Том 4

                                VOLUME 4.

CHAPTER XXV

Anecdote of Canaples.--Death of the Duc de Coislin.--Anecdotes of His

Unbearable Politeness.--Eccentric Character.--President de Novion.--

Death of M. de Lorges.--Death of the Duchesse de Gesvres.

CHAPTER XXVI

The Prince d'Harcourt.--His Character and That of His Wife.--Odd Court

Lady.--She Cheats at Play.--Scene at Fontainebleau.--Crackers at Marly.--

Snowballing a Princess.--Strange Manners of Madame d'Harcourt.--

Rebellion among Her Servants.--A Vigorous Chambermaid.

CHAPTER XXVII

Madame des Ursins.--Her Marriage and Character.--The Queen of Spain.--

Ambition of Madame de Maintenon.--Coronation of Philip V.--A Cardinal

Made Colonel.--Favourites of Madame des Ursins.--Her Complete Triumph.--

A Mistake.--A Despatch Violated.--Madame des Ursins in Disgrace.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Appointment of the Duke of Berwick.--Deception Practised by Orry.--Anger

of Louis XIV.--Dismissal of Madame des Ursins.--Her Intrigues to Return.

--Annoyance of the King and Queen of Spain.--Intrigues at Versailles.--

Triumphant Return of Madame des Ursins to Court.--Baseness of the

Courtiers.--Her Return to Spain Resolved On.

CHAPTER XXIX

An Honest Courtier.--Robbery of Courtin and Fieubet.--An Important

Affair.--My Interview with the King.--His Jealousy of His Authority.--

Madame La Queue, the King's Daughter.--Battle of Blenheim or Hochstedt.--

Our Defeat.--Effect of the News on the King.--Public Grief and Public

Rejoicing.--Death of My Friend Montfort.

CHAPTER XXX

Naval Battle of Malaga.--Danger of Gibraltar.--Duke of Mantua in Search

of a Wife.--Duchesse de Lesdiguieres.--Strange Intrigues.--Mademoiselle

d'Elboeuf Carries off the Prize.--A Curious Marriage.--Its Result.--

History of a Conversion to Catholicism.--Attempted Assassination. --

Singular Seclusion

CHAPTER XXXI

Fascination of the Duchesse de Bourgogne.--Fortunes of Nangis.--He Is

Loved by the Duchesse and Her Dame d'Atours.--Discretion of the Court.--

Maulevrier.--His Courtship of the Duchess.--Singular Trick.--Its Strange

Success.--Mad Conduct of Maulevrier--He Is Sent to Spain.--His Adventures

There.--His Return and Tragical Catastrophe.

CHAPTER XXXII

Death of M. de Duras.--Selfishness of the King.--Anecdote of Puysieux.--

Character of Pontchartrain.--Why He Ruined the French Fleet.--Madame des

Ursins at Last Resolves to Return to Spain.--Favours Heaped upon Her.--

M. de Lauzun at the Army.--His bon mot.--Conduct of M. de Vendome.--

Disgrace and Character of the Grand Prieur.

CHAPTER XXV

Canaples, brother of the Marechal de Crequi, wished to marry Mademoiselle

de Vivonne who was no longer young, but was distinguished by talent,

virtue and high birth; she had not a penny.  The Cardinal de Coislin,

thinking Canaples too old to marry, told him so.  Canaples said he wanted

to have children.  "Children!" exclaimed the Cardinal.  "But she is so

virtuous!"  Everybody burst out laughing; and the more willingly, as the

Cardinal, very pure in his manners, was still more so in his language.

His saying was verified by the event: the marriage proved sterile.

The Duc de Coislin died about this time.  I have related in its proper

place an adventure that happened to him and his brother, the Chevalier de

Coislin: now I will say something more of the Duke.  He was a very little

man, of much humour and virtue, but of a politeness that was unendurable,

and that passed all bounds, though not incompatible with dignity.  He had

been lieutenant-general in the army.  Upon one occasion, after a battle

in which he had taken part, one of the Rhingraves who had been made

prisoner, fell to his lot.  The Duc de Coislin wished to give up to the

other his bed, which consisted indeed of but a mattress.  They

complimented each other so much, the one pressing, the other refusing,

that in the end they both slept upon the ground, leaving the mattress

between them.  The Rhingrave in due time came to Paris and called on the

Duc de Coislin.  When he was going, there was such a profusion of

compliments, and the Duke insisted so much on seeing him out, that the

Rhingrave, as a last resource, ran out of the room, and double locked the

door outside.  M. de Coislin was not thus to be outdone.  His apartments

were only a few feet above the ground.  He opened the window accordingly,

leaped out into the court, and arrived thus at the entrance-door before

the Rhingrave, who thought the devil must have carried him there.  The

Duc de Coislin, however, had managed to put his thumb out of joint by

this leap.  He called in Felix, chief surgeon of the King, who soon put

the thumb to rights.  Soon afterwards Felix made a call upon M. de

Coislin to see how he was, and found that the cure was perfect.  As he

was about to leave, M. de Coislin must needs open the door for him.

Felix, with a shower of bows, tried hard to prevent this, and while they

were thus vying in politeness, each with a hand upon the door, the Duke

suddenly drew back; he had put his thumb out of joint again, and Felix

was obliged to attend to it on the spot!  It may be imagined what

laughter this story caused the King, and everybody else, when it became

known.

There was no end to the outrageous civilities of M. de Coislin.  On

returning from Fontainebleau one day, we, that is Madame de Saint-Simon

and myself, encountered M. de Coislin and his son, M. de Metz, on foot

upon the pavement of Ponthierry, where their coach had broken down.  We

sent word, accordingly, that we should be glad to accommodate them in

ours.  But message followed message on both sides; and at last I was

compelled to alight and to walk through the mud, begging them to mount

into my coach.  M. de Coislin, yielding to my prayers, consented to this.

M. de Metz was furious with him for his compliments, and at last

prevailed on him.  When M. de Coislin had accepted my offer and we had

nothing more to do than to gain the coach, he began to capitulate, and to

protest that he would not displace the two young ladies he saw seated in

the vehicle.  I told him that the two young ladies were chambermaids, who

could well afford to wait until the other carriage was mended, and then

continue their journey in that.  But he would not hear of this; and at

last all that M. de Metz and I could do was to compromise the matter, by

agreeing to take one of the chambermaids with us.  When we arrived at the

coach, they both descended, in order to allow us to mount.  During the

compliments that passed--and they were not short--I told the servant who

held the coach-door open, to close it as soon as I was inside, and to

order the coachman to drive on at once.  This was done; but M. de Coislin

immediately began to cry aloud that he would jump out if we did not stop

for the young ladies; and he set himself to do so in such an odd manner,

that I had only time to catch hold of the belt of his breeches and hold

him back; but he still, with his head hanging out of the window,

exclaimed that he would leap out, and pulled against me.  At this

absurdity I called to the coachman to stop; the Duke with difficulty

recovered himself, and persisted that he would have thrown himself out.

The chambermaid was ordered to mount, and mount she did, all covered with

mud, which daubed us; and she nearly crushed M. de Metz and me in this

carriage fit only for four.

M. de Coislin could not bear that at parting anybody should give him the

"last touch;" a piece of sport, rarely cared for except in early youth,

and out of which arises a chase by the person touched, in order to catch

him by whom he has been touched.  One evening, when the Court was at

Nancy, and just as everybody was going to bed, M. de Longueville spoke a

few words in private to two of his torch-bearers, and then touching the

Duc de Coislin, said he had given him the last touch, and scampered away,

the Duke hotly pursuing him.  Once a little in advance, M. de Longueville

hid himself in a doorway, allowed M. de Coislin to pass on, and then went

quietly home to bed.  Meanwhile the Duke, lighted by the torch-bearers,

searched for M. de Longueville all over the town, but meeting with no

success, was obliged to give up the chase, and went home all in a sweat.

