticed her melancholy look, thought her lovelier
      than the loveliest, and at once fell passionately in love.
    </p>
    <p>
      They soon got to understand one another, yet for a long while merely
      communicated by means of notes at fetes, or during the performance of
      allegorical ballets and operettas, the airs in which sufficiently
      expressed the nature of such missives.
    </p>
    <p>
      In order to put the Queen-mother off the scent and screen La Valliere, the
      King pretended to be in love with Mademoiselle de la Mothe-Houdancour, one
      of the Queen's maids of honour. He used to talk across to her out of one
      of the top-story windows, and even wished her to accept a present of
      diamonds. But Madame de Navailles, who took charge of the maids of honour,
      had gratings put over the top-story windows, and La Mothe-Houdancour was
      so chagrined by the Queen's icy manner towards her that she withdrew to a
      convent. As to the Duchesse de Navailles and her husband, they got rid of
      their charges and retired to their estates, where great wealth and freedom
      were their recompense after such pompous Court slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen-mother was still living; unlike her niece, she was not
      blindfold. The adventure of Mademoiselle de la Mothe-Houdancour seemed to
      her just what it actually was,&mdash;a subterfuge; as she surmised, it
      could only be La Valliere. Having discovered the name of her confessor,
      the Queen herself went in disguise to the Theatin Church, flung herself
      into the confessional where this man officiated, and promised him the sum
      of thirty thousand francs for their new church if he would help her to
      save the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Theatin promised to do what the Queen thus earnestly desired, and when
      his fair penitent came to confess, he ordered her at once to break off her
      connection with the Court as with the world, and to shut herself up in a
      convent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de la Valliere shed tears, and sought to make certain
      remarks, but the confessor, a man of inflexible character, threatened her
      with eternal damnation, and he was obeyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beside herself with grief, La Valliere left by another door, so as to
      avoid her servants and her coach. She recollected seeing a little convent
      of hospitalieres at Saint Cloud; she went thither on foot, and was
      cordially welcomed by these dames.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day it was noised abroad in the chateau that she had been carried off
      by order of the Queen-mother. During vespers the King seemed greatly
      agitated, and no sooner had the preacher ascended the pulpit than he rose
      and disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      The confusion of the two Queens was manifest; no one paid any heed to the
      preacher; he scarcely knew where he was.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p074" id="p074"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p074.jpg (88K)" src="images/p074.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the conquering King had started upon his quest. Followed by a
      page and a carriage and pair, he first went to Chaillot, and then to Saint
      Cloud, where he rang at the entrance of the modest abode which harboured
      his friend. The nun at the turnstile answered him harshly, and denied him
      an audience. It is true, he only told her he was a cousin or a relative.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing that this nun was devoid of sense and of humanity, he bethought
      himself of endeavouring to persuade the gardener, who lived close to the
      monastery. He slipped several gold pieces into his hand, and most politely
      requested him to go and tell the Lady Superior that he had come thither on
      behalf of the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Superior came down into the parlour, and recognising the King
      from a superb miniature, besought him of his grandeur to interest himself
      in this young lady of quality, devoid of means and fatherless, and
      consented, moreover, to give her up to him, since as King he so commanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      Louise de la Beaume-le-Blanc obeyed the King, or in other words, the
      dictates of her own heart, imprudently embarking upon a career of passion,
      for which a temperament wholly different from hers was needed. It is not
      simple-minded maidens that one wants at Court to share the confidence of
      princes. No doubt natures of that sort&mdash;simple, disinterested souls
      are pleasant and agreeable to them, as therein they find contentment such
      as they greedily prize; but for these unsullied, romantic natures,
      disillusion, trickery alone is in store. And if Mademoiselle de la
      Beaumele-Blanc had listened to me, she might have turned matters to far
      better account; nor, after yielding up her youth to a monarch, would she
      have been obliged to end, her days in a prison.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King no longer visited her as his mistress, but trusted and esteemed
      her as a friend and as the mother of his two pretty children.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day, in the month of April, 1674, his Majesty, while in the gardens,
      received the following letter, which one of La Valliere's pages proffered
      him on bended knee:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          SIRE:&mdash;To-day I am leaving forever this palace, whither the
          cruellest of fatalities summoned my youth and inexperience. Had I not
          met you, my heart would have loved seclusion, a laborious life, and my
          kinsfolk. An imperious inclination, which I could not conquer, gave me
          to you, and, simple, docile as I was by nature, I believed that my
          passion would always prove to me delicious, and that your love would
          never die. In this world nothing endures. My fond attachment has
          ceased to have any charm for you, and my heart is filled with dismay.
          This trial has come from God; of this my reason and my faith are
          convinced. God has felt compassion for my unspeakable grief. That
          which for long past I have suffered is greater than human force can
          bear; He is going to receive me into His home of mercy. He promises me
          both healing and peace.
        </p>
        <p>
          In this theatre of pomp and perfidy I have only stayed until such a
          moment as my daughter and her youthful brother might more easily do
          without me. You will cherish them both; of that I have no doubt. Guide
          them, I beseech you, for the sake of your own glory and their
          well-being. May your watchful care sustain them, while their mother,
          humbled and prostrate in a cloister, shall commend them to Him who
          pardons all.
        </p>
        <p>
          After my departure, show some kindness to those who were my servants
          and faithful domestics, and deign to take back the estates and
          residences which served to support me in my frivolous grandeur, and
          maintain the celebrity that I deplore.
        </p>
        <p>
          Adieu, Sire! Think no more about me, lest such a feeling, to which my
          imagination might but all too readily lend itself, only beget links of
          sympathy in my heart which conscience and repentance would fain
          destroy.
        </p>
        <p>
          If God call me to himself, young though yet I am, He will have granted
          my prayers; if He ordain me to live for a while longer in this desert
          of penitence, it will never compensate for the duration of my error,
          nor for the scandal of which I have been the cause.
        </p>
        <p>
          Your subject from this time forth, LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The King had not been expecting so desperate a resolve as this, nor did he
      feel inclined to hinder her from making it. He left the Portuguese
      ambassador, who witnessed his agitation, and hastened to Madame de la
      Valliere's, who had left her apartments in the castle at daybreak. He shed
      tears, being kind of heart and convinced that a body so graceful and so
      delicate would never be able to resist the rigours and hardships of so
      terrible a life.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Carmelite nuns of the Rue Saint Jacques loudly proclaimed this
      conversion, and in their vanity gladly received into their midst so modest
      and distinguished a victim, driven thither through sheer despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ceremony which these dames call "taking the dress" attracted the
      entire Court to their church. The Queen herself desired to be present at
      so harrowing a spectacle, and by a curious contradiction, of which her
      capricious nature is capable, she shed floods of tears. La Valliere seemed
      gentler, lovelier, more modest and more seductive than ever. In the midst
      of the grief and tears which her courageous sacrifice provoked, she never
      uttered a single sigh, nor did she change colour once. Hers was a nature
      made for extremes; like Caesar, she said to herself, "Either Rome or
      nothing!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe de Bossuet, who had been charged to preach the sermon of
      investiture, showed a good deal of wit by exhibiting none at all. The King
      must have felt indebted to him for such reserve. Into his discourse he had
      put mere vague commonplaces, which neither touch nor wound any one;
      honeyed anathemas such as these may even pass for compliments.
    </p>
    <p>
      This prelate has won for himself a great name and great wealth by words. A
      proof of his cleverness exists in his having lived in grandeur, opulence,
      and worldly happiness, while making people believe that he condemned such
      things.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Story of the Queen-mother's Marriage with Cardinal Mazarin Published in
      Holland.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Despite the endeavours made by the ministers concerning the pamphlet or
      volume about which I am going to speak, neither they nor the King
      succeeded in quashing a sinister rumour and an opinion which had taken
      deep root among the people. Ever since this calumny it believes&mdash;and
      will always believe&mdash;in the twin brother of Louis XIV., suppressed,
      one knows not why, by his mother, just as one believes in fairy-tales and
      novels. This false rumour, invented by far-seeing folk, is that which has
      most affected the King. I will recount the manner in which it reached him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since the disorder and insolence of the Fronde, this prince did not like
      to reside in the capital; he soon invented pretexts for getting away from
      it. The chateau of the Tuileries, built by Catherine de Medici at some
      distance from the Louvre, was, really speaking, only a little
      country-house and Trianon. The King conceived the plan of uniting this
      structure with his palace at the Louvre, extending it on the Saint Roch
      side and also on the side of the river, and this being settled, the Louvre
      gallery would be carried on as far as the southern angle of the new
      building, so as to form one whole edifice, as it now appears.
    </p>
    <p>
      While these alterations were in progress, the Court quitted the Louvre and
      the capital, and took up its permanent residence at Saint Germain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though ceasing to make a royal residence and home of Paris, his Majesty
      did not omit to pay occasional visits to the centre of the capital. He
      came incognito, sometimes on horseback, sometimes in a coach, and usually
      went about the streets on foot. On these occasions he was dressed
      carelessly, like any ordinary young man, and the better to ensure a
      complete disguise, he kept continually changing either the colour of his
      moustache or the colour and cut of his clothes. One evening, on leaving
      the opera, just as he was about to open his carriage door, a man
      approached him with a great air of mystery, and tendering a pamphlet,
      begged him to buy it. To get rid of the importunate fellow, his Majesty
      purchased the book, and never glanced at its contents until the following
      day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Imagine his surprise and indignation! The following was the title of his
      purchase:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Secret and Circumstantial Account of the Marriage of Anne of Austria,
          Queen of France, with the Abbe Jules Simon Mazarin, Cardinal of the
          Holy Roman Church. A new edition, carefully revised. Amsterdam."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Grave and phlegmatic by nature, the King was always master of his
      feelings, a sign, this, of the noble-minded. He shut himself up in his
      apartment, so as to be quite alone, and hastily perused the libellous
      pamphlet.
    </p>
    <p>
      According to the author of it, King Louis XIII., being weak and languid,
      and sapped moreover by secret poison, had not been able to beget any
      heirs. The Queen, who secretly was Mazarin's mistress, had had twins by
      the Abbe, only the prettier of the two being declared legitimate. The
      other twin had been entrusted to obscure teachers, who, when it was time,
      would give him up.
    </p>
    <p>
      The princess, so the writer added, stung by qualms of conscience, had
      insisted upon having her guilty intimacy purified by the sacrament of
      marriage, to which the prime minister agreed. Then, mentioning the names
      of such and such persons as witnesses, the book stated that "this marriage
      was solemnised on a night in February, 1643, by Cardinal de
      Sainte-Suzanne, a brother and servile creature of Mazarin's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This explains," added the vile print, "the zeal, perseverance, and
      foolish ardour of the Queen Regent in defending her Italian against the
      just opposition of the nobles, against the formal charges of the
      magistrates, against the clamorous outcry, not only of Parisians, but of
      all France. This explains the indifference, or rather the firm resolve, on
      Mazarin's part; never to take orders, but to remain simply 'tonsure' or
      'minore',&mdash;he who controls at least forty abbeys, as well as a
      bishopric.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look at the young monarch," it continued, "and consider how closely he
      resembles his Eminence, the same haughty glance; the same uncontrolled
      passion for pompous buildings, luxurious dress and equipages; the same
      deference and devotion to the Queen-mother; the same independent customs,
      precepts, and laws; the same aversion for the Parisians; the same
      resentment against the honest folk of the Fronde."
    </p>
    <p>
      This final phrase easily disclosed its origin; nor upon this point had his
      Majesty the slightest shadow of a doubt.
    </p>
    <p>
      The same evening he sent full instructions to the lieutenant-general of
      police, and two days afterwards the nocturnal vendor of pamphlets found
      himself caught in a trap.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King wished him to be brought to Saint Germain, so that he might
      identify him personally; and, as he pretended to be half-witted or an
      idiot, he was thrown half naked into a dungeon. His allowance of dry bread
      diminished day by day, at which he complained, and it was decided to make
      him undergo this grim ordeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Under the pressure of hunger and thirst, the prisoner at length made a
      confession, and mentioned a bookseller of the Quartier Latin, who, under
      the Fronde, had made his shop a meeting-place for rebels.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bookseller, having been put in the Bastille, and upon the same diet as
      his salesman, stated the name of the Dutch printer who had published the
      pamphlet. They sought to extract more from him, and reduced his diet with
      such severity that he disclosed the entire secret.
    </p>
    <p>
      This bookseller, used to a good square meal at home, found it impossible
      to tolerate the Bastille fare much longer. Bound hand and foot, at his
      final cross-examination he confessed that the work had emanated from the
      Cardinal de Retz, or certain of his party.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was condemned to three years' imprisonment, and was obliged to sell his
      shop and retire to the provinces.
    </p>
    <p>
      I once heard M. de Louvois tell this tale, and use it as a means of
      silencing those who regretted the absence of the exiled
      Cardinal-archbishop.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to the libellous pamphlet itself, the clumsy nature of it was only too
      plain, for the King is no more like Mazarin than he is like the King of
      Ethiopia. On the contrary, one can easily distinguish in the general
      effect of his features a very close resemblance to King Louis XIII.
    </p>
    <p>
      The libellous pamphlet stated that, on the occasion of the Infanta's first
      confinement, twins were born, and that the prettier of the two had been
      adopted, another blunder, this, of the grossest kind. A book of this sort
      could deceive only the working class and the Parisian lower orders, for
      folk about the Court, and even the bourgeoisie, know that it is impossible
      for a queen to be brought to bed in secret. Unfortunately for her, she has
      to comply with the most embarrassing rules of etiquette. She has to bear
      her final birth-pangs under an open canopy, surrounded at no great
      distance by all the princes of the blood; they are summoned thither, and
      they have this right so as to prevent all frauds, subterfuges, or
      impositions.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the King found the seditious book in question, the Queen, his mother,
      was ill and in pain; every possible precaution was taken to prevent her
      from hearing the news, and the lieutenant-general of police, having
      informed the King that two-thirds of the edition had been seized close to
      the Archbishop's palace, orders were given to burn all these horrible
      books by night, in the presence of the Marquis de Beringhen, appointed
      commissioner on this occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans Wishes to be Governor of a Province.&mdash;The
      King's Reply.&mdash;He Requires a Fauteuil for His Wife.&mdash;Another
      Excellent Answer of the King's.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      In marrying Monsieur, the King consulted only his well-known generosity,
      and the richly equipped household which he granted to this prince should
      assuredly have made him satisfied and content. The Chevalier de Lorraine
      and the Chevalier de Remecourt, two pleasant and baneful vampires whom
      Monsieur could refuse nothing, put it into his head that he should make
      himself feared, so as to lead his Majesty on to greater concessions, which
      they were perfectly able to turn to their own enjoyment and profit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur began by asking for the governorship of a province; in reply he
      was told that this could not be, seeing that such appointments were never
      given to French princes, brothers of the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans hastened to point out that Gaston, son of Henri
      IV., had had such a post, and that the Duc de Verneuil, natural son of the
      same Henri, had one at the present time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is true," replied the King, "but from my youth upward you have
      always heard me condemn such innovations, and you cannot expect me to do
      the very thing that I have blamed others for doing. If ever you were
      minded, brother, to rebel against my authority, your first care would,
      undoubtedly, be to withdraw to your province, where, like Gaston, your
      uncle, you would have to raise troops and money. Pray do not weary me with
      indiscretions of this sort; and tell those people who influence you to
      give you better advice for the future."
    </p>
    <p>
      Somewhat abashed, the Duc d'Orleans affirmed that what he had said and
      done was entirely of his own accord.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you speak of your own accord," said the King, "when insisting upon
      being admitted to the privy council? Such a thing can no longer be
      allowed. You inconsiderately expressed two different opinions, and since
      you cannot control your tongue, which is most undoubtedly your own, I have
      no power over it,&mdash;I, to whom it does not want to belong."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans added that these two refusals would seem
      less harsh, less painful to him, if the King would grant a seat in his own
      apartments, and in those of the Queen, to the Princess, his wife, who was
      a king's daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, that cannot be," replied his Majesty, "and pray do not insist upon
      it. It is not I who have established the present customs; they existed
      long before you or me. It is in your interest, brother, that the majesty
      of the throne should not be weakened or altered; and if, from Duc
      d'Orleans, you one day become King of France, I know you well enough to
      believe that you would never be lax in this matter. Before God, you and I
      are exactly the same as other creatures that live and breathe; before men
      we are seemingly extraordinary beings, greater, more refined, more
      perfect. The day that people, abandoning this respect and veneration which
      is the support and mainstay of monarchies,&mdash;the day that they regard
      us as their equals,&mdash;all the prestige of our position will be
      destroyed. Bereft of beings superior to the mass, who act as their leaders
      and supports, the laws will only be as so many black lines on white paper,
      and your armless chair and my fauteuil will be two pieces of furniture of
      the selfsame importance. Personally, I should like to gratify you in every
      respect, for the same blood flows in our veins, and we have loved each
      other from the cradle upwards. Ask of me things that are practicable, and
      you shall see that I will forestall your wishes. Personally, I daresay I
      care less about honorary distinctions than you do, and in Cabinet matters
      I am always considered to be simpler and more easy to deal with than such
      and such a one. One word more, and I have done. I will nominate you to the
      governorship of any province you choose, if you will now consent in
      writing to let proceedings be taken against you, just as against any
      ordinary gentleman, in case there should be sedition in your province, or
      any kind of disorder during your administration."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hereupon young Philippe began to smile, and he begged the King to embrace
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Arms and Livery of Madame de Montespan.&mdash;Duchess or Princess.&mdash;Fresh
      Scandal Caused by the Marquis.&mdash;The Rue Saint Honore Affair.&mdash;M.
      de Ronancour.&mdash;Separation of Body and Estate.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      When leaving, despite himself, for the provinces, M. de Montespan wrote me
      a letter full of bitter insults, in which he ordered me to give up his
      coat-of-arms, his livery, and even his name.
    </p>
    <p>
      This letter I showed to the King. For a while he was lost in thought, as
      usual on such occasions, and then he said to me:
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's nothing extraordinary about the fellow's livery. Put your
      servants into pale orange with silver lace. Assume your old crest of
      Mortemart, and as regards name, I will buy you an estate with a pretty
      title."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I don't like pale orange," I instantly replied; "if I may, I should
      like to choose dark blue, and gold lace, and as regards crest, I cannot
      adopt my father's crest, except in lozenge form, which could not seriously
      be done. As it is your gracious intention to give me the name of an
      estate, give me (for to you everything is easy) a duchy like La Valliere,
      or, better still, a principality."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King smiled, and answered, "It shall be done, madame, as you wish."
    </p>
    <p>
      The very, next day I went into Paris to acquaint my lawyer with my
      intentions. Several magnificent estates were just then in the market, but
      only marquisates, counties, or baronies! Nothing illustrious, nothing
      remarkable! Duhamel assured me that the estate of Chabrillant, belonging
      to a spendthrift, was up for sale.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That," said he, "is a sonorous name, the brilliant renown of which would
      only be enhanced by the title of princess."
    </p>
    <p>
      Duhamel promised to see all his colleagues in this matter, and to find me
      what I wanted without delay.
    </p>
    <p>
      I quitted Paris without having met or recognised anybody, when, about
      twenty paces at the most beyond the Porte Saint Honor, certain sergeants
      or officials of some sort roughly stopped my carriage and seized my
      horses' bridles "in the King's name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the King's name?" I cried, showing myself at the coach door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Insolent fellows! How dare you thus take the King's name in vain?" At the
      same time I told my coachman to whip up his horses with the reins and to
      drive over these vagabonds. At a word from me the three footmen jumped
      down and did their duty by dealing out lusty thwacks to the sergeants. A
      crowd collected, and townsfolk and passers-by joined in the fray.
    </p>
    <p>
      A tall, fine-looking man, wrapped in a dressing-gown, surveyed the tumult
      like a philosopher from his balcony overhead. I bowed graciously to him
      and besought him to come down. He came, and in sonorous accents exclaimed:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho, there! serving-men of my lady, stop fighting, will you? And pray,
      sergeants, what is your business?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a disgrace," cried they all, as with one breath. "Madame lets her
      scoundrelly footmen murder us, despite the name of his Majesty, which we
      were careful to utter at the outset of things. Madame is a person (as
      everybody in France now knows) who is in open revolt against her husband;
      she has deserted him in order to cohabit publicly with some one else. Her
      husband claims his coach, with his own crest and armorial bearings
      thereon, and we are here for the purpose of carrying out the order of one
      of the judges of the High Court."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If that be so," replied the man in the dressing-gown, "I have no
      objection to offer, and though madame is loveliness itself, she must
      suffer me to pity her, and I have the honour of saluting her."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he made me a bow and left me, without help of any sort, in the
      midst of this crazy rabble.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was inconsolable. My coachman, the best fellow in the world, called out
      to him from the top of his bog, "Monsieur, pray procure help for my
      mistress,&mdash;for Madame la Marquise de Montespan."
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner had he uttered these words than the gentleman came back again,
      while, among the lookers-on, some hissing was heard. He raised both hands
      with an air of authority, and speaking with quite incredible vehemence and
      fire, he successfully harangued the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame does not refuse to comply with the requirements of justice," he
      added firmly; "but madame, a member of the Queen's household, is returning
      to Versailles, and cannot go thither on foot, or in some tumbledown
      vehicle. So I must beg these constables or sergeants (no matter which) to
      defer their arrest until to-morrow, and to accept me as surety. The French
      people is the friend of fair ladies; and true Parisians are incapable of
      harming or of persecuting aught that is gracious and beautiful."
    </p>
    <p>
      All those present, who at first had hissed, replied to this speech by
      cries of "Bravo!" One of my men, who had been wounded in the scuffle, had
      his hand all bloody. A young woman brought some lavender-water, and bound
      up the wound with her white handkerchief, amid loud applause from the
      crowd, while I bowed my acknowledgments and thanks.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King listened with interest to the account of the adventure that I
      have just described, and wished to know the name of the worthy man who had
      acted as my support and protector. His name was De Tarcy-Ronancour. The
      King granted him a pension of six thousand francs, and gave the Abbey of
      Bauvoir to his daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for me, I kept insisting with might and main for a separation of body
      and estate, which alone could put an end to all my anxiety. When a decree
      for such separation was pronounced at the Chatelet, and registered
      according to the rules, I set about arranging an appanage which, from the
      very first day, had seemed to me absolutely necessary for my position.
    </p>
    <p>
      As ill-luck would have it, the judges left me the name of Montespan, which
      to my husband was so irksome, and to myself also; and the King, despite
      repeated promises, never relieved me of a name that it was very difficult
      to bear.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 2.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur's Jealousy.&mdash;Diplomacy.&mdash;Discretion.&mdash;The
      Chevalier de Lorraine's Revenge.&mdash;The King's Suspicions.&mdash;His
      Indignation.&mdash;Public Version of the Matter.&mdash;The Funeral Sermon.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      After six months of wedlock, Henrietta of England had become so beautiful
      that the King drew every one's attention to this change, as if he were not
      unmindful of the fact that he had given this charming person to his
      brother instead of reserving her for himself by marrying her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Between cousins german attentions are permissible. The Court, however, was
      not slow to notice the attentions paid by the King to this young English
      princess, and Monsieur, wholly indifferent though he was as regarded his
      wife, deemed it a point of honour to appear offended thereat. Ever a slave
      to the laws of good breeding, the King showed much self-sacrifice in
      curbing this violent infatuation of his. (I was Madame's maid of honour at
      the time.) As he contemplated a Dutch expedition, in which the help of
      England would have counted for much, he resolved to send a negotiator to
      King Charles. The young Princess was her brother's pet; it was upon her
      that the King's choice fell.
    </p>
    <p>
      She crossed the Channel under the pretext of paying a flying visit to her
      native country and her brother, but, in reality, it was to treat of
      matters of the utmost importance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon her return, Monsieur, the most curious and inquisitive of mortals,
      importuned her in a thousand ways, seeking to discover her secret; but she
      was a person both faithful and discreet. Of her interview and journey he
      got only such news as was already published on the housetops. At such
      reticence he took umbrage; he grumbled, sulked, and would not speak to his
      wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Chevalier de Lorraine, who in that illustrious and luckless household
      was omnipotent, insulted the Princess in the most outrageous manner.
      Finding such daily slights and affronts unbearable, Madame complained to
      the Kings of France and England, who both exiled the Chevalier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur de Lorraine d'Armagnac, before leaving, gave instructions to
      Morel, one of Monsieur's kitchen officials, to poison the Princess, and
      this monster promptly executed the order by rubbing poison on her silver
      goblet.
    </p>
    <p>
      I no longer belonged to Madame's household,&mdash;my marriage had caused a
      change in my duties; but ever feeling deep attachment for this adorable
      princess, I hastened to Saint Cloud directly news reached me of her
      illness. To my horror, I saw the sudden change which had come over her
      countenance; her horrible agony drew tears from the most callous, and
      approaching her I kissed her hand, in spite of her confessor, who sought
      to constrain her to be silent. She then repeatedly told me that she was
      dying from the effects of poison.
    </p>
    <p>
      This she also told the King, whom she perceived shed tears of
      consternation and distress.
    </p>
    <p>
      That evening, at Versailles, the King said to me, "If this crime is my
      brother's handiwork, his head shall fall on the scaffold."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the body was opened, proof of poison was obtained, and poison of the
      most corrosive sort, for the stomach was eaten into in three places, and
      there was general inflammation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King summoned his brother, in order to force him to explain so heinous
      a crime. On perceiving his mien, Monsieur became pale and confused.
      Rushing upon him sword in hand, the King was for demolishing him on the
      spot. The captain of the guard hastened thither, and Monsieur swore by the
      Holy Ghost that he was guiltless of the death of his dear wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaving him a prey to remorse, if guilty he were, the King commanded him
      to withdraw, and then shut himself up in his closet to prepare a
      consolatory message to the English Court. According to the written
      statement, which was also published in the newspapers, Madame had been
      carried off by an attack of bilious colic. Five or six bribed physicians
      certified to that effect, and a lying set of depositions, made for mere
      form's sake, bore out their statements in due course.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe de Bossuet, charged to preach the funeral sermon, was apparently
      desirous of being as obliging as the doctors. His homily led off with such
      fulsome praise of Monsieur, that, from that day forward, he lost all his
      credit, and sensible people thereafter only looked upon him as a vile
      sycophant, a mere dealer in flattery and fairy-tales.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame Scarron.&mdash;Her Petition.&mdash;The King's Aversion to Her.&mdash;She
      is Presented to Madame de Montespan.&mdash;The Queen of Portugal Thinks of
      Engaging Her.&mdash;Madame de Montespan Keeps Her Back.&mdash;The Pension
      Continued.&mdash;The King's Graciousness.&mdash;Rage of Mademoiselle
      d'Aumale.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      As all the pensions granted by the Queen-mother had ceased at her demise,
      the pensioners began to solicit the ministers anew, and all the petitions,
      as is customary, were sent direct to the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day his Majesty said to me, "Have you ever met in society a young
      widow, said to be very pretty, but, at the same time, extremely affected?
      It is to Madame Scarron that I allude, who, both before and after
      widowhood, has resided at the Marais."
    </p>
    <p>
      I replied that Madame Scarron was an extremely pleasant person, and not at
      all affected. I had met her at the Richelieus' or the Albrets', where her
      charm of manner and agreeable wit had made her in universal request. I
      added a few words of recommendation concerning her petition, which,
      unfortunately, had just been torn up, and the King curtly rejoined, "You
      surprise me, madame; the portrait I had given to me of her was a totally
      different one."
    </p>
    <p>
      That same evening, when the young Marquis d'Alincour spoke to me about
      this petition which had never obtained any answer, I requested him to go
      and see Madame Scarron as soon as possible, and tell her that, in her own
      interest, I should be pleased to receive her.
    </p>
    <p>
      She lost no time in paying me a visit. Her black attire served only to
      heighten the astounding whiteness of her complexion. Effusively thanking
      me for interesting myself in her most painful case, she added:
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is, apparently, some obstacle against me. I have presented two
      petitions and two memoranda; being unsupported, both have been left
      unanswered, and I have now just made the following resolve, madame, of
      which you will not disapprove. M. Scarron, apparently well off, had only a
      life interest in his property. Upon his death, his debts proved in excess
      of his capital, and I, deeming it my duty to respect his intentions and
      his memory, paid off everybody, and left myself nothing. To-day, Madame la
      Princesse de Nemours wishes me to accompany her to Lisbon as her
      secretary, or rather as her friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Being about to acquire supreme power as a sovereign, she intends, by some
      grand marriage, to keep me there, and then appoint me her
      lady-in-waiting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you submit without a murmur to such appalling exile?" I said to
      Madame Scarron. "Is such a pretty, charming person as yourself fitted for
      a Court of that kind, and for such an odd sort of climate?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, I have sought to shut my eyes to many things, being solely
      conscious of the horribly forlorn condition in which I find myself in my
      native country."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you reckoned the distance? Did the Princess confess that she was
      going to carry you off to the other end of the world? For her city of
      Lisbon, surrounded by precipices, is more than three hundred leagues from
      Paris."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At the age of three I voyaged to America, returning hither when I was
      eleven."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am vexed with Mademoiselle d'Aumale for wanting to rob us of so
      charming a treasure. But has she any right to act in this way? Do you
      think her capable of contributing to your pleasure or your happiness? This
      young Queen of Portugal, under the guise of good-humour, hides a violent
      and irascible temperament. I believe her to be thoroughly selfish; suppose
      that she neglects and despises you, after having profited by your company
      to while away the tedium of her journey? Take my word for it, madame, you
      had better stay here with us; for there is no real society but in France,
      no wit but in our great world, no real happiness but in Paris. Draw up
      another petition as quickly as possible, and send it to me. I will present
      it myself, and to tell you this is tantamount to a promise that your plea
      shall succeed."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Mademoiselle d'Aumale, daughter of the Duc de Nemours, of the House
          of Savoy. She was a blonde, pleasant-mannered enough, but short of
          stature. Her head was too big for her body; and this head of hers was
          full of conspiracies and coups d'etat. She dethroned her husband in
          order to marry his brother.&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle d'Aubigne, all flushed with emotion, assured me of her
      gratitude with the ingenuous eloquence peculiar to herself. We embraced as
      two friends of the Albret set should do, and three days later, the King
      received a new petition, not signed with the name of Scarron, but with
      that of D'Aubigne.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pension of two thousand francs, granted three years before her death
      by the Queen-mother, was renewed. Madame Scarron had the honour of making
      her courtesy to the King, who thought her handsome, but grave in
      demeanour, and in a loud, clear voice, he said to her, "Madame, I kept you
      waiting; I was jealous of your friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen of Portugal knew that I had deprived her of her secretary,
      fellow-gossip, reader, Spanish teacher, stewardess, confidante, and
      lady-in-waiting. She wrote to me complaining about this, and on taking
      leave of the King to go and reign in Portugal, she said, with rather a
      forced air of raillery:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall hate you as long as I live, and if ever you do me the honour of
      paying me a visit some day at Lisbon, I'll have you burned for your
      pains."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then she wanted to embrace me, as if we were equals, but this I deprecated
      as much from aversion as from respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      La Fontaine.&mdash;Boileau.&mdash;Moliere.&mdash;Corneille.&mdash;Louis
      XIV.'s Opinion of Each of Them.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King's studies with his preceptor, Perefixe, had been of only a
      superficial sort, as, in accordance with the express order of the
      Queen-mother, this prelate had been mainly concerned about the health of
      his pupil, the Queen being, above all, desirous that he should have a good
      constitution. "The rest comes easily enough, if a prince have but nobility
      of soul and a sense of duty," as the Queen often used to say. Her words
      came true.
    </p>
    <p>
      I came across several Spanish and Italian books in the library of the
      little apartments. The "Pastor Fido," "Aminta," and the "Gerusalemme,"
      seemed to me, at first, to be the favourite works. Then came Voiture's
      letters, the writings of Malherbe and De Balzac, the Fables of La
      Fontaine, the Satires of Boileau, and the delightful comedies of Moliere.
      Corneille's tragedies had been read, but not often.
    </p>
    <p>
      Until I came to Court, I had always looked upon Corneille as the greatest
      tragic dramatist in the world, and as the foremost of our poets and men of
      letters. The King saved me from this error.
    </p>
    <p>
      Book in hand, he pointed out to me numberless faults of style, incoherent
      and fantastic imagery, sentiment alike exaggerated and a thousand leagues
      removed from nature. He considered, and still considers, Pierre Corneille
      to be a blind enthusiast of the ancients, whom we deem great since we do
      not know them. In his eyes, this declamatory poet was a republican more by
      virtue of his head than his heart or his intention,&mdash;one of those men
      more capricious than morose, who cannot reconcile themselves to what
      exists, and prefer to fall back upon bygone generations, not knowing how
      to live like friendly folk among their contemporaries.
    </p>
    <p>
      He liked La Fontaine better, by reason of his extreme naturalness, but his
      unbecoming conduct at the time of the Fouquet trial proved painful to his
      Majesty, who considered the following verses passing strange:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          ". . . . Trust not in kings Their favour is but slippery; worse than
          that, It costs one dear, and errors such as these Full oft bring shame
          and scandal in their wake."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p104" id="p104"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p104.jpg (49K)" src="images/p104.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "Long live Moliere!" added his Majesty; "there you have talent without
      artifice, poetry without rhapsody, satire without bitterness, pleasantry
      that is always apt, great knowledge of the human heart, and perpetual
      raillery that yet is not devoid of delicacy and compassion. Moliere is a
      most charming man in every respect; I gave him a few hints for his
      'Tartuffe,' and such is his gratitude that he wants to make out that,
      without me, he would never have written that masterpiece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You helped him, Sire, to produce it, and above all things, to carry out
      his main idea; and Moliere is right in thinking that, without a mind free
      from error, such as is yours, his masterpiece would never have been
      created."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It struck me," continued the King, "that some such thing was
      indispensable as a counterbalance in the vast machinery of my government,
      and I shall ever be the friend and supporter, not of Tartuffes, but of the
      'Tartuffe,' as long as I live."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Boileau, Sire?" I continued; "what place among your favourites does
      he fill?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I like Boileau," replied the prince, "as a necessary scourge, which one
      can pit against the bad taste of second-rate authors. His satires, of too
      personal, a nature, and consequently iniquitous, do not please me. He
      knows it, and, despite himself, he will amend this. He is at work upon an
      'Ars Poetica,' after the manner of Horace. The little that he has read to
      me of this poem leads me to expect that it will be an important work. The
      French language will continue to perfect itself by the help of literature
      like this, and Boileau, cruel though he be, is going to confer a great
      benefit upon all those who have to do with letters."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p153" id="p153"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p153.jpg (49K)" src="images/p153.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Birth of the Comte de Vegin.&mdash;Madame Scarron as Governess.&mdash;The
      King's Continued Dislike of Her.&mdash;Birth of the Duc du Maine.&mdash;Marriage
      of the Nun.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King became ever more attached to me personally, as also to the
      peculiarities of my temperament. He had witnessed with satisfaction the
      birth of Madame de la Valliere's two children, and I thought that he would
      have the same affection for mine. But I was wrong. It was with feelings of
      trepidation and alarm that he contemplated my approaching confinement. Had
      I given birth to a daughter, I am perfectly certain that, in his eyes, I
      should have been done for.
    </p>
    <p>
      I gave birth to the first Comte de Vegin, and, grasping my hand
      affectionately, the King said to me, "Be of good courage, madame; present
      princes to the Crown, and let those be scandalised who will!" A few
      moments later he came back, and gave me a million for my expenses.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, however, mutually arranged that the newborn Infant should be
      recognised later on, and that, for the time being, I was to have him
      brought up in secrecy and mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      When dissuading Madame Scarron from undertaking a journey to Lisbon, I had
      my own private ends in view. I considered her peculiarly fitted to
      superintend the education of the King's children, and to maintain with
      success the air of mysterious reserve which for a while was indispensable
      to me. I deputed my brother, M. de Vivonne, to acquaint her with my
      proposals,&mdash;proposals which came from the King as well,&mdash;nor did
      I doubt for one moment as regarded her consent and complacency, being, as
      she was, alone in Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," said M. de Vivonne to her, "the Marquise is overjoyed at being
      able to offer you an important position of trust, which will change your
      life once for all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The gentle, quiet life which, thanks to the kindness of the King, I now
      lead, is all that my ambition can desire," replied the widow, concealing
      her trouble from my brother; "but since the King wishes and commands it, I
      will renounce the liberty so dear to me, and will not hesitate to obey."
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly she came. The King had a few moments' parley with her, in
      order to explain to her all his intentions relative to the new life upon
      which she was about to enter, and M. Bontems&mdash;[First Groom of the
      Chamber, and Keeper of the Privy Purse.]&mdash;furnished her with the
      necessary funds for establishing her household in suitable style.
    </p>
    <p>
      A month afterwards, I went incognito to her lonely residence, situate amid
      vast kitchen-gardens between Vaugirard and the Luxembourg. The house was
      clean, commodious, thoroughly well appointed, and, not being overlooked by
      neighbours, the secret could but be safely kept. Madame Scarron's
      domestics included two nurses, a waiting-maid, a physician, a courier, two
      footmen, a coachman, a postilion, and two cooks.
    </p>
    <p>
      Being provided with an excellent coach, she came to Saint Germain every
      week, to bring me my son, or else news of his welfare.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her habitually sad expression somewhat pained the King. As I soon noticed
      their mutual embarrassment, I used to let Madame Scarron stay in an inner
      room all the time that his Majesty remained with me.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the following year, I gave birth to the Duc du Maine. Mademoiselle
      d'Aubigne, who was waiting in the drawing-room, wrapped the child up
      carefully, and took it away from Paris with all speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      On her way she met with an adventure, comic in itself, and which mortified
      her much. When told of it, I laughed not a little; and, in spite of all my
      excuses and expressions of regret, she always felt somewhat sore about
      this; in fact, she never quite got over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Between Marly and Ruel, two mounted police officers, in pursuit of a nun
      who had escaped from a convent, bethought themselves of looking inside
      Madame Scarron's carriage. Such inquisitiveness surprised her, and she put
      on her mask, and drew down the blinds. Observing that she was closely
      followed by these soldiers, she gave a signal to her coachman, who
      instantly whipped up his horses, and drove at a furious rate.
    </p>
    <p>
      At Nanterre the gendarmes, being reinforced, cried out to the coachman to
      stop, and obliged Madame Scarron to get out. She was taken to a tavern
      close by, where they asked her to remove her mask. She made various
      excuses for not doing so, but at the mention of the lieutenant-general of
      police, she had to give in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," inquired the brigadier, "have you not been in a nunnery?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray, monsieur, why do you ask?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be good enough to answer me, madame; repeat my question, and I insist
      upon a reply. I have received instructions that I shall not hesitate to
      carry out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have lived with nuns, but that, monsieur, was a long while ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not a question of time. What was your motive for leaving these
      ladies, and who enabled you to do so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I left the convent after my first communion. I left it openly, and of my
      own free will. Pray be good enough to allow me to continue my journey."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On leaving the convent, where did you go?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "First to one of my relatives, then to another, and at last to Paris,
      where I got married."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Married? What, madame, are you married? Oh, young lady, what behaviour is
      this? Your simple, modest mien plainly shows what you were before this
      marriage. But why did you want to get married?"
    </p>
    <p>
      As he said this, the little Duc du Maine, suffering, perhaps, from a
      twinge of colic, began to cry. The brigadier, more amazed than ever,
      ordered the infant to be shown as well.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing that she could make no defence, Madame Scarron began to shed tears,
      and the officer, touched to pity, said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, I am sorry for your fault, for, as I see, you are a good mother.
      My orders are to take you to prison, and thence to the convent specified
      by the archbishop, but I warn you that if we catch the father of your
      child, he will hang. As for you, who have been seduced, and who belong to
      a good family, tell me one of your relatives with whom you are on friendly
      terms, and I will undertake to inform them of your predicament."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame Scarron, busy in soothing the Duc du Maine, durst not explain for
      fear of aggravating matters, but begged the brigadier to take her back to
      Saint Germain.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this juncture my brother arrived on his way back to Paris. He
      recognised the carriage, which stood before the inn, with a crowd of
      peasants round it, and hastened to rescue the governess, for he soon
      succeeded in persuading these worthy police officers that the sobbing dame
      was not a runaway nun, and that the new-born infant came of a good stock.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Saint Denis View.&mdash;Superstitions, Apparitions.&mdash;Projected
      Enlargement of Versailles.&mdash;Fresh Victims for Saint Denis.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening I was walking at the far end of the long terrace of Saint
      Germain. The King soon came thither, and pointing to Saint Denis, said,
      "That, madame, is a gloomy, funereal view, which makes me displeased and
      disgusted with this residence, fine though it be."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," I replied, "in no other spot could a more magnificent view be
      found. Yonder river winding afar through the vast plain, that noble forest
      divided by hunting roads into squares, that Calvary poised high in air,
      those bridges placed here and there to add to the attractiveness of the
      landscape, those flowery meadows set in the foreground as a rest to the
      eye, the broad stream of the Seine, which seemingly is fain to flow at a
      slower rate below your palace windows,&mdash;I do not think that any more
      charming combination of objects could be met with elsewhere, unless one
      went a long way from the capital."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The chateau of Saint Germain no longer pleases me," replied the King. "I
      shall enlarge Versailles and withdraw thither. What I am going to say may
      astonish you, perhaps, as it comes from me, who am neither a whimsical
      female nor a prey to superstition. A few days before the Queen, my mother,
      had her final seizure, I was walking here alone in this very spot. A
      reddish light appeared above the monastery of Saint Denis, and a cloud
      which rose out of the ruddy glare assumed the shape of a hearse bearing
      the arms of Austria. A few days afterwards my poor mother was removed to
      Saint Denis. Four or five days before the horrible death of our adorable
      Henrietta, the arrows of Saint Denis appeared to me in a dream covered in
      dusky flames, and amid them I saw the spectre of Death, holding in his
      hand the necklaces and bracelets of a young lady. The appalling death of
      my cousin followed close upon this presage. Henceforth, the view of Saint
      Denis spoils all these pleasant landscapes for me. At Versailles fewer
      objects confront the eye; a park of that sort has its own wealth of
      natural beauty, which suffices. I shall make Versailles a delightful
      resort, for which France will be grateful to me, and which my successors
      can neither neglect nor destroy without bringing to themselves dishonour."
    </p>
    <p>
      I sympathised with the reasons which made Saint Germain disagreeable to
      his Majesty. Next summer the causes for such aversion became more
      numerous, as the King had the misfortune to lose the daughters which the
      Queen bore him, and they were carried to Saint Denis.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Lauzun.&mdash;His Pretensions.&mdash;Erroneous Ideas of the Public.&mdash;The
      War in Candia.&mdash;M. de Lauzun Thinks He Will Secure a Throne for
      Himself.&mdash;The King Does Not Wish This.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Guilain de Lauzun was, and still is, one of the handsomest
      men at Court. Before my marriage, vanity prompted him to belong to the
      list of my suitors, but as his reputation in Paris was that of a man who
      had great success with the ladies, my family requested him either to come
      to the point or to retire, and he withdrew, though unwilling to break
      matters off altogether.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he saw me in the bonds of matrimony, and enjoying its liberty, he
      recommenced his somewhat equivocal pursuit of me, and managed to get
      himself talked about at my expense. Society was unjust; M. de Lauzun only
      dared to pay me homage of an insipid sort. He had success enough in other
      quarters, and I knew what I owed to some one as well as what I owed to
      myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ambition is the Marquis's ruling passion. The simple role of a fine
      gentleman is, in his eyes, but a secondary one; his Magnificency requires
      a far more exalted platform than that.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he knew that war in Candia had broken out, and which side the kings
      of Christendom would necessarily take, his ideas became more exalted
      still. He bethought himself of the strange fortunes of certain valiant
      warriors in the time of the Crusades. He saw that the Lorraines, the
      Bouillons, and the Lusignans had won sceptres and crowns, and he flattered
      himself that the name of Lauzun might in this vast adventurous career gain
      glory too.
    </p>
    <p>
      He begged me to get him a command in this army of Candia, wherein the King
      had just permitted his own kinsmen to go and win laurels for themselves.
      He was already a full colonel of dragoons, and one of the captains of the
      guard. The King, who till then liked him well enough, considered such a
      proposition indecent, and, gauging or not gauging his intentions, he
      postponed until a later period these aspirations of Lauzun to the post of
      prince or sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe d'Estrees.&mdash;Singular Offers of Service.&mdash;Madame de
      Montespan Declines His Offer of Intercession at the Vatican.&mdash;He
      Revenges Himself upon the King of Portugal.&mdash;Difference between a
      Fair Man and a Dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Since the reign of Gabrielle d'Estrees, who died just as she was about to
      espouse her King, the D'Estrees family were treated at Court more with
      conventional favour than with esteem. The first of that name was
      lieutenant-general, destined to wield the baton of a French marshal, on
      account of his ancestry as well as his own personal merit. The Abbe
      d'Estrees passed for being in the Church what M. de Lauzun was in society,&mdash;a
      man who always met with success, and who also was madly ambitious.
    </p>
    <p>
      While still very young, he had been appointed to the bishopric of Laon,
      which, in conjunction with two splendid abbeys, brought him in a handsome
      revenue. The Duc and Duchesse de Vendome were as fond of him as one of
      their own kin, doing nothing without first consulting him, everywhere
      praising and extolling his abilities, which were worthy of a ministry.
    </p>
    <p>
      This prelate desired above all things to be made a cardinal. Under Henri
      IV. he could easily have had his wish, but at that time he was not yet
      born. He imagined that on the strength of my credit he could procure the
      biretta for himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as he saw me recognised as a mistress, he paid assiduous court to
      me, never losing an opportunity of everywhere sounding my praise. One day
      he said to me: "Madame, every one pities you on account of the vexation
      and grief which the Marquis de Montespan has caused you. If you will
      confide in me,&mdash;that is, if you will let me represent your interests
      with the Cardinals and the Holy Father,&mdash;I heartily offer you my
      services as mediator and advocate with regard to the question of nullity.
      At an early age I studied theology and ecclesiastical law. Your marriage
      may be considered null and void, according to this or that point of view.
      You know that upon the death of the Princesse de Nemours, Mademoiselle de
      Nemours and Mademoiselle d'Aumale, her two daughters, came to reside with
      Madame de Vendome, my cousin, a relative and a friend of their mother. The
      eldest I first of all married to Duc Charles de Lorraine, heir to the
      present Duc de Lorraine. His Majesty did not approve of this marriage,
      which was contrary to his politics. His Majesty deigned to explain himself
      and open out to me upon the subject. I at once consulted my books, and
      found all the means necessary for dissolving such a marriage. So true,
      indeed is this, that I forthwith remarried Mademoiselle de Nemours to the
      Duc de Savoie. This took place under your very eyes. Soon afterwards I
      married her younger sister to the King of Portugal, and accompanied her to
      Lisbon, where the Portuguese gave her a fairly warm reception. Her young
      husband is tall and fair, with a pleasant, distinguished face; he loves
      his wife, and is only moderately beloved in return. Is she wrong or is she
      right? Now, I will tell you. The monarch is well-made, but a childish
      infirmity has left one whole side of him somewhat weak, and he limps.
      Mademoiselle d'Aumale, or to speak more correctly, the Queen of Portugal,
      writes letter upon letter to me, describing her situation. She believed
      herself pregnant, and had even announced the news to Madame de Vendome, as
      well as to Madame de Savoie, her sister. Now it appears that this is not
      the case. She is vexed and disgusted. I am about to join her at Lisbon.
      She is inclined to place the crown upon the young brother of the King,
      requesting the latter to seek the seclusion of a monastery. I can see that
      this new idea of the youthful Queen's will necessitate my visiting the
      Vatican. Allow me, madame, to have charge of your interests. Do not have
      the slightest fear but that I shall protect them zealously and
      intelligently, killing thus two birds with one stone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray accept my humble thanks," I replied to the Bishop. "The reigning
      Sovereign Pontiff has never shown me any favour whatever, and is in nowise
      one of my friends. What you desire to do for me at Rome deserves some
      signal mark of gratitude in return, but I cannot get you a cardinal's hat,
      for a thousand reasons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mademoiselle de Nemours, when leaving us, promised to hate me as long as
      she lived, and to have me burnt at an 'auto da fe' whenever she got the
      chance. Do not let her know that you have any regard for me, or you might
      lose her affection.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope that the weak side of her husband, the King, may get stronger, and
      that you will not help to put the young monarch in a convent of monks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In any case, my lord Bishop, do not breathe it to a living soul that you
      have told me of such strange resolutions as these; for my own part, I will
      safely keep your secret, and pray God to have you in his holy keeping."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bishop of Laon was not a man to be rebuffed by pleasantry such as
      this. He declared the King of Portugal to be impotent, after what the
      Queen had expressly stated. The Pope annulled the marriage, and the Queen
      courageously wedded her husband's brother, who had no congenital weakness
      of any sort, and who was, as every one knew, of dark complexion.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the request of the Queen, the Bishop of Laon was afterwards presented
      with the hat, and is, today, my lord Cardinal d'Estrees.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Valois.&mdash;Mademoiselle d'Orleans.&mdash;Mademoiselle
      d'Alencon.&mdash;M. de Savoie.&mdash;His Love-letters.&mdash;His Marriage
      with Mademoiselle de Valois.&mdash;M. de Guise and Mademoiselle d'Alencon.&mdash;Their
      Marriage Ceremony.&mdash;Madame de Montespan's Dog.&mdash;Mademoiselle
      d'Orleans.&mdash;Her Marriage with the Duke of Tuscany.&mdash;The Bishop
      de Bonzy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      By his second wife, Marguerite de Lorraine, Gaston de France had three
      daughters, and being devoid of energy, ability, or greatness of character,
      they did not object when the King married them to sovereigns of the
      third-rate order.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon these three marriages I should like to make some remarks, on account
      of certain singular details connected therewith, and because of the joking
      to which they gave rise.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Montpensier had flatly refused the Duc de Savoie, because
      Madame de Savoie, daughter of Henri IV., was still living, ruling her
      estate like a woman of authority; and therefore, to this stepmother, a
      king's daughter, Mademoiselle had to give way, she being but the daughter
      of a French prince who died in disgrace and was forgotten.
    </p>
    <p>
      Being refused by the elder princess, M. de Savoie, still quite young,
      sought the hand of her sister, Mademoiselle de Valois. He wrote her a
      letter which, unfortunately, was somewhat singular in style, and which,
      unfortunately too, fell into the hands of Mademoiselle de Montpensier.
      Like her late father, Gaston, she plumed herself upon her wit and
      eloquence; she caused several copies of the effusion to be printed and
      circulated at Court. I will include it in these Memoirs, as it cannot but
      prove entertaining. The heroes of Greece, and even of Troy, possibly
      delivered their compliments in somewhat better fashion, if we may judge by
      the version preserved for us by Homer.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          FROM HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUC DE SAVOIE TO HIS MOST HONOURED COUSIN,
          MADEMOISELLE DE VALOIS.
        </p>
        <p>
          MY DEAR COUSIN:&mdash;As the pen must needs perform the office of the
          tongue, and as it expresses the feelings of my heart, I doubt not but
          that I am at great disadvantage, since the depth of these feelings it
          cannot express, nor rightly convince you that, having given all myself
          to you, nothing remains either to give or to desire, save to find such
          affection pleasantly reciprocated. Thus, in these lines, I earnestly
          beseech you to return my love,&mdash;lines which give you the first
          hints of that fire which your many lovely qualities have lighted in my
          soul. They create in me an inconceivable impatience closely to
          contemplate that which now I admire at a distance, and to convince you
          by various proofs that, with matchless loyalty and passion,
        </p>
        <p>
          I am, dear Cousin, Your most humble slave and servant, EMMANUEL.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Gentle as an angel, Mademoiselle de Valois desired just what everybody
      else did. The youngest of the three princesses was named Mademoiselle
      d'Alencon. With a trifle more wit and dash, she could have maintained her
      position at Court, where so charming a face as hers was fitted to make its
      mark; but her fine dark eyes did but express indifference and vacuity,
      seemingly unconscious of the pleasure to be got in this world when one is
      young, good-looking, shapely, a princess of the blood, and cousin german
      of the King besides.
    </p>
    <p>
      Marguerite de Lorraine, her mother, married her to the Duc de Guise, their
      near relative, who, without ambition or pretension, seemed almost
      astonished to see that the King gave, not a dowry, but a most lovely
      verdure&mdash;[Drawing-room tapestry, much in vogue at that time]&mdash;,
      and an enamelled dinner-service.
    </p>
    <p>
      The marriage was celebrated at the chateau, without any special ceremonies
      or preparations; so much so that two cushions, which had been forgotten,
      had to be hastily fetched. I saw what was the matter, and motioning the
      two attendants of the royal sacristy, I whispered to them to fetch what
      was wanted from my own apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not knowing to what use these cushions were to be put, my 'valet de
      chambre' brought the flowered velvet ones, on which my dogs were wont to
      lie. I noticed this just as their Highnesses were about to kneel down, and
      I felt so irresistibly inclined to laugh that I was obliged to retire to
      my room to avoid bursting out laughing before everybody.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fortunately the Guises did not get to know of this little detail until
      long after, or they might have imagined that it was a planned piece of
      malicious mockery. However, it is only fair to admit that the marriage was
      treated in a very off-hand way, and it is that which always happens to
      people whose modesty and candour hinder them from posing and talking big
      when they get the chance. A strange delusion, truly!
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle d'Orleans, the eldest child of the second marriage, is
      considered one of the prettiest and most graceful of blondes. Her
      endowments were surely all that a princess could need, if one except
      reserve in speaking, and a general dignity of deportment.
    </p>
    <p>
      When it was a question of giving her to Prince de Medici, Grand Duke of
      Tuscany, she was all the while sincerely attached to handsome Prince
      Charles de Lorraine, her maternal cousin. But the King, who, in his heart
      of hearts, wanted to get hold of Lorraine for himself, could not sanction
      this union; nay, he did more: he opposed it. Accordingly the Princess,
      being urged to do so by her mother, consented to go to Italy, and as we
      say at Court, expatriate herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bishop of Nziers, named De Bonzy, the Tuscan charge d'afaires, came,
      on behalf of the Medici family, to make formal demand of her hand, and had
      undertaken to bring her to her husband with all despatch. He had
      undertaken an all too difficult task.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur de Bonzy," said she to the prelate, "as it is you who here play
      the part of interpreter and cavalier of honour as it is you, moreover, who
      have to drag me away from my native country, I have to inform you that it
      is my intention to leave it as slowly as possible, and to contemplate it
      at my leisure before quitting it forever."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, indeed, the Princess desired to make a stay more or less long in
      every town en route. If, on the way, she noticed a convent of any
      importance, she at once asked to be taken thither, and, in default of
      other pastime or pretext, she requested them to say complines with full
      choral accompaniment.
    </p>
    <p>
      If she saw some castle or other, she inquired the name of its owner, and,
      though she hardly knew the inmates, was wont to invite herself to dinner
      and supper.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bishop of Beziers grew disconsolate. He wrote letters to the Court,
      which he sent by special courier, and I said to the King, "Pray, Sire, let
      her do as she likes; she will surely have time enough to look at her
      husband later on."
    </p>
    <p>
      Near Saint Fargeau, when the Princess heard that this estate was her
      sister's, Mademoiselle sent a gentleman with her compliments, to ask if
      she would give her shelter for twenty-four hours. Instead of twenty-four
      hours' stay, she proceeded to take up her abode there; and, provided with
      a gun and dogs, she wandered all over the fields, always accompanied by
      the worthy Bishop, at whose utter exhaustion she was highly amused.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length she left her native land, and joined her husband, who seemed
      somewhat sulky at all this delay.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot love you just yet," quoth she, weeping; "my heart is still
      another's, and it is impossible to break off such attachments without much
      time and much pain. Pray treat me with gentleness, for if you are severe,
      I shall not do you any harm, but I shall go back to the Luxembourg to my
      mother."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Random Recollections.&mdash;Madame de Montespan Withdraws from Politics.&mdash;The
      Queen's Dowry.&mdash;First Campaign in Flanders.&mdash;The Queen Meets the
      King.&mdash;Some One Else Sees Him First.&mdash;The Queen's Anger at La
      Valliere.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      In compiling these Memoirs, I have never pretended to keep a strictly
      regular diary, where events are set down chronologically and in their
      proper order. I write as I recollect; some of my recollections are
      chronicled sooner, and others later. Thus it happens that the King's first
      conquests are only now mentioned in the present chapter, although they
      occurred in the year 1667, at the beginning of my credit and my favour.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was naturally inclined for politics, and should have liked the hazard of
      the game; but I suppose that the King considered me more frivolous and
      giddy than I really was, for, despite the strong friendship with which he
      has honoured me, he has never been gracious enough to initiate me into the
      secrets of the Cabinet and the State.
    </p>
    <p>
      If this sort of exclusion or ostracism served to wound my self-respect, it
      nevertheless had its special advantage for me, for in epochs less glorious
      or less brilliant (that is to say, in times of failure), they could never
      cavil at advice or counsel which I had given, nor blame me for the
      shortcomings of my proteges or creatures.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was born ambitious. This prince will not admit it; he gives a
      thousand reasons in justification of his conquests. But the desire for
      conquest proves him to be a conqueror, and one is not a conqueror without
      being ambitious. I think I can explain myself by mentioning the treaty
      drawn up at the time of his marriage. It was stipulated that the Infanta
      should have rights over the Netherlands, then possessed by Don Balthazar,
      Prince of Spain. But it was agreed to give the Princess Maria Theresa a
      handsome dowry, in lieu of which she signed a paper renouncing her rights.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her father, King Philip IV., died at the close of the year 1665, and the
      Queen-mother besought our King not to take advantage of the minority of
      the young Charles II., his brother-in-law, by troubling Spain afresh with
      his pretensions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hardly had Anne of Austria been interred, when the King informed the
      Spanish Court of his claims. In the spring of the following year, he
      himself led an army into Spanish Flanders, where his appearance was not
      expected. These fine provinces, badly provisioned and badly fortified,
      made but a merely formal resistance to Conde, Turenne, Crequi, and all our
      illustrious generals, who, led by the King in person, wrought the troops
      to a wild pitch of enthusiasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King had left the Infanta, his wife, at Compiegne, and it was there
      that we awaited either news of the army or orders to advance.
    </p>
    <p>
      From Compiegne we went to La Fere, where we heard that the King was coming
      to receive us. Suddenly it was rumoured that the Duchesse de la Valliere
      had just arrived, and that she was acting in accordance with orders
      received.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen began to weep, and, sobbing, bewailed her destiny. She was
      seized by convulsions and violent retching, much to the alarm of her
      ladies and the physicians.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day, after mass, the Duchesse and the Marquise de la Valliere came to
      make their courtesy to the Queen, who, staring at them, said not a word.
      When dinner-time came, she gave orders that no food should be served to
      them, but the officials supplied this to them in secret, fearing to be
      compromised.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the coach, the Queen complained greatly of Mademoiselle de la Valliere,
      and the Princesse de Bade, one of the ladies-in-waiting, said to me,
      "Could you have believed that, with such gentleness, one could also
      display such impudence?" The Duchesse de Montausier, I know not why,
      expressed herself to me in the same terms of amazement. I replied that,
      "Were I in that fair lady's place, I should dare to show myself least of
      all to the Queen, for fear of grieving her Majesty." I was often rebuked
      afterwards for this speech, which, I admit, I delivered somewhat
      thoughtlessly.
    </p>
    <p>
      On leaving La Fere, the Queen gave particular orders to let the Duchess
      have no relays, so that she could not follow; but the Master of the Horse
      had caused these to be brought to her from Versailles, so nothing was
      wanting.
    </p>
    <p>
      On putting my head out of window, when we turned a corner of the road, I
      saw that La Valliere's coach, with six horses, was following quite close
      behind; but I took care not to tell the Queen, who believed those ladies
      were a long way off.
    </p>
    <p>
      All at once, on a height, we saw a body of horsemen approaching. The King
      could be plainly distinguished, riding at their head. La Valliere's coach
      immediately left the main road, and drove across country, while the Queen
      called out to have it stopped; but the King embraced its occupants, and
      then it drove off at a gallop to a chateau already fixed upon for its
      reception.
    </p>
    <p>
      I like to be just, and it is my duty to be so. This mark of irreverence
      towards the Queen is the only one for which Mademoiselle de la Valliere
      can be blamed; but she would never have done such a thing of her own
      accord; it was all the fault of the Marquise, blinded as she was by
      ambition.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King Contemplates the Conquest of Holland.&mdash;The Grand Seignior's
      Embassy.&mdash;Madame de Montespan's Chance of Becoming First Lady of the
      Harem.&mdash;Anxiety to Conclude Negotiations with so Passionate an
      Ambassador.&mdash;Help Sent to Candia.&mdash;With Disastrous Results.&mdash;Death
      of the Duc de Beaufort.&mdash;Why It Is Good to Carry About the Picture of
      One's Lady-love.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Having gained possession of the Netherlands in the name of the Infanta,
      his consort, the King seriously contemplated the subjugation of the Dutch,
      and possibly also the invasion of these rich countries. Meanwhile, he
      privately intimated as much to the princes of Europe, promising to each of
      them some personal and particular advantage in exchange for a guarantee of
      assistance or neutrality in this matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Grand Seignior, hearing that the Pope and the Venetians were urging
      our Cabinet to come to the help of Candia, lost no time in sending a
      splendid embassy to Paris, to congratulate the young King upon his
      conquest of Flanders, and to predict for him all success in the paths
      along which ambition might lead him.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [This important island of Candia, the last powerful bulwark of
          Christendom against the Turk, belonged at that time to Venice.
          EDITOR'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Being naturally fond of show and display, the King left nothing undone
      which might give brilliance to the reception of so renowned an embassy.
      The Court wore an air of such splendour and magnificence that these
      Mussulmans, used though they were to Asiatic pomp, seemed surprised and
      amazed at so brilliant a reception, at which nothing, indeed, had been
      forgotten.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ambassador-in-chief was a pleasant young man, tall, shapely, and
      almost as good-looking as the King. This Turk had splendidly shaped hands,
      and eyes that shone with extraordinary brilliance. He conceived an ardent
      passion for me, a passion that went to such lengths that he sacrificed
      thereto all his gravity, all his stately Ottoman demeanour.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I passed by, he saluted me, placing his hand to his heart, stopping
      to gaze at me intently, and watch me as long as possible. Being introduced
      (either by chance or design) to my Paris jeweller, he seized a gold box
      upon which he saw my portrait, and, giving the jeweller a considerable
      sum, refused to part with the picture, however much they begged him to do
      so.
    </p>
    <p>
      One fine morning, in spite of his turban, he got into the large chapel of
      the chateau during mass, and while the Court of France was adoring the
      true God, Ibrahim knelt down in front of me, which made every one laugh,
      including the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      All such absurdities caused the ministers to give him the required reply
      with all speed, and they were not backward in granting him a farewell
      audience.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the time came for him to go, Ibrahim burst into tears, exclaiming
      that, in his country, I should be in the first rank, whereas at Saint
      Germain I was only in the second; and he charged his interpreter to tell
      the King of France that the unhappy Ibrahim would never get over this
      visit to his Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King replied, with a smile, that he had "better become a Christian,
      and stay with us."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words the ambassador turned pale, and glancing downwards,
      withdrew, forgetting to salute his Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he returned, and made all his bows quite nicely; nor would he quit
      the capital before he had sent me his portrait, some pretty verses in
      Italian, which he had caused to be composed, and besides this, a set of
      amber ornaments, the most beautiful of any worn by ladies of the harem.
    </p>
    <p>
      Despite this imposing and costly embassy, despite the ambassador's
      compliment, who referred to the King as "Eldest Son of the Sun," this same
      Son of the Sun despatched seven thousand picked troops to help Venice
      against the Turks. To this detachment the Venetian Republic sent fourteen
      vessels laden with their own soldiers, under the leadership of our Duc de
      Beaufort, Grand Admiral of France, and Lieutenant-General Duc de
      Navailles.
    </p>
    <p>
      Had these troops arrived in the nick of time, they would have saved
      Candia, but by a sudden accident all was lost, and after so terrible a
      reverse, the Isle of Candia, wrested from the potentates of Europe and
      Christendom, fell a prey to the infidels.
    </p>
    <p>
      A pistol-shot fired at a Turk blew up several barrels of gunpowder
      belonging to a large magazine captured from the enemy. Our troops,
      thinking that a mine had been sprung, fled in headlong confusion, never
      even caring to save their muskets. The Turks butchered them in the most
      frightful manner. In this huge massacre, some of our most promising
      officers perished, and the Duc de Beaufort was never found either among
      the wounded or the slain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Comte de Guiche, of whom I shall presently speak, had his hand
      smashed, and if on his breast he had not worn a portrait of Madame,&mdash;[The
      ill-fated Duchesse d'Orleans.]&mdash;the sword of a Turk would have struck
      him to the heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King felt sorry that he had only despatched seven thousand men
      thither. But when M. de Louvois informed him that the whole detachment had
      been almost annihilated, he regretted having sent so many.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Danger of Harbouring a Malcontent.&mdash;The King's Policy with Regard to
      Lorraine.&mdash;Advice of Madame de Thianges.&mdash;Conquest of Lorraine.&mdash;The
      Lorraines Surrender to the Emperor.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The petty princes placed too near a great potentate are just like the
      shrubs that grow beside an old oak tree, whose broad shade blights them,
      while its roots undermine and sap them, till at last they are weakened and
      destroyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      When young Gaston, son of Henri IV., seeking to get free from Richelieu's
      insolent despotism, withdrew to the Duc de Lorraine, the Cardinal uttered
      a cry of joy, and remarked to Louis XIII., that vindictive, jealous
      prince, "Oh, what a good turn the Duc d'Orleans has just done you to-day!
      By going to stay with M. de Lorraine, he will oust him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Court soon got to know that M. de Lorraine had given Monsieur a most
      cordial reception, and that the latter, who, like his father, was very
      susceptible, had proposed for the hand of the Princesse Marguerite, a
      charming person, and sister to the reigning Duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      King Louis XIII. openly opposed this marriage, which nevertheless was
      arranged for, and celebrated partly at Nancy and partly at Luneville.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such complacence earned for M. de Lorraine the indignation of the King and
      his minister, the Cardinal. They waged against him a war of revenge, or
      rather of spoliation, and as the prince, being unable then to offer any
      serious resistance, was sensible enough to surrender, he got off with the
      sacrifice of certain portions of his territory. He also had to witness the
      demolition by France of the fine fortifications of Nancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Things were at this juncture when our young King assumed the management of
      affairs. The policy pursued by Louis XIII. and his Cardinal seemed to him
      an advantageous one, also; he lured to his capital M. de Lorraine, who was
      still young and a widower, and by every conceivable pretext he was
      prevented from marrying again. Lorraine had a nephew,&mdash;[Prince
      Charles.]&mdash;a young man of great promise, to whom the uncle there and
      then offered to make over all his property and rights, if the King would
      honour him with his protection and marry him to whomsoever he fancied. The
      King would not consent to a marriage of any kind, having a firm,
      persistent desire in this way to make the line of these two princes
      extinct.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was talking about this one day in the King's chamber, when my sister De
      Thianges had the hardihood to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hear that the Messieurs de Lorraine are about to take their departure,
      and that, having lost all hope of making themselves beloved, they have
      resolved to make themselves feared."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King looked impassively at my sister, showing not a sign of emotion,
      and he said to her:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you visit there?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," replied Madame de Thianges, unabashed, "augment the number, not of
      your enemies, but of your friends; of all policies that is the best." The
      King never said a word.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards, the Lorraines appealed secretly to the Empire and the
      Emperor. The King was only waiting for such an opportunity; he forthwith
      sent Marshal de Crequi at the head of twenty thousand men, who invaded
      Lorraine, which had already been ravaged, and the Duchy of Bar, which had
      not.
    </p>
    <p>
      The manifesto stated the motives for such complaint, alleging that the
      Duke had not been at the pains to observe the Treaty of Metz with regard
      to the surrender of Harsal, and, as a punishment, his entire sovereignty
      would be confiscated.
    </p>
    <p>
      A large army then marched upon Peronne; it had been formed at Saint
      Germain, and was divided into two columns. The first went to join the Duc
      de Crequi, who occupied Lorraine; the other took up its position near
      Sedan, to keep the Flemish and Dutch in check in case of any attempted
      rebellion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Lorraines, in despair, gave themselves up to the Emperor, who, aware
      of their fine soldierly qualities, bestowed upon both high posts of
      command. They caused great losses to France and keen anxiety to her King.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Embassy of the King of Arda.&mdash;Political Influence Exercised by the
      Good Looks of Madame de Montespan.&mdash;Gifts of the Envoys.&mdash;What
      the Comte de Vegin Takes for a Horse.&mdash;Madame de Montespan Entertains
      Them in Her Own House.&mdash;Three Missionaries Recommend Her to Them.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      From the wilds of Africa, the King of Arda sent an embassy no less
      brilliant and far more singular than that of the Turks. This African
      prince, hearing of the French King's noble character and of his recent
      conquests, proposed to form with him a political and commercial alliance,
      and sought his support against the English and the Dutch, his near
      neighbours.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King said to me; "Madame, I believe Ibrahim has proclaimed your charms
      even to the Africans; you bring embassies to me from the other end of the
      globe. For Heaven's sake, don't show yourself, or these new envoys will
      utterly lose their heads, too."
    </p>
    <p>
      The envoys referred to were notable for their rich, semibarbaric dress,
      but not one of them was like Ibrahim. They brought the King a present, in
      the shape of a tiger, a panther, and two splendid lions. To the Queen they
      gave a sort of pheasant covered with gold and blue feathers, which burst
      out laughing while looking intensely grave, to the great diversion of
      every one. They also brought to the princess a little blackamoor,
      extremely well-made, who could never grow any bigger, and of which she,
      unfortunately, grew very fond.&mdash;[Later on the writer explains herself
      more fully.&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
    </p>
    <p>
      These Africans also came in ceremonious fashion to present their respects
      to me. They greeted me as the "second spouse of the King" (which greatly
      offended the Queen), and in the name of the King of Arda, they presented
      me with a necklace of large pearls, and two bracelets of priceless value,&mdash;splendid
      Oriental sapphires, the finest in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      I gave orders for my children to be brought to them. On seeing these, they
      prostrated themselves. The little Comte de Vein, profiting by their
      attitude, began to ride pick-a-back on one of them, who did not seem
      offended at this, but carried the child about for a little while.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ceremony of their presentation will, doubtless, have been described in
      various other books; but I cannot forbear mentioning one incident. As soon
      as the curtains of the throne were drawn aside, and they saw the King
      wearing all his decorations and ablaze with jewels, they put their hands
      up to their eyes, pretending to be dazzled by the splendour of his
      presence, and then they flung themselves down at full length upon the
      ground, the better to express their adoration.