He was obliged of course to laugh a good deal at this joke, but he

evidently did not like it over much.

With all his politeness, which was in no way put on, M. de Coislin could,

when he pleased, show a great deal of firmness, and a resolution to

maintain his proper dignity worthy of much praise.  At Nancy, on this

same occasion, the Duc de Crequi, not finding apartments provided for him

to his taste on arriving in town, went, in his brutal manner, and seized

upon those allotted to the Duc de Coislin.  The Duke, arriving a moment

after, found his servants turned into the street, and soon learned who

had sent them there.  M. de Crequi had precedence of him in rank; he said

not a word, therefore, but went to the apartments provided for the

Marechal de Crequi (brother of the other), served him exactly as he

himself had just been served, and took up his quarters there.  The

Marechal de Crequi arrived in his turn, learned what had occurred, and

immediately seized upon the apartments of Cavoye, in order to teach him

how to provide quarters in future so as to avoid all disputes.

On another occasion, M. de Coislin went to the Sorbonne to listen to a

thesis sustained by the second son of M. de Bouillon.  When persons of

distinction gave these discourses, it was customary for the Princes of

the blood, and for many of the Court, to go and hear them.  M. de Coislin

was at that time almost last in order of precedence among the Dukes.

When he took his seat, therefore, knowing that a number of them would

probably arrive, he left several rows of vacant places in front of him,

and sat himself down.  Immediately afterwards, Novion, Chief President of

the Parliament, arrived, and seated himself in front of M. de Coislin.

Astonished at this act of madness, M. de Coislin said not a word, but

took an arm-chair, and, while Novion turned his head to speak to Cardinal

de Bouillon, placed that arm-chair in front of the Chief President in

such a manner that he was as it were imprisoned, and unable to stir.

M. de Coislin then sat down.  This was done so rapidly, that nobody saw

it until it was finished.  When once it was observed, a great stir arose.

Cardinal de Bouillon tried to intervene.  M. de Coislin replied, that

since the Chief President had forgotten his position he must be taught

it, and would not budge.  The other presidents were in a fright, and

Novion, enraged by the offence put on him, knew not what to do.  It was

in vain that Cardinal de Bouillon on one side, and his brother on the

other, tried to persuade M. de Coislin to give way.  He would not listen

to them.  They sent a message to him to say that somebody wanted to see

him at the door on most important business.  But this had no effect.

"There is no business so important," replied M. de Coislin, "as that of

teaching M. le Premier President what he owes me, and nothing will make

me go from this place unless M. le President, whom you see behind me,

goes away first."

At last M. le Prince was sent for, and he with much persuasion

endeavoured to induce M. de Coislin to release the Chief President from

his prison.  But for some time M. de Coislin would listen as little to M.

le Prince as he had listened to the others, and threatened to keep Novion

thus shut up during all the thesis.  At length, he consented to set the

Chief President free, but only on condition that he left the building

immediately; that M. le Prince should guarantee this; and that no

"juggling tricks" (that was the term he made use of), should be played

off to defeat the agreement.  M. le Prince at once gave his word that

everything should be as he required, and M. de Coislin then rose, moved

away his arm-chair, and said to the Chief President, "Go away, sir! go

away, sir!  "Novion did on the instant go away, in the utmost confusion,

and jumped into his coach.  M. de Coislin thereupon took back his chair

to its former position and composed himself to listen again.

On every side M. de Coislin was praised for the firmness he had shown.

The Princes of the blood called upon him the same evening, and

complimented him for the course he had adopted; and so many other

visitors came during the evening that his house was quite full until a

late hour.  On the morrow the King also praised him for his conduct, and

severely blamed the Chief President.  Nay more, he commanded the latter

to go to M. de Coislin, at his house, and beg pardon of him.  It is easy

to comprehend the shame and despair of Novion at being ordered to take so

humiliating a step, especially after what had already happened to him.

He prevailed upon M. le Coislin, through the mediation of friends, to

spare him this pain, and M. de Coislin had the generosity to do so.  He

agreed therefore that when Novion called upon him he would pretend to be

out, and this was done.  The King, when he heard of it, praised very

highly the forbearance of the Duke.

He was not an old man when he died, but was eaten up with the gout, which

he sometimes had in his eyes, in his nose, and in his tongue.  When in

this state, his room was filled with the best company.  He was very

generally liked, was truth itself in his dealings and his words, and was

one of my friends, as he had been the friend of my father before me.

The President de Novion, above alluded to, was a man given up to

iniquity, whom money and obscure mistresses alone influenced.  Lawyers

complained of his caprices, and pleaders of his injustice.  At last, he

went so far as to change decisions of the court when they were given him

to sign, which was not found out for some time, but which led to his

disgrace.  He was replaced by Harlay in 1689; and lived in ignominy for

four years more.

About this time died Petit, a great physician, who had wit, knowledge,

experience, and probity; and yet lived to the last without being ever

brought to admit the circulation of the blood.

A rather strange novelty was observed at Fontainebleau: Madame publicly

at the play, in the second year of her mourning for Monsieur!  She made

some objections at first, but the King persuaded her, saying that what

took place in his palace ought not to be considered as public.

On Saturday, the 22nd of October of this year (1702), at about ten in the

morning, I had the misfortune to lose my father-in-law, the Marechal de

Lorges, who died from the effects of an unskilful operation performed

upon him for the stone.  He had been brought up as a Protestant, and had

practised that religion.  But he had consulted on the one hand with

Bossuet, and on the other hand with M. Claude, (Protestant) minister of

Charenton, without acquainting them that he was thus in communication

with both.  In the end the arguments of Bossuet so convinced him that he

lost from that time all his doubts, became steadfastly attached to the

Catholic religion, and strove hard to convert to it all the Protestants

with whom he spoke.  M. de Turenne, with whom he was intimately allied,

was in a similar state of mind, and, singularly enough, his doubts were

resolved at the same time, and in exactly the same manner, as those of M.

de Lorges.  The joy of the two friends, who had both feared they should

be estranged from each other when they announced their conversion, was

very great.  The Comtesse de Roye, sister to M. de Lorges, was sorely

affected at this change, and she would not consent to see him except on

condition that he never spoke of it.

M. de Lorges commanded with great distinction in Holland and elsewhere,

and at the death of M. de Turenne, took for the time, and with great

honour, his place.  He was made Marshal of France on the 21st of

February, 1676, not before he had fairly won that distinction.  The

remainder of his career showed his capacity in many ways, and acquired

for him the esteem of all.  His family were affected beyond measure at

his loss.  That house was in truth terrible to see.  Never was man so

tenderly or so universally regretted, or so worthy of being so.  Besides

my own grief, I had to sustain that of Madame de Saint-Simon, whom many

times I thought I should lose.  Nothing was comparable to the attachment

she had for her father, or the tenderness he had for her; nothing more

perfectly alike than their hearts and their dispositions.  As for me, I

loved him as a father, and he loved me as a son, with the most entire and

sweetest confidence.