    </p>
    <p>
      I invited them to visit me at the Chateau de Clagny, my favourite
      country-seat, and there I caused a sumptuous collation to be served to
      them in accordance with their tastes. Plain roast meat they ate with
      avidity; other dishes seemed to inspire them with distrust,&mdash;they
      looked closely at them, and then went off to something else.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not interfere in affairs of State, but I wanted to know from what
      source in so remote a country they could have obtained any positive
      information as to the secrets of the Court of France. Through the
      interpreter, they replied that three travellers&mdash;missionaries&mdash;had
      stayed for a couple of months with their master, the King of Arda, and the
      good fathers had told them "that Madame de Montespan was the second spouse
      of the great King." These same missionaries had chosen the sort of
      presents which they were to give me.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Comte de Vegin, Abbe of Saint Germain des Pres.&mdash;Revenues Required,
      but Not the Cowl.&mdash;Discussion between the King and the Marquise.&mdash;Madame
      Scarron Chosen as Arbiter.&mdash;An Unanswerable Argument.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The wealthy abbey of Saint Germain des Pres&mdash;[Yielding a revenue of
      five hundred thousand livres.]&mdash;was vacant; the King appointed
      thereto his son, the Comte de Vegin, and as the Benedictine monks secretly
      complained that they should have given to them as chief a child almost
      still in its cradle, the King instructed the grand almoner to remind them
      that they had had as abbes in preceding reigns princes who were married
      and of warlike tastes. "Such abuses," said the prelate, "were more than
      reprehensible; his Majesty is incapable of wishing to renew them. As to
      the Prince's extreme youth, that is in no way prejudicial to you, my
      brethren, as monseigneur will be suitably represented by his vicar-general
      until such time as he is able to assume the governorship himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it your intention to condemn my son to be an ecclesiastic?" I asked
      the King, in amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, these are my views," he answered: "If the Comte de Vegin as he
      grows up should continue to show pluck and a taste for things military, as
      by birth he is bound to do, we will relieve him of the abbey on the eve of
      his marriage, while he will have profited thereby up to that time. If, on
      the contrary, my son should show but inferior mental capacity, and a
      pusillanimous character, there will be no harm in his remaining among the
      Church folk; he will be far better off there than elsewhere. The essential
      thing for a parent is to study carefully and in good time the proper
      vocation for his children; the essential thing for the ruler of an Empire
      is to employ the right people to do the work in hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will my son, on receiving this abbey, have to wear the dress of his
      office?" I asked. "Imagine the Comte de Vegin an abbe!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not feel the slightest repugnance on that score," added the King. "The
      Electors of the German Empire are nearly all of them ecclesiastics; our
      own history of France will show you that the sons of kings were bishops or
      mere abbes; the grandson of the Duc de Savoie is a cardinal and an
      archbishop, and King Charles X., my grandfather's paternal uncle, nearly
      became King of France and cardinal at one and the same time."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment Madame Scarron came in. "Madame, we will make you our judge
      in the argument that we are now having," said his Majesty. "Do you think
      there is any objection to our giving to little Vegin the dress of an
      abbe?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary, Sire," replied the governess, smiling, "such a dress
      will inspire him betimes with reserve and modesty, strengthening his
      principles, and making far more profitable to him the excellent education
      which he is now receiving."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am obliged to you for your opinion," said the King, "and I flatter
      myself, madame, that you see things in the same light that I do."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the King had gone, Madame Scarron asked me why I disapproved of this
      abbey.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not wish to deny so rich a benefice to my son," I replied, "but it
      seems to me that he might enjoy the revenues therefrom, without being
      obliged to wear the livery. Is not the King powerful enough to effect
      this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are hardly just, madame," replied the governess, in a serious tone.
      "If our religion be a true one, God himself is at the head of it, and for
      so supreme a Chief the sons of kings are but of small account."
    </p>
    <p>
      With an argument such as this she closed my mouth, leaving me quite
      amazed, and next day she smiled with delight when she presented the little
      Comte de Vegin dressed as a little abbe.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was careful to see that the crozier, mitre, and cross were painted on
      the panels of his carriage, and let the post of vicar-general be given to
      one of her pious friends who was presented to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Once a Queen, Always a Queen.&mdash;An Anonymous Letter.&mdash;The Queen's
      Confidence.&mdash;She Has a Sermon Preached against Madame de Montespan.&mdash;Who
      the Preacher was.&mdash;One Scandal May Avert Another.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I related how, near La Fere, at the time of the Flanders campaign, Madame
      de la Valliere's coach, at the risk of offending the Queen, left the main
      road and took a short cut across country, so as to get on ahead, and
      arrive before anybody else. By this the Duchess thought to give her royal
      friend a great mark of her attachment. On the contrary, it was the first
      cause for that coolness which the King afterwards displayed.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
          <p>
            "Fain would he be beloved, yet loved with tact."
          </p>
        </blockquote>
    <p>
      The very next day his Majesty, prevailed upon La Valliere to say that such
      a style of travelling was too fatiguing for her. She had the honour of
      dining with the Queen, and then she returned to the little chateau of
      Versailles, so as to be near her children.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King arranged with Madame de Montausier, lady-in-waiting to the Queen,
      that I should use her rooms to dress and write in, and that his Majesty
      should be free to come there when he liked, and have a quiet chat with me
      about matters of interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen, whom I had managed to please by my amusing talk, always kept me
      close to her side, both when taking long walks or playing cards. At a
      given signal, a knock overhead, I used to leave the Queen, excusing myself
      on the score of a headache, or arrears of correspondence; in short, I
      managed to get away as best I could.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King left us in order to capture Douai, then Tournay, and finally the
      whole of Flanders; while the Queen continued to show me every sign of her
      sincere and trustful friendship.
    </p>
    <p>
      In August, on the Day of Our Lady, while the King was besieging Lille, a
      letter came to the Queen, informing her that her husband had forsaken
      Madame de la Valliere for her Majesty's lady-in-waiting, the Marquise de
      Montespan. Moreover, the anonymous missive named "the prudent Duchesse de
      Montausier" as confidante and accomplice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is horrible&mdash;it is infamous!" cried the Queen, as she flung aside
      the letter. "I shall never be persuaded that such is the case. My dear
      little Montespan enjoys my friendship and my esteem; others are jealous of
      her, but they shall not succeed. Perhaps the King may know the
      handwriting; he shall see it at once!" And that same evening she forwarded
      the letter to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte de Vegin had been born, and the Queen was absolutely ignorant of
      his existence. My pregnancy with the Duc du Maine had likewise escaped her
      notice, owing to the large paniers which I took to wearing, and thus made
      the fashion. But the Court is a place where the best of friends are
      traitors. The Queen was at length convinced, after long refusing to be so,
      and from that day forward she cordially detested me.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the King was conquering Holland, she instructed her chief almoner to
      have a sermon of a scandalous sort to be preached, which, delivered with
      all due solemnity in her presence, should grieve and wound me as much as
      possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the day appointed, a preacher, totally unknown to us, gets into the
      pulpit, makes a long prayer for the guidance of the Holy Ghost, and then,
      rising gracefully, bows low to the Queen. Raising his eyes to heaven, he
      makes the sign of the cross and gives out the following text: "Woman,
      arise and sin no more. Go hence; I forgive thee."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he uttered these words, he looked hard at my pew, and soon made me
      understand by his egordium how interesting his discourse would be to me.
      Written with rare grace of style, it was merely a piece of satire from
      beginning to end,&mdash;of satire so audacious that it was constantly
      levelled at the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      The orator brought before us in succession lifelike portraits of the
      Queen, of her august spouse, of my children, of M. de Montespan, and of
      myself. Upon some he lavished praise; others he vehemently rebuked; while
      to others he gave tender pity. Anon he caused the lips of his hearers to
      curl in irony, and again, roused their indignation or touched them to
      tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      Any one else would have been bored by such a rigmarole; it rather amused
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      That evening, and for a week afterwards, nothing else but this sermon was
      talked of at Versailles. The Queen had received complete satisfaction.
      Before me she was at pains not to laugh, and I was pleased to see that her
      resentment had almost disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      Upon his return, the King was for punishing such an offence as this.
      Things are not easily hidden from him; his Majesty desired to know the
      name and rank of the ecclesiastic. The entire Court replied that he was a
      good-looking young Franciscan.
    </p>
    <p>
      The chief almoner, being forced to state the monastery from which the
      preacher came, mentioned the Cordeliers of Paris. There it transpired that
      the monk told off by the prior for this enterprise had been too frightened
      to execute it, and had sent, as his deputy, a young actor from Orleans,&mdash;a
      brother of his, who thus could not say no.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, as it happened, Queen Maria Theresa and her chief almoner (an
      exemplary person) had caused virtue to be preached to me by a young
      play-actor! The King dared not take further proceedings in so strange a
      matter, for fear lest one scandal might beget a far greater one. It was
      this that caused Madame Cornuel to remark, "The pulpit is in want of
      comedians; they work wonders there!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King Alters His Opinion about Madame Scarron.&mdash;He Wants Her to
      Assume Another Name.&mdash;He Gives Her the Maintenon Estates.&mdash;She
      and Madame de Montespan Visit These.&mdash;A Strange Story.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      At first the King used to feel afraid of Madame Scarron, and seemingly
      laughed at me when I endeavoured to persuade him that there was nothing
      affected or singular about her. The Marquis de Beringhen, for some reason
      or other, had prejudiced his Majesty against her, so that very often, when
      the King heard that she was visiting me, he never got beyond the
      vestibule, but at once withdrew. One day she was telling me, in her
      pleasant, original way, a funny tale about the famous Brancas, and I
      laughed till I cried again,&mdash;in fact, until I nearly made myself
      quite ill.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, who was listening at the door, was greatly tickled by the story.
      He came in smiling and thoroughly self-possessed. Then, addressing the
      governess, he said, "Madame, allow me to compliment you and to thank you
      at the same time. I thought you were of a serious, melancholy disposition,
      but as I listened to you through the keyhole, I am no longer surprised
      that you have such long talks with the Marquise. Will you do me the favour
      of being as amusing some other time, if I venture to make one of the
      party?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The governess, courtesying, blushed somewhat; and the King continued,
      "Madame, I am aware of your affection for my children; that is a great
      recommendation to me; banish all restraint; I take the greatest pleasure
      in your company."
    </p>
    <p>
      She replied, "It was the fear of displeasing you which, despite myself,
      caused me to incur your displeasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King continued, "Madame, I know that the late M. de Scarron was a man
      of much wit and also of agreeable manners. My cousin, De Beaufort, used to
      rave about him, but on account of his somewhat free poems, his name lacks
      weight and dignity. In fact, his name in no way fits so charming a
      personality as yours; would it grieve you to change it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The governess cleverly replied that all that she owed to the memory of her
      defunct husband was gratitude and esteem.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Allow me, then, to arrange matters," added the King. "I am fond of
      sonorous names; in this I agree with Boileau."
    </p>
    <p>
      A few days afterwards we heard that the splendid Maintenon estates were
      for sale. The King himself came to inform the widow of this, and, giving
      her in advance the fee for education, he counted out a hundred thousand
      crowns wherewith instantly to purchase the property.
    </p>
    <p>
      Forthwith the King compelled her to discard this truly ridiculous author's
      name, and styled her before everybody Madame de Maintenon.
    </p>
    <p>
      I must do her the justice to state that her gratitude for the King's
      liberality was well-nigh exaggerated, while no change was perceptible in
      her manners and bearing. She had, naturally, a grand, dignified air, which
      was in strange contrast to the grotesque buffoonery of her poet-husband.
      Now she is exactly in her proper place, representing to perfection the
      governess of a king's children.
    </p>
    <p>
      Spiteful persons were wont to say that I appeared jealous on seeing her
      made a marquise like myself. Good gracious, no! On the contrary, I was
      delighted; her parentage was well known to me. The Duchesse de Navailles,
      my protectress, was a near relative of hers, and M. d'Aubigne, her
      grandfather, was one of King Henri's two Chief Gentlemen of the Chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon's father was, in many respects, greatly to blame.
      Without being actually dishonest, he squandered a good deal of his
      fortune, the greater part being pounced upon by his family; and had the
      King forced these harpies to disgorge, Madame de Maintenon could have
      lived in opulence, eclipsing several of the personages at Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am glad to be able to do her justice in these Memoirs, to the
      satisfaction of my own self-respect. I look upon her as my own handiwork,
      and everything assures me that this is her conviction also, and that she
      will always bear it in mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King said to us, "Go and see the Chateau de Maintenon, and then you
      can tell me all about it. According to an old book, I find that it was
      built in the reign of Henri II. by Nicolas de Cointerot, the King's
      minister of finance; a 'surintendant's' castle ought to form a noteworthy
      feature of the landscape."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon hereupon told us a most extraordinary story. The lady
      who sold this marquisate had retired two years previously to the island of
      Martinique, where she, at the present moment, owned the residence of
      Constant d'Aubigne, the same house where the new Marquise de Maintenon had
      spent her childhood with her parents, so that while one of these ladies
      had quitted the Chateau de Maintenon in order to live in Martinique, the
      other had come from Martinique in order to reside at the Chateau de
      Maintenon. Truly, the destinies of some are strange in this world.
    </p>
    <p>
      The chateau appeared to be large, of solid proportions, and built in a
      grandly simple style, befitting a minister of dignity and position. The
      governess shed tears of emotion when setting foot there for the first
      time. The six priests, whom the surintendant had appointed, officiated in
      the large chapel or little church attached to the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      They approached us in regular procession, presenting holy water, baskets
      of flowers and fruit, an old man, a child, and two little lambs to the
      Marquise. The villagers, dressed out with flowers and ribbons, also came
      to pay, their respects to her. They danced in the castle courtyard, under
      our balcony, to the sound of hautbois and bagpipes.
    </p>
    <p>
      We gave them money, said pleasant things to everybody, and invited all the
      six clerics to sup with us. These gentry spoke with great respect of the
      other Madame de Maintenon, who had become disgusted with her property, and
      with France generally, because, for two winters running, her orange-groves
      and fig-trees had been frost-bitten. She herself, being a most chilly,
      person, never left off her furs until August, and in order to avoid
      looking at or walking upon snow and ice, she fled to the other end of the
      world.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The other extreme will bring her back to us," observed Madame de
      Maintenon to the priests. "Though his Majesty were to give me Martinique
      or Saint Domingo, I certainly would never go and live there myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      When we returned, all these little details greatly amused the King. He,
      too, wanted to go and see the castle of another Fouquet, but, as we
      complained of the bad roads, he ordered these to be mended along the
      entire route.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Second Comte de Vexin.&mdash;He is made Abbe of Saint Denis.&mdash;Priests
      or Devils?&mdash;The Coronation Diadem.&mdash;Royalty Jokes with the
      Monks.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      My poor little Comte de Vegin died. We all mourned for him as he deserved;
      his pretty face would have made every one love him; his extreme gentleness
      had nothing of the savage warrior about it, but at any rate, he was the
      best-looking cardinal in Christendom. He made such funny speeches that one
      could not help recollecting them. He was more of a Mortemart than a
      Bourbon, but that did not prevent the King from idolising him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King thought of conferring the Abbey of Saint Germain des Pres upon
      his younger brother; to this I was opposed, imagining, perhaps without
      reason, that such succession would bring bad luck. So the King presented
      him to the Abbey of Saint Denis, the revenue of which was equally
      considerable, and he conferred upon him the title of Comte de Vexin,
      caring nothing for the remarks I made concerning the similarities of such
      names and distinctions.
    </p>
    <p>
      The second Comte de Vegin bid fair to be a man of reflection and of
      genius. He obviously disliked his little abbe's dress, and we always kept
      saying, "It's only for the time being, my little fellow."
    </p>
    <p>
      When, after his nomination, the monks of Saint Denis came to make their
      obeisance to him, he asked if they were devils, and continually covered
      his face so as not to see them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King arrived, and with a few flattering words managed to soothe the
      priests' outraged dignity, and when they asked the little prince if he
      would honour them by a visit of inspection to Suger's room, which had just
      been restored, he replied with a sulky smile, "I'll come and see you, but
      with my eyes shut."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Suger was Abbe of Saint Denis, and a famous minister of Queen
          Blanche. Editor's Note.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Then the priests mildly remonstrated because the coronation diadem had not
      been brought back to their store of treasures, but was still missing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So, in your treasure-house at Saint Denis you keep all the crowns of all
      the reigns?" asked the prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Sire, and where could they be better guarded than with us? Who has
      most may have least."
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all their rubies, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Sire; and hence the name treasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King replied, "If this be the case, I will send you my coronation
      crown. At that time my brow was not so big; you will find the crown small,
      I tell you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then one of the monks, in the most serious manner, said, "It's not as
      small as it was; your Majesty has enlarged it a good deal."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon burst out laughing, and I was not slow to follow her
      example; we saw that the King could hardly maintain his gravity. He said
      to the priest, "My father, you turn a pretty compliment in a most
      praiseworthy manner; you ought to have belonged to the Jesuits, not to the
      Benedictines."
    </p>
    <p>
      We burst out laughing anew, and this convent-deputation, the
      gloomiest-looking, most funereal one in the world, managed to cause us
      some diversion, after all.
    </p>
    <p>
      To make amends for our apparent frivolity, his Majesty himself took them
      to see his splendid cabinet of medals and coins, and sent them back to
      their abbey in Court carriages.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Lauzun Proposes for the Hand of Mademoiselle de Thianges.&mdash;Letter
      from the Duc de Lorraine.&mdash;Madame de Thianges Thinks that Her
      Daughter Has Married a Reigning Prince.&mdash;The King Disposes Otherwise.&mdash;The
      Duc de Nevers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The brilliant Marquis de Lauzun, after paying court to myself, suddenly,
      turned his attention to Mademoiselle de Thianges,&mdash;my sister's child.
      If a fine figure and a handsome face, as well as the polished manners of a
      great gentleman, constitute a good match, M. de Lauzun was, in all
      respects, worthy of my niece. But this presumptuous nobleman had but a
      slender fortune. Extravagant, without the means to be so, his debts grew
      daily greater, and in society one talked of nothing but his lavish
      expenditure and his creditors. I know that the purses of forty women were
      at his disposal. I know, moreover, that he used to gamble like a prince,
      and I would never marry my waiting-maid to a gambler and a rake.
    </p>
    <p>
      Both Madame de Thianges and myself rejected his proposals, and though
      resolved to let him have continued proofs of our good-will, we were
      equally determined never to accept such a man as son-in-law and nephew.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hereupon the letter which I am about to transcribe was sent to me by a
      messenger:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          PRINCE CHARLES DE LORRAINE TO MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN.
        </p>
        <p>
          MADAME:&mdash;My unfortunate uncle and I have always loved France, but
          France has forced us both to break off all relations with her and to
          become exiles!!! Despite the kindness and generosity wherewith the
          Imperial Court seeks to comfort us in our misfortune, the perpetual
          cry of our hearts calls us back to our fatherland,&mdash;to that
          matchless land where my ancestors have ever been beloved.
        </p>
        <p>
          My uncle is guilty of no crime but that of having formerly received in
          his palace a son of good King Henri IV., after his humiliation by a
          shameless minister. My dear uncle proposed to resign all his property
          in my favour, and to meet the wishes of his Majesty as to the wife
          that should be mine.
        </p>
        <p>
          When my uncle asked for the hand of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, on my
          behalf, my cousin replied that a ruined and dismantled throne did not
          augur well for a dowry, and she further remarked that we were not on
          good terms with the King.
        </p>
        <p>
          When I begged Cardinal Mazarin to grant me the hand of the present
          Madame de Mazarin, his Eminence replied, "Would you like to be a
          cardinal? I can manage that; but as regards my niece, the Queen is
          going to get her married immediately."
        </p>
        <p>
          When, before God and man, I wedded Mademoiselle de Nemours, whose
          worthy mother led her to the altar, his Majesty refused to sign the
          marriage contract, and told Madame de Nemours that it would never be
          considered valid.
        </p>
        <p>
          Soon afterwards the Bishop of Laon, who has complete influence over
          Madame de Vendome, declared as null and void&mdash;a marriage
          negotiated and consecrated by himself, and thus a bond made in heaven
          has been broken on earth.
        </p>
        <p>
          Such treatment as this, I confess, seemed to us to exceed the bounds
          of humanity and of justice. My uncle and I quitted France,&mdash;the
          France that persecutes and harasses us, that desires the destruction
          of our family and the forcible union of our territory with her own.
        </p>
        <p>
          The late Queen, of illustrious and glorious memory, disapproved of
          Richelieu's injustice towards us. Under the ministry of the Cardinal,
          his successor, she often, in noble fashion, held out to us a helping
          hand. How comes it that the King, who in face is her living image,
          does not desire to be like her in heart?
        </p>
        <p>
          I address myself to you, madame, who by your beauty and Spiritual
          charm hold such imperious sway over his decisions, and I implore you
          to undertake our defence. My uncle and I, his rightful and duteous
          heir, offer the King devoted homage and unswerving fealty. We offer to
          forget the past, to put our hearts and our swords at his service. Let
          him withdraw his troops and those standards of his that have brought
          terror and grief to our unhappy Lorraine. I offer to marry
          Mademoiselle de Thianges, your beautiful and charming niece, and to
          make her happy, and to surrender all any estates to the King of
          France, if I die without male issue or heirs of any sort.
        </p>
        <p>
          I know your kind-heartedness, madame, by a niece who is your picture.
          In your hands I place her interests and my fate. I await your message
          with impatience, and I shall receive it with courage if you fail to
          obtain that which you ought to obtain.
        </p>
        <p>
          Be assured, madame, of my unbounded admiration and respect.
        </p>
        <p>
          CHARLES
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      I at once went to my house at Clagny, whither I privately summoned Madame
      de Thianges. On reading this letter, my sister was moved to tears, for she
      had always deeply felt how unjustly this family had been treated. She was
      also personally attached to this same Prince Charles, whom to see was to
      love.
    </p>
    <p>
      We read this letter through thrice, and each time we found it more
      admirable; the embarrassing thing was how to dare to let his Majesty know
      its contents. However temperate the allusions to himself, there was still
      the reproach of injustice and barbarity, set against the clemency of Anne
      of Austria, and her generous compassion.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister said to me, "Go boldly to work in the matter. Despite your three
      children, the King leaves you merely a marquise; and for my own part, if
      my daughter becomes Duchesse do Lorraine, I promise you the Principality
      of Vaudemont."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is quite true," I replied; "his conduct is inexplicable. To Madame
      Scarron, who was only the governess of his children, he gives one of the
      first marquisates of France, while to me, who have borne these three
      children (with infinite pain), I admit he has only given some jewelry,
      some money, and this pretty castle of Clagny."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are as clever as can be, my dear Athenais," said Madame de Thianges,
      "but, as a matter of fact, your cleverness is not of a business kind. You
      don't look after yourself, but let yourself be neglected; you don't push
      yourself forward enough, nor stand upon your dignity as you ought to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The little lame woman had hardly been brought to bed of Mademoiselle de
      Blois, when she was made Duchesse de Vaujours and de la Valliere.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gabrielle d'Estrees, directly she appeared, was proclaimed Duchesse de
      Beaufort.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Diane de Poitiers was Duchesse de Valentinois and a princess. It's only
      you who are nobody, and your relations also are about the same! Make the
      most of this grand opportunity; help the Prince of Lorraine, and the
      Prince of Lorraine will help you."
    </p>
    <p>
      On our return from the chateau, while our resolution was yet firm, we went
      laughing to the King. He asked the reason of our gaiety. My sister said
      with her wonted ease, "Sire, I have come to invite you to my daughter's
      wedding."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your daughter? Don't you think I am able to get her properly married?"
      cried the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, you cannot do it better than I can myself. I am giving her a
      sovereign as husband, a sovereign in every sense of the term."
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed to me the King flushed slightly as he rejoined, "A sovereign on
      his feet, or a sovereign overthrown?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you mean, Sire?" said my sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame de Thianges," replied the King, "pray, let us be friends. I was
      informed two days ago of the proposals of the Messieurs de Lorraine; it is
      not, yet time to give them a definite reply. It behoves, me to give your
      daughter in marriage, and I have destined her for the Duc de Nevers, who
      is wealthy, and my friend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Duc de Nevers!" cried my sister; "why, he's cracked for six months in
      the year."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Those who are cracked for a whole twelvemonth deserve far more pity,"
      replied the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, turning to me, he observed, "You make no remark, madame? Does your
      niece's coronation provide you also with illusions?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I easily perceived that we had been cherishing an utterly fantastic
      scheme, and I counselled Madame de Thianges to prefer to please the King;
      and, as she was never able to control her feelings, she sharply replied,
      "Madame la Marquise, good day or good night!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, however, did not relax his persistence in giving us the Duc de
      Nevers as son-in-law and nephew; and as this young gentleman's one fault
      is to require perpetual amusement, partly derived from poetry and partly
      from incessant travelling, my niece is as happy with him as a woman who
      takes her husband's place well can be. As soon as he gets to Paris, he
      wants to return to Rome, and hardly has he reached Rome, when he has the
      horses put to for Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Mortemart, Abbess of Fontevrault.&mdash;She Comes to
      Court.&mdash;The Cloister.&mdash;Her Success at Court.&mdash;Her Opinion
      Respecting Madame de Montespan's Intimacy with the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      My second sister, Mademoiselle de Mortemart, was so unfortunate as to fall
      in love with a young Knight of Malta, doomed from his birth and by his
      family to celibacy. Having set out upon his caravans,&mdash;[Sea-fights
      against the Turks and the pirates of the Mediterranean.]&mdash;he was
      killed in combat by the Algerians.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was Mademoiselle de Mortemart's grief that life became unbearable to
      her. Beautiful, witty, and accomplished, she quitted the world where she
      was beloved, and, at the age of seventeen, took the veil at Fontevrault.
    </p>
    <p>
      So severely had she blamed the conduct of Mademoiselle de la Valliere,
      while often vehemently denouncing that which she termed the disorder at
      Court, that, since the birth of the Duc du Maine, I had not gone to the
      convent to see her. We were like unto persons both most anxious to break
      off an intimacy and yet who had not done so.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc de Lorraine was known to her. He wrote to her, begging her to make
      it up with me, so as to further his own ends. To gratify him, and mainly
      because of her attachment to Prince Charles, my sister actually wrote to
      me, asking for my intervention and what she termed my support.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nuns always profess to be, and think that they are, cut off from the
      world. But the fact is, they care far more for mundane grandeur than we
      do. Madame de Thianges and her sister would have given their very heart's
      blood to see my niece the bride of a royal prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day the King said to me, "The Marquise de Thianges complains that I
      have as yet done nothing for your family; there is a wealthy abbey that
      has just become vacant; I am going to give it to your sister, the nun;
      since last night she is the Abbess of Fontevrault."
    </p>
    <p>
      I thanked the King, as it behoved me to do, and he added, "Your brother
      shall be made a duke at once. I am going to appoint him general of Royal
      Galleys, and after one or two campaigns he will have a marshal's baton."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what about me, Sire?" said I. "What, may it please your Majesty,
      shall I get from the distribution of all these favours and emoluments?" I
      laughingly asked the question.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You, madame?" he replied. "To you I made a present of my heart, which is
      not altogether worthless; yet, as it is possible that, when this heart
      shall have ceased to beat, you may have to maintain your rank, I will give
      you the charming retreat of Petit-Bourg, near Fontainebleau."
    </p>
    <p>
      Saying this, his face wore a sad look, and I was sorry that I asked him
      for anything. He is fond of giving, and of giving generously, but of his
      own accord, without the least prompting. Had I refrained from committing
      this indiscretion, he might, possibly, have made me a duchess there and
      then, renaming Petit-Bourg Royal-Bourg.
    </p>
    <p>
      The new abbess of Fontevrault, caring less now for claustral seclusion,
      equipped her new residence in very sumptuous style. In a splendid carriage
      she came to thank the King and kiss hands. With much tact and dignity she
      encountered the scrutiny of the royal family and of the Court. Her manners
      showed her to have been a person brought up in the great world, and
      possessed of all the tact and delicacy which her position as well as mine
      required.
    </p>
    <p>
      As she embraced me, she sighed; yet, instantly recovering herself, she
      made the excuse that so many ceremonious greetings and compliments had
      fatigued her.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not long before the King joined us, who said, "Madame, I never
      thought that there was much amusement to be got by wearing the veil. Now,
      you must admit that days in a convent seem very long to any one who has
      wit and intelligence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," replied my sister, "the first fifteen or twenty months are
      wearisome, I readily confess. Then comes discouragement; after that,
      habit; and then one grows resigned to one's fetters from the mere pleasure
      of existence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you meet with any good friends among your associates?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In such assemblies," rejoined the Abbess, "one can form no attachment or
      durable friendship. The reason for this is simple. If the companion you
      choose is religious in all sincerity, she is perforce a slave to every
      little rule and regulation, and to her it would seem like defrauding the
      Deity to give affection to any one but to Him. If, by mischance, you meet
      with some one of sensitive temperament, with a bright intellect that
      matches your own, you lay yourself open to be the mournful sharer of her
      griefs, doubts, and regrets, and her depression reacts upon you; her
      sorrow makes your melancholy return. Privation conjures up countless
      illusions and every chimera imaginable, so that the peaceful retreat of
      virgins of the Lord becomes a veritable hell, peopled by phantoms that
      groan in torture!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, madame!" exclaimed the King. "What a picture is this! What a
      spectacle you present to our view!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fortunately," continued Mademoiselle de Mortemart, "in convents girls of
      intelligence are all too rare. The greater number of them are colourless
      persons, devoid of imagination or fire. To exiles like these, any country,
      any climate would seem good; to flaccid, crushed natures of this type,
      every belief would seem authoritative, every religion holy and divine.
      Fifteen hundred years ago these nuns would have made excellent vestal
      virgins, watchful and resigned. What they need is abstinence,
      prohibitions, thwartings, things contrary to nature. By conforming to most
      rigorous rules, they consider themselves suffering beings who deserve
      heavy recompense; and the Carmelite or Trappist sister, who macerates
      herself by the hair-shirt or the cilex, would look upon God as a false or
      wicked Being, if, after such cruel torment, He did not promptly open to
      her the gates of Paradise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," added the Abbess de Fontevrault, "I have three nuns in my convent
      who take the Holy Communion every other day, and whom my predecessor could
      never bring herself to absolve for some old piece of nonsense of twenty
      years back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think you will be able to manage them, madame?" asked the King,
      laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid not," replied my sister. "Those are three whom one could
      never manage, and your Majesty on the throne may possibly have fewer
      difficulties to deal with than the abbess or the prior of a convent."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was obliged to quit us to go and see one of the ministers, but he
      honoured the Abbess by telling her that she was excellent company, of
      which he could never have too much.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister wished to see Madame de Maintenon and the Duc du Maine; so we
      visited that lady, who took a great liking to the Abbess, which was
      reciprocated.
    </p>
    <p>
      When my sister saw the young Duc du Maine, she exclaimed, "How handsome he
      is! Oh, sister, how fond I shall be of such a nephew!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then," said I, "you will forgive me, won't you, for having given birth to
      him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "When I reproached you," she answered, "I had not yet seen the King. When
      one has seen him, everything is excusable and everything is right. Embrace
      me, my dear sister, and do not let us forget that I owe my abbey to you,
      as well as my independence, fortune, and liberty."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 3.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Lauzun and Mademoiselle de Montpensier.&mdash;Marriage of the One
      and Passion of the Other.&mdash;The King Settles a Match.&mdash;A Secret
      Union.&mdash;The King Sends M. de Lauzun to Pignerol.&mdash;The Life He
      Leads There.&mdash;Mademoiselle's Liberality.&mdash;Strange Way of
      Acknowledging It.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      They are forever talking about the coquetry of women; men also have their
      coquetry, but as they show less grace and finesse than we do, they do not
      get half as much attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Lauzun, having one day, noticed a certain kindly feeling
      for him in the glances of Mademoiselle, endeavoured to seem to her every
      day more fascinating and agreeable. The foolish Princess completely fell
      into the snare, and suddenly giving up her air of noble indifference,
      which till then had made her life happy, she fell madly in love with a
      schemer who despised and detested her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Held back for some months by her pride, as also by the exigencies of
      etiquette, she only disclosed her sentimental passion by glances and a
      mutual exchange of signs of approval; but at last she was tired of
      self-restraint and martyrdom, and, detaining M. de Lauzun one day in a
      recess, she placed her written offer of marriage in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cunning Marquis feigned astonishment, pretending humbly to renounce
      such honour, while increasing his wiles and fascinations; he even went so
      far as to shed tears, his most difficult feat of all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Montpensier, older than he by twelve or fourteen years,
      never suspected that such a disparity of years was visible in her face.
      When one has been pretty, one imagines that one is still so, and will
      forever remain so. Plastered up and powdered, consumed by passion, and
      above all, blinded by vanity, she fancied that Nature had to obey princes,
      and that, to favour her, Time would stay his flight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though tired and bored with everything, Lauzun, the better to excite her
      passion, put on timid, languid airs, like those of some lad fresh from
      school. Quitting the embraces of some other woman, he played the lonely,
      pensive, melancholy bachelor, the man absorbed by this sweet, new mystery
      of love.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having made mutual avowal of their passion, which was fill of esteem,
      Lauzun inquired, merely from motives of caution, as to the Princess's
      fortune; and she did not fail to tell him everything, even about her plate
      and jewels. Lauzun's love grew even more ardent now, for she had at least
      forty millions, not counting her palace.
    </p>
    <p>
      He asked if, by the marriage, he would become a prince, and she replied
      that she, herself, had not sufficient power to do this; that she was most
      anxious to arrange this, if she could; but anyhow, that she could make him
      Duc de Montpensier, with a private uncontrolled income of five hundred
      thousand livres.
    </p>
    <p>
      He asked if, on the family coat-of-arms, the husband's coronet was to
      figure, or the wife's; but, as she would not change her name, her arms,
      she decided, could remain as heretofore,&mdash;the crown, the
      fleur-de-lis, and so forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      He inquired if the children of the marriage would rank as princes, and she
      said that she saw nothing to prevent this. He also asked if he would be
      raised higher in the peerage, and might look to being made a prince at
      last, and styled Highness as soon as the contract had been signed.
    </p>
    <p>
      This caused some doubt and reflection. "The King, my cousin," said
      Mademoiselle, "is somewhat strict in matters of this sort. He seems to
      think that the royal family is a new arch-saint, at whom one may look only
      when prostrate in adoration; all contract therewith is absolutely
      forbidden. I begin to feel uneasy about this; yes, Lauzun, I have fears
      for our love and marriage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you, then, afraid?" asked Lauzun, quite crestfallen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I knew how to point the Bastille cannon at the troops of the King," she
      replied; "but he was very young then. No matter, I will go and see him; if
      he is my King, I am his cousin; if he has his crotchets, I have my love
      and my will. He can't do anything, my dear Lauzun; I love you as once he
      loved La Valliere, as to-day he loves Montespan; I am not afraid of him.
      As for the permission, I know our history by heart, and I will prove to
      him by a hundred examples that, from the time of Charlemagne up to the
      present time, widows and daughters of kings have married mere noblemen.
      These nobleman may have been most meritorious,&mdash;I only know them from
      history,&mdash;but not one of them was as worthy as you."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, she asked for her fan, her gloves, and her horses, and attended
      by her grooms-in-waiting, she went to the King in person.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King listened to her from beginning to end, and then remarked, "You
      refused the Kings of Denmark, Portugal, Spain, and England, and you wish
      to marry my captain of the guard, the Marquis de Lauzun?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Sire, for I place him above all monarchs,&mdash;yourself alone
      excepted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you love him immensely?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "More than I can possibly say; a thousand, a hundred thousand times more
      than myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think he is equally devoted to you?"&mdash;"That would be
      impossible," she tranquilly answered; "but his love for me is delicate,
      tender; and such friendship suffices me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My cousin, in all that there is self-interest. I entreat you to reflect.
      The world, as you know, is a mocking world; you want to excite universal
      derision and injure the respect which is due to the place that I fill."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Sire, do not wound me! I fling myself at your feet. Have compassion
      upon M. de Lauzun, and pity my tears. Do not exercise your power; let him
      be the consolation of my life; let me marry him."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, no longer able to hide his disgust and impatience, said,
      "Cousin, you are now a good forty-four years old; at that age you ought to
      be able to take care of yourself. Spare me all your grievances, and do
      what pleases you."
    </p>
    <p>
      On leaving Mademoiselle, he came to my apartment and told me about all
      this nonsense. I then informed him of what I had heard by letter the day
      before. Lauzun, while still carrying on with the fastest ladies of the
      Court and the town, had just wheedled the Princess into making him a
      present of twenty millions,&mdash;a most extravagant gift.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is too much!" exclaimed the King; and he at once caused a letter to
      be despatched to Mademoiselle and her lover, telling them that their
      intimacy must cease, and that things must go no farther.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the audacious Lauzun found means to suborn a well-meaning simpleton of
      a priest, who married them secretly the very same day.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King's indignation and resentment may well be imagined. He had his
      captain of the guard arrested and sent as a prisoner to Pignerol.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this occasion, M. de Lauzun complained bitterly of me; he invented the
      most absurd tales about me, even saying that he had struck me in my own
      apartments, after taunting me to my face with "our old intimacy."
    </p>
    <p>
      That is false; he reproached me with nothing, for there was nothing to
      reproach. Shortly after the Princess's grand scene, he came and begged me
      to intercede on his behalf. I only made a sort of vague promise, and he
      knew well enough that, in the great world, a vague promise is the same as
      a refusal.
    </p>
    <p>
      For more than six months I had to stanch the tears and assuage the grief
      of Mademoiselle. So tiresome to me did this prove, that she alone
      well-nigh sufficed to make me quit the Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such sorrowing and chagrin made her lose the little beauty that still
      remained to her; nothing seemed more incongruous and ridiculous than to
      hear this elderly grand lady talking perpetually about "her dearest
      darling, the prisoner."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time I write he is at Pignerol; his bad disposition is forever
      getting him into trouble. She sends him lots of money unknown to the King,
      who generally knows everything. All this money he squanders or gambles
      away, and when funds are low, says, "The old lady will send us some."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Hyde, the Chancellor.&mdash;Misfortune Not Always Misfortune.&mdash;Prince
      Comnenus.&mdash;The King at Petit-Bourg.&mdash;His Incognito.&mdash;Who M.
      de Vivonne Really Was.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The castle of Petit-Bourg, of which the King made me a present, is situate
      on a height overlooking the Seine, whence one may get the loveliest of
      views. So pleasant did I find this charming abode, that I repaired thither
      as often as possible, and stayed for five or six days. One balmy summer
      night, I sat in my dressing-gown at the central balcony, watching the
      stars, as was my wont, asking myself whether I should not be a thousand
      times happier if I should pass my life in a retreat like this, and so have
      time to contemplate the glorious works of Nature, and to prepare myself
      for that separation which sooner or later awaited me. Reason bade me
      encourage such thoughts, yet my heart offered opposition thereto, urging
      that there was something terrifying in solitude, most of all here, amid
      vast fields and meadows, and that, away from the Court and all my friends,
      I should grow old, and death would take me before my time. While plunged
      in such thoughts, I suddenly heard the sound of a tocsin, and scanning the
      horizon, I saw flames and smoke rising from some hamlet or country-house.
      I rang for my servants, and told them instantly to despatch horsemen to
      the scene of the catastrophe, and bring back news.
    </p>
    <p>
      The messengers started off, and soon came back to say that the fire had
      broken out at the residence of my lord Hyde, Chancellor of England, who
      was but lately convalescent. They had seen him lying upon a rug on the
      grass, some little distance from the burning mansion. I forthwith ordered
      my carriage to be sent for him, and charged my surgeon and secretary to
      invite him to take shelter at my castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      My lord gratefully accepted the invitation; he entered my room as the
      clock struck twelve. As yet he could not tell the cause of the disaster,
      and in a calm, patriarchal manner observed, "I am a man marked out for
      great misfortune. God forbid, madame, that the mischance which dogs my
      footsteps touch you also!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot bear to see a fire," said I, in reply to the English nobleman,
      "for some dreadful accident always results therefrom. Yet, on the whole,
      they are of good augury, and I am sure, my lord, that your health or your
      affairs will benefit by this accident."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hearing me talk thus, my lord smiled. He only took some slight
      refreshment,&mdash;a little soup,&mdash;and heard me give orders for all
      my available servants to be sent to the scene of disaster, in order to
      save all his furniture, and protect it as well.
    </p>
    <p>
      After repeated expressions of his gratitude, he desired to withdraw, and
      retired to rest. Next day we learnt that the fire had been got under about
      one o'clock in the morning; one wing only of the chateau had been
      destroyed, and the library, together with all the linen and plate, was
      well-nigh intact. Lord Hyde was very glad to hear the news. They told him
      that all the labourers living near had gladly come to the help of his
      servants and mine. As his private cashbox had been saved, owing to their
      vigilance and honesty, he promised to distribute its contents among them
      when he returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hardly had he got the words out, when they came to tell me that, on the
      highroad, just in front of my gates, a carriage, bound for Paris, had the
      traces broken, and the travellers persons of distinction begged the favour
      of my hospitality for a short while. I consented with pleasure, and they
      went back to take the travellers my answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see, madame," said the Chancellor, "my bad luck is contagious; no
      sooner have I set foot in this enchanting abode than its atmosphere
      deteriorates. A travelling-carriage passes rapidly by in front of the
      gates, when lo! some invisible hand breaks it to pieces, and stops it from
      proceeding any further."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then I replied, "But how do you know, monsieur, that this mishap may not
      prove a most agreeable adventure for the travellers to whom we are about
      to give shelter? To begin with, they will have the honour of making your
      acquaintance, and to meet with an illustrious person is no common or
      frivolous event."
    </p>
    <p>
      The servants announced the Princes Comnenus, who immediately entered the
      salon. Though dressed in travelling-costume, with embroidered gaiters, in
      the Greek fashion, it was easy to see what they were. The son, a lad of
      fourteen, was presented to me by his father, and when both were seated, I
      introduced them to the Chancellor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The name is well known," observed the Prince, "even in Greece. My lord
      married his daughter to the heir-presumptive to the English throne, and
      England, being by nature ungrateful, has distressed this worthy parent,
      while robbing him of all his possessions."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words Lord Hyde became greatly affected; he could not restrain
      his tears, and fearing at first to compromise himself, he told us that his
      exile was voluntary and self-imposed, or very nearly so.
    </p>
    <p>
      After complimenting the Chancellor of a great kingdom, Prince Comnenus
      thought that he ought to say something courteous and flattering to myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," quoth he, "it is only now, after asking for hospitality and
      generously obtaining it, that I and my son have learnt the name of the
      lady who has so graciously granted us admission to this most lovely place.
      For a moment we hesitated in awe. But now our eyes behold her whom all
      Europe admires, whom a great King favours with his friendship and
      confidence. What strange chances befall one in life! Could I ever have
      foreseen so fortunate a mishap!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I briefly replied to this amiable speech, and invited the travellers to
      spend, at least, one day with us. They gladly accepted, and each retired
      to his apartment until the time came for driving out. Dinner was laid, and
      on the point of being served, when the King, who was on his way from
      Fontainebleau, suddenly entered my room. He had heard something about a
      fire, and came to see what had happened. I at once informed him, telling
      him, moreover, that I had the Duke of York's father-in-law staying with me
      at the moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Hyde, the Chancellor?" exclaimed the King. "I have never seen him,
      and have always been desirous to make his acquaintance. The opportunity is
      an easy and favourable one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But that is not all, Sire; I have other guests to meet you," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who may they be?" inquired the King, smiling. "Just because I have
      come in rough-and-ready plight, your house is full of people."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But they are in rough-and-ready plight as well," I answered; "so your
      Majesties must mutually excuse each other."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you in fun or in earnest?" asked his Majesty. "Have you really got
      some king stowed away in one of your rooms?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a king, Sire, but an emperor,&mdash;the Emperor of Constantinople and
      Trebizond, accompanied by the Prince Imperial, his son. You shall see two
      Greek profiles of the best sort, two finely cut noses, albeit hooked, and
      almond-shaped eyes, like those of Achilles and Agamemnon."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the King said, "Send for your groom of the chambers at once, and tell
      him to give orders that my incognito be strictly observed. You must
      introduce me to these dignitaries as your brother, M. de Vivonne. Under
      these conditions, I will join your party at table; otherwise, I should be
      obliged to leave the castle immediately."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King's wishes were promptly complied with; the footmen were let into
      the secret, and I introduced "Monsieur de Vivonne" to my guests.
    </p>
    <p>
      The talk, without being sparkling, was pleasant enough until dessert. When
      the men-servants left us, it assumed a very different character. The King
      induced the Chancellor to converse, and asked him if his exile were owing
      to the English monarch personally, or to some parliamentary intrigue.
    </p>
    <p>
      "King Charles," replied his lordship, "is a prince to gauge whose
      character requires long study. Apparently, he is the very soul of candour,
      but no one is more deceitful than he. He fawns and smiles upon you when in
      his heart of hearts he despises and loathe you. When the Duke of York,
      unfortunately, became violently enamoured of my daughter, he did not
      conceal his attachment from his brother, the King, and at last asked for
      his approval to join his fortunes to my daughter's, when the King, without
      offering opposition, contented himself by pointing out the relative
      distance between their rank and position; to which the Duke replied, 'But
      at one time you did everything you possibly could to get Olympia Mancini,
      who was merely Mazarin's niece!' And King Charles, who could not deny
      this, left his brother complete liberty of action.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As my daughter was far dearer and more precious to me than social
      grandeur, I begged the Duke of York to find for himself a partner of
      exalted rank. He gave way to despair, and spoke of putting an end to his
      existence; in fact, he behaved as all lovers do whom passion touches to
      madness; so this baleful marriage took place. God is my witness that I
      opposed it, urged thereto by wisdom, by modesty, and by foresight. Now, as
      you see, from that cruel moment I have been exiled to alien lands, robbed
      of the sight of my beloved child, who has been raised to the rank of a
      princess, and whom I shall never see again. Why did my sovereign not say
      to me frankly, I do not like this marriage; you must oppose it,
      Chancellor, to please me?
    </p>
    <p>
      "How different was his conduct from that of his cousin, the French King!
      Mademoiselle d'Orleans wanted to make an unsuitable match; the King
      opposed it, as he had a right to do, and the marriage did not take place."
    </p>
    <p>
      My "brother," the King, smiled as he told his lordship he was right.
    </p>
    <p>
      Prince Comnenus was of the same opinion, and, being expressly invited to
      do so, he briefly recounted his adventures, and stated the object of his
      journey to Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The whole world," said he, "is aware of the great misfortunes of my
      family. The Emperors Andronicus and Michael Comnenus, driven from the
      throne of Constantinople, left their names within the heart and memory of
      Greece; they had ruled the West with a gentle sceptre, and in a people's
      grateful remembrance they had their reward. My ancestors, their
      descendants, held sway in Trebizond, a quicksand which gave way beneath
      their tread. From adversity to adversity, from country to country, we were
      finally driven to seclusion in the Isle of Candia, part of the quondam
      Minos territory. Venice had allowed Candia to fall before Mahomet's bloody
      sword. Europe lost her bulwark, the Cross of the Saviour was thrown down,
      and the Candian Christians have been massacred or forced to flee. I have
      left in the hands of the conqueror my fields and forests, my summer
      palace, my winter palace, and my gardens filled with the produce of
      America, Asia, and Europe. From this overwhelming disaster I managed to
      save my son; and as my sole fortune I brought away with me the large
      jewels of Andronicus, his ivory and sapphire sceptre, his scimitar of
      Lemnos, and his ancient gold crown, which once encircled Theseus's brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "These noble relics I shall present to the King of France. They say that
      he is humane, generous, fond of glory, and zealous in the cause of
      justice. When before his now immovable throne he sees laid down these last
      relics of an ancient race, perhaps he will be touched by so lamentable a
      downfall, and will not suffer distress to trouble my last days, and darken
      the early years of this my child."
    </p>
    <p>
      During this speech I kept watching the King's face. I saw that he was
      interested, then touched, and at last was on the point of forgetting his
      incognito and of appearing in his true character.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Prince," said he to the Greek traveller, "my duties and my devotion make
      it easy for me to approach the King of France's person very closely. In
      four or five days he will be leaving Fontainebleau for his palace at Saint
      Germain. I will tell him without modification all that I have just heard
      from you. Without being either prophet or seer, I can guarantee that you
      will be well received and cordially welcomed, receiving such benefits as
      kings are bound to yield to kings.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, who respects and is interested in you, is desirous, I feel
      certain, for me to persuade you to stay here until her departure; she
      enjoys royal favour, and it is my sister herself who shall present you at
      Court. You shall show her, you shall show us all, the golden crown of
      Theseus, the sceptre of Adronicus, and this brow which I gaze upon and
      revere, for it deserves a kingly diamond.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As for you, my lord," said his Majesty to the English nobleman, "if the
      misfortune of last night prove disastrous in more ways than one, pray wait
      for a while before you go back to the smouldering ashes of a
      half-extinguished fire. My sister takes pleasure in your company; indeed,
      the Marquise is charmed to be able to entertain three such distinguished
      guests, and begs to place her chateau at your disposal until such time as
      your own shall be restored. We shall speak of you to the King, and he will
      certainly endeavour to induce King Charles, his cousin, to recall you to
      your native country."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, after saying one or two words to me in private, he bowed to the
      gentlemen and withdrew. We went out on to the balcony to see him get into
      his coach, when, to the surprise and astonishment of my guests, as the
      carriage passed along the avenue, about a hundred peasants, grouped near
      the gateway, threw off their hats and cried, "Long live the King!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Prince Comnenus and his son were inconsolable; I excused myself by saying
      that it was at the express desire of our royal visitor, and my lord
      admitted that at last he recollected his features, and recognised him by
      his grand and courtly address.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before I end my tale, do not let me forget to say that the King strongly
      recommended Prince Comnenus to the Republic of Genoa, and obtained for him
      considerable property in Corsica and a handsome residence at Ajaccio. He
      accepted five or six beautiful jewels that had belonged to Andronicus, and
      caused the sum of twelve hundred thousand francs to be paid to the young
      Comnenus from his treasury.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Universal Jubilee.&mdash;Court Preachers.&mdash;King David.&mdash;Madame
      de Montespan is Obliged to go to Clagny.&mdash;Bossuet's Mission.&mdash;Mademoiselle
      de Mauleon.&mdash;An Enemy's Good Faith.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not desire to hold up to ridicule the rites of that religion in which
      I was born and bred. Neither would I disparage its ancient usages, nor its
      far more modern laws. All religions, as I know, have their peculiarities,
      all nations their contradictions, but I must be suffered to complain of
      the abuse sometimes made in our country of clerical and priestly
      authority.
    </p>
    <p>
      A general jubilee was held soon after the birth of my second son, and
      among Christian nations like ours, a jubilee is as if one said, "Now all
      statutes, divine and earthly, are repealed; by means of certain formula
      recited, certain visits paid to the temples, certain acts of abstinence
      practised here and there, all sins, misdemeanours, and crimes are
      forgiven, and their punishment cancelled." It is generally on the occasion
      of the proclamation of a new pontificate at Rome that such great papal
      absolutions are extended over the whole universe.
    </p>
    <p>
      The jubilee having been proclaimed in Paris, the Court preachers worked
      miracles. They denounced all social irregularities and friendships of
      which the Church disapproved. The opening sermon showed plainly that the
      orator's eloquence was pointed at myself. The second preacher showed even
      less restraint; he almost mentioned me by name. The third ecclesiastic
      went beyond all bounds, actually uttering the following words:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, when King David was still but a shepherd, a heifer was stolen from
      his flocks; David made complaint to the patriarch of the land, when his
      heifer was restored to him, and the thief was punished.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When David came to the throne, he carried off his servant's wife, and as
      an excuse for such an odious deed, he pleaded the young woman's extreme
      beauty. The wretched servant besought him to obey the voice, not of
      passion, but of justice, and the servant was disgraced and perished
      miserably. Oh, David, unhappy David!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, who had found it hard to sit quiet and hear such insults, said
      to me that evening:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go to Clagny. Let this stormy weather pass by. When it is fine again, you
      must come back."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having never run counter to the wishes of the father of my children, I
      acquiesced, and without further delay gladly departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day, Madame de Montausier came to see me at my country-house; she
      told me of the general rumour that was afloat at Court. The news, said
      she, of my retirement had begun to get about; three bishops had gone to
      congratulate the King, and these gentlemen had despatched couriers to
      Paris to inform the heads of the various parishes, inviting them to write
      to the prince sympathising references touching an event which God and all
      Christendom viewed with complete satisfaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Montausier assured me that the King's bearing was fairly calm on
      the whole, and she also added that he had granted an interview of half an
      hour at least to the Abbe Bossuet, who had discoursed to him about me in a
      strain similar to that of the other clerics.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was my sincere friend; she promised to come to Clagny every evening,
      driving thither incognito.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had hardly been gone an hour, when my footman announced "Monsieur
      Bossuet, Bishop of Condom."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the mention of this name, I felt momentarily inclined to refuse to see
      its owner; but I conquered my disgust, and I did well. The prelate, with
      his semi-clerical, semi-courtly air, made me a low bow. I calmly waited,
      so as to give him time to deliver his message. The famous rhetorician
      proceeded as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, madame, with what health-giving sacrifices the Church is now
      engaged. The merits of our Lord doubtless protect Christians at all times,
      but the Church has appointed times more efficacious, ceremonies more
      useful, springs yet more abounding. Thus it is that we now celebrate the
      grand nine days of the jubilee.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To this mystic pool herdsman and monarchs alike receive summons and
      admission. The most Christian King must, for his own sake, accomplish his
      own sanctification; his sanctification provides for that of his subjects.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Chosen by God to this royal priesthood, he comprehends the duties imposed
      upon him by such noble office. The passions of the heart are maladies from
      which man may recover, just as he recovers from physical disease. The
      physicians of the soul have lifted up their voice, have taken sage counsel
      together; and I come to inform you of the monarch's miraculous recovery,
      and at his request, I bring you this important and welcome news.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For convalescents, greater care is required than for others; the King,
      and the whole of France, beseech you, with my voice, to have respect and
      care for the convalescence of our monarch, and I beg you, madame, to leave
      at once for Fontevrault."
    </p>
    <p>
      "For Fontevrault?" I cried, without betraying my emotion. "Fontevrault is
      near Poitiers; it is too far away. No, I would rather go to Petit-Bourg,
      near the forest of Fontainebleau."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fontainebleau is but eighteen leagues from the capital," he answered;
      "such proximity would be dangerous. I must insist upon Fontevrault,
      madame."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I cannot take my children to Fontevrault," I retorted; "the nuns, and
      the Abbess herself, would never admit them. You know better than I do that
      it is a nunnery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your children," said he, "are not necessary to you; Madame de la Valliere
      managed to leave here for good and all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; and in forsaking them she committed a crime," I answered; "only
      ferocious-hearted persons could have counselled her or commanded her to do
      so." And saying this, I rose, and gave him a glance of disdain.
    </p>
    <p>
      He grew somewhat gentler in manner as he slowly went on, "His Majesty will
      take care of your children; it behoves you to save their mother. And, in
      order to prove to you that I have not come here of my own accord, but
      that, on the contrary, I am executing a formal command, here is a letter
      of farewell addressed to you by the King."
    </p>
    <p>
      I took the letter, which was couched in the following terms:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          It is but right, madame, that on so solemn an occasion I should set an
          example myself. I must ask you henceforth to consider our intimacy
          entirely at an end. You must retire to Fontevrault, where Madame de
          Montemart will take care of you and afford you distraction by her
          charming society. Your children are in good hands; do not be in the
          least uneasy about them. Farewell. I wish you all the firmness and
          well-being possible.<br /> LOUISON.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      In the first flush of my indignation I was about to trample under foot so
      offensive a communication. But the final phrase shocked me less than the
      others.
    </p>
    <p>
      I read it over again, and understood that if the King recommended me to be
      firm, it was because he needed to be firm himself. I soon mastered my
      emotion, and looked at things in their real light. It was easy to see that
      sanctimonious fanatics had forced the King to act. Bossuet was not
      sanctimonious, but, to serve his own ends, proffered himself as spokesman
      and emissary, being anxious to prove to his old colleagues that he was on
      the side of what they styled moral conduct and good example.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a while I walked up and down my salon; but the least exertion fatigues
      me. I resumed my armchair or my settee, leaving the man there like a sort
      of messenger, whom it was not necessary to treat with any respect. He was
      bold, and asked me for a definite answer which he could take back to his
      Majesty. I stared hard at him for about a minute, and then said: "My Lord
      Bishop of Condom, the clerics who have been advising the King are very
      pleased that he should set an example to his people of self-sacrifice. I
      am of their opinion; I think as they do, as you do, as the Pope does; but
      feeling convinced that to us, the innocent sheep, the shepherds ought
      first to show an example, I will consent to break off my relationship with
      his Majesty when you, M. de Condom, shall have broken off your intimacy
      with Mademoiselle de Mauleon des Vieux!"
    </p>
    <p>
      By a retort of this kind I admit that I hoped greatly to embarrass the
      Bishop, and enjoy seeing his face redden with confusion. But he was nowise
      disconcerted, and I confess to-day that this circumstance proved to me
      that there was but little truth in the rumours that were current with
      regard to this subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mademoiselle de Mauleon!" said he, smiling half-bitterly, half-pityingly.
      "Surely, madame, your grief makes you forget what you say. Everybody knows
      that she is an acquaintance of my youth, and that, since that time, having
      confidence in my doctrines and my counsel, she wished to have me as
      spiritual monitor and guide. How can you institute a comparison between
      such a relationship and your own?" Then, after walking up and down for a
      moment, as if endeavouring to regain his self-possession, he continued:
    </p>
    <p>
      "However, I shall not insist further; it was signally foolish of me to
      speak in the name of an earthly king, when I should have invoked that of
      the King of Heaven. I have received an insulting answer. So be it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Farewell, madame. I leave you to your own conscience, which, seemingly,
      is so tranquil that I blame myself for having sought to disturb it."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these words he departed, leaving me much amazed at the patience with
      which a man, known to be so arrogant and haughty, had received such an
      onslaught upon his private life and reputation.
    </p>
    <p>
      I need scarcely say that, next day, the species of pastoral letter which
      my lords the Bishops of Aleth, Orleans, Soissons, and Condom had dictated
      to the King was succeeded by another letter, which he had dictated
      himself, and by which my love for him was solaced and assured.
    </p>
    <p>
      He begged me to wait patiently for a few days, and this arrangement served
      my purpose very well. I thought it most amusing that the King should have
      commissioned M. de Bossuet to deliver this second missive, and I believe I
      said as much to certain persons, which perhaps gave rise to a rumour that
      he actually brought me love-letters from the King. But the purveyors of
      such gossip could surely know nothing of Bossuet's inflexible principles,
      and of the subtlety of his policy. He was well aware that by lending
      himself to such amenities he would lose caste morally with the King, and
      that if by his loyalty he had won royal attachment and regard, all this
      would have been irretrievably lost. Thus M. de Bossuet was of those who
      say, "Hate me, but fear me," rather than of those who strive to be loved.
      Such people know that friendships are generally frail and transient, and
      that esteem lasts longer and leads further. He never interfered again with
      my affairs, nor did I with his; I got my way, and he is still where he
      was.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Montespan Back at Court.&mdash;Her Friends.&mdash;Her Enemies.&mdash;Edifying
      Conversions.&mdash;The Archbishop of Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Eight days after the conclusion of the jubilee I returned to Versailles.
      The King received me with every mark of sincere friendship; my friends
      came in crowds to my apartments; my enemies left their names with my Swiss
      servant, and in chapel they put back my seat, chairs, and footstools in
      their usual place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon had twice sent my children to Clagny with the
      under-governess; but she did not come herself, which greatly
      inconvenienced me.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [The splendid Chateau de Clagny (since demolished) was situated on the
          beautiful country surrounding Versailles, near the wood of Millers
          d'Avrai.&mdash;EDITOR's NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      I complained to her about this, and she assured me the King had dissuaded
      her from visiting me, "so as to put curious folk off the scent;" and when
      I told her of my interview with M. de Bossuet, she neatly avoided being
      mixed up in the matter by omitting to blame anybody. The most licentious
      women, so she told me, had distinguished themselves by pious exercises
      during the observance of the jubilee. She informed me that the Comtesse de
      Soissons, the Princesse de Monaco, Madame de Soubise, and five or six
      virtuous dames of this type, had given gold, silver, and enamelled lamps
      to the most notable churches of the capital. The notorious Duchesse de
      Longueville talked of having her own tomb constructed in a Carmelite
      chapel. Six leaders of fashion had forsworn rouge, and Madame d'Humieres
      had given up gambling. As for my lord the Archbishop of Paris, he had not
      changed his way of life a jot, either for the better or for the worse.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Attempted Abduction.&mdash;The Marquise Procures a Bodyguard.&mdash;Her
      Reasons for So Doing.&mdash;Geography and Morals.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The youthful Marquis d'Antin&mdash;my son&mdash;was growing up; the King
      showed him the most flattering signs of his attachment, and as the child
      had lived only with me, he dreaded his father's violent temper, of which
      he had often heard me speak. In order to have the custody of his son, the
      Marquis de Montespan had appealed to Parliament; but partisans of the King
      had shelved the matter, which, though ever in abeyance, was still pending.
      I had my son educated under my care, being sure of the tender attachment
      that would spring up between himself and the princes, his brothers. At the
      Montespan chateau, I admit, he would have learned to ride an unbroken
      horse, as well as to shoot hares, partridges, and big game; he would also
      have learned to talk loud, to use bad language, to babble about his
      pedigree, while ignorant of its history or its crest; in fine, he would
      have learned to despise his mother, and probably to hate her. Educated
      under my eyes, almost on the King's lap, he soon learned the customs of
      the Court and all that a well-born gentleman should know. He will be made
      Duc d'Antin, I have the King's word for it,&mdash;and his mien and
      address, which fortunately sort well with that which Fate holds in store
      for him, entitle him to rank with all that is most exalted at Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Procureur-General caused a man from Barn to be arrested, who had come
      to abduct my son. This individual, half-Spanish and half-French, was
      detained in the Paris prisons, and I was left in ignorance of the matter.
      It was imprudent not to tell me, and almost occasioned a serious mishap.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day I was returning from the neighbourhood of Etampes with only my
      son, his tutor, and my physician in the carriage. On reaching a steep
      incline, where the brake should be put on, my servants imprudently
      neglected to do this, and I felt that we were burning the roadway in our
      descent. Such recklessness made me uneasy, when suddenly twelve horsemen
      rode headlong at us, and sought to stop the postilions. My six horses were
      new ones and very fresh; they galloped along at breakneck speed. Our
      pursuers fired at the coachman, but missed him, and the report of a pistol
      terrified the horses yet further. They redoubled their speed. We gave
      ourselves up for lost, as an accident of some sort seemed bound to ensue,
      when suddenly my carriage reached the courtyard of an inn, where we
      obtained help.
    </p>
    <p>
      Baulked of their prey, the horsemen turned about and rode away. They had
      been noticed the day before, hanging about and asking for Madame de
      Montespan.
    </p>
    <p>
      We stayed that night at the inn, and next day, provided with a stout
      escort, we reached Saint Germain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King regretted not having provided against similar attempts. He
      rewarded my postilions for their neglect to use the brake (a neglect
      which, at first, I was going to punish), saying to me, "If they had put
      the brake on, you would have been captured and whisked off to the
      Pyrenees. Your husband is never going to give in!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Such a disagreeable surprise," added he, "shall not occur again.
      Henceforth you shall not travel without an adequate escort. In future, you
      shall have a guard of honour, like the Queen and myself." I had long
      wished for this privilege, and I warmly thanked his Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nevertheless, people chose to put a completely false construction upon so
      simple an innovation, and my sentiments in the matter were wholly
      misunderstood. It was thought that vanity had prompted me to endeavour to
      put myself on a level with the Queen, and this worthy princess was herself
      somewhat nettled thereat. God is my witness that, from mere motives of
      prudence, this unusual arrangement had to be made, and I entirely agreed
      to it. After all, if the Infanta of Spain gave birth to the Dauphin,
      Athenais de Mortemart is the mother of several princes.
    </p>
    <p>
      In France, a Catholic realm, for the King to have a second wife is
      considered superfluous by the timorous and shrivelled-brained. In
      Constantinople, Alexandria, and Ispahan, I should have met with only
      homage, veneration, respect. Errors of a purely geographical nature are
      not those which cause me alarm; to have brought into the world so perfect
      a being as the Duc du Maine will never, as I take it, incur blame at the
      tribunal of Almighty God.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Nantes, his charming sister, has from her cradle been
      destined to belong to one of the royal branches. Mademoiselle de Blois
      will also become the mother of several Bourbon princes; I have good
      grounds for cherishing such flattering hopes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little Comte de Toulouse already bids fair to be a worthy successor to
      M. du Maine. He has the same grace of manner, and frank, distinguished
      mien.
    </p>
    <p>
      When all these princes possess their several escorts, it will seem passing
      strange that their mother alone should not have any. That is my opinion,
      and it is shared by all people of sense.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XL.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Osmin, the Little Moor.&mdash;He Sets the Fashion.&mdash;The Queen Has a
      Black Baby.&mdash;Osmin is Dismissed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I have already told how the envoys of the King of Arda, an African prince,
      gave to the Queen a nice little blackamoor, as a toy and pet. This Moor,
      aged about ten or twelve years, was only twenty-seven inches in height,
      and the King of Arda declared that, being quite unique, the boy would
      never grow to be taller than three feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen instantly took a great fancy to this black creature. Sometimes
      he gambolled about and turned somersaults on her carpet like a kitten, or
      frolicked about on the bureau, the sofa, and even on the Queen's lap.
    </p>
    <p>
      As she passed from one room to another, he used to hold up her train, and
      delighted to catch hold of it and so make the Queen stop short suddenly,
      or else to cover his head and face with it, for mischief, to make the
      courtiers laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was arrayed in regular African costume, wearing handsome bracelets,
      armlets, a necklace ablaze with jewels, and a splendid turban. Wishing to
      show myself agreeable, I gave him a superb aigrette of rubies and
      diamonds; I was always sorry afterwards that I did so.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King could never put up with this little dwarf, albeit his features
      were comely enough. To begin with, he thought him too familiar, and never
      even answered him when the dwarf dared to address him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Following the fashion set by her Majesty, all the Court ladies wanted to
      have little blackamoors to follow them about, set off their white
      complexions, and hold up their cloaks or their trains. Thus it came that
      Mignard, Le Bourdon, and other painters of the aristocracy, used to
      introduce negro boys into all their large portraits. It was a mode, a
      mania; but so absurd a fashion soon had to disappear after the mishap of
      which I am about to tell.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen being pregnant, public prayers were offered up for her according
      to custom, and her Majesty was forever saying: "My pregnancy this time is
      different from preceding ones. I am a prey to nausea and strange whims; I
      have never felt like this before. If, for propriety's sake, I did not
      restrain myself, I should now dearly like to be turning somersaults on the
      carpet, like little Osmin. He eats green fruit and raw game; that is what
      I should like to do, too. I should like to&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, madame, you frighten us!" exclaimed the King. "Don't let all those
      whimsies trouble you further, or you will give birth to some monstrosity,
      some freak of nature." His Majesty was a true prophet. The Queen was
      delivered of a fine little girl, black as ink from head to foot. They did
      not tell her this at once, fearing a catastrophe, but persuaded her to go
      to sleep, saying that the child had been taken away to be christened.
    </p>
    <p>
      The physicians met in one room, the bishops and chaplains in another. One
      prelate was opposed to baptising the infant; another only agreed to this
      upon certain conditions. The majority decided that it should be baptised
      without the name of father or mother, and such suppression was unanimously
      advocated.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little thing, despite its swarthy hue, was most beautifully made; its
      features bore none of those marks peculiar to people of colour.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was sent away to the Gisors district to be suckled as a negro's
      daughter, and the Gazette de France contained an announcement to the
      effect that the royal infant had died, after having been baptised by the
      chaplains.
    </p>
    <p>
      [This daughter of the Queen lived, and was obliged to enter a Benedictine
      nunnery at Moret. Her portrait is to be seen in the Sainte Genevieve
      Library of Henri IV.'s College, where it hangs in the winter saloon.&mdash;EDITOR'S
      NOTE.]
    </p>
    <p>
      The little African was sent away, as may well be imagined; and the Queen
      admitted that, one day soon after she was pregnant, he had hidden himself
      behind a piece of furniture and suddenly jumped out upon her to give her a
      fright. In this he was but too successful.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Court ladies no longer dared come near the Queen attended by their
      little blackamoors. These, however, they kept for a while longer, as if
      they were mere nick-hacks or ornaments; in Paris they were still to be
      seen in public. But the ladies' husbands at last got wind of the tale,
      when all the little negroes disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur's Second Marriage.&mdash;Princess Palatine.&mdash;The Court
      Turnspit.&mdash;A Woman's Hatred.&mdash;The King's Mistress on a Par with
      the First Prince of the Blood.&mdash;She Gives His Wife a Lesson.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      In order to keep up appearances at his Palais Royal, Monsieur besought the
      King to consent to his remarriage after the usual term of mourning was at
      an end.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whom have you in view?" asked his brother. He replied that he proposed to
      wed Mademoiselle&mdash;the grande Mademoiselle de Montpensier&mdash;on
      account of her enormous wealth!
    </p>
    <p>
      Just then Mademoiselle was head over ears in love with Lauzun. She sent
      the Prince about his business, as I believe I have already stated.
      Moreover, she remarked: "You had the loveliest wife in all Europe,&mdash;young,
      charming, a veritable picture. You might have seen to it that she was not
      poisoned; in that case you would not now be a widower. As it is not likely
      that I should ever come to terms with your favourites, I shall never be
      anything else to you but a cousin, and I shall endeavour not to die until
      the proper time; that is, when it shall please God to take me. You can
      repeat this speech, word for word, to your precious Marquis d'Effiat and
      Messieurs de Remecourt and de Lorraine. They have no access to my
      kitchens; I am not afraid of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      This answer amused the King not a little, and he said to me: "I was told
      that the Palatine of Bavaria's daughter is extremely ugly and ill-bred;
      consequently, she is capable of keeping Monsieur in check. Through one of
      my Rhenish allies, I will make proposals to her father for her hand. As
      soon as a reply comes, I will show my brother a portrait of some sort; it
      will be all the same to him; he will accept her."
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards this marriage took place. Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria,
      though aware of the sort of death that her predecessor died, agreed to
      marry Monsieur. Had she not been lucky enough to make this grand match,
      her extreme ugliness would assuredly have doomed her to celibacy, even in
      Bavaria and in Germany. It is surely not allowable to come into the world
      with such a face and form, such a voice, such eyes, such hands, and such
      feet, as this singular princess displayed. The Court, still mindful of the
      sweetness, grace, and charm of Henrietta of England, could not contemplate
      without horror and disgust the fearful caricature I have just described.
      Young pregnant women&mdash;after the Queen's unfortunate experience&mdash;were
      afraid to look at the Princess Palatine, and wished to be confined before
      they reappeared at Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for herself, armed with robust, philosophical notions, and a complete
      set of Northern nerves, she was in no way disconcerted at the effect her
      presence produced. She even had the good sense to appear indifferent to
      all the raillery she provoked, and said to the King:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, to my mind you are one of the handsomest men in the world, and with
      few exceptions, your Court appears to me perfectly fitted for you. I have
      come but scantily equipped to such an assemblage. Fortunately, I am
      neither jealous nor a coquette, and I shall win pardon for my plainness, I
      myself being the first to make merry at it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You put us completely at our ease," replied the King, who had not even
      the courage to be gallant. "I must thank you on behalf of these ladies for
      your candour and wit." Ten or twelve of us began to titter at this speech
      of hers. The Robust Lady never forgave those who laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Directly she arrived, she singled me out as the object of her ponderous
      Palatine sarcasms. She exaggerated my style of dress, my ways and habits.
      She thought to make fun of my little spaniels by causing herself to be
      followed, even into the King's presence-chamber, by a large turnspit,
      which in mockery she called by the name of my favourite dog.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I had had my hair dressed, ornamented with quantities of little
      curls, diamonds, and jewelled pins, she had the impertinence to appear at
      Court wearing a huge wig, a grotesque travesty of my coiffure. I was told
      of it. I entered the King's apartment without deigning to salute Madame,
      or even to look at her.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had also been told that, in society, she referred to me as "the
      Montespan woman." I met her one day in company with a good many other
      people, and said to her:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, you managed to give up your religion in order to marry a French
      prince; you might just as well have left behind your gross Palatine
      vulgarity also. I have the honour to inform you that, in the exalted
      society to which you have been admitted, one can no more say 'the
      Montespan woman,' than one can say 'the Orleans woman.' I have never
      offended you in the slightest degree, and I fail to see why I should have
      been chosen as the favoured object of your vulgar insults."
    </p>
    <p>
      She blushed, and ventured to inform me that this way of expressing herself
      was a turn of speech taken from her own native language, and that by
      saying "the," as a matter of course "Marquise" was understood.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, madame," I said, without appearing irritated; "in Paris, such an
      excuse as that is quite inadmissible, and since you associate with
      turnspits, pray ask your cooks, and they will tell you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Fearing to quarrel with the King, she was obliged to be more careful, but
      to change one's disposition is impossible, and she has loathed and
      insulted me ever since. Her husband, who himself probably taught her to do
      so, one day tried to make apologies for what he ruefully termed her
      reprehensible conduct. "There, there, it doesn't matter," I said to him;
      "it is easier to offend me than to deceive me. Allow me to quote to you
      the speech of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, 'You had a charming and
      accomplished wife, you ought to have prevented her from being poisoned,
      and then we should not have had this hag at Court.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Montespan's Father-confessor.&mdash;He Alters His Opinion.&mdash;Madame
      de Maintenon Is Consulted.&mdash;A General on Theology.&mdash;A Country
      Priest.&mdash;The Marquise Postpones Her Repentance and Her Absolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      My father-confessor, who since my arrival at Court had never vexed or
      thwarted me, suddenly altered his whole manner towards me, from which I
      readily concluded that the Queen had got hold of him. This priest, of
      gentle, easy-going, kindly nature, never spoke to me except in a tone of
      discontent and reproach. He sought to induce me to leave the King there
      and then, and retire to some remote chateau. Seeing that he was
      intriguing, and had, so to speak, taken up his position, like a woman of
      experience I took up mine as well, and politely dismissed him, at which he
      was somewhat surprised. In matters of religion, Madame de Maintenon, who
      understands such things, was my usual mentor. I told her that I was
      disheartened, and should not go to confession again for ever so long. She
      was shocked at my resolve, and strove all she could to make me change my
      mind and endeavour to lead me back into the right way.
    </p>
    <p>
      She forever kept repeating her favourite argument, saying, "Good gracious!
      suppose you should die in that state!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I replied that it was not my fault, as I had never ceased to obey the
      precepts of the Holy Church. "It was my old father-confessor," said I,
      "the Canon of Saint Thomas du Louvre, who had harshly refused to confess
      me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What he does," replied she, "is solely for your own good."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if he has only my well-being in view," I quickly retorted, "why did
      not he think of this at first? It would have been far better to have
      stopped me at the outset, instead of letting me calmly proceed upon my
      career. He is obeying the Queen's orders, or else those of that Abbe
      Bossuet de Mauleon, who no longer dares attack me to my face."
    </p>
    <p>
      As we thus talked, the Duc de Vivonne came into my room. Learning the
      topic of our discussion, he spoke as follows: "I should not be general of
      the King's Galleys and a soldier at heart and by profession if my opinion
      in this matter were other than it is. I have attentively read
      controversies on this point, and have seen it conclusively proved that our
      kings never kept a confessor at Court. Among these kings, too, there were
      most holy, most saintly people, and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, what do you conclude from that, Duke?" asked Madame de Maintenon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, that Madame will do well to respect his Majesty the King as her
      father-confessor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Duke, you shock me! What dreadful advice, to be sure!" cried the
      governess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not the least wish to shock you, madame; but my veneration for
      D'Aubigne&mdash;your illustrious grandfather&mdash;is too great to let me
      think that he is among the damned, and he never attended confession at
      all."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Theodore Agrippa, Baron d'Aubigne, lieutenant-general in the army of
          Henri IV. He persevered in Calvinism after the recantation of the
          King.&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      "Eternity hides that secret from us," replied Madame de Maintenon. "Each
      day I pray to God to have mercy upon my poor grandfather; if I thought he
      were among the saved, I should never be at pains to do this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bah, madame! let's talk like sensible, straightforward people," quoth the
      General. "The reverend Pere de la Chaise&mdash;one of the Jesuit oracles&mdash;gives
      the King absolution every year, and authorises him to receive the Holy
      Sacrament at Easter. If the King's confessor&mdash;thorough priest as he
      is&mdash;pardons his intimacy with madame, here, how comes it that the
      other cleric won't tolerate madame's intimacy with the King? On a point of
      such importance as this, the two confessors ought really to come to some
      agreement, or else, as the Jesuits have such a tremendous reputation, the
      Marquise is entitled to side with them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hemmed in thus, Madame de Maintenon remarked "that the morals of Jesuits
      and lax casuists had never been hers," and she advised me to choose a
      confessor far removed from the Court and its intrigues.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next day she mentioned a certain village priest to me, uninfluenced by
      anybody, and whose primitive simplicity caused him to be looked upon as a
      saint.
    </p>
    <p>
      I submitted, and ingenuously went to confess myself to this wonderful man;
      his great goodness did not prevent him from rallying me about the elegance
      of my costume, and the perfume of my gloves, and my hair. He insisted upon
      knowing my name, and on learning it, flew into a passion. I suppress the
      details of his disagreeable propositions. Seated sideways in his
      confessional, he stamped on the floor, abused me, and spoke
      disrespectfully of the King. I could not stand such scandalous behaviour
      for long; and, wearing my veil down, I got into my coach, being thoroughly
      determined that I would take a good long holiday. M. de Vivonne soundly
      rated me for such cowardice, as he called it, while Madame de Maintenon
      offered me her curate-in-chief, or else the Abbe Gobelin.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, for the time being, I determined to keep to my plan of not going to
      confession, strengthened in such resolve by my brother Vivonne's good
      sense, and the attitude of the King's Jesuit confessor, who had a great
      reputation and knew what he was about.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte de Guiche.&mdash;His Violent Passion for Madame.&mdash;His
      Despair.&mdash;He Flees to La Trappe.&mdash;And Comes Out Again.&mdash;A
      Man's Heart.&mdash;Cured of His Passion, He Takes a Wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte de Guiche, son of the Marechal de Grammont, was undoubtedly one
      of the handsomest men in France.
    </p>
    <p>
      The grandeur and wealth of his family had, at an early age, inspired him
      with courage and self-conceit, so that in his blind, frivolous
      presumption, the only person, as he thought, who exceeded his own
      fascination was possibly the King, but nobody else.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perceiving the wonderful charm of Monsieur's first wife, he conceived so
      violent a passion for her that no counsel nor restraint could prevent him
      from going to the most extravagant lengths in obedience to this rash, this
      boundless passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Henrietta of England, much neglected by her husband, and naturally of a
      romantic disposition, allowed the young Count to declare his love for her,
      either by singing pretty romances under her balcony, or by wearing
      ribbons, bunched together in the form of a hieroglyphic, next his heart.
      Elegantly dressed, he never failed to attend all the assemblies to which
      she lent lustre by her presence. He followed her to Saint Germain, to
      Versailles, to Chambord, to Saint Cloud; he only lived and had his being
      in the enjoyment of contemplating her charms.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day, being desirous of walking alongside her sedan-chair, without
      being recognised, he had a complete suit made for him of the La Valliere
      livery, and thus, seeming to be one of the Duchess's pages, he was able to
      converse with Madame for a short time. Another time he disguised himself
      as a pretty gipsy, and came to tell the Princess her fortune. At first she
      did not recognise him, but when the secret was out, and all the ladies
      were in fits of laughter, a page came running in to announce the arrival
      of Monsieur. Young De Guiche slipped out by a back staircase, and in order
      to facilitate his exit, one of the footmen, worthy of Moliere, caught hold
      of the Prince as if he were one of his comrades, and holding a
      handkerchief over his face, nearly poked his eye out.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Count's indiscretions were retailed in due course to Monsieur by his
      favourites, and he was incensed beyond measure. He complained to Marechal
      de Grammont; he complained to the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hereupon, M. de Guiche received orders to travel for two or three years.
    </p>
    <p>
      War with the Turks had just been declared, and together with other
      officers, his friends, he set out for Candia and took part in the siege.
      All did him the justice to affirm that while there he behaved like a hero.
      When the fortress had to capitulate, and Candia was lost to the Christians
      forever, our officers returned to France. Madame was still alive when the
      young Count rejoined his family. He met the Princess once or twice in
      society, without being able to approach her person, or say a single word
      to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards, she gave birth to a daughter. A few days later, certain
      monsters took her life by giving her poison. This dreadful event made such
      an impression upon the poor Comte de Guiche, that for a long while he lost
      his gaiety, youth, good looks, and to a certain extent, his reason. After
      yielding to violent despair, he was possessed with rash ideas of
      vengeance. The Marechal de Grammont had to send him away to one of his
      estates, for the Count talked of attacking and of killing, without further
      ado, the Marquis d'Effiat, M. de Remecourt, the Prince's intendant, named
      Morel, and even the Duc d'Orleans himself.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Morel subsequently admitted his guilt in the matter of Madame's
          death, as well as the commission of other corresponding crimes. See
          the Letters of Charlotte, the Princess Palatine.&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      His intense agitation was succeeded by profound melancholy, stupor closely
      allied to insanity or death.
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening, the Comte de Guiche went to the Abbey Church of Saint Denis.
      He hid himself here, to avoid being watched, and when the huge nave was
      closed, and all the attendants had left, he rushed forward and flung
      himself at full length upon the tombstone which covers the vast royal
      vault. By the flickering light of the lamps, he mourned the passing hence
      of so accomplished a woman, murdered in the flower of her youth. He called
      her by name, telling her once more of his deep and fervent love. Next day,
      he wandered about in great pain, gloomy and inconsolable.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day he came to see me at Clagny, and talked in a hopeless, desolate
      way about our dear one. He told me that neither glory nor ambition nor
      voluptuous pleasures could ever allure him or prove soothing to his soul.
      He assured me that life was a burden to him,&mdash;a burden that religion
      alone prevented him from relinquishing, and that he was determined to shut
      himself up in La Trappe or in some such wild, deserted place.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sought to dissuade him from such a project, which could only be the
      cause of grief and consternation to his relatives. He pretended to yield
      to my entreaties, but the next night he left home and disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length he came back. Luckily, the Trappist Abbe de Ranch wished to take
      away from him the portrait on enamel of Henrietta of England, so as to
      break it in pieces before his eyes. So indignant was the Count that he was
      upon the point of giving the hermit a thrashing. He fled in disgust from
      the monastery, and this fresh annoyance served, in some degree, to assuage
      his grief. Life's daily occupations, the excitements of society, the
      continual care shown towards him by his relatives, youth, above all, and
      Time, the irresistible healer, at last served to soothe a sorrow which,
      had it lasted longer, would have been more disastrous in its results.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte de Guiche consented to marry a wife to whom he was but slightly
      attached, and who is quite content with him, praising his good qualities
      and all his actions.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mexica.&mdash;Philippa.&mdash;Molina.&mdash;The Queen's Jester.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      In marrying Maria Theresa, Infanta of Spain, the King had made an
      advantageous match from a political point of view. For through the Infanta
      he had rights with regard to Flanders; she also provided him with eventual
      claims upon Spain itself, together with Mexico and Peru. But from a
      personal and social point of view, the King could not have contracted a
      more miserable alliance. The Infanta, almost wholly uneducated, had not
      even such intellectual resources as a position such as hers certainly
      required, where personal risk was perpetual, where authority had to be
      maintained by charming manners, and respect for power ensured by elevation
      of tone and sentiment, which checks the indiscreet, and imbues everybody
      with the spirit of consideration and reverence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maria Theresa, though a king's daughter, made no more effect at Court than
      if she had been a mere middle-class person. The King, in fact, by his
      considerateness, splendour, and glory, served to support her dignity. He
      hoped and even desired that she should be held in honour, partly for her
      own sake, in a great measure for his. But as soon as she started upon some
      argument or narration where force of intellect was needed, she always
      seemed bewildered, and he soon interrupted her either by finishing the
      tale himself, or by changing the conversation. This he did good-naturedly
      and with much tact, so that the Queen, instead of taking offence, was
      pleased to be under such an obligation to him. From such a wife this
      prince could not look to have sons of remarkable talent or intellect, for
      that would have been nothing short of a miracle. And thus the little
      Dauphin showed none of those signs of intelligence which the most ordinary
      commonplace children usually display. When the Queen heard courtiers
      repeat some of the droll, witty sayings of the Comte de Vegin, or the Duc
      du Maine, she reddened with jealousy, and remarked, "Everybody goes into
      ecstasies about those children, while Monsieur le Dauphin is never even
      mentioned."
    </p>
    <p>
      She had brought with her from Spain that Donna Silvia Molina, of whom I
      have already spoken, and who had got complete control over her character.
      Instead of tranquillising her, and so making her happy, Donna Silvia
      thought to become more entertaining, and above all, more necessary to her,
      by gossiping to her about the King's amours. She ferreted out all the
      secret details, all the petty circumstances, and with such dangerous
      material troubled the mind and destroyed the repose of her mistress, who
      wept unceasingly, and became visibly changed.
    </p>
    <p>
      La Molina, enriched and almost wealthy, was sent back to Spain, much to
      the grief of Maria Theresa, who for several days after her departure could
      neither eat nor sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the same time, the King got rid of that little she-dwarf, named Mexica,
      in whose insufferable talk and insufferable presence the Queen took
      delight. But the sly little wretch escaped during the journey, and managed
      to get back to the princess again, hidden in some box or basket. The Queen
      was highly delighted to see her again; she pampered her secretly in her
      private cabinet with the utmost mystery, giving up every moment that she
      could spare.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day, by way of a short cut, the King was passing through the Queen's
      closet, when he heard the sound of coughing in one of the cupboards.
      Turning back, he flung it open, where, huddled up in great confusion, he
      found Mexica.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" cried his Majesty; "so you are back again? When and how did you
      come?"
    </p>
    <p>
      In a feeble voice Mexica answered, "Sire, please don't send me away from
      the Queen any more, and she will never complain again about Madame de
      Montespan."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King laughed at this speech, and then came and repeated it to me. I
      laughed heartily, too, and such a treaty of peace seemed to contain queer
      compensation clauses: Madame de Montespan and Mexica were mutually bound
      over to support each other; the spectacle was vastly droll, I vow.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides her little dwarf, the Queen had a fool named Tricominy. This
      quaint person was permitted to utter everywhere and to everybody in
      incoherent fashion the pseudo home-truths that passed through his head.
      One day he went up to the grande Mademoiselle de Montpensier, and said to
      her before everybody, "Since you are so anxious to get married, marry me;
      then that will be a man-fool and a woman-fool." The Princess tried to hit
      him, and he took refuge behind the Queen's chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another time, to M. Letellier, Louvois's brother and Archbishop of Rheims,
      he said, "Monseigneur, do let me ascend the pulpit in your Cathedral, and
      I will preach modesty and humanity to you." When the little Duc d'Anjou,
      that pretty, charming child, died of suppressed measles, the Queen was
      inconsolable, and the King, good father that he is, was weeping for the
      little fellow, for he promised much. Says Tricominy, "They're weeping just
      as if princes had not got to die like anybody else. M. d'Anjou was no
      better made than I am, nor of better stuff."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tricominy was dismissed, because it was plain that his madness took a
      somewhat eccentric turn; that, in fact, he was not fool enough for his
      place.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen had still a Spanish girl named Philippa, to whom she was much
      attached, and who deserved such flattering attachment. Born in the
      Escurial Palace, Philippa had been found one night in a pretty cradle at
      the base of one of the pillars. The palace guards informed King Philip,
      who adopted the child and brought it up, since it had been foisted upon
      him as his daughter. He grew fond of the girl, and on coming to Saint Jean
      de Luz to marry the Infanta to his nephew the King, he made them a present
      of Philippa, and begged them both to be very good to her. In this amiable
      Spanish girl, the Infanta recognised a sister. She knew she was an
      illegitimate daughter of King Philip and one of the palace ladies.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Molina left the Court, she did everything on earth to induce Philippa
      to return with her to Spain, but the girl was sincerely attached to the
      Queen, who, holding her in a long embrace, promised to find her a wealthy
      husband if she would stay. However, the Queen only gave her as husband the
      Chevalier de Huze, her cloak-bearer, so as to keep the girl about her
      person and to be intimate with her daily. Philippa played the mandolin and
      the guitar to perfection; she, also sang and danced with consummate grace.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Le Bouthilier de Ranch, Abbe de la Trappe.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe le Bouthilier de Rance,&mdash;son of the secretary of state, Le
      Bouthilier de Chavigny,&mdash;after having scandalised Court and town by
      his public gallantries, lost his mistress, a lady possessed of a very
      great name and of no less great beauty. His grief bordered upon despair;
      he forsook the world, gave away or sold his belongings, and went and shut
      himself up in his Abbey of La Trappe, the only benefice which he had
      retained. This most ancient monastery was of the Saint Bernard Order, with
      white clothing. The edifice spacious, yet somewhat dilapidated was
      situated on the borders of Normandy, in a wild, gloomy valley exposed to
      fog and frost.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe found in this a place exactly suitable to his plan, which was to
      effect reforms of austere character and contrary to nature. He convened
      his monks, who were amazed at his arrival and residence; he soundly rated
      them for the scandalous laxity of their conduct, and having reminded them
      of all the obligations of their office, he informed them of his new
      regulations, the nature of which made them tremble. He proposed nothing
      less than to condemn them to daily manual labour, the tillage of the soil,
      the performance of menial household duties; and to this he added the
      practices of immoderate fasting, perpetual silence, downcast glances,
      veiled countenances, the renouncement of all social ties, and all
      instructive or entertaining literature. In short, he advocated sleeping
      all together on the bare floor of an ice-cold dormitory, the continual
      contemplation of death, the dreadful obligation of digging, while alive,
      one's own grave every day with one's own hands, and thus, in imagination,
      burying oneself therein before being at rest there for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      As laws so foolish and so tyrannical were read out to them, the worthy
      monks&mdash;all of them of different character and age openly expressed
      their discontent. The Abbe de Rance allowed them to go and get pleasure in
      other monasteries, and contrived to collect around him youths whom it was
      easy to delude, and a few elderly misanthropes; with these he formed his
      doleful wailing flock.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he loved notoriety in everything, he had various views of his monastery
      engraved, and pictures representing the daily pursuits of his laborious
      community. Such pictures, hawked about everywhere by itinerant vendors of
      relics and rosaries, served to create for this barbarous reformer a
      reputation saintly and angelic. In towns, villages, even in royal palaces,
      he formed the one topic of conversation. Several gentlemen, disgusted
      either with vice or with society, retired of their own accord to his
      monastery, where they remained in order that they might the sooner die.
    </p>
    <p>
      Desirous of enjoying his ridiculous celebrity, the Abbe de Rance came to
      Paris, under what pretext I do not remember, firmly resolved to show
      himself off in all the churches, and solicit abundant alms for his
      phantoms who never touched food. From all sides oblations were
      forthcoming; soon he had got money enough to build a palace, if he had
      liked.
    </p>
    <p>
      It being impossible for him to take the august Mademoiselle de Montpensier
      to his colony of monks, he desired at any rate to induce her to withdraw
      from the world, and counselled her to enter a Carmelite convent.
      Mademoiselle's ardent passion for M. de Lauzun seemed to the Trappist Abbe
      a scandal; in fact, his sour spirit could brook no scandal of any sort. "I
      attended her father as he lay dying," said he, "and to me belongs the task
      of training, enlightening, and sanctifying his daughter. I would have her
      keep silence; she has spoken too much."
    </p>
    <p>
      The moment was ill chosen; just then Mademoiselle de Montpensier was
      striving to break the fetters of her dear De Lauzun; she certainly did not
      wish to get him out of one prison, and then put herself into another.
      Every one blamed this reformer's foolish presumption, and Mademoiselle,
      thoroughly exasperated, forbade her servants to admit him. It was said
      that he had worked two or three miracles, and brought certain dead people
      back to life.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will rebuild his monastery for him in marble if he will give us back
      poor little Vegin, and the Duc d'Anjou," said the King to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The remark almost brought tears to my eyes, just as I was about to joke
      with his Majesty about the fellow and his miracles.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well satisfied with his Parisian harvest, the Abbe le Bouthilier de Rance
      went straight to his convent, where the inmates were persevering enough to
      be silent, fast, dig, catch their death of cold, and beat themselves for
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame Cormeil, wishing to have a good look at the man, sent to inform him
      of her illness. Would-be saints are much afraid of words with a double
      meaning. In no whit disconcerted, he replied that he had devoted his
      entire zeal to the poor in spirit, and that Madame Cormeil was not of
      their number.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Court Goes to Flanders.&mdash;Nancy.&mdash;Ravon.&mdash;Sainte Marie
      aux Mines.&mdash;Dancing and Death.&mdash;A German Sovereign's Respectful
      Visit.&mdash;The Young Strasburg Priests.&mdash;The Good Bailiff of
      Chatenoi.&mdash;The Bridge at Brisach.&mdash;The Capucin Monk Presented to
      the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Before relating that which I have to say about the Queen and her
      precautions against myself, I would not omit certain curious incidents
      during the journey that the King caused us to take in Alsatia and
      Flanders, when he captured Maestricht and Courtrai.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King having left us behind at Nancy, a splendid town where a large
      proportion of the nobility grieved for the loss of Messieurs de Lorraine,
      their legitimate sovereigns, the Queen soon saw that here she was more
      honoured than beloved. It was this position which suggested to her the
      idea of going to Spa, close by, and of taking the waters for some days.
    </p>
    <p>
      If the Infanta was anxious to escape from the frigid courtesies of the
      Lorraine aristocracy, I also longed to have a short holiday, and to keep
      away from the Queen, as well for the sake of her peace of mind as for my
      own. My doctor forbade me to take the Spa waters, as they were too
      sulphurous; he ordered me those of Pont-a-Mousson. Hardly had I moved
      there, when orders came for us all to meet at Luneville, and thence we set
      out to rejoin the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      Horrible was the first night of our journey spent at Ravon, in the Vosges
      Mountains. The house in which Mademoiselle de Montpensier and I lodged was
      a dilapidated cottage, full of holes, and propped up in several places.
      Lying in bed, we heard the creaking of the beams and rafters. Two days
      afterwards the house, so they told us, collapsed.
    </p>
    <p>
      From that place we went on to Sainte Marie aux Mines, a mean sort of town,
      placed like a long corridor between two lofty, well-wooded mountains,
      which even at noonday deprive it of sun. Close by there is a shallow,
      rock-bound streamlet which divides Lorraine from Alsace. Sainte Marie aux
      Mines belonged to the Prince Palatine of Birkenfeld. This Prince offered
      us his castle of Reif Auvilliers, an uncommonly beautiful residence, which
      he had inherited from the Comtesse de Ribaupierre, his wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      This lady's father was just dead, and as, in accordance with German
      etiquette, the Count's funeral obsequies could not take place for a month,
      in the presence of all his relatives and friends, who came from a great
      distance, the corpse, embalmed and placed in a leaden coffin, lay in state
      under a canopy in the mortuary chapel.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our equerries, seeing that the King's chamber looked on to the mortuary
      chapel, took upon themselves to blow out all the candles, and for the time
      being stowed away the corpse in a cupboard.
    </p>
    <p>
      We knew nothing about this; and as the castle contained splendid rooms,
      the ladies amused themselves by dancing and music to make them forget the
      boredom of their journey.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King looked in upon us every now and then, saying, in a low voice,
      "Ah! if you only knew what I know!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And then he would go off, laughing in his sleeve. We did not get to know
      about this corpse until five or six days afterwards, when we were a long
      way off, and the discovery greatly shocked us.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day we left Sainte Marie aux Mines, a little German sovereign came to
      present his homage to the King. It was the Prince de Mont-Beliard, of
      Wurtemberg, whom I had previously met in Paris, on the occasion of his
      marriage with Marechal de Chatillon's charming daughter. The luxurious
      splendour of Saint Germain and Versailles had certainly not yet succeeded
      in turning the heads of these German sovereigns. This particular one wore
      a large buff doublet with big copper-gilt buttons. His cravat was without
      either ribbons or lace. His rather short hair was roughly combed over his
      forehead; he carried no sword, and instead of gold buckles or clasps, he
      had little bows of red leather on his black velvet shoes. His coach,
      entirely black, was still of old-fashioned make; that is to say, studded
      with quantities of gilt nails. Wearing mourning for the Empress, his six
      horses were richly, caparisoned, his four lackeys wearing yellow liveries
      faced with red. An escort of twenty guardsmen, dressed similarly, was in
      attendance; they seemed to be well mounted, and were handsome fellows.
    </p>
    <p>
      A second carriage of prodigious size followed the ducal conveyance; in
      this were twelve ladies and gentlemen, who got out and made their
      obeisance to the King and Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince de Mont-Beliard did not get into his coach again until ours
      were in motion. He spoke French fairly well, and the little he said was
      said with much grace. He looked very hard at me, which shocked the Queen
      greatly, but not the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little further on, their Majesties were greeted by the delegates of the
      noble chapter of Strasburg. These comprised the Count of Manderhall and
      two canons. What canons, too! And how astonished we were!
    </p>
    <p>
      The old Count was dressed in a black cassock, and his hair looked somewhat
      like a cleric's, but his cravat was tied with a large flame-coloured bow,
      and he wore ill-fitting hose of the same hue. As for the two canons, they
      were pleasant young men, good-looking and well-made. Their light gray
      dress was edged with black and gold; they wore their hair long in wavy
      curls, and in their little black velvet caps they had yellow and black
      feathers, and their silver-mounted swords were like those worn by our
      young courtiers. Their equipment was far superior to that of the
      deputation of the Prince de Mont-Beliard. It is true, they were churchmen,
      and churchmen have only themselves and their personal satisfaction to
      consider.
    </p>
    <p>
      These gentlemen accompanied us as far as Chatenoi, a little town in their
      neighbourhood, and here they introduced the bailiff of the town to the
      King, who was to remain constantly in attendance and act as interpreter.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bailiff spoke French with surprising ease. He had been formerly tutor
      at President Tambonneaux's, an extremely wealthy man, who entertained the
      Court, the town, and all the cleverest men of the day. The King soon
      became friends with the bailiff, and kept him the whole time close to his
      carriage.
    </p>
    <p>
      When travelling, the King is quite another man. He puts off his gravity of
      demeanour, and likes to amuse his companions, or else make his companions
      amuse him. Believing him to be like Henri IV. in temper, the bailiff was
      for asking a thousand questions. Some of these the King answered; to
      others he gave no reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," said he to his Majesty, "your town of Paris has a greater
      reputation than it actually deserves. They say you are fond of building;
      then Paris ought to have occasion to remember your reign. Allow me to
      express a hope that her principal streets will be widened, that her
      temples, most of them of real beauty, may be isolated. You should add to
      the number of her bridges, quays, public baths, almshouses and
      infirmaries."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King smiled. "Come and see us in four or five years," he rejoined, "or
      before that, if you like, and if your affairs permit you to do so. You
      will be pleased to see what I have already done."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the bailiff, approaching my carriage window, addressed a few
      complimentary remarks to myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have often met your father, M. de Mortemart," said he, "at President
      Tambonneaux's. One day the little De Bouillons were there, quarrelling
      about his sword, and to the younger he said, 'You, sir, shall go into the
      Church, because you squint. Let my sword alone; here's my rosary.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," quoth the King, "M. de Mortemart was a true prophet, for that
      little Bouillon fellow is to-day Cardinal de Bouillon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," continued the worthy German, "I am rejoiced to hear such news. And
      little Peguilain de Lauzun, of whom you used to be so fond when you were
      both boys,&mdash;where is he? What rank does he now hold?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Hereupon the King looked at Mademoiselle, who, greatly confused, shed
      tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, M. Bailiff," said his Majesty, "did you easily recognise me at
      first sight?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," replied the German, "your physiognomy is precisely the same; when
      a boy, you looked more serious. The day you entered Parliament in
      hunting-dress I saw you get into your coach; and that evening the
      President said to his wife, 'Madame, we are going to have a King. I wish
      you could have been there, in one of the domes, just to hear the little he
      said to us.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Whereupon the King laughingly inquired what reply the President's wife
      made. But the bailiff, smiling in his turn, seemed afraid to repeat it,
      and so his Majesty said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was told of her answer at the time, so I can let you know what it was.
      'Your young King will turn out a despot.' That is what Madame la
      Presidente said to her husband."
    </p>
    <p>
      The bailiff, somewhat confused, admitted that this was exactly the case.
    </p>
    <p>
      The huge bridge at Brisach, across the Rhine, had no railing; the planks
      were in a rickety condition, and through fissures one caught sight of the
      impetuous rush of waters below. We all got out of our coaches and crossed
      over with our eyes half shut, so dangerous did it seem; while the King
      rode across this wretched bridge,&mdash;one of the narrowest and loftiest
      that there is, and which is always in motion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day the Bishop of Bale came to pay his respects to the Queen, and was
      accompanied by delegates from the Swiss cantons, and other notabilities.
      After this I heard the "General of the Capucins" announced, who had just
      been to pay a visit of greeting to the German Court. He was said to be by
      birth a Roman. Strange to say, for that Capucin the same ceremony and fuss
      was made as for a sovereign prince, and I heard that this was a
      time-honoured privilege enjoyed by his Order. The monk himself was a fine
      man, wearing several decorations; his carriage, livery, and train seemed
      splendid, nor did he lack ease of manner nor readiness of conversation. He
      told us that, at the imperial palace in Vienna, he had seen the Princesse
      d'Inspruck,&mdash;a relative of the French Queen, and that the Emperor was
      bringing her up as if destined one day to be his seventh bride, according
      to a prediction. He also stated that the Emperor had made the young
      Princess sing to him,&mdash;a Capucin monk; and added genially that she
      was comely and graceful, and that he had been very pleased to see her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was very merry at this priest's expense. Not so the Queen, who
      was Spanish, and particularly devoted to Capucin friars of all
      nationalities.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Moliere.&mdash;Racine.&mdash;Their Mutual Esteem.&mdash;Racine in
      Mourning.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King had not much leisure, yet occasionally he gave up half an hour or
      an hour to the society of a chosen few,&mdash;men famous for their wit and
      brilliant talents. One day he was so kind as to bring to my room the
      celebrated Moliere, to whom he was particularly attached and showed
      special favour. "Madame," said the King, "here you see the one man in all
      France who has most wit, most talent, and most modesty and good sense
      combined. I thank God for letting him be born during my reign, and I pray
      that He may preserve him to us for a long while yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I hastened to add my own complimentary remarks to those of the King, I
      certainly perceived that about this illustrious person there was an air of
      modesty and simplicity such as one does not commonly find in Apollo's
      favourites who aspire to fame. Moreover, he was most comely.
    </p>
    <p>
      Moliere told the King that he had just sketched out the plot of his
      "Malade Imaginaire," and assured us that hypochondriacs themselves would
      find something to laugh at when it was played. He spoke very little about
      himself, but at great length, and with evident admiration, about the young
      poet Racine.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King asked if he thought that Racine had strength sufficient to make
      him the equal of Corneille. "Sire," said the comic poet, "Racine has
      already surpassed Corneille by the harmonious elegance of his
      versification, and by the natural, true sensibility of his dialogue; his
      situations are never fictitious; all his words, his phrases, come from the
      heart. Racine alone is a true poet, for he alone is inspired."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, continuing, said: "I cannot witness his tragedy of 'Berenice'
      without shedding tears. How comes it that Madame Deshoulieres and Madame
      de Sevigne, who have so much mind, refuse to recognise beauties which
      strike a genius such as yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," replied Moliere, "my opinion is nothing compared to that which
      your Majesty has just expressed, such is your sureness of judgment and
      your tact. I know by experience that those scenes of my comedies which, at
      a first reading, are applauded by your Majesty, always win most applause
      from the public afterwards."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is Racine in easy circumstances?" asked the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is not well off," replied Moliere, "but the tragedies which he has in
      his portfolio will make a rich man of him some day; of that I have not the
      least doubt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Meanwhile," said the King, "take him this draft of six thousand livres
      from me, nor shall this be the limit of my esteem and affection."
    </p>
    <p>
      Five or six months after this interview, poor Moliere broke a blood-vessel
      in his chest, while playing with too great fervour the title part in his
      "Malade Imaginaire." When they brought the news to the King, he turned
      pale, and clasping his hands together, well-nigh burst into tears. "France
      has lost her greatest genius," he said before all the nobles present. "We
      shall never have any one like him again; our loss is irreparable!"
    </p>
    <p>
      When they came to tell us that the Paris clergy had refused burial to "the
      author of 'Tartuffe,'" his Majesty graciously sent special orders to the
      Archbishop, and with a royal wish of that sort they were obliged to
      comply, or else give good reasons for not doing so.
    </p>
    <p>
      Racine went into mourning for Moliere. The King heard this, and publicly
      commended such an act of good feeling and grateful sympathy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Montausier and the Phantom.&mdash;What She Exacts from the
      Marquise.&mdash;Her Reproaches to the Duke.&mdash;Bossuet's Complacency.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Those spiteful persons who told the Queen how obliging the Duchesse de
      Montausier had shown herself towards me were also so extremely kind as to
      write an account of the whole affair to the Marquis de Montespan.
    </p>
    <p>
      At that time he was still in Paris, and one day he went to the Duchess
      just as she was getting out of bed. In a loud voice he proceeded to scold
      her, daring to threaten her as if she were some common woman; in fact, he
      caught hold of her and endeavoured to strike her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King would not allow M. de Montausier to obtain redress from the
      Marquis for such an insult as this. He granted a large pension to the
      Duchess, and appointed her husband preceptor to the Dauphin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such honours and emoluments partly recompensed the Duchess, yet they
      scarcely consoled her. She considered that her good name was all but lost,
      and what afflicted her still more was that she never recovered her health.
      She used to visit me, as our duties brought us together, but it was easy
      to see that confidence and friendship no longer existed.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day, when passing along one of the castle corridors, which, being so
      gloomy, need lamplight at all hours, she perceived a tall white phantom,
      which glared hideously at her, and then approaching, vanished. She was
      utterly prostrated, and on returning to her apartments was seized with
      fever and shivering. The doctors perceived that her brain was affected;
      they ordered palliatives, but we soon saw that there was no counting upon
      their remedies. She was gradually sinking.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half an hour before she died the Duchess sent for me, having given
      instructions that we should be left alone, and that there should be no
      witnesses. Her intense emaciation was pitiful, and yet her face kept
      something of its pleasant expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is because of you, and through you," she exclaimed in a feeble, broken
      voice, "that I quit this world while yet in the prime of life. God calls
      me; I must die.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kings are so horribly exacting. Everything that ministers to their
      passions seems feasible to them, and righteous folk must consent to do
      their pleasure, or suffer the penalty of being disgraced and neglected,
      and of seeing their long years of service lost and forgotten.
    </p>
    <p>
      "During that unlucky journey in Brabant, you sought by redoubling your
      coquetry and fascinations to allure La Valliere's lover. You managed to
      succeed; he became fond of you. Knowing my husband's ambitious nature, he
      easily got him to make me favour this intrigue, and lend my apartments as
      a meeting-place.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At Court nothing long remains a secret. The Queen was warned, and for a
      while would not believe her informants. But your husband, with brutal
      impetuousness, burst in upon me. He insulted me in outrageous fashion. He
      tried to drag me out of bed and throw me out of the window. Hearing me
      scream, my servants rushed in and rescued me, in a fainting state, from
      his clutches. And you it is who have brought upon me such scandalous
      insults.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ready to appear before my God, who has already summoned me by a spectre,
      I have a boon to ask of you, Madame la Marquise. I beg it of you, as I
      clasp these strengthless, trembling hands. Do not deny me this favour, or
      I will cherish implacable resentment, and implore my Master and my Judge
      to visit you with grievous punishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Leave the King," she continued, after drying her tears. "Leave so sensual
      a being; the slave of his passions, the ravisher of others' good. The pomp
      and grandeur which surround you and intoxicate you would seem but a little
      thing did you but look at them as now I do, upon my bed of death.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Queen hates me; she is right. She despises me, and justly, too. I
      shall elude her hatred and disdain, which weigh thus heavily upon my
      heart. Perhaps she may deign to pardon me when my lawyer shall have
      delivered to her a document, signed by myself, containing my confession
      and excuses."
    </p>
    <p>
      As she uttered these words, Madame de Montausier began to vomit blood, and
      I had to summon her attendants. With a last movement of the head she bade
      me farewell, and I heard that she called for her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day she was dead. Her waiting-maid came to tell me that the Duchess,
      conscious to the last, had made her husband promise to resign his
      appointment as governor to the Dauphin, and withdraw to his estates, where
      he was to do penance. M. de Meaux, a friend of the family, read the
      prayers for the dying, to which the Duchess made response, and three
      minutes before the final death-throe, she consented to let him preach a
      funeral sermon in eulogy of herself and her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      When printed and published, this discourse was thought to be a fine piece
      of eloquence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Over certain things the Bishop passed lightly, while exaggerating others.
      Some things, again, were entirely of his own invention; and if from the
      depths of her tomb the Duchess could have heard all that M. de Meaux said
      about her, she never would have borne me such malice, nor would her grief
      at leaving life and fortune have troubled her so keenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King thought this funeral oration excellently well composed. Of one
      expression and of one whole passage, however, he disapproved, though which
      these were he did not do me the honour to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 4.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      President de Nesmond.&mdash;Melladoro.&mdash;A Complacent Husband and His
      Love-sick Wife.&mdash;Tragic Sequel.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      President de Nesmond&mdash;upright, clear-headed magistrate as he was&mdash;was
      of very great service to me at the Courts of Justice. He always managed to
      oblige me and look after my interests and my rights in any legal dispute
      of mine, or when I had reason to fear annoyance on the part of my husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      I will here relate the grief that his young wife caused him, and it will
      be seen that, by the side of this poor President, M. de Montespan might
      count himself lucky. Having long been a widower, he was in some measure
      accustomed to this state, until love laid a snare for him just at the age
      of sixty-five.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the garden that lay below his windows&mdash;a garden owned by his
      neighbour, a farmer&mdash;he saw Clorinde. She was this yeoman's only
      daughter. He at once fell passionately in love with her, as David once
      loved Bathsheba.
    </p>
    <p>
      The President married Clorinde, who was very pleased to have a fine name
      and a title. But her husband soon saw&mdash;if not with surprise, at least
      with pain&mdash;that his wife did not love him. A young and handsome
      Spaniard, belonging to the Spanish Legation, danced one day with Clorinde;
      to her he seemed as radiant as the god of melody and song. She lost her
      heart, and without further delay confessed to him this loss.
    </p>
    <p>
      On returning home, the President said to his youthful consort, "Madame,
      every one is noticing and censuring your imprudent conduct; even the young
      Spaniard himself finds it compromising."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing you say can please me more," she replied, "for this proves that
      he is aware of my love. As he knows this, and finds my looks to his
      liking, I hope that he will wish to see me again."
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon afterwards there was a grand ball given at the Spanish Embassy.
      Madame de Nesmond managed to secure an invitation, and went with one of
      her cousins. The young Spaniard did the honours of the evening, and showed
      them every attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the President was obliged to attend an all-night sitting at the
      Tourelle,&mdash;[The parliamentary criminal court.]&mdash;and as these
      young ladies did not like going home alone,&mdash;for their residence was
      some way off,&mdash;the young Spaniard had the privilege of conducting
      them to their coach and of driving back with them. After cards and a
      little music, they had supper about daybreak; and when the President
      returned, at five o'clock, he saw Melladoro, to whom he was formally
      introduced by madame.
    </p>
    <p>
      The President's welcome was a blend of surprise, anger, forced
      condescension, and diplomatic politeness. All these shades of feeling were
      easily perceived by the Spaniard, who showed not a trace of astonishment.
      This was because Clorinde's absolute sway over her husband was as patent
      as the fact that, in his own house, the President was powerless to do as
      he liked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Melladoro, who was only twenty years old, thought he had made a charming
      conquest. He asked to be allowed to present his respects occasionally,
      when Clorinde promptly invited him to do so, in her husband's name as well
      as in her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now morning, and he took leave of the ladies. Two days after this
      he reappeared; then he came five or six times a week, until at last it was
      settled that a place should be laid for him every day at the President's
      table.
    </p>
    <p>
      That year it was M. de Nesmond's turn to preside at the courts during
      vacation-time. He pleaded urgent motives of health, which made it
      imperative for him to have country air and complete rest. Another judge
      consented to forego his vacation and take his place on the bench for four
      months; so M. de Nesmond was able to leave Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the time came to set out by coach, madame went off into violent
      hysterics; but the magistrate, backed up by his father-in-law, showed
      firmness, and they set out for the Chateau de Nesmond, about thirty
      leagues from Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Nesmond found the country far from enjoyable. His wife, who always
      sat by herself in her dressing-gown and seldom consented to see a soul, on
      more than one occasion left her guests at table in order to sulk and mope
      in her closet.
    </p>
    <p>
      She fell ill. During her periods of suffering and depression, she
      continually mentioned the Spaniard's name. Failing his person, she desired
      to have his portrait. Alarmed at his wife's condition, the President
      agreed to write a letter himself to the author of all this trouble, who
      soon sent the lady a handsome sweetmeat-box ornamented with his crest and
      his portrait.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the sight of this, Clorinde became like another woman. She had her hair
      dressed and put on a smart gown, to show the portrait how deeply enamoured
      she was of the original.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur," she said to her husband, "I am the only daughter of a wealthy
      man, who, when he gave me to a magistrate older than himself, did not
      intend to sacrifice me. You have been young, no doubt, and you, therefore,
      ought to know how revolting to youth, all freshness and perfume, are the
      cuddlings and caresses of decrepitude. As yet I do not detest you, but it
      is absolutely impossible to love you. On the contrary, I am in love with
      Melladoro; perhaps in your day you were as attractive as he is, and knew
      how to make the most of what you then possessed. Now, will you please me
      by going back to Paris? I shall be ever so grateful to you if you will. Or
      must you spend the autumn in this gloomy abode of your ancestors? To show
      myself obedient, I will consent; only in this case you must send your
      secretary to the Spanish Legation, and your coach-and-six, to bring
      Melladoro here without delay."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this speech M. de Nesmond could no longer hide his disgust, but frankly
      refused to entertain such a proposal for one moment. Whereupon, his wife
      gave way to violent grief. She could neither eat nor sleep, and being
      already in a weakly state, soon developed symptoms which frightened her
      doctors.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Nesmond was frightened too, and at length sent his rival a polite
      and pressing invitation to come and stay at the chateau.
    </p>
    <p>
      This state of affairs went on for six whole years, during which time
      Madame de Nesmond lavished upon her comely paramour all the wealth amassed
      by her frugal, orderly spouse.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last the President could stand it no longer, but went and made a bitter
      complaint to the King. His Majesty at once asked the Spanish Ambassador to
      have Melladoro recalled.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this news, Clorinde was seized with violent convulsions; so severe,
      indeed, was this attack, that her wretched husband at once sought to have
      the order rescinded. But as it transpired, the King's wish had been
      instantly complied with, and the unwelcome news had to be told to
      Clorinde.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you love me," quoth she to her husband, "then grant me this last
      favour, after which, I swear it, Clorinde will never make further appeal
      to your kind-heartedness. However quick they have been, my young friend
      cannot yet have reached the coast. Let me have sight of him once more; let
      me give him a lock of my hair, a few loving words of advice, and one last
      kiss before he is lost to me forever."
    </p>
    <p>
      So fervent was her pleading and so profuse her tears, that M. de Nesmond
      consented to do all. His coach-and-six was got ready there and then. An
      hour before sunset the belfries of Havre came in sight, and as it was high
      tide, they drove right up to the harbour wharf.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ship had just loosed her moorings, and was gliding out to sea.
      Clorinde could recognise Melladoro standing amid the passengers on deck.
      Half fainting, she stretched out her arms and called him in a piteous
      voice. Blushing, he sought to hide behind his companions, who all begged
      him to show himself. By means of a wherry Clorinde soon reached the
      frigate, and the good-natured sailors helped her to climb up the side of
      the vessel. But in her agitation and bewilderment her foot slipped, and
      she fell into the sea, whence she was soon rescued by several of the
      pluckiest of the crew.
    </p>
    <p>
      As she was being removed to her carriage, the vessel sailed out of
      harbour. M. de Nesmond took a large house at Havre, in order to nurse her
      with greater convenience, and had to stop there for a whole month, his
      wife being at length brought back on a litter to Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her convalescence was but an illusion after all. Hardly had she reached
      home when fatal symptoms appeared; she felt that she must die, but showed
      little concern thereat. The portrait of the handsome Spaniard lay close
      beside her on her couch. She smiled at it, besought it to have pity on her
      loneliness, or scolded it bitterly for indifference, and for going away.
    </p>
    <p>
      A short time before her death, she sent for her husband and her father, to
      whom she entrusted the care of her three children.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur," said she to the President de Nesmond, "be kind to my son; he
      has a right to your name and arms, and though he is my living image,
      dearest Theodore is your son." Then turning to her father, who was
      weeping, she said briefly, "All that to-day remains to you of Clorinde are
      her two daughters.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray love them as you loved me, and be more strict with them than you
      were with me. M. de Nesmond owes these orphans nothing. All that Melladoro
      owes them is affection. Tell him, I pray you, of my constancy and of my
      death."
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was the sad end of a young wife who committed no greater crime than
      to love a man who was agreeable and after her own heart. M. de Nesmond was
      just enough to admit that, in ill-assorted unions, good sense or good
      nature must intervene, to ensure that the one most to be pitied receive
      indulgent treatment at the hands of the most culpable, if the latter be
      also the stronger of the two.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER L.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Montespan's Children and Those of La Valliere.&mdash;Monsieur le
      Dauphin.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I had successively lost the first and second Comte de Vegin; God also
      chose to take Mademoiselle de Tours from me, who (in what way I know not)
      was in features the very image of the Queen. Her Majesty was told so, and
      desired to see my child, and when she perceived how striking was the
      resemblance, she took a fancy to the charming little girl, and requested
      that she might frequently be brought to see her. Such friendliness proved
      unlucky, for the Infanta, as is well known, has never been able to rear
      one of her children,&mdash;a great pity, certainly, for she has had five,
      all handsome, well-made, and of gracious, noble mien, like the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the case of Mademoiselle de Tours, the Queen managed to conquer her
      dislike, and also sent for the Duc du Maine. Despite her affection for M.
      le Dauphin, she herself admitted that if Monseigneur had the airs of a
      gentleman, M. le Duc du Maine looked the very type of a king's son.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc du Maine, Madame de Maintenon's special pupil, was so well trained
      to all the exigencies of his position and his rank, that such premature
      perfection caused him to pass for a prodigy. Than his, no smile could be
      more winning and sweet; no one could carry himself with greater dignity
      and ease. He limps slightly, which is a great pity, especially as he has
      such good looks, and so graceful a figure; his lameness, indeed, was
      entirely the result of an accident,&mdash;a sad accident, due to teething.
      To please the King, his governess took him once to Auvez, and twice to the
      Pyrenees, but neither the waters nor the Auvez quack doctors could effect
      a cure. At any rate, I was fortunate enough to bring up this handsome
      prince, who, if he treat me with ceremony, yet loves me none the less.
    </p>
    <p>
      Brought up by the Duc de Montausier, a sort of monkish soldier, and by
      Bossuet, a sort of military monk, Monsieur le Dauphin had no good examples
      from which to profit. Crammed as he is with Latin, Greek, German, Spanish,
      and Church history, he knows all that they teach in colleges, being
      totally ignorant of all that can only be learnt at the Court of a king. He
      has no distinction of manner, no polish or refinement of address; he
      laughs in loud guffaws, and even raises his voice in the presence of his
      father. Having been born at Court, his way of bowing is not altogether
      awkward; but what a difference between his salute and that of the King!
      "Monseigneur looks just like a German prince." That speech exactly hits
      him off,&mdash;a portrait sketched by no other brush than that of his
      royal father.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monseigneur, who does not like me, pays me court the same as any one else.
      Being very jealous of the pretty Comte de Vermandois and his brother, the
      Duc du Maine, he tries to imitate their elegant manner, but is too stiff
      to succeed. The Duc du Maine shows him the respect inspired by his
      governess, but the Comte de Vermandois, long separated from his mother,
      has been less coached in this respect, and being thoroughly candid and
      sincere, shows little restraint. Often, instead of styling him
      "Monseigneur," he calls him merely "Monsieur le Dauphin," while the
      latter, as if such a title were common or of no account, looks at his
      brother and makes no reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I told the King about such petty fraternal tiffs, he said, "With age,
      all that will disappear; as a man grows taller, he gets a better, broader
      view of his belongings."
    </p>
    <p>
      M. le Dauphin shows a singular preference for Mademoiselle de Nantes, but
      my daughter, brimful of wit and fun, often makes merry at the expense of
      her exalted admirer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Blois, the eldest daughter of Madame de la Valliere, is
      the handsomest, most charming person it is possible to imagine. Her slim,
      graceful figure reminds one of the beautiful goddesses, with whom poets
      entertain us; she abounds in accomplishments and every sort of charm. Her
      tender solicitude for her mother, and their constant close companionship,
      have doubtless served to quicken her intelligence and penetration.
    </p>
    <p>
      Like the King, she is somewhat grave; she has the same large brown eyes,
      and just his Austrian lip, his shapely hand and well-turned leg, almost
      his selfsame voice. Madame de la Valliere, who, in the intervals of
      pregnancy, had no bosom to speak of, has shown marked development in this
      respect since living at the convent. The Princess, ever since she attained
      the age of puberty, has always seemed adequately furnished with physical
      charms. The King provided her with a husband in the person of the Prince
      de Conti, a nephew of the Prince de Conde. They are devotedly attached to
      each other, being both as handsome as can be. The Princesse de Conti
      enjoys the entire affection of the Queen, who becomes quite uneasy if she
      does not see her for five or six days.
    </p>
    <p>
      Certain foreign princes proposed for her hand, when the King replied that
      the presence of his daughter was as needful to him as daylight or the air
      he breathed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have here surely drawn a most attractive portrait of this princess, and
      I ought certainly to be believed, for Madame de Conti is not fond of me at
      all. Possibly she looks upon me as the author of her mother's disgrace; I
      shall never be at pains to undeceive her. Until the moment of her
      departure, Madame de la Valliere used always to visit me. The evening
      before her going she took supper with me, and I certainly had no cause to
      read in her looks either annoyance or reproach. Mademoiselle de
      Montpensier, who happened to call, saw us at table, and stayed to have
      some dessert with us. She has often told me afterwards how calm and serene
      the Duchess looked. One would never have thought she was about to quit a
      brilliant Court for the hair shirt of the ascetic, and all the
      death-in-life of a convent. I grieved for her, I wept for her, and I got
      her a grand gentleman as a husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      [This statement is scarcely reconcilable with the fact that Madame de la
      Valliere remained in a convent until her death. This may refer to
      Mademoiselle de Blois, La Valliere's daughter, who was given in marriage
      to the Prince de Conti.&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon's Character.&mdash;The Queen Likes Her.&mdash;She
      Revisits Her Family.&mdash;Her Grandfather's Papers Restored to Her.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      As Madame de Maintenon's character happened to please the King, as I have
      already stated, he allotted her handsome apartments at Court while waiting
      until he could keep her there as a fixture, by conferring upon her some
      important appointment. She had the honour of being presented to the Queen,
      who paid her a thousand compliments respecting the Duc du Maine's
      perfections, being so candid and so good natured as to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You would have been just the person to educate Monseigneur."
    </p>
    <p>
      Unwilling to appear as if she slighted the Dauphin's actual tutors, Madame
      de Maintenon adroitly replied that, as it seemed to her, M. le Dauphin had
      been brought up like an angel.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is said that I have special talent for sustaining and enlivening a
      conversation; there is something in that, I admit, but to do her justice,
      I must say that in this respect Madame de Maintenon is without a rival.
      She has quite a wealth of invention; the most arid subject in her hands
      becomes attractive; while for transitions, her skill is unequalled. Far
      simpler than myself, she gauges her whole audience with a single glance.
      And as, since her misfortunes, her rule has been never to make an enemy,
      since these easily crop up along one's path, she is careful never to utter
      anything which could irritate the feelings or wound the pride of the most
      sensitive. Her descriptions are so varied, so vivacious, that they
      fascinate a whole crowd. If now and again some little touch of irony
      escapes her, she knows how to temper and even instantly to neutralise this
      by terms of praise at once natural and simple.
    </p>
    <p>
      Under the guise of an extremely pretty woman, she conceals the knowledge
      and tact of a statesman. I have, moreover, noticed that latterly the King
      likes to talk about matters of State when she is present. He rarely did
      this with me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I think she is at the outset of a successful career. The King made
      persistent inquiries with regard to her whole family. He has already
      conferred a petty governorship upon the Comte d'Aubigne, her brother, and
      the Marquis de la Gallerie, their cousin, has just received the command of
      a regiment, and a pension.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon readily admits that she owes her actual good fortune
      to myself. I also saw one of her letters to Madame de Saint-Geran, in
      which she refers to me in terms of gratitude. Sometimes, indeed, she goes
      too far, even siding with my husband, and condemning what she dares to
      term my conduct; however, this is only to my face. I have always liked
      her, and in spite of her affronts, I like her still; but there are times
      when I am less tolerant, and then we are like two persons just about to
      fall out.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte de Toulouse and Mademoiselle de Blois were not entrusted to her
      at their birth as the others were. The King thought that the additional
      responsibility of their education would prove too great for the Marquise.
      He preferred to enjoy her society and conversation, so my two youngest
      children were placed in the care of Madame d'Arbon, a friend or stewardess
      of M. de Colbert. Not a great compliment, as I take it.
    </p>
    <p>
      When, for the second time, Madame de Maintenon took the Duc du Maine to
      Barege, she returned by way of the Landes, Guienne, and Poitou. She wished
      to revisit her native place, and show her pupil to all her relations.
      Perceiving that she was a marquise, the instructress of princes, and a
      personage in high favour, they were lavish of their compliments and their
      praise, yet forebore to give her back her property.
    </p>
    <p>
      Knowing that she was a trifle vain about her noble birth, they made over
      to her the great family pedigree, as well as a most precious manuscript.
      These papers, found to be quite correct, included a most spirited history
      of the War of the League, written by Baron Agrippa d'Aubigne, who might
      rank as an authority upon the subject, having fought against the Leaguers
      for over fifteen years. Among these documents the King found certain
      details that hitherto had been forgotten, or had never yet come to light.
      And as the Baron was Henri IV.'s favourite aide-decamp, every reference
      that he makes to that good king is of importance and interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      This manuscript, in the simplest manner possible, set forth the
      governess's ancestors. I am sure she was more concerned about this
      document than about her property.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Young Flemish Lady.&mdash;The Sainte-Aldegonde Family.&mdash;The Sage
      of the Sepulchres.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Just at the time of the conquest of Tournai, a most amusing thing
      occurred, which deserves to be chronicled. Another episode may be recorded
      also, of a gloomier nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      Directly Tournai had surrendered, and the new outposts were occupied, the
      King wished to make his entry into this important town, which he had long
      desired to see. The people and the burghers, although mute and silent,
      willingly watched the French army and its King march past, but the
      aristocracy scarcely showed themselves at any of the windows, and the few
      folk who appeared here and there on the balconies abstained from
      applauding the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      Splendidly apparelled, and riding the loveliest of milk-white steeds, his
      Majesty proceeded upon his triumphant way, surrounded by the flower of
      French nobility, and scattering money as he went.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the Town Hall the procession stopped, when the magistrates
      delivered an address, and gave up to his Majesty the keys of the city in a
      large enamelled bowl.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the King, looking calmly contented, was about to reply, he observed a
      woman who had pushed her way through the French guardsmen, and staring
      hard at him, appeared anxious to get close up to him. In fact, she
      advanced a step or two, and the epithet that crossed her lips struck the
      conqueror as being coarsely offensive.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Arrest that woman," cried the King. She was instantly seized and brought
      before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why do you insult me thus?" he asked quickly, but with dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not insulted you," replied the Flemish lady. "The word that
      escaped me was rather a term of flattery and of praise, at least if it has
      the meaning which it conveys to us here, in these semi-French parts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say that word again," added the King; "for I want everybody to bear
      witness that I am just in punishing you for such an insult."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," answered this young woman, "your soldiers have destroyed my
      pasture-lands, my woods, and my crops. Heart-broken, I came here to curse
      you, but your appearance at once made me change my mind. On looking closer
      at you, in spite of my grief, I could not help exclaiming, 'So that's the
      handsome b&mdash;&mdash;-, is it!'"
    </p>
    <p>
      The grenadiers, being called as witnesses, declared that such was in fact
      her remark. Then the King smiled, and said to the young Flemish lady:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who are you? What is your name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      With readiness and dignity she replied, "Sire, you see before you the
      Comtesse de Sainte-Aldegonde."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray, madame," quoth the King, "be so good as to finish your toilet; I
      invite you to dine with me to-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Sainte-Aldegonde accepted the honour, and did in fact dine with
      his Majesty that day. She was clever, and made herself most agreeable, so
      that the King, whose policy it was to win hearts by all concessions
      possible, indemnified her for all losses sustained during the war, besides
      granting favours to all her relatives and friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Sainte-Aldegonde family appeared at Court, being linked thereto by
      good services. It is already a training-ground for excellent officers and
      persons of merit.
    </p>
    <p>
      But for that somewhat neat remark of the Countess's, all those gentlemen
      would have remained in poverty and obscurity within the walls or in the
      suburbs of Tournai.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some days after this, the King was informed of the arrest of a most
      dangerous individual, who had been caught digging below certain ancient
      aqueducts "with a view to preparing a mine of some sort." This person was
      brought in, tied and bound like a criminal; they hustled him and
      maltreated him. I noticed how he trembled and shed tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was a learned man&mdash;an antiquary. A few days before our invasion he
      had commenced certain excavations, which he had been forced to
      discontinue, and now so great was his impatience that he had been obliged
      to go on in spite of the surrounding troops. By means of an old
      manuscript, long kept by the Druids, as also by monks, this man had been
      able to discover traces of an old Roman highroad, and as in the days of
      the Romans the tombs of the rich and the great were always placed
      alongside these broad roads, our good antiquary had been making certain
      researches there, which for him had proved to be a veritable gold-mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having made confession of all this to the King, his Majesty set him free,
      granting him, moreover, complete liberty as regarded the execution of his
      enterprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few days afterwards he begged to have the honour of presenting to his
      Majesty some of the objects which he had collected during his researches.
      I was present, and the following are the funereal curiosities which he
      showed us:
    </p>
    <p>
      Having broken open a tomb, he had extracted therefrom a large alabaster
      vase, which still contained the ashes of the deceased. Next this urn,
      carefully sealed up, there was another vase, containing three gold rings
      adorned with precious stones, two gold spurs, the bit of a battle-horse,
      very slightly rusted, and chased with silver and gold, a sort of seal with
      rough coat-of-arms, a necklace of large and very choice pearls, a stylet
      or pencil for calligraphy, and a hundred gold and silver coins bearing the
      effigy of Domitian, a very wicked emperor, who reigned over Rome and over
      Gaul in those days.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the King had amused himself with examining these trinkets, he turned
      to the antiquary and said, "Is that all, sir? Why, where is Charon's flask
      of wine?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here, your Majesty," replied the old man, producing a small flask. "See,
      the wine has become quite clear."
    </p>
    <p>
      With great difficulty the flask was opened; the wine it contained was pale
      and odourless, but by those bold enough to taste it, was pronounced
      delicious.
    </p>
    <p>
      When overturning the urn in order to empty out the ashes and bury them,
      they noticed an inscription, which the King instantly translated. It ran
      thus:
    </p>
    <p>
      "May the gods who guard tombs punish him who breaks open this mausoleum.
      The troubles and misfortunes of Aurelius Silvius have been cruel enough
      during his lifetime; in this tomb at least let him have peace."
    </p>
    <p>
      The worthy antiquary offered me his pearl necklace and one of the antique
      rings, but I refused these with a look of horror. He sold the coins to the
      King, and informed us that his various excavations and researches had
      brought him in about one hundred thousand livres up to the present time.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King said to him playfully, "Mind what you are about, monsieur; that
      sentence which I translated for you is not of a very, reassuring nature."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yet it will not serve to hinder me in my scientific researches," replied
      the savant. "Charon, who by now must be quite a rich man, evidently
      disdains all such petty hidden treasures as these. To me they are most
      useful."
    </p>
    <p>
      Next time we passed through Tournai, I made inquiries as to this miser,
      and afterwards informed the King. It appears that he was surprised by
      robbers when despoiling one of these tombs. After robbing him of all that
      he possessed, they buried him alive in the very, grave where he was
      digging, so as to save expense. What a dismal sort of science! What a
      life, and what a death!
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Monks of Sainte Amandine.&mdash;The Prince of Orange Entrapped.&mdash;The
      Drugged Wine.&mdash;The Admirable Judith.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      After the furious siege of Conde, which lasted only four days, the King,
      who had been present, left for Sebourg, whence he sent orders for the
      destruction of the principal forts of Liege, and for the ravaging of the
      Juliers district. He treated the Neubourg estates in the same ruthless
      fashion, as the Duke had abandoned his attitude of neutrality, and had
      joined the Empire, Holland and Spain. All the Cleves district, and those
      between the Meuse and the Vahal, were subjected to heavy taxation.
      Everywhere one saw families in flight, castles sacked, homesteads and
      convents in flames.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc de Villa-Hermosa, Governor-General in Flanders for the King of
      Spain, and William of Orange, the Dutch leader, went hither and thither
      all over the country, endeavouring to rouse the people, and spur them on
      to offer all possible resistance to the King of France.
    </p>
    <p>
      These two noble generalissimi even found their way into monasteries and
      nunneries, and carried off their silver plate, actually, seizing the
      consecrated vessels used for the sacrament, saying that all such things
      would help the good cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day they entered a wealthy Bernardine monastery, where the miraculous
      tomb of Sainte Amandine was on view. The great veneration shown for this
      saint in all the country thereabouts had served greatly to enrich the
      community and bring them in numerous costly offerings. The chapel wherein
      the saint's heart was said to repose was lighted by a huge gold lamp, and
      on the walls and in niches right up to the ceiling were thousands of
      votive offerings in enamel, silver, and gold. The Duc de Villa-Hermosa (a
      good Catholic) dared not give orders for the pillage of this holy chapel,
      but left that to the Prince of Orange (a good Huguenot).
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening they came to ask the prior for shelter, who, seeing that he
      was at the mercy of both armies, had to show himself pleasant to each.
    </p>
    <p>
      During supper, when the two generals informed him of the object of their
      secret visit, he clearly perceived that the monastery was about to be
      sacked, and like a man of resource, at once made up his mind. When dessert
      came, he gave his guests wine that had been drugged. The generals, growing
      drowsy, soon fell asleep, and the prior at once caused them to be carried
      off to a cell and placed upon a comfortable bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      This done, he celebrated midnight mass as usual, and at its close he
      summoned the whole community, telling them of their peril and inviting
      counsel and advice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My brethren," asked he, "ought we not to look upon our prisoners as
      profaners of holy places, and serve them in secret and before God as once
      the admirable Judith served Holofernes?"
    </p>
    <p>
      At this proposal there was a general murmur. The assembly grew agitated,
      but seeing how perilous was the situation, order was soon restored.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old monks were of opinion that the two generals ought not yet to be
      sacrificed, but should be shut up in a subterranean dungeon, a messenger
      being sent forthwith to the French King announcing their capture.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young monks protested loudly against such an act, declaring it to be
      treacherous, disgraceful, felonious. The prior endeavoured to make them
      listen to reason and be silent, but the young monks, though in a minority,
      got the upper hand. They deposed the prior, abused and assaulted him, and
      finally flung him into prison. One of them was appointed prior without
      ballot, and this new leader, followed by his adherents, roused the
      generals and officiously sent them away.
    </p>
    <p>
      The prior's nephew, a young Bernardine, accompanied by a lay brother and
      two or three servants, set out across country that night, and brought
      information to the King of all this disorder, begging his Majesty to save
      his worthy uncle's life.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the head of six hundred dragoons, the King hastened to the convent and
      at once rescued the prior, sending the good old monks of Sainte Amandine
      to Citeaux, and dispersing the rebellious young ones among the Carthusian
      and Trappist monasteries. All the treasures contained in the chapel he had
      transferred to his camp, until a calmer, more propitious season.
    </p>
    <p>
      That priceless capture, the Prince of Orange, escaped him, however, and he
      was inconsolable thereat, adding, as he narrated the incident, "Were it
      not that I feared to bring dishonour upon my name, and sully the history
      of my reign and my life, I would have massacred those young Saint-Bernard
      monks."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a vile breed they all are!" I cried, losing all patience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, madame," he quickly rejoined, "you are apt to jump from one
      extreme to the other. It does not do to generalise thus. The young monks
      at Sainte Amandine showed themselves to be my enemies, I admit, and for
      this I shall punish them as they deserve, but the poor old monks merely
      desired my success and advantage. When peace is declared, I shall take
      care of them and of their monastery; the prior shall be made an abbot. I
      like the poor fellow; so will you, when you see him."
    </p>
    <p>
      I really cannot see why the King should have taken such a fancy to this
      old monk, who was minded to murder a couple of generals in his convent
      because, forsooth, Judith once slew Holofernes! Judith might have been
      tempted to do that sort of thing; she was a Jewess. But a Christian monk!
      I cannot get over it!
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Chevalier de Rohan.&mdash;He is Born Too Late.&mdash;His Debts.&mdash;Messina
      Ceded to the French.&mdash;The King of Spain Meditates Revenge.&mdash;The
      Comte de Monterey.&mdash;Madame de Villars as Conspirator.&mdash;The
      Picpus Schoolmaster.&mdash;The Plot Fails.&mdash;Discovery and
      Retribution.&mdash;Madame de Soubise's Indifference to the Chevalier's
      Fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Had he been born fifty or sixty years earlier, the Chevalier de Rohan
      might have played a great part. He was one of those men, devoid of
      restraint and of principle, who love pleasure above all things, and who
      would sacrifice their honour, their peace of mind, aye, even the State
      itself, if such a sacrifice were really needed, in order to attain their
      own personal enjoyment and satisfaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The year before, he once invited himself to dinner at my private residence
      at Saint Germain, and he then gave me the impression of being a madman, or
      a would-be conspirator. My sister De Thianges noticed the same thing, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Chevalier had squandered his fortune five or six years previously; his
      bills were innumerable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Each day he sank deeper into debt, and the King remarked, "The Chevalier
      de Rohan will come to a bad end; it will never do to go on as he does."
    </p>
    <p>
      Instead of keeping an eye upon him, and affectionately asking him to
      respect his family's honour, the Prince and Princesse de Soubise made as
      if it were their duty to ignore him and blush for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Profligacy, debts, and despair drove this unfortunate nobleman to make a
      resolve such as might never be expected of any high-born gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Discontented with their governor, Don Diego de Soria, the inhabitants of
      Messina had just shaken off the Spanish yoke, and had surrendered to the
      King of France, who proffered protection and help.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such conduct on the part of the French Government seemed to the King of
      Spain most disloyal, and he desired nothing better than to revenge
      himself. This is how he set about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On occasions of this kind it is always the crafty who are sought out for
      such work. Comte de Monterey was instructed to sound the Chevalier de
      Rohan upon the subject, offering him safety and a fortune as his reward.
      Pressed into their service there was also the Marquise de Villars,&mdash;a
      frantic gambler, a creature bereft of all principle and all modesty,&mdash;to
      whom a sum of twenty thousand crowns in cash was paid over beforehand,
      with the promise of a million directly success was ensured. She undertook
      to manage Rohan and tell him what to do. Certain ciphers had to be used,
      and to these the Marquise had the key. They needed a messenger both
      intelligent and trustworthy, and for this mission she gave the Chevalier
      an ally in the person of an ex-teacher in the Flemish school at Picpus, on
      the Faubourg Saint Antoine. This man and the Chevalier went secretly to
      the Comte de Monterey in Flanders, and by this trio it was settled that on
      a certain day, at high tide, Admiral van Tromp with his fleet should
      anchor off Honfleur or Quillebceuf in Normandy, and that, at a given
      signal, La Truaumont, the Chevalier de Preaux, and the Chevalier de Rohan
      were to surrender to him the town and port without ever striking a single
      blow, all this being for the benefit of his Majesty the King of Spain.
    </p>
    <p>
      But all was discovered. The five culprits were examined, when the Marquise
      de Villars stated that the inhabitants of Messina had given them an
      example which the King of France had not condemned!
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquise and the two Chevaliers were beheaded, while the
      ex-schoolmaster was hanged. As for young La Truaumont, son of a councillor
      of the Exchequer, he escaped the block by letting himself be throttled by
      his guards or gaolers, to whom he offered no resistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Despite her influence upon the King's feelings, the Princess de Soubise
      did not deign to take the least notice of the trial, and they say that she
      drove across the Pont-Neuf in her coach just as the Chevalier de Rohan,
      pinioned and barefooted, was marching to his doom.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince of Orange Captures Bonn.&mdash;The King Captures Orange.&mdash;The
      Calvinists of Orange Offer Resistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Since Catiline's famous hatred for Consul Cicero, there has never been
      hatred so deep and envenomed as that of William of Orange for the King.
      For this loathing, cherished by a petty prince for a great potentate,
      various reasons have been given. As for myself, I view things closely and
      in their true light, and I am convinced that Prince William was actuated
      by sheer jealousy and envy.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was affirmed that the King, when intending to give him as bride
      Mademoiselle de Blois, his eldest daughter and great favourite, had
      offered to place him on the Dutch throne as independent King, and that to
      such generous proposals the petty Stadtholder replied, "I am not pious
      enough to marry the daughter of a Carmelite nun." So absurd a proposal as
      this, however, was never made, for the simple reason that Mademoiselle de
      Blois has never yet been offered in marriage to any prince or noble man in
      this wide world. Rather than to be parted from her, the King would prefer
      her to remain single. He has often said as much to me, and there is no
      reason to doubt his word.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little Principality of Orange, which once formed the estate of this
      now outlandish family, is situate close to the Rhone, amid French
      territory. Though decorated with the title of Sovereignty, like its
      neighbour the Principality of Dombes, it is no less a fief-land of the
      Crown. In this capacity it has to contribute to the Crown revenues, and
      owes homage and fealty to the sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such petty, formal restrictions are very galling to the arrogant young
      Prince of Orange, for he is one of those men who desire, at all cost, to
      make a noise in the world, and who would set fire to Solomon's Temple or
      to the Delphian Temple, it mattered not which, so long as they made people
      talk about them.
    </p>
    <p>
      After Turenne's death, there was a good deal of rivalry among our
      generals. This proved harmful to the service. The Goddess of Victory
      discovered this, and at times forsook us. Many possessions that were
      conquered had to be given up, and we had to bow before those whom erst we
      had humiliated. But Orange was never restored.&mdash;[This was written in
      1677.]
    </p>
    <p>
      When, in November, 1673, the Prince of Orange had the audacity to besiege
      Bonn, the residence of our ally, the Prince Elector of Cologne, and to
      reduce that prelate to the last extremity, the King promptly seized upon
      the Principality of Orange; and having planted the French flag upon every
      building, he published a general decree, strictly forbidding the
      inhabitants to hold any communication whatever with "their former petty
      sovereign," and ordering prayers to be said for him, Louis, in all their
      churches. This is a positive fact.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Roman Catholics readily complied with this royal decree, which was in
      conformity with their sympathies and their interests; but the Protestants
      waxed furious thereat. Some of them even carried their devotion to such a
      pitch that they paid taxes to two masters; that is to say, to Stadtholder
      William, as well as to his Majesty the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Huguenot "ministers," or priests, issued pastoral letters in praise of
      the Calvinist Prince and in abuse of the Most Christian King. They also
      preached against the new oath of fealty, and committed several most
      imprudent acts, which the Jesuits were not slow to remark and report in
      Court circles.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such audacity, and the need for its repression, rankled deep in the King's
      heart; and I believe he is quite disposed to pass measures of such extreme
      severity as will soon deprive the Protestants and Lutherans of any
      privileges derived from the Edict of Nantes.