About the same time died the Duchesse de Gesvres, separated from a

husband who had been the scourge of his family, and had dissipated

millions of her fortune.  She was a sort of witch, tall and lean, who

walked like an ostrich.  She sometimes came to Court, with the odd look

and famished expression to which her husband had brought her.  Virtue,

wit, and dignity distinguished her.  I remember that one summer the King

took to going very often in the evening to Trianon, and that once for all

he gave permission to all the Court, men and women, to follow him.  There

was a grand collation for the Princesses, his daughters, who took their

friends there, and indeed all the women went to it if they pleased.  One

day the Duchesse de Gesvres took it into her head to go to Trianon and

partake of this meal; her age, her rarity at Court, her accoutrements,

and her face, provoked the Princesses to make fun of her in whispers with

their fair visitors.  She perceived this, and without being embarrassed,

took them up so sharply, that they were silenced, and looked down.  But

this was not all: after the collation she began to talk so freely and yet

so humorously about them that they were frightened, and went and made

their excuses, and very frankly asked for quarter.  Madame de Gesvres was

good enough to grant them this, but said it was only on condition that

they learned how to behave.  Never afterwards did they venture to look at

her impertinently.  Nothing was ever so magnificent as these soirees of

Trianon.  All the flowers of the parterres were renewed every day; and I

have seen the King and all the Court obliged to go away because of the

tuberoses, the odour of which perfumed the air, but so powerfully, on

account of their quantity, that nobody could remain in the garden,

although very vast, and stretching like a terrace all along the canal.

CHAPTER XXVI

The Prince d'Harcourt at last obtained permission to wait on the King,

after having never appeared at Court for seventeen years.  He had

followed the King in all his conquests in the Low Countries and Franche-

Comte; but he had remained little at the Court since his voyage to Spain,

whither he had accompanied the daughter of Monsieur to the King, Charles

II., her husband.  The Prince d'Harcourt took service with Venice, and

fought in the Morea until the Republic made peace with the Turks.  He was

tall, well made; and, although he looked like a nobleman and had wit,

reminded one at the same time of a country actor.  He was a great liar,

and a libertine in body and mind; a great spendthrift, a great and

impudent swindler, with a tendency to low debauchery, that cursed him all

his life.  Having fluttered about a long time after his return, and found

it impossible either to live with his wife--which is not surprising--or

accommodate himself to the Court or to Paris, he set up his rest at Lyons

with wine, street-walkers, a society to match, a pack of hounds, and a

gaming-table to support his extravagance and enable him to live at the

expense of the dupes, the imbeciles, and the sons of fat tradesmen, whom

he could lure into his nets.  Thus he spent many years, and seemed to

forget that there existed in the world another country besides Lyons.

At last he got tired, and returned to Paris.  The King, who despised him,

let him alone, but would not see him; and it was only after two months of

begging for him by the Lorraines, that he received permission to present

himself.  His wife, the Princesse d'Harcourt, was a favourite of Madame

de Maintenon.  The origin of their friendship is traced to the fact that

Brancas, the father of the Princess, had been one of the lovers of Madame

de Maintenon.  No claim less powerful could have induced the latter to

take into her favour a person who was so little worthy.  Like all women

who know nothing but what chance has taught them, and who have long

languished in obscurity before arriving at splendour, Madame de Maintenon

was dazzled by the very name of Princess, even if assumed: as to a real

Princess, nothing equalled her in her opinion.  The Princess then tried

hard to get the Prince invited to Marly, but without success.  Upon this

she pretended to sulk, in hopes that Madame de Maintenon would exert all

her influence; but in this she was mistaken.  The Prince accordingly by

degrees got disgusted with the Court, and retired into the provinces for

a time.

The Princesse d'Harcourt was a sort of personage whom it is good to make

known, in order better to lay bare a Court which did not scruple to

receive such as she.  She had once been beautiful and gay; but though not

old, all her grace and beauty had vanished.  The rose had become an ugly

thorn.  At the time I speak of she was a tall, fat creature, mightily

brisk in her movements, with a complexion like milk-porridge; great,

ugly, thick lips, and hair like tow, always sticking out and hanging down

in disorder, like all the rest of her fittings out.  Dirty, slatternly,

always intriguing, pretending, enterprising, quarrelling--always low as

the grass or high as the rainbow, according to the person with whom she

had to deal: she was a blonde Fury, nay more, a harpy: she had all the

effrontery of one, and the deceit and violence; all the avarice and the

audacity; moreover, all the gluttony, and all the promptitude to relieve

herself from the effects thereof; so that she drove out of their wits

those at whose house she dined; was often a victim of her confidence; and

was many a time sent to the devil by the servants of M. du Maine and M.

le Grand.  She, however, was never in the least embarrassed, tucked up

her petticoats and went her way; then returned, saying she had been

unwell.  People were accustomed to it.

Whenever money was to be made by scheming and bribery, she was there to

make it.  At play she always cheated, and if found out stormed and raged;

but pocketed what she had won.  People looked upon her as they would have

looked upon a fish-fag, and did not like to commit themselves by

quarrelling with her.  At the end of every game she used to say that she

gave whatever might have been unfairly gained to those who had gained it,

and hoped that others would do likewise.  For she was very devout by

profession, and thought by so doing to put her conscience in safety;

because, she used to add, in play there is always some mistake.  She went

to church always, and constantly took the sacrament, very often after

having played until four o'clock in the morning.

One day, when there was a grand fete at Fontainebleau, Madame la

Marechale de Villeroy persuaded her, out of malice, to sit down and play,

instead of going to evening prayers.  She resisted some time, saying that

Madame de Maintenon was going; but the Marechale laughed at her for

believing that her patron could see who was and who was not at the

chapel: so down they sat to play.  When the prayers were over, Madame de

Maintenon, by the merest accident--for she scarcely ever visited any one

--went to the apartments of the Marechale de Villeroy.  The door was

flung back, and she was announced.  This was a thunderbolt for the

Princesse d'Harcourt.  "I am ruined," cried she, unable to restrain

herself; "she will see me playing, and I ought to have been at chapel!"

Down fell the cards from her hands, and down fell she all abroad in her

chair.  The Marechale laughed most heartily at so complete an adventure.

Madame de Maintenon entered slowly, and found the Princess in this state,

with five or six persons.  The Marechale de Villeroy, who was full of

wit, began to say that, whilst doing her a great honour, Madame was the

cause of great disorder; and showed her the Princesse d'Harcourt in her

state of discomfiture.  Madame de Maintenon smiled with majestic

kindness, and addressing the Princesse d'Harcourt, "Is this the way,"

said she; "that you go to prayers?"  Thereupon the Princess flew out of

her half-faint into a sort of fury; said that this was the kind of trick

that was played off upon her; that no doubt the Marechale knew that

Madame de Maintenon was coming, and for that reason had persecuted her to

play.  "Persecuted!" exclaimed the Marechale, "I thought I could not

receive you better than by proposing a game; it is true you were for a

moment troubled at missing the chapel, but your tastes carried the day.

--This, Madame, is my whole crime," continued she, addressing Madame de

Maintenon.  Upon this, everybody laughed louder than before: Madame de

Maintenon, in order to stop the quarrel; commanded them both to continue

their game; and they continued accordingly, the Princesse d'Harcourt,

still grumbling, quite beside herself, blinded with fury, so as to commit

fresh mistakes every minute.  So ridiculous an adventure diverted the

Court for several days; for this beautiful Princess was equally feared,

hated, and despised.

Monseigneur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne continually played

off pranks upon her.  They put, one day, crackers all along the avenue of

the chateau at Marly, that led to the Perspective where she lodged.  She

was horribly afraid of everything.  The Duke and Duchess bribed two

porters to be ready to take her into the mischief.  When she was right in

the middle of the avenue the crackers began to go off; and she to cry

aloud for mercy; the chairman set her down and ran for it.  There she

was, then, struggling in her chair, furiously enough to upset it, and

yelling like a demon.  At this the company, which had gathered at the

door of the chateau to see the fun, ran to her assistance, in order to

have the pleasure of enjoying the scene more fully.  Thereupon she set to

abusing everybody right and left, commencing with Monseigneur and Madame

la Duchesse de Bourgogne.  At another time M. de Bourgogne put a cracker

under her chair in the salon, where she was playing at piquet.  As he was

about to set fire to this cracker, some charitable soul warned him that

it would maim her, and he desisted.