    </p>
    <p>
      From various sources I receive the assurance that he is preparing to deal
      a heavy blow anent this; but the King's character is impenetrable. Time
      alone will show.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="p288" id="p288"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="p288.jpg (90K)" src="images/p288.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LVI
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Castle of Bleink-Elmeink.&mdash;Romantic and Extraordinary Discovery.&mdash;An
      Innocent and Persecuted Wife.&mdash;Madame de Bleink-Elmeink at Chaillot.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      After the siege and surrender of Maestricht, when the King had no other
      end in view than the entire conquest of Dutch Brabant, he took us to this
      country, which had suffered greatly by the war. Some districts were wholly
      devastated, and it became increasingly difficult to find lodging and
      shelter for the Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      The grooms of the chambers one day found for us a large chateau, situated
      in a woody ravine, old-fashioned in structure, and surrounded by a moat.
      There was only one drawbridge, flanked by two tall towers, surmounted by
      turrets and culverins. Its owner was in residence at the time. He came to
      the King and the Queen, and greeting them in French, placed his entire
      property at their disposal.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had rained in torrents for two days without ceasing. Despite the
      season, everybody was wet through and benumbed with cold. Large fires were
      made in all the huge fireplaces; and when the castle's vast rooms were
      lighted up by candles, we agreed that the architect had not lacked
      grandeur of conception nor good taste when building such large corridors,
      massive staircases, lofty vestibules, and spacious, resounding rooms. That
      given to the Queen was like an alcove, decorated by six large marble
      caryatides, joined by a handsome balustrade high enough to lean upon. The
      four-post bed was of azure blue velvet, with flowered work and rich gold
      and silver tasselling. Over the chimneypiece was the huge Bleink-Elmeink
      coat-of-arms, supported by two tall Templars.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King's apartment was an exact reproduction of a room existing at
      Jerusalem in the time of Saint Louis; this was explained by inscriptions
      and devices in Gothic or Celtic.
    </p>
    <p>
      My room was supposed to be an exact copy of the famous Pilate's chamber,
      and it was named so; and for three days my eyes were rejoiced by the
      detailed spectacle of our Lord's Passion, from His flagellation to His
      agony on Calvary.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen came to see me in this room, and did me the honour of being
      envious of so charming an apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fourth day, when the weather became fine, we prepared to change our
      quarters and take to our carriages again, when an extraordinary event
      obliged us to send a messenger for the King, who had already left us, and
      had gone forward to join the army.
    </p>
    <p>
      An old peasant, still robust and in good health, performed in this gloomy
      castle the duties of a housekeeper. In this capacity she frequently
      visited our rooms to receive our orders and satisfy our needs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing that the Queen's boxes were being closed, and that our departure
      was at hand, she came to me and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, the sovereign Lord of Heaven has willed it thus; that the
      officers of the French King should have discovered as the residence of his
      Court this castle amid gloomy forests and precipices. The great prince has
      come hither and has stayed here for a brief while, and we have sought to
      welcome him as well as we could. He gave the Comte de Bleink-Elmeink, lord
      of this place and my master, his portrait set in diamonds; he had far
      better have cut his throat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good heavens, woman! What is this you tell me?" I exclaimed. "Of what
      crime is your master guilty? He seems to me to be somewhat moody and
      unsociable; but his family is of good renown, and all sorts of good things
      have been, told concerning it to the King and Queen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," replied the old woman, drawing me aside into a window-recess,
      and lowering her voice, "do you see at the far end of yonder court an old
      dungeon of much narrower dimensions than the others? In that dungeon lies
      the good Comtesse de Bleink-Elmeink; she has languished there for five
      years."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then this woman informed me that her master, formerly page of honour to
      the Empress Eleanor, had wedded, on account of her great wealth, a young
      Hungarian noblewoman, by whom he had two children, both of whom were
      living. Such was his dislike of their mother, on account of a slight
      deformity, that for four or five years he shamefully maltreated her, and
      at last shut her up in this dungeon-keep, allowing her daily the most
      meagre diet possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When, some few days since, the royal stewards appeared in front of the
      moat, and claimed admittance, the Count was much alarmed," added the
      peasant woman. "He thought that all was discovered, and that he was going
      to suffer for it. It was not until the King and Queen came that he was
      reassured, and he has not been able to hide his embarrassment from any of
      us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where are the two children of his marriage?" I asked the old woman,
      before deciding to act.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The young Baron," she answered, "is at Vienna or Ohnutz, at an academy
      there. His sister, a graceful, pretty girl, has been in a convent from her
      childhood; the nuns have promised to keep her there, and as soon as she is
      fourteen, she will take the veil."
    </p>
    <p>
      My first impulse was to acquaint the Queen with these astounding
      revelations, but it soon struck me that, to tackle a man of such
      importance as the Count, we could not do without the King. I at once sent
      my secretary with a note, imploring his Majesty to return, but giving no
      reason for my request. He came back immediately, post-haste, when the
      housekeeper repeated to him, word for word, all that I have set down here.
      The King could hardly believe his ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      When coming to a decision, his Majesty never does so precipitately. He
      paced up and down the room twice or thrice, and then said to me, "The
      matter is of a rather singular nature; I am unacquainted with law, and
      what I propose to do may one day serve as an example. It is my duty to
      rescue our unfortunate hostess, and requite her nobly for her
      hospitality."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying, he sent for the Count, and assuming a careless, almost jocular
      air, thus addressed him:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You were formerly page to the Empress Eleanor, I believe, M. le
      Bleink-Elmeink?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, Sire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is dead, but the Emperor would easily recognise you, would he not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I imagine so, Sire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have thought of you as a likely person to be the bearer of a message,
      some one of your age and height being needed, and of grave, secretive
      temperament, such as I notice you to possess. Get everything in readiness,
      as I intend to send you as courier to his Imperial Majesty. I am going to
      write to him from here, and you shall bring me back his reply to my
      proposals."
    </p>
    <p>
      To be sent off like this was most galling to the Count, but his youth and
      perfect health allowed him not the shadow of a pretext. He was obliged to
      pack his valise and start. He pretended to look pleased and acquiescent,
      but in his eyes I could detect fury and despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half an hour after his departure, the King had the drawbridge raised, and
      then went to inform the Queen of everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," said he, "you have been sleeping in this unfortunate lady's
      nuptial bed. She is now about to be presented to you. I ask that you will
      receive her kindly, and afterwards act as her protector, should anything
      happen to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tears filled the Queen's eyes, and she trembled in amazement. The King
      instantly made for the dungeon, and in default of a key, broke open all
      the gates. In a few minutes Madame de Bleink-Elmeink, supported by two
      guards, entered the Queen's presence, and was about to fling herself at
      her feet; but the King prevented this. He himself placed her in an
      armchair, and we others at once formed a large semicircle round her.
    </p>
    <p>
      She seemed to breathe with difficulty, sighing and sobbing without being
      able to utter a word. At, length she said to the King in fairly good
      French, "May my Creator and yours reward you for this, great and
      unexpected boon! Do not forsake me, Sire, now that you have broken my
      fetters, but let your might protect me against the unjust violence of my
      husband; and permit me to reside in France in whatever convent it please
      you to choose. My august liberator shall become my lawful King, and under
      his rule I desire to live and die."
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of her sorrow, Madame de Bleink-Elmeink did not appear to be more
      than twenty-eight or thirty years old. Her large blue eyes, though she had
      wept, much, were still splendid, and her high-bred features denoted
      nobility and beauty of soul. To such a charming countenance her figure
      scarcely corresponded; one side of her was slightly deformed, yet. this
      did not interfere with the grace of her attitude when seated, nor her
      agreeable deportment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Directly she saw her, the Queen liked her. She looked half longingly at
      the Countess, and then rising approached her and held out her hand to be
      kissed, saying, "I mean to love you as if you were one of my own family;
      you shall be placed at Val-de-Grace, and I will often come and see you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Recovering herself somewhat, the Countess sank on her knees and kissed the
      Queen's hand in a transport of joy. We, led her to her room, where she
      took a little refreshment and afterwards slept until the following day.
      All her servants and gardeners came to express their gladness at her
      deliverance; and in order to keep her company, the Queen decided to stay
      another week at the castle. The Countess then set out for Paris, and it
      was arranged that she should have the apartments at Chaillot, once
      constructed by the Queen of England.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for her dreadful husband, the King gave him plenty to do, and he did
      not see his wife again for a good long while.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Silver Chandelier.&mdash;The King Holds the Ladder.&mdash;The Young
      Dutchman.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      One day the King was passing through some of the large rooms of the
      palace, at a time of the morning when the courtiers had not yet made their
      appearance, and when carpenters and workmen were about, each busy in
      getting his work done.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King noticed a workman of some sort standing tiptoe on a double
      ladder, and reaching up to unhook a large chandelier from the ceiling. The
      fellow seemed likely to break his neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be careful," cried the King; "don't you see that your ladder is a short
      one and is on castors? I have just come in time to help you by holding
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur," said the man, "a thousand pardons, but if you will do so, I
      shall be much obliged. On account of this ambassador who is coming today,
      all my companions have lost their heads and have left me alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he unhooked the large crystal and silver chandelier, stepped down
      carefully, leaning on the King's shoulder, who graciously allowed him to
      do so. After humbly thanking him, the fellow made off.
    </p>
    <p>
      That night in the chateau every one was talking about the hardihood of
      some thief who in sight of everybody had stolen a handsome chandelier; the
      Lord High Provost had already been apprised of the matter. The King began
      to smile as he said out loud before every one, "I must request the Lord
      High Provost to be good enough to hush the matter up, as in cases of theft
      accomplices are punished as well, and it was I who held the ladder for the
      thief."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then his Majesty told us of the occurrence, as already narrated, and every
      one was convinced that the thief could not be a novice or an apprentice at
      his craft. Inquiries were instantly made, since so bold an attempt called
      for exemplary punishment. All the upholsterers of the castle wished to
      give themselves up as prisoners; their honour was compromised. It would be
      hard to describe their consternation, being in truth honest folk.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Provost respectfully asked the King if he had had time to notice
      the culprit's features, his Majesty replied that the workman in question
      was a young fellow of about five-and-twenty, fair complexioned, with
      chestnut hair, and pleasant features of delicate, almost feminine cast.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this news, all the dark, plain men-servants were exultant; the
      good-looking ones, however, were filled with fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the feutiers, whose sole duty it is to attend to the fires and
      candles in the royal apartments, there was a nice-looking young Dutchman,
      whom his companions pointed out to the Provost. They entered his room
      while he was asleep, and found in his cupboard the following articles: Two
      of the King's lace cravats, two shirts marked with a double L and the
      crown, a pair of pale blue velvet shoes embroidered with silver, a
      flowered waistcoat, a hat with white and scarlet plumes, other trifles,
      and splendid portrait of the King, evidently part of some bracelet. As
      regarded the chandelier, nothing was discovered.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this young foreigner was taken to prison, he refused to speak for
      twenty-four hours, and in all Versailles there was but one cry,&mdash;"They've
      caught the thief!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Next day matters appeared in a new light. The Provost informed his Majesty
      that the young servant arrested was not a Dutchman, but a very pretty
      Dutch woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time of the invasion, she was so unlucky as to see the King close
      to her father's house, and conceived so violent a passion for him that she
      at once forgot country, family, friends,&mdash;everything. Leaving the
      Netherlands with the French army, she followed her conqueror back to his
      capital, and by dint of perseverance managed to secure employment in the
      royal palace. While there, her one delight was to see the King as often as
      possible, and to listen to praise of his many noble deeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The articles found in my possession," said she to the Provost, "are most
      dear and precious to me; not for their worth, but because they have
      touched the King's person. I did not steal them from his Majesty; I could
      not do such a thing. I bought them of the valets de chambre, who were by
      right entitled to such things, and who would have sold them
      indiscriminately to any one else. The portrait was not sold to me, I
      admit, but I got it from Madame la Marquise de Montespan, and in this way:
      One day, in the parterres, madame dropped her bracelet. I had the good
      fortune to pick it up, and I kept it for three or four days in my room.
      Then bills were posted up in the park, stating that whoever brought the
      bracelet to madame should receive a reward of ten louis. I took back the
      ornament, for its pearls and diamonds did not tempt me, but I kept the
      portrait instead of the ten louis offered."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the King asked me if I recollected the occurrence, I assured him that
      everything was perfectly true. Hereupon the King sent for the girl, who
      was immediately brought to his chamber. Such was her modesty, and
      confusion that she dared not raise her eyes from the ground. The King
      spoke kindly to her, and gave her two thousand crowns to take her back to
      her own home. The Provost was instructed to restore all these different
      articles to her, and as regarded myself, I willingly let her have the
      portrait, though it was worth a good deal more than the ten louis
      mentioned.
    </p>
    <p>
      When she got back to her own country and the news of her safe arrival was
      confirmed, the King sent her twenty thousand livres as a dowry, which
      enabled her to make a marriage suitable to her good-natured disposition
      and blameless conduct.
    </p>
    <p>
      She made a marked impression upon his Majesty, and he was often wont to
      speak about the chandelier on account of her, always alluding to her in
      kindly, terms. If ever he returns to Holland, I am sure he will want to
      see her, either from motives of attachment or curiosity. Her name, if I
      remember rightly, was Flora.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Observatory.&mdash;The King Visits the Carthusians.&mdash;How a
      Painter with His Brush May Save a Convent.&mdash;The Guilty Monk.&mdash;Strange
      Revelations.&mdash;The King's Kindness.&mdash;The Curate of Saint Domingo.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      When it was proposed to construct in Paris that handsome building called
      the Observatory, the King himself chose the site for this. Having a map of
      his capital before him, he wished this fine edifice to be in a direct line
      of perspective with the Luxembourg, to which it should eventually be
      joined by the demolition of the Carthusian Monastery, which filled a large
      gap.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was anxious that his idea should be carried out, but whenever he
      mentioned it to M. Mansard and the other architects, they declared that it
      was a great pity to lose Lesueur's admirable frescos in the cloisters,
      which would have to be destroyed if the King's vast scheme were executed.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day his Majesty resolved to see for himself, and without the least
      announcement of his arrival, he went to the Carthusian Monastery in the
      Rue d'Enfer. The King has great knowledge of art; he admired the whole
      series of wall-paintings, in which the life of Saint Bruno is divinely set
      forth.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [By a new process these frescos were subsequently transferred to
          canvas in 1800 or 1802, at which date the vast property of the
          Carthusian monks became part of the Luxembourg estates.&mdash;EDITOR'S
          NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      "Father," said he to the prior who showed him round, "these simple,
      touching pictures are far beyond all that was ever told me. My intention,
      I admit, was to move your institution elsewhere, so as to connect your
      spacious property with my palace of the Luxembourg, but the horrible
      outrage which would have to be committed deters me; to the marvellous art
      of Lesueur you owe it that your convent remains intact."
    </p>
    <p>
      The monk, overjoyed, expressed his gratitude to the King, and promised him
      the love and guardianship of Saint Bruno in heaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just then, service in the chapel was over, and the monks filed past two
      and two, never raising their eyes from the gloomy pavement bestrewn with
      tombstones. The prior, clapping his hands, signalled them to stop, and
      then addressed them:
    </p>
    <p>
      "My brethren, stay your progress a moment; lift up your heads, bowed down
      by penance, and behold with awe the descendant of Saint Louis, the august
      protector of this convent. Yes, our noble sovereign himself has
      momentarily quitted his palace to visit this humble abode. On these quiet
      walls which hide our cells, he has sought to read the simple, touching
      story, of the life of our saintly founder. The august son of Louis the
      Just has taken our dwelling-place and community under his immediate
      protection. Go to your cells and pray to God for this magnanimous prince,
      for his children and successors in perpetuity."
    </p>
    <p>
      As he said these flattering words, a monk, with flushed cheeks and mouth
      agape, flung himself down at the King's feet, beating his brow repeatedly
      upon the pavement, and exclaiming:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, forgive me, forgive me, guilty though I be. I crave your royal
      pardon and pity."
    </p>
    <p>
      The prior, somewhat confused, saw that some important confession was about
      to be made, so he dismissed the others, and sent them back to their
      devotions. The prostrate monk, however, never thought of moving from his
      position. Perceiving that he was alone with the King, whose calm, gentle
      demeanour emboldened him, he begged anew for pardon with great energy, and
      fervour. The King clearly saw that the penitent was some great evil-doer,
      and he promised forgiveness in somewhat ambiguous fashion. Then the monk
      rose and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your Majesty reigns to-day, and reigns gloriously. That is an amazing
      miracle, for countless incredible dangers of the direst sort have beset
      your cradle and menaced your youth. A prince of your house, backed up by
      ambitious inferiors, resolved to wrest the crown from you, in order to get
      it for himself and his descendants. The Queen, your mother, full of heroic
      resolution, herself had energy enough to resist the cabal; but more than
      once her feet touched the very brink of the precipice, and more than once
      she nearly fell over it with her children.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Noble qualities did this great Queen possess, but at times she had too
      overweening a contempt for her enemies. Her disdain for my master, the
      young Cardinal, was once too bitter, and begot in this presumptuous
      prelate's heart undying hatred. Educated under the same roof as M. le
      Cardinal, with the same teachers and the same doctrines, I saw, as it
      were, with his eyes when I went out into the world, and marched beneath
      his banner when civil war broke out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dreading the punishment for his temerity, this prelate decided that the
      sceptre should pass into other hands, and that the elder branch should
      become extinct. With this end in view, he made me write a pamphlet showing
      that you and your brother, the Prince, were not the King's sons; and
      subsequently he induced me to issue another, in which I affirmed on oath
      that the Queen, your mother, was secretly married to Cardinal Mazarin.
      Unfortunately, these books met with astounding success, nor, though my
      tears fall freely, can they ever efface such vile pages.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am also guilty of another crime, Sire, and this weighs more heavily
      upon my heart. When the Queen-mother dexterously arranged for your removal
      to Vincennes, she left in your bed at the Louvre a large doll. The rebels
      were aware of this when it was too late. I was ordered to ride post-haste
      with an escort in pursuit of your carriage; and I had to swear by the Holy
      Gospels that, if I could not bring you back to Paris, I would stab you to
      the heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The enormity of my offence weighed heavily upon my spirit and my
      conscience. I conceived a horror for the Cardinal and withdrew to this
      convent. For many years I have undergone the most grievous penances, but I
      shall never make thorough expiation for my sins, and I hold myself to be
      as great a criminal as at first, so long as I have not obtained pardon
      from my King."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you in holy orders?" asked the King gently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Sire; I feel unworthy to take them," replied the Carthusian, in
      dejected tones.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let him be ordained as soon as possible," said his Majesty to the prior.
      "The monk's keen repentance touches me; his brain is still excitable; it
      needs fresh air and change. I will appoint him to a curacy at Saint
      Domingo, and desire him to leave for that place at the earliest
      opportunity. Do not forget this."
    </p>
    <p>
      The monk again prostrated himself before the King, overwhelming him with
      blessings, and these royal commands were in due course executed. So it
      came about that Lesueur's frescos led to startling revelations, and
      enabled the Carthusians to keep their splendid property intact, ungainly
      though this was and out of place.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Journey to Poitou.&mdash;The Mayor and the Sheriffs of Orleans.&mdash;The
      Marquise's Modesty.&mdash;The Serenade.&mdash;The Abbey of Fontevrault.&mdash;Family
      Council.&mdash;Duchomania.&mdash;A Letter to the King.&mdash;The Bishop of
      Poitiers.&mdash;The Young Vicar.&mdash;Rather Give Him a Regiment.&mdash;The
      Fete at the Convent.&mdash;The Presentation.&mdash;The Revolt.&mdash;A
      Grand Example.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbess of Fontevrault, who, when a mere nun, could never bear her
      profession, now loved it with all her heart, doubtless because of the
      authority and freedom which she possessed, being at liberty to go or come
      at will, and as absolute mistress of her actions, accountable to no one
      for these.
    </p>
    <p>
      She sent me her confidential woman, one of the "travelling sisters" of the
      community, to tell me privately that the Principality of Talmont was going
      to be sold, and to offer me her help at this important juncture.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her letter, duly tied up and sealed, begged me to be bold and use my
      authority, if necessary, in order to induce the King at last to give his
      approval and consent. "What!" she wrote, "my dear sister; you have given
      birth to eight children, the youngest of which is a marvel, and you have
      not yet got your reward. All your children enjoy the rank of prince, and
      you, their mother, are exempt from such distinction! What is the King
      thinking about? Does it add to his dignity, honour, and glory that you
      should still be merely a petty marquise? I ask again, what is the King
      thinking of?"
    </p>
    <p>
      In conclusion my sister invited me to pay a visit to her charming abbey.
      "We have much to tell you," said she, and "such brief absence is needful
      to you, so as to test the King's affection. Your sort of temperament suits
      him, your talk amuses him; in fact, your society is absolutely essential
      to him; the distance from Versailles to Saumur would seem to him as far
      off as the uttermost end of his kingdom. He will send courier upon courier
      to you; each of his letters will be a sort of entreaty, and you have only
      just got to express your firm intention and desire to be created a duchess
      or a princess, and, my dear sister, it will forthwith be done."
    </p>
    <p>
      For two days I trained the travelling nun from Fontevrault in her part,
      and then I suddenly presented her to the King. She had the honour of
      explaining to his Majesty that she had left the Abbess sick and ailing,
      and informed him that my sister was most anxious to see me again, and that
      she hoped his Majesty would not object to my paying her a short visit. For
      a moment the King hesitated; then he asked me if I thought such a change
      of urgent necessity. I replied that the news of Madame de Mortemart's
      ill-health had greatly affected me, and I promised not to be away more
      than a week.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King accordingly instructed the Marquis de Louvois&mdash;[Minister of
      War, and inspector-General of Posts and Relays.]&mdash;to make all due
      arrangements for my journey, and two days afterwards, my sister De
      Thianges, her daughter the Duchesse de Nevers, and myself, set out at
      night for Poitiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The royal relays took us as far as Orleans, after which we had
      post-horses, but specially chosen and well harnessed. Couriers in advance
      of us had given all necessary orders to the officials and governors, so
      that we were provided with an efficient military escort along the road,
      and were as safe as if driving through Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      At Orleans, the mayor and sheriffs in full dress presented themselves at
      our carriage window, and were about to deliver an address "to please the
      King;" but I thought such a proceeding ill-timed, and my niece De Nevers
      told these magnates that we were travelling incognito.
    </p>
    <p>
      Crowds collected below our balcony. Madame de Thianges thought they were
      going to serenade me, but I distinctly heard sounds of hissing. My niece
      De Nevers was greatly upset; she would eat no supper, but began to cry.
      "What are you worrying about?" quoth I to this excitable young person.
      "Don't you see that we are stopping the night on the estates of the
      Princess Palatine,&mdash;[The boorish Bavarian princess, the Duc
      d'Orleans's second wife. EDITOR'S NOTE.]&mdash;and that it is to her
      exquisite breeding that we owe compliments of this kind?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Next morning at daybreak we drove on, and the day after we reached
      Fontevrault. The Abbess, accompanied by her entire community, came to
      welcome us at the main gate, and her surpliced chaplains offered me holy
      water.
    </p>
    <p>
      After rest and refreshment, we made a detailed survey of her little
      empire, and everywhere observed traces of her good management and tact.
      Rules had been made more lenient, while not relaxed; the revenues had
      increased; everywhere embellishments, contentment, and well-being were
      noticeable.
    </p>
    <p>
      After praising the Abbess as she deserved, we talked a little about the
      Talmont principality. My sister was inconsolable. The Tremouilles had come
      into property which restored their shattered fortunes; the principality
      was no longer for sale; all thought of securing it must be given up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Strange to say, I at once felt consoled by such news. Rightly to explain
      this feeling, I ought, perhaps, to make an avowal. A grand and brilliant
      title had indeed ever been the object of my ambition; but I thought that I
      deserved such a distinction personally, for my own sake, and I was always
      wishing that my august friend would create a title specially in my favour.
      I had often hinted at such a thing in various ways, and full as he is of
      wit and penetration, he always listened to my covert suggestions, and was
      perfectly aware of my desire. And yet, magnificently generous as any
      mortal well could be, he never granted my wish. Any one else but myself
      would have been tired, disheartened even; but at Court one must never be
      discouraged nor give up the game. The atmosphere is rife with vicissitude
      and change. Monotony would seem to have made there its home; yet no day is
      quite like another. What one hopes for is too long in coming; and what one
      never foresees on, a sudden comes to pass.
    </p>
    <p>
      We took counsel together as to the best thing to be done. Madame de
      Thianges said to me: "My dear Athenais, you have the elegance of the
      Mortemarts, the fine perception and ready wit that distinguishes them, but
      strangely enough you have not their energy, nor the firm will necessary
      for the conduct of weighty matters. The King does not treat you like a
      great friend, like a distinguished friend, like the mother of his son, the
      Duc du Maine; he treats you like a province that he has conquered, on
      which he levies tax after tax; that is all. Pray recollect, my sister,
      that for ten years you have played a leading part on the grand stage. Your
      beauty, to my surprise, has been preserved to you, notwithstanding your
      numerous confinements and the fatigues of your position. Profit by the
      present juncture, and do not let the chance slip. You must write to the
      King, and on some pretext or other, ask for another week's leave. You must
      tell him plainly that you have been marquise long enough, and that the
      moment has come at last for you to have the 'imperiale', and sign your
      name in proper style."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [The distinctive mark of duchesses was the 'imperiale'; that is, a
          rich and costly hammer-cloth of embroidered velvet, edged with gold,
          which covered the roofs of ducal equipages.&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Her advice was considered sound, but the Abbess, taking into account the
      King's susceptibility, decided that it would not do for me to write myself
      about a matter so important as this. The Marquise de Thianges, in some way
      or other, had got the knack of plain speaking, so that a letter of hers
      would be more readily excused. Thus it was settled that she should write;
      and write she did. I give her letter verbatim, as it will please my
      readers; and they will agree with me that I could never have touched this
      delicate subject so happily myself.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          SIRE:&mdash;Madame de Montespan had the honour of writing one or two
          notes to you during our journey, and now she rests all day long in
          this vast and pleasant abbey, where your Majesty's name is held in as
          great veneration as elsewhere, being beloved as deeply as at
          Versailles. Madame de Mortemart has caused one of the best portraits
          of your Majesty, done by Mignard, to be brought hither from Paris, and
          this magnificent personage in royal robes is placed beneath an
          amaranth-coloured dais, richly embroidered with gold, at the extreme
          end of a vast hall, which bears the name of our illustrious and
          well-beloved monarch. Your privileges are great, in truth, Sire. Here
          you are, installed in this pious and secluded retreat, where never
          mortal may set foot. Before you, beside you daily, you may contemplate
          the multitude of modest virgins who look at you and admire you,
          becoming all of them attached to you without wishing it, perhaps
          without knowing it, even.
        </p>
        <p>
          Surely, Sire, your penetration is a most admirable thing. After your
          first interview with her, you considered our dear Abbess to be a woman
          of capacity and talent. You rightly appreciated her, for nothing can
          be compared to the perfect order that prevails in her house. She is
          active and industrious without sacrificing her position and her
          dignity in the slightest. Like yourself, she can judge of things in
          their entirety, and examine them in every little detail; like
          yourself, she knows how to command obedience and affection, desiring
          nothing but that which is just and reasonable. In a word, Sire, Madame
          de Mortemart has the secret of convincing her subordinates that she is
          acting solely in their interests, a supreme mission, in sooth, among
          men; and my sister really has no other desire nor ambition,&mdash;to
          this we can testify.
        </p>
        <p>
          Upon our return, which for our liking can never be too soon, we will
          acquaint your Majesty with the slight authorised mortification which
          we had to put up with at Orleans. We are in possession of certain
          information regarding this, and your Majesty will have ample means of
          throwing a light upon the subject. As for the magistrates, they
          behaved most wonderfully; they had an address all ready for us, but
          Madame de Montespan would not listen to it, saying that "such honours
          are meet only for you and for your children." Such modesty on my
          sister's part is in keeping with her great intelligence; I had almost
          said her genius. But in this matter I was not wholly of her opinion.
          It seemed to me, Sire, that, in refusing the homage offered to her by
          these worthy magnates, she, so to speak, disowned the rank ensured to
          her by your favour. While the Marquise enjoys your noble affection,
          she is no ordinary personage. She has her seat in your own Chapel
          Royal, so in travelling she has a right to special honour. By your
          choice of her, you have made her notable; in giving her your heart,
          you have made her a part of yourself. By giving birth to your
          children, she has acquired her rank at Court, in society, and in
          history. Your Majesty intends her to be considered and respected; the
          escorts of cavalry along the highroads are sufficient proof of that.
        </p>
        <p>
          All France, Sire, is aware of your munificence and of your princely
          generosity: Shall I tell you of the amazement of the provincials at
          noticing that the ducal housings are absent from my sister's splendid
          coach? Yes, I have taken upon myself to inform you of this surprise,
          and knowing how greatly Athenais desires this omission to be repaired,
          I went so far as to promise that your Majesty would cause this to be
          done forthwith. It must be done, Sire; the Marquise loves you as much
          as it is possible for you to be loved; of this, all that she has
          sacrificed is a proof. But while dearly loving you, she fears to
          appear importunate, and were it not for my respectful freedom of
          speech, perhaps you would still be ignorant of that which she most
          fervently desires.
        </p>
        <p>
          What we all three of us ask is but a slight thing for your Majesty,
          who, with a single word, can create a thousand nobles and princes. The
          kings, your ancestors, used their glory in making their lovers
          illustrious. The Valois built temples and palaces in their honour.
          You, greater than all the Valois, should not let their example
          suffice. And I am sure that you will do for the mother of the Duc du
          Maine what the young prince himself would do for her if you should
          happen to forget.
        </p>
        <p>
          Your Majesty's most humble servant, "MARQUISE DE THIANGES."
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      To the Abbess and myself; this ending seemed rather too sarcastic, but
      Madame de Thianges was most anxious to let it stand. There was no way of
      softening or glossing it over; so the letter went off, just as she had
      written it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It so happened that the Bishop of Poitiers was in his diocese at the time.
      He came to pay me a visit, and ask me if I could get an abbey for his
      nephew, who, though extremely young, already acted as vicar-general for
      him. "I would willingly get him a whole regiment," I replied, "provided M.
      de Louvois be of those that are my friends. As for the benefices, they
      depend, as you know, upon the Pere de la Chaise, and I don't think he
      would be willing to grant me a favour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Permit me to assure you, madame, that in this respect you are in error,"
      replied the Bishop. "Pere de la Chaise respects you and honours you, and
      only speaks of you in such terms. What distresses him is to see that you
      have an aversion for him. Let me write to him, and say that my nephew has
      had the honour of being presented to you, and that you hoped he might have
      a wealthy abbey to enable him to bear the privations of his calling."
    </p>
    <p>
      The young vicar-general was good-looking, and of graceful presence. He had
      that distinction of manner which causes the priesthood to be held in
      honour, and that amenity of address which makes the law to be obeyed. My
      sisters began to take a fancy to him, and recommended him to me. I wrote
      to Pere de la Chaise myself, and instead of a mere abbey, we asked for a
      bishopric for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was my intention to organise a brilliant fete for the Fontevrault
      ladies, and invite all the nobility of the neighbourhood. We talked of
      this to the young vicar, who highly approved of my plan, and albeit
      monsieur his uncle thought such a scheme somewhat contrary to rule and to
      what he termed the proprieties, we made use of his nephew, the young
      priest, as a lever; and M. de Poitiers at last consented to everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Fontevrault gardens are one of the most splendid sights in all the
      country round. We chose the large alley as our chief entertainment-hall,
      and the trees were all illuminated as in my park at Clagny, or at
      Versailles. There was no dancing, on account of the nuns, but during our
      repast there was music, and a concert and fireworks afterwards. The fete
      ended with a performance of "Genevieve de Brabant," a grand spectacular
      pantomime, played to perfection by certain gentry of the neighbourhood; it
      made a great impression upon all the nuns and novices.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before going down into the gardens, the Abbess wished to present me
      formally to all the nuns, as well as to those persons it had pleased her
      to invite. Imagine her astonishment! Three nuns were absent, and despite
      our entreaties and the commands of their superiors, they persisted in
      their rebellion and their refusal. They set up to keep rules before all
      things, and observe the duties of their religion, lying thus to their
      Abbess and their conscience. It was all mere spite. Of this there can be
      no doubt, for one of these refractory creatures, as it transpired, was a
      cousin of the Marquis de Lauzun, my so-called victim; while the other two
      were near relatives of Mademoiselle de Mauldon, an intimate friend of M.
      de Meaux.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of these three silly absentees, we enjoyed ourselves greatly, and
      had much innocent amusement; while they, who could watch us from their
      windows, were probably mad with rage to think they were not of our number.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister complained of them to the Bishop of Poitiers, who severely
      blamed them for such conduct; and seeing that he could not induce them to
      offer me an apology, sent them away to three different convents.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Page-Dauphin.&mdash;A Billet from the King.&mdash;Madame de
      Maintenon's Letter.&mdash;The King as Avenger.&mdash;His Sentence on the
      Murderers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The great liberty which we enjoyed at Fontevrault, compared with the
      interminable bondage of Saint Germain or Versailles, made the abbey ever
      seem more agreeable to me; and Madame de Thianges asked me in sober
      earnest "if I no longer loved the King."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course I do," was my answer; "but may one not love oneself just a
      little bit, too? To me, health is life; and I assure you, at Fontevrault,
      my dear sister, I sleep most soundly, and have quite got rid of all my
      nervous attacks and headaches."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were just talking thus when Madame de Mortemart entered my room, and
      introduced young Chamilly, the Page-Dauphin,&mdash;[The chief
      page-in-waiting bore the title of Page-Dauphin]&mdash;who brought with him
      a letter from the King. He also had one for me from Madame de Maintenon,
      rallying me upon my absence and giving me news of my children. The King's
      letter was quite short, but a king's note such as that is worth a whole
      pile of commonplace letters. I transcribe it here:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          I am jealous; an unusual thing for me. And I am much vexed, I confess,
          with Madame de Mortemart, who might have chosen a very different
          moment to be ill. I am ignorant as to the nature of her malady, but if
          it be serious, and of those which soon grow more dangerous, she has
          played me a very sorry trick in sending for you to act as her nurse or
          her physician. Pray tell her, madame, that you are no good whatever as
          a nurse, being extremely hasty and impatient in everything; while as
          regards medical skill, you are still further from the mark, since you
          have never yet been able to understand your own ailments, nor even
          explain these with the least clearness. I must ask the Abbess
          momentarily to suspend her sufferings and come to Versailles, where
          all my physicians shall treat her with infinite skill; and, to oblige
          me, will cure her, as they know how much I esteem and like her.
          Farewell, my ladies three, who in your friendship are but as one. I
          should like to be there to make a fourth. Madame de Maintenon, who
          loves you sincerely, will give you news of your little family and of
          Saint Germain. Her letter and mine will be brought to you and
          delivered by the young Comte de Chamilly. Send him back to me at once,
          and don't let him, see your novices or your nuns, else he will not
          want to return to me. LOUIS.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon's letter was not couched in the same playfully mocking
      tone; though a marquise, she felt the distance that there was between
      herself and me; besides, she always knows exactly what is the proper thing
      to do. The Abbess, who is an excellent judge, thought this letter
      excellently written. She wanted to have a copy of it, which made me
      determine to preserve it. Here it is, a somewhat more voluminous epistle
      than that of the King:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          I promised you, madame, that I would inform you as often as possible
          of all that interests you here, and now I keep my promise, being glad
          to say that I have only pleasant news to communicate. His Majesty is
          wonderfully well, and though annoyed at your journey, he has hardly
          lost any of his gaiety, as seemingly he hopes to have you back again
          in a day or two.
        </p>
        <p>
          Mademoiselle de Nantes declares that she would have behaved very well
          in the coach, and that she is a nearer relation to you than the
          Duchesse de Nevers, and that it was very unfair not to take her with
          you this time. In order to comfort her, the Duc du Maine has
          discovered an expedient which greatly amuses us, and never fails of
          its effect. He tells her how absolutely necessary it is for her proper
          education that she should be placed in a convent, and then adds in a
          serious tone that if she had been taken to Fontevrault she would never
          have come back!
        </p>
        <p>
          "Oh, if that is the case," she answered, "why, I am not jealous of the
          Duchesse de Nevers."
        </p>
        <p>
          The day after your departure the Court took up its quarters at Saint
          Germain, where we shall probably remain for another week. You know,
          madame, how fond his Majesty is of the Louis Treize Belvedere, and the
          telescope erected by this monarch,&mdash;one of the best ever made
          hitherto. As if by inspiration, the King turned this instrument to the
          left towards that distant bend which the Seine makes round the verge
          of the Chatou woods. His Majesty, who observes every thing, noticed
          two bathers in the river, who apparently were trying to teach their
          much younger companion, a lad of fourteen or fifteen, to swim;
          doubtless, they had hurt him, for he got away from their grasp, and
          escaped to the river-bank, to reach his clothes and dress himself.
          They tried to coax him back into the water, but he did not relish such
          treatment; by his gestures it was plain that he desired no further
          lessons. Then the two bathers jumped out of the river, and as he was
          putting on his shirt, dragged him back into the water, and forcibly
          held him under till he was drowned.
        </p>
        <p>
          When they had committed this crime, and their victim was murdered,
          they cast uneasy glances at either river-bank, and the heights of
          Saint Germain. Believing that no one had knowledge of their deed, they
          put on their clothes, and with all a murderer's glee depicted on their
          evil countenances, they walked along the bank in the direction of the
          castle. The King instantly rode off in pursuit, accompanied by five or
          six musketeers; he got ahead of them, and soon turned back and met
          them.
        </p>
        <p>
          "Messieurs," said he to them, "when you went away you were three in
          number; what have you done with your comrade?" This question, asked in
          a firm voice, disconcerted them somewhat at first, but they soon
          replied that their companion wanted to have a swim in the river, and
          that they had left him higher up the stream near the corner of the
          forest, close to where his clothes and linen made a white spot on the
          bank.
        </p>
        <p>
          On hearing this answer the King gave orders for them to be bound and
          brought back by the soldiery to the old chateau, where they were shut
          up in separate rooms. His Majesty, filled with indignation, sent for
          the High Provost, and recounting to him what took place before his
          eyes, requested him to try the culprits there and then. The Marquis,
          however, is always scrupulous to excess; he begged the King to reflect
          that at such a great distance, and viewed through a telescope, things
          might have seemed somewhat different from what they actually were, and
          that, instead of forcibly holding their companion under the water,
          perhaps the two bathers were endeavouring to bring him to the surface.
        </p>
        <p>
          "No, monsieur, no," replied his Majesty; "they dragged him into the
          river against his will, and I saw their struggles and his when they
          thrust him under the water."
        </p>
        <p>
          "But, Sire," replied this punctilious personage, "our criminal law
          requires the testimony of two witnesses, and your Majesty,
          all-powerful though you be, can only furnish that of one."
        </p>
        <p>
          "Monsieur," replied the King gently, "I authorise you in passing
          sentence to state that you heard the joint testimony of the King of
          France and the King of Navarre."
        </p>
        <p>
          Seeing that this failed to convince the judge, his Majesty grew
          impatient and said to the old Marquis, "King Louis IX., my ancestor,
          sometimes administered justice himself in the wood at Vincennes; I
          will to-day follow his august example and administer justice at Saint
          Germain."
        </p>
        <p>
          The throne-room was at once got ready by his order. Twenty notable
          burgesses of the town were summoned to the castle, and the lords and
          ladies sat with these upon the benches. The King, wearing his orders,
          took his seat when the two prisoners were placed in the dock.
        </p>
        <p>
          By their contradictory statements, ever-increasing embarrassment, and
          unveracious assertions, the jury were soon convinced of their guilt.
          The unhappy youth was their brother, and had inherited property from
          their mother, he being her child by a second husband. So these
          monsters murdered him for revenge and greed. The King sentenced them
          to be bound hand and foot, and flung into the river in the selfsame
          place "where they killed their young brother Abel."
        </p>
        <p>
          When they saw his Majesty leaving his throne, they threw themselves at
          his feet, implored his pardon, and confessed their hideous crime. The
          King, pausing a moment, thanked God that their conscience had forced
          such confession from them, and then remitted the sentence of
          confiscation only. They were executed before the setting of that sun
          which had witnessed their crime, and the next day, that is, yesterday
          evening, the three bodies, united once more by fate, were found
          floating about two leagues from Saint Germain, under the willows at
          the edge of the river near Poisay.
        </p>
        <p>
          Orders were instantly given for their separate interment. The youngest
          was brought back to Saint Germain, where the King wished him to have a
          funeral befitting his innocence and untimely fate. All the military
          attended it.
        </p>
        <p>
          Forgive me, madams, for all these lengthy details; we have all been so
          much upset by this dreadful occurrence, and can talk of nothing else,&mdash;in
          fact, it will furnish matter for talk for a long while yet.
        </p>
        <p>
          I sincerely hope that by this time Madame de Mortsmart has completely
          recovered. I agree with his Majesty that, in doctoring, you have not
          had much experience; still, friendship acts betimes as a most potent
          talisman, and the heart of the Abbess is of those that in absence
          pines, but which in the presence of some loved one revives.
        </p>
        <p>
          She has deigned to grant me a little place in her esteem; pray tell
          her that this first favour has somewhat spoiled me, and that now I ask
          for more than this, for a place in her affections. Madame de Thianges
          and Madame de Nevers are aware of my respect and attachment for them,
          and they approve of this, for they have engraved their names and
          crests on my plantain-trees at Maintenon. Such inscriptions are a bond
          to bind us, and if no mischance befall, these trees, as I hope, will
          survive me.
        </p>
        <p>
          I am, madame, etc., MAINTENON.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="maintenon" id="maintenon"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="maintenon.jpg (126K)" src="images/maintenon.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER LXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle d'Amurande.&mdash;The Married Nun.&mdash;The Letter to the
      Superior.&mdash;Monseigneur's Discourse.&mdash;The Abduction.&mdash;A
      Letter from the King.&mdash;Beware of the Governess.&mdash;We Leave
      Fontevrault.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Amoung the novices at Fontevrault there was a most interesting, charming
      young person, who gave Madame de Mortemart a good deal of anxiety, as she
      thought her still undecided as to the holy profession she was about to
      adopt. This interested me greatly, and evoked my deepest sympathy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The night of our concert and garden fete she sang to please the Abbess,
      but there were tears in her voice. I was touched beyond expression, and
      going up to her at the bend of one of the quickset-hedges, I said, "You
      are unhappy, mademoiselle; I feel a deep interest for you. I will ask
      Madame de Mortemart to let you come and read to me; then we can talk as we
      like. I should like to help you if I can."
    </p>
    <p>
      She moved away at once, fearing to be observed, and the following day I
      met her in my sister's room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your singing and articulation are wonderful, mademoiselle," said I,
      before the Abbess; "would you be willing to come and read to me for an
      hour every day? I have left my secretary at Versailles, and I am beginning
      to miss her much."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Mortemart thanked me for my kindly intentions towards the young
      novice, who, from that time forward, was placed at my disposal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reading had no other object than to gain her confidence, and as soon
      as we were alone I bade her tell me all. After brief hesitation, the poor
      child thus began:
    </p>
    <p>
      "In a week's time, a most awful ceremony takes place in this monastery.
      The term of my novitiate has already expired, and had it not been for the
      distractions caused by your visit, I should have already been obliged to
      take this awful oath and make my vows.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame de Mortemart is gentle and kind (no wonder! she is your sister),
      but she has decided that I am to be one of her nuns, and nothing on earth
      can induce her to change her mind. If this fatal decree be executed, I
      shall never live to see this year of desolation reach its close. Perhaps I
      may fall dead at the feet of the Bishop who ordains us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They would have me give to God&mdash;who does not need it&mdash;my whole
      life as a sacrifice. But, madame, I cannot give my God this life of mine,
      as four years ago I surrendered it wholly to some one else. Yes, madame,"
      said she, bursting into tears, "I am the lawful wife of the Vicomte
      d'Olbruze, my cousin german.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of this union, planned and approved by my dear mother herself, a child
      was born, which my ruthless father refuses to recognise, and which kindly
      peasants are bringing up in the depths of the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear, good mother was devotedly fond of my lover, who was her nephew.
      From our very cradles she had always destined us for each other. And she
      persisted in making this match, despite her husband, whose fortune she had
      immensely increased, and one day during his absence we were legally united
      by our family priest in the castle chapel. My father, who, was away at
      sea, came back soon afterwards: He was enraged at my mother's
      disobedience, and in his fury attempted to stab her with his own hand. He
      made several efforts to put an end to her existence, and the general
      opinion in my home is that he was really the author of her death.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Devotedly attached to my husband by ties of love no less than of duty, I
      fled with him to his uncle's, an old knight-commander of Malta, whose sole
      heir he was. My father, with others, pursued us thither, and scaled the
      walls of our retreat by night, resolved to kill his nephew first and me
      afterwards. Roused by the noise of the ruffians, my husband seized his
      firearms. Three of his assailants he shot from the balcony, and my father,
      disguised as a common man, received a volley in the face, which destroyed
      his eyesight. The Parliament of Rennes took up the matter. My husband
      thought it best not to put in an appearance, and after the evidence of
      sundry witnesses called at random, a warrant for his arrest as a defaulter
      was issued, a death penalty being attached thereto.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ever since that time my husband has been wandering about in disguise from
      province to province. Doomed to solitude in our once lovely chateau, my
      father forced me to take the veil in this convent, promising that if I did
      so, he would not bring my husband to justice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps, madame, if the King were truly and faithfully informed of all
      these things, he would have compassion for my grief, and right the
      injustice meted out to my unlucky husband."
    </p>
    <p>
      After hearing this sad story, I clearly saw that, in some way or other, we
      should have to induce Madame de Mortemart to postpone the ceremony of
      taking the vow, and I afterwards determined to put these vagaries on the
      part of the law before my good friend President de Nesmond, who was the
      very man to give us good advice, and suggest the right remedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for the King, I did not deem it fit that he should be consulted in the
      matter. Of course I look upon him as a just and wise prince, but he is the
      slave of form. In great families, he does not like to hear of marriages to
      which the father has not given formal consent; moreover, I did not forget
      about the gun-shot which blinded the gentleman, and made him useless for
      the rest of his life. The King, who is devoted to his nobles, would never
      have pronounced in favour of the Vicomte, unless he happened to be in a
      particularly good humour. Altogether, it was a risky thing.
    </p>
    <p>
      I deeply sympathised with Mademoiselle d'Amurande in her trouble, and
      assured her of my good-will and protection, but I begged her to approve my
      course of action, though taken independently of the King. She willingly
      left her fate in my hands, and I bade her write my sister the following
      note:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          MADAME:&mdash;You know the vows that bind me; they are sacred, having
          been plighted at the foot of the altar. Do not persist, I entreat you,
          do not persist in claiming the solemn declaration of my vows. You are
          here to command the Virgins of the Lord, but among these I have no
          right to a place. I am a mother, although so young, and the Holy
          Scriptures tell me every day that Hagar, the kindly hearted, may not
          forsaken her darling Ishmael.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      I happened to be with Madame de Mortemart when one of the aged sisters
      brought her this letter. On reading it she was much affected. I feigned
      ignorance, and asked her kindly what was the reason of her trouble. She
      wished to hide it; but I insisted, and at last persuaded her to let me see
      the note. I read it calmly and with reflection, and afterwards said to the
      Abbess:
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! You, sister, whose distress and horror I witnessed when our stern
      parents shut you up in a cloister,&mdash;are you now going to impose like
      fetters upon a young and interesting person, who dreads them, and rejects
      them as once you rejected them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Mortemart replied, "I was young then, and without experience,
      when I showed such childish repugnance as that of which you speak. At that
      age one knows nothing of religion nor of the eternal verities. Only the
      world, with its frivolous pleasures, is then before one's eyes; and the
      spectacle blinds our view, even our view of heaven. Later on I deplored
      such resistance, which so grieved my family; and when I saw you at Court,
      brilliant and adored, I assure you, my dear Marquise, that this convent
      and its solitude seemed to me a thousand times more desirable than the
      habitation of kings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You speak thus philosophically," I replied, "only because your lot
      happens to have undergone such a change. From a slave, you have become an
      absolute and sovereign mistress. The book of rules is in your hands; you
      turn over its leaves wherever you like; you open it at whatever page suits
      you; and if the book should chance to give you a severe rebuke, you never
      let others know this. Human nature was ever thus. No, no, madame; you can
      never make one believe that a religious life is in itself such an
      attractive one that you would gladly resume it if the dignities of your
      position as an abbess were suddenly wrested from you and given to some one
      else."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, if that is so," said the Abbess, reddening, "I am quite ready
      to send in my resignation, and so return you your liberality."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't ask you for an abbey which you got from the King," I rejoined,
      smiling; "but the favour, which I ask and solicit you can and ought to
      grant. Mademoiselle d'Amurande points out to you in formal and significant
      terms that she cannot enrol herself among the Virgins of the Lord, and
      that the gentle Hagar of Holy Writ may not forsake Ishmael. Such a
      confession plainly hints at an attachment which religion cannot violate
      nor destroy, else our religion would be a barbarous one, and contrary to
      nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Since God has brought me to this convent, and by chance I have got to
      know and appreciate this youthful victim, I shall give her my compassion
      and help,&mdash;I, who have no necessity to make conversions by force in
      order to add to the number of my community. If I have committed any grave
      offence in the eyes of God, I trust that He will pardon me in
      consideration of the good work that I desire to do. I shall write to the
      King, and Mademoiselle d'Amurande shall not make her vows until his
      Majesty commands her to do so."
    </p>
    <p>
      This last speech checkmated my sister. She at once became gentle,
      sycophantic, almost caressing in manner, and assured me that the ceremony
      of taking the vow would be indefinitely postponed, although the Bishop of
      Lugon had already prepared his homily, and invitations had been issued to
      the nobility.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Mortemart is the very embodiment of subtlety and cunning. I saw
      that she only wanted to gain time in order to carry out her scheme. I did
      not let myself be hoodwinked by her promises, but went straight to work,
      being determined to have my own way.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hearing from Mademoiselle d'Amurande that her friend and ally, the old
      commander, was still living, I was glad to know that she had in him such a
      stanch supporter. "It is the worthy commander," said I, "who must be as a
      father to you, until I have got the sentence of the first Parliament
      cancelled." Then we arranged that I should get her away with me from the
      convent, as there seemed to be little or no difficulty about this.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accordingly, three days afterwards I dressed her in a most elegant costume
      of my niece's. We went out in the morning for a drive, and the nuns at the
      gateway bowed low, as usual, when my carriage passed, never dreaming of
      such a thing as abduction.
    </p>
    <p>
      That evening the whole convent seemed in a state of uproar. Madame de
      Mortemart, with flaming visage, sought to stammer out her reproaches. But
      as there was no law to prevent my action, she had to hide her vexation,
      and behave as if nothing had happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      The following year I wrote and told her that the judgment of the Rennes
      Parliament had been cancelled by the Grand Council, as it was based on
      conflicting evidence. The blind Comte d'Amurande had died of rage, and the
      young couple, who came into all his property, were eternally grateful to
      me, and forever showered blessings upon my head.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbess wrote back to say that she shared my satisfaction at so happy a
      conclusion, and that Madame d'Olbruse's disappearance from Fontevrault had
      scarcely been noticed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquise de Thianges, whose ideas regarding such matters were
      precisely the same as my own, confined herself to stating that I had not
      told her a word about it. She spoke the truth; for the enterprise was not
      of such difficulty that I needed any one to help me.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the twelfth day, as we were about to leave Fontevrault, I received
      another letter from the King, which was as follows:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          As the pain in your knee continues, and the Bourbonne waters have been
          recommended to you, I beg you, madame, to profit by being in their
          vicinity, and to go and try their effect. Mademoiselle de Nantes is in
          fairly good health, yet it looks as if a return of her fluxion were
          likely. Five or six pimples have appeared on her face, and there is
          the same redness of the arms as last year. I shall send her to
          Bourbonne; your maids and the governess will accompany her. The Prince
          de Conde, who is in office there, will show you every attention. I
          would rather see you a little later on in good health, than a little
          sooner, and ailing.
        </p>
        <p>
          My kindest messages to Madame de Thianges, the Abbess, and all those
          who show you regard and sympathy. Madame de Nevers might invite you to
          stay with her; on her return I will not forget such obligation.
        </p>
        <p>
          LOUIS.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      We left Fontevrault after a stay of fifteen days; to the nuns and novices
      it seemed more like fifteen minutes, but to Madame de Mortemart, fifteen
      long years. Yet that did not prevent her from tenderly embracing me, nor
      from having tears in her eyes when the time came for us to take coach and
      depart.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 5.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince de Mont-Beliard.&mdash;He Agrees to the Propositions Made Him.&mdash;The
      King's Note.&mdash;Diplomacy of the Chancellor of England.&mdash;Letter
      from the Marquis de Montespan.&mdash;The Duchy in the Air.&mdash;The
      Domain of Navarre, Belonging to the Prince de Bouillon, Promised to the
      Marquise.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      There was but a small company this year at the Waters of Bourbonne,&mdash;to
      begin with, at any rate; for afterwards there appeared to be many
      arrivals, to see me, probably, and Mademoiselle de Nantes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Chancellor Hyde was already installed there, and his establishment was
      one of the most agreeable and convenient; he was kind enough to exchange
      it for mine. A few days afterwards he informed me of the arrival of the
      Prince de Mont-Beliard, of Wurtemberg, who was anxious to pay his respects
      to me, as though to the King's daughter. In effect, this royal prince came
      and paid me a visit; I thought him greatly changed for such a short lapse
      of years.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had seen each other&mdash;as, I believe, I have already told&mdash;at
      the time of the King's first journey in Flanders. He recalled all the
      circumstances to me, and was amiable enough to tell me that, instead of
      waning, my beauty had increased.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is you, Prince, who embellish everything," I answered him. "I begin to
      grow like a dilapidated house; I am only here to repair myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      Less than a year before, M. de Mont-Billiard had lost that amiable
      princess, his wife; he had a lively sense of this loss, and never spoke of
      it without tears in his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, madame," he told me, "my states are, at present, not entirely
      administered, but occupied throughout by the officers of the King of
      France. Those persons who have my interests at heart, as well as those who
      delight at my fears, seem persuaded that this provisional occupation will
      shortly become permanent. I dare not question you on this subject, knowing
      how much discretion is required of you; but I confess that I should pass
      quieter and more tranquil nights if you could reassure me up to a certain
      point."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Prince," I replied to him, "the King is never harsh except with those of
      whom he has had reason to complain. M. le Duc de Neubourg, and certain
      other of the Rhine princes, have been thick-witted enough to be disloyal
      to him; he has punished them for it, as Caesar did, and as all great
      princes after him will do. But you have never shown him either coldness,
      or aversion, or indifference. He has commanded the Marechal de Luxembourg
      to enter your territory to prevent the Prince of Orange from reaching
      there before us, and your authority has been put, not under the
      domination, but under the protection, of the King of France, who is
      desirous of being able to pass from there into the Brisgau."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Thianges, Madame de Nevers, and myself did all that lay in our
      power to distract or relieve the sorrows of the Prince; but the loss of
      Mademoiselle de Chatillon, his charming spouse, was much more present with
      him than that of his states; the bitterness which he drew from it was out
      of the retch of all consolation possible. The Marquise de Thianges
      procured the Chancellor of England to approach the Prince, and find out
      from him, to a certain extent, whether he would consent to exchange the
      County of Mont-Beliard for some magnificent estates in France, to which
      some millions in money would be added.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Wurtemberg asked for a few days in which to reflect, and imagining
      that these suggestions emanated from Versailles, he replied that he could
      refuse nothing to the greatest of kings. My sister wrote on the day
      following to the Marquis de Louvois, instead of asking it of the King in
      person. M. de Luvois, who, probably, wished to despoil M. de Mont-Beliard
      without undoing his purse-strings, put this overture before the King
      maliciously, and the King wrote me immediately the following letter:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          Leave M. de Mont-Beliard alone, and do not speak to him again of his
          estates. If the matter which occupies Madame de Thianges could be
          arranged, it would be of the utmost propriety that a principality of
          such importance rested in the Crown, at least as far as sovereignty.
          The case of the Principality of Orange is a good enough lesson to me;
          there must be one ruler only in an empire. As for you, my dear lady,
          feel no regret for all that. You shall be a duchess, and I am pleased
          to give you this title which you desire. Let M. de Montespan be
          informed that his marquisate is to be elevated into a duchy with a
          peerage, and that I will add to it the number of seigniories that is
          proper, as I do not wish to deviate from the usage which has become a
          law, etc.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The prince's decision was definite, and as his character was, there was no
      wavering. I wrote to him immediately to express my lively gratitude, and
      we considered, the Marquise and I, as to the intermediary to whom we could
      entrust the unsavoury commission of approaching the Marquis de Montespan.
      He hated all my family from his having obtained no satisfaction from it
      for his wrath. We begged the Chancellor Hyde, a personage of importance,
      to be good enough to accept this mission; he saw no reason to refuse it,
      and, after ten or eleven days, he received the following reply, with which
      he was moderately amused:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          CHATEAU SAINT ELIX . . . . AT THE WORLD'S END.
        </p>
        <p>
          I am sensible, my Lord, as I should be, of the honour which you have
          wished to do me, whilst, notwithstanding, permit me to consider it
          strange that a man of your importance has cared to meddle in such a
          negotiation. His Majesty the King of France did not consult me when he
          wished to make my wife his mistress; it is somewhat remarkable that so
          great a prince expects my intervention today to recompense conduct
          that I have disapproved, that I disapprove, and shall disapprove to my
          last breath. His Majesty has got eight or ten children from my wife
          without saying a word to me about it; this monarch can surely,
          therefore, make her a present of a duchy without summoning me to his
          assistance. According to all laws, human and divine, the King ought to
          punish Madame de Montespan, and, instead of censuring her, he wishes
          to make her a duchess! . . . Let him make her a princess, even a
          highness, if he likes; he has all the power in his hands. I am only a
          twig; he is an oak.
        </p>
        <p>
          If madame is fostering ambition, mine has been satisfied for forty
          years; I was born a marquis; a marquis&mdash;apart from some
          unforeseen catastrophe&mdash;I will die; and Madame la Marquise, as
          long as she does not alter her conduct, has no need to alter her
          degree.
        </p>
        <p>
          I will, however, waive my severity, if M. le Duc du Maine will
          intervene for his mother, and call me his father, however it may be. I
          am none the less sensible, my lord, of the honour of your
          acquaintance, and since you form one of the society of Madame la
          Marquise, endeavour to release yourself from her charms, for she can
          be an enchantress when she likes.... It is true that, from what they
          tell me, you were not quite king in your England.
        </p>
        <p>
          I am, from out my exile (almost as voluntary as yours), the most
          obliged and grateful of your servants,
        </p>
        <p>
          DE GONDRIN MONTESPAN.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The Marquise de Thianges felt a certain irritation at the reading of this
      letter; she offered all our excuses for it to the English Chancellor, and
      said to me: "I begin to fear that the King of Versailles is not acting
      with good faith towards you, when he makes your advancement depend on the
      Marquis de Montespan; it is as though he were giving you a duchy in the
      moon."
    </p>
    <p>
      I sent word to the King that the Marquis refused to assist his generous
      projects; he answered me:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well, we must look somewhere else."
    </p>
    <p>
      Happily, this domestic humiliation did not transpire at Bourbonne; for M.
      de la Bruyere had arrived there with Monsieur le Prince, and that model
      satirist would unfailingly have made merry over it at my expense.
    </p>
    <p>
      The best society lavished its attentions on me; Coulanges, whose
      flatteries are so amusing, never left us for a moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince, after the States were over, had come to relax himself at
      Bourbonne, which was his property. After having done all in his power
      formerly to dethrone his master, he is his enthusiastic servitor now that
      he sees him so strong. He was fascinated with Mademoiselle de Nantes, and
      asked my permission to seek her hand for the Duc de Bourbon, his grandson;
      my reply was, that the alliance was desirable on both sides, but that
      these arrangements were settled only by the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of the insolent diatribe of M. de Montespan, the waters proved
      good and favourable; my blood, little by little, grew calm; my pains,
      passing from one knee to the other, insensibly faded away in both; and,
      after having given a brilliant fete to the Prince de Mont-Beliard, the
      English Chancellor, and our most distinguished bathers, I went back to
      Versailles, where the work seemed to me to have singularly advanced.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King went in advance of us to Corbeil; Madame de Maintenon, her pretty
      nieces, and my children were in the carriage. The King received me with
      his ordinary kindness, and yet said no word to me of the harshness which I
      had suffered from my husband. Two or three months afterwards he
      recollected his royal word, and gave me to understand that the Prince de
      Bourbon was shortly going to give up Navarre, in Normandy, and that this
      vast and magnificent estate would be raised to a duchy for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has not been yet, at the moment that I write. Perhaps it is written
      above that I shall never be a duchess. In such a case, the King would not
      deserve the inward reproaches that my sensibility addresses him, since his
      good-will would be fettered by destiny.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is my kindness which makes me speak so.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Venetian Drummer.&mdash;The Little Olivier.&mdash;Adriani's Love.&mdash;His
      Ingratitude.&mdash;His Punishment.&mdash;His Vengeance.&mdash;Complaint on
      This Account.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      At the great slaughter of Candia, M. de Vivonne had the pleasure of saving
      a young Venetian drummer whom he noticed all covered with blood, and
      senseless, amongst the dead and dying, with whom the field was covered far
      and wide. He had his wounds dressed and cared for by the surgeons of the
      French navy, with the intention of giving him me, either as a valet de
      chambre or a page, so handsome and agreeable this young Italian was.
      Adriani was his name. He presented him to me after the return of the
      expedition to France, and I was sensible of this amiable attention of my
      brother, for truly the peer of this young drummer did not exist.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adrien was admirable to see in my livery, and when my carriage went out,
      he attracted alone all the public attention. His figure was still not all
      that it might be; it developed suddenly, and then one was not wrong in
      comparing him with a perfect model for the Academy. He took small time in
      losing the manners which he had brought with him from his original
      calling. I discovered the best 'ton' in him; he would have been far better
      seated in the interior than outside my equipage. Unfortunately, this young
      impertinent gave himself airs of finding my person agreeable, and of
      cherishing a passion for me; my first valet de chambre told me of it at
      once. I gave him to the King, who had sometimes noticed him in passing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adrien was inconsolable at first at this change, for which he was not
      prepared, but his vanity soon came uppermost; he understood that it was an
      advancement, and took himself for a great personage, since he had the
      honour of approaching and serving the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little Olivier&mdash;the first assistant in the shop of Madame
      Camille, my dressmaker&mdash;saw Adrien, inspired him with love, and
      herself with much, and they had to be married. I was good-natured enough
      to be interested in this union, and as I had never any fault to find with
      the intelligent services and attentions of the little modiste, I gave her
      two hundred louis, that she might establish herself well and without any
      waiting.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had a daughter whom she was anxious to call Athenais. I thought this
      request excessive; I granted my name of Francoise only.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young couple would have succeeded amply with their business, since my
      confidence and favour were sufficient to give them vogue; but I was not
      slow in learning that cruel discord had already penetrated to their
      household, and that Adrien, in spite of his adopted country, had remained
      at heart Italian. Jealous without motive, and almost without love, he
      tormented with his suspicions, his reproaches, and his harshness, an
      attentive and industrious young wife, who loved him with intense love, and
      was unable to succeed in persuading him of it. From her condition, a
      modiste cannot dispense with being amiable, gracious, engaging. The little
      Olivier, as pretty as one can be, easily secured the homage of the
      cavaliers. For all thanks she smiled at the gentlemen, as a well brought
      up woman should do. Adrien disapproved these manners,&mdash;too French, in
      his opinion. One day he dared to say to his wife, and that before
      witnesses: "Because you have belonged to Madame de Montespan, do you think
      you have the same rights that she has?" And with that he administered a
      blow to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      This indecency was reported to me. I did not take long in discovering what
      it was right to do with Adrien. I had him sent to Clagny, where I happened
      to be at the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monsieur the Venetian drummer," I said to him, with the hauteur which it
      was necessary to oppose to his audacity, "Monsieur le Marechal de Vivonne,
      who is always too good, saved your life without knowing you. I gave you to
      the King, imagining that I knew you. Now I am undeceived, and I know,
      without the least possibility of doubt, that beneath the appearance of a
      good heart you hide the ungrateful and insolent rogue. The King needs
      persons more discreet, less violent, and more polite. Madame de Montespan
      gave you up to the King; Madame de Montespan has taken you back this
      morning to her service. You depend for the future on nobody but Madame de
      Montespan, and it is her alone that you are bound to obey. Your service in
      her house has commenced this morning; it will finish this evening, and,
      before midnight, you will leave her for good and all. I have known on all
      occasions how to pardon slight offences; there are some that a person of
      my rank could not excuse; yours is of that number. Go; make no answer!
      Obey, ingrate! Disappear, I command you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words he tried to throw himself at my feet. "Go, wretched
      fellow!" I cried to him; and, at my voice, my lackeys ran up and drove him
      from the room and from the chateau.
    </p>
    <p>
      Almost always these bad-natured folks have cowardly souls. Adrien, his
      head in a whirl, presented himself to my Suisse at Versailles, who,
      finding his look somewhat sinister, refused to receive him. He retired to
      my hotel in Paris, where the Suisse, being less of a physiognomist,
      delivered him the key of his old room, and was willing to allow him to
      pass the night there.
    </p>
    <p>
      Adrien, thinking of naught but how to harm me and give me a memorable
      proof of his vengeance, ran and set fire to my two storehouses, and, to
      put a crown on his rancour, went and hanged himself in an attic.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two o'clock in the morning, a sick-nurse, having perceived the
      flames, gave loud cries and succeeded in making herself heard. Public help
      arrived; the fire was mastered. My Suisse sought everywhere for the
      Italian, whom he thought to be in danger; he stumbled against his corpse.
      What a scene! What an affliction! The commissary having had his room
      opened, on a small bureau a letter was found which he had been at the
      pains of writing, and in which he accused me of his despair and death.
    </p>
    <p>
      The people of Paris have been at all times extravagance and credulity
      itself. They looked upon this young villain as a martyr, and at once
      dedicated an elegy to him, in which I was compared with Medea, Circe, and
      Fredegonde.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is precisely on account of this elegy that I have cared to set down
      this cruel anecdote. My readers, to whom I have just narrated the facts
      with entire frankness, can see well that, instead of having merited
      reproaches, I should only have received praise for my restraint and
      moderation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is, assuredly, most painful to have to suffer the abuse of those for
      whom we have never done aught; but the outrages of those whom we have
      succoured, maintained, and favoured are insupportable injuries.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Equipage at Full Speed.&mdash;The Poor Vine-grower.&mdash;Sensibility
      of Madame de Maintenon.&mdash;Her Popularity.&mdash;One Has the Right to
      Crush a Man Who Will Not Get Out of the Way.&mdash;What One Sees.&mdash;What
      They Tell You.&mdash;All Ends at the Opera.&mdash;One Can Be Moved to
      Tears and Yet Like Chocolate.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Another event with a tragical issue, and one to which I contributed even
      less, served to feed and foster that hatred, mixed with envy, which the
      rabble populace guards always so persistently towards the favourites of
      kings or fortune.
    </p>
    <p>
      Naturally quick and impatient, I cannot endure to move with calm and state
      along the roads. My postilions, my coachmen know it, driving in such
      fashion that no equipage is ever met which cleaves the air like mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was descending one day the declivity of the Coeur-Volant, between Saint
      Germain and Marly. The Marquises de Maintenon and d'Hudicourt were in my
      carriage with M. le Duc du Maine, so far as I can remember. We were going
      at the pace which I have just told, and my outriders, who rode in advance,
      were clearing the way, as is customary. A vine-grower, laden with sticks,
      chose this moment to cross the road, thinking himself, no doubt, agile
      enough to escape my six horses. The cries of my people were useless. The
      imprudent fellow took his own course, and my postilions, in spite of their
      efforts with the reins, could not prevent themselves from passing over his
      body; the wheels followed the horses; the poor man was cut in pieces.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the lamentations of the country folk and the horrified passers-by, we
      stopped. Madame de Maintenon wished to alight, and when she perceived the
      unfortunate vine-grower disfigured with his wounds, she clasped her hands
      and fell to weeping. The Marquise d'Hudicourt, who was always simplicity
      itself, followed her friend's example; there was nothing but groans and
      sorrowful exclamations. My coachman blamed the postilions, the postilions
      the man's obstinacy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, speaking as though she were the mistress, bade them
      be silent, and dared to say to them before all the crowd: "If you belonged
      to me, I would soon settle you." At these words all the spectators
      applauded, and cried: "Vive Madame de Maintenon!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Irritated at what I had just heard, I put my head out of the door, and,
      turning to these sentimental women, I said to them: "Be good enough to get
      in, mesdames; are you determined to have me stoned?"
    </p>
    <p>
      They mounted again, after having left my purse with the poor relations of
      the dead man; and as far as Ruel, which was our destination, I was
      compelled to listen to their complaints and litanies.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Admit, madame," I declared to Madame de Maintenon, "that any person
      except myself could and would detest you for the harm you have done me.
      Your part was to blame the postilions lightly and the rustic very
      positively. My equipage did not come unexpectedly, and my two outriders
      had signalled from their horses."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," she replied, "you have not seen, as I did, those eyes of the
      unhappy man forced violently from their sockets, his poor crushed head,
      his palpitating heart, from which the blood soaked the pavement; such a
      sight has moved and broken my own heart. I was, as I am still, quite
      beside myself, and, in such a situation, it is permissible to forget
      discretion in one's speech and the proprieties. I had no intention of
      giving you pain; I am distressed at having done so. But as for your
      coachmen I loathe them, and, since you undertake their defence, I shall
      not for the future show myself in your equipage."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [In one of her letters, Madame de Maintenon speaks of this accident,
          but she does not give quite the same account of it. It is natural that
          Madame de Montespan seeks to excuse her people and herself if she can.&mdash;EDITOR'S
          NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      At Ruel, she dared take the same tone before the Duchesse de Richelieu,
      who rebuked her for officiousness, and out of spite, or some other reason,
      Madame de Maintenon refused to dine. She had two or three swooning fits;
      her tears started afresh four or five times, and the Marquise d'Hudicourt,
      who dined only by snatches, went into a corner to sob and weep along with
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Admit, madame," I said then to Madame de Maintenon, "your excessive grief
      for an unknown man is singular. He was, perhaps, actually a dishonest
      fellow. The accident which you come back to incessantly, and which
      distresses me also, is doubtless deplorable; but, after all, it is not a
      murder, an ambush, a premeditated assassination. I imagine that if such a
      catastrophe had happened elsewhere, and been reported to us in a gazette
      or a book, you would have read of it with interest and commiseration; but
      we should not have seen you clasp your hands over your head, turn red and
      pale, utter loud cries, shed tears, sob, and scold a coachman, postilions,
      perhaps even me. The event, would, nevertheless, be actually the same.
      Admit, then, madame, and you, too, Madame d'Hudicourt, that there is an
      exaggeration in your sorrow, and that you would have made, both of you,
      two excellent comedians."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, piqued at these last words, sought to make us
      understand, and even make us admit, that there is a great difference
      between an event narrated to you by a third party, and an event which one
      has seen. Madame de Richelieu shut her mouth pleasantly with these words:
      "We know, Madame la Marquise, how much eloquence and wit is yours. We
      approve all your arguments, past and to be. Let us speak no further of an
      accident which distresses you; and since you require to be diverted, let
      us go to the Opera, which is only two leagues off."
    </p>
    <p>
      She consented to accompany us, for fear of proving herself entirely
      ridiculous; but to delay us as much as possible, she required a cup of
      chocolate, her favourite dish, her appetite having returned as soon as she
      had exhausted the possibilities of her grief.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb034" id="pb034"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="pb034.jpg (85K)" src="images/pb034.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Charles II., King of England.&mdash;How Interest Can Give Memory.&mdash;His
      Grievances against France.&mdash;The Two Daughters of the Duke of York.&mdash;William
      of Orange Marries One, in Spite of the Opposition of the King.&mdash;Great
      Joy of the Allies.&mdash;How the King of England Understands Peace.&mdash;Saying
      of the King.&mdash;Preparations for War.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, Charles Stuart, who reigned in England since the death of the
      usurper, Cromwell, was a grandson of Henri IV., just as much as our King.
      Charles II. displayed the pronounced penchant of Henri IV. for the ladies
      and for pleasure; but he had neither his energy, nor his genial temper,
      nor his amiable frankness. After the death of Henrietta of England, his
      beloved sister, he remained for some time longer our ally, but only to
      take great advantage from our union and alliance. He had made use of it
      against the Dutch, his naval and commercial rivals, and had compelled
      them, by the aid of the King of France (then his friend), to reimburse him
      a sum of twenty-six millions, and to pay him, further, an annual tribute
      of twelve or fifteen thousand livres for the right of fishing round his
      island domains.
    </p>
    <p>
      All these things being obtained, he seemed to recollect that Cardinal de
      Richelieu had not protected his father, Stuart; that the Cardinal Mazarin
      had declared for Cromwell in his triumph; that the Court of France had
      indecently gone into mourning for that robber; that there had been granted
      neither guards, nor palace, nor homages of state to the Queen, his mother,
      although daughter and sister of two French kings; that this Queen, in a
      modest retirement&mdash;sometimes in a cell in the convent of Chaillot,
      sometimes in her little pavilion at Colombesl&mdash;had died, poisoned by
      her physician, without the orator, Bossuet, having even frowned at it in
      the funeral oration; that the unfortunate Henrietta daughter of this Queen
      and first wife of Monsieur had succumbed to the horrible tortures of a
      poisoning even more visible and manifest; whilst her poisoners, who were
      well known, had never been in the least blamed or disgraced.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Mademoiselle de Montpensier, in her Memoirs, says that this Queen,
          already languishing, had lost her sleep, and was given soporific
          pills, on account of which Henrietta of France awoke no more; but it
          is probable that the servants, and not the doctors, committed this
          blunder.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      On all these arguments, with more or less foundation, Charles II. managed
      to conclude that he ought to detach himself from France, who was not
      helpful enough; and, by deserting us, he excited universal joy amongst his
      subjects, who were constantly jealous of us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Charles Stuart had had children by his mistresses; he had had none by the
      Queen, his wife. The presumptive heir to the Crown was the Duke of York,
      his Majesty's only brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke of York, son-in-law&mdash;as I have noticed already&mdash;of our
      good Chancellor, Lord Hyde, had himself only two daughters, equally
      beautiful, who, according to the laws of those islanders, would bear the
      sceptre in turn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our King, who read in the future, was thinking of marrying these two
      princesses conformably with our interests, when the Prince of Orange
      crossed the sea, and went formally to ask the hand of the elder of his
      uncle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Informed of this proceeding, the King at once sent M. de Croissy-Colbert
      to the Duke of York, to induce him to interfere and refuse his daughter;
      but, in royal families, it is always the head who makes and decides
      marriages. William of Orange obtained his charming cousin Mary, and
      acquired that day the expectation of the Protestant throne, which was his
      ambition.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the news of this marriage, the allies, that is to say, all the King's
      enemies, had an outburst of satisfaction, and gave themselves up to
      puerile jubilations. The King of Great Britain stood definitely on their
      side; he made common cause with them, and soon there appeared in the
      political world an audacious document signed by this prince, in which,
      from the retreat of his island, the empire of fogs, he dared to demand
      peace from Louis of Bourbon, his ancient ally and his cousin german,
      imposing on him the most revolting conditions.
    </p>
    <p>
      According to the English monarch, France ought to restore to the
      Spaniards, first Sicily, and, further, the towns of Charleroi, Ath,
      Courtrai, Condo, Saint Guilain, Tournai, and Valenciennes, as a condition
      of retaining Franche-Comte; moreover, France was compelled to give up
      Lorraine to the Duke Charles, and places in German Alsace to the Emperor.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King replied that "too much was too much." He referred the decision of
      his difficulties to the fortune of war, and collected fresh soldiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, without further delay, England and the States General signed a
      particular treaty at La Hague, to constrain France (or, rather, her ruler)
      to accept the propositions that his pride refused to hear.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Great Mademoiselle Buys Choisy.&mdash;The President Gonthier.&mdash;The
      Indemnity.&mdash;The Salmon.&mdash;The Harangue as It Is Not Done in the
      Academy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King had only caused against his own desire the extreme grief which
      Mademoiselle felt at the imprisonment of Lauzun. His Majesty was sensible
      of the wisdom of the resolution which she had made not to break with the
      Court, and to show herself at Saint Germain, or at Versailles, from time
      to time, as her rank, her near kinship, her birth demanded. He said to me
      one day: "My cousin is beginning to look up. I see with pleasure that her
      complexion is clearing, that she laughs willingly at this and that, and
      that her good-will for me is restored. I am told that she is occupied in
      building a country-house above Vitry. Let us go to-day and surprise her,
      and see what this house of Choisy is like."
    </p>
    <p>
      We arrived at a sufficiently early hour, and had time to see everything.
      The King found the situation most agreeable; those lovely gardens united
      high up above the Seine, those woods full of broad walks, of light and
      air, those points of view happily chosen and arranged, gave a charming
      effect; the house of one story, raised on steps of sixteen stairs,
      appeared to us elegant from its novelty; but the King blamed his cousin
      for not having put a little architecture and ornament on the facade.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Princes," said he, "have no right to be careless; since universal
      agreement has made us Highnesses, we must know how to carry our burden,
      and to lay it down at no time, and in no place."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle excused herself on the ground of her remoteness from the
      world, and on the expense, which she wished to keep down.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the sight of the country," said the King, "you must have a hundred
      to a hundred and twelve, acres here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A hundred and nine," she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you paid dear for this property?" went on the King. "It is the
      President Gonthier who has sold it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I paid for this site, and the old house which no longer exists, forty
      thousand livres," she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forty thousand livres!" cried the King. "Oh, my cousin, there is no such
      thing as conscience! You have not paid for the ground. I was assured that
      poor President Gonthier had only got rid of his house at Choisy because
      his affairs were embarrassed; you must indemnify him, or rather I will
      indemnify him myself, by giving him a pension."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle bit her lip and added:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The President asked sixty thousand first; my men of business offered him
      forty, and he accepted it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle has no generosity, although she is immensely rich; she
      pretended not to hear, and it was M. Colbert who sent by order the twenty
      thousand livres to the President.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle, vain and petty, as though she were a bourgeoise of
      yesterday, showed us her gallery, where she had already collected the
      selected portraits of all her ancestors, relations, and kindred; she
      pointed out to us in her winter salon the portrait of the little Comte de
      Toulouse, painted, not as an admiral, but as God of the Sea, floating on a
      pearl shell; and his brother, the Duc du Maine, as Colonel-General of the
      Swiss and Grisons. The full-length portrait of the King was visible on
      three chimneypieces; she was at great pains to make a merit of it, and
      call for thanks.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having followed her into her state chamber, where she had stolen in
      privately, I saw that she was taking away the portrait of Lauzun. I went
      and told it to the King, who shrugged his shoulders and fell to laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is fifty-two years old," he said to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      A very pretty collation of confitures and fruits was served us, to which
      the King prayed her to add a ragout of peas and a roasted fowl.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the repast, he said to her: "For the rest, I have not noticed the
      portrait of Gaston, your father; is it a distraction on my part, or an
      omission on yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will be put there later," she answered. "It is not time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! your father!" added the King. "You do not think that, cousin!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "All my actions," added the Princess, "are weighed in the balance
      beforehand; if I were to exhibit the portrait of my father at the head of
      these various pictures, I should have to put my stepmother, his wife,
      there too, as a necessary pendant. The harm which she has done me does not
      permit of that complacence. One opens one's house only to one's friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your stepmother has never done you any other harm," replied the King,
      "than to reclaim for her children the funds or the furniture left by your
      father. The character of Margaret of Lorraine has always been sweetness
      itself; seeing your irritation, she begged me to arbitrate myself; and you
      know all that M. Colbert and the Chancellor did to satisfy you under the
      circumstances. But let us speak of something else, and cease these
      discussions. I have a service to ask of you: here is M. le Duc du Maine
      already big; everybody knows of your affection for him, and I have seen
      his portrait with pleasure, in one of your salons. I am going to establish
      him; would it be agreeable to you if I give him your livery?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "M. le Duc du Maine," said the Princess, "is the type of what is gracious,
      and noble, and beautiful; he can only do honour to my livery; I grant it
      him with all my heart, since you do me the favour of desiring it. Would I
      were in a position to do more for him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The King perfectly understood these last words; he made no reply to them,
      but he understood all that he was meant to understand. We went down again
      into the gardens.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fishermen of Choisy had just caught a salmon of enormous size, which
      they had been pursuing for four or five days; they had intended to offer
      it to Mademoiselle; the presence of the King inspired them with another
      design. They wove with great diligence a large and pretty basket of reeds,
      garnished it with foliage, young grass, and flowers, and came and
      presented to the King their salmon, all leaping in the basket.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fisherman charged with the address only uttered a few words; they were
      quite evidently improvised, so that they gave more pleasure and effect
      than those of academicians, or persons of importance. The fisherman
      expressed himself thus:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have brought us good fortune, Sire, by your presence, as you bring
      fortune to your generals. You arrive on the Monday; on the Tuesday the
      town is taken. We come to offer to the greatest of kings the greatest
      salmon that can be caught."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King desired this speech to be instantly transcribed; and, after
      having bountifully rewarded the sailors, his Majesty said to Mademoiselle:
    </p>
    <p>
      "This man was born to be a wit; if he were younger, I would place him in a
      college. There is wit at Choisy in every rank of life."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Departure of the King.&mdash;Ghent Reduced in Five Days.&mdash;Taking of
      Ypres.&mdash;Peace Signed.&mdash;The Prince of Orange Is at Pains Not to
      Know of It.&mdash;Horrible Cruelties.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I have related in what manner Charles II., suddenly pronouncing in favour
      of his nephew, the Prince of Orange, had signed a league with his old
      enemies, the Dutch, in order to counteract the success of the King of
      France and compel him to sign a humiliating and entirely inadmissible
      peace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King left Versailles suddenly on the 4th of February, 1678, taking,
      with his whole Court, the road to Lorraine, while waiting for the troops
      which had wintered on the frontiers, and were investing at once
      Luxembourg, Charlemont, Namur, Mons, and Ypres, five of the strongest and
      best provisioned places in the Low Countries. By this march and manoeuvre,
      he wished to hoodwink the allied generals, who were very far from
      imagining that Ghent was the point towards which the Conqueror's
      intentions were directed.
    </p>
    <p>
      In effect, hardly had the King seen them occupied in preparing the defence
      of the above named places, when, leaving the Queen and the ladies in the
      agreeable town of Metz, he rapidly traversed sixty leagues of country, and
      laid siege to the town of Ghent, which was scarcely expecting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Spanish governor, Don Francisco de Pardo, having but a weak garrison
      and little artillery, decided upon releasing the waters and inundating the
      country; but certain heights remained which could not be covered, and from
      here the French artillery started to storm the ramparts and the fort.
    </p>
    <p>
      The siege was commenced on the 4th of March; upon the 9th the town opened
      its gates, and two days later the citadel. Ypres was carried at the end of
      a week, in spite of the most obstinate resistance. Our grenadiers
      performed prodigies, and lost all their officers, without exception. I
      lost there one of my nephews, the one hope of his family; my compliments
      to the King, therefore, were soon made.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went to Versailles to take back the Queen, and returned to Ghent with
      the speed and promptitude of lightning. The same evening he sent an order
      to a detachment of the garrison of Maestricht to hasten and seize the town
      and citadel of Leuwe, in Brabant, which was executed on the instant. It
      was then that the Dutch sent their deputation, charged to plead for a
      suspension of hostilities for six weeks. The King granted it, although
      these blunderers hardly merited it. They undertook that Spain should join
      them in the peace, and finally, after some difficulties, settled more or
      less rightly, the treaty was signed on the 10th of August, just as the six
      weeks were about to expire.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince of Orange, naturally bellicose, and, above all things,
      passionately hostile to France, pretended to ignore the existence of this
      peace, which he disapproved. The Marechal de Luxembourg, informed of the
      treaty, gave himself up to the security of the moment; he was actually at
      table with his numerous officers when he was warned that the Prince of
      Orange was advancing against him. The alarm was quickly sounded; such
      troops and cavalry as could be were assembled, and a terrible action
      ensued.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first we were repulsed, but soon the Marshal rallied his men; he
      excited their indignation by exposing to them the atrocity of M. d'Orange,
      and after a terrible massacre, in which two thousand English bit the dust,
      the Marechal de Luxembourg remained master of the field.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was victorious, but in this unfortunate action we lost, ourselves, the
      entire regiment of guards, that of Feuquieres, and several others besides,
      with an incredible quantity of officers, killed or wounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      The name of the Prince of Orange, since that day, was held in horror in
      both armies, and he would have fallen into disgrace with the States
      General themselves had it not been for the protection of the King of
      England, to whom the Dutch were greatly bound.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following day, this monster sent a parliamentary officer to the
      French generals to inform them that during the night official news of the
      peace had reached him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mission of Madame de Maintenon to Choisy.&mdash;Mademoiselle Gives the
      Principalities of Eu and Dombes in Exchange for M. de Lauzun.&mdash;He Is
      Set at Liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The four or five words which had escaped Mademoiselle de Montpensier had
      remained in the King's recollection. He said to me: "If you had more
      patience, and a sweeter and more pliant temper, I would employ you to go
      and have a little talk with Mademoiselle, in order to induce her to
      explain what intentions she may have relative to my son."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I admit, Sire," I answered him, "that I am not the person required for
      affairs of that sort. Your cousin is proud and cutting; I would not endure
      what she has made others endure. I cannot accept such a commission. But
      Madame de Maintenon, who is gentleness itself, is suitable&mdash;no one
      more so for this mission; she is at once insinuating and respectful; she
      is attached to the Duc du Maine. The interests of my son could not be in
      better hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King agreed with me, and both he and I begged the Marquise to conduct
      M. du Maine to Choisy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Montpensier received him with rapture. He thanked her for
      what she had done for him, in granting him her colours, and upon that
      Mademoiselle asked his permission to embrace him, and to tell him how
      amiable and worthy of belonging to the King she found him. She led him to
      the hall, in which he was to be seen represented as a colonel-general of
      Swiss.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have always loved the Swiss," she said, "because of their great
      bravery, their fidelity, and their excellent discipline. The Marechal de
      Bassompierre made his corps the perfection which it is; it is for you, my
      cousin, to maintain it."
    </p>
    <p>
      She passed into another apartment, where she was to be seen represented as
      Bellona. Two Loves were presenting her, one with his helm adorned with
      martial plumes, the other with his buckler of gold, with the
      Orleans-Montpensier arms. The laurel crown, with which Triumphs were
      ornamenting her head, and the scaled cuirass of Pallas completed her
      decoration. M. le Duc du Maine praised, without affectation, the
      intelligence of the artist; and as for the figure and the likeness, he
      said to the Princess: "You are good, but you are better." The calm and the
      naivety of this compliment made Mademoiselle shed tears. Her emotion was
      visible; she embraced my son anew.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have brought him up perfectly," she said to Madame de Maintenon. "His
      urbanity is of good origin; that is how a king's son ought to act and
      speak:
    </p>
    <p>
      "His Majesty," said Madame de Maintenon, "has been enchanted with your
      country-house; he spoke of it all the evening. He even added that you had
      ordered it all yourself, without an architect, and that M. le Notre would
      not have done better."
    </p>
    <p>
      "M. le Notre," replied the Princess, "came here for a little; he wanted to
      cut and destroy, and upset and disarrange, as with the King at Versailles.
      But I am of a different mould to my cousin; I am not to be surprised with
      big words. I saw that Le Notre thought only of expenditure and tyranny; I
      thanked him for his good intentions, and prayed him not to put himself out
      for me. I found there thickets already made, of an indescribable charm; he
      wanted, on the instant, to clear them away, so that one could testify that
      all this new park was his. If you please, madame, tell his Majesty that M.
      le Notre is the sworn enemy of Nature; that he sees only the pleasures of
      proprietorship in the future, and promises us cover and shade just at that
      epoch of our life when we shall only ask for sunshine in which to warm
      ourselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      She next led her guests towards the large apartments. When she had come to
      her bedroom, she showed the Marquise the mysterious portrait, and asked if
      she recognised it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my God! 'tis himself!" said Madame de Maintenon at once. "He sees, he
      breathes, he regards us; one might believe one heard him speak. Why do you
      give yourself this torture?" continued the ambassadress. "The continual
      presence of an unhappy and beloved being feeds your grief, and this grief
      insensibly undermines you. In your place, Princess, I should put him
      elsewhere until a happier and more favourable hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That hour will never come," cried Mademoiselle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pardon me," resumed Madame de Maintenon; "the King is never inhuman and
      inexorable; you should know that better than any one. He punishes only
      against the protests of his heart, and, as soon as he can relent without
      impropriety or danger, he pardons. M. de Lauzun, by refusing haughtily the
      marshal's baton, which was offered him in despite of his youth, deeply
      offended the King, and the disturbance he allowed himself to make at
      Madame de Montespan's depicted him as a dangerous and wrong-headed man.
      Those are his sins. Rest assured, Princess, that I am well informed. But
      as I know, at the same time, that the King was much attached to him,&mdash;and
      is still so, to some extent, and that a captivity of ten years is a rough
      school, I have the assurance that your Highness will not be thought
      importunate if you make today some slight attempt towards a clemency."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will do everything they like," Mademoiselle de Montpensier said then;
      "but shall I have any one near his Majesty to assist and support my
      undertaking? I have no more trust in Madame de Montespan; she has betrayed
      us, she will betray us again; the offence of M. de Lauzun is always
      present in her memory, and she is a lady who does not easily forgive. As
      for you, madame, I know that the King considers you for the invaluable
      services of the education given to his children. Deign to speak and act in
      favour of my unhappy husband, and I will make you a present of one of my
      fine titled territories."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon was too acute to accept anything in such a case; she
      answered the Princess that her generosities, to please the King, should be
      offered to M. le Duc du Maine, and that, by assuring a part of her
      succession to that young prince, she had a sure method of moving the
      monarch, and of turning his paternal gratitude to the most favourable
      concessions. The Princess, enchanted, then said to the negotiatrix:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be good enough to inform his Majesty, this evening, that I offer to give,
      at once, to his dear and amiable child the County of Eu and my Sovereignty
      of Dombes, adding the revenues to them if it is necessary."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, who worships her pupil, kissed the hand of
      Mademoiselle, and promised to return and see her immediately.
    </p>
    <p>
      That very evening she gave an account to the King of her embassy; she
      solicited the liberty of the Marquis de Lauzun, and the King commenced by
      granting "the authorisation of mineral waters."
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Mademoiselle, presented by Madame de Maintenon, went to take
      counsel with the King. She made a formal donation of the two
      principalities which I have named. His Majesty, out of courtesy, left her
      the revenues, and, in fine, she was permitted to marry her M. de Lauzun,
      and to assure him, by contract, fifty thousand livres of income.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Brisacier and King Casimir.&mdash;One Is Never so Well Praised as by
      Oneself.&mdash;He Is Sent to Get Himself Made a Duke Elsewhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe de Brisacier, the famous director of consciences, possessed
      enough friends and credit to advance young Brisacier, his nephew, to the
      Queen's household, to whom he had been made private secretary. Slanderers
      or impostors had persuaded this young coxcomb that Casimir, the King of
      Poland, whilst dwelling in Paris in the quality of a simple gentleman, had
      shown himself most assiduous to Madame Brisacier, and that he, Brisacier
      of France, was born of these assiduities of the Polish prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he saw the Comte Casimir raised to the elective throne of Poland, he
      considered himself as the issue of royal blood, and it seemed to him that
      his position with the Queen, Maria Theresa, was a great injustice of
      fortune; he thought, nevertheless, that he ought to remain some time
      longer in this post of inferiority, in order to use it as a ladder of
      ascent.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen wrote quantities of letters to different countries, and
      especially to Spain, but never, or hardly ever, in her own hand. One day,
      whilst handling all this correspondence for the princess's signature, the
      private secretary slipped one in, addressed to Casimir, the Polish King.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this letter, which from one end to the other sang the praises of the
      Seigneur Brisacier, the Queen had the extreme kindness to remind the
      Northern monarch of his old liaison with the respectable mother of the
      young man, and her Majesty begged the prince to solicit from the King of
      France the title and rank of duke for so excellent a subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      King Casimir was not, as one knows, distrust and prudence personified; he
      walked blindfold into the trap; he wrote with his royal hand to his
      brother, the King of France, and asked him a brevet as duke for young
      Brisacier. Our King, who did not throw duchies at people's heads, read and
      re-read the strange missive with astonishment and suspicion. He wrote in
      his turn to the suppliant King, and begged him to send him the why and the
      wherefore of this hieroglyphic adventure. The good prince, ignorant of
      ruses, sent the letter of the Queen herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Had this princess ever given any reason to be talked about, there is no
      doubt that she would have been lost on this occasion; but there was
      nothing to excite suspicion. The King, no less, approached her with
      precaution, in order to observe the first results of her answers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," he said, "are you still quite satisfied with young Brisacier,
      your private secretary?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "More or less," replied the Infanta; "a little light, a little absent;
      but, on the whole, a good enough young man."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why have you recommended him to the King of Poland, instead of
      recommending him to me directly?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the King of Poland!&mdash;I? I have not written to him since I
      congratulated him on his succession."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, madame, you have been deceived in this matter, since I have your
      last letter in my hands. Here it is; I return it to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      The princess read the letter with attention; her astonishment was immense.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My signature has been used without authority," she said. "Brisacier alone
      can be guilty, being the only one interested."
    </p>
    <p>
      This new kind of ambitious man was summoned; he was easily confounded. The
      King ordered him to prison, wishing to frighten him for a punishment, and
      at the end of some days he was commanded to quit France and go and be made
      duke somewhere else.
    </p>
    <p>
      This event threw such ridicule upon pretenders to the ducal state, that I
      no longer dared speak further to the King of the hopes which he had held
      out to me; moreover, the things which supervened left me quite convinced
      of the small success which would attend my efforts.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Compliment from Monsieur to the New Prince de Dombes.&mdash;Roman History.&mdash;The
      Emperors Trajan, Marcus Aurelius, and Verus.&mdash;The Danger of
      Erudition.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur, having learnt what his cousin of Montpensier had just done for
      my Duc du Maine, felt all possible grief and envy at it. He had always
      looked to inherit from her, and the harshest enemy whom M. de Lauzun met
      with at his wedding was, undoubtedly, Monsieur. When M. le Duc du Maine
      received the congratulations of all the Court on the ground of his new
      dignity of Prince de Dombes, his uncle was the last to appear; even so he
      could not refrain from making him hear these disobliging words,&mdash;who
      would believe it?&mdash;"If I, too, were to give you my congratulation, it
      would be scarcely sincere; what will be left for my children?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, who is never at a loss, replied: "There will be left
      always, Monseigneur, the remembrance of your virtues; that is a fair
      enough inheritance."
    </p>
    <p>
      We complained of it to the King; he reprimanded him in a fine fashion. "I
      gave you a condition so considerable," said he, "that the Queen, our
      mother, herself thought it exaggerated and dangerous in your hands. You
      have no liking for my children, although you feign a passionate affection
      for their father; the result of your misbehaviour will be that I shall
      grow cool to your line, and that your daughter, however beautiful and
      amiable she may be, will not marry my Dauphin."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this threat Monsieur was quite overcome, and anxious to make his
      apologies to the King; he assured him of his tender affection for M. le
      Duc du Maine, and would give him to understand that Madame de Maintenon
      had misunderstood him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not from her that your compliment came to us; it is from M. le Duc
      du Maine, who is uprightness itself, and whose mouth has never lied."
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur then started playing at distraction and puerility; the medal-case
      was standing opened, his gaze was turned to it. Then he came to me and
      said in a whisper: "I pray you, come and look at the coin of Marcus
      Aurelius; do you not find that the King resembles that emperor in every
      feature?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are joking," I answered him. "His Majesty is as much like him as you
      are like me."
    </p>
    <p>
      He insisted, and his brother, who witnessed our argument, wished to know
      the reason. When he understood, he said to Monsieur: "Madame de Montespan
      is right; I am not in the least like that Roman prince in face. The one to
      whom I should wish to be like in merit is Trajan."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trajan had fine qualities," replied Monsieur; "that does not prevent me
      from preferring Marcus Aurelius."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On what grounds?" asked his Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the grounds that he shared his throne with Verus," replied Monsieur,
      unhesitatingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King flushed at this reply, and answered in few words: "Marcus
      Aurelius's action to his brother may, be called generous; it was none the
      less inconsiderate. By his own confession, the Emperor Verus proved, by
      his debauchery and his vices, unworthy, of the honour which had been done
      him. Happily, he died from his excesses during the Pannonian War, and
      Marcus Aurelius could only do well from that day on."
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur, annoyed with his erudition and confused at his escapade, sought
      to change the conversation. The King, passing into his cabinet, left him
      entirely, in my charge. I scolded him for his inconsequences, and he dared
      to implore me to put his daughter "in the right way," to become one day
      Queen of France by marrying Monsieur le Dauphin, whom she loved already
      with her whole heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Benedictines of Fontevrault.&mdash;The Head in the Basin.&mdash;The
      Unfortunate Delivery.&mdash;The Baptism of the Monster.&mdash;The
      Courageous Marriage.&mdash;Foundation of the Royal Abbey of Fontevrault.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Two or three days after our arrival at Fontevrault, the King, who loves to
      know all the geographical details of important places, asked me of the
      form and particulars of the celebrated abbey. I gave him a natural
      description of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are two vast communities," I told him, "which the founder, for some
      inexplicable whim, united in one domain, of an extent which astonishes the
      imagination."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Community of Benedictine Nuns is regarded as the first, because of the
      abbotorial dignity it possesses. The Community of Benedictine Monks is
      only second,&mdash;a fact which surprises greatly strangers and visitors.
      Both in the monastery and the convent the buildings are huge and
      magnificent, the courts spacious, the woods and streams well distributed
      and well kept.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every morning you may see a hundred and fifty to two hundred ploughs
      issue from both establishments; these spread over the plain and till an
      immense expanse of land. Carts drawn by bullocks, big mules, or superb
      horses are ceaselessly exporting the products of the fields, the meadows,
      or the orchards. Innumerable cows cover the pastures, and legions of women
      and herds are employed to look after these estates.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The aspect of Fontevrault gives an exact idea of the ancient homes of the
      Patriarchs, in their remote periods of early civilisation, which saw the
      great proprietors delighting in their natal hearth, and finding their
      glory, as well as their happiness, in fertilising or assisting nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The abbess rules like a sovereign over her companion nuns, and over the
      monks, her neighbours. She appoints their officers and their temporal
      prince. It is she who admits postulants, who fixes the dates of
      ordinations, pronounces interdictions, graces, and penances. They render
      her an account of their administration and the employment of their
      revenues, from which she subtracts carefully her third share, as the
      essential right of her crosier of authority."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you invited the Benedictine Fathers to your fete in the wood?" the
      King asked me, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We had no power, Sire," I answered. "There are many young ladies being
      educated with the nuns of Fontevrault. The parents of these young ladies
      respectful as they are to these monks, would have looked askance at the
      innovation. The Fathers never go in there. They are to be seen at the
      abbey church, where they sing and say their offices. Only the three
      secular chaplains of the abbess penetrate into the house of the nuns; the
      youngest of the three cannot be less than fifty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The night of the feast the monks draw near our cloister by means of a
      wooden theatre, which forms a terrace, and from this elevation they
      participate by the eye and ear in our amusements; that is enough."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Has Madame de Mortemart ever related to you the origin of her abbey?"
      resumed the King. "Perhaps she is ignorant of it. I am going to tell you
      of it, for it is extremely curious; it is not as it is related in the
      books, and I take the facts from good authority. You must hear of it, and
      you will see.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was once a Comtesse de Poitiers, named Honorinde, to whom fate had
      given for a husband the greatest hunter in the world. This man would have
      willingly passed his life in the woods, where he hunted, night and day,
      what we call, in hunter's parlance, 'big game.' Having won the victory
      over a monstrous boar, he cut off the head himself, and this quivering and
      bleeding mask he went to offer to his lady in a basin. The young woman was
      in the first month of her pregnancy. She was filled with repugnance and
      fright at the sight of this still-threatening head; it troubled her to the
      prejudice of her fruit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eight, or seven and a half, months afterwards, she brought into the world
      a girl who was human in her whole body, but above had the horrible head of
      a wild boar! Imagine what cries, what grief, what despair! The cure of the
      place refused baptism, and the Count, broken down and desolate, ordered
      the child to be drowned.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Instead of throwing it into the water, his servant scrupulously went
      straight to the monastery where your sister rules. He laid down his closed
      packet in the church of the monks, and then returned to his lord, who
      never had any other child.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The religious Benedictines, not knowing whence this monster came,
      believed there was some prodigy in it. They baptised in this little person
      all that was not boar, and left the surplus to Providence. They brought up
      the singular creature in the greatest secrecy; it drank and lapped after
      the manner of its kind. As it grew up it walked on its feet, and that
      without the least imperfection; it could sit down, go on its knees, and
      even make a courtesy. But it never articulated any distinct words, and it
      had always a harsh and rough voice which howled and grunted. Its
      intelligence never reached the knowledge of reading or writing; but it
      understood easily all that could be said to it, and the proof was that it
      replied by its actions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Comte de Poitiers having died whilst hunting, Honorinde learnt of her
      old serving-man in what refuge, in what asylum, he had long ago deposited
      the little one. This good mother proceeded there, and the monks, after
      some hesitation, confessed what had become of it. She wished to see it;
      they showed it her. At its aspect she felt the same inward commotion which
      had, years before, perverted nature. She groaned, fainted, burst into
      tears, and never had the courage and firmness to embrace what she had
      seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Her gratitude was not less lively and sincere; she handed a considerable
      sum to the Benedictines of Fontevrault, charging them to continue their
      good work and charity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The reverend Prior, reflecting that his hideous inmate came of a great
      family, and of a family of great property, resolved to procure it as a
      wife for his nephew. He sounded the young man, who looked fixedly at his
      future bride, and avowed that he was satisfied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is a good Christian," he replied to his uncle, since you have
      baptised her here. She is of a good family, since Honorinde has recognised
      her. There are many as ugly as she is to be seen who still find husbands.
      I will put a pretty mask on her, and the mask will give me sufficient
      illusion. Benedicte, so far as she goes, is well-made; I hope to have fine
      children who will talk.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Prior commenced by marrying them; he then confided in Honorinde, who,
      not daring to noise abroad this existence, was compelled to submit to what
      had been done.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The marriage of the young she-monster was not happy. She bit her husband
      from morning to night. She did not know how to sit at table, and would
      only eat out of a trough. She needed neither an armchair, a sofa, nor a
      couch; she stretched herself out on the sand or on the pavement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Her husband, in despair, demanded the nullification of his marriage; and
      as the courts did not proceed fast enough for his impatience, he killed
      his companion, Benedicte, with a pistol-shot, at the moment when she was
      biting and tearing him before witnesses.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Honorinde had her buried at Fontevrault, and over her tomb, at the end of
      the year, she built a convent, to which her immense property was given,
      where she retired herself as a simple nun, and of which she was appointed
      first abbess by the Pope who reigned at the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There, madame," added the King, "is the somewhat singular origin of the
      illustrious abbey which your sister rules with such eclat. You must have
      remarked the boar's head, perfectly imitated in sculpture, in the dome;
      that mask is the speaking history of the noble community of Fontevrault,
      where more than a hundred Benedictine monks obey an abbess."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Fine Couples Make Fine Children.&mdash;The Dauphine of Bavaria.&mdash;She
      Displeases Madame de Montespan.&mdash;First Debut Relating to Madame de
      Maintenon, Appointed Lady-in-waiting.&mdash;Conversation between the Two
      Marquises.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, in his moments of effusion and abandonment (then so full of
      pleasantness), had said more than once: "If I have any physical beauty, I
      owe it to the Queen, my mother; if my daughters have any beauty, they owe
      it to me: it is only fine couples who get fine children."
    </p>
    <p>
      When I saw him decided upon marrying Monseigneur le Dauphin, I reminded
      him of his maxim. He fell to smiling, and answered me: "Chance, too,
      sometimes works its miracles. My choice for my son is a decided thing; my
      politics come before my taste, and I have asked for the daughter of the
      Elector of Bavaria, whose portrait I will show you. She is not beautiful,
      like you; she is prettier than Benedicte, and I hope that she will not
      bite Monseigneur le Dauphin in her capricious transports."
    </p>
    <p>
      The portrait that the King showed me was a flattering one, as are, in
      general, all these preliminary samples. For all that, the Princess seemed
      to me hideous, and even disagreeable, especially about her eyes, that
      portion of the face which confirms the physiognomy and decides everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Monseigneur will never love that woman," I said to the King. "That
      constrained look in the pupil, those drooping eyes,&mdash;they make my
      heart ache."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My son, happily," his Majesty answered, "is not so difficult as you and
      I. He has already seen this likeness, and at the second look he was taken;
      and as we have assured him that the young person is well made, he cries
      quits with her face, and proposes to love her as soon as he gets her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God grant it!" I added; and the King told me, more or less in detail, of
      what important personages he was going to compose his household. The
      eternal Abbe Bossuet was to become first chaplain, as being the
      tutor-in-chief to the Dauphin; the Duchesse de Richelieu, for her great
      name, was going to be lady of honour; and the two posts of ladies in
      waiting were destined for the Marquise de Rochefort, wife of the Marshal,
      and for Madame de Maintenon, ex-governess of the Duc du Maine. The gesture
      of disapproval which escaped me gave his Majesty pain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb068" id="pb068"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="pb068.jpg (46K)" src="images/pb068.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why this air of contempt or aversion?" he said, changing colour. "Is it
      to the Marechale de Rochefort or the Marquise de Maintenon that you
      object? I esteem both the one and the other, and I am sorry for you if you
      do not esteem them too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Marechale de Rochefort," I replied, without taking any fright, "is
      aged, and almost always sick; a lady of honour having her appearance will
      make a contrast with her office. As to the other, she still has beauty and
      elegance; but do you imagine, Sire, that the Court of Bavaria and the
      Court of France have forgotten, in so short a time, the pleasant and
      burlesque name of the poet Scarron?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every one ought to forget what I have forgotten," replied the King, "and
      what my gratitude will not, and cannot forget, I am surprised that you,
      madame, should take pleasure in forgetting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has taken care of my children since the cradle, I admit it with
      pleasure," said I to his Majesty, without changing my tone; "you have
      given her a marquisate for recompense, and a superb hotel completely
      furnished at Versailles. I do not see that she has any cause for
      complaint, nor that after such bounty there is more to add."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of eight children that you have brought into the world, madame, she has
      reared and attended perfectly to six," replied the King. "The estate of
      Maintenon has, at the most, recompensed the education of the Comtes de
      Vegin, whose childhood was so onerous. And for the remainder of my little
      family, what have I yet done that deserves mention?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give her a second estate and money," I cried, quite out of patience,
      "since it is money which pays all services of that nature; but what need
      have you to raise her to great office, and keep her at Court? She dotes,
      she says, on her old chateau of Maintenon; do not deprive her of this
      delight. By making her lady in waiting, you would be disobliging her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She will accept out of courtesy," he said to me, putting on an air of
      mockery. And as the time for the Council was noted by him on my clock, he
      went away without adding more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since M. le Duc du Maine had grown up, and Mademoiselle de Nantes had been
      confided to the Marquise de Montchevreuil, Madame de Maintenon continued
      to occupy her handsome apartment on the Princes' Court. There she received
      innumerable visits, she paid assiduous court to the Queen, who had
      suddenly formed a taste for her, and took her on her walks and her visits
      to the communities; but this new Marquise saw me rarely. Since the affair
      of the vine-grower, killed on the road, she declared that I had insulted
      her before everybody, and that I had ordered her imperiously to return to
      my carriage, as though she had been a waiting-maid, or some other menial.
      Her excessive sensibility readily afforded her this pretext, so that she
      neglected and visibly overlooked me.
    </p>
    <p>
      As she did not come to me, I betook myself to her at a tolerably early
      hour, before the flood of visitors, and started her on the history of the
      lady in waiting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "His Majesty has spoken of it to me," she said, "as of a thing possible;
      but I do not think there is anything settled yet in the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you accept," I asked her, "supposing the King to insist?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should like a hundred times better," she replied, "to go and live in
      independence in my little kingdom of Maintenon, and with my own hands
      gather on my walls those velvet, brilliant peaches, which grow so fine in
      those districts. But if the King commands me to remain at Court, and form
      our young Bavarian Princess in the manners of this country, have I the
      right, in good conscience, to refuse?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your long services have gained you the right to desire and take your
      retirement," I said to her; "in your place, I should insist upon the
      necessities of my health. And the Court of France will not fall nor change
      its physiognomy, even if a German or Iroquois Dauphine should courtesy
      awry, or in bad taste."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon began to laugh, and assured me that "her post as lady
      in waiting would be an actual burden, if the King had destined her for it
      in spite of herself, and there should be no means of withdrawing from it."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this speech I saw clearly that things were already fixed. Not wishing
      to call upon me the reproaches of my lord, I carried the conversation no
      further.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The "Powder of Inheritance."&mdash;The Chambre Ardente.&mdash;The Comtesse
      de Soissons's Arrest Decreed.&mdash;The Marquise de Montespan Buys Her
      Superintendence of the Queen's Council.&mdash;Madame de Soubise.&mdash;Madame
      de Maintenon and the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time of the poisonings committed by Madame de Brinvilliers, the
      Government obtained evidence that a powder, called "the powder of
      inheritance," was being sold in Paris, by means of which impatient heirs
      shortened the days of unfortunate holders, and entered into possession
      before their time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two obscure women, called La Vigoureuse and La Voisine, were arrested,
      having been caught redhanded. Submitted to the question, they confessed
      their crime, and mentioned several persons, whom they qualified as "having
      bought and made use of the said powder of inheritance."
    </p>
    <p>
      We saw suddenly the arrest of the Marechal de Luxembourg, the Princesse de
      Tingry, and many others. The 'Chambre Ardente'&mdash;[The French Star
      Chamber.]&mdash;issued a warrant also to seize the person of the Duchesse
      de Bouillon and the Comtesse de Soissons, the celebrated nieces of the
      Cardinal Mazarin, sisters-in-law, both, of my niece De Nevers, who was
      dutifully afflicted thereby.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comtesse de Soissons had possessed hitherto an important office, whose
      functions suited me in every respect,&mdash;that of the superintendence of
      the Queen's household and council. I bought this post at a considerable
      price. The Queen, who had never cared for the Countess, did me the honour
      of assuring me that she preferred me to the other, when I came to take my
      oath in her presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame la Princesse de Rohan-Soubise had wished to supplant me at that
      time, and I was aware of her constant desire to obtain a fine post at
      Court. She loved the King, who had shown her his favours in more than one
      circumstance; but, as she had a place neither in his esteem nor in his
      affection, I did not fear her. I despatched to her, very adroitly, a
      person of her acquaintance, who spoke to her of the new household of a
      Dauphine, and gave her the idea of soliciting for herself the place of
      lady in waiting, destined for Madame de Maintenon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Princesse de Soubise put herself immediately amongst the candidates.
      She wrote to the King, her friend, a pressing and affectionate letter, to
      which he did not even reply. She wrote one next in a more majestic and
      appropriate style. It was notified to her that she was forbidden to
      reappear at Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      The prince had resolutely taken his course. He wished to put Madame de
      Maintenon in evidence, and what he has once decided he abandons never.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was soon aware that costumes of an unheard-of magnificence were being
      executed for the Marquise. Gold, silver, precious stones abounded. I was
      offered a secret view of her robe of ceremony, with a long mantle train. I
      saw this extraordinarily rich garment, and was sorry in advance for the
      young stranger, whose lady in waiting could not fail to eclipse her in
      everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      I then put some questions to myself,&mdash;asked myself severely if my
      disapproval sprang from natural haughtiness, which would have been
      possible, and even excusable, or whether, mingled with all that, was some
      little agitation of jealousy and emulation.
    </p>
    <p>
      I collected together a crowd of slight and scattered circumstances; and in
      this union of several small facts, at first neglected and almost
      unperceived, I distinguished on the part of the King a gradual and
      increasing attachment for the governess, and at the same time a negligence
      in regard to me,&mdash;a coldness, a cooling-down, at least, and that sort
      of familiarity, close parent of weariness, which comes to sight in the
      midst of courtesies and attentions the most satisfying and the most
      frequent.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, in the old days, never glanced towards my clock till as late as
      possible, and always at the last moment, at the last extremity. Now he
      cast his eyes on it a score of times in half an hour. He contradicted me
      about trifles. He explained to me ingeniously the faults, or alleged
      faults, of my temper and character. If it was a question of Madame de
      Maintenon, she was of a birth equal and almost superior to the rest of the
      Court. He forgot himself so far as to quote before me the subtilty of her
      answers or the delight of her most intimate conversation. Did he wish to
      describe a noble carriage, an attitude at once easy and distinguished, it
      was Madame de Maintenon's. She possessed this, she possessed that, she
      possessed everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon there was not the slightest doubt left to me; and I knew, as did the
      whole Court, that he openly visited the Marquise, and was glad to pass
      some moments there.
    </p>
    <p>
      These things, in truth, never lacked some plausible pretext, and he chose
      the time when Madame de Montchevreuil and Mademoiselle de Nantes were
      presenting their homages to Madame de Maintenon.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Marie Louise, Daughter of Henrietta of England, Betrothed to the King of
      Spain.&mdash;Her Affliction.&mdash;Jealousy of the King, Her Husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The unfortunate lady, Henrietta of England, had left, at her death, two
      extremely young girls, one of them, indeed, being still in the cradle. The
      new Madame was seized with good-will for these two orphans to such an
      extent as to complain to the King. They were brought up with the greatest
      care; they were, both of them, pretty and charming.
    </p>
    <p>
      The elder was named Marie Louise. It was this one whom Monsieur destined
      in his own mind for Monseigneur le Dauphin; and the Princess, accustomed
      early to this prospect, had insensibly adapted to it her mind and hope.
      Young, beautiful, agreeable, and charming as her mother, she created
      already the keenest sensation at Court, and the King felt an inclination
      to cherish her as much as he had loved Madame. But the excessive freedom
      which this alliance would not have failed to give his brother, both with
      his son-in-law and nephew, and with the Ministry, prevented his Majesty
      from giving way to this penchunt for Marie Louise. On the contrary, he
      consented to her marriage with the King of Spain, and the news of it was
      accordingly carried to Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans. He and his wife felt
      much annoyance at it. But after communications of that kind there was
      scarcely any course open to be taken than that of acquiescence. Monsieur
      conveyed the news to his beloved daughter, and, on hearing that she was to
      be made Queen of Spain, this amiable child uttered loud lamentations.
    </p>
    <p>
      When she went to Versailles to thank the King, her uncle, her fine eyes
      were still suffused with tears. The few words which she uttered were
      mingled with sighing and weeping; and when she saw the indifference of her
      cousin, who felicitated her like the rest, she almost fainted with grief
      and regret.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear cousin," said this dull-witted young lord, "I shall count the
      hours until you go to Spain. You will send me some 'touru', for I am very
      fond of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The King could not but find this reflection of his son very silly and out
      of place. But intelligence is neither to be given nor communicated by
      example. His Majesty had to support to the end this son, legitimate as
      much as you like, but altogether in degree, and with a person which formed
      a perpetual contrast with the person of the King. It was my Duc du Maine
      who should have been in the eminent position of Monseigneur. Nature willed
      it so. She had proved it sufficiently by lavishing all her favours on him,
      all her graces; but the laws of convention and usage would not have it.
      His Majesty has made this same reflection, groaning, more than once.
    </p>
    <p>
      Marie Louise, having been married by proxy, in the great Chapel of Saint
      Germain, where the Cardinal de Bouillon blessed the ring in his quality of
      Grand Almoner of France, left for that Spain which her young heart
      distrusted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her beauty and charms rendered her precious to the monarch, utterly
      melancholy and devout as he was. He did not delay subjecting her to the
      wretched, petty, tiresome, and absurd etiquette of that Gothic Court.
      Mademoiselle submitted to all these nothings, seeing she had been able to
      submit to separation from France. She condemned herself to the most
      fastidious observances and the most sore privations, which did not much
      ameliorate her lot.
    </p>
    <p>
      A young Castilian lord, almost mad himself, thought fit to find this Queen
      pretty, and publicly testify his love for her. The jealousy of the
      religious King flared up like a funeral torch. He conceived a hatred of
      his wife, reserved and innocent though she was. She died cruelly by
      poison. And Monseigneur le Dauphin probably cried, after his manner:
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a great pity! She won't send me the touru!"
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Dauphine of Bavaria.&mdash;The Confessor with Spurs.&mdash;Madame de
      Maintenon Disputes with Bossuet.&mdash;He Opposes to Her Past Ages and
      History.&mdash;The Military Absolution.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Eight months after the wedding of Marie Louise, we witnessed the arrival
      of Anne Marie Christine, Princess of Bavaria, daughter of the Elector
      Ferdinand. The King and Monseigneur went to receive her at
      Vitry-le-Francais, and then escorted her to Chalons, where the Queen was
      awaiting her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Cardinal de Bouillon celebrated the marriage in the cathedral church
      of this third-class town. The festivities and jubilations there lasted a
      week.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King had been very willing to charge me with the arrangement of the
      baskets of presents destined for the Dauphine; I acquitted myself of this
      commission with French taste and a sentiment of what was proper. When the
      Queen saw all these magnificent gifts placed and spread out in a gallery,
      she cried out, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Things were not done so nobly for me; and yet, I can say without vanity,
      I was of a better house than she."
    </p>
    <p>
      This remark paints the Queen, Maria Theresa, better than anything which
      could be said. Can one wonder, after that, that she should have brought
      into the world an hereditary prince who so keenly loves 'touru', and asks
      for it!
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon and M. Bossuet had gone to receive the Princess of
      Schelestadt. When she was on her husband's territory, and it was
      necessary, to confess her for the sacrament of matrimony, she was
      strangely embarrassed. They had not remembered to bring a chaplain of her
      own nation for her; and she could not confess except in the German tongue.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, who is skilled in all matters of religion, said to
      the prelate: "I really think, monsieur, that, having educated Monsieur le
      Dauphin, you ought to know a little German,&mdash;you who have composed
      the treatise on universal history."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bishop of Meaux excused himself, saying that he knew Greek, Syriac,
      and even Hebrew; but that, through a fatality, he was ignorant of the
      German language. A trumpeter was then sent out to ask if there was not in
      the country a Catholic priest who was a German, or acquainted with the
      German tongue. Luckily one was found, and Madame de Maintenon, who is
      very, pedantic, even in the matter of toilet and ornaments, trembled with
      joy and thanked God for it. But what was her astonishment when they came
      to bring her the priest! He was in coloured clothes, a silk doublet,
      flowing peruke, and boots and spurs. The lady in waiting rated him
      severely, and was tempted to send him back. But Bossuet&mdash;a far
      greater casuist than she&mdash;decided that in these urgent cases one need
      hold much less to forms. They were contented with taking away the spurs
      from this amphibious personage; they pushed him into a confessional,&mdash;the
      curtain of which he was careful to draw before himself,&mdash;and they
      brought the Bavarian Princess, who, not knowing the circumstances,
      confessed the sins of her whole life to this sort of soldier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon always had this general confession on her conscience;
      she scolded Bossuet for it as a sort of sacrilege, and the latter, who was
      only difficult and particular with simple folk, quoted historical examples
      in which soldiers, on the eve of battle, had confessed to their general.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said the King, on hearing these quotations from the imperturbable
      man; "that must have been to the Bishop of Puy or the Bishop of Orange,
      who, in effect, donned the shield and cuirass at the time of the crusades
      against the Saracens; or perhaps, again, to the Cardinal de la Valette
      d'Epernon, who commanded our armies under Richelieu successfully."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Sire," replied the Bishop; "to generals who were simply soldiers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But," said the King, "were the confessions, then, null?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," added the Bishop of Meaux, "circumstances decide everything. Of
      old, in the time of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and much later still,
      confessions of Christians were public,&mdash;made in a loud voice;
      sometimes a number together, and always in the open air. Those of soldiers
      that I have quoted to madame were somewhat of the kind of these
      confessions of the primitive Church; and to-day, still, at the moment when
      battle is announced, a military almoner gives the signal for confession.
      The regiments confess on their knees before the Most High, who hears them;
      and the almoner, raised aloft on a pile of drums, holds the crucifix in
      one hand, and with the other gives the general absolution to eighty
      thousand soldiers at once."
    </p>
    <p>
      This clear and precise explanation somewhat calmed Madame de Maintenon,
      and Madame la Dauphine,&mdash;displeased at what she had done on arriving,&mdash;in
      order to be regular, learned to confess in French.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Pere de la Chaise.&mdash;The Jesuits.&mdash;The Pavilion of Belleville.&mdash;The
      Handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Pere de la Chaise has never done me good or ill; I have no motives for
      conciliating him, no reason to slander him. I am ignorant if he were the
      least in the world concerned, at the epoch of the Grand Jubilee, with
      those ecclesiastical attempts of which Bossuet had constituted himself
      spokesman. Pere de la Chaise has in his favour a great evenness of temper
      and character; an excellent tone, which comes to him from his birth; a
      conciliatory philosophy, which renders him always master of his condition
      and of his metier. He is, in a single individual, the happy combination of
      several men, that is to say, he is by turns, and as it may be needful, a
      man indulgent or severe in his preaching; a man of abstinence, or a good
      feeder; a man of the world, or a cenobite; a man of his breviary, or a
      courtier. He knows that the sins of woodcutters and the sins of kings are
      not of the same family, and that copper and gold are not weighed in the
      same scales.
    </p>
    <p>
      He is a Jesuit by his garb; he is much more so than they are by his
      'savoir-vivre'. His companions love the King because he is the King; he
      loves him, and pities him because he sees his weakness. He shows for his
      penitent the circumspection and tenderness of a father, and in the long
      run he has made of him a spoiled child.
    </p>
    <p>
      This Pere de la Chaise fell suddenly ill, and with symptoms so alarming
      that the cabals each wished to appropriate this essential post of
      confessor.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Jansenists would have been quite willing to lay hold of it. The
      Jesuits, and principally the cordons bleus, did not quit the pillow of the
      sick man for an instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King had himself informed of his condition every half-hour. There was
      a bulletin, as there is for potentates. One evening, when the doctors were
      grave on his account, I saw anxiety and affliction painted on the visage
      of his Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where shall I find his like?" said he to me. "Where shall I find such
      knowledge, such indulgence, such kindness? The Pere de la Chaise knew the
      bottom of my heart; he knew, as an intelligent man, how to reconcile
      religion with nature; and when duty brings me to the foot of his tribunal,
      as a humble Christian, he never forgets that royalty, cannot be long on
      its knees, and he accompanies with his attentions and with deference the
      religious commands which he is bound to impose on me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope that God will preserve him to you," I replied to his Majesty; "but
      let us suppose the case in which this useful and precious man should see
      his career come to an end; will you grant still this mark of confidence
      and favour to the Jesuits? All the French being your subjects, would it
      not be fitting to grant this distinction sometimes to the one and
      sometimes to the other? You would, perhaps, extinguish by this that hate
      or animosity by which the Jesuits see themselves assailed, which your
      preference draws upon them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not love the Jesuits with that affection that you seem to suggest,"
      replied the monarch. "I look upon them as men of instruction, as a learned
      and well-governed corporation; but as for their attachment for me, I know
      how to estimate it. This kind of people, strangers to the soft emotions of
      nature, have no affection or love for anything. Before the triumph of the
      King my grandfather, they intrigued and exerted themselves to bring about
      his fall; he opened the gates of Paris, and the Jesuits, like the
      Capuchins, at once recognised him and bowed down before him. King Henri,
      who knew what men are, pretended to forget the past; he pronounced himself
      decidedly in favour of the Jesuits because this body of teachers,
      numerous, rich, and of good credit, had just pronounced itself in favour
      of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was, then, a reconciliation between power and power, and the politics
      of my grandfather were to survive him and become mine, since the same
      elements exist and I am encamped on the same ground. If God takes away
      from me my poor Pere de la Chaise, I shall feel this misfortune deeply,
      because I shall lose in him, not a Jesuit, not a priest, but a good
      companion, a trusty and proved friend. If I lose him, I shall assuredly be
      inconsolable for him; but it will be very necessary for me to take his
      successor from the Grand Monastery of the Rue Saint Antoine. This
      community knows me by heart, and I do not like innovations."
    </p>
    <p>
      The successor of the Pere de la Chaise was already settled with the Jesuit
      Fathers; but this man of the vanguard was spared marching and meeting
      danger. The Court was not condemned to see and salute a new face; the old
      confessor recovered his health. His Majesty experienced a veritable joy at
      it, a joy as real as if the Prince of Orange had died.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wishing to prove to the good convalescent how dear his preservation was to
      him, the King released him from his function for the rest of the year, and
      begged him to watch over his health, the most important of his duties and
      his possessions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having learnt that they had neither terraces nor gardens at the grand
      monastery of the Rue Saint Antoine, his Majesty made a present to his
      confessor of a very agreeable house in the district of Belleville, and
      caused to be transported thither all kinds of orange-trees, rare shrubs,
      and flowers from Versailles. These tasteful attentions, these filial
      cares, diverted the capital somewhat; but Paris is a rich soil, where the
      strangest things are easily received and naturalised without an effort.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Pare de la Chaise had his chariot with his arms on it, and his family
      livery; and as the income from his benefices remained to him, joined to
      his office of confessor, he continued to have every day a numerous court
      of young abbes, priests well on in years, barons, countesses, marquises,
      magistrates and colonels, who came to Belleville in anxiety about his
      health, to congratulate themselves upon his convalescence, to ask of him,
      with submission and reverence, a bishopric, an archbishopric, a cardinal's
      hat, an important priory, a canonry, or an abbey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having myself to place the three daughters of one of my relatives, I went
      to see the noble confessor at his pavilion of Belleville. He received me
      with the most marked distinction, and was lavish in acts of gratitude for
      all the benefits of the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he crossed his salon, in order to accompany me and escort me out, he
      let his white handkerchief fall; three bishops at once flung themselves
      upon it, and there was a struggle as to who should pick it up to give it
      back to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      I related to the King what I had seen. He said to me: "These prelates
      honour my confessor, looking upon him as a second me." In fact, the sins
      of the King could only throw his confessor into relief and add to his
      merit.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Fontanges.&mdash;The Pavilions of the Garden of Flora.&mdash;Rapid
      Triumph of the Favourite.&mdash;Her Retreat to Val-de-grace.&mdash;Her
      Death.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon was already forty-four years old, and appeared to be
      only thirty. This freshness, that she owed either to painstaking care or
      to her happy and quite peculiar constitution, gave her that air of youth
      which fascinated the eyes of the courtiers and those of the monarch
      himself. I wished one day to annoy her by bringing the conversation on
      this subject, which could not be diverting to her. I began by putting the
      question generally, and I then named several of our superannuated beauties
      who still fluttered in the smiling gardens of Flora without having the
      youth of butterflies.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are butterflies of every age and colour in the gardens of Flora,"
      said she, catching the ball on the rebound. "There are presumptuous ones,
      whom the first breath of the zephyr despoils of their plumage and
      discolours; others, more reserved and less frivolous, keep their glamour
      and prestige for a much longer time. For the rest, the latter seem to me
      to rejoice without being vain in their advantages. And at bottom, what
      should any insect gain by being proud?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very little," I answered her, "since being dressed as a butterfly does
      not prevent one from being an insect, and the best sustained preservation
      lasts at most till the day after to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King entered. I started speaking of a young person, extremely
      beautiful, who had just appeared at Court, and would eclipse, in my
      opinion, all who had shone there before her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you call her?" asked his Majesty. "To what family does she
      belong?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She comes from the provinces," I continued, "just like silk, silver, and
      gold. Her parents desire to place her among the maids of honour of the
      Queen. Her name is Fontanges, and God has never made anything so
      beautiful."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I said these words I watched the face of the Marquise. She listened to
      this portrayal with attention, but without appearing moved by it, such is
      her power of suppressing her natural feeling. The King only added these
      words:
    </p>
    <p>
      "This young person needs be quite extraordinary, since Madame de Montespan
      praises her, and praises her with so much vivacity. However, we shall
      see."
    </p>
    <p>
      Two days afterwards, Mademoiselle de Fontanges was seen in the salon of
      the grand table. The King, in spite of his composure, had looks and
      attentions for no one else.
    </p>
    <p>
      This excessive preoccupation struck the Queen, who, marking the
      blandishments of the young coquette and the King's response, guessed the
      whole future of this encounter; and in her heart was almost glad at it,
      seeing that my turn had come.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de Fontanges, given to the King by her shameless family,
      feigned love and passion for the monarch, as though he had returned by
      enchantment to his twentieth year.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for him, he too appeared to us to forget all dates. I know that he was
      only now forty-one years old, and having been the finest man in the world,
      he could not but preserve agreeable vestiges of a once striking beauty.
      But his young conquest had hardly entered on her eighteenth year, and this
      difference could not fail to be plain to the most inattentive, or most
      indulgent eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, with a sort of anticipatory resignation, had for six or seven
      years greatly simplified his appearance. We had seen him, little by
      little, reform that Spanish and chivalric costume with which he once
      embellished his first loves. The flowing plumes no longer floated over his
      forehead, which had become pensive and quite serious. The diagonal, scarf
      was suppressed, and the long boots, with gold and silver embroidery, were
      no longer seen. To please his new divinity, the monarch suddenly enough
      rejuvenated his attire. The most elegant stuffs became the substance of
      his garments; feathers reappeared. He joined to them emeralds and
      diamonds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Allegorical comedies, concerts on the waters recommenced. Triumphant
      horse-races set the whole Court abob and in movement. There was a fresh
      carousal; there was all that resembles the enthusiasms of youthful
      affection, and the deliriums of youth. The youth alone was not there, at
      least in proportion, assortment, and similarity.
    </p>
    <p>
      All that I was soliciting for twelve years, Mademoiselle de Fontanges had
      only to desire for a week. She was created duchess at her debut; and the
      lozenge of her escutcheon was of a sudden adorned with a ducal coronet,
      and a peer's mantle.
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not deign to pay attention to this outrage; at least, I made a
      formal resolution never to say a single word on it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King came no less from time to time, to pay me a visit, and to talk to
      me, as of old, of operas and his hunting. I endured his conversation with
      a philosophical phlegm. He scarcely suspected the change in me.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the chase, one day, his nymph, whom nothing could stop, had her knot of
      riband caught and held by a branch; the royal lover compelled the branch
      to restore the knot, and went and offered it to his Amazon. Singular and
      sparkling, although lacking in intelligence, she carried herself this knot
      of riband to the top of her hair, and fixed it there with a long pin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fortune willed it that this coiffure, without order or arrangement, suited
      her face, and suited it greatly. The King was the first to congratulate
      her on it; all the courtiers applauded it, and this coiffure of the chase
      became the fashion of the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the ladies, and the Queen herself, found themselves obliged to adopt
      it. Madame de Maintenon submitted herself to it, like the others. I alone
      refused to sacrifice to the idol, and my knee, being once more painful,
      would not bend before Baal.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the exception of the general duties of the sovereignty, the prince
      appeared to have forgotten everything for his flame. The Pere de la
      Chaise, who had returned to his post, regarded this fresh incident with
      his philosophic calm, and congratulated himself on seeing the monarch
      healed of at least one of his passions.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had always taken the greatest care to respect the Queen; and since my
      star condemned me to stand in her shoes, I did not spare myself the
      general attentions which two well-born people owe one another, and which,
      at least, prove a lofty education.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duchesse de Fontanges, doubtless, believed herself Queen, because she
      had the public homage and the King. This imprudent and conceited
      schoolgirl had the face to pass before her sovereign without stopping, and
      without troubling to courtesy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Infanta reddened with disapproval, and persuaded herself, by way of
      consolation, that Fontanges had lost her senses or was on the road to
      madness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beautiful and brilliant as the flowers, the Duchess, like them, passed
      swiftly away. Her pregnancy, by reason of toilsome rides, hunting parties,
      and other agitations, became complicated. From the eighth month she fell
      into a fever, into exhaustion and languor. The terror that took possession
      of her imagination caused her to desire a sojourn in a convent as a refuge
      of health, where God would see her nearer and, perhaps, come to her aid.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had herself transported during the night to the House of the Ladies of
      Val-de-Grace, and desired that they should place in her chamber several
      relics from their altars.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her confinement was not less laboured and sinister. When she saw that all
      the assistance of art could not stop the bleeding, with which her deep bed
      was flooded, she caused the King to be summoned, embraced him tenderly, in
      the midst of sobs and tears, and died in the night, pronouncing the name
      of God and the name of the King, the objects of her love and of fears.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Sevigne.&mdash;Madame de Grignan.&mdash;Madame de Montespan at
      the Carmelites.&mdash;Madame de la Valliere.&mdash;These Two Great Ruins
      Console One Another.&mdash;An Angel of Sweetness, Goodness, and Kindness.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Fifteen or twenty days before the death of Mademoiselle de Fontanges, my
      sister and I were taking a walk in the new woods of Versailles. We met the
      Marquise de Sevigne near the canal; she was showing these marvellous
      constructions to her daughter, the Comtesse de Grignan. They greeted us
      with their charming amiability, and, after having spoken of several
      indifferent matters, the Marquise said to me: "We saw, five or six days
      ago, a person, madame, of whom you were formerly very fond, and who
      charged us to recall her to the memory of her friends. You are still of
      that number,&mdash;I like to think so, and our commission holds good where
      you are concerned, if you will allow it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then she mentioned to me that poor Duchesse de la Valliere, to whom I was
      once compelled by my unhappy star to give umbrage, and whom, in my fatal
      thoughtlessness, I had afflicted without desiring it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tears came into my eyes; Madame de Sevigne saw them, and expressed her
      regret at having caused me pain. Madame de Thianges and I asked her if my
      old friend was much changed. She and Madame de Grignan assured us that she
      was fresh, in good health, and that her face appeared more beautiful. On
      the next day I wished absolutely to see her, and drove to the Carmelites.
    </p>
    <p>
      On seeing my pretty cripple, who hobbled among us with so great a charm, I
      uttered a cry, which for a moment troubled her. She sank down to salute
      the crucifix, as custom demands, and, after her short prayer, she came to
      me. "I did not mention your name to Mesdames de Sevigne," said she; "but,
      however, I am obliged to them, since they have been able to procure me the
      pleasure of seeing you once more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The general opinion of the Court, and in the world, my dear Duchess,"
      answered I, "is that I brought about your disgrace myself; and the public,
      that loved you, has not ceased to reproach me with your misfortune."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The public is very kind still to occupy itself with me," she answered;
      "but it is wrong in that, as in so many other matters. My retirement from
      the world is not a misfortune, and I never suspected that the soul could
      find such peace and satisfaction in these silent solitudes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The first days were painful to me, I admit it, owing to the inexpressible
      difference which struck me between what I found here and what I had left
      elsewhere. But just as the eye accustoms itself, little by little, to the
      feeble glimmer of a vault, in the same way my body has accustomed itself
      to the roughness of my new existence, and my heart to all its great
      privations.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If life had not to finish, in fulfilment of a solemn, universal, and
      inevitable decree, the constraint that I have put upon myself might at
      length become oppressive, and my yoke prove somewhat heavy. But all that
      will finish soon, for all undertakings come to an end. I left you young,
      beautiful, adored, and triumphant in the land of enchantments. But six
      years have passed, and they assure me that your own afflictions have come,
      and that you, yourself, have been forced to drink the bitter cup of
      deprivation."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words, pronounced in a melancholy and celestial voice, I felt as
      though my heart were broken, and burst into tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pity you, Athenais," she resumed. "Is, then, what I have been told
      lightly, and almost in haste, only too certain for you? How is it you did
      not expect it? How could you believe him constant and immutable, after
      what happened to me?
    </p>
    <p>
      "To-day, I make no secret to you of it, and I say it with the peaceful
      indifference which God has generously granted me, after such dolorous
      tribulations. I make no secret of it to you, Athenais; a thousand times
      you plunged the sword and dagger into my heart, when, profiting by my
      confidence in you, by my sense of entire security, you permitted your own
      inclination to substitute itself for mine, and a young man seething with
      desires to be attracted by your charms. These unlimited sufferings
      exhausted, I must believe, all the sensibility of my soul. And when this
      corrosive flame had completely devoured my grief, a new existence grew up
      in me; I no longer saw in the father of my children other than a young
      prince, accustomed to see his dominating will fulfilled in everything.
      Knowing how little in this matter he is master of himself, he who knows so
      well how to be master of himself in everything to do with his numerous
      inferiors, I deplored the facility he enjoys from his attractions, from
      his wealth, from his power to dazzle the hearts which he desires to move
      and subdue.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Recognise these truths, my dear Marquise," she added, "and gain, for it
      is time, a just idea of your position. After the unhappiness I felt at
      being loved no longer, I should have quitted the Court that very instant,
      if I had been permitted to bring up and tend my poor children. They were
      too young to abandon! I stayed still in the midst of you, as the swallow
      hovers and flits among the smoke of the fire, in order to watch over and
      save her little ones. Do not wait till disdain or authority mingles in the
      matter. Do not come to the sad necessity of resisting a monarch, and of
      detesting to the point of scandal that which you have so publicly loved;
      pity him, but depart. This kind of intimacy, once broken, cannot be
      renewed. However skilfully it may be patched up, the rent always
      reappears."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good Louise," I replied to the amiable Carmelite, "your wise counsels
      touch me, persuade me, and are nothing but the truth. But in listening to
      you I feel overwhelmed; and that strength which you knew how to gain, and
      show to the world, your former companion will never possess.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see with astonished eyes the supernatural calm which reigns in your
      countenance; your health seems to me a prodigy, your beauty was never so
      ravishing; but this barbarous garb pierces me to the heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The King does not yet hate me; he shows me even a remnant of respect,
      with which he would colour his indifference. Permit me to ask from him for
      you an abbey like that of Fontevrault, where the felicities of sanctuary
      and of the world are all in the power of my sister. He will ask nothing
      better than to take you out, be assured."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speak to him of me," answered Louise; "I do not oppose that; but leave me
      until the end the role of obedience and humility that his fault and mine
      impose on me. Why should he wish that I should command others,&mdash;I who
      did not know how to command myself at an epoch when my innocence was so
      dear to me, and when I knew that, in losing that, one is lost?"
    </p>
    <p>
      As she said these words two nuns came to announce her Serene Highness,
      that is to say, her daughter, the Princesse de Conti. I prayed Madame de
      la Valliere to keep between ourselves the communications that had just
      taken place in the intimacy of confidence. She promised me with her usual
      candour. I made a profound reverence to the daughter, embraced the mother
      weeping, and regained my carriage, which the Princess must have remarked
      on entering.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Reflections.&mdash;The Future.&mdash;The Refuge of Foresight.&mdash;Community
      of Saint Joseph.&mdash;Wicked Saying of Bossuet.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      I wept much during the journey; and to save the spectacle of my grief from
      the passers-by, I was at the pains to lower the curtains. I passed over in
      my mind all that the Duchess had said to me. It was very easy for me to
      understand that the monarch's heart had escaped me, and that, owing to his
      character, all resistance, all contradiction would be vain. The figure, as
      it had been supernumerary and on sufferance, which the Duchess had made in
      the midst of the Court when she ceased to be loved, returned to my memory
      completely, and I felt I had not the courage to drink a similar cup of
      humiliation.
    </p>
    <p>
      I reminded myself of what the prince had told me several times in those
      days when his keen affection for me led him to wish for my happiness, even
      in the future,&mdash;even after his death, if I were destined to survive
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You ought," he said to me, at those moments, "you ought to choose and
      assure yourself beforehand of an honourable retreat; for it is rarely that
      a king accords his respect or his good-will to the beloved confidante of
      his predecessor."
    </p>
    <p>
      Not wishing to ask a refuge of any one, but, on the contrary, being
      greatly set upon ruling in my own house, I resolved to build myself, not a
      formal convent like Val-de-Grace or Fontevrault, but a pretty little
      community, whose nuns, few in number, would owe me their entire existence,
      which would necessarily attach them to all my interests. I held to this
      idea. I charged my intendant to seek for me a site spacious enough for my
      enterprise; and when he had found it, had showed it to me, and had
      satisfied me with it, I had what rambling buildings there were pulled
      down, and began, with a sort of joy, the excavations and foundations.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first blow of the hammer was struck, by some inconceivable fortuity,
      at the moment when the Duchesse de Fontanges expired. Her death did not
      weaken my resolutions nor slacken my ardour. I got away quite often to
      cast an eye over the work, and ordered my architect to second my
      impatience and spur on the numerous workmen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rumour was current in Paris that the example of "Soeur Louise" had
      touched me, and that I was going to take the veil in my convent. I took no
      notice of this fickle public, and persisted wisely in my plan.
    </p>
    <p>
      The unexpected and almost sudden decease of Mademoiselle de Fontanges had
      singularly moved the King. Extraordinary and almost incredible to relate,
      he was for a whole week absent from the Council. His eyes had shed so many
      tears that they were swollen and unrecognisable. He shunned the occasions
      when there was an assembly, buried himself in his private apartments or in
      his groves, and resembled, in every trait, Orpheus weeping for his fair
      Eurydice, and refusing to be consoled.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should be false to others and to myself if I were to say that his
      extreme grief excited my compassion; but I should equally belie the truth
      if I gave it to be understood that his "widowhood" gave me pleasure, and
      that I congratulated myself on his sorrow and bitterness.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came to see me when he found himself presentable, and, for the first
      few days, I abstained from all reprisal and any allusion. The innumerable
      labours of his State soon threw him, in spite of himself, into those
      manifold distractions which, in their nature, despise or absorb the
      sensibilities of the soul. He resumed, little by little, his accustomed
      serenity, and, at the end of the month, appeared to have got over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What," he asked me, "are those buildings with which you are busy in
      Paris, opposite the Ladies of Belle-Chasse? I hear of a convent; is it
      your intention to retire?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a 'refuge of foresight,'" I answered him. "Who can count upon the
      morrow? And after what has befallen Mademoiselle de Fontanges, we must
      consider ourselves as persons already numbered, who wait only for the
      call."
    </p>
    <p>
      He sighed, and soon spoke of something else.