Sometimes they used to send about twenty Swiss guards, with drums, into

her chamber, who roused her from her first sleep by their horrid din.

Another time--and these scenes were always at Marly--they waited until

very late for her to go to bed and sleep.  She lodged not far from the

post of the captain of the guards, who was at that time the Marechal de

Lorges.  It had snowed very hard, and had frozen.  Madame la Duchesse de

Bourgogne and her suite gathered snow from the terrace which is on a

level with their lodgings; and, in order to be better supplied, waked up,

to assist them, the Marechal's people, who did not let them want for

ammunition.  Then, with a false key, and lights, they gently slipped into

the chamber of the Princesse d'Harcourt; and, suddenly drawing the

curtains of her bed, pelted her amain with snowballs.  The filthy

creature, waking up with a start, bruised and stifled in snow, with which

even her ears were filled, with dishevelled hair, yelling at the top of

her voice, and wriggling like an eel, without knowing where to hide,

formed a spectacle that diverted people more than half an hour: so that

at last the nymph swam in her bed, from which the water flowed

everywhere, slushing all the chamber.  It was enough to make one die of

laughter.  On the morrow she sulked, and was more than ever laughed at

for her pains.

Her fits of sulkiness came over her either when the tricks played were

too violent, or when M. le Grand abused her.  He thought, very properly,

that a person who bore the name of Lorraine should not put herself so

much on the footing of a buffoon; and, as he was a rough speaker, he

sometimes said the most abominable things to her at table; upon which the

Princess would burst out crying, and then, being enraged, would sulk.

The Duchesse de Bourgogne used then to pretend to sulk, too; but the

other did not hold out long, and came crawling back to her, crying,

begging pardon for having sulked, and praying that she might not cease to

be a source of amusement!  After some time the Duchess would allow

herself to be melted, and the Princess was more villainously treated than

ever, for the Duchesse de Bourgogne had her own way in everything.

Neither the King nor Madame de Maintenon found fault with what she did,

so that the Princesse d'Harcourt had no resource; she did not even dare

to complain of those who aided in tormenting her; yet it would not have

been prudent in any one to make her an enemy.

The Princesse d'Harcourt paid her servants so badly that they concocted a

plan, and one fine day drew up on the Pont Neuf.  The coachman and

footmen got down, and came and spoke to her at the door, in language she

was not used to hear.  Her ladies and chambermaid got down, and went

away, leaving her to shift as she might.  Upon this she set herself to

harangue the blackguards who collected, and was only too happy to find a

man, who mounted upon the seat and drove her home.  Another time, Madame

de Saint-Simon, returning from Versailles, overtook her, walking in full

dress in the street, and with her train under her arms.  Madame de Saint-

Simon stopped, offered her assistance, and found that she had been left

by her servants, as on the Pont Neuf.  It was volume the second of that

story; and even when she came back she found her house deserted, every

one having gone away at once by agreement.  She was very violent with her

servants, beat them, and changed diem every day.

Upon one occasion, she took into her service a strong and robust

chambermaid, to whom, from the first day of her arrival, she gave many

slaps and boxes on the ear.  The chambermaid said nothing, but after

submitting to this treatment for five or six days, conferred with the

other servants; and one morning, while in her mistress's room, locked the

door without being perceived, said something to bring down punishment

upon her, and at the first box on the ear she received, flew upon the

Princesse d'Harcourt, gave her no end of thumps and slaps, knocked her

down, kicked her, mauled her from her head to her feet, and when she was

tired of this exercise, left her on the ground, all torn and dishevelled,

howling like a devil.  The chambermaid then quitted the room, double-

locked the door on the outside, gained the staircase, and fled the house.

Every day the Princess was fighting, or mixed up in some adventures.

Her neighbours at Marly said they could not sleep for the riot she made

at night; and I remember that, after one of these scenes, everybody went

to see the room of the Duchesse de Villeroy and that of Madame d'Espinoy,

who had put their bed in the middle of their room, and who related their

night vigils to every one.

Such was this favourite of Madame de Maintenon; so insolent and so

insupportable to every one, but who had favours and preferences for those

who brought her over, and who had raised so many young men, amassed their

wealth, and made herself feared even by the Prince and minister.

CHAPTER XXVII

In a previous page I have alluded to the Princesse des Ursins, when she

was appointed 'Camerera Mayor' to the Queen of Spain on her marriage.

As I have now to occupy myself more particularly with her, it may be as

well to give a description of this extraordinary woman, which I omitted

when I first spoke of her.

Anne Marie de la Tremoille, was daughter of M. de Noirmoutiers, who

figured sufficiently in the troubles of the minority to be made a 'Duc a

brevet'.  She first married M. Talleyrand, who called himself Prince de

Chalais, and who was obliged to quit the kingdom for engaging in the

famous duel against Messieurs de la Frette.  She followed her husband to

Spain, where he died.  Having gone to Rome, she got into favour with the

Cardinals de Bouillon and d'Estrees, first on account of her name and

nation, and afterwards for more tender reasons.  In order to detain her

at Rome, these dignitaries thought of obtaining her an establishment.

She had no children, and almost no fortune, they wrote to Court that so

important a man as the Duc de Bracciano, Prince des Ursins, was worth

gaining; and that the way to arrive at this result was to have him

married to Madame de Chalais.  The Duke was persuaded by the two

Cardinals that he was in love with Madame de Chalais: and so the affair

was arranged.  Madame des Ursins displayed all her wit and charms at

Rome; and soon her palace became a sort of court, where all the best

company assembled.  It grew to be the fashion to go there.

The husband amidst all this counts for not much.  There was sometimes a

little disagreement between the two, without open rupture; yet they were

now and then glad to separate.  This is why the Duchesse de Bracciano

made two journeys to France: the second time she spent four or five years

there.  It was then I knew her, or rather formed a particular friendship

with her.  My mother had made her acquaintance during her previous visit.

She lodged near us.  Her wit, her grace, her manners enchanted me: she

received me with tenderness and I was always at her house.  It was she

who proposed to me a marriage with Mlle. de Royan, which I rejected for

the reason already given.

When Madame des Ursins was appointed 'Camerera Mayor', she was a widow,

without children.  No one could have been better suited for the post.

A lady of our court would not have done: a Spanish lady was not to be

depended on, and might have easily disgusted the Queen.  The Princesse

des Ursins appeared to be a middle term.  She was French, had been in

Spain, and she passed a great part of her life at Rome, and in Italy.

She was of the house of La Tremoille: her husband was chief of the house

of Ursins, a grandee of Spain, and Prince of the Soglio.  She was also on

very good terms with the Duchess of Savoy, and with the Queen of

Portugal.  The Cardinal d'Estrees, also, was known to have remained her

friend, after having been something more in their youth; and he gave

information that the Cardinal Portocarrero had been much in love with her

at Rome, and that they were then on very good terms.  As it was through

the latter Cardinal that it was necessary to govern everything, this

circumstance was considered very important.