    </p>
    <p>
      I reminded myself that, to speak correctly, I had in Paris no habitation
      worthy of my children and of my quality. That little hotel in the Rue
      Saint Andre-des-Arcs I could count for no more than a little box. I sought
      amongst my papers for a design of a magnificent hotel which I had obtained
      from the famous Blondel. I found it without difficulty, with full
      elevations and sections. The artist had adroitly imitated in it the
      beautiful architecture of the Louvre; this fair palace would suit me in
      every respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      My architect, at a cursory glance, judged that the construction and
      completion of this edifice would easily cost as much as eighteen hundred
      thousand livres. This expense being no more than I could afford, I
      commissioned him to choose me a spacious site for the buildings and
      gardens over by Roule and La Pepiniere.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not caring to superintend several undertakings at once, I desired, before
      everything, that my house in the Faubourg Saint Germain should be complete
      and when the building and the chapel were in a condition to receive the
      little colony, I dedicated my "refuge of foresight" to Saint Joseph, the
      respectful spouse of the Holy Virgin and foster-father of the Child Jesus.
      This agreeable mansion lacked a large garden. I felt a sensible regret for
      this, especially for the sake of my inmates; but there was a little open
      space furnished with vines and fruit-walls, and one of the largest
      courtyards in the whole of the Faubourg Saint Germain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having always loved society, I had multiplied in the two principal blocks
      of the sleeping-rooms and the entrance-hall complete apartments for the
      lady inmates. And a proof that I was neither detested by the world nor
      unconsidered is that all these apartments were sought after and occupied
      as soon as the windows were put in and the painting done. My own apartment
      was simple, but of a majestic dignity. It communicated with the chapel,
      where my tribune, closed with a handsome window, was in face of the altar.
    </p>
    <p>
      I decided, once for all, that the Superior should be my nomination whilst
      God should leave me in this world, but that this right should not pass on
      to my heirs. The bell of honour rang for twenty minutes every time I paid
      a visit to these ladies; and I only had incense at high mass, and at the
      Magnificat, in my quality of foundress.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went from time to time to make retreats, or, to be more accurate,
      vacations, in my House of Saint Joseph. M. Bossuet solicited the favour of
      being allowed to preach there on the day of the solemn consecration. I
      begged him to preserve himself for my funeral oration. He answered cruelly
      that there was nothing he could refuse me.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 6.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Court Travels in Picardy and Flanders.&mdash;The Boudoir Navy.&mdash;Madame
      de Montespan Is Not Invited.&mdash;The King Relates to Her the Delights of
      the Journey.&mdash;Reflections of the Marquise.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, consoled as he was for the death of the Duchesse de Fontanges,
      did not, on that account, return to that sweet and agreeable intimacy
      which had united us for the space of eleven or twelve years. He approached
      me as one comes to see a person of one's acquaintance, and it was more
      than obvious that his only bond with me was his children.
    </p>
    <p>
      Being a man who loved pomp and show, he resolved upon a journey in
      Flanders,&mdash;a journey destined to furnish him, as well as his Court,
      with numerous and agreeable distractions, and to give fresh alarm to his
      neighbours.
    </p>
    <p>
      Those "Chambers of Reunion," as they were called, established at Metz and
      at Brisach, competed with each other in despoiling roundly a host of great
      proprietors, under the pretext that their possessions had formerly
      belonged to Alsace, and that this Alsace had been ceded to us by the last
      treaties. The Prince Palatine of the Rhine saw himself stripped, on this
      occasion, of the greater part of the land which he had inherited from his
      ancestors, and when he would present a memoir on this subject to the
      ministers, M. de Croissy-Colbert answered politely that he was in despair
      at being unable to decide the matter himself; but that the Chambers of
      Metz and Brisach having been instituted to take cognisance of it, it was
      before these solemn tribunals that he must proceed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Palatine lost, amongst other things, the entire county of Veldentz,
      which was joined to the church of the Chapter of Verdun.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, followed by the Queen and all his Court,&mdash;by Monsieur le
      Dauphin, Madame la Dauphine and the legitimate princes, whom their
      households accompanied as well,&mdash;set out for Flanders in the month of
      July. Madame de Maintenon, as lady in waiting, went on this journey; and
      of me, superintendent of the Queen's Council, they did not even speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first town at which this considerable Court stopped was at Boulogne,
      in Picardy, the fortifications of which were being repaired. On the next
      day the King went on horseback to visit the port of Ambleteuse; thence he
      set out for Calais, following the line of the coast, while the ladies took
      the same course more rapidly. He inspected the harbours and diverted
      himself by taking a sail in a wherry. He then betook himself to Dunkirk,
      where the Marquis de Seignelay&mdash;son of Colbert&mdash;had made ready a
      very fine man-of-war with which to regale their Majesties. The Chevalier
      de Ury, who commanded her, showed them all the handling of it, which was
      for those ladies, and for the Court, a spectacle as pleasant as it was
      novel. The whole crew was very smart, and the vessel magnificently
      equipped. There was a sham fight, and then the vessel was boarded. The
      King took as much pleasure in this sight as if Fontanges had been the
      heroine of the fete, and our ladies, to please him, made their hands sore
      in applauding. This naval fight terminated in a great feast, which left
      nothing to be desired in the matter of sumptuousness and delicacy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb110" id="pb110"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="pb110.jpg (103K)" src="images/pb110.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following day, there was a more formal fight between two frigates,
      which had also been prepared for this amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was in a galley as spectator; the Queen was in another. The
      Chevalier de Lery took the helm of that of the King; the Capitaine de
      Selingue steered that of the Queen. The sea was calm, and there was just
      enough wind to set the two frigates in motion. They cannonaded one another
      briskly for an hour, getting the weather gauge in turn; after this, the
      combat came to an end, and they returned to the town to the sound of
      instruments and the noise of cannon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King gave large bounties to the crew, as a token of his satisfaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The prince was on board his first vessel, when the Earl of Oxford, and the
      Colonel, afterwards the Duke of Marlborough, despatched by the King of
      England, came to pay him a visit of compliment on behalf of that
      sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duke of Villa-Hermosa, Spanish Governor of the Low Countries, paid him
      the same compliment in the name of his master.
    </p>
    <p>
      Both parties were given audience on this magnificent vessel, where M. de
      Seignelay had raised a sort of throne of immense height.
    </p>
    <p>
      (All this time Mademoiselle de Fontanges lay in her coffin, recovering
      from her confinement.)
    </p>
    <p>
      From Dunkirk the Court moved to Ypres, visiting all the places on the way,
      and arrived at Lille in Flanders on the 1st of August. From Lille, where
      the diversions lasted five or six days, they moved to Valenciennes, thence
      to Condo, meeting everywhere with the same honours, the same tokens of
      gladness. They returned to Sedan by Le Quenoy, Bouchain, Cambrai; and the
      end of the month of August found the Court once more at Versailles.
    </p>
    <p>
      I profited by this absence to go and breathe a little at my chateau of
      Petit-Bourg, where I was accompanied by Mademoiselle de Blois, and the
      young Comte de Toulouse; after which I betook myself to the mineral waters
      of Bourbonne, for which I have a predilection.
    </p>
    <p>
      On my return, the King related to me all these frivolous diversions of
      frigates and vessels that I have just mentioned; but with as much fire as
      if he had been but eighteen years old, and with the same cordiality as if
      I might have taken part in amusements from which he had excluded me.
    </p>
    <p>
      How is it that a clever man can forget the proprieties to such a degree,
      and expose himself to the secret judgments which must be formed of him, in
      spite of himself and however reluctantly?
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duchesse d'Orleans.&mdash;The Duchesse de Richelieu.&mdash;An Epigram
      of Madame de Maintenon.&mdash;An Epigram of the King to His Brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame la Dauphine brought into the world a son, christened Louis at the
      font, to whom the King a few moments afterwards gave the title of the Duke
      of Burgundy. We had become accustomed, little by little, to the face of
      this Dauphine, who (thanks to the counsels and instruction of her lady in
      waiting) adopted French manners promptly enough, succeeded in doing her
      hair in a satisfactory manner, and in making an appearance which met with
      general approval. Madame de Maintenon, for all her politeness and
      forethought, never succeeded in pleasing her; and these two women, obliged
      to see each other often from their relative positions, suffered martyrdom
      when they met.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, who had noticed it, began by resenting it from his
      daughter-in-law. The latter, proud and haughty, like all these petty
      German royalties, thought herself too great a lady to give way.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon had, near the person of the young Bavarian, two
      intermediaries of importance, who did not sing her praises from morn till
      eve. The one was that Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria, whom I have already
      described to the life, who, furious at her personal monstrousness, could
      not as a rule forgive pretty women. The other was the Duchesse de
      Richelieu, maid of honour to the Princess of Bavaria, once the protector
      of Madame Scarron, and now her antagonist, probably out of jealousy.
    </p>
    <p>
      These two acid tongues had taken possession of the Dauphine,&mdash;a
      character naturally prone to jealousy,&mdash;and they permitted themselves
      against the lady in waiting all the mockery and all the depreciation that
      one can permit oneself against the absent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Insinuations and abuse produced their effect so thoroughly that Madame de
      Maintenon grew disgusted with the duties of her office, and with the
      consent of the monarch she no longer appeared at the house of his
      daughter-in-law, except on state and gala occasions. Madame de Richelieu
      related to me one day the annoyance and mortification of the new Marquise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame d'Orleans came in one day," said she to me, "to Madame la
      Dauphine, where Madame de Maintenon was. The Princess of the Palais Royal,
      who does not put herself about, as every one knows, greeted only the
      Dauphine and me. She spoke of her health, which is neither good nor bad,
      and pretended that her gowns were growing too large for her, in proof that
      she was going thin. 'I do not know,' she added, brusquely, 'what Madame
      Scarron does; she is always the same.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The lady in waiting answered on the spot: 'Madame, no one finds you
      changed, either, and it is always the same thing.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The half-polite, half-bantering tone of Madame de Maintenon nonplussed
      the Palatine for the moment; she wished to demand an explanation from the
      lady in waiting. She took up her muff, without making a courtesy, and
      retired very swiftly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am scarcely, fond of Madame de Maintenon," said I to Madame de
      Richelieu, "but I like her answer exceedingly. Madame is one of those
      great hermaphrodite bodies which the two sexes recognise and repulse at
      the same time. She is an aggressive personage, whom her hideous face makes
      one associate naturally, with mastiffs; she is surly, like them, and, like
      them, she exposes herself to the blows of a stick. It makes very little
      difference to me if she hears from you the portrait I have just made of
      her; you can tell her, and I shall certainly not give you the lie."
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur, having come some days afterwards to the King, complained of
      Madame de Maintenon, who, he said, had given offence to his wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have just made a great mistake," said the King; "you who pride
      yourself on speaking your tongue so well, and I am going to put you right.
      This is how you ought rather to have expressed yourself: 'I complain of
      Madame de Maintenon, who, by ambiguous words, has given offence, or wished
      to give offence to my wife.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur made up his mind to laugh, and said no more of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Lauzun at Liberty.&mdash;His Conduct to His Wife.&mdash;Recovery
      of Mademoiselle.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle, having by means of her donations to the Duc du Maine
      obtained, at first, the release, and subsequently the entire liberty of
      Lauzun, wished to go to meet him and to receive him in a superb carriage
      with six horses. The King had her informed secretly that she should manage
      matters with more moderation; and the King only spoke so because he was
      better informed than any one of the ungrateful aversion of Lauzun to
      Mademoiselle. No one wished to open her eyes, for she had refused to see;
      time itself had to instruct her, and time, which wears wings, arrived at
      that result quickly enough.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Lauzun was, beyond gainsaying, a man of feeling and courage, but he
      nourished in his heart a limitless ambition, and his head, subject to
      whims and caprices, would not suffer him to follow methodically a fixed
      plan of conduct. The King had just pardoned him as a favour to his cousin;
      but, knowing him well, he was not at all fond of him. They had disposed of
      his office of Captain of the Guards and of the other command of the 'Becs
      de Corbins'. It was decided that Lauzun should not return to his
      employment; but his Majesty charged Monsieur Colbert to make good to him
      the amount and to add to it the arrears.
    </p>
    <p>
      These different sums, added together, formed a capital of nine hundred and
      eighty thousand francs, which was paid at once in notes on the treasury,
      which were equal in value to ready cash. On news of this, he broke into
      the most violent rage possible; he was tempted to throw these notes into
      the fire. It was his offices which he wanted, and not these sums, with
      which he could do nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King received him with an easy, kind air; he, always a flatterer with
      his lips, cast himself ten times on his knees before the prince, and
      gained nothing by all these demonstrations. He went to rejoin Mademoiselle
      on the following day at Choisy, and dared to scold her for having
      constructed and even bought this pretty pleasure-house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This must have cost treasures," said he. "Had you not parks and chateaus
      enough? It would have been better to keep all these sums and give them to
      me now."
    </p>
    <p>
      After this exordium, he set himself to criticise the coiffure of the
      Queen, on account of the coloured knots that he had remarked in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you mean, then, to satirise me personally," said the Princess to him,
      "since you see my hair dressed in the same fashion, and I am older than my
      cousin!
    </p>
    <p>
      "What became of you on leaving the King?" she asked him. "I waited for you
      till two hours after midnight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I went," said he, "to visit M. de Louvois, who is not my friend, and who
      requires humouring; then to visit M. Colbert, who favours me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You ought to have seen Madame de Maintenon, I gave you that advice before
      leaving you," she said; "it is to her, above all, that you owe your
      liberty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But your Madame de Maintenon," he resumed, "is she, too, one of the
      powers? Ah, my God! what a new geography since I left these regions ten
      years ago!"
    </p>
    <p>
      To avoid tete-a-tete, M. de Lauzun was always in a surly humour; he put
      his left arm into a sling; he never ceased talking of his rheumatism and
      his pains.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle learned, now from one person, now from another, that he was
      dining to-day with one fair lady, to-morrow with another, and the next day
      with a third. She finally understood that she was despised and tricked;
      she showed one last generosity (out of pride) towards her former friend,&mdash;solicited
      for him the title of Duke, and begged him, for the future, to arrange his
      life to please himself, and to let her alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Lauzun took her at her word, and never forgave her for the
      cession of the principalities of Dombes and Eu to M. le Duc du Maine; he
      wanted them for himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Progress of Madame de Maintenon.&mdash;The Anonymous Letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Since the birth of Mademoiselle de Blois, and the death of Mademoiselle de
      Fontanges, the King hardly ever saw me except a few minutes ceremoniously,&mdash;a
      few minutes before and after supper. He showed himself always assiduous
      with Madame de Maintenon, who, by her animated and unflagging talk, had
      the very profitable secret of keeping him amused. Although equally clever,
      I venture to flatter myself, in the art of manipulating speech, I could
      not stoop to such condescensions. You cannot easily divert when you have a
      heart and are sincere&mdash;a man who deserts you, who does not even take
      the trouble to acknowledge it and excuse himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquise sailed, then, on the open sea, with all sail set; whilst my
      little barque did little more than tack about near the shore. One day I
      received the following letter; it was in a pleasant and careful
      handwriting, and orthography was observed with complete regularity, which
      suggested that a man had been its writer, or its editor:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          The person who writes these lines, Madame la Marquise, sees you but
          rarely, but is none the less attached to you. The advice which he is
          going to give you in writing he would have made it a duty to come and
          give you himself; he has been deterred by the fear either of appearing
          to you indiscreet, or of finding you too deeply engrossed with
          occupations, or with visitors, as is so often the case, in your own
          apartments.
        </p>
        <p>
          These visitors, this former affluence of greedy and interested hearts,
          you will soon see revealed and diminishing; probably your eyes, which
          are so alert, have already remarked this diminution. The monarch no
          longer loves you; coolness and inconstancy are maladies of the human
          heart. In the midst of the most splendid health, our King has for some
          time past experienced this malady.
        </p>
        <p>
          In your place, I should not wait to see myself repudiated. By whatever
          outward respect such an injunction be accompanied, the bottom of the
          cup is always the same, and the honey at the edge is but a weak
          palliative. Being no ordinary woman by birth, do not terminate like an
          ordinary actress your splendid and magnificent role on this great
          stage. Know how to leave before the audience is weary; while they can
          say, when they miss you from the scene, "She was still fine in her
          role. It is a pity!"
        </p>
        <p>
          Since a new taste or new caprice of the monarch has led his affections
          away, know how to endure a fantasy which you have not the power to
          remove. Despatch yourself with a good grace; and let the world believe
          that sober reflections have come to you, and that you return, of your
          own free will, into the paths of independence, of true glory, and of
          honour.
        </p>
        <p>
          Your position of superintendent with the Queen has been from the very
          first almost a sinecure. Give up to Madame de Maintenon, or to any one
          else, a dignity which is of no use to you, for which you will be paid
          now its full value; which, later, is likely to cause you a sensible
          disappointment; for that is always sold at a loss which must be sold
          at a given moment.
        </p>
        <p>
          Nature, so prodigal to you, Madame la Marquise, has not yet
          deflowered, nor recalled in the least degree, those graces and
          attractions which were lavished on you. Retire with the honours of
          war.
        </p>
        <p>
          Annoyance, vexation, irritation, do not make your veins flow with milk
          and honey; you would lose upon the field of battle all those treasures
          which it is in your power to save.
        </p>
        <p>
          Adieu, madame.
        </p>
        <p>
          This communication, though anonymous, is none the less benevolent. I
          desire your peace and your happiness.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon at Loggerheads with Madame de Thianges.&mdash;The Mint
      of the D'Aubigne Family.&mdash;Creme de Negresse, the Elixir of Long Life.&mdash;Ninon's
      Secret for Beauty.&mdash;The King Would Remain Young or Become So.&mdash;Good-will
      of Madame de Maintenon.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      This letter was not, in my eyes, a masterpiece, but neither was it from a
      vulgar hand. For a moment I suspected Madame de Maintenon. She was named
      in it, it is true, as though by the way, but her interest in it was easy
      to discover, since the writer dared to try to induce me to sell her, to
      give up to her, my superintendence. I communicated my suspicions to the
      Marquise de Thianges. She said to me: "We must see her,&mdash;her face
      expresses her emotions very clearly; she is not good at lying; we shall
      easily extract her secret, and make her blush for her stratagem."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ibrahim, faithful to his old friendship for me, had recently sent me
      stuffs of Asia and essences of the seraglio, under the pretence of
      politeness and as a remembrance. I wrote two lines to the Marquise,
      engaging her to come and sacrifice half an hour to me to admire with me
      these curiosities. Suspecting nothing, she came to my apartments, when she
      accepted some perfumes, and found all these stuffs divine. My sister,
      Madame de Thianges, said to her:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, I do not wish to be the last to congratulate you on that
      boundless confidence and friendship that our Queen accords you. Assuredly,
      no one deserves more than you this feeling of preference; it appears that
      the princess is developing, and that, at last, she is taking a liking for
      choice conversation and for wit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," answered the lady in waiting, "her Majesty does not prefer me to
      any one here. You are badly informed. She has the goodness to accord to me
      a little confidence; and since she finds in me some facility in the
      Spanish tongue, of which she wishes to remain the idolater all her life,
      she loves to speak that tongue with me, catching me up when I go wrong
      either in the pronunciation or the grammar, as she desires to be corrected
      herself when she commits some offence against our French."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You were born," added Madame de Thianges, "to work at the education of
      kings. It is true that few governesses or tutors are as amiable. There is
      a sound in your voice which goes straight to the heart; and what others
      teach rudely or monotonously, you teach musically and almost singing.
      Since the Queen loves your French and your Spanish, everything has been
      said; you are indispensable to her. Things being so, I dare to propose to
      you, Madame, a third occupation, which will suit you better than anything
      else in the world, and which will complete the happiness of her Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here is Madame de Montespan, who is growing disgusted with grandeur,
      after having recognised its emptiness, who is enthusiastically desiring to
      go and enjoy her House of Saint Joseph, and wishes to get rid of her
      superintendence forthwith, at any cost."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" said Madame de Maintenon. Then to me, "You wish to sell your
      office without having first assured yourself whether it be pleasing to the
      King? It appears to me that you are not acting on this occasion with the
      caution with which you are generally credited."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What need has she of so many preliminary cautions," added the Marquise,
      "if it is to you that she desires to sell it? Her choice guarantees the
      consent of the princess; your name will make everything easy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I reason quite otherwise, Madame la Marquise," replied the former
      governess of the princes; "the Queen may have her ideas. It is right and
      fitting to find out first her intention and wishes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, madame," said my sister then, "everything has been sufficiently
      considered, and even approved of. You will be the purchaser; you desire to
      buy, it is to you that one desires to sell."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon began to laugh, and besought the Marquise to believe
      that she had neither the desire nor the money for that object.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Money," answered my sister, "will cause you no trouble on this occasion.
      Money has been coined in pour family."
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Constant d'Aubigne, father of Madame de Maintenon, in his wild youth,
          was said to have taken refuge in a den of comers.&mdash;Ed. Note]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, profoundly moved, said to the Marquise:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought, madame, that I had come to see Madame de Montespan, to look at
      her stuffs from the seraglio, and not to receive insults. All your teasing
      affects me, because up to to-day I believed in your kindly feeling. It has
      been made clear to me now that I must put up with this loss; but, whatever
      be your injustice towards me, I will not depart from my customs or from my
      element. The superintendence of the Queen's Council is for sale, or it is
      not; either way, it is all the same to me. I have never made any claim to
      this office, and I never shall."
    </p>
    <p>
      These words, of which I perceived the sincerity, touched me. I made some
      trifling excuses to the lady in waiting, and, tired of all these
      insignificant mysteries, I went and took the anonymous letter from my
      bureau and showed it to the governess.
    </p>
    <p>
      She read it thoughtfully. After having read it, she assured me that this
      script was a riddle to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, on leaving us, made quite a deep courtesy to my
      sister, which caused me pain, preserving an icy gravity and exaggerating
      her salutation and her courtesy.
    </p>
    <p>
      When we were alone, I confessed to the Marquise de Thianges that her words
      had passed all bounds, and that she could have reached her end by other
      means.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot endure that woman," she answered. "She knows that you have made
      her, that without you she would be languishing still in her little
      apartment in the Maree; and when for more than a year she sees you
      neglected by the King and almost deserted, she abandons you to your
      destiny, and does not condescend to offer you any consolation. I have
      mortified her; I do not repent of it in the least, and every time that I
      come across her I shall permit myself that gratification.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is she thinking of at her age; with her pretensions to a fine
      figure, an ethereal carriage, and beauty? And yet it must be admitted that
      her complexion is not made up. She has the sheen of the lily mingled with
      that of the rose, and her eyes exhibit a smiling vivacity which leaves our
      great coquettes of the day far behind!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is nature unadorned as far as her complexion goes, believe me," said
      I to my sister. "During my constant journeys she has always slept at my
      side, and her face at waking has always been as at noon and all day long.
      She related to us once at the Marechale d'Albret's, where I knew her, that
      at Martinique&mdash;that distant country which was her cradle&mdash;an
      ancient negress, well preserved and robust, had been kind enough to take
      her into her dwelling. This woman led her one day into the woods. She
      stripped of its bark some shrub, after having sought it a long time. She
      grated this bark and mixed it with the juice of chosen herbs. She wrapped
      up all this concoction in half a banana skin, and gave the specific to the
      little D'Aubigne.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This mess having no nasty taste, the little girl consented to return
      fifteen or twenty times into the grove, where her negress carefully
      composed and served up to her the same feast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why do you care to give me this green paste?' the young creole asked her
      one day.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The old woman said: 'My dear child, I cannot wait till you have enough
      sense to learn to understand these plants, for I love you as if you were
      my own daughter, and I want to leave you a secret which will cause you to
      live a long time. Though I look as I do, I am 138 years old already. I am
      the oldest person in the colony, and this paste that I make for you has
      preserved my strength and my freshness. It will produce the same effect on
      my dear little girl, and will keep her young and pretty too for a long
      time.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This negress, unhappily, fell asleep one day under a wild pear-tree in
      the Savannah, and a crocodile came out of the river hard by and devoured
      her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have heard tell," replied my sister, "that Mademoiselle d'Aubigne,
      after the death of her mother, or husband, was bound by the ties of a
      close friendship with Ninon de l'Enclos, whose beauty made such a
      sensation among the gallants, and still occupies them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "One was assured, you know, that Ninon possesses a potion, and that in her
      generosity to her friend, the fair Indian, she lent her her phial of
      elixir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no," said I to the Marquise, "that piece of gallantry of Ninon is
      only a myth; it is the composition of Martinique, or of the negress, which
      is the real recipe of Madame de Maintenon. She talked of it one day, when
      I was present, in the King's carriage. His Majesty said to her: 'I am
      astonished that, with your natural intelligence, you have not kept in your
      mind the nature of this Indian shrub and herbs; with such a secret you
      would be able to-day to make many happy, and there are some kings, who, to
      grow young again, would give you half their empire.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I am not a worshipper of riches,' said this mistress of talk; 'bad kings
      might offer me all the treasures and crowns they liked, and I would not
      make them young again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And me, madame,' said the prince, 'would you consent to make me young
      again?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You will not need it for a long time,' she replied, cleverly, with a
      smile; 'but when the moment comes, or is near, I should set about it with
      zeal.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The whole carriage applauded this reply, and the King took the hand of
      the Marquise and insisted on kissing it."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Casket of M. de Lauzun.&mdash;His Historical Gallery.&mdash;He Makes
      Some Nuns.&mdash;M. de Lauzun in the Lottery.&mdash;The Loser Wins.&mdash;Queen
      out of Pique.&mdash;Letter from the Queen of Portugal.&mdash;The
      Ingratitude of M. de Lauzun.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Twice during the captivity of M. de Lauzun the Queen of Portugal had
      charged her ambassador to carry to the King that young sovereign's
      solicitations in favour of the disgraced gentleman. Each time the
      negotiators had been answered with vague and ambiguous words; with those
      promises which potentates are not chary of, even between themselves, and
      which we poor mortals of the second rank call Court holy water. These
      exertions of the Court of Lisbon were speedily discovered, and it then
      became known how many women of high degree M. de Peguilain had the honour
      of fluttering. The officer of D'Artagnan, who had the task of seizing his
      papers when he was arrested to be taken to Pignerol, was obliged, in the
      course of his duty, to open a rather large casket, where he found the
      portraits of more than sixty women, of whom the greater number lived
      almost in the odour of sanctity. There were descriptive or biographical
      notes upon all these heroines, and correspondence to match. His Majesty
      had cognisance of it, and forbade the publication of the names. But the
      Marquis d'Artagnan and his subordinate officer committed some almost
      inevitable indiscretions, and all these ladies found their names public
      property. Several of them, who were either widows or young ladies, retired
      into convents, not daring to show their faces in the light of day.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen of Portugal, before this scandal, had passionately loved the
      Marquis de Lauzun. She was then called Mademoiselle d'Aumale, and her
      sister who was soon afterwards Duchess of Savoy was called at Paris
      Mademoiselle de Nemours. These two princesses, after having exchanged
      confidences and confessions, were astonished and grieved to find
      themselves antagonists and rivals. Happily they had a saving wit, both of
      them, and made a treaty of peace, by which it was recognised and agreed
      that, since their patrimony was small, it should be neither divided nor
      drawn upon, in order that it might make of M. de Lauzun, when he came to
      marry, a rich man and a great lord. The two rivals, in the excess of their
      love, stipulated that this indivisible inheritance should be drawn for by
      lot, that the victorious number should have M. de Lauzun thrown in, and
      that the losing number should go and bury herself in a convent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle d'Aumale&mdash;that is to say, the pretty blonde&mdash;won M.
      de Lauzun; but he, being bizarre in his tastes, and who only had a fancy
      for the brunette (the less charming of the two), went and besought the
      King to refuse his consent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle d'Aumale thought of dying of grief and pique, and, as a
      consequence of her despair, listened to the proposals of the King of
      Portugal, and consented to take a crown.
    </p>
    <p>
      The disgrace and imprisonment of her old friend having reached her ear,
      this princess gave him the honour of her tears, although she had two
      husbands alive. Twice she had solicited his liberty, which was certainly
      not granted in answer to her prayers.
    </p>
    <p>
      When she learned of the release of the prisoner, she showed her joy
      publicly at it, in the middle of her Court; wrote her congratulations upon
      it to Mademoiselle, apparently to annoy her, and, a few days afterwards,
      indited with her own hand the letter you are going to read, addressed to
      the King, which was variously criticised.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF FRANCE.
        </p>
        <p>
          BROTHER:&mdash;Kings owe one another no account of their motives of
          action, especially when their authority falls heavily upon the
          officers of their own palace, till then invested with their confidence
          and overwhelmed with the tokens of their kindness. The disgrace of the
          Marquis de Lauzun can only appear in my eyes an act of justice, coming
          as it does from the justest of sovereigns. So I confined myself in the
          past to soliciting for this lord&mdash;gifted with all the talents,
          with bravery and merit&mdash;your Majesty's pity and indulgence. He
          owed later the end of his suffering, not to my instances, but to your
          magnanimity. I rejoice at the change in his destiny, and I have
          charged my ambassador at your Court to express my sincere
          participation in it. To-day, Sire, I beg you to accept my thanks. M.
          de Lauzun, so they assure me, has not been restored to his offices,
          and though still young, does not obtain employment in his country,
          where men of feeling and of talent are innumerable. Allow us, Sire, to
          summon this exceptional gentleman to my State, where French officers
          win easily the kindly feelings of my nobles, accustomed as they are to
          cherish all that is born in your illustrious Empire. I will give M. de
          Lauzun a command worthy of him, worthy of me,&mdash;a command that
          will enable him to render lasting and essential services to my Crown
          and to yours. Do not refuse me this favour, which does not at all
          impoverish your armies, and which may be of use to a kingdom of which
          you are the protector and the friend. Accept, Sire, etc.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      I did not see the answer which was vouchsafed to this singular letter; the
      King did not judge me worthy to enjoy such confidence that he had made no
      difficulty in granting to me formerly; but he confided in Madame de
      Maintenon, and even charged her to obtain the opinion of Mademoiselle
      touching this matter, and Mademoiselle, who never hid aught from me,
      brought the details of it to my country-house.
    </p>
    <p>
      This Princess, now enlightened as to the falseness of Monsieur de Lauzun,
      entreated the King to give up this gentleman to the blond Queen, or to
      give him a command himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Lauzun, having learnt the steps taken by the Queen of
      Portugal, whom he had never been able to endure, grew violently angry, and
      said in twenty houses that he had not come out of one prison to throw
      himself into another.
    </p>
    <p>
      These were all the thanks the Queen got for her efforts; and, like
      Mademoiselle de Montpensier, she detested, with all her soul, the man she
      had loved with all her heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Lauzun was one of the handsomest men in the world; but his
      character spoiled everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Nephews, the Nieces, the Cousins and the Brother of Madame de
      Maintenon.&mdash;The King's Debut.&mdash;The Marshal's Silver Staff.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The family of Madame de Maintenon had not only neglected but despised her
      when she was poor and living on her pension of two thousand francs. Since
      my protection and favour had brought her into contact with the sun that
      gives life to all things, and this radiant star had shed on-her his own
      proper rays and light, all her relatives in the direct, oblique, and
      collateral line had remembered her, and one saw no one but them in her
      antechambers, in her chamber, and at Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some of them were not examples of deportment and good breeding; they were
      gentlemen who had spent all their lives in little castles in Angoumois and
      Poitou, a kind of noble ploughmen, who had only their silver swords to
      distinguish them from their vine-growers and herds. Others, to be just,
      honoured the new position of the Marquise; and amongst those I must place
      first the Marquis de Langallerie and the two sons of the Marquis de
      Villette, his cousin, german. The Abbe d'Aubigne, whom she had discovered
      obscurely hidden among the priests of Saint Sulpice, she had herself
      presented to the King, who had discovered in him the air of an apostle,
      and then to Pere de la Chaise, who had hastened to make him Archbishop of
      Rouen, reserving for him 'in petto' the cardinal's hat, if the favour of
      the lady in waiting was maintained.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among her lady relatives who had come from the provinces at the rumour of
      this favour, the Marquise distinguished and exhibited with satisfaction
      the three Mademoiselles de Sainte Hermine, the daughters of a Villette, if
      I am not mistaken, and pretty and graceful all three of them. She had also
      brought to her Court, and more particularly attached to her person, a very
      pretty child, only daughter of the Marquis de Villette, and sister,
      consequently, of the Comte and of the Chevalier de Villette, whom I have
      previously mentioned. This swarm of nephews, cousins, and nieces garnished
      the armchairs and sofas of her chamber. They served as comrades and
      playfellows to the legitimate princes and as pages of honour to my
      daughter; and when the carriage of the Marquise came into the country for
      her drives, the whole of this pretty colony formed a train and court for
      her,&mdash;a proof of her credit.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquise had a brother, her elder by four or five years, to whom she
      was greatly attached, judging from what we heard her say, and to promote
      whom we saw her work from the very first. This brother, who was called Le
      Comte d'Aubigne, lacked neither charm nor grace. He even assumed, when he
      wished, an excellent manner; but this cavalier, his own master from his
      childhood, knew no other law but his own pleasures and desires. He had
      made people talk about him in his earliest youth; he awoke the same buzz
      of scandal now that he was fifty. Madame de Maintenon, hoping to reform
      him, and wishing to constrain him to beget them an heir, made him consent
      to the bonds of marriage. She had just discovered a very pretty heiress of
      very good family, when he married secretly the daughter of a mere
      'procureur du roi'. The lady in waiting, being unable to undo what had
      been done, submitted to this unequal alliance; and as her sister-in-law,
      ennobled by her husband, was none the less a countess, she, too, was
      presented.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young person, aged fifteen at the most, was naturally very bashful.
      When she found herself in this vast hall, between a double row of persons
      of importance, whose fixed gaze never left her, she forgot all the bows,
      all the elaborate courtesies,&mdash;in fine, all the difficult procedure
      of a formal presentation, that her sister-in-law and dancing-masters had
      been making her rehearse for twenty days past.
    </p>
    <p>
      The child lost her head, and burst into tears. The King took compassion on
      her, and despatched the Comtesse de Merinville to go and act as her guide
      or mistress. Supported by this guardian angel, Madame d'Aubigne gained
      heart; she went through her pausing, her interrupted courtesies, to the
      end, and came in fairly good countenance to the King's chair, who smiled
      encouragement upon her. While these things were taking place in the
      gallery, Madame de Maintenon, in despair, her eyes full of tears, had to
      make an effort not to weep. With that wit of which she is so proud, she
      should have been the first to laugh at this piece of childishness, which
      was not particularly new. The embarrassment, the torture in which I saw
      her, filled me with a strong desire to laugh. It was noticed; it was held
      a crime; and his Majesty himself was kind enough to scold me for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I felt the same embarrassment," he said to us, "the first time Monsieur
      le Cardinal desired to put me forward. It was a question of receiving an
      ambassador, and of making a short reply to his ceremonial address. I knew
      my reply by heart; it was not more than eight or ten lines at the most. I
      was repeating it every minute while at play, for five or six days. When it
      was necessary to perform in person before this throng, my childish memory
      was confused. All my part was forgotten in my fear, and I could only utter
      these words: 'Your address, Monsieur Ambassadeur,&mdash;Monsieur
      l'Ambassadeur, your address.' My mother, the Queen, grew very red, and was
      as confused as I was. But my godfather, the Cardinal, finished this reply
      for me, which he had composed himself, and was pleased to see me out of
      the difficulty."
    </p>
    <p>
      This anecdote, evidently related to console the Marquise, filled her with
      gratitude. They spoke of nothing else at Versailles for two days; after
      which, Madame la Comtesse d'Aubigne became, in her turn, a woman of
      experience, who judged the new debutantes severely, perhaps, every time
      that the occasion arose.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte d'Aubigne passed from an inferior government to a government of
      some importance. He made himself beloved by endorsing a thousand petitions
      destined for his sister, the monarch's friend; but his immoderate
      expenditure caused him to contract debts that his sister would only pay
      five or six times.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc de Vivonne, my brother, laughed at him in society; he unceasingly
      outraged by his clumsiness his sister's sense of discretion. One day, in a
      gaming-house, seeing the table covered with gold, the Marshal exclaimed at
      the door: "I will wager that D'Aubigne is here, and makes all this
      display; it is a magnificence worthy of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, truly," said the brother of the favourite; "I have received my
      silver staff, you see!" That was an uncouth impertinence, for assuredly M.
      de Vivonne had not owed this dignity to my favour. The siege of Candia,
      and a thousand other distinguished actions, in which he had immortalised
      himself, called him to this exalted position, which I dare to say he has
      even rendered illustrious.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte d'Aubigne's saying was no less successful on that account, and
      his sister, who did not approve at all of this scandalous scene, had the
      good sense to condemn her most ridiculous gamester, and to make excuses
      for him to my brother and me.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Political Intrigue in Hungary.&mdash;Dignity of the King of the Romans.&mdash;The
      Good Appearance of a German Prince.&mdash;The Turks at Vienna.&mdash;The
      Duc de Lorraine.&mdash;The King of Rome.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever the conduct of the King may have been towards me, I do not write
      out of resentment or to avenge myself. But in the midst of the peace which
      the leisure that he has given me leaves me, I feel some satisfaction in
      inditing the memoirs of my life, which was attached to his so closely, and
      wish to relate with sincerity the things I have seen. What would be the
      use of memoirs from which sincerity were absent? Whom could they inspire
      with a desire of reading them?
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was born profoundly ambitious. All the actions of his public life
      bore witness to it. It would be useless for him to rebut the charge; all
      his aims, all his political work, all his sieges, all his battles, all his
      bloody exploits prove it. He had robbed the Emperor of an immense quantity
      of towns and territories in succession. The greatness of the House of
      Austria irritated him. He had begun by weakening it in order to dominate
      it; and, in bringing it under his sway, he hoped to draw to himself the
      respect and submission of the Germanic Electoral body, and cause the
      Imperial Crown to pass to his house, as soon as the occasion should
      present itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had often heard him say: "Monseigneur has all the good appearance of a
      German prince." This singular compliment, this praise, was not without
      motive. The King wished that this opinion and this portrait should go
      straight into Germany, and create there a kind of naturalisation and
      adoption for his son.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had resolved to have him elected and proclaimed King of the Romans, a
      dignity which opens, as one knows, the road to the imperial greatness. To
      attain this result, his Majesty, seconded perfectly by his minister,
      Louvois, employed the following means.
    </p>
    <p>
      By his order M. de Louvois sent the Comte de Nointel to Vienna, at the
      moment when that Power was working to extend the twenty years' truce
      concluded by Hungary with the Sultan. The French envoy promised secretly
      his adhesion to the Turks; and the latter, delighted at the intervention
      of the French, became so overbearing towards the Imperial Crown that that
      Power was reduced to refusing too severe conditions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sustained by the insinuations and the promises of France, the Sultan
      demanded that Hungary should be left in the state in which it was in 1655;
      that henceforward that kingdom should pay him an annual tribute of fifty
      thousand florins; that the fortifications of Leopoldstadt and Gratz should
      be destroyed; that the chief of the revolted towns&mdash;Nitria, Eckof,
      the Island of Schutt, and the fort of Murann, at Tekelai&mdash;should be
      ceded; that there should be a general amnesty and restitution of their
      estates, dignities, offices, and privileges without restriction.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this the infidels would have found themselves masters of the whole of
      Hungary, and would have been able to come to the very gates of Vienna,
      without fear of military commanders or of the Emperor. It was obvious that
      they were only seeking a pretext for a quarrel, and that at the suggestion
      of France, which was quite disposed to profit by the occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Sultan knew very little of our King. The latter had his army ready;
      his plan was to enter, or rather to fall upon, the imperial territories,
      when the consternation and the danger in them should be at their height;
      and then he counted on turning to his advantage the good-will of the
      German princes, who, to be extricated from their difficulty, would not
      fail to offer to himself, as liberator, the Imperial Crown, or, at least,
      the dignity of King of the Romans and Vicar of the Empire to his son,
      Monseigneur le Dauphin.
    </p>
    <p>
      In effect, hostilities had hardly commenced on the part of the Turks,
      hardly had their first successes, struck terror into the heart of the
      German Empire, when the King, the real political author of these
      disasters, proposed to the German Emperor to intervene suddenly, as
      auxiliary, and even to restore Lorraine to him, and his new conquests, on
      condition that the dignity of the King of the Romans should be bestowed on
      his son. France, this election once proclaimed, engaged herself to bring
      an army of 60,000 men, nominally of the King of the Romans, into Hungary,
      to drive out utterly the common enemy. German officers would be admitted,
      like French, into this Roman army; and more, the King of France and the
      new King of the Romans engaged themselves to set back the imperial
      frontiers on that side as far as Belgrade, or Weissembourg in Greece. A
      powerful fleet was to appear in the Mediterranean to support these
      operations; and the King, wishing to crown his generosity, offered to
      renounce forever the ancient possessions, and all the rights of
      Charlemagne, his acknowledged forefather or ancestor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whilst these dreams of ambition were being seriously presented to the
      unhappy Imperial Court of Vienna, the Turks, to the number of 300,000 men,
      had swept across Hungary like a torrent. They arrived before the capital
      of the Empire of Germany just at the moment when the Court had left it.
      They immediately invested this panic-stricken town, and the inhabitants of
      Vienna believed themselves lost. But the young Duc de Lorraine, our King's
      implacable enemy, had left the capital in the best condition and pitched
      outside Vienna, in a position from which he could severely harass the
      besieging Turks.
    </p>
    <p>
      He tormented them, he raided them, while he waited for the saving
      reinforcements which were to be brought up by the King of Poland, and the
      natural allies of the Empire. This succour arrived at last, and after four
      or five combats, well directed and most bloody, they threw the Ottomans
      into disorder. The Duc de Lorraine immortalised himself during this
      brilliant campaign, which he finished by annihilating the Turks near
      Barkan.
    </p>
    <p>
      France had remained in a state of inaction in the midst of all these great
      events. I saw the discomfiture of our ministers and the King when the
      success of the Imperialists reached them. But the time had passed when my
      affections and those of my master were akin. Free from henceforth to
      follow the impulses of my conscience and of my sense of justice, I
      rejoiced sincerely at the great qualities of the poor Duc de Lorraine, and
      at the humiliation of the cruel Turks, who had been so misled.
    </p>
    <p>
      The elective princes of the Germanic Empire once more rallied round their
      august head, and disavowed almost all their secret communications with the
      Cabinet of Versailles. The Emperor, having escaped from these great
      perils, addressed some noble and touching complaints to our monarch; and
      Monseigneur was not elected King of the Romans,&mdash;a disappointment
      which he hardly noticed, and by which he was very little disturbed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince of Orange.&mdash;The Orange Coach.&mdash;The Bowls of Oranges.&mdash;The
      Orange Blossoms.&mdash;The Town of Orange.&mdash;Jesuits of Orange.&mdash;Revocation
      of the Edict of Nantes.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, by the last peace, signed at Nimegue, had engaged to restore the
      Principality of Orange to William, Stadtholder and Generalissimo of the
      Dutch. This article was one of those which he had found most repugnant to
      him, for nothing can be compared with the profound aversion which the mere
      name inspired in the monarch. He pushed this hatred so far that, having
      one day noticed from the heights of his balcony a superb new equipage, of
      which the body was painted with orange-coloured varnish, he sent and asked
      the name of the owner; and, on their reporting to him that this coach
      belonged to a provincial intendant, a relative of the Chancellor, his
      Majesty said, the same evening, to the magistrate-minister: "Your relative
      ought to show more discretion in the choice of the colours he displays."
    </p>
    <p>
      This coach appeared no more, and the silk and cloth mercers had their
      stuffs redyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another day, at the high table, the King, seeing four bowls of big oranges
      brought in, said aloud before the public: "Take away that fruit, which has
      nothing in its favour but its look. There is nothing more dangerous or
      unhealthy."
    </p>
    <p>
      On the morrow these words spread through the capital, and the courtiers
      dared eat oranges only privately and in secret.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for me, with my love for the scent of orange blossoms, the monarch's
      petulance once more affected me extremely. I was obliged for some time to
      give it up, like the others, and take to amber, the favourite scent of my
      master, which my nerves could not endure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before surrendering the town of Orange to the commissioners of the kinglet
      of the Dutch, the King of France had the walls thrown down, all the
      fortifications razed, and the public buildings, certain convents, and the
      library of the town stripped of their works of art. These measures
      irritated Prince William, who, on that account alone, wished to recommence
      the war; but the Emperor and the allies heard his complaints with little
      attention. They even besought him to leave things as they were. M.
      d'Orange is a real firebrand; he could not endure the severities of the
      King without reprisals, and no sooner was he once more in possession of
      his little isolated sovereignty than he annoyed the Catholics in it,
      caused all possible alarms to the sisters of mercy and nuns, imposed
      enormous taxes on the monks, and drove out the Jesuits with unheard-of
      insults.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King received hospitably all these humiliated or persecuted folk; and
      as he was given to understand that the Orange Protestants were secretly
      sowing discontent amongst his Calvinists and French Lutherans, he prepared
      the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, the famous political measure the
      abrogation of which took place a short time afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      I saw, in the hands of the King, a document of sixty pages, printed at
      Orange, after its restitution, in which it was clearly specified that Hugh
      Capet had set himself on the throne irregularly, and in which the author
      went to the point of saying that the Catholic religion was only an
      idolatry, and that the peoples would only be happy and free after the
      general introduction of the Reformation. The Marechal de Vivonne came and
      told me, in strict confidence, that the Jesuits, out of resentment, had
      forged this document, and printed the pamphlet themselves; but M. de
      Louvois, who, through his father, the Chancellor, and his brother, the
      Archbishop of Rheims, was associated with them, maintained that the
      incendiary libel was really the work of the Protestants.
    </p>
    <p>
      My residence at the Court having opened my eyes sufficiently to the
      wickedness of men, I will not give my opinion, amid these angry charges
      and recriminations. I confine myself to relating what I have seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Sickness.&mdash;Death of the Queen.&mdash;Her Last Words.&mdash;The King's
      Affliction.&mdash;His Saying.&mdash;Second Anonymous Letter.&mdash;Conversation
      with La Dauphine.&mdash;Madame de Maintenon Intervenes.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      While the Turks and the Imperialists were fighting in the plains of
      Hungary, the King, followed by all his Court, had made his way towards the
      frontiers of Alsace. He reviewed countless battalions, he made promotions,
      and gave brilliant repasts and fetes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The season was a little trying, and the Queen, though born in Spain, did
      not accommodate herself to the June heat. As soon as business permitted
      they took the road to the capital, and returned to Versailles with some
      speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely had they arrived, when the Queen fell ill; it did not deserve the
      name of sickness. It was only an indisposition, pure and simple,&mdash;an
      abscess in the armpit; that was all. Fagon, the boldest and most audacious
      of all who ever exercised the art of AEsculapius, decided that, to lessen
      the running, it was necessary to draw the blood to another quarter. In
      spite of the opinion of his colleagues, he ordered her to be bled, and all
      her blood rushed to her heart. In a short time the princess grew worse in
      an alarming fashion, and in a few moments we heard that she was in her
      death-agony; in a few moments more we heard of her death.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King wept bitterly at first, as we had seen him weep for Marie de
      Mancini, Louise de la Valliere, Henrietta of England, and the Duchesse de
      Fontanges,&mdash;dead of his excesses. He set out at once for the Chateau
      of Saint Cloud, which belonged to his brother; and Monsieur, wishing to
      leave the field clear for him, went away to the Palais Royal with his
      disagreeable wife and their numerous children.
    </p>
    <p>
      His Majesty returned two days afterwards to the Chateau of Versailles,
      where he, his son, and all the family sprinkled holy water over the
      deceased; and this little ceremony being finished, they regained in
      silence the Chateau of Saint Cloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      The aspect of that gloomy Salon of Peace, converted into a catafalque; the
      sight of that small bier, on which a beautiful, good, and indulgent wife
      was reposing; those silent images, so full of speech, awoke the just
      remorse of the King. His tears began once more to flow abundantly, and he
      was heard to say these words:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          "Dear, kind friend, this is the first grief you have caused me in
          twenty years!"
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The Infanta, as I have already related, had granted in these latter days
      her entire confidence and affection to her daughter-in-law's lady in
      waiting. Finding herself sick and in danger, she summoned Madame de
      Maintenon; and understanding soon that those famous Court physicians did
      not know how ill she was, and that she was drawing near her last hour, she
      begged this woman, so ready in all things, to leave her no more, and to be
      good enough to prepare her for death.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquise wept bitterly, and perhaps even sincerely; for being unable
      to foresee, at that period, all that was to befall her in the issue, she
      probably entertained the hope of attaching herself for good to this
      excellent princess. In losing her, she foresaw, or feared, if not
      adversity, at least a decline.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was courting her, it is true, and favouring her already with
      marked respect; but Francoise d'Aubigne,&mdash;thoughtful and meditative
      as I knew her to be, could certainly not have failed to appreciate the
      voluptuous and inconstant character of the monarch. She had seen several
      notorious friendships collapse in succession; and it is not at the age of
      forty-six or forty-seven that one can build castles in Spain to dwell in
      with young love.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen, before the beginning of her death agony, herself drew a
      splendid ring from her finger, and would pass it over the finger of the
      Marquise, to whom, some months before, she had already given her portrait.
      It was asserted that her last words were these: "Adieu, my dearest
      Marquise; to you I recommend and confide the King."
    </p>
    <p>
      In accordance with a recommendation so binding and so precise, Madame de
      Maintenon followed the monarch to Saint Cloud; and as great afflictions
      are fain to be understood and shared, these two desolate hearts shut
      themselves up in one room, in order to groan in concert.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen having been taken to Saint Denis, the King, Madame de Maintenon,
      and the Court returned to Versailles, where the royal family went into
      mourning for the period prescribed by law and custom.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen's large and small apartments, so handsome, new, splendid, and
      magnificent, became the habitation of Madame la Dauphine; so that the lady
      in waiting, in virtue of her office, returned in the most natural manner
      to those apartments where she had held authority.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Queen, without having the genius of conversation and discussion,
      lacked neither aplomb nor a taste for the proprieties; she knew how to
      support, or, at least, to preside over a circle. The young Dauphine had
      neither the desire, nor the patience, nor, the tact.
    </p>
    <p>
      The prince charged the lady in waiting to do these things for her. We
      repaired in full dress to the Princess,&mdash;to present our homages to
      Madame de Maintenon. One must admit she threw her heart into it; that is
      to say, she drew out, as far as possible, the monarch's daughter-in-law,
      inspiring into her every moment amiable questions or answers, which she
      had taken pains to embellish and adorn in her best manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King arrived; I then had the pleasure of seeing him, not two paces
      from me, before my very eyes, saying witty and agreeable things to the
      Marquise; while he talked to me only of the rain and the weather, always
      cursorily.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was then that I received a second anonymous letter, in the same
      handwriting, the same style, the same tone as that of which mention has
      been made. I transcribe it; it is curious.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          TO MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN.
        </p>
        <p>
          MADAME:&mdash;You have not followed my former advice. The opportunity
          has gone by; it is too late. Your superintendence is left with you,
          and there are four or five hundred thousand livres lying idle; for you
          will not be able to sell the superintendence of a household, and of a
          council, which are in a tomb at Saint Denis! Happily you are rich, and
          what would be a disaster to another fortune is scarcely more than a
          slight disappointment to you. I take the respectful liberty of talking
          once more with the prettiest and wittiest woman of her century, in
          order to submit to her certain ideas, and to offer her a fresh piece
          of advice, which I believe important.
        </p>
        <p>
          The Queen, moved by a generosity seldom found in her peers, pardoned
          you to some degree your theft of her spouse; she pardoned you in order
          to be agreeable to him, and to prove to him that, being his most
          sincere friend, she could not bring herself to contest his affections
          and his pastimes. But this sublime philosophy is at an end; the
          excellent heart of this Queen is at Val-de-Grace; it will beat no
          more, neither for her volatile husband, nor for any one whatsoever.
        </p>
        <p>
          Madame la Dauphine, brought up in German severity, and hardly
          accustomed to the atmosphere of her new country, neither likes nor
          respects you, nor has any indulgence for you. She barely suffers the
          presence of your children, although brothers of her husband. How
          should she tolerate yours? It appears, it is plain, Madame la
          Marquise, that your name has found no place or footing on her list,
          and that she would rather not meet you often in her salons. If one may
          even speak to you confidentially, she has thus expressed herself; it
          would be cruel for you to hear of it from any other being but me.
        </p>
        <p>
          Believe me, believe a man as noted for his good qualities as for his
          weaknesses. He will never drive you away, for you are the mother of
          his beloved children, and he has loved you himself tenderly. However,
          his coldness is going to increase. Will you be sufficiently
          light-hearted, or sufficiently imprudent, to await on a counterscarp
          the rigours of December and January?
        </p>
        <p>
          Keep your wit always, Madame la Marquise, and with this wit, which is
          such a charming resource, do not divest yourself of your noble pride.
        </p>
        <p>
          I am, always, your respectful and devoted servant,
        </p>
        <p>
          THE UNKNOWN OF THE CHATEAU.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      At the time of the first letter, when I had hesitated some time, doubtful
      between Madame de Maintenon and the King, it occurred to me to suspect the
      Queen for a moment; but there was no possibility now of imputing to this
      princess, dead and gone, the unbecoming annoyance that an unknown
      permitted himself to cause me.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this occasion I chose my part resolutely; and, not wishing to busy
      myself any longer with these pretended friendly counsels which my pride
      forbade me to follow, I took these two insolent letters and burned them.
      This last letter, after all, spoke very truly. I remarked distinctly, in
      the looks and manner of the Dauphine, that ridiculous and clumsy animosity
      which she had taken a fancy to lavish on me.
    </p>
    <p>
      As she was not, in my eyes, so sublime a personage that a lady of quality
      might not enter into conversation with her, I approached her armchair with
      the intention of upsetting her haughtiness and pride by compelling her to
      speak to me before everybody.
    </p>
    <p>
      I complimented her on her coiffure, and even thanked her for the honour
      she did me in imitating me; she reddened, and I entreated her not to put
      herself about, assuring her that her face looked much better in its
      habitual pallor. These words redoubled her dissatisfaction, and her
      redness then became a veritable scarlet flame.
    </p>
    <p>
      Passing forthwith to another subject, I pronounced in a few words a
      panegyric on the late Queen; to which I skilfully added that, from the
      first day, she had been able to understand the French graces and assume
      them with intelligence and taste.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Her Spanish accent troubled her for a year or two longer," added I;
      "strictly speaking, this accent, derived from the Italian, has nothing
      disagreeable in it; while the English, Polish, Russian, and German accent
      is inharmonious in itself, and is lost with great difficulty here."
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing that my reflections irritated her, I stopped short, and made my
      excuses by saying to her, "Madame, these are only general reflections.
      Your Highness is an exception, and has struck us all, as you have nothing
      German left but memories, and, perhaps, regrets."
    </p>
    <p>
      She answered me, stammering, that she had not been destined in the first
      place for the throne of France, and that this want of forethought had
      injured her education; then, feeling a spark of courage in her heart, she
      said that the late Queen had more than once confided to her that the Court
      of France was disorderly in its fashions, because it was never the
      princesses who gave it its tone as elsewhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon perceived quickly the consequences of this saying; for
      the peace of the Princess, she retorted quickly: "In France, the
      princesses are so kind and obliging as to follow the fashions; but the
      good examples and good tone come to us from our princes, and our only
      merit is to imitate them with ingenuity."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Judgment Given by the Chatelet.&mdash;The Marquis d'Antin Restored to His
      Father.&mdash;The Judgment is Not Executed.&mdash;Full Mourning.&mdash;Funeral
      Service.&mdash;The Notary of Saint Elig.&mdash;The Lettre de Cachet.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis d'Antin, my son, with the consent of the King, had remained
      under my control, and had never consented to quit me to rejoin his father.
      M. de Montespan, at the time of the suit for judicial separation before
      the Chatelet, had caused his advocate to maintain this barbarous argument,
      that a son, though brought into the world by his mother, ought to side
      against her if domestic storms arise, and prefer to everybody and
      everything the man whose arms and name he bears.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tribunal of the Chatelet, trampling upon maternal tenderness and
      humanity, granted his claim in full; and I was advised not to appeal, now
      that I had obtained the thing essential to me, a separation in body and
      estate.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Montespan dared not come himself to Paris in order to execute the
      sentence; he sent for that purpose two officers of artillery, his friends
      or relatives, who were authorised to see the young Marquis at his college,
      but not to withdraw him before the close of his humanities and classes.
      These gentlemen, having sent word to the father that the young D'Antin was
      my living image, he replied to them, that they were to insist no longer,
      to abandon their mission, and to abandon a child who would never enjoy his
      favour since he resembled myself. Owing to this happy circumstance I was
      able to preserve my son.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since these unhappy disputes, and the suit which made so much noise, I had
      heard no more talk of M. de Montespan in society. I only learned from
      travellers that he was building, a short distance from the Pyrenees, a
      chateau of a noble and royal appearance, where he had gathered together
      all that art, joined with good taste, could add to nature; that this
      chateau of Saint Elix, adorned with the finest orange grove in the world,
      was ascribed to the liberality of the King. The Marquis, hurt by this
      mistake of his neighbours, which he called an accusation, published a
      solemn justification in these ingenuous provinces, and he proved, as a
      clerk might do to his master, that this enormous expenditure was
      exclusively his own.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly the report of his death spread through the capital, and the
      Marquis d'Antin received without delay an official letter with a great,
      black seal, which announced to him this most lamentable event. The notary
      of Saint Elix, in sending him this sad news, took the opportunity of
      enclosing a certified copy of the will.
    </p>
    <p>
      This testament, replete with malignity, having been freely published in
      the capital, I cannot refrain from reproducing it in these writings.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here are its principal clauses;
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          In the name of the most blessed Trinity, etc.
        </p>
        <p>
          Since I cannot congratulate myself on a wife, who, diverting herself
          as much as possible, has caused me to pass my youth and my life in
          celibacy, I content myself with leaving, her my life-sized portrait,
          by Bourdon, begging her to place it in her bedchamber, when the King
          ceases to come there.
        </p>
        <p>
          Although the Marquis de Pardailhan d'Antin is prodigiously like his
          mother (a circumstance of which I have been lamentably sensible!), I
          do not hesitate to believe him my son. In this quality I give and
          bequeath to him all my goods, as my eldest son, imposing on him,
          nevertheless, the following legacies, liberalities and charges:
        </p>
        <p>
          I leave to their Highnesses, M. le Duc du Maine, M. le Comte de
          Toulouse, Mademoiselle de Nantes, and Mademoiselle de Blois (born
          during my marriage with their mother, and consequently my presumptive
          children), their right of legitimacy on the charge and condition of
          their bearing in one of their quarterings the Pardailhan-Montespan
          arms.
        </p>
        <p>
          I take the respectful liberty of here thanking my King for the extreme
          kindness which he has shown to my wife, nee De Mortemart, to my son
          D'Antin, to his brothers and sisters, both dead and living, and also
          to myself, who have only been dismissed, and kept in exile:
        </p>
        <p>
          In recognition of which I give and bequeath to his Majesty my vast
          chateau of Montespan, begging him to create and institute there a
          community of Repentant Ladies, to wear the habit of Carmelites or of
          the Daughters of the Conception, on the special charge and condition
          that he place my wife at the head of the said convent, and appoint her
          to be first Abbess.
        </p>
        <p>
          I attach an annuity of sixty thousand livres to this noble
          institution, hoping that this will make up the deficiency, if there be
          any.
        </p>
        <p>
          DE PARDAILHAN DE GONDRAN MONTESPAN, Separated, although inseparable
          spouse.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      A family council being held to decide what I must do on this occasion,
      Madame de Thianges, M. de Vivonne, and M. de Blanville-Colbert decided
      that I must wear the same full mourning as my son D'Antin. As for this
      odious will, it was agreed that it should not even be spoken of, and that
      the notary of Saint Elix should be written to at once, to place it in the
      hands of a third party, of whom he would be presently notified at the
      place. The Marquis d'Antin at once had my equipage and his own draped. We
      hastened to put all our household into mourning from top to toe, and the
      funeral service, with full ritual, was ordered to be performed at the
      parish church. The very same day, as the family procession was about to
      set out on its way to the church, a sort of sergeant, dressed in black,
      handed a fresh letter to the Marquis d'Antin. It contained these words:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          The notary of Saint Elix deserves a canonry in the Chapter of
          Charenton; it is not the Marquis de Montespan who is dead; they have
          played a trick on you.
        </p>
        <p>
          The only truth in all of it is the will, of which the notary of Saint
          Elix has been in too great a hurry to send a copy. A thousand excuses
          to M. le Marquis d'Antin and his mother, Madame la Marquise.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      It was necessary to send orders at once to the parish church to take away
      the catafalque and the drapings. The priests and the musicians were paid
      as if they had done what they ought to do; and my widowhood, which, at
      another time, might have been of such importance, was, I dare to say,
      indifferent to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was informed of what had just taken place in my family. He spoke
      of it as an extremely disagreeable affair. I answered him that it was far
      more disagreeable for me than for any one else. His Majesty added:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell the Marquis d'Antin to go to Saint Elix and pay his respects to his
      father. This journey will also enable him to learn if such a ridiculous
      will really exists, and if your husband has reached such a pitch of
      independence. D'Antin will beg him, on my behalf, to tear up that
      document, and to earn my favour by doing so."
    </p>
    <p>
      My son, after consulting with his Majesty, started indeed for the
      Pyrenees. His father at first gave him a cold welcome. The next day the
      Marquis discovered the secret of pleasing him; and M. de Montespan, at
      this full mourning, this family council, and at the catafalque in the
      middle of the church, promised to alter the will on condition that his
      'lettre do cachet' should be revoked and quashed within the next
      fortnight.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King agreed to these demands, which did not any longer affect him. I
      was the only person sacrificed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXX.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc du Maine Provided with the Government of Languedoc.&mdash;The
      Young Prince de Conti.&mdash;His Piety.&mdash;His Apostasy.&mdash;The Duc
      de la Feuillade Burlesqued.&mdash;The Watch Set with Diamonds.&mdash;The
      False Robber.&mdash;Scene amongst the Servants.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The old Duc de Verneuil, natural son of King Henri IV., died during these
      incidents, leaving the government of Languedoc vacant. The King summoned
      M. le Duc du Maine at once, and, embracing him with his usual tenderness,
      he said to him: "My son, though you are very young, I make you governor of
      Languedoc. This will make many jealous of you; do not worry about them, I
      am always here to defend you. Go at once to Mademoiselle's, who has just
      arrived at Versailles, and tell her what I have done for her adopted
      child."
    </p>
    <p>
      I went to thank his Majesty for this favour, which seemed to me very
      great, since my son was not twelve years old. The King said to me: "Here
      comes the carriage of the Prince de Conti; you may be certain that he
      comes to ask me for this place."
    </p>
    <p>
      In fact, those were the first words of the Prince de Conti.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The government for which you ask," said the King, "has been for a long
      time promised to Madame de Maintenon for her Duc du Maine. I intend
      something else for you, my dear cousin. Trust in me. In giving you my
      beloved daughter I charged myself with your fortunes; you are on my list,
      and in the first rank."
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Prince changed colour. He entreated the King to believe him
      worthy of his confidence and esteem, to which he imprudently added these
      words: "My wife was born before M. du Maine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you, too," replied his Majesty; "are you any the more sober for that?
      There are some little youthful extravagances in your conduct which pain
      me. I leave my daughter in ignorance of them, because I wish her to be at
      peace. Endeavour to prevent her being informed of them by yourself. Govern
      yourself as a young man of your birth ought to govern himself; then I will
      hand a government over to you with pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince de Conti appeared to me very much affected by this homily and
      disappointment. He saluted me, however, with a smile of benevolence and
      the greatest amenity. We learnt a short time afterwards that his wife had
      shed many tears, and was somewhat set against my children and myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      This amiable Princess then was not aware that the government of Languedoc
      was not granted at my instance, but at the simple desire of Madame de
      Maintenon; the King had sufficiently explained it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just at this moment M. le Prince de Conti had made himself notable by his
      attachment or his deference towards matters of religion and piety. His
      superb chariot and his peach-coloured liveries were to be seen, on
      fete-days, at the doors of the great churches. He suddenly changed his
      manoeuvres, and refused to subject himself to restraints which led him no
      whither. He scoffed publicly at the Jesuits, the Sulpicians, and their
      formal lectures and confraternities; he refused to distribute the blessed
      bread at his parish church, and heard mass only from his chaplains and in
      his palace.
    </p>
    <p>
      This ill-advised behaviour did not improve his position. Madame, his wife,
      continued to come to Versailles on gala-days, or days of reunion, but he
      and his brother appeared there less and less frequently. They were
      exceedingly handsome, both of them; not through their father, whose huge
      nose had rendered him ridiculous, but through the Princess, their mother,
      Anna or Felicia de Martinozzi, niece of Cardinal Mazarin. God had
      surpassed himself in creating that graceful head, and those eyes will
      never have their match in sweetness and beauty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Free now to follow his own tastes, which only policy had induced him to
      dissimulate and constrain, M. de Conti allowed himself all that a young
      prince, rich and pleasure-loving, could possibly wish in this world. In
      the midst of these reunions, consecrated to pleasure, and even to
      debauchery, he loved to signalise his lordly liberality; nothing could
      stop him, nothing was too extravagant for him. His passion was to remove
      all obstacles and pay for everybody.
    </p>
    <p>
      His joyous companions cried out with admiration, and celebrated, in prose
      and verse, so noble a taste and virtues so rare. The young orphan inhaled
      this incense with delight; he contracted enormous debts, and soon did not
      know where to turn to pay them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, well informed of these excesses, commanded M. le Duc de la
      Feuillade to have the young man followed, and inform himself of all he
      did.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day, when M. de la Feuillade himself had followed him too closely, and
      forced him, for the space of an hour, to scour over all Le Marais in
      useless and fatiguing zigzags, M. de Conti, who recognised him perfectly,
      in spite of his disguise, pretended that his watch, set with diamonds, had
      been stolen. He pointed out this man as the thief to his ready servingmen,
      who fell upon M. de la Feuillade, and, stripping him to find the watch,
      gave the Prince time to escape and reach his place of rendezvous.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain was ill for several days, and even in danger, in consequence
      of this adventure, which did not improve the credit of M. le Prince de
      Conti, much as it needed improvement.
    </p>
    <p>
      His young and beautiful wife excused him in everything, ignoring, and
      wishing to ignore, the extent of his guilt and frivolity.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      A Funeral and Diversions.&mdash;Sinister Dream.&mdash;Funeral Orations of
      the Queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      It remains for me to relate certain rather curious circumstances in
      relation to the late Queen, after which I shall speak of her no more in
      these Memoirs.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was left for ten days, lying in state, in the mortuary chapel of
      Versailles, where mass was being said by priests at four altars from
      morning till evening. She was finally removed from this magnificent Palace
      of Enchantment to Saint Denis. Numerous carriages followed the funeral
      car, and in all these carriages were the high officials, as well as the
      ladies, who had belonged to her. But what barbarity! what ingratitude!
      what a scandal! In all these mournful carriages, people talked and laughed
      and made themselves agreeable; and the body-guards, as well as the
      gendarmes and musketeers, took turns to ride their horses into the open
      plain and shoot at the birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monsieur le Dauphin, after Saint Denis, went to lie at the Tuileries,
      before betaking himself to the service on the following day at Notre Dame.
      In the evening, instead of remaining alone and in seclusion in his
      apartment, as a good son ought to have done, he went to the Palais Royal
      to see the Princess Palatine and her husband, whom he had had with him all
      the day; he must have distraction, amusement, and even merry
      conversations, such as simple bourgeois would not permit themselves on so
      solemn an occasion, were it only out of decorum.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the midst of these ridiculous and indefensible conversations, the news
      arrived that the King had broken his arm. The Marquis de Mosny had started
      on the instant in order to inform the young Prince of it; and Du Saussoi,
      equerry of his Majesty, arrived half an hour later, giving the same news
      with the details.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King (who was hunting during the obsequies of his wife) had fallen off
      his horse, which he had not been able to prevent from stumbling into a
      ditch full of tall grass and foliage. M. Felix, a skilful and prudent
      surgeon, had just set the arm, which was only put out of joint. The King
      sent word to the Dauphin not to leave the Tuileries, and to attend the
      funeral ceremony on the morrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fair of Saint Laurence was being held at this moment, although the
      city of Paris had manifested an intention of postponing it. They were
      exhibiting to the curious a little wise horse which bowed, calculated,
      guessed, answered questions, and performed marvels. The King had strictly
      forbidden his family and the people of the Court to let themselves be seen
      at this fair. Monsieur le Dauphin, none the less, wished to contemplate,
      with his own eyes, this extraordinary and wonderful little horse.
      Consequently, he had to be taken to the Chateau des Tuileries, where he
      took a puerile amusement in a spectacle in itself trivial, and, at such a
      time, scandalous.
    </p>
    <p>
      The poor Queen would have died of grief if the death of her son had
      preceded hers, against the order of nature; but the hearts of our children
      are not disposed like ours, and who knows how I shall be treated myself by
      mine when I am gone?
    </p>
    <p>
      With regard to the King's arm, Madame d'Orleans, during the service for
      the Queen, was pleased to relate to the Grande Mademoiselle that, three or
      four days before, she had seen, in a somewhat troublesome and painful
      dream, the King's horse run away, and throw him upon the rocks and
      brambles of a precipice, from which he was rescued with a broken arm. A
      lady observed that dreams are but vague and uncertain indications.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not mine," replied Madame, with ardour; "they are not like others. Five
      or six days before the Queen fell ill, I told her, in the presence of
      Madame la Dauphine, that I had a most alarming dream. I had dreamt that I
      was in a large church all draped in black. I advanced to the sanctuary; a
      vault was opened at one side of the altar. Some kind of priests went down,
      and these folk said aloud, as they came up again, that they had found no
      place at first; that the cavity having seemed to them too long and deep,
      they had arranged the biers, and had placed there the body of the lady. At
      that point I awoke, quite startled, and not myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hardly had the Princess finished her story, when the Infanta, turning
      pale, said to her: "Madame, you will see, the dream of the vault refers to
      me. At the funeral of the Queen of England I noticed, and remember, that
      the same difficulty occurred at Saint Denis; they were obliged to push up
      all the coffins, one against the other."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, in truth, we knew, a few days afterwards, that for this poor Queen,
      Maria Theresa, the monks of the abbey had found it necessary to break down
      a strong barrier of stones in their subterranean church, to remove the
      first wife of Gaston, mother of Mademoiselle, and find a place for the
      Spanish Queen who had arrived in those regions.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were several funeral orations on this occasion. Not a single one of
      these official discourses deserved to survive the Queen. There was very
      little to say about her, I admit; but these professional panegyrists,
      these liars in surplice, in black cassock, or in purple and mitre, are not
      too scrupulous to borrow facts and material in cases where the dead person
      has neglected to furnish or bequeath it them.
    </p>
    <p>
      In my own case I congratulated myself on this sort of indifference or
      literary penury; an indiscreet person, sustained by zeal or talent, might
      have wished to mortify me in a romance combined of satire and religion.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Jean Baptiste Colbert.&mdash;His Death.&mdash;His Great Works.&mdash;His
      Last Advice to the Marquise.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Colbert had been ailing for a long time past. His face bore visible
      testimony against his health, to which his accumulated and incessant
      labour had caused the greatest injury. We had just married his son
      Blainville to my niece, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, heiress of the
      house of Rochchouart. Since this union&mdash;the King's work&mdash;M.