Age and health were also appropriate; and likewise her appearance.  She

was rather tall than otherwise, a brunette, with blue eyes of the most

varied expression, in figure perfect, with a most exquisite bosom; her

face, without being beautiful, was charming; she was extremely noble in

air, very majestic in demeanour, full of graces so natural and so

continual in everything, that I have never seen any one approach her,

either in form or mind.  Her wit was copious and of all kinds: she was

flattering, caressing, insinuating, moderate, wishing to please for

pleasing's sake, with charms irresistible when she strove to persuade and

win over; accompanying all this, she had a grandeur that encouraged

instead of frightening; a delicious conversation, inexhaustible and very

amusing, for she had seen many countries and persons; a voice and way of

speaking extremely agreeable, and full of sweetness.  She had read much,

and reflected much.  She knew how to choose the best society, how to

receive them, and could even have held a court; was polite,

distinguished; and above all was careful never to take a step in advance

without dignity and discretion.  She was eminently fitted for intrigue,

in which, from taste; she had passed her time at Rome; with much

ambition, but of that vast kind, far above her sex, and the common run of

men--a desire to occupy a great position and to govern.  A love for

gallantry and personal vanity were her foibles, and these clung to her

until her latest day; consequently, she dressed in a way that no longer

became her, and as she advanced in life, removed further from propriety

in this particular.  She was an ardent and excellent friend--of a

friendship that time and absence never enfeebled; and, consequently, an

implacable enemy, pursuing her hatred to the infernal regions.  While

caring little for the means by which she gained her ends, she tried as

much as possible to reach them by honest means.  Secret, not only for

herself, but for her friends, she was yet, of a decorous gaiety, and so

governed her humours, that at all times and in everything she was

mistress of herself.  Such was the Princesse des Ursins.

From the first moment on which she entered the service of the Queen of

Spain, it became her desire to govern not only the Queen, but the King;

and by this means the realm itself.  Such a grand project had need of

support from our King, who, at the commencement, ruled the Court of Spain

as much as his own Court, with entire influence over all matters.

The young Queen of Spain had been not less carefully educated than her

sister, the Duchesse de Bourgogne.  She had even when so young much

intelligence and firmness, without being incapable of restraint; and as

time went on, improved still further, and displayed a constancy and

courage which were admirably set off by her meekness and natural graces.

According to everything I have heard said in France and in Spain, she

possessed all qualities that were necessary to make her adored.  Indeed

she became a divinity among the Spaniards, and to their affection for

her, Philip V. was more than once indebted for his crown.  Lords, ladies,

soldiers, and the people still remember her with tears in their eyes; and

even after the lapse of so many years, are not yet consoled for her loss.

Madame des Ursins soon managed to obtain the entire confidence of this

Queen; and during the absence of Philip V. in Italy, assisted her in the

administration of all public offices.  She even accompanied her to the

junta, it not being thought proper that the Queen should be alone amid

such an assemblage of men.  In this way she became acquainted with

everything that was passing, and knew all the affairs of the Government.

This step gained, it will be imagined that the Princesse des Ursins did

not forget to pay her court most assiduously to our King and to Madame de

Maintenon.  She continually sent them an exact account of everything

relating to the Queen--making her appear in the most favourable light

possible.  Little by little she introduced into her letters details

respecting public events; without, however, conveying a suspicion of her

own ambition, or that she wished to meddle in these matters.  Anchored in

this way, she next began to flatter Madame de Maintenon, and by degrees

to hint that she might rule over Spain, even more firmly than she ruled

over France, if she would entrust her commands to Madame des Ursins.

Madame des Ursins offered, in fact, to be the instrument of Madame de

Maintenon; representing how much better it would be to rule affairs in

this manner, than through the instrumentality of the ministers of either

country.

Madame de Maintenon, whose passion it was to know everything, to mix

herself in everything, and to govern everything, was, enchanted by the

siren.  This method of governing Spain without ministers appeared to her

an admirable idea.  She embraced it with avidity, without reflecting that

she would govern only in appearance, since she would know nothing except

through the Princesse des Ursins, see nothing except in the light in

which she presented it.  From that time dates the intimate union which

existed between these two important women, the unbounded authority of

Madame des Ursins, the fall of all those who had placed Philip V. upon

the throne, and of all our ministers in Spain who stood in the way of the

new power.

Such an alliance being made between the two women, it was necessary to

draw the King of Spain into the same net.  This was not a very arduous

task.  Nature and art indeed had combined to make it easy.

Younger brother of an excitable, violent, and robust Prince, Philip V,

had been bred up in a submission and dependence that were necessary for

the repose of the Royal family.  Until the testament of Charles II., the

Duc d'Anjou was necessarily regarded as destined to be a subject all his

life; and therefore could not be too much abased by education, and

trained to patience and obedience: That supreme law, the reason of state,

demanded this preference, for the safety and happiness of the kingdom,

of the elder over the younger brother.  His mind for this reason was

purposely narrowed and beaten down, and his natural docility and

gentleness greatly assisted in the process, He was quite formed to be

led, although he had enough judgment left to choose the better of two

courses proposed to him, and even to express himself in good phrase, when

the slowness, not to say the laziness, of his mind did not prevent him

from speaking at all.  His great piety contributed to weaken his mind;

and, being joined to very lively passions, made it disagreeable and even

dangerous for him to be separated from his Queen.  It may easily be

conceived, therefore, how he loved her; and that he allowed himself to be

guided by her in all things.  As the Queen herself was guided in all

things by Madame des Ursins, the influence of this latter was all-

powerful.

Soon, indeed, the junta became a mere show.  Everything was brought

before the King in private, and he gave no decision until the Queen and

Madame des Ursins had passed theirs.  This conduct met with no opposition

from our Court, but our ministers at the Court of Spain and the Spanish

ministers here soon began to complain of it.  The first to do so were

Cardinals d'Estrees and Portocarrero.  Madame de Maintenon laughed at

them, and Madame des Ursins, of whom they were old friends, soon showed

them that she did not mean to abate one jot of her power.  She first

endeavoured to bring about a coldness between the two, and this succeeded

so well, that in consequence of the quarrels that resulted, the Spanish

Cardinal, Portocarrero (who, it will be remembered, had played an

important part in bringing Philip to the Spanish throne) wished to quit

the junta.  But Madame des Ursins, who thought that the time had not yet

arrived for this step, persuaded him to remain, and endeavoured to

flatter his vanity by an expedient altogether ridiculous.  She gave him

the command of a regiment of guards, and he, priest, archbishop, primate

and cardinal, accepted it, and was, of course, well laughed at by

everybody for his pains.  The two cardinals soon after became reconciled

to each other, feeling, perhaps, the necessity of uniting against the

common enemy.  But they could come to no better understanding with her.

Disagreements continued, so that at last, feeling her position perfectly

secure, the Princesse des Ursins begged permission to retire into Italy,

knowing full well that she would not be taken at her word, and hoping by

this means to deliver herself of these stumbling-blocks in her path.

Our ministers, who felt they would lose all control over Spanish affairs

if Madame des Ursins was allowed to remain mistress, did all in their

power to support the D'Estrees.  But Madame de Maintenon pleaded so well

with the King, representing the good policy of allowing a woman so much

attached to him, and to the Spanish Queen, as was Madame des Ursins, to

remain where she was, that he entirely swallowed the bait; the D'Estrees

were left without support; the French ambassador at Madrid was virtually

deprived of all power: the Spanish ministers were fettered in their every

movement, and the authority of Madame des Ursins became stronger than

ever.  All public affairs passed through her hands.  The King decided

nothing without conferring with the Queen and her.

While excluding almost all the ministers from public offices, Madame des

Ursins admitted a few favourites into her confidence.  Amongst them was

D'Harcourt, who stood well with Madame de Maintenon, and who cared little

for the means by which he obtained consideration; Orry, who had the

management of the finances; and D'Aubigny, son of a Procureur in Paris.

The last was a tall, handsome fellow, well made, and active in mind and

body; who for many years had been with the Princess, as a sort of squire,

and on very intimate terms with her.  One day, when, followed by some of

the ministers, she entered a room in which he was writing, he burst out

into exclamations against her, without being aware that she was not

alone, swore at her, asked her why she could not leave him an hour in

peace, called her by the strangest names, and all this with so much

impetuosity that she had no time to show him who were behind her.  When

he found it out, he ran from the room, leaving Madame des Ursins so

confused that the ministers looked for two or three minutes upon the

walls of the room in order to give her time to recover herself.  Soon

after this, D'Aubigny had a splendid suite of apartments, that had

formerly been occupied by Maria Theresa (afterwards wife of Louis XIV.),

placed at his disposal, with some rooms added, in despite of the murmurs

that arose at a distinction so strange accorded to this favourite.

At length, Cardinal d'Estrees, continually in arms against Madame des

Ursins, and continually defeated, could not bear his position any longer,

but asked to be immediately recalled.  All that the ministry could do was

to obtain permission for the Abbe d'Estrees (nephew of the Cardinal) to

remain as Ambassador of France at Madrid.  As for Portocarrero, seeing

the step his associate had taken, he resolved to quit public business

also, and resigned his place accordingly.  Several others who stood in

the way of the Princesse des Ursins were got rid of at the same time, so

that she was now left mistress of the field.  She governed absolutely in

all things; the ministers became instruments in her hands; the King and

Queen agents to work out her will.  She was at the highest pinnacle of

power.  Together with Orry she enjoyed a power such as no one had ever

attained since the time of the Duke of Lerma and of Olivares.

In the mean time the Archduke was declared King of Spain by the Emperor,

who made no mystery of his intention of attacking Spain by way of

Portugal.  The Archduke soon afterwards was recognised by Holland,

England, Portugal, Brandenburg, Savoy, and Hanover, as King of Spain,

under the title of Charles III., and soon after by the other powers of

Europe.  The Duke of Savoy had been treacherous to us, had shown that he

was in league with the Emperor.  The King accordingly had broken off all

relations with him, and sent an army to invade his territory.  It need be

no cause of surprise, therefore, that the Archduke was recognised by

Savoy.  While our armies were fighting with varied fortune those of the

Emperor and his allies, in different parts of Europe, notably upon the

Rhine, Madame des Ursins was pressing matters to extremities in Spain.

Dazzled by her success in expelling the two cardinals from public

affairs, and all the ministers who had assisted in placing Philip V.

upon the throne, she committed a blunder of which she soon had cause to

repent.

I have said, that when Cardinal d'Estrees quitted Spain, the Abbe

d'Estrees was left behind, so that France should not be altogether

unrepresented in an official manner at the Court of Madrid.  Madame des

Ursins did not like this arrangement, but as Madame de Maintenon insisted

upon it, she was obliged to accept it with as good grace as possible.

The Abbe, vain of his family and of his position, was not a man much to

be feared as it seemed.  Madame des Ursins accordingly laughed at and

despised him.  He was admitted to the council, but was quite without

influence there, and when he attempted to make any representations to

Madame des Ursins or to Orry, they listened to him without attending in

the least to what he said.  The Princess reigned supreme, and thought of

nothing but getting rid of all who attempted to divide her authority.

At last she obtained such a command over the poor Abbe d'Estrees, so

teased and hampered him, that he consented to the hitherto unheard-of

arrangement, that the Ambassador of France should not write to the King

without first concerting his letter with her, and then show her its

contents before he despatched it.  But such restraint as this became, in

a short time, so fettering, that the Abbe determined to break away from

it.  He wrote a letter to the King, without showing it to Madame des

Ursins.  She soon had scent of what he had done; seized the letter as it

passed through the post, opened it, and, as she expected, found its

contents were not of a kind to give her much satisfaction.  But what

piqued her most was, to find details exaggerating the authority of

D'Aubigny, and a statement to the effect that it was generally believed

she had married him.  Beside herself with rage and vexation, she wrote

with her own hand upon the margin of the letter, 'Pour mariee non'

("At any rate, not married"), showed it in this state to the King and

Queen of Spain, to a number of other people, always with strange

clamouring, and finally crowned her folly by sending it to the King

(Louis XIV.), with furious complaints against the Abbe for writing it

without her knowledge, and for inflicting upon her such an atrocious

injury as to mention this pretended marriage.  Her letter and its

enclosure reached the King at a very inopportune moment.  Just before,

he had received a letter, which, taken in connection with this of the

Princesse des Ursins, struck a blow at her power of the most decisive

kind.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Some little time previously it had been thought necessary to send an army

to the frontiers of Portugal to oppose the Archduke.  A French general

was wanted to command this army.  Madame des Ursins, who had been very

intimate with the King of England (James II.) and his Queen, thought she

would please them if she gave this post to the Duke of Berwick,

illegitimate son of King James.  She proposed this therefore; and our

King, out of regard for his brother monarch, and from a natural affection

for bastards, consented to the appointment; but as the Duke of Berwick

had never before commanded an army, he stipulated that Pursegur, known to

be a skilful officer, should go with him and assist him with his counsels

and advice.

Pursegur set out before the Duke of Berwick.  From the Pyrenees as far as

Madrid, he found every provision made for the subsistence of the French

troops, and sent a very advantageous account to the King of this

circumstance.  Arrived at Madrid, he had interviews with Orry (who, as I

have already mentioned, had the finances under his control, and who was a

mere instrument in the hands of Madame des Ursins), and was assured by

the minister that all the magazines along the line of route to the

frontiers of Portugal were abundantly filled with supplies for the French

troops, that all the money necessary was ready; and that nothing, in

fact, should fail in the course of the campaign.  Pursegur, who had found

nothing wanting up to that time, never doubted but that these statements

were perfectly correct; and had no suspicion that a minister would have

the effrontery to show him in detail all these precautions if he had

taken none.  Pleased, then, to the utmost degree, he wrote to the King in

praise of Orry, and consequently of Madame des Ursins and her wise

government.  Full of these ideas, he set out for the frontier of Portugal

to reconnoitre the ground himself, and arrange everything for the arrival

of the army and its general.  What was his surprise, when he found that

from Madrid to the frontier not a single preparation had been made for

the troops, and that in consequence all that Orry had shown him, drawn

out upon paper, was utterly fictitious.  His vexation upon finding that

nothing upon which he had reckoned was provided, may be imagined.  He at

once wrote to the King, in order to contradict all that he had recently

written.

This conduct of Orry--his impudence, I may say--in deceiving a man who

immediately after would have under his eyes the proof of his deceit, is a

thing past all comprehension.  It is easy to understand that rogues

should steal, but not that they should have the audacity to do so in the

face of facts which so quickly and so easily could prove their villainy.

It was Pursegur's letter then, detailing this rascality on the part of

Orry, that had reached the King just before that respecting the Abbe

d'Estrees.  The two disclosed a state of things that could not be allowed

any longer to exist.  Our ministers, who, step by step, had been deprived

of all control over the affairs of Spain, profited by the discontentment

of the King to reclaim their functions.  Harcourt and Madame de Maintenon

did all they could to ward off the blow from Madame des Ursins, but

without effect.  The King determined to banish her to Rome and to dismiss

Orry from his post.

It was felt, however, that these steps must be taken cautiously, to avoid

offending too deeply the King and Queen of Spain, who supported their

favourite through every emergency.

In the first place, then, a simple reprimand was sent to the Princesse

des Ursins for the violation of the respect due to the King, by opening a

letter addressed to him by one of his ambassadors.  The Abbe d'Estrees,

who expected that Madame des Ursins would be at once disgraced, and who

had made a great outcry when his letter was opened, fell into such

despair when he saw how lightly she was let off, that he asked for his

dismissal.  He was taken at his word; and this was a new triumph for

Madame des Ursins, who thought herself more secure than ever.  Her

triumph was of but short duration.  The King wrote to Philip,

recommending him to head in person the army for the frontiers of

Portugal, which, in spite of Orry's deception, it was still determined to

send.  No sooner was Philip fairly away, separated from the Queen and

Madame des Ursins, and no longer under their influence, than the King

wrote to the Queen of Spain, requesting her, in terms that could not be

disputed, to dismiss at once and for ever her favourite 'Camerera Mayor'.