      Colbert had somewhat tended in my favour, and I had reason to count on his
      good offices and kindness. I said to him one day that my quarrel with him
      was that he did not look after himself, that he ignored all his own worth,
      treated himself with no more respect than a mere clerk; that he was the
      indispensable man, the right hand of the King, his eye of vigilance in
      everything, and the pillar of his business and his finance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Without being precisely what one would call a modest man, M. Colbert was
      calm of mind, and by nature without pose or presumption. He cared
      sincerely for the King's glory. He held his tongue on the subject of great
      enterprises, but employed much zeal and ability in promoting the success
      of good projects and ideas, such as, for instance, our Indies and
      Pondicherry.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had known how to procure, without oppressing any one, the incalculable
      sums that had been necessitated, not only by enormous and almost universal
      wars, but by all those canals, all those ports in the Mediterranean or the
      ocean, that vast creation of vessels, arsenals, foundries, military houses
      and hospitals which we had seen springing up in all parts. He had procured
      by his application, his careful calculations, the wherewithal to build
      innumerable fortresses, aqueducts, fountains, bridges, the Observatory of
      Paris, the Royal Hospital of the Invalides, the chateaus of the Tuileries
      and of Vincennes, the engine and chateau of Marly, that prodigious chateau
      of Versailles, with its Trianon of marble, which by itself might have
      served as a habitation for the richest monarchs of the Orient.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had founded the wonderful glass factories, and those of the Gobelins;
      he had raised, as though by a magic ring, the Royal Library over the
      gardens and galleries of Mazarin; and foreigners asked one another, in
      their surprise, what they must admire most in that monument, the interior
      pomp of the edifice or its rich collection of books, coins, and
      manuscripts.
    </p>
    <p>
      To all these works, more than sufficient to immortalise twenty ministers,
      M. Colbert was adding at this moment the huge 'salpetriere' of Paris and
      the colonnades of the Louvre. Ruthless death came to seize him in the
      midst of these occupations, so noble, useful, and glorious.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great Colbert, worn out with fatigue, watching, and constraint, left
      the King, his wife, his children, his honours, his well-earned riches, and
      displayed no other anxiety than alarm as to his salvation,&mdash;as though
      so many services rendered to the nation and to his prince were no more, in
      his eyes, than vain works in relation to eternity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, having become a great lady, could, not reasonably
      continue her office of governess to the King's children. M. Colbert, that
      man of vigour, that Mount Atlas, capable of supporting all things without
      a plaint, had been charged with the care of the two new-born princes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Because of the third Mademoiselle de Blois, and of the little Comte de
      Toulouse, I saw the minister frequently, and I was one of the first to
      remark the change in his face and his health.
    </p>
    <p>
      During his last illness, I visited him more often. One day, of his own
      accord, he said to me:
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you get on with Madame de Maintenon? I have never heard her
      complain of you; but I make you this confidence out of friendship. His
      Majesty complains of your attitude towards your former friend. If the
      frankness of your nature and the impatience of your humour have sometimes
      led you too far, I exhort you to moderate yourself, in your own interest
      and in that of your children. Madame de Maintenon is an amiable and witty
      person, whose society pleases the King. Have this consideration for a
      hard-working prince, whom intellectual recreation relaxes and diverts, and
      make a third at those pleasant gatherings where you shone long before this
      lady, and where you would never be her inferior. Go there, and frequently,
      instead of keeping at a distance in an attitude of resentment, which, do
      not doubt, is noticed and viewed unfavourably."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, monsieur," I answered M. Colbert, "you are not, then, aware that
      every time I am a third person at one of these interminable conversations,
      I always meet with some mark of disapproval, and sometimes with painful
      mortifications?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have been told so," the sick man replied; "but I have also been told
      that you imprudently call down on yourself these outbursts of the King.
      What need have you to quarrel with Madame de Maintenon over a look, a
      word, a movement or a gesture? You seem to me persuaded that love enters
      into the King's friendship for the Marquise. Well, suppose you have
      guessed aright his Majesty's sentiments; will your dissatisfaction and
      your sarcasms prevent those sentiments from existing, and the prince from
      indulging them?
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, madame, that he generally gets everything he wants, and M. de
      Montespan experienced that when he wished to set himself against your
      joint wills.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am nearer my end and my release than my doctors think. In leaving this
      whirlpool of disappointments, ambitions, errors, and mutual injustice, I
      should like to see you free, at peace, reconciled to your real interests,
      and out of reach, forever, of the vicissitudes of fortune. In my eyes,
      your position is that of a ship-owner whom the ocean has constantly
      favoured, and who has reaped great riches. With moderation and prudence,
      it depended on himself to profit by his astonishing success, and at last
      to enjoy his life; but ambition and vain desire drive him afresh upon this
      sea, so fruitful in shipwrecks, and his last venture destroys all his
      prosperity and all his many labours.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our excellent Queen has gone to rest from her troubles and her journeys;
      and I, madame, am going to rest not long after her, having worn out my
      strength on great things that are as nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Seignelay, eldest son of this minister, counted on
      succeeding to the principal offices of his father. He made a mistake. The
      place of secretary of state and controller-general passed to the President
      Pelletier, who had been chosen by M. Colbert himself; and the
      superintendence of buildings, gardens, and works went to swell the
      numerous functions of the Marquis de Louvois, who wished for and counted
      on it.
    </p>
    <p>
      MM. de Blainville and Seignelay had good posts, proportioned to their
      capacity; the King never ceased to look upon them as the children of his
      dear M. Colbert.
    </p>
    <p>
      [It mast be remembered that the young Marquis de Seignelay was already
      Minister of Marine, an office which remained with him.&mdash;Ed.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Before his death, this minister saw his three daughters become duchesses.
      The King, who had been pleased to make these marriages, had given each of
      them a dowry of a million in cash.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for the Abbe Colbert, already promoted to the Bishopric of Montpellier
      (to which three important abbeys were joined), he had the Archbishopric of
      Toulouse, with an immense revenue. It is true that he took a pleasure in
      rebuilding his archiepiscopal palace and cathedral out of a huge and
      ancient treasure, which he discovered whilst pulling down some old ruin to
      make a salon.
    </p>
    <p>
      One might say that there was some force of attraction attached to this
      family and name of Colbert. Treasures arose from the earth to give
      themselves up and obey them.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mesdemoiselles de Mazarin.&mdash;The Age of Puberty.&mdash;Madame de
      Beauvais.&mdash;Anger of the Queen-mother.&mdash;The Cardinal's Policy.&mdash;First
      Love.&mdash;Louis de Beauvais.&mdash;The Abbe de Rohan-Soubise.&mdash;The
      Emerald's Lying-in.&mdash;The Handsome Musketeer.&mdash;The Counterfeit of
      the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time when the King, still very young, was submitting without
      impatience to the authority of the Queen, his mother, and his godfather,
      the Cardinal, his strength underwent a sudden development, and this lad
      became, all at once, a man. The numerous nieces of Cardinal Mazarin, who
      were particularly dear to the Queen, were as much at the Louvre as at
      their own home. Anne of Austria, naturally affable, gladly released them
      from the etiquette which was imposed upon every one else. These young
      ladies played and laughed, sang or frolicked, after the manner of their
      years, and the young King lived frankly and gaily in their midst, as one
      lives with agreeable sisters, when one is happy enough to have such. He
      lived fraternally with these pretty Italian girls, but his intimacy
      stopped there, since the Cardinal and the governess watched night and day
      over a young man who was greatly subject to surveillance.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the same time, there was amongst the Queen's women a rather pretty
      waiting-maid, well brought up, who was called Madame de Beauvais. Those
      brunettes, with black eyes, bright complexions, and graceful plumpness,
      are almost always wanton and alluring. Madame de Beauvais noticed the
      sudden development of the monarch, his impassioned reveries which betrayed
      themselves in his gaze. She thought she had detected intentions on his
      part, and an imperious need of explaining himself. A word, which was said
      to her in passing, authorised her, or seemed to authorise her, to make an
      almost intelligible reply. The young wooer showed himself less undecided,
      less enigmatic,&mdash;and the understanding was completed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Beauvais was the recipient of the prince's first emotions, and
      the clandestine connection lasted for three months. Anne of Austria,
      informed of what was passing, wished at first to punish her first maid in
      waiting; but the Cardinal, more circumspect, represented to her that this
      connection, of which no one knew, was an occupation, not to say a
      safeguard, for the young King, whose fine constitution and health
      naturally drew him to the things of life. "Although eighteen years of
      age," he added, "the prince abandons the whole authority to you; whereas
      another, in his place, would ardently dispute it. Do not let us quarrel
      with him about trifles; leave him his Beauvais lady, so that he may make
      no attempt on my pretty nieces nor on your authority, madame, nor on my
      important occupations, which are for the good of the State."
    </p>
    <p>
      Anne of Austria, who was more a Christian and a mother than a diplomatic
      woman, found it very painful to appreciate these arguments of the
      Cardinal; but after some reflection she recognised their importance, and
      things remained as they were.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Beauvais had a son, whom the husband (whether overconfident or
      not) saw brought into the world with much delight, and whom, with a wealth
      of royalist respect, they baptised under the agreeable name of Louis. This
      child, who had a fine figure and constitution, received a particularly
      careful education. He has something of the King about him, principally in
      his glance and smile. He presents, however, only the intellectual habit of
      his mother, and even a notable absence of grandeur and elevation. He is a
      very pretty waiting-woman, dressed out as a cavalier; in a word, he is
      that pliant and indefatigable courtier, whom we see everywhere, and whom
      town and Court greet by the name of Baron de Beauvais.
    </p>
    <p>
      His sister is the Duchesse de Richelieu, true daughter of her father, as
      ugly, or rather as lacking in charm, as he is; but replete with subtilty
      and intelligence,&mdash;with that intelligence which perpetually suggests
      a humble origin, and which wearies or importunes, because of its
      ill-nature. At the age of seventeen, her freshness made her pass for being
      pretty. She accused the young Duc de Richelieu of having seduced her, and
      made her a mother; and he, in his fear of her indignation and intrigues,
      and of the reproaches of the Queen, hastened to confess his fault, and to
      repair everything by marrying her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Baron Louis, her brother, to whom the King could hardly refuse anything,
      made her a lady of honour to the Dauphine. Madame de Richelieu delighted
      to spread a report in the world that I had procured her this office; she
      was deceived, and wished to be deceived. I had asked this eminent position
      for the Marquise de Thianges, in whom I was interested very differently.
      His Majesty decided that a marquise was inferior to a duchess, even when
      that duchess was born a De Beauvais. Another son of the monarch, well
      known at the Court as such, is M. l'Abbe de Rohan-Soubise, to whom the
      cardinal's hat is already promised. His figure, his carriage, his head,
      his attitude, his whole person infallibly reveal him; and the Prince de
      Soubise has so thoroughly recognised and understood the deceit, that he
      honours the young churchman with all his indifference and his respect. He
      acts with him as a sort of guardian; and that is the limitation of his
      role.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Princesse de Soubise, who had resolved to advance her careless
      husband, either to the government of Brittany or to some ministry,
      persuaded herself that it is only by women that men can be advanced; and
      that in order to advance a husband, it is necessary to advance oneself.
      Although a little thin, and lacking that of which the King is so fond, we
      saw in her a very pretty woman. She knew how to persuade his Majesty that
      she cherished for him the tenderest love. That is, I believe, the one trap
      that it is possible to set for him. He is credulous on that head; he was
      speedily caught. And every time that M. de Rohan was away, and there was
      freedom at the Hotel Soubise, the Princess came in person to Saint Germain
      or to Versailles, to show her necklace and pendant of emeralds to the
      King. Such was the agreed signal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe de Rohan was born of these emeralds. The King displays conscience
      in all his actions, except in his wars and conquests. When the little
      Soubise was grown up, his Majesty signified to the mother that this young
      man must enter the Church, not wishing to suffer the formation of a
      parasitical branch amongst the Rohans, which would have participated,
      without any right, in the legitimate sap. It is asserted that the Abbe de
      Rohan only submitted with infinite regret to a sentence which neutralised
      him. The King has promised him all possible consideration; he has even
      embraced him tenderly, an action which is almost equivalent to a
      "declaration of degree" made to the Parliament.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other child alleged to the King is that handsome musketeer, who is so
      like him. But, judging from the King's character, which respects, and in
      some fashion almost admires itself, in everything which proceeds from it,
      I do not venture to believe in this musketeer. The King wished one day to
      see him close by, and even accosted him by the orange-shrubbery; but this
      movement seemed to me one of pure curiosity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The resemblance, I must confess, is the most striking that I have yet
      seen; for it is complete, even to the tone of the voice. But a look might
      have operated this miracle. Instance the little negress, the daughter of
      the poor Queen, that Queen so timid and entirely natural, who, to her
      happiness, as much as to her glory, has never looked at, approached, or
      distinguished any one except the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      For the rest, we shall see and know well if the King does anything for his
      musketeer.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Young Nobility and the Turks.&mdash;Private Correspondence.&mdash;The
      Unlucky Minister and the Page of Strasburg.&mdash;The King Judged and
      Described in All the Documents.&mdash;The King Humiliated in His
      Affections.&mdash;Scandal at Court.&mdash;Grief of Fathers at Having Given
      Life to Such Children.&mdash;Why Prince Eugene Was Not a Bishop.&mdash;Why
      He Was Not a Colonel of France.&mdash;Death of the Prince de Conti.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      As France was at peace at the moment when the three hundred thousand Turks
      swarmed over Hungary and threatened Vienna, our young princes, and a
      fairly large number of nobles of about the same age, took it into their
      heads to go and exhibit their bravery in Germany; they asked permission of
      M. de Louvois to join the Imperialists. This permission was granted to
      some amongst them, but refused to others. Those whom it was thought fit to
      restrain took no notice of the words of the minister, and departed as
      resolutely as though the King had fallen asleep. They were arrested on the
      road; but his Majesty, having reflected on the matter, saw that these
      special prohibitions would do harm to the intentions which he had with
      regard to his deference for Germany, and they were all allowed to go their
      own way.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little later, it was discovered that there was a regular and active
      correspondence between these young people in Germany and others who had
      remained in Paris or at the Court. The first minister had a certain page,
      one of the most agile, pursued; he was caught up with at Strasburg; his
      valise was seized. The Marquis de Louvois, desiring to give the King the
      pleasure of himself opening these mysterious letters, handed him the
      budget, the seals intact, and his Majesty thanked him for this attention.
      These thanks were the last that that powerful minister was destined to
      receive from his master; his star waned from that hour, never again to
      recover its lustre; all his credit failed and crashed to the ground. This
      correspondence&mdash;spied on with so much zeal, surprised and carried off
      with such good fortune&mdash;informed the astonished monarch that, in the
      Louvois family, in his house and circle, his royal character, his manners,
      his affections, his tastes, his person, his whole life, were derisively
      censured. The beloved son-in-law of the minister, speaking with an open
      heart to his friends, who were travelling, and absent, represented the
      King to them as a sort of country-gentleman, given up now to the domestic
      and uniform life of the manor-house, more than ever devoted to his dame
      bourgeoise, and making love ecstatically at the feet of this young nymph
      of fifty seasons.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de la Roche-Guyon and M. de Liancourt, sons of La Rochefoucauld, who
      expressed themselves with the same boldness, went so far as to say of
      their ruler that he was but a stage and tinsel king. The son-in-law of
      Louvois accused him of being most courageous in his gallery, but of
      turning pale on the eve, and at the moment, of an action; and D'Alincourt,
      son of Villeroi, carried his outrages further still. No one knows better
      than myself how unjust these accusations were, and are. I was sensible of
      the mortification such a reading must have caused to the most sensitive,
      the most irritable of princes; but I rejoiced at the humiliation that the
      lady in waiting felt for her share in this unpardonable correspondence.
      The annoyance that I read for some days on her handsome face consoled me,
      for the time being, for her great success at my expense.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame la Princesse de Conti, whom the King, up to this time, had not only
      cherished but adored, found also, in those documents, the term of
      excessive favour. A letter from her to her husband said: "I have just
      given myself a maid of honour, wishing to spare Madame de Maintenon the
      trouble, or the pleasure, of giving me one herself."
    </p>
    <p>
      She was summoned to Versailles, as she may very well have expected. The
      King, paying no attention to her tears, said to her: "I believed in your
      affection; I have done everything to deserve it; it is lamentable to me to
      be unable to count on it longer. Your cruel letter is in Madame de
      Maintenon's hands. She will let you read it again before committing it to
      the fire, and I beg you to inform her what is the harm she has done you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," said Madame de Maintenon to her, when she saw her before her,
      "when your amiable mother left this Court, where the slightest prosperity
      attracts envy, I promised her to take some care of your childhood, and I
      have kept my word.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have always treated you with gentleness and consideration; whence
      proceeds your hate against me of to-day? Is your young heart capable of
      it? I believed you to be a model of gratitude and goodness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," replied the young Princess, weeping, "deign to pardon this
      imprudence of mine and to reconcile me with the King, whom I love so
      much."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not the credit which you assume me to have," replied the lady in
      waiting, coldly. "Except for the extreme kindness of the King you would
      not be where you are, and you take it ill that I should be where I am! I
      have neither desired nor solicited the arduous rank that I occupy; I need
      resignation and obedience to support such a burden." Madame de Maintenon
      resumed her work. The Princess, not daring to interrupt her silence, made
      the bow that was expected of her and withdrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Louvois, when he read what his own son-in-law dared to
      write of the monarch, grew pale and swooned away with grief. He cast
      himself several times before the feet of his master, asking now the
      punishment and now the pardon of a criminal and a madman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believed myself to be loved by your family," cried the King. "What must
      I do, then, to be loved? And, great God! with what a set I am surrounded!"
    </p>
    <p>
      All these things transpired. Soon we saw the father of the audacious De
      Liancourt arrive like a man bereft of his wits. He ran to precipitate
      himself at the feet of the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      "M. de La Rochefoucauld," said the prince to him, "I was ignorant, until
      this day, that I was lacking in what is called martial prowess; but I
      shall at least have, on this occasion, the courage to despise the
      slanderous slights of these presumptuous youths. Do not talk to me of the
      submissions and regrets of your two sons, who are unworthy of you; let
      them live as far away from me as possible; they do not deserve to approach
      an honest man, such as their King."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince de Turenne, son of the Duc de Bouillon, and Prince Eugene of
      Savoy, third or fourth son of the Comtesse de Soissons (Olympe Mancini),
      had accompanied their cousins De Conti on this knightly expedition; all
      these gentlemen returned at the conclusion of the war, except Prince
      Eugene, a violent enemy of the King.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [The Prince de Turenne was in bad odour at Court ever since he had
          separated Monseigneur from his young wife by exaggerating that
          Princess's small failings.&mdash;MADAME DE MONTESPAN'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      This young Prince of the second branch, seeing his mother's disgrace since
      the great affair of the poison, hated me mortally. He carried his
      treachery so far as to attribute to me the misfortunes of Olympe, saying,
      and publishing all over Paris, that I had incited accusers in order to be
      able to deprive her forcibly of her superintendence. This post, which had
      been sold to me for four hundred thousand francs, had been paid for long
      since; that did not prevent Eugene from everywhere affirming the contrary.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since the flight or exile of his lady mother, he had taken it into his
      head to dream of the episcopate, and to solicit Pere de la Chaise on the
      subject. But the King, who does not like frivolous or absurd figures in
      high offices, decided that a little man with a deformity would repel
      rather than attract deference at a pinnacle of dignity of the priesthood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Refused for the episcopate, M. de Soissons thought he might offer himself
      as a colonel. His Majesty, who did not know the military ways of this
      abbe, refused him anew, both as an abbe and as a hunchback, and as a
      public libertine already degraded by his irregularities.
    </p>
    <p>
      From all these refusals and mortifications there sprung his firm resolve
      to quit France. He had been born there; he left all his family there
      except his mother; he declared himself its undying enemy, and said
      publicly in Germany that Louis XIV. would shed tears of blood for the
      injury and the affront which he had offered him.
    </p>
    <p>
      MM. de Conti, after the events in Hungary and at Vienna, returned to
      France covered with laurels. They came to salute the King at Versailles.
      His Majesty gave them neither a good nor a bad reception. The Princes left
      the same day for Chantilly, where M. de Conde, their paternal uncle, tried
      to curb their too romantic imaginations and guaranteed their good
      behaviour in the future.
    </p>
    <p>
      This life, sedentary or spent in hunting, began to weary them, when
      overruling Providence was pleased to send them a diversion of the highest
      importance. M. le Prince de Conti was seized suddenly with that burning
      fever which announces the smallpox. Every imaginable care was useless; he
      died of it and bequeathed, in spite of himself, a most premature and
      afflicting widowhood to his young and charming spouse, who was not, till
      long afterwards, let into the secret of his scandalous excesses.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de la Roche-sur-Yon, his only brother, was as distressed at his death
      as though he had nothing to gain by it; he took immediately the name of
      Conti, and doffed the other, which he had hitherto borne as a borrowed
      title. The domain and county of La Roche-sur-Yon belongs to the Grande
      Mademoiselle. She had been asked to make this condescension when the young
      Prince was born. She agreed with a good grace, for the child, born
      prematurely, did not seem likely to live.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Ninon at Court.&mdash;The King behind the Glass.&mdash;Anxiety of the
      Marquise on the Subject of This Interview.&mdash;Visit to Madame de
      Maintenon.&mdash;Her Reply and Her Ambiguous Promise.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de l'Enclos is universally known in the world for the
      agreeableness of her superior wit and her charms of face and person. When
      Madame de Maintenon, after the loss of her father, arrived from
      Martinique, she had occasion to make her acquaintance; and it seems that
      it was Ninon who, seeing her debating between the offers of M. Scarron and
      the cloister, succeeded in persuading her to marry the rich poet, though
      he was a cripple, rather than to bury herself, so young, in a convent of
      Ursulines or Bernardines, even were the convent in Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the death of the poet Scarron (who when he married, and when he died,
      possessed only a life annuity), Mademoiselle d'Aubigne, once more in
      poverty, found in Mademoiselle de l'Enclos a generous and persevering
      friend, who at once offered her her house and table. Mademoiselle
      d'Aubigne passed eight or ten months in the intimate society of this
      philosophical woman. But her conscience, or her prudery, not permitting
      her to tolerate longer a manner of life in which she seemed to detect
      license, she quitted Ninon, advising her to renounce coquetry, whilst the
      other was advising her to abandon herself to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      There, where Madame Scarron found the tune of good society with wit, she
      looked upon herself as in her proper sphere, as long as no open scandal
      was brought to her notice. She consented still to remain her friend; but
      the fear of passing for an approver or an accomplice prevented her from
      remaining if there were any publicity. It was not exactly through her
      scruples, it was through her vanity. I have had proof of this on various
      occasions, and I have made no error.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pretended amours of Mademoiselle d'Aubigne and the Marquis de
      Villarceaux, Ninon's friend, are an invention of malicious envy. I
      justified Madame Scarron on the matter before the King, when I asked her
      for the education of the Princes; and having rendered her this justice,
      from conviction rather than necessity, I shall certainly not charge her
      with it to-day. Madame de Maintenon possesses a fund of philosophy which
      she does not reveal nor confess to everybody. She fears God in the manner
      of Socrates and Plato; and as I have seen her more than once make game,
      with infinite wit, of the Abbe Gobelin, her confessor, who is a pedant and
      avaricious, I am persuaded that she knows much more about it than all
      these proud doctors in theology, and that she would be thoroughly capable
      of confessing her confessor.
    </p>
    <p>
      She had remained, then, the friend of Ninon, but at heart and in
      recollection, without sending her news or seeing her again. Mademoiselle
      de l'Enclos, rich, disinterested, and proud of her independent position,
      learned with pleasure the triumph of her former friend, but without
      writing to her or congratulating her. Ninon, by the consent of all those
      who have come near her, is good-nature itself. One of her relations, or
      friends, was a candidate for a vacant post as farmer-general, and besought
      her to make some useful efforts for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no one but Madame de Maintenon," she replied to this relation. And
      the other said to her:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame de Maintenon? It is as though you had the King himself!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, trimming her pen with her trusty knife, wrote to
      the lady in waiting an agreeable and polished letter, one of those
      letters, careful without stiffness, that one writes, indulging oneself a
      little with the intention of getting oneself read.
    </p>
    <p>
      The letter of solicitation seemed so pretty to the lady in waiting that
      she made the King peruse it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is an excellent opportunity for me," said the prince at once, "to
      see with my own eyes this extraordinary, person, of whom I have so long
      heard talk. I saw her one day at the opera, but just when she was getting
      into her carriage; and my incognito did not permit me to approach her. She
      seemed to me small, but well made. Her carriage drove off like a flash."
    </p>
    <p>
      To meet this curiosity which the King displayed, it was agreed that Madame
      de Maintenon, on the pretext of having a better consultation, should
      summon Mademoiselle de l'Enclos to Versailles, and that in one of the
      alcoves of the chapel she should be given a place which should put her
      almost in front of his Majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      She arrived some minutes before mass. Madame de Maintenon received her
      with marked attention, mingled with reserve, promised her support with the
      ministers when the affair should be discussed, and made her promise to
      pass the entire day, at Versailles, for the King was obliged to visit the
      new gardens at Marly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The time for mass being come, Madame de Maintenon said to the fair
      Epicurean, with a smile: "You are one of us, are you not? The music will
      be delicious in the chapel to-day; you will not have a moment of
      weariness."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ninon, meeting this slight reproach with a smile of propriety, replied
      that she adored and respected everything which the monarch respected.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the service, the King, tranquilly, secluded in his golden box,
      could see and examine the lady at his leisure, without compromising
      himself or embarrassing her by his gaze. As for her, her decent and quite
      appropriate attitude merited for her the approval of her old friend, of
      the King, and of the most critical eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The monarch, in effect, departed, not for the Chateau of Marly, but for
      Trianon; and hardly had he reached there before, in a little, very close
      carriage, he was brought back to Versailles. He went up to Madame de
      Maintenon's apartments by the little staircase in the Prince's Court, and
      stole into the glass closet without being observed, except by a solitary
      lackey.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ladies, believing themselves to be alone and at liberty, talked
      without ceremony or constraint, as though they had been but twenty years
      old. The King was very much grieved at the things which were said, but he
      heard, without losing a word, the following dialogue or interview:
    </p>
    <p>
      NINON DE L'ENCLOS.&mdash;It is not my preservation which should surprise
      you, since from morning to night I breathe that voluptuous air of
      independence which refreshes the blood, and puts in play its circulation.
      I am morally the same person whom you came to see in the pretty little
      house in the Rue de Tournelles. My dressing-gown, as you well know, was my
      preferred and chosen garb. To-day, as then, Madame la Marquise, I should
      choose to place on my escutcheon the Latin device of the towns of San
      Marino and Lucca,&mdash;Libertas. You have complimented me on my beauty; I
      congratulate you upon yours, and I am surprised that you have so kept and
      preserved it in the midst of the constraints and servitude that grandeur
      and greatness involve.
    </p>
    <p>
      MADAME DE MAINTENON.&mdash;At the commencement, I argued as you argue, and
      believed that I should never get to the year's end without disgust. Little
      by little I imposed silence upon my emotions and my regrets. A life of
      great activity and occupation, by separating us, as it were, from
      ourselves, extinguishes those exacting niceties, both of our proper
      sensibility, and of our self-conceit. I remembered my sufferings, my
      fears, and my privations after the death of that poor man;&mdash;[It was
      so that she commonly spoke of her husband, Scarron.]&mdash;and since
      labour has been the yoke imposed by God on every human being, I submitted
      with a good grace to the respectable labour of education. Few teachers are
      attached to their pupils; I attached myself to mine with tenderness, with
      delight. It is true that it was my privilege to find the King's children
      amiable and pretty, as few children are.
    </p>
    <p>
      NINON DE L'ENCLOS.&mdash;From the most handsome and amiable man in the
      world there could not come mediocre offspring. M. du Maine is your idol;
      the King has given him his noble bearing, with his intelligence; and you
      have inoculated him with your wit. Is it true that Madame de Montespan is
      no longer your friend? That is a rumour which has credit in the capital;
      and if the thing is true I regret it, and am sorry for you.
    </p>
    <p>
      MADAME DE MAINTENON.&mdash;Madame de Montespan, as all Paris knows,
      obtained my pension for me after the death of the Queen-mother. This
      service, comparable with a favour, will always remain in my heart and my
      memory. I have thanked her a thousand times for it, and I always shall
      thank her for it. At the time when the young Queen of Portugal charged
      herself with my fate and fortune, the Marquise, who had known me at the
      Hotel d'Albret, desired to retain me in France, where she destined for me
      the children of the King. I did what she desired; I took charge of his
      numerous children out of respect for my benefactor, and attachment to
      herself. To-day, when their first education is completed, and his Majesty
      has recompensed me with the gift of the Maintenon estate, the Marquise
      pretends that my role is finished, that I was wrong to let myself be made
      lady in waiting, and that the recognition due to her imposes an obligation
      on me to obey her in everything, and withdraw from this neighbourhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      NINON DE L'ENCLOS.&mdash;Absolutely
    </p>
    <p>
      MADAME DE MAINTENON.&mdash;Yes, really, I assure you.
    </p>
    <p>
      NINON DE L'ENCLOS.&mdash;A departure? An absolute retreat? Oh, it is too
      much! Does she wish you, then, to resign your office?
    </p>
    <p>
      MADAME DE MAINTINON.&mdash;I cannot but think so, mademoiselle.
    </p>
    <p>
      NINON DE L'ENCLOS.&mdash;Speaking personally, and for my private
      satisfaction, I should be enchanted to see you quit the Court and return
      to society. Society is your element. You know it by heart; you have shone
      there, and there you would shine again. On reappearing, you would see
      yourself instantly surrounded by those delicate and (pardon the
      expression) sensuous minds who applauded with such delight your agreeable
      stories, your brilliant and solid conversation. Those pleasant, idle hours
      were lost to us when you left us, and I shall always remember them. At the
      Court, where etiquette selects our words, as it rules our attitudes, you
      cannot be yourself; I must confess that frankly. You do not paint your
      lovely face, and I am obliged to you for that, madame; but it is
      impossible for you to refrain from somewhat colouring your discourse, not
      with the King, perhaps, whose always calm gaze transparently reveals the
      man of honour, but with those eminences, those grandeurs, those royal and
      serene highnesses, whose artificial and factitious perfumes already filled
      your chapel before the incense of the sacrifice had wreathed its clouds
      round the high altar.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, suddenly showing himself, somewhat to the surprise of the
      ladies, said: "I have long wished, mademoiselle, this unique and agreeable
      opportunity for which I am indebted to Madame de Maintenon. Be seated, I
      pray you, and permit 'my Highness', slightly perfumed though I be, to
      enjoy for a moment your witty conversation and society. What! The
      atmosphere does not meet with your approval, and, in order to have
      madame's society, you desire to disgust her with it herself, and deprive
      us of her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," answered Ninon, "I have not enough power or authority to render my
      intentions formidable, and my long regrets will be excused, I hope, since,
      if madame left Versailles, she would cause the same grief there that she
      has caused us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One has one's detractors in every conceivable locality. If Madame de
      Maintenon has met with one at Versailles she would not be exempt from them
      anywhere else. At Paris, you would be without rampart or armour, I like to
      believe; but deign to grant me this preference,&mdash;I can very well
      protect my friends. I think the town is ill-informed, and that Madame de
      Montespan has no interest in separating madame from her children, who are
      also mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will greatly oblige me, mademoiselle, if you will adopt this opinion
      and publish it in your society, which is always select, though it is so
      numerous."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the King, passing to other subjects, brought up, of his own accord,
      the place of farmer-general, which happened to be vacant; and he said to
      Mademoiselle de l'Enclos: "I promise you this favour with pleasure, the
      first which you have ever solicited of me, and I must beg you to address
      yourself to Madame de Maintenon on every occasion when your relations or
      yourself have something to ask from me. You must see clearly,
      mademoiselle, that it is well to leave madame in this place, as an agent
      with me for you, and your particular ambassadress."
    </p>
    <p>
      I learnt all these curious details five or six days later from a young
      colonel, related to me, to whom Mademoiselle de l'Enclos narrated her
      admission and interview at Versailles. In reproducing the whole of this
      scene, I have not altered the sense of a word; I have only sought to make
      up for the charm which every conversation loses that is reported by a
      third party who was not actually an eyewitness.
    </p>
    <p>
      This confidence informed me that prejudices were springing up against me
      in the mind of the favourite. I went to see her, as though my visit were
      an ordinary one, and asked her what one was to think of Ninon's interview
      with the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," she said, "his Majesty has for a long time past had a great desire
      to see her, as a person of much wit, and of whom he has heard people speak
      since his youth. He imagined her to have larger eyes, and something a
      little more virile in her physiognomy. He was greatly, and, I must say,
      agreeably surprised, to find that he had been deceived. 'One can see eyes
      of far greater size,' his Majesty told me, 'but not more brilliant, more
      animated or amiable. Her mouth, admirably moulded, is almost as small as
      Madame de Montespan's. Her pretty, almost round face has something
      Georgian about it, unless I am mistaken. She says, and lets you
      understand, everything she likes; she awaits your replies without
      interruption; her contradictions preserve urbanity; she is respectful
      without servility; her pleasant voice, although not of silver, is none the
      less the voice of a nymph. In conclusion, I am charmed with her.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does she believe me hostile to your prosperity, my dear Marquise?" I said
      at once to Madame de Maintenon, who seemed slightly confused, and
      answered: "Mademoiselle de l'Enclos is not personally of that opinion; she
      had heard certain remarks to that effect in the salons of the town; and I
      have given her my most explicit assurance that, if you should ever cease
      to care for me, my inclination and my gratitude would be none the less
      yours, madame, so long as I should live."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You owe me those sentiments," I resumed, with a trifle too much fire; "I
      have a right to count on them. But it is most painful to me, I confess,
      after having given all my youth to the King, to see him now cool down,
      even in his courtesy. The hours which he used to pass with me he gives to
      you, and it is impossible that this innovation should not seem startling
      here, since all Paris is informed of it, and Mademoiselle de l'Enclos has
      discussed it with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I owe everything that I am to the goodness of the King," she answered me.
      "Would you have me, when he comes to me, bid him go elsewhere, to you or
      somebody else, it matters not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, but I should be glad if your countenance did not, at such a moment,
      expand like a sunflower; I should like you, at the risk of somewhat
      belying yourself, to have the strength to moderate and restrain that vein
      of talk and conversation of which you have given yourself the supremacy
      and monopoly; I wish you had the generosity to show, now and again, less
      wit. This sort of regime and abstinence would not destroy you off-hand,
      and the worst that could result to you from it would be to pass in his
      eyes for a woman of a variable and intermittent wit; what a great
      calamity!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, madame, what is it you suggest!" the lady in waiting replied to me,
      almost taking offence. "I have never been eccentric or singular with any
      one in the world, and you want me to begin with my King! It cannot be, I
      assure you! Suggest to me reasonable and possible things, and I will enter
      into all your views with all my heart and without hesitation."
    </p>
    <p>
      This reply shocked me to the point of irritation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I believed you long to be a simple and disinterested soul," I said to
      her, "and it was in this belief that I gave you my cordial affection. Now
      I read your heart, and all your projects are revealed to me. You are not
      only greedy of respect and consideration, you are ambitious to the point
      of madness. The King's widowhood has awakened all your wild dreams; you
      confided to me fifteen years ago that the soothsayer of the Marechale
      d'Albret had predicted for you a sceptre and a crown."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words, the governess made me a sign to lower my voice, and said
      to me, with an accent of candour and good faith, which it is impossible
      for me to forget: "I confided to you at the time that puerility of
      society, just as the Marechale and the Marshal (without believing it)
      related it to all France. But this prognostication need not alarm you,
      madame," she added; "a King like ours is incapable of such an
      extravagance, and if he were to determine on it, it would not have my
      countenance nor approval.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not think that thus far I have passed due limits; the granddaughter
      of a great noble, of a first gentleman of the chamber, I have been able to
      become a lady in waiting without offending the eyes; but the lady in
      waiting will never be Queen, and I give you my permission to insult me
      publicly when I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was this conversation, to which I have not added a word. We shall see
      soon how Madame de Maintenon kept her word to me, and if I am not right in
      owing her a grudge for this promise with a double meaning, with which it
      was her caprice to decoy me by her shuffling.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Birth of the Duc d'Anjou.&mdash;The Present to the Mother.&mdash;The
      Casket of Patience.&mdash;Departure of the King for the Army.&mdash;The
      King Turns a Deaf Ear.&mdash;How That Concerns Madame de Maintenon.&mdash;The
      Prisoner of the Bastille.&mdash;The Danger of Caricatures.&mdash;The
      Administrative Thermometer.&mdash;Actors Who Can neither Be Applauded nor
      Hissed.&mdash;Relapse of the Prisoner.&mdash;Scarron's Will.&mdash;A Fine
      Subject for Engraving.&mdash;Madame de Maintenon's Opinion upon the
      Jesuits.&mdash;The Audience of the Green Salon.&mdash;Portions from the
      Refectory.&mdash;Madame de Maintenon's Presence of Mind.&mdash;I Will Make
      You Schoolmaster.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame la Dauphine, greatly pleased with her new position, in that she
      represented the person of the Queen, had already given birth to M. le Duc
      de Bourgogne; she now brought into the world a second son, who was at once
      entitled Duc d'Anjou. The King, to thank her for this gift, made her a
      present of an oriental casket, which could only be opened by a secret
      spring, and that not before one had essayed it for half an hour. Madame la
      Dauphine found in it a superb set of pearls and four thousand new louis
      d'or. As she had no generosity in her heart, she bestowed no bounties on
      her entourage. The King this year made an expedition to Flanders. Before
      getting into his carriage he came and passed half an hour or forty minutes
      with me, and asked me if I should not go and pass the time of his absence
      at the Petit-Bourg.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At Petit-Bourg and at Bourbon," I answered, "unless you allow me to
      accompany you." He feigned not to have heard me, and said: "Lauzun, who,
      eleven or twelve years ago, refused the baton of a marshal of France, asks
      to accompany me into Flanders as aide-de-camp. Purge his mind of such
      ideas, and give him to understand that his part is played out with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What business is it of mine," I asked with vivacity, "to teach M. de
      Lauzun how to behave? Let Madame de Maintenon charge herself with these
      homilies; she is in office, and I am there no longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      These words troubled the King; he said to me:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will do well to go to Bourbon until my return from Flanders."
    </p>
    <p>
      He left on the following day, and the same day I took my departure. I went
      to spend a week at my little convent of Saint Joseph, where the ladies,
      who thought I was still in favour, received me with marks of attention and
      their accustomed respect. On the third day, the prioress, announcing
      herself by my second waiting-woman, came to present me with a kind of
      petition or prayer, which, I confess, surprised me greatly, as I had never
      commissioned any one to practise severity in my name.
    </p>
    <p>
      A man, detained at the Bastille for the last twelve years, implored me in
      this document to have compassion on his sufferings, and to give orders
      which would strike off his chains and irons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My intention," he said, "was not, madame, to offend or harm you. Artists
      are somewhat feather-headed, and I was then only twenty." This petition
      was signed "Hathelin, prisoner of State." I had my horses put in my
      carriage at once, and betook myself to the chateau of the Bastille, the
      Governor of which I knew.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I set foot in this formidable fortress, in spite of myself I
      experienced a thrill of terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      The attentions of public men are a thermometer, which, instead of our own
      notions, is very capable of letting us know the just degree of our favour.
      The Governor of the Bastille, some months before, would have saluted me
      with his artillery; perhaps he still received me with a certain ceremony,
      but without putting any ardour into his politeness, or drawing too much
      upon himself. In such circumstances one must see without regarding these
      insults of meanness, and, by a contrivance of distraction, escape from
      vile affronts. The object of my expedition being explained, the Governor
      found on his register that poor Hathelin, aged thirty-two to thirty-four
      years, was an engraver by profession. The lieutenant-general of police had
      arrested him long ago for a comic or satirical engraving on the subject of
      M. le Marquis de Montespan and the King.
    </p>
    <p>
      I desired to see Hathelin, quite determined to ask his pardon for all his
      sufferings, with which I was going to occupy myself exclusively until I
      was successful. The Governor, a man all formality and pride, told me that
      he had not the necessary authority for this communication; I was obliged
      to return to my carriage without having tranquillised my poor captive.
    </p>
    <p>
      The same evening I called upon the lieutenant-general of police, and,
      after having eloquently pleaded the cause of this forgotten young man, I
      discovered that there was no 'lettre de cachet' to his prejudice, and
      procured his liberation.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came to pay his respects and thanks to me, in my parlour at Saint
      Joseph, on the very day of his liberation. He seemed to me much younger
      than his age, which astonished me greatly after his misfortunes. I gave
      him six thousand francs, in order to indemnify him slightly for that
      horrible Bastille. At first he hesitated to take them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let your captivity be a lesson to you," I said to him; "the affairs of
      kings do not concern us. When such actors occupy the scene, it is
      permissible neither to applaud nor to hiss."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hathelin promised me to be good, and for the future to concern himself
      only with his graver and his private business. He wished me a thousand
      good wishes, with an expansion of heart which caused his tears and mine to
      flow. But artists are not made like other men; he, for all his good heart,
      was gifted with one of those ardent imaginations which make themselves
      critics and judges of notable personages, and, above all, of favourites of
      fortune. Barely five or six months had elapsed when Hathelin published a
      new satirical plate, in which Madame de Maintenon was represented as
      weeping, or pretending to weep, over the sick-bed of M. Scarron. The dying
      man was holding an open will in his hand, in which one could read these
      words: "I leave you my permission to marry again&mdash;a rich and serious
      man&mdash;more so than I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      The print had already been widely distributed when the engraver and his
      plate were seized. This time Hathelin had not the honour of the Bastille;
      he was sent to some depot. And although his action was absolutely fresh
      and unknown to me, all Paris was convinced that I had inspired his
      unfortunate talent. Madame de Maintenon was convinced of it, and believes
      it still. The King has done me the honour to assure me lately that he had
      banished the idea from his mind; but he was so persuaded of it at first
      that he could not pardon me for so black an intrigue, and, but for the
      fear of scandal, would have hanged the engraver, Hathelin, in order to
      provide my gentlemen, the engravers, with a subject for a fine plate.
    </p>
    <p>
      About the same time, the Jesuits caused Madame de Maintenon a much more
      acute pain than that of the ridiculous print. She endured this blow with
      her accustomed courage; nevertheless, she conceived such a profound
      aversion to the leaders of this ever-restless company, that she has never
      been seen in their churches, and was at the greatest pains to rob them of
      the interior of Saint Cyr. "They are men of intrigue," she said to Madame
      de Montchevreuil, her friend and confidante. "The name of Jesus is always
      in their mouths, he is in their solemn device, they have taken him for
      their banner and namesake; but his candour, his humility are unknown to
      them. They would like to order everything that exists, and rule even in
      the palaces of kings. Since they have the privilege and honour of
      confessing our monarch, they wish to impose the same bondage upon me.
      Heaven preserve me from it! I do not want rectors of colleges and
      professors to direct my unimportant conscience. I like a confessor who
      lets you speak, and not those who put words into your mouth."
    </p>
    <p>
      With the intention of mortifying her and then of being able to publish the
      adventure, they charged one of their instruments to seek her out at
      Versailles in order to ask an audience of her, not as a Jesuit, but as a
      plain churchman fallen upon adversity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The petition of this man having been admitted, he received a printed form
      which authorised him to appear before madame at her time of good works,
      for she had her regular hours for everything. He was introduced into the
      great green salon, which was destined, as one knows, for this kind of
      audience. There were many people present, and before all this company this
      old fox thus unfolded himself:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame, I bless the Sovereign Dispenser of all things for what he has
      done for you; you have merited his protection from your tenderest youth.
      When, after your return from Martinique, you came to dwell in the little
      town of Niort, with your lady mother, I saw you often in our Jesuit
      church, which was at two paces from your house. Your modesty, your youth,
      your respectful tenderness towards Madame la Baronne d'Aubigne, your
      excellent mother, attracted the attention of our community, who saw you
      every day in the temple with a fresh pleasure, as you can well imagine.
      Madame la Baronne died; and we learnt that those tremendous lawsuits with
      the family not having been completed before her death, she left you, and
      M. Charles, your brother, in the most frightful poverty. At that news, our
      Fathers (who are so charitable, so compassionate) ordered me to reserve
      every day, for the two young orphans, two large portions from the
      refectory, and to bring them to you myself in your little lodging.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To-day, being no longer, owing to my health, in the congregation of the
      Jesuit Fathers, I should be glad to obtain a place conformable with my
      ancient occupations. My good angel has inspired me with the thought,
      madame, to come and solicit your powerful protection and your good
      graces."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, having sustained this attack with fortitude, and it
      was not without vigour, replied to the petitioner: "I have had the honour
      of relating to his Majesty, not so very long ago, the painful and
      afflicting circumstance which you have just recalled to me. Your
      companions, for one fortnight, were at the pains to send to my little
      brother and to me a portion of their food. Our relations; who enjoyed all
      our property, had reduced us to indigence. But, as soon as my position was
      ameliorated, I sent fifteen hundred francs to the Reverend Father Superior
      of the Jesuits for his charities. That manner of reimbursement has not
      acquitted me, and I could not see an unfortunate man begging me for
      assistance without remembering what your house once did for me. I do not
      remember your face, monsieur, but I believe your simple assertion. If you
      are in holy orders I will recommend you to the Archbishop of Rouen, who
      will find you a place suitable for you. Are you in holy orders?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, madame," replied the ex-Jesuit; "I was merely a lay brother."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case," replied the Marquise, "we can offer you a position as
      schoolmaster; and the Jesuit Fathers, if they have any esteem for you,
      should have rendered you this service, for they have the power to do that,
      and more."
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      BOOK 7.
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The King Takes Luxembourg Because It Is His Will.&mdash;Devastation of the
      Electorate of Treves.&mdash;The Marquis de Louvois.&mdash;His Portrait.&mdash;The
      Marvels Which He Worked.&mdash;The Le Tellier and the Mortemart.&mdash;The
      King Destines De Mortemart to a Colbert.&mdash;How One Manages Not to Bow.&mdash;The
      Dragonades.&mdash;A Necessary Man.&mdash;Money Makes Fat.&mdash;Meudon.&mdash;The
      Horoscope.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      This journey to Flanders did not keep the King long away from his capital.
      And, withal, he made two fine and rich conquests, short as the space of
      time was. The important town of Luxembourg was necessary to him. He wanted
      it. The Marechal de Crequi invested this place with an army of thirty
      thousand men, and made himself master of it at the end of a week.
    </p>
    <p>
      Immediately after the King marched to the Electorate of Treves, which had
      belonged, he said, to the former kingdom of Austrasia. He had no trouble
      in mastering it, almost all the imperial forces being in Hungary, Austria,
      and in those cantons where the Ottomans had called for them. The town of
      Treves humbly recognised the King of France as its lord and suzerain. Its
      fine fortifications were levelled at once, and our victories were,
      unhappily, responsible for the firing, pillage, and devastation of almost
      the whole Electorate. For the Duke of Crequi, faithful executor of the
      orders of Louvois, imagined that a sovereign is only obeyed when he proves
      himself stern and inflexible.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the first years of my favour, the Marquis de Louvois enjoyed my entire
      confidence, and, I must admit, my highest esteem. Independently of his
      manners, which are, when he wishes, those of the utmost amiability, I
      remarked in him an industrious and indefatigable minister, an intelligent
      man, as well instructed in the mass as in details; a mind fertile in
      resources, means, and expedients; an administrator, a jurist, a
      theologian, a man of letters and of affairs, an artist, an agriculturist,
      a soldier.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loving pleasure, yet knowing how to despise it in favour of the needs of
      the State and the care of affairs, this minister concentrated in his own
      person all the other ministries, which moved only by his impulse and
      guiding hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Did the King, followed by his whole Court, arrive in fearful weather by
      the side of some vast and swollen river, M. de Louvois, alighting from his
      carriage, would sweep the horizon with a single glance. He would designate
      on the spot the farms, granaries, mills, and chateaux necessary to the
      passage of a fastidious king on his travels. A general repast, appropriate
      and sufficient, issued at his voice as it had been from the bowels of the
      earth. An abundance of mattresses received provisionally the more or less
      delicate forms, stretched out in slumber or fatigue. And in the depth of
      the night, by the light of a thousand flaring torches, a vast bridge,
      constructed hastily, in spite of wind and rain, permitted the royal
      carriage and the host of other vehicles to cross the stream, and find on
      the further bank succulent dishes and voluptuous apartments.
    </p>
    <p>
      This prodigious energy, which created results by pulverising obstacles,
      had rendered the minister not only agreeable but precious to a young
      sovereign, who, unable to tolerate delays and resistance, desired in all
      things to attain and succeed. The King, without looking too closely at the
      means, loved the results which were the consequences of such a genius, and
      he rewarded with a limitless confidence the intrepid and often culpable
      zeal of a minister who procured him hatred.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the passions of the conqueror, owing to success, grew calm, he
      studied more tranquilly both his own desires and his coadjutor's. The King
      by nature is neither inhuman nor savage, and he knew that Louvois was like
      Phalaris in these points. Then he was at as much pains to repress this
      unpopular humour as he had shown indifference before in allowing it to
      act.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis de Louvois (who did not like me) had lavished his incense upon
      me, in order that some fumes of it might float up to the prince. He saw me
      beloved and, as it were, almost omnipotent; he sought my alliance with
      ardour. The family of Le Tellier is good enough for a judicial and legal
      family; but what bonds are there between the Louvois and the Mortemart? No
      matter: ambition puts a thick bandage over the eyes of those whom it
      inspires; the Marquis wished to marry his daughter to my nephew, De
      Mortemart!!!
    </p>
    <p>
      I communicated this proposition to the King. His Majesty said to me: "I am
      delighted that he has committed the grave fault of approaching any one
      else than me about this marriage. Answer him, if you please, that it is my
      province alone to marry the daughters, and even the sons of my ministers.
      Louvois has thus far helped me to spend enormous sums. M. Colbert has
      assisted me to heap up treasure. It is for one of the Colberts that I
      destine your nephew; for I have made up my mind that the three sisters
      shall be duchesses."
    </p>
    <p>
      In effect, his Majesty caused this marriage; and the Marquis de Louvois
      had the jaundice over it for more than a fortnight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since that time his assiduities have been enlightened. He puts respect
      into his reverences; and when our two coachmen carried our equipages past
      each other on the same, road, he read some documents in order to avoid
      saluting me.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the affair of the Protestants, he caused what was at first only
      anxiety, religious zeal, and distrust to turn into rebellion. In order to
      make himself necessary, he proposed his universal and permanent patrols
      and dragoons. He caused certain excesses to be committed in order to raise
      a cry of disorder; and a measure which could have been effective without
      ceasing to be paternal became, in his hands, an instrument of dire
      persecution.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, having learnt that Louvois, to exonerate himself, was
      secretly designating her as the real author of these rigorous and
      lamentable counsels, made complaint of it to the King, and publicly
      censured his own brother, who, in order to make himself agreeable to the
      Jesuits, to Bossuet, and to Louvois, had made himself a little hero in his
      provincial government.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great talents of M. de Louvois, and the difficulty of replacing him,
      became his refuge and safeguard. But, from the moment that he no longer
      received the intimate confidence of the King, and the esteem of the lady
      in waiting who sits upon the steps of the throne, he can only look upon
      himself at Versailles as a traveller with board and lodging.
    </p>
    <p>
      His revenues are incalculable. The people, seeing his enormous corpulence,
      maintain, or pretend, that he is stuffed with gold. His general
      administration of posts alone is worth a million. His other offices are in
      proportion.
    </p>
    <p>
      His chateau of Meudon-Fleury, a magical and quite ideal site, is the
      finest pleasure-house that ever yet the sun shone on. The park and the
      gardens are in the form of an amphitheatre, and are, in my opinion,
      sublime, in a far different way from those of Vaux. M. Fouquet, condemned
      to death, in punishment for his superb chateau, died slowly in prison; the
      Marquis de Louvois will not, perhaps, die in a stronghold; but his
      horoscope has already warned that minister to be prepared for some great
      adversity. He knows it; sometimes he is concerned about it; and everything
      leads one to believe that he will come to a bad end. He has done more harm
      than people believe.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXVIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Reformed Religion and Painting on Enamel&mdash;Petitot and
      Heliogabalus.&mdash;Theological Discussion with the Marquise.&mdash;The
      King's Intervention.&mdash;Louis XIV. Renders His Account to the Christian
      and Most Christian Painter.&mdash;The King's Word Is Not to Be Resisted.&mdash;Revocation
      of the Edict of Nantes.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      At the moment when the first edicts, were issued against the public
      exercise of the Reformed Religion, the famous and incomparable Petitot,
      refusing all the supplications of France and of Europe, executed for me,
      in my chateau of Clagny, five infinitely precious portraits, upon which it
      was his caprice only to work alternately, and which still demanded from
      him a very great number of sittings. One of these five portraits was that
      of the King, copied from that great and magnificent picture of Mignard,
      where he was represented at the age of twenty, in the costume of a Greek
      hero, in all the lustre of his youth. His Majesty had given me this little
      commission for more than a year, and I desired, with all my heart, to be
      able soon to fulfil his expectation. He destined this miniature for the
      Emperor of China or the Sultan.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went to see M. Petitot at Clagny. When he saw me he came to me with a
      wrathful air, and, presenting me his unfinished enamel, he said to me:
      "Here, madame, is your Greek hero; his new edicts finish us, but, as for
      me, I shall not finish him. With the best intentions in the world, and all
      the respect that is due to him, my just resentment would pass into my
      brush; I should give him the traits of Heliogabalus, which would probably
      not delight him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think so, monsieur?" said I to my artist. "Is it thus you speak of
      the King, our master,&mdash;of a King who has affection for you, and has
      proved it to: you so many times?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My memory, recalls to me all that his munificence: has done for my talent
      in a thousand instances," went on the painter; "but his edicts, his cruel
      decrees, have upset my heart, and the persecutor of the true Christians no
      longer merits my consideration or good-will."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had been ignorant hitherto of the faith which this able man professed;
      he informed me that he worshipped God in another fashion than ours, and
      made common cause with the Protestants.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said I to him then, "what have you to complain of in the new
      edicts and decrees? They only concern, so far, your ministers,&mdash;I
      should say, your priests; you are not one, and are never likely to be;
      what do these new orders of the Council matter to you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame," resumed Petitot, "our ministers, by preaching the holy gospel,
      fulfil the first of their duties. The King forbids them to preach; then,
      he persecutes them and us. In the thousand and one religions which exist,
      the cause of the priests and the sanctuary becomes the cause of the
      faithful. Our priests are not imbecile Trappists and Carthusians, to be
      reduced to inaction and silence. Since their tongues are tied, they are
      resolved to depart; and their departure becomes an exile which it is our
      duty to share. If you will entrust me with your portraits which have been
      commenced, with the exception of that of Heliogabalus, I will finish them
      in a hospitable land, and shall have the honour of sending them to you,
      already fired and in all their perfection."
    </p>
    <p>
      Petitot, until this political crisis, had only exhibited himself to me
      beneath an appearance of simplicity and good-nature. Now his whole face
      was convulsed and almost threatening; when I looked at him he made me
      afraid. I did not amuse myself by discussing with him matters upon which
      we were, both of us, more or less ignorant. I did all that could be done
      to introduce a little calm into his superstitious head, and to gain the
      necessary time for the completion of my five portraits. I was careful not
      to confide to the King this qualification of Heliogabalus; but as his
      intervention was absolutely necessary to me, I persuaded him to come and
      spend half an hour at this chateau of Clagny, which he had deserted for a
      long time past.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your presence," I said to him, "will perhaps take the edge off the
      theological irritation of your fanatical painter. A little royal amenity,
      a little conversation and blandishment, a la Louis XIV., will seduce his
      artistic vanity. At the cost of that, your portrait, Sire, will be
      terminated. It would not be without."
    </p>
    <p>
      The surprise of his Majesty was extreme when he had to learn and
      comprehend that the prodigious talent of Petitot was joined to a Huguenot
      conscience, and this talent spoke of expatriating itself. "I will go to
      Clagny to-morrow," replied the prince to me; and he went there, in fact,
      accompanied by the Marquise de Montchevreuil and Madame la Dauphine, in an
      elaborate neglige.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-day, Monsieur Petitot," said the monarch to our artist, who rose on
      seeing him enter. "I come to contemplate your new masterpieces. Is my
      little miniature near completion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," replied Petitot, "it will not be for another six weeks. All these
      affairs and decrees have deprived me of many hours; my heart is heavy over
      it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why do you busy yourself with these discussions, with which your
      great talent has no concern?" said the King to him, gently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, it is my religion that is more concerned than ever. I am a
      Christian, and my law is dear to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I am Most Christian," answered his Majesty, smiling. "I profess the
      religion, I keep the law that your ancestors and mine kept before the
      Reformation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, this reform has been adopted by a great number of monarchs,&mdash;a
      proof that the Reformation is not the enemy of kings, as is said."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, in the case of wise and honest men like yourself, my good friend
      Petitot; but just as all your brothers have not your talents, so they have
      not your rectitude and loyalty, which are known to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, your Majesty overwhelms me; but I beg you to be persuaded that my
      brothers have been calumniated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, if one is to accuse them in the mass, my dear Petitot; but there are
      spoil-alls amongst your theologians; intercepted correspondences depose to
      it. The allied princes, having been unable to crush me by their invasions
      and artillery, have recourse to internal and clandestine manoeuvres.
      Having failed to corrupt my soldiers, they have essayed to corrupt my
      clergy, as they did at Montauban and La Rochelle, in the days of Cardinal
      Richelieu."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire, do not believe in any such manoeuvres; all your subjects love and
      admire you, whatever be their faith and communion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Petitot, you are an admirable painter and a most worthy man. Do not
      answer me, I beg you. If I believed you had as much genius and aptitude
      for great affairs as for the wonders of the brush, I would make you a
      Counsellor of State on the instant, and a half-hour spent with me and my
      documents and papers of importance would be sufficient to make you believe
      and think as I do touching what has been discussed between us. Madame de
      Montespan, in great alarm, has told me that you wished to leave me. You
      leave me, my good friend! Where will you find a sky so pure and soft as
      the sky of France? Where will you find a King more tenderly attached to
      men of merit, more particularly, to my dear and illustrious Petitot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words, pronounced with emotion, the artist felt the tears come
      into his eyes. He bent one knee to the ground, respectfully kissed the
      hand of the monarch, and promised to complete his portrait immediately.
    </p>
    <p>
      He kept his word to us. The King's miniature and my four portraits were
      finished without hesitation or postponement; and Petitot also consented to
      copy, for his Majesty, a superb Christine of Sweden, a full-length
      picture, painted by Le Bourdon. But at the final revocation of the Edict
      of Nantes, he thought his conscience, or rather his vanity, compromised,
      and quitted France, although the King offered to allow him a chaplain of
      his communion, and a dispensation from all the oaths, to Petitot himself,
      to Boyer, his brother-in-law, and the chaplain whom they had retained with
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXXIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Lovers' Vows.&mdash;The Body-guards.&mdash;Racine's Phedre.&mdash;The Pit.&mdash;Allusions.&mdash;The
      Duel.&mdash;M. de Monclar.&mdash;The Cowled Spy.&mdash;He Escapes with a
      Fright.&mdash;M. de Monclar in Jersey.&mdash;Gratitude of the Marquise.&mdash;Happy
      Memory.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Lovers, in the effervescence of their passion, exaggerate to themselves
      the strength and intensity of their sentiments. The momentary, pleasure
      that this agreeable weakness causes them to feel, brings them, in spite of
      themselves, to promise a long duration of it, so that they swear eternal
      fidelity, a constancy, proof against all, two days after that one which
      shone on their most recent infidelity. I had seen the King neglect and
      abandon the amiable La Valliere, and I listened to him none the less
      credulously and confidently when he said to me: "Athenais, we have been
      created for each other: if Heaven were suddenly to deprive me of the
      Queen, I would have your marriage dissolved, and, before the altar and the
      world, join your destiny, to mine."
    </p>
    <p>
      Full of these fantastic ideas, in which my hope and desire and credulity
      were centred, I had accepted those body-guards of state who never left my
      carriage. The poor Queen had murmured: I had disdained her murmurs. The
      public had manifested its disapproval: I had hardened myself and fought
      against the insolent opinion of that public. I could not renounce my
      chimera of royalty, based on innumerable probabilities, and I used my
      guards in anticipation, and as a preliminary.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of them, one day, almost lost his life in following my carriage, which
      went along like a whirlwind. His horse fell on the high road to
      Versailles; his thigh was broken, and his body horribly bruised. I
      descended from my carriage to see after him. I confided him, with the most
      impressive recommendations, to the physician or surgeon of Viroflai, who
      lavished on him his attentions, his skill and zeal, and who sent him back
      quite sound after a whole month of affectionate care.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Baron de Monclar (such was the name of this guard) thought
      himself happy in having merited my favour by this accident, and he
      remained sincerely and finally attached to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time of the temporary triumph of Mademoiselle de Fontanges, the
      spell which was over my eyes was dissipated. The illusions of my youth
      were lost, and I saw, at last, the real distance which divided me from the
      steps of the throne. The health of a still youthful Queen seemed to me as
      firm and unalterable then as it appeared to me weak and uncertain before.
      The inconstancy of the monarch warned me of what might be still in store
      for me, and I resolved to withdraw myself, voluntarily and with prudence,
      within the just limits of my power.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. le Prince de Luxembourg was one of my friends, and in command; I begged
      him to send me his guards no longer, but to reserve them for the reigning
      divinity, who had already more than once obtained them.
    </p>
    <p>
      In these latter days, that is to say, since the eminent favour of the lady
      in waiting, having become the friend, and no longer the spouse of the
      prince, I frequently retired from this sight, so repugnant to me, and went
      and passed entire weeks at Paris, where the works on my large hotel, that
      had been suspended for divers reasons, were being resumed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb236" id="pb236"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="pb236.jpg (69K)" src="images/pb236.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      A debutante, as beautiful as she was clever, was drawing the entire
      capital to the Comedie Francaise. She obtained especial applause in the
      difficult part of Phedre. My friends spoke marvels of it, and wished to
      take me there with them. Their box was engaged. We arrived as the curtain
      was going up. As I took my seat I noticed a certain stir in the orchestra
      and pit. The majority of glances were directed at my box, in which my
      apparition had attracted curiosity. I carried my fan to my face, under the
      pretext of the excessive glow of the lights. Immediately several voices
      were to be heard: "Take away the fan, if you please." The young and
      foolish applauded this audacity; but all the better part disapproved.
    </p>
    <p>
      The actress mentioned came on the scene and brought the incident to an
      end. Although deeply moved by what had occurred, I paid great attention to
      the magnificent part of Phedre, which often excited my admiration and
      profound pity. At some passages, which every one knows by heart, two or
      three insolent persons abandoned themselves to a petty war of allusions,
      and accenting these aggressive phrases with their applause, succeeded in
      directing general attention to me. Officers of the service noticed this
      beginning of disorder, and probably were concerned at my embarrassment.
      Some Gardes Francais were called within the barrier of the parterre in
      order to restrain the disturbers. Suddenly a very lively quarrel broke out
      in the centre. Two young men with great excitement had come to blows, and
      soon we saw them sally forth with the openly expressed intention of
      settling their quarrel on the field.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was it my name, or a contest as to the talent of the actress, which caused
      this commotion? My nephew, De Mortemart, was concerned for me, and the
      Comte de Marcilly assured us that all these wrangles were solely with
      regard to the wife of Theseus.
    </p>
    <p>
      Between the two pieces our company learnt that a gentleman from the
      provinces had insulted my name, and a body-guard, out of uniform, had
      taken this insult for himself; they had gone out to have an explanation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The following day a religious minim of the House of Chaillot came to
      inform me of the state of affairs. The Baron de Monclar, of the
      body-guards of the King, had taken sanctuary in their monastery, after
      having killed, in lawful duel, beneath the outer walls of the Bois du
      Boulogne, the imprudent young man who, the night before, at the play, had
      exposed me to the censure of the public. M. de Monclar was quite prepared
      for the inflexible severity of the King, as well as for the uselessness of
      my efforts. He only begged me to procure him a disguise of a common sort,
      so that he might immediately embark from the neighbourhood of Gainville or
      Bordeaux, and make for England or Spain; every moment was precious.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sad position in which M. de Monclar had put himself in my behalf
      filled me with sorrow. I gave a long sigh, and dried my first tears. I
      racked my sick and agitated head for the reply I ought to make to the good
      monk, and, to my great astonishment, my mind, ordinarily so prompt and
      active, suggested and offered me no suitable plan. This indecision,
      perhaps, rendered the worthy ambassador impatient and humiliated me; when,
      to end it, I made up my mind to request that M. de Monclar be secretly
      transferred from the House of Chaillot to my dwelling, where I should have
      time and all possible facilities to take concert with him as to the best
      means of action.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly raising my eyes to the monk of Chaillot, I surprised in his a
      ferocious look of expectation. This horrible discovery unnerved me,&mdash;I
      gave a cry of terror; all my lackeys rushed in. I ordered the traitor to
      be seized and precipitated from the height of my balcony into the gardens.
      His arms were already bound ruthlessly, and my people were lifting him to
      throw him down, when he eluded their grasp, threw himself at my feet, and
      confessed that his disguise was assumed with the intent to discover the
      sanctuary of the Baron de Monclar, the assassin of his beloved brother.
      "It is asserted, madame," added this man, rising, "that the Baron is
      confided to the Minim Fathers of Chaillot. I imagined that you were
      informed of it, and that by this means my family would succeed in reaching
      him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If he has killed the nobody who yesterday insulted me so unjustly," I
      said then to this villain who was ready for death, "he has done a virtuous
      act, but one which I condemn. I condemn it because of the law of the
      Prince, which is formal, and because of the dire peril into which he has
      run; for that my heart could almost praise and thank him. I was ignorant
      of his offence; I am ignorant of his place of refuge. Whoever you may be,&mdash;the
      agent of a family in mourning, or of a magistrate who forgets what is due
      to me,&mdash;leave my house before my wrath is rekindled. Depart, and
      never forget what one gains by putting on the livery of deceit in order to
      surprise and betray innocence."
    </p>
    <p>
      My people conducted this unworthy man to the outer gate, and refused to
      satisfy some prayers which he addressed to them to be released from his
      disagreeable bonds. The public, with its usual inconsequence, followed the
      monk with hooting, without troubling as to whether it were abusing a vile
      spy or a man of worth.
    </p>
    <p>
      We waited for a whole month without receiving any news of our guard. At
      last he wrote to me from the island of Jersey, where he had been cast by a
      storm. I despatched the son of my intendant, who knew him perfectly; I
      sent him a letter of recommendation to his Majesty the King of England,
      who had preserved me in his affections, and to those matters of pure
      obligation, which I could not refrain from without cruelty, I added a
      present of a hundred thousand livres, which was enough to furnish an
      honourable condition for my noble and generous cavalier in the land of
      exile.
    </p>
    <p>
      The humour of my heart is of the kind which finishes by forgetting an
      injury and almost an outrage; but a service loyally rendered is graven
      upon it in uneffaceable characters, and when (at the solicitation of the
      King of England) our monarch shall have pardoned M. de Monclar, I will
      search all through Paris to find him a rich and lovely heiress, and will
      dower him myself, as his noble conduct and my heart demand.
    </p>
    <p>
      I admire great souls as much as I loathe ingratitude and villainy.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XL.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Parallel between the Diamond and the Sun.&mdash;Taste of the Marquise for
      Precious Stones.&mdash;The King's Collection of Medals.&mdash;The Crown of
      Agrippina.&mdash;The Duchess of York.&mdash;Disappointment of the
      Marquise.&mdash;To Lend Is Not to Give.&mdash;The Crown Well Guarded.&mdash;Fright
      of the Marquise.&mdash;The Thief Recognised.&mdash;The Marquise Lets Him
      Hang.&mdash;The Difference between Cromwell and a Trunkmaker.&mdash;Delicate
      Restitutions.&mdash;The Bourbons of Madame de Montespan.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The diamond is, beyond contradiction, the most beautiful creation of the
      hands of God, in the order of inanimate objects. This precious stone, as
      durable as the sun, and far more accessible than that, shines with the
      same fire, unites all its rays and colours in a single facet, and lavishes
      its charms, by night and day, in every clime, at all seasons; whilst the
      sun appears only when it so pleases; sometimes shining, sometimes misty,
      and shows itself off with innumerable pretensions.
    </p>
    <p>
      From my tenderest childhood, I was notable amongst all my brothers and
      sisters for my distinct fondness for precious stones and diamonds. I have
      made a collection of them worthy of the Princes of Asia; and if my whole
      fortune were to fail me to-day, my pearls and diamonds, being left to me,
      would still give me opulence. The King, by a strange accident, shares this
      taste with me. He has in his third closet two huge pedestals, veneered in
      rosewood, and divided within, like cabinets of coins, into several layers.
      It is there that he has conveyed, one by one, all the finest diamonds of
      the Crown. He consecrates to their examination, their study, and their
      homage, the brief moments that his affairs leave him. And when, by his
      ambassadors, he comes to discover some new apparition of this kind in Asia
      or Europe, he does all that is possible to distance his competitors.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he loved me with a tender love, I had only to wish and I obtained
      instantly all that could please me, in rare pearls, in superfine
      brilliants, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. One day, his Majesty allowed
      me to carry home the famous crown of Agrippina, executed with admirable
      art, and formed of eight sprays of large brilliants handsomely mounted.
      This precious object occupied me for several days in succession, and the
      more I examined the workmanship, the more I marvelled at its lightness and
      excellence, which was so great that our jewellers, compared with those of
      Nero and Agrippina, were as artisans and workmen.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, having never spoken to me again of this ornament, I persuaded
      myself that he had made me a present of it,&mdash;a circumstance which
      confirmed me in the delusions of my hope. I thought then that I ought not
      to leave in its light case an article of such immense value, and ordered a
      strong and solid casket in which to enshrine my treasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      The imperial crown having been encased and its clasps well adjusted by as
      many little locks of steel, I shut the illustrious valuable in a cupboard
      in which I had a quantity of jewelry and precious stones. This beautiful
      crown was the constant object of my thoughts, my affections and my
      preference; but I only looked at it myself at long intervals, every six
      months, very briefly, for fear of exciting the cupidity of servants, and
      exposing the glory of Agrippina to some danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Princess of Mantua passed through France on her way to marry the
      Duke of York, whose first wife had left him a widower, the King gave a
      brilliant reception to this young and lovely creature, daughter of a niece
      of Cardinal Mazarin.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation was uniformly most agreeable, for she spoke French with
      fluency, and employed it with wit. There was talk of open-work crowns and
      shut crowns. The Marquis de Dangeau, something of a savant and antiquary,
      happened to remark that, under Nero, that magnificent prince, the imperial
      crown had first been wrought in the form of an arch, such as is seen now.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King said then: "I was ignorant of that fact; but the crown of the
      Empress, his mother, was not closed at all. The one which belongs to me is
      authentic; Madame la Marquise will show it to us:"
    </p>
    <p>
      A gracious invitation in dumb show completed this species of summons, and
      I was obliged to execute it. I returned to the King in the space of a few
      minutes, bringing back in its new case the fugitive present, which a
      monarch asked back again so politely and with such a good grace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The crown of Agrippina, being placed publicly on a small round table,
      excited general attention and admiration. The Italian Princess, Madame de
      Maintenon, the Duc de Saint Aignan, and Dangeau himself went into raptures
      over the rare perfection of these marvellously assorted brilliants. The
      King, drawing near, in his turn examined the masterpiece with pleasure.
      Suddenly, looking me in the face, he cried:
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, madame, this is no longer my crown of Agrippina; all the diamonds
      have been changed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Imagine my trouble, and, I must say, my confusion! Approaching the
      wretched object, and casting my eyes over it with particular attention, I
      was not slow in verifying the King's assertion. The setting of this fine
      work had remained virtually the same; but some bold hand had removed the
      antique diamonds and substituted&mdash;false!