The Queen, in despair at the idea of losing a friend and adviser to whom

she had been so much attached, believed herself lost.  At the same time

that the King wrote to the Queen of Spain, he also wrote to the Princesse

des Ursins, ordering her to quit Madrid immediately, to leave Spain, and

to retire into Italy.

At this conjuncture of affairs, when the Queen was in despair, Madame des

Ursins did not lose her composure.  She opened her eyes to all that had

passed since she had violated D'Estrees' letter, and saw the vanity of

the triumph she had recently enjoyed.  She felt at once that for the

present all was lost, that her only hope was to be allowed to remain in

France.  She made all her arrangements, therefore, so that affairs might

proceed in her absence as much as possible as though she were present,

and then prepared to set out.  Dawdling day by day, she put off her

departure as long as could be, and when at length she left Madrid only

went to Alcala, a few leagues distant.  She stopped there under various

pretexts, and at length, after five weeks of delay, set out for Bayonne,

journeying as slowly as she could and stopping as often as she dared.

She lost no opportunity of demanding an audience at Versailles, in order

to clear herself of the charge which weighed upon her, and her

importunities at length were not without effect.  The most terrible

storms at Court soon blow over.  The King (Louis XIV.) was satisfied with

the success of his plans.  He had been revenged in every way, and had

humbled the pride of the Princesse des Ursins.  It was not necessary to

excite the anger of the Queen and King of Spain by too great harshness

against their fallen friend.  Madame de Maintenon took advantage of this

change in the temper of the King, and by dint of persuasion and scheming

succeeded in obtaining from him the permission for Madame des Ursins to

remain in France.  Toulouse was fixed upon for her residence.  It was a

place that just suited her, and from which communication with Spain was

easy.  Here accordingly she took up her residence, determined to watch

well the course of events, and to avail herself of every opportunity that

could bring about her complete reconciliation with the King (Louis XIV.),

and obtain for her in consequence the permission to return to Madrid.

In the mean time, the King and Queen of Spain, distressed beyond measure

at the loss of their favourite, thought only of the best means of

obtaining her recall.  They plotted with such ministers as were

favourable to her; they openly quarrelled with and thwarted those who

were her opponents, so that the most important matters perished in their

hands.  Nay more, upon the King of Spain's return, the Queen persuaded

him to oppose in all things the wishes of the King (Louis XIV.), his

grandfather, and to neglect his counsels with studied care.  Our King

complained of this with bitterness.  The aim of it was to tire him out,

and to make him understand that it was only Madame des Ursins, well

treated and sent back, who could restore Spanish affairs to their

original state, and cause his authority to be respected.  Madame de

Maintenon, on her side, neglected no opportunity of pressing the King to

allow Madame des Ursins, not to return into Spain--that would have been

to spoil all by asking too much but simply to come to Versailles in order

to have the opportunity of justifying herself for her past conduct.  From

other quarters the King was similarly importuned.  Tired at last of the

obstinate opposition he met with in Spain from the Queen; who governed

completely her husband, he gave permission to Madame des Ursins to come

to Versailles to plead her own cause.  Self-imprisoned as he was in

seclusion, the truth never approached him, and he was the only man in the

two kingdoms who had no suspicion that the arrival of Madame ales Ursins

at the Court was the certain sign of her speedy return to Spain more

powerful than ever.  But he was fatigued with the constant resistance he

met with; with the disorder which this occasioned in public affairs at a

time too when, as I will afterwards explain, the closest union was

necessary between the two crowns in order to repel the common enemy, and

these motives induced him, to the astonishment of his ministers, to grant

the favour requested of him.

However well informed Madame des Ursins might be of all that was being

done on her account, this permission surpassed her hopes.  Her joy

accordingly was very great; but it did not at all carry her away.  She

saw that her return to Spain would now depend upon herself.  She

determined to put on the air of one who is disgraced, but who hopes, and

yet is humiliated.  She instructed all her friends to assume the same

manner; took all measures with infinite presence of mind; did not hurry

her departure, and yet set out with sufficient promptness to prevent any

coldness springing up, and to show with what eagerness she profited by

the favour accorded to her, and which she had so much wished.

No sooner was the courier gone who carried this news to her, than the

rumour of her return was whispered all over the Court, and became

publicly confirmed a few days afterwards.  The movement that it produced

at Court was inconceivable.  Only the friends of Madame des Ursins were

able to remain in a tolerably tranquil state.  Everybody opened his eyes

and comprehended that the return of such an important personage was a

fact that could not be insignificant.  People prepared themselves for a

sort of rising sun that was going to change and renew many things in

nature.  On every side were seen people who had scarcely ever uttered her

name, and who now boasted of their intimacy with her and of her

friendship for them.  Other people were seen, who, although openly allied

with her enemies, had the baseness to affect transports of joy at her

forthcoming return, and to flatter those whom they thought likely to

favour them with her.

She reached Paris on Sunday, the 4th of January, 1705.  The Duc d'Albe

met her several miles out of the city, escorted her to his house, and

gave a fete in her honour there.  Several persons of distinction went out

to meet her.  Madame des Ursins had reason to be surprised at an entry so

triumphant: she would not, however, stay with the Duc and Duchesse

d'Albe, but took up her quarters with the Comtesse d'Egmont, niece of the

Archbishop of Aix; the said Archbishop having been instrumental in

obtaining her recall.  The King was at Marly.  I was there with Madame de

Saint-Simon.  During the remainder of the stay at Marly everybody flocked

to the house of Madame des Ursins, anxious to pay her their court.

However flattered she may have been by this concourse, she had matters to

occupy her, pleaded want of repose, and shut her door to three people out

of four who called upon her.  Curiosity, perhaps fashion, drew this great

crowd to her.  The ministers were startled by it.  Torcy had orders from

the King to go, and see her: he did so; and from that moment Madame des

Ursins changed her tone.  Until then her manner had been modest,

supplicating, nearly timid.  She now saw and heard so much that from

defendant, which she had intended to be, she thought herself in a

condition to become accuser; and to demand justice of those who, abusing

the confidence of the King, had drawn upon her such a long and cruel

punishment, and made her a show for the two kingdoms.  All that happened

to her surpassed her hopes.  Several times when with me she has expressed

her astonishment; and with me has laughed at many people, often of much

consideration, whom she scarcely knew, or who had been strongly opposed

to her, and who basely crouched at her feet.

The King returned to Versailles on Saturday, the 10th of January.  Madame

des Ursins arrived there the same day.  I went immediately to see her,

not having been able to do so before, because I could not quit Marly.  My

mother had seen a great deal of Madame des Ursins at Paris.  I had always

been on good terms with her, and had received on all occasions proofs of

her friendship.  She received me very well, spoke with much freedom, and

said she promised herself the pleasure of seeing me again, and of talking

with me more at her ease.  On, the morrow, Sunday, she dined at home

alone, dressed herself in grand style, and went to the King, with whom

she remained alone two hours and a half conversing in his cabinet.  From

there she went to the Duchesse de Bourgogne, with whom she also conversed

a long time alone.  In the evening, the King said, while in Madame de

Maintenon's apartments, that there were still many things upon which he

had not yet spoken to Madame des Ursins.  The next day she saw Madame de

Maintenon in private for a long time, and much at her ease.  She had an

interview soon after with the King and Madame de Maintenon, which was

also very long.