    </p>
    <p>
      I was pale and trembling, and on the verge of swooning. The ladies were
      sorry for me. The King did me the honour of declaring aloud that I had
      assuredly been duped, and I was constrained to explain this removal of the
      crown into a more solid and better case for its preservation.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this naive explanation the King fell to laughing, and said to the young
      Princess: "Madame, you will relate, if you please, this episode to the
      Court of London, and you will tell the King, from me, that nothing is so
      difficult to preserve now as our crowns; guards and locks are no more of
      use."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, addressing me, his Majesty said, playfully:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You should have entrusted it to me sooner; I should have saved it. It is
      said that I understand that well."
    </p>
    <p>
      My amour-propre, my actual honour, forbade me to put a veil over this
      domestic indignity. I assembled all my household, without excepting my
      intendant himself. I was aggrieved at the affront which I had met with at
      the King's, and I read grief and consternation on all faces. After some
      minutes' silence, my intendant proposed the immediate intervention of
      authority, and made me understand with ease that only the casket-maker
      could be the culprit.
    </p>
    <p>
      This man's house was visited; he had left Paris nearly two years before.
      Further information told us that, before disposing of his property, he had
      imprudently indulged in a certain ostentation of fortune, and had embarked
      for the new settlements of Pondicherry.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Colbert, who is still living, charged our governor to discover the
      culprit for him; and he was sent back to us with his hands and feet bound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Put to the question, he denied at first, then confessed his crime. One of
      my chamber&mdash;maids, to whom he had made feigned love, introduced him
      into my house while I was away, and by the aid of this imprudent woman he
      had penetrated into my closets. The crown of Agrippina, which it had been
      necessary to show him because of the measures, had become almost as dear
      to him as to myself; and his ambition of another kind inspired him with
      his criminal and fatal temerity.
    </p>
    <p>
      He did no good by petitioning me, and having me solicited after the
      sentence; I let him hang, as he richly deserved.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King said on this occasion: "This casketmaker has, at least, left us
      the setting, but M. Cromwell took all."
    </p>
    <p>
      The fortunate success of this affair restored me, not to cheerfulness, but
      to that honourable calm which had fled far away from me. I made a
      reflection this time on my extreme imprudence, and understood that all the
      generosities of love are often no more than loans. I noticed amongst my
      jewels a goblet of gold, wrought with diamonds and rubies, which came from
      the first of the Medici princesses. I waited for the King's fete to return
      this magnificent ornament to him nobly. I had a lily executed, all of
      emeralds and fine pearls; I poured essence of roses into the cup, placed
      in it the stem of the lily, in the form of a bouquet for the prince, and
      that was my present for Saint Louis's day.
    </p>
    <p>
      I gave back to the King, by degrees, at least three millions' worth of
      important curiosities, which were like drops of water poured into the
      ocean. But I was anxious that, if God destined me to perish by a sudden
      death, objects of this nature should not be seen and discovered amid my
      treasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to my other diamonds, either changed in form or acquired and collected
      by myself, I destine them for my four children by the King. These pomps
      will have served to delight my eyes, which are pleased with them, and then
      they will go down to their first origin and source, belonging again to the
      Bourbons whom I have made.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duchesse de Lesdiguieres.&mdash;Her Jest.&mdash;"The Chaise of
      Convenience."&mdash;Anger of the Jesuits.&mdash;They Ally Themselves with
      the Archbishop of Paris.&mdash;The Forty Hours' Prayers.&mdash;Thanks of
      the Marquise to the Prelate.&mdash;His Visit to Saint Joseph.&mdash;Anger
      of the Marquise.&mdash;Her Welcome to the Prelate.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The insult offered me at the Comedie Francaise by a handful of the
      thoughtless immediately spread through the capital, and became, as it is
      easy to imagine, the talk of all the salons. I was aware that the Duchesse
      de Lesdiguieres was keenly interested in this episode, and had embellished
      and, as it were, embroidered it with her commentaries and reflections. All
      these women who misconduct themselves are pitiless and severe. The more
      their scandalous conduct brands them on the forehead, the more they cry
      out against scandal. Their whole life is bemired with vice, and their
      mouth articulates no other words than prudence and virtue, like those
      corrupt and infected doctors who have no indulgence for their patients.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duchesse de Lesiguieres, for a long time associated with the
      Archbishop of Paris, and known to live with that prelate like a miller
      with his wife, dared to say, in her salon that my presence at Racine's
      tragedy was, at the least, very useless, and the public having come there
      to see a debutante, certainly did not expect me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The phrase was repeated to me, word for word by my sister De Thianges, who
      did not conceal her anger, and wished to avenge me, if I did not avenge
      myself. The Marquise then informed me of another thing, which she had left
      me in ignorance of all along, from kind motives chiefly, and to prevent
      scandal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You remember, my sister," said the Marquise to me, "a sort of jest which
      escaped you when Pere de la Chaise made the King communicate, in spite of
      all the noise of his new love affair and the follies of Mademoiselle de
      Fontanges? You nicknamed that benevolent Jesuit 'the Chaise of
      Convenience.' Your epigram made all Paris laugh except the hypocrites and
      the Jesuits. Those worthy men resolved to have full satisfaction for your
      insult by stirring up the whole of Paris against you. The Archbishop
      entered readily into their plot, for he thought you supplanted; and he
      granted them the forty Hours' Prayers, to obtain from God your expulsion
      from Court. Harlay, who is imprudent only in his debauches, preserved
      every external precaution, because of the King, whose temper he knows; he
      told the Jesuits that they must not expect either his pastoral letter or
      his mandate, but he allowed them secret commentaries, the familiar
      explanations of the confessional; he charged them to let the other monks
      and priests into the secret, and the field of battle being decided, the
      skirmishes began. With the aid and assistance of King David, that trivial
      breastplate of every devotional insult, the preachers announced to their
      congregations that they must fast and mortify themselves for the cure of
      King David, who had fallen sick. The orators favoured with some wit
      embellished their invectives; the ignorant and coarse amongst the priests
      spoiled everything. The Blessed Sacrament was exposed for a whole week in
      the churches, and it ended by an announcement to Israel, that their cry
      had reached the firmament, that David had grown cold to Bathsheba (they
      did not add, nevertheless, that David preferred another to Bathsheba with
      his whole heart). But the Duchesse de Fontanges gave offence neither to
      the Archbishop of Paris nor to the Jesuits. Her mind showed no hostility.
      The beauty was quite incapable of saying in the face of the world that a
      Jesuit resembled a 'Chaise of Convenience.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Duchesse de Lesdiguieres, covered with rouge and crimes, has put
      herself at the head of all these intrigues," added my sister; "and without
      having yet been able to subdue herself to the external parade of devotion,
      she has allowed herself to use against you all the base tricks of the most
      devout hypocrites."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me act," I said to my sister; "this lady's good offices call for a
      mark of my gratitude. The Forty Hours' Prayer is an attention that is not
      paid to every one; I owe M. de Paris my thanks."
    </p>
    <p>
      I went and sat down at my writing-table, and wrote this fine prelate the
      following honeyed missive:
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          I have only just been informed, monseigneur, of the pains you have
          been at with God for the amelioration of the King and of myself. The
          gratitude which I feel for it cannot be expressed. I pray you to
          believe it to be as pure and sincere as your intention. A good bishop,
          as perfect and exemplary as yourself, is worthy of taking a passionate
          interest in the regularity of monarchs, and ours must owe you the
          highest rewards for this new mark of respect which it has pleased you
          to give him. I will find expressions capable of making him feel all
          that he owes to your Forty Hours' Prayer, and to that Christian and
          charitable emotion cast in the midst of a capital and a public. To all
          that only your mandate of accusation and allegorical sermons are
          lacking. Cardinals' hats, they say, are made to the measure of strong
          heads; we will go seek, in the robing-rooms of Rome, if there be one
          to meet the proportions of your ability. If ladies had as much
          honourable influence over the Vicar of Jesus Christ as simple bishops
          allow them, I should solicit, this very day, your wished-for
          recompense and exaltation. But it is the monarch's affair; he will
          undertake it. I can only offer you, in my own person, M. Archbishop of
          Paris, my prayers for yours. My little church of Saint Joseph has not
          the same splendour as your cathedral; but the incense that we burn
          there is of better quality than yours, for I get it from the Sultan of
          Persia. I will instruct my little community to-morrow to hold our
          Forty Hours' Prayer, that God may promptly cure you of your Duchesse
          de Lesdiguieres, who has been damning you for fourteen years.
        </p>
        <p>
          Deign to accept these most sincere reprisals, and believe me, without
          reserve, Monsieur the Archbishop,
        </p>
        <p>
          THE MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN.
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      This letter cast the camp into alarm. There were goings and comings
      between the Episcopal Palace and the Jesuits of the Rue Saint Antoine, and
      from this professed house to their College of Louis le Grand. The
      matadores of the society were of opinion that I should be conciliated by
      every possible means, and it was arranged that the Archbishop should pay
      me a visit at Saint Joseph's, on the earliest possible occasion, to
      exculpate his virtuous colleagues and make me accept his disclaimers. He
      came, in effect, the following week. I made him wait for half an hour in
      the chapel, for half an hour in my parlour, and I ascended into my
      carriage, almost in his presence, without deigning either to see or salute
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mother of four legitimised princes was not made to support such
      outrages, nor to have interviews with their insolent authors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alarms, anxieties of consciences, weak but virtuous, have always found me
      gentle, and almost resigned; the false scruples of hypocrites and
      libertines will never receive from me aught but disdain and contempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Verse of Berenice.&mdash;Praises of Boileau.&mdash;The King's Aversion
      to Satirical Writers.&mdash;The Painter Le Brun.&mdash;His Bacchus.&mdash;The
      Waterbottle.&mdash;The Pyramid of Jean Chatel Injurious to the Jesuits.&mdash;They
      Solicit Its Demolition.&mdash;Madame de Maintenon's Opposition.&mdash;Political
      Views of Henri IV. on This Matter.&mdash;The Jesuits of Paris Proclaim the
      Dedication of Their College to Louis the Great.&mdash;The Gold Pieces.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Whatever be the issue of a liaison which cannot probably be eternal, I
      have too much judgment and equity to deny the King the great talents which
      are his by nature, or to dispute the surname of Great which has been given
      him in his lifetime, and which the ages to come must surely preserve. But
      here I am writing secret Memoirs, where I set down, as in a mirror, the
      most minute traits of the personages whom I bring on the stage, and I wish
      to relate in what manner and with what aim this apotheosis affected the
      mind of those who flattered the prince in their own interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      The painters and sculptors, most artful of courtiers in their calling, had
      already represented the King, now with the attributes of Apollo, now in
      the costume of the god Mars, of Jupiter Tonans, Neptune, lord of the
      waves; now with the formidable and vigorous appearance of the great
      Hercules, who strangled serpents even in his cradle.
    </p>
    <p>
      His Majesty saw all these ingenious allegories, examined them without
      vanity, with no enthusiasm, and seemed to regard them as accessories
      inherent to the composition, as conventional ornaments, the good and
      current small change of art. The adulations of Racine, in his "Berenice,"
      having all a foundation of truth, please him, but chiefly for the grace of
      the poetry; and he sometimes recited them, when he wished to recall and
      quote some fine verse.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="pb256" id="pb256"></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img alt="pb256.jpg (51K)" src="images/pb256.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
    </div>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The praises of Boileau, although well versified, had not, however, the
      fortune to please him. He found those verses too methodical for poetry;
      and the poet, moreover, seemed to him somewhat a huckster, and in bad
      taste. The satirists might do what they liked, they never had his
      friendship. Perhaps he feared them.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Le Brun started preparing the magnificent cradle of the great
      gallery, he composed for the ceiling rich designs or cartoons, which in
      their entirety should represent the victories and great military or
      legislative achievements of the prince. His work being finished, he came
      to present it to his Majesty, who on that day was dining with me. In one
      of the compartments the painter had depicted his hero in the guise of
      Bacchus; the King immediately took up a bottle of clear water and drank a
      big glass. I gave a great peal of laughter, and said to M. le Brun, "You
      see, monsieur, his Majesty's decision in that libation of pure water."
    </p>
    <p>
      M. le Brun changed his design, seeing the King had no love for Bacchus,
      but he left the Thundering Jove, and all the other mythological
      flatteries, in regard to which no opinion had been given.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Jesuits for a long time past had groaned at seeing, exactly opposite
      the Palace,&mdash;[In the midst of the semicircle in front of the Palais
      de Justice. ]&mdash;in the centre of Paris, that humiliating pyramid which
      accused them of complicity with, or inciting, the famous regicide of the
      student, Jean Chatel, assassin of Henri IV. Pere de la Chaise, many times
      and always in vain, had prayed his Majesty to render justice to the
      virtues of his order, and to command the destruction of this slanderous
      monument. The King had constantly refused, alleging to-day one motive,
      to-morrow another. One day, when the professed House of Paris came to hand
      him a respectful petition on the subject, his Majesty begged Madame de
      Maintenon to read it to him, and engaged us to listen to it with
      intelligence, in order to be able to give an opinion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Jesuits said in this document that the Parliament, with an excessive
      zeal, had formerly pushed things much too far in this matter. "For that
      Jean Chatel, student with the Jesuit Fathers, having been heard to say to
      his professor that the King of Navarre, a true Huguenot, ought not to
      reign over France, which was truly Catholic, the magistrates were not,
      therefore, justified in concluding that that Jesuit, and all the Jesuits,
      had directed the dagger of Jean Chatel, a madman."
    </p>
    <p>
      The petition further pointed out that "the good King Henri IV., who was
      better informed, had decided to recall the Society of Jesus, had
      reestablished it in all his colleges, and had even chosen a confessor from
      their ranks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This fearful pyramid, surcharged with wrathful inscriptions," added the
      petition, "designates our Society as a perpetual hotbed of regicidal
      conspiracy, and presents us to credulous people as an association of
      ambitious, thankless and corrupt assassins!"
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [This monument represented a sort of small square temple, built of
          Arcueil stone and marble. Corinthian fluted pillars formed its general
          decoration, and enshrined the four fulminatory inscriptions.
          Independently of the obelisk, the cupola of this temple bore eight
          allegorical statues, of which the one was France in mourning; the
          second, Justice raising her sword, and the others the principal
          virtues of the King. On the principal side these words occurred:
          "Passer-by, whosoever thou be, abhor Jean Chatel, and the Jesuits who
          beguiled his youth and destroyed his reason."&mdash;EDITOR'S NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      "In the name of God, Sire, do away with this criminal and dangerous
      memento of old passions, unjust hatreds, and the spirit of impiety which,
      after having led astray magistrates devoid of light, serves to-day only to
      beguile new generations, whom excess of light blinds," etc., etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this letter was finished, the King said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have never seen, the famous pyramid; one of these days I will escape,
      so that I can see it without being observed." And then his Majesty asked
      me what I thought of the petition. I answered that I did not understand
      the inconsistency of M. de Sully, who, after consenting to the return of
      the Jesuits, had left in its place the monument which accused and branded
      them. I put it on Sully, the minister, because I dared not attack Henri
      IV. himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King answered me: "There are faults of negligence such as that in
      every government and under the best administrations. King Henri my
      grandfather was vivacity itself. He was easily irritated; he grew calm in
      the same way. For my part, I think that he pardoned the Jesuits, as he had
      the Leaguers, in the hope that his clemency would bring them all into
      peaceful disposition; in which he was certainly succeeding when a
      miscreant killed him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, begged to give her opinion, expressed herself in
      these terms: "Sire, this petition cannot be other than extremely well
      done, since a society of clever minds have taken the work in hand. We have
      not the trial of Jean Chatel before our eyes, with his interrogatories; it
      is impossible for us, then, to pronounce on the facts. In any case, there
      is one thing very certain: the Jesuits who are living at present are
      innocent, and most innocent of the faults of their predecessors.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The sentences and anathemas which surcharge the pyramid, as they say, can
      in no way draw down upon them the anger of passers-by and the populace,
      for these inscriptions, which I have read, are in bad Latin. This
      monument, which is very rich and even elegant in itself, is placed upon
      the site of the destroyed house of the assassin Chatel. The most ignorant
      of your Parisians knows this circumstance, which he has learnt from family
      traditions. It is good that the people see every day before their eyes
      this solitary pyramid, which teaches how King's assassins are punished and
      what is done with the houses in which they were born.
    </p>
    <p>
      "King Henri IV., for all his gaiety, had wits enough for four; he left the
      pyramid standing, like those indulgent people who compromise a great
      lawsuit, but do not on that account destroy the evidence and documents.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This monument, besides, is the work of the Parliament of Paris; that
      illustrious assembly has raised it, and perhaps your Majesty might seem to
      accuse justice by destroying what it has once done for a good cause."
    </p>
    <p>
      The King smiled at the conclusions of the lady in waiting, and said to
      both of us: "This is between us three, I pray you, ladies; I will keep
      Pere de la Chaise amused with promises some day."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, for a brief time in her first youth a Calvinist,
      cherished always in the bottom of her heart a good share of those
      suspicions that Calvin's doctrine is careful to inspire against the
      Jesuits.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the other hand, she retained amongst the Parliament a large number of
      friends whom she had known formerly at M. Scarron's, the son of a
      counsellor of the chamber. I understood that in those circumstances she
      was well pleased to prove to the gentlemen of Parliament that the
      interests of their house were kept in good hands, and that she would not
      abandon her friends of the Place Royale and the Marais for all the Jesuits
      and all the pyramids in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Parliament, which was informed of her conduct and fidelity, bore her
      infinite good-will for it. The first president, decorated with his blue
      riband, came; to express his formal thanks, and begged her to accept in
      perpetuity a key of honour to the High Chamber.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [In famous and unusual causes, princes, ambassadors, and keys of
          honour came and occupied the lanterns, that is to say, elegant and
          well furnished tribunes, from which all that passed in the grand hall
          of the Parliament could be seen.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The Jesuits, for perseverance and tenacity, can be compared with spiders
      who repair, or start again every instant at a damaged or broken thread.
      When these good fathers knew that their petition had not triumphed
      offhand, they struck out for some new road to reach the generous heart of
      the monarch. Having learnt that an alderman, full of enthusiasm, had just
      proposed in full assembly at the Hotel de Ville to raise a triumphal
      monument to the Peacemaker of Europe, and to proclaim him Louis the Great
      at a most brilliant fete, the Jesuit Fathers cleverly took the initiative,
      and whilst the Hotel de Ville was deliberating to obtain his Majesty's
      consent, the College of Clermont, in the Rue Saint Jacques, brought out
      its annual thesis, and dedicated it to the King,&mdash;Louis the Great
      (Ludovico Magno).
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following day the masons raised scaffolding before the great door
      of the college, erased the original inscription&mdash;which consisted of
      the words: "College of Clermont"&mdash;to substitute for it, in letters of
      gold: "Royal College of Louis the Great." These items of news reached
      Versailles one after the other. The King received them with visible
      satisfaction, and if only Pere de la Chaise had known how to profit at the
      time by the emotion and sentiment of the prince, he would have carried off
      the tall pyramid as an eagle does a sparrow. The confessor, a man of great
      circumspection, dared not force his penitent's hand; he was tactful with
      him in all things, and the society had the trouble of its famous cajolery
      without gaining anything more at the game than compliments and gold pieces
      in sufficient plenty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some days afterwards the monarch, of his own accord and without any
      incentive, remembered the offensive and mortifying pyramid; but Madame de
      Maintenon reminded him that it was desirable to wait, for scoffers would
      not be wanting to say that this demolition was one of the essential
      conditions of the bargain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King relished this advice. At the Court one must make haste to obtain
      anything; but to be forgotten, a few minutes' delay is sufficient.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [This pyramid was taken down two or three years before the Revolution
          by the wish of Louis XVI., after having stood for two hundred years.&mdash;EDITOR'S
          NOTE.]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Little Opportune.&mdash;M. and Madame Bontems.&mdash;The Young Moor
      Weaned.&mdash;The Good Cure.&mdash;The Blessed Virgin.&mdash;Opportune at
      the Augustinians of Meaux.&mdash;Bossuet Director.&mdash;Mademoiselle
      Albanier and Leontine.&mdash;Flight of Opportune.&mdash;Her Threats of
      Suicide.&mdash;Visit of the Marquise.&mdash;Prudence of the Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The poor Queen had had several daughters, all divinely well made and
      pretty as little Cupids. They kept in good health up to their third or
      fourth year; they went no further. It was as though a fate was over these
      charming creatures; so that the King and Queen trembled whenever the
      accoucheurs announced a daughter instead of a son.
    </p>
    <p>
      My readers remember the little negress who was born to the Queen in the
      early days,&mdash;she whom no one wanted, who was dismissed, relegated,
      disinherited, unacknowledged, deprived of her rank and name the very day
      of her birth; and who, by a freak of destiny, enjoyed the finest health in
      the world, and surmounted, without any precautions or care, all the
      difficulties, perils, and ailments of infancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. Bontems, first valet de chambre of the cabinets, served as her
      guardian, or curator; even he acted only through the efforts and movements
      of an intermediary. It was wished that this young Princess should be
      ignorant of her birth, and in this I agree that, in the midst of crying
      injustice, the King kept his natural humanity. This poor child not being
      meant, and not being able, to appear at Court, it was better, indeed, to
      keep her from all knowledge of her rights, in order to deprive her, at one
      stroke, of the distress of her conformation, the hardship of her
      repudiation, and the despair of captivity. The King destined her for a
      convent when he saw her born, and M. Bontems promised that it should be
      so.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the age of three, she was withdrawn from the hands of her nurse, and
      Madame Bontems put her to be weaned in her own part of the world.
      Opportune,&mdash;[She was born on Sainte Opportune's Day.]&mdash;clothed
      and nourished like the other children of the farmer, who was her new
      patron, played with them in the barns or amongst the snow; she followed
      them into the orchards and fields; she filled, like them, her little
      basket with acorns that had been left after the crop was over, or ears of
      corn that the gleaners had neglected, or withered branches and twigs left
      by the wood-cutters for the poor. Her nude, or semi-nude, arms grew rough
      in the burning sun, and more so still in the frosts. Her pretty feet, so
      long as the fine season lasted, did not worry about being shod, and when
      November arrived with its terrors, Opportune took her little heeled sabots
      like the other country children. M. and Madame Bontems wrote every six
      months to inquire if she were dead, and each time the answer came that the
      little Moor was in wonderful health.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pastor of the neighbouring hamlet felt pity for this poor child, who
      was sometimes tormented by her companions on account of her colour. The
      good cure even went so far as to declare, one day when there was a sermon,
      that the Virgin Mary, if one was to believe respectable books, was black
      from head to foot, which did not prevent her from being most beautiful in
      the sight of God and of men.
    </p>
    <p>
      This good cure taught the gentle little orphan to read and pray. He often
      came to her farm to visit her, and probably he knew her birth; he was in
      advanced age, and he died. Then Opportune was placed with the Augustinian
      ladies of Meaux, where Bossuet charged himself with the task of
      instructing her well in religion and of making her take the veil.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lot of this young victim of pride and vain prejudices touched me in
      spite of myself, and often I made a firm resolution to take her away from
      her oppressors and adopt her in spite of everybody. The poor Queen,
      forgetting our rivalry, had taken all my children into her affections. Why
      should not I have shown a just recognition by protecting an innocent
      little creature animated with her breath, life, and blood,&mdash;a child
      whom she would have loved, I do not doubt, if she had been permitted to
      see and recognise her? This idea grew so fixed in my mind, that I resolved
      to see Opportune and do her some good, if I were able.
    </p>
    <p>
      The interest of my position had led me once to assure myself of the
      neighbourhood of the King by certain little measures, not of curiosity but
      of surveillance. I had put with M. Bontems a young man of intelligence and
      devotion, who, without passing due limits, kept me informed of many things
      which it is as well to know.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I knew, without any doubt, the new abiding-place of Opportune, I
      secretly sent to the Augustinians of Meaux the young and intelligent
      sister of my woman of the bedchamber, who presented herself as an aspirant
      for the novitiate. They were ignorant in the house of the relations of
      Mademoiselle Albanier with her sister Leontine Osselin, so that they wrote
      to each other, but by means of a cipher, and under seal, addressing their
      missives to a relative.
    </p>
    <p>
      Albanier lost no time in informing us that the little Opportune had begun
      to give her her confidence, and that the nuns took it in very good part,
      believing them both equally called to take the veil in their convent.
      Opportune knew, though in a somewhat vague way, to what great personage
      she owed her life, and it appeared that the good cure had informed her,
      out of compassion, before he left this world. Albanier wrote to Leontine:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell Madame la Marquise that Opportune is full of wit; she resembles M.
      le Duc du Maine as though she were his twin; her carriage is exactly that
      of the King; her body is built to perfection, and were it not for her
      colour, the black of which diminishes day by day, she would be one of the
      loveliest persons in France; she is sad and melancholy by temperament, but
      as I have succeeded in attracting her confidence, and diverting her as
      much as one can do in a purgatory like this, we dance sometimes in secret,
      and then you would think you saw Mademoiselle de Nantes dance and
      pirouette.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When any one pronounces the name of the King, she trembles. She asked me
      to-day whether I had seen the King, if he were handsome, if he were
      courteous and affable. It seemed to me as though she was already revolving
      some great project in her brain, and if I am not mistaken, she has quite
      decided to scale the fruit-trees against our garden wall and escape across
      country.
    </p>
    <p>
      "M. Bossuet, in his quality of Bishop of Meaux, has the right of entry
      into this house; he has come here three times since my arrival; he has
      given me each time a little tap on my check in token of goodwill, and such
      as one gets at confirmation; he told me that he longs to see me take the
      veil of the Ursulines, as well as my little scholar; it is by that name he
      likes to call her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Opportune answers him with a stately air which would astound you; she
      only calls him monsieur, and when told that she has made an error, and
      that she should say monseigneur, she replies with great seriousness, 'I
      had forgotten it.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mademoiselle Albanier, out of kindness to me, passed nearly two years in
      this house, which she always called her purgatory, but the endeavours of
      the superior and of M. Bossuet becoming daily more pressing, and her
      health, which had suffered, being unable to support the seclusion longer,
      she made up her mind to retire.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her departure was a terrible blow to the daughter of the Queen. This young
      person, who was by nature affectionate, almost died of grief at the
      separation. We learnt that, after having been ill and then ailing for
      several weeks, she found the means of escaping from the convent, and of
      taking refuge with some lordly chatelaine. M. de Meaux had her pursued,
      but as she threatened to kill herself if she were taken back to the Abbey
      of Notre Dame, the prelate wrote to M. Bontems, that is to say, to the
      real father, and poor Opportune was taken to Moret, a convent of
      Benedictines, in the forest of Fontainebleau. There they took the course
      of lavishing care, and kindness, and attentions on her. But as her
      destiny, written in her cradle, was an irrevocable sentence, she was
      finally made to take the veil, which suited her admirably, and which she
      wears with an infinite despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      I disguised myself one day as a lady suitor who sought a lodging in the
      house. I established myself there for a week, under the name of the
      Comtesse de Clagny, and I saw, with my own eyes, a King's daughter reduced
      to singing matins. Her air of nobility and dignity struck me with
      admiration and moved me to tears. I thought of her four sisters, dead at
      such an early age, and deplored the cruelty of Fate, which had spared her
      in her childhood to kill her slowly and by degrees.
    </p>
    <p>
      I would have accosted her in the gardens, and insinuated myself into her
      confidence, but the danger of these interviews, both for her and me,
      restrained what had been an ill-judged kindness. We should both have gone
      too far, and the monarch would have been able to think that I was opposing
      him out of revenge, and to give him pain.
    </p>
    <p>
      This consideration came and crushed all my projects of compassion and
      kindness. There are situations in life where we are condemned to see evil
      done in all liberty, without being able to call for succour or complain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLIV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Aristocratic Republic of Genoa Offends the King.&mdash;Its Punishment.&mdash;Reception
      of the Doge at Paris and Versailles.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      M. de Louvois&mdash;by nature, as I have said, hard and despotic&mdash;was
      quite satisfied to gain the same reputation for the King, in order to
      cover his own violence and rigour beneath the authority of the monarch.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, I admit, did not like to be contradicted or opposed. He became
      irritated if one was unfortunate enough to do so; but I know from long
      experience that he readily accepted a good excuse, and by inclination
      liked neither to punish nor blame. The Marquis de Louvois was unceasingly
      occupied in exciting him against one Power and then another, and his
      policy was to keep the prince in constant alarm of distrust in order to
      perpetuate wars and dissensions. This order of things pleased that
      minister, who dreaded intervals of calm and peace, when the King came to
      examine expenses and to take account of the good or bad employment of
      millions.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Republic of Genoa, accustomed to build vessels for all nations, built
      some of them, unfortunately, for the King's enemies. These constructions
      were paid for in advance. M. de Louvois, well-informed of what passed in
      Genoa, waited till the last moment to oppose the departure of the four or
      five new ships. The Genoese, promising to respect the King's will in the
      future, sent these vessels to their destination.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the report and conclusions of M. de Louvois, his Majesty commanded the
      senators of Genoa to hand over to his Minister of War the sums arising
      from the sale of these, and to send their Doge and four of the most
      distinguished senators to beg the King's pardon in his palace at
      Versailles.
    </p>
    <p>
      The senate having replied that, by a fundamental law, a Doge could not
      leave the city without instantly losing his power and dignity, the King
      answered this message to the effect that the Doge would obey as an
      extraordinary circumstance, that in this solitary case he would derogate
      from the laws of the Genoese Republic, and that, the King's will being
      explicit and unalterable, the Doge would none the less maintain his
      authority.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whilst waiting, his Majesty sent a fleet into Italian waters, and the city
      of Genoa immediately sustained the most terrible bombardment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The flag of distress and submission having been flown from all the towers,
      our admirals ceased, and the Doge set out for Versailles, accompanied by
      the four oldest senators.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the news of their approach, all Paris echoed the songs of triumph that
      M. de Louvois had had composed. A spacious hotel was prepared to receive
      these representatives of a noble, aristocratic republic; and, to withdraw
      them from the insults of the populace, they were given guards and archers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although the chateau of Versailles was in all the lustre of its novelty,
      since it had been inhabited for only two years, I perceived that they had
      even been adding to its magnificence, and that everywhere were new
      curtains, new candelabra, new carpets. The throne on which the monarch was
      to sit surpassed all that we had ever seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the eve of the solemn presentation the astonished ambassadors appeared
      incognito before the minister, who dictated to them their costumes, their
      reverences, and all the substance of their address. The influx of
      strangers and Parisians to Versailles, to be witnesses of such a
      spectacle, was so extraordinary and prodigious that the hostels and other
      public inns were insufficient, and they were obliged to light fires of yew
      in all the gardens.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the great apartments there were persons of the highest rank who sought
      permission to pass the night on benches, so that they might be all there
      and prepared on the following day. On the two sides of the great gallery
      they had raised tribunes in steps, draped in 'Cramoisi' velvet. It was on
      these steps, which were entirely new, that all the ladies were placed. The
      lords stood upright below them, and formed a double hedge on each side.
    </p>
    <p>
      When his Majesty appeared on his throne, the fire of the diamonds with
      which he was covered for a moment dazzled all eyes. The King seemed to me
      less animated than was his wont; but his fine appearance, which never
      quits him, rendered him sufficiently fit for such a representation and his
      part in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Doge of the humiliated Republic exhibited neither obsequiousness nor
      pride. We found his demeanour that of a philosopher prepared for all human
      events. His colleagues walked after him, but at a little distance. When
      the Doge Lescaro had asked for pardon, as he had submitted to do, two of
      his senators fell to weeping. The King, who noticed the general emotion,
      descended from his throne and spoke for some minutes with the five
      personages, and, smiling on them with his most seductive grace, he once
      more drew all hearts to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was placed at two paces from Madame de Maintenon. The Doge,&mdash;who
      was never left by a master of ceremonies, who named the ladies to him,&mdash;in
      passing before me, made a profound reverence. He then drew near Madame de
      Maintenon, who heard all his compliments, said to him, in Italian, all
      that could be said, and did him the honour to lean on his hand when
      descending from her tribune to return to the King's.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the next day the Doge and senators came to present their homage to my
      children, and did not forget me in their visits of ceremony.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The Comte de Vermandois.&mdash;His Entrance into the World.&mdash;Quarrels
      with the Dauphin.&mdash;Duel.&mdash;Siege of Courtrai.&mdash;The Cathedral
      of Arras.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      When Madame de la Valliere (led by suggestions coming from the Most High)
      left the Court and the world to shut herself up in a cloister, she
      committed a great imprudence; I should not know how to repeat it: The
      Carmelites in the Rue Saint Jacques could easily do without her; her two
      poor little children could not. The King confided them, I am well aware,
      to governors and governesses who were prudent, attentive, and capable; but
      all the governors and preceptors in the world will never replace a mother,&mdash;above
      all, in a place of dissipation, tumult, and carelessness like the Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. le Comte de Vermandois was only seven years old when exaggerated
      scruples and bad advice deprived him of his mother. This amiable child,
      who loved her, at first suffered much from her absence and departure. He
      had to be taken to the Carmelites, where the sad metamorphosis of his
      mother, whom he had seen so brilliant and alluring, made him start back in
      fright.
    </p>
    <p>
      He loved her always as much as he was loved by her, and in virtue of the
      permission formally given by the Pope, he went every week to pass an hour
      or two with her in the parlour. He regularly took there his singing and
      flute lessons; these were two amiable talents in which he excelled.
    </p>
    <p>
      About his twelfth year he was taken with the measles, and passed through
      them fairly well. The smallpox came afterwards, but respected his charming
      brown face. A severe shower of rain, which caught him in some forest, made
      him take rheumatism; the waters of Vichy cured him; he returned beaming
      with health and grace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King loved him tenderly, and everybody at Court shared this
      predilection of the monarch. M. de Vermandois, of a stature less than his
      father, was none the less one of the handsomest cavaliers at the Court. To
      all the graces of his amiable mother he joined an ease of manner, a
      mixture of nobility and modesty, which made him noticeable in the midst of
      the most handsome and well made. I loved him with a mother's fondness,
      and, from all his ingenuous and gallant caresses, it was easy to see that
      he made me a sincere return.
    </p>
    <p>
      This poor Comte de Vermandois, about a year before the death of the Queen,
      had a great and famous dispute with Monsieur le Dauphin, a jealous prince,
      which brought him his first troubles, and deprived him suddenly of the
      protecting favour of the Infanta-queen.
    </p>
    <p>
      At a ball, at the Duchesse de Villeroi's, all the Princes of the Blood
      appeared. Monseigneur, who from childhood had had a fancy for Mademoiselle
      de Blois, his legitimised sister, loved her far more definitely since her
      marriage with M. le Prince de Conti. Monseigneur is lacking in tact. At
      this ball he thought he could parade his sentiments, which were visibly
      unpleasant, both to the young husband and to the Princess herself. He
      danced, nevertheless, for some minutes with her; but, suddenly, she
      feigned to be seized with a sharp pain in the spleen, and was conducted to
      a sofa. The young Comte de Vermandois came and sat there near her. They
      were both exhibiting signs of gaiety; their chatter amused them, and they
      were seen to laugh with great freedom. Although Monsieur le Dauphin was
      assuredly not in their thoughts, he thought they were making merry at his
      expense. He came and sat at the right of the Princess and said to her:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your brother is very ill-bred!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think so?" the Princess answered immediately. "My brother is the
      most amiable boy in the world. He is laughing at my talking to myself. He
      assures me that my pain is in my knee instead of being in the spleen, and
      that is what we were amusing ourselves at, quite innocently."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your brother thinks himself my equal," added the Prince; "in which he
      certainly makes a mistake. All his diamonds prove nothing; I shall have,
      when I like, those of the crown."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So much the worse, monsieur," replied the Comte de Vermandois, quickly.
      "Those diamonds should never change hands,&mdash;at least, for a very long
      time."
    </p>
    <p>
      These words degenerating into an actual provocation, Monseigneur dared to
      say to his young brother that, were it not for his affection for the
      Princess, he would make him feel that he was&mdash;&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "My elder brother," resumed the Comte de Vermandois, "and nothing more, I
      assure you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the ball was over, they met in an alcove and gave each other a
      rendezvous not far from Marly. Both of them were punctual; but Monsieur le
      Dauphin had given his orders, so that they were followed in order to be
      separated.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King was informed of this adventure; he immediately gave expression to
      his extreme dissatisfaction, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! is there hatred and discord already amongst my children?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I spoke next to elucidate the facts, for I had learnt everything, and I
      represented M. de Vermandois as unjustly provoked by his brother. His
      Majesty replied that Monsieur le Dauphin was the second personage in the
      Empire, and that all his brothers owed him respect up to a certain point.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was out of deference and respect that the Count accepted the
      challenge," said I to the King; "and here the offending party made the
      double attack."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What a misfortune!" resumed the King. "I thought them as united amongst
      themselves as they are in my heart. Vermandois is quick, and as explosive
      as saltpetre; but he has the best nature in the world. I will reconcile
      them; they will obey me."
    </p>
    <p>
      The scene took place in my apartment, owing to my Duc du Maine. "My son,"
      said his Majesty to the child of the Carmelite, "I have learned with pain
      what has passed at Madame de Villeroi's and then in the Bois de Marly. You
      will be pardoned for this imprudence because of your age; but never forget
      that Monsieur le Dauphin is your superior in every respect, and must
      succeed me some day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sire," replied the Count, "I have never offended nor wished to offend
      Monseigneur. Unhappily for me, he detests me, as though you had not the
      right to love me."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words Monsieur le Dauphin blushed, and the King hastened to
      declare that he loved all his children with a kindness perfectly alike;
      that rank and distinctions of honour had been regulated, many centuries
      ago, by the supreme law of the State; that he desired union and concord in
      the heart of the royal family; and he commanded the two brothers to
      sacrifice for him all their petty grievances, and to embrace in his
      presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hearing these words, the Comte de Vermandois, with a bow to his father,
      ran in front of Monseigneur, and, spreading out his arms, would have
      embraced him. Monsieur le Dauphin remained cold and dumb; he received this
      mark of good-will without returning it, and very obviously displeased his
      father thereby.
    </p>
    <p>
      These little family events were hushed up, and Monseigneur was almost
      explicitly forbidden to entertain any other sentiments for Madame de Conti
      than those of due friendship and esteem.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some time after that, Messieurs de Conti, great lovers of festivity,
      pleasure, and costly delights, which are suited only for people of their
      kind, dragged the Comte de Vermandois, as a young debutant, into one of
      those licentious parties where a young man is compelled to see things
      which excite horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      His first scruples overcome, M. de Vermandois, naturally disposed to what
      is out of the common, wished to give guarantees of his loyalty and
      courage; from a simple spectator he became, it is said, an accomplice.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is always some false friend in these forbidden assemblies. The King
      heard the details of an orgy so unpardonable, and the precocious
      misconduct of his cherished son gave him so much pain, that I saw his
      tears fall. The assistant governor of the young criminal was dismissed;
      his valet de chambre was sent to prison; only three of his servants were
      retained, and he himself was subjected to a state of penitence which
      included general confessions and the most severe discipline. He resigned
      himself sincerely to all these heavy punishments. He promised to associate
      only with his mother, his new governor, his English horses, and his books;
      and this manner of life, carried out with a grandeur of soul, made of him
      in a few months a perfect gentleman, in the honourable and assured
      position to which his great heart destined him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, satisfied with this trial, allowed him to go and prove his
      valour at the sieges of Digmude and Courtrai. All the staff officers
      recognised soon in his conversation, his zeal, his methods, a worthy rival
      of the Vendomes. They wrote charming things of him to the Court. A few
      days afterwards we learned at Versailles that M. de Vermandois was dead,
      in consequence of an indisposition caught whilst bivouacking, which at
      first had not seemed dangerous.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King deplored this loss, as a statesman and a good father. I was a
      witness of his affliction; it seemed to me extreme. One knew not whom to
      approach to break the news to the poor Carmelite. The Bishop of Meaux,
      sturdy personage, voluntarily undertook the mission, and went to it with a
      tranquil brow, for he loved such tasks.
    </p>
    <p>
      To his hoarse and funereal voice Soeur Louise only replied with groans and
      tears. She fell upon the floor without consciousness, and M. Bossuet went
      on obstinately preaching Christian resignation and stoicism to a senseless
      mother who heard him not.
    </p>
    <p>
      About a fortnight after the obsequies of the Prince (which I, too, had
      celebrated in my church of Saint Joseph), the underprioress of that little
      community begged me to come to Paris for a brief time and consecrate half
      an hour to her. I responded to her invitation. This is the important
      secret which the good nun had to confide to me: Before expiring; the young
      Prince had found time to interview his faithful valet de chambre behind
      his curtains. "After my death," said he, "you will repair, not to the
      King, my father, but to Madame la Marquise de Montespan, who has given me
      a thousand proofs of kindness in my behalf. You will remit to her my
      casket, in which all my private papers are kept. She will be kind enough
      to destroy all which ought not to survive me, and to hand over the
      remainder, not to my good mother, who will have only too much sorrow, but
      to Madame la Princesse de Conti, whose indulgence and kindness are known
      to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sydney, this valet de chambre, informed me that the Count was dead, not
      through excessive brandy, as the Dauphin's people spread abroad, but from
      a cerebral fever, which a copious bleeding would have dissipated at once.
      All the soldiers wept for this young Prince, whose generous affability had
      charmed them. Sydney had just accompanied his body to Arras, where, by
      royal command, it had been laid in a vault of the cathedral. I opened his
      pretty casket of citron wood, with locks of steel and silver. The first
      object which met my eyes was a fine and charming portrait of Madame de la
      Valliere. The face was smiling in the midst of this great tragedy, and
      that upset me entirely, and made my tears flow again. Five or six tales of
      M. la Fontaine had been imitated most elegantly by the young Prince
      himself, and to these rather frivolous verses he had joined some songs and
      madrigals. All these little relics of a youth so eager to live betokened a
      mind that was agreeable, and not libertine. In any case the sacrifice was
      accomplished; reflections were in vain. I burned these papers, and all
      those which seemed to me without direct importance or striking interest.
      That was not the case with a correspondence, full of wit, tenderness, and
      fire, of whose origin the good Sydney pretended ignorance, but which two
      or three anecdotes that were related sufficiently revealed to me. The
      handsome Comte de Vermandois, barely seventeen years old, had won the
      heart of a fair lady, of about his own age, who expressed her passion for
      him with an energy, a delicacy, and a talent far beyond all that we admire
      in books.
    </p>
    <p>
      I knew her; the King loved her. Her husband, a most distinguished
      field-officer, cherished her and believed her to be faithful. I burned
      this dangerous correspondence, for M. de Vermandois, barely adolescent,
      was already a father, and his mistress gloried in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On receiving this casket, in which she saw once more the portraits of her
      mother, her brother, and her husband, Madame la Princesse de Conti felt
      the most sorrowful emotion. I told her that I had acquitted myself, out of
      kindness and respect, of a commission almost beyond my strength, and I
      begged her never to mention it to the King, who, perhaps, would have liked
      to see and judge himself all that I had destroyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      M. le Comte de Vermandois left by his death the post of High Admiral
      vacant. The King begged me to bring him my little Comte de Toulouse; and
      passing round his neck a fine chain of coral mixed with pearls, to which a
      diamond anchor was attached, he invested him with the dignity of High
      Admiral of France. "Be ever prudent and good, my amiable child," he said
      to him, raising his voice, which had grown weak; "be happier than your
      predecessor, and never give me the grief of mourning your loss."
    </p>
    <p>
      I thanked the King for my son, who looked at his decoration of brilliants
      and did not feel its importance. I hope that he will feel that later, and
      prove himself worthy of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLVI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      The House of Saint Cyr.&mdash;Petition of the Monks of Saint Denis to the
      King, against the Plan of Madame de Maintenon.&mdash;Madame de Maintenon
      Summons Them and Sends Them Away with Small Consolation.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      At the time when I founded my little community of Saint Joseph, Madame de
      Maintenon had already collected near her chateau at Rueil a certain number
      of well-born but poor young persons, to whom she was giving a good
      education, proportioned to their present condition and their birth. She
      had charged herself with the maintenance of two former nuns, noble and
      well educated, who, at the fall of their community, had been recommended,
      or had procured a recommendation, to her. Mesdames de Brinon and du Basque
      were these two vagrant nuns. Madame de Maintenon, instinctively attracted
      to this sort of persons, welcomed and protected them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little pension or community of Rueil, having soon become known,
      several families who had fallen into distress or difficulty solicited the
      kindness of the directress towards their daughters, and Madame de
      Maintenon admitted more inmates than the space allowed. A more roomy
      habitation was bought nearer Versailles, which was still only temporary
      and the King, having been taken into confidence with regard to these
      little girls, who mostly belonged to his own impoverished officers, judged
      that the moment had come to found a fine and large educational
      establishment for the young ladies of his nobility.
    </p>
    <p>
      He bought, at the entrance to the village of Saint Cyr, in close proximity
      to Versailles, a large old chateau, belonging to M. Seguier; and on the
      site of this chateau, which he pulled down, the royal house of Saint Cyr
      was speedily erected. I will not go into the nature and aim of a
      foundation which is known nowadays through the whole of Europe. I will
      content myself with observing that if Madame de Maintenon conceived the
      first idea of it, it is the great benefactions of the monarch and the
      profound recognition of the nobility which have given stability and renown
      to this house.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon received much praise and incense as the foundress of
      this community. It has been quite easy for her to found so vast an
      establishment with the treasures of France, since she herself had remained
      poor, by her own confession, and had neither to sell nor encumber
      Maintenon, her sole property.
    </p>
    <p>
      In founding my community of Saint Joseph, I was neither seconded nor aided
      by anybody. Saint Joseph springs entirely from myself, from good
      intentions, without noise or display. Saint Joseph is one of my good
      actions, and although it makes no great noise in the world, I would rather
      have founded it than Saint Cyr, where the most exalted houses procure
      admission for their children with false certificates of poverty.
    </p>
    <p>
      The buildings of Saint Cyr, in spite of all the sums they have absorbed,
      have no external nobility or grandeur. The foundress put upon it the seal
      of her parsimony, or, rather, of her general timidity. She is like
      Moliere's Harpagon, who would like to do great things for little money.
    </p>
    <blockquote>
        <p>
          [Here Madame de Montespan forgets what she has just said, that
          Saint-Cyr cost "immense sums,"&mdash;an ordinary effect of passion.&mdash;ED.
          NOTE]
        </p>
      </blockquote>
    <p>
      The only beauty about the house is in the laundry and gardens. All the
      rest reminds you of a convent of Capuchins. The chapel has not even
      necessary and indispensable dignity; it is a long, narrow barn, without
      arches, pillars, or decorations. The King, having wished to know
      beforehand what revenue would be needed for a community of four hundred
      persons, consulted M. de Louvois. That minister, accustomed to calculate
      open-handedly, put in an estimate of five hundred thousand livres a year.
      The foundress presented hers, which came to no more than twenty-five
      thousand crowns. His Majesty adopted a middle course, and assigned a
      revenue of three hundred thousand livres to his Royal House of Saint Cyr.
    </p>
    <p>
      The foundress, foreseeing the financial embarrassments which have
      supervened later, conceived the idea of making the clergy (who are
      childless) support the education of these three hundred and fifty young
      ladies. In consequence, she cast her eyes upon the rich abbey of Saint
      Denis, then vacant, and suggested it to the King, as being almost
      sufficient to provide for the new establishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      This idea astonished the prince. He found it, at first, audacious, not to
      say perilous; but, on further reflection, considering that the monks of
      Saint Denis live under the rule of a prior, and never see their abbot, who
      is almost always a great noble and a man of the world, his Majesty
      consented to suppress the said abbey in order to provide for the children.
    </p>
    <p>
      The monks of Saint Denis, alarmed at such an innovation (which did not,
      however, affect their own goods and revenues), composed a petition in the
      form of the factum that our advocates draw up in a suit. They exclaimed in
      this document "on the disrepute which this innovation would bring upon
      their ancient, respectable, and illustrious community. In suppressing the
      title of Abbot of Saint Denis," they said further, "your Majesty, in
      reality, suppresses our abbey; and if our abbey is reduced to nothing, our
      basilica, where the Kings, your ancestors, lie, will be no more than a
      royal church, and will cease to be abbatial."
    </p>
    <p>
      Further on, this petition said: "Sire, may it please your Majesty, whose
      eyes can see so far, to appreciate this innovation in all its terrible
      consequences. By striking to-day dissolution and death into the first
      abbey of your kingdom, do you not fear to leave behind you a great and
      sinister precedent? . . . What Louis the Great has looked upon as possible
      will seem righteous and necessary to your successors; and it will happen,
      maybe, before long, that the thirst for conquests and the needs of the
      State (those constant and familiar pretexts of ministers) will authorise
      some political Attila to extend your work, and wreak destruction upon the
      tabernacle by depriving it of the splendour which is its due, and which
      sustains it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, to whom this affair was entrusted, summoned the
      administrative monks of Saint Denis to Versailles. She received them with
      her agreeable and seductive courtesy, and, putting on her dulcet and
      fluted voice, said to them that their alarm was without foundation; that
      his Majesty did not suppress their abbey; that he simply took it from the
      male sex to give it to the female, seeing that the Salic law never
      included the dignities of the Church nor her revenues.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The King leaves you," she added, "those immense and prodigious treasures
      of Saint Denis, more ancient, perhaps, than the Oriflamme. That is your
      finest property, your true and illustrious glory. In general, your abbots
      have been, to this very day, unknown to you. Do you find, gentlemen, that
      religion was more honoured and respected when men of battle, covered with
      murders and other crimes, were called Abbots of Saint Denis? Beneath the
      government of the King such nominations would never have affected the
      Church; and after the present M. le Chevalier de Lorraine, we shall hear
      no more of nominating an abbot-commandant on the steps of the Opera.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our little girls are cherubim and seraphim, occupied unceasingly with the
      praise of the Lord. I recommend them to your holy prayers, and you can
      count on theirs."
    </p>
    <p>
      With this compliment she dismissed the monks, and what she had resolved on
      was carried out.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, who all his life had loved children greatly, did not take long
      to contract an affection for this budding colony. He liked to assist
      sometimes at their recreations and exercises, and, as though Versailles
      had been at the other end of the world, he had a magnificent apartment
      built at Saint Cyr. This fine armorial pavilion decorates the first long
      court in the centre. The mere buildings announce a king; the royal crown
      surmounts them.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first the education of Saint Cyr had been entrusted to canonesses; but
      a canoness only takes annual vows; that term expired, she is at liberty to
      retire and marry. Several of these ladies having proved thus irresolute as
      to their estate, and the house being afraid that a greater number would
      follow, the Abbe de Fenelon, who cannot endure limited or temporary
      devotion, thought fit to introduce fixed and perpetual vows into Saint
      Cyr, and that willynilly.
    </p>
    <p>
      This elegant abbe says all that he means, and resolutely means all that he
      can say. By means of his lectures, a mixed and facile form of eloquence,
      which is his glory, he easily proved to these poor canonesses that streams
      and rivers flow ever since the world began, and never think of suspending
      their current or abandoning their direction. He reminded them that the
      sun, which is always in its place and always active, never dreams of
      abandoning its functions, either from inconstancy or caprice. He told them
      that wise kings are never seized with the idea or temptation of abdicating
      their crown, and that God, who serves them as a model and example, is
      ceaselessly occupied, with relation to the world, in preserving,
      reanimating, and maintaining it. Starting from there, the ingenious man
      made them confess that they ought to remain at their post and bind
      themselves to it by a perpetual vow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first effect of this fine oration having been a little dissipated,
      objections broke out. One young and lovely canoness dared to maintain the
      rights of her freedom, even in the face of her most amiable enemy. Madame
      de Maintenon rushed to the succour of the Abbe of Saint Sulpice, and half
      by wheedling, half by tyranny, obtained the cloister and perpetual vows.
    </p>
    <p>
      I must render this justice to the King; he never would pronounce or
      intervene in this pathetic struggle. His royal hand profited, no doubt, by
      a submission which the Abbe de Fenelon imposed upon timidity, credulity,
      and obedience. The House of Saint Cyr profited thereby; but the King only
      regretted a new religious convent, for, as a rule, he liked them not. How
      many times has he unburdened himself before me on the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XLVII.
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      Final Rupture.&mdash;Terrible Scene.&mdash;Madame de Maintenon in the
      Brocaded Chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <p>
      To-day, when time and reflection, and, perhaps, that fund of contempt
      which is so useful, have finally revealed to me the insurmountable
      necessities of life, I can look with a certain amount of composure at the
      injury which the King did me. I had at first resolved to conclude, with
      the chapter which you have just read, my narrative of the more or less
      important things which have passed or been unfolded before my eyes. For
      long I did not feel myself strong enough to approach a narrative which
      might open up all my old wounds and make my blood boil again; but I
      finished by considering that our monarch's reign will be necessarily the
      subject of a multitude of commentaries, journals, and memoirs. All these
      confidential writings will speak of me to the generations to be; some will
      paint me as one paints an object whom one loves; others, as the object one
      detests. The latter, to render me more odious, will probably revile my
      character, and, perhaps, represent me as a cowardly and despairing
      mistress, who has descended even to supplications!! It is my part,
      therefore, to retrace with a firm and vigorous hand this important epoch
      of my life, where my destiny, at once kind and cruel, reduced me to treat
      the greatest of all Kings both as my equal and as an inconstant friend, as
      a treacherous enemy, and as my inferior or subject. He had, at first, the
      intention of putting me to death,&mdash;of that I am persuaded,&mdash;but
      soon his natural gentleness got the better of his pride. He grasped the
      wounds in my heart from the deplorable commotion of my face. If his former
      friend was guilty in her speech, he was far more guilty by his actions.
      Like an equitable judge he pardoned neither of us; he did not forgive
      himself and he dared not condemn me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since this sad time of desertion and sorrow, into which the new state of
      things had brought me, MM. de Mortemart, de Nevers, and de Vivonne had
      been glad to avoid me. They found my humour altered, and I admit that a
      woman who sulks, scolds, or complains is not very attractive company.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day the poor Marechal de Vivonne came to see me; he opened my shutters
      to call my attention to the beauty of the sky, and, my health seeming to
      him a trifle poor, he suggested to me to embark at once in his carriage
      and to go and dine at Clagny. I had no will left that day, so I
      accompanied my brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      Being come to Clagny, the Marshal, having shut himself up with me in his
      closet, said to me the words which follow:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, my sister, how all along you have been dear to me; the grief
      which is wearing you out does me almost as much harm as you. To-day I wish
      to hurt you for your own good; and get you away from this locality in
      spite of yourself. Kings are not to be opposed as we oppose our equals;
      our King, whom you know by heart, has never suffered contradiction. He has
      had you asked, two or three times already, to leave his palace and to go
      and live on your estates. Why do you delay to satisfy him, and to withdraw
      from so many eyes which watch you with pity?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The King, I am very sure, would like to see me away," I replied to the
      Marshal, "but he has never formally expressed himself, and it is untrue
      that any such wish has been intimated or insinuated to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! you did not receive two letters last year, which invited you to
      make up your mind and retire!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I received two anonymous letters; nothing is more true. Could those two
      letters have been sent to me by the King himself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Marquis de Chamarante wrote them to you, but beneath the eyes, and at
      the dictation, of his Majesty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All, God! What is it you tell me? What! the Marquis de Chamarante, whom I
      thought one of my friends, has lent himself to such an embassy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Marquis is a good man, a man of honour; and his essential duty is to
      please his sovereign, his master. Moreover, at the time when the letters
      were sent you, time remained to you for deliberation. To-day, all time for
      delay has expired; you must go away of your own free will, or receive the
      affront of a command, and a 'lettre de cachet' in form."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A 'lettre de cachet' for me! for the mother of the Duc du Maine and the
      Comte de Toulouse! We shall see that, my brother! We shall see!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is nothing to see or do but to summon here all your people, and
      leave to-morrow, either for my chateau of Roissy, or for your palace at
      Petit-Bourg; things are pressing, and the day after to-morrow I will
      explain all without any secrecy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Explain it to me at once, my brother, and I promise to satisfy you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you give me your word?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I give it you, my good and dear friend, with pleasure. Inform me of what
      is in progress."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Madame de Maintenon, whom, having loved once greatly, you no longer love,
      had the kindness to have me summoned to her this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The kindness!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do not interrupt me&mdash;yes, the kindness. From the moment that she is
      in favour, all that comes from her requires consideration. She had me
      taken into her small salon, and there she charged me to tell you that she
      has always loved you, that she always will; that your rupture with her has
      displeased the King; that for a long time, and on a thousand occasions,
      she has excused you to his Majesty, but that things are now hopeless; that
      your retreat is required at all costs, and that it will be joined with an
      annual pension of six hundred thousand livres."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you advise me&mdash;?" I said to my brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I advise you, I implore you, I conjure you, to accept these propositions
      which save everything."
    </p>
    <p>
      My course was clear to me on the instant. Wishing to be relieved of the
      importunities of the Marshal (a courtier, if ever there was one), I
      embraced him with tears in my eyes. I assured him that, for the honour of
      the family and out of complacence, I accepted his propositions. I begged
      him to take me back to Versailles, where I had to gather together my
      money, jewels, and papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Duc de Vivonne, well as he knew me, did not suspect my trickery; he
      applied a score of kisses to my "pretty little white hands," and his
      postilions, giving free play to their reins, speedily brought us back to
      the chateau.
    </p>
    <p>
      All beaming with joy and satisfaction, he went to convey his reply to
      Madame de Maintenon, who was probably expecting him. Twenty minutes hardly
      elapsed. The King himself entered my apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came towards me with a friendly air, and, hardly remarking my
      agitation, which I was suppressing, he dared to address the following
      words to me:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The shortest follies are the best, dear Marquise; you see things at last
      as they should be seen. Your determination, which the Marechal de Vivonne
      has just informed me of, gives me inexpressible pleasure; you are going to
      take the step of a clever woman, and everybody will applaud you for it. It
      will be eighteen years to-morrow since we took a fancy for each other. We
      were then in that period of life when one sees only that which flatters,
      and the satisfaction of the heart surpasses everything. Our attachment, if
      it had been right and legitimate, might have begun with the same ardour,
      but it could not have endured so long; that is the property of all
      contested affections.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From our union amiable children have been born, for whom I have done, and
      will do, all that a father with good intentions can do. The Act which
      acknowledged them in full Parliament has not named you as their mother,
      because your bonds prevented it, but these respectful children know that
      they owe you their existence, and not one of them shall forget it while I
      live.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have charmed by your wit and the liveliness of your character the
      busiest years of my life and reign. That pleasant memory will never leave
      me, and separated though we be, as good sense and propriety of every kind
      demands, we shall still belong to each other in thought. Athenais will
      always be to me the mother of my dear children. I have been mindful up to
      this day, to increase at different moments the amount of your fortune: I
      believe it to be considerable, and wish, nevertheless, to add to it even
      more. If the pension that Vivonne had just suggested to you appear
      insufficient, two lines from your pen will notify me that I must increase
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your children being proclaimed Princes of France, the Court will be their
      customary residence, but you will see them frequently, and can count on my
      commands. Here they are coming,&mdash;not to say good-bye to you, but, as
      of old, to embrace you on the eve of a journey.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you are prudent, you will write first to the Marquis de Montespan, not
      to annul and revoke the judicial and legal separation which exists, but to
      inform him of your return to reasonable ideas, and of your resolve to be
      reconciled with the public."
    </p>
    <p>
      With these words the King ceased speaking. I looked at him with a fixed
      gaze; a long sigh escaped from my heaving breast, and I had with him, as
      nearly as I can remember, the following conversation:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I admire the sang-froid with which a prince who believes himself, and is
      believed by the whole universe, to be magnanimous, gives the word of
      dismissal to the tender friend of his youth,&mdash;to that friend who, by
      a misfortune which is too well known, knew how to leave all and love him
      alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the day when the friendship which had united us cooled and was
      dissipated, you have resumed with regard to me that distance which your
      rank authorises you, and on my side, I have submitted to see in you only
      my King. This revolution has taken effect without any shock, or noise, or
      scandal. It has continued for two years already; why should it not
      continue in the same manner until the moment when my last two children no
      longer require my eyes, and presence, and care? What sudden cause, what
      urgent motive, can determine you to exclude me? Does not, then, the
      humiliation which I have suffered for two years any longer satisfy your
      aversion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!" cried the prince, in consternation, "is your resolution no longer
      the same? Do you go back upon what you promised to your brother?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not change my resolution," I resumed at once; "the places which you
      inhabit have neither charm nor attraction for my heart, which has always
      detested treachery and falseness. I consent to withdraw myself from your
      person, but on condition that the odious intriguer who has supplanted me
      shall follow the unhappy benefactress who once opened to her the doors of
      this palace. I took her from a state of misery, and she plunges daggers
      into my breast."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Kings of Europe," said the prince, white with agitation and anger,
      "have not yet laid down the law to me in my palace; you shall not make me
      submit to yours, madame. The person whom, for far too long, you have been
      offending and humiliating before my eyes, has ancestors who yield in
      nothing to your forefathers, and if you have introduced her to this
      palace, you have introduced here goodness, sweetness, talent, and virtue
      itself. This enemy, whom you defame in every quarter, and who every day
      excuses and justifies you, will abide near this throne, which her fathers
      have defended and which her good counsel now defends. In sending you today
      from a Court where your presence is without motive and pretext, I wished
      to keep from your knowledge, and in kindness withdraw from your eyes an
      event likely to irritate you, since everything irritates you. Stay,
      madame, stay, since great catastrophes appeal to and amuse you; after
      to-morrow you will be more than ever a supernumerary in this chateau."
    </p>
    <p>
      At these words I realised that it was a question of the public triumph of
      my rival. All my firmness vanished; my heart was, as it were, distorted
      with the most rapid palpitations. I felt an icy coldness run through my
      veins, and I fell unconscious upon my carpet.
    </p>
    <p>
      My woman cameo to bring me help, and when my senses returned, I heard the
      King saying to my intendant: "All this wearies me beyond endurance; she
      must go this very day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I will go," I cried, seizing a dessert-knife which was on my bureau.
      I rushed forward with a mechanical movement upon my little Comte de
      Toulouse, whom I snatched from the hands of his father, and I was on the
      verge of sacrificing this child.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shudder every time I think of that terrible and desperate scene. But
      reason had left me; sorrow filled my soul; I was no longer myself. My
      reader must be penetrated by my misfortune and have compassion on me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame de Maintenon, informed probably of this storm, arrived and suddenly
      showed herself. To rush forward, snatch away the dagger and my child was
      but one movement for her. Her tears coursed in abundance; and the King,
      leaning on the marble of my chimney-piece, shed tears and seemed to feel a
      sort of suffocation.
    </p>
    <p>
      My women had removed my children. My intendant alone had remained in the
      deep embrasure of a shutter; the poor man had affliction and terror
      painted on his face. Madame de Maintenon had slightly wounded herself in
      seizing my knife. I saw her tearing her handkerchief, putting on lavender
      water in order to moisten the bandage. As she left me she took my hand
      with an air of kindness, and her tears began again.
    </p>
    <p>
      The King, seeing her go out, retired without addressing me a word. I might
      call as much as I would; he did not return.
    </p>
    <p>
      Until nightfall I seemed to be in a state of paralysis. My arms were like
      lead; my will could no longer stir them. I was distressed at first, and
      then I thanked God, who was delivering me from the torments of existence.
      All night my body and soul moved in the torrent and waves of a fever
      handed over to phantoms; I saw in turn the smiling plains of Paradise and
      the dire domain of Hell. My children, covered with wounds, asked me for
      pardon, kneeling before me; and Madame de Maintenon, one mass of blood,
      reproached me for having killed her.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the following day a copious blood-letting, prescribed by my doctor,
      relieved my head and heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      The following week Madame de Maintenon, entirely cured of her scratch,
      consented to the King's will, which she had opposed in order to excite it,
      and in the presence of the Marquis and Marquise de Montchevreuil, the Duc
      de Noailles, the Marquis de Chamarante, M. Bontems, and Mademoiselle
      Ninon, her permanent chambermaid, was married to the King of France and
      Navarre in the chapel of the chateau.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Abbe de Harlay, Archbishop of Paris, assisted by the Bishop of
      Chartres and Pere de la Chaise, had the honour of blessing this marriage
      and presenting the rings of gold. After the ceremony, which took place at
      an early hour, and even by torchlight, there was a slight repast in the
      small apartments. The same persons, taking carriages, then repaired to
      Maintenon, where the great ceremony, the mass, and all that is customary
      in such cases were celebrated.
    </p>
    <p>
      At her return, Madame de Maintenon took possession of an extremely
      sumptuous apartment that had been carefully arranged and furnished for
      her. Her people continued to wear her livery, but she scarcely ever rode
      any more except in the great carriage of the King, where we saw her in the
      place which had been occupied by the Queen. In her interior the title of
      Majesty was given her; and the King, when he had to speak of her, only
      used the word Madame, without adding Maintenon, that having become too
      familiar and trivial.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was desirous of proclaiming her; she consistently opposed it, and this
      prudent and wise conduct regained for her, little by little, the opinions
      which had been shocked.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few days after the marriage, my health being somewhat reestablished, I
      went to Petit-Bourg; but the Marechal de Vivonne, his son Louis de
      Vivonne, all the Mortemarts, all the Rochehouarts, Thianges, Damas,
      Seignelays, Blainvilles, and Colberts,&mdash;in a word, counts, marquises,
      barons, prelates, and duchesses, came to find me and attack me in my
      desert, in order to represent to me that, since Madame de Maintenon was
      the wife of the monarch, I owed her my homage and respectful compliments.
      The whole family has done so, said these cruel relations; you only have
      not yet fulfilled this duty. You must do it, in God's name. She has
      neither airs nor hauteur; you will be marvellously well received. Your
      resistance would compromise us all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not desiring to harm or displease my family, and wishing, above all, to
      reinstate myself somewhat in the King's mind, I resolutely prepared for
      this distressing journey, and God gave me the necessary strength to
      execute it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I appeared in a long robe of gold and silver before the new spouse of the
      monarch. The King, who was sitting at a table, rose for a moment and
      encouraged me by his greeting. I made the three pauses and three
      reverences as I gradually approached Madame de Maintenon, who occupied a
      large and rich armchair of brocade. She did not rise; etiquette forbade
      it, and principally the presence of the all-powerful King of kings. Her
      complexion, ordinarily pale, and with a very slight tone of pink, was
      animated suddenly, and took all the colours of the rose. She made me a
      sign to seat myself on a stool, and it seemed to me that her amiable gaze
      apologised to me. She spoke to me of Petit-Bourg, of the waters of
      Bourbon, of her country-place, of my children, and said to me, smiling
      kindly: "I am going to confide in you. Monsieur le Prince has already
      asked Mademoiselle de Names for his grandson, M. le Duc de Bourbon, and
      his Highness promises us his granddaughter for our Duc du Maine. Two or
      three years more, and we shall see all that."
    </p>
    <p>
      After half an hour spent thus, I rose from this uncomfortable stool and
      made my farewell reverences. Madame de Maintenon, profiting by the King
      having leaned over to write, rose five or six inches in her chair, and
      said to me these words: "Do not let us cease to love one another, I
      implore you."
    </p>
    <p>
      I went to rest myself in the poor apartment which was still mine, since
      the keys had not yet been returned, and I sent for M. le Duc du Maine, who
      said to me coldly: "I have much pleasure in seeing you again; we were
      going to write to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had come out from Madame de Maintenon by the door of mirrors, which
      leads to the great gallery. There was much company there at the moment; M.
      le Prince de Salm came to me and said: "Go and put on your peignoir; you
      are flushed, and I can perfectly well understand why." He pressed my hand
      affectionately. In all the salons they were eager to see me pass. Some
      courageous persons came even within touch of my fan; and all were more or
      less pleased with my mishap and downfall. I had seen all these figures at
      my feet, and almost all were under obligations to me. I left Versailles
      again very early. When I was seated in my carriage I noticed the King,
      who, from the height of his balcony in the court of marble, watched me set
      off and disappear.
    </p>
    <p>
      I settled at Paris, where my personal interest and my great fortune gave
      me an existence which many might have envied. I never returned to
      Versailles, except for the weddings of my eldest daughter, and of my son,
      the Serious;&mdash;[Louis Augusts de Bourbon, Duc du Maine, a good man,
      somewhat devout and melancholy. (See the Memoirs of Dubois and Richelieu.)&mdash;EDITOR'S
      NOTE.]&mdash;I always loved him better than he did me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pere de Latour, my director, obtained from me then, what I had refused
      hitherto to everybody, a letter of reconciliation to M. le Marquis de
      Montespan: I had foreseen the reply, which was that of an obstinate,
      ill-bred, and evil man.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pere de Latour, going further, wished to impose hard, not to say
      murderous, penances on me; I begged him to keep within bounds, and not to
      make me impatient. This Oratorian and his admirers have stated that I wore
      a hair shirt and shroud. Pious slanders, every word of them! I give many
      pensions and alms, that is to say, I do good to several families; the good
      that I bestow about me will be more agreeable to God than any harm I could
      do myself, and that I maintain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquis d'Antin, my son, since my disgrace.......
    </p>
    <p>
      HERE END THE MEMOIRS OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
    </h3>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
All the death-in-life of a convent
Always sold at a loss which must be sold at a given moment
Ambition puts a thick bandage over the eyes
And then he would go off, laughing in his sleeve
Armed with beauty and sarcasm
Cannot reconcile themselves to what exists
Conduct of the sort which cements and revives attachments
Console me on the morrow for what had troubled me to-day
Cuddlings and caresses of decrepitude
Depicting other figures she really portrays her own
Domestics included two nurses, a waiting-maid, a physician
Extravagant, without the means to be so
Grow like a dilapidated house; I am only here to repair myself
Happy with him as a woman who takes her husband's place can be
Hate me, but fear me
He contradicted me about trifles
He was not fool enough for his place
I myself being the first to make merry at it (my plainness)
In the great world, a vague promise is the same as a refusal
In Rome justice and religion always rank second to politics
In ill-assorted unions, good sense or good nature must intervene
In England a man is the absolute proprietor of his wife
Intimacy, once broken, cannot be renewed
It is easier to offend me than to deceive me
Jealous without motive, and almost without love
Kings only desire to be obeyed when they command
Knew how to point the Bastille cannon at the troops of the King
Laws will only be as so many black lines on white paper
Love-affair between Mademoiselle de la Valliere and the King
Madame de Sevigne
Madame de Montespan had died of an attack of coquetry
Not show it off was as if one only possessed a kennel
Permissible neither to applaud nor to hiss
Poetry without rhapsody
Present princes and let those be scandalised who will!
Respectful without servility
Satire without bitterness
Says all that he means, and resolutely means all that he can say
She awaits your replies without interruption
Situations in life where we are condemned to see evil done
Talent without artifice
That Which Often It is Best to Ignore
The King replied that "too much was too much"
The monarch suddenly enough rejuvenated his attire
The pulpit is in want of comedians; they work wonders there
Then comes discouragement; after that, habit
There is an exaggeration in your sorrow
These liars in surplice, in black cassock, or in purple
Time, the irresistible healer
Trust not in kings
Violent passion had changed to mere friendship
Weeping just as if princes had not got to die like anybody else
Went so far as to shed tears, his most difficult feat of all
What they need is abstinence, prohibitions, thwartings
When women rule their reign is always stormy and troublous
When one has seen him, everything is excusable
When one has been pretty, one imagines that one is still so
Wife: property or of furniture, useful to his house
Wish you had the generosity to show, now and again, less wit
Women who misconduct themselves are pitiless and severe
Won for himself a great name and great wealth by words
Would you like to be a cardinal?  I can manage that
You know, madame, that he generally gets everything he wants
</pre>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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