A month after this a special courier arrived from the King and Queen of

Spain, to thank the King (Louis XIV.) for his conduct towards the

Princesse des Ursins.  From that moment it was announced that she would

remain at Court until the month of April, in order to attend to her

affairs and her health.  It was already to have made a grand step to be

mistress enough to announce thus her stay.  Nobody in truth doubted of

her return to Spain, but the word was not yet said.  She avoided all

explanations, and it may be believed did not have many indiscreet

questions put to her upon the subject.

So many and such long audiences with the King, followed by so much

serenity, had a great effect upon the world, and the crowd that flocked

to see Madame des Ursins was greater than ever; but under various

pretences she shut herself up and would see only a few intimate friends,

foremost among which were Madame de Saint-Simon and myself.  Whilst

triumphant beyond all her hopes in Paris, she was at work in Spain, and

with equal success.  Rivas, who had drawn up the will of the late King

Charles II., was disgraced, and never afterwards rose to favour.  The Duc

de Grammont, our ambassador at Madrid, was so overwhelmed with annoyance,

that he asked for his recall.  Amelot, whom Madame des Ursins favoured,

was appointed in his place, and many who had been disgraced were

reinstated in office; everything was ordered according to her wishes.

We returned to Marly, where many balls took place.  It need not be

doubted that Madame des Ursins was among the invited.  Apartments were

given her, and nothing could equal the triumphant air with which she took

possession of them, the continual attentions of the King to her, as

though she were some little foreign queen just arrived at his Court, or

the majestic fashion in which she received them, mingled with grace and

respectful politeness, then almost out of date, and which recalled the

stately old dames of the Queen-mother.  She never came without the King,

who appeared to be completely occupied with her, talking with her,

pointing out objects for her inspection, seeking her opinion and her

approbation with an air of gallantry, even of flattery, which never

ceased.  The frequent private conversations that she had with him in the

apartment of Madame de Maintenon, and which lasted an hour, and sometimes

double that time; those that she very often had in the morning alone with

Madame de Maintenon, rendered her the divinity of the Court.  The

Princesses encircled her the moment she appeared anywhere, and went to

see her in her chamber.  Nothing was more surprising than the servile

eagerness with which the greatest people, the highest in power and the

most in favour, clustered around her.  Her very glances were counted, and

her words, addressed even to ladies of the highest rank, imprinted upon

them a look of ravishment.

I went nearly every morning to her house: she always rose very early,

dressed herself at once, so that she was never seen at her toilette.

I was in advance of the hour fixed for the most important visitors, and

we talked with the same liberty as of yore.  I learnt from her many

details, and the opinion of the King and of Madame de Maintenon upon many

people.  We often used to laugh in concert at the truckling to her of

persons the most considerable, and of the disdain they drew upon

themselves, although she did not testify it to them.  We laughed too at

the falsehood of others, who after having done her all the injury in

their power ever since her arrival, lavished upon her all kinds of

flatteries, and boasted of their affection for her and of zeal in her

cause.  I was flattered with this confidence of the dictatress of the

Court.  It drew upon me a sudden consideration; for people of the

greatest distinction often found me alone with her in the morning, and

the messengers who rained down at that time reported that they had found

me with her, and that they had not been able to speak to her.  Oftentimes

in the salon she called me to her, or at other times I went to her and

whispered a word in her ear, with an air of ease and liberty much envied

but little imitated.  She never met Madame de Saint-Simon without going

to her, praising her, making her join in the conversation that was

passing around; oftentimes leading her to the glass and adjusting her

head-dress or her robe as she might have done in private to a daughter.

People asked with surprise and much annoyance whence came such a great

friendship which had never been suspected by anybody?  What completed the

torment of the majority, was to see Madame des Ursins, as soon as she

quitted the chamber of Madame de Maintenon, go immediately to Madame de

Saint-Simon, lead her aside, and speak to her in a low tone.  This opened

the eyes of everybody and drew upon us many civilities.

A more solid gratification to us were the kind things Madame des Ursins

said in our behalf to the King and Madame de Maintenon.  She spoke in the

highest praise of Madame de Saint-Simon, and declared that there was no

woman at Court so fitting as she, so expressly made by her virtue, good

conduct, and ability, to be lady of the Palace, or even lady-of-honour to

Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, should the post become vacant.  Madame

des Ursins did not forget me; but a woman was more susceptible of her

praise.  It made, therefore, all the more impression.  This kind manner

towards us did not change during all her stay at Court.

At all the balls which Madame des Ursins attended, she was treated with

much distinction, and at one she obtained permission for the Duc and

Duchesse d'Albe to be present, but with some little trouble.  I say with

some little trouble, because no ambassador, no foreigner, had ever,

with one exception, been admitted to Marly.  It was a great favour,

therefore, for Madame des Ursins to obtain.  The King, too, treated the

Duc and Duchesse d'Albe, throughout the evening with marked respect, and

placed the latter in the most distinguished position, not only in the

ball-room but at supper.  When he went to bed, too, he gave the Duc

d'Albe his candlestick; an honour the importance of which I have already

described.

At the other balls Madame des Ursins seated herself near the Grand

Chamberlain, and looked at everybody with her lorgnette.  At every moment

the King turned round to speak to her and Madame de Maintenon, who came

for half an hour or so to these balls, and on her account displaced the

Grand Chamberlain, who put himself behind her.  In this manner she joined

Madame des Ursins, and was close to the King--the conversation between

the three being continual.  What appeared extremely singular was to see

Madame des Ursins in the salon with a little spaniel in her arms, as

though she had been in her own house.  People could not sufficiently

express their astonishment at a familiarity which even Madame la Duchesse

de Bourgogne would not have dared to venture; still less could they do so

when they saw the King caress this little dog over and over again.  In

fine, such a high flight has never been seen.  People could not accustom

themselves to it, and those who knew the King and his Court are surprised

still, when they think of it, after so many years.  There was no longer

any doubt that Madame des Ursins would return into Spain.  All her

frequent private conversations with the King and Madame de Maintenon were

upon that country.  I will only add here that her return took place in

due time; and that her influence became more paramount than ever.

CHAPTER XXIX

In relating what happened to Madame des Ursins upon her return to Spain,

I have carried the narrative into the year 1705.  It is not necessary to

retrace our steps.  Towards the end of 1703 Courtin died.  He had early

shone at the Council, and had been made Intendant of Picardy.

M. de Chaulnes, whose estates were there, begged him to tax them as

lightly as possible.  Courtin, who was a very intimate friend of M. de

Chaulnes, complied with his request; but the next year, in going over his

accounts, he found that to do a good turn to M. de Chaulnes he had done

an ill turn to many others--that is to say, he had relieved M. de

Chaulnes at the expense of other parishes, which he had overcharged.

The trouble this caused him made him search deeply into the matter, and

he found that the wrong he had done amounted to forty thousand francs.

Without a second thought he paid back this money, and asked to be

recalled.  As he was much esteemed, his request was not at once complied

with, but he represented so well that he could not pass his life doing

wrong, and unable to serve his friends, that at last what he asked was

granted.  He afterwards had several embassies, went to England as

ambassador, and was very successful in that capacity.  I cannot quit

Courtin without relating an adventure he had one day with Fieubet, a

Councillor of State like himself.  As they were going to Saint Germain

they were stopped by several men and robbed; robbery was common in those

days, and Fieubet lost all he had in his pockets.  When the thieves had

left them, and while Fieubet was complaining of his misfortune, Courtin

began to applaud himself for having saved his watch and fifty pistoles

that he had time to slip into his trowsers.  Immediately on hearing this,

Fieubet put his head out of the coach window, and called back the

thieves, who came sure enough to see what he wanted.

"Gentlemen," said he, "you appear to be honest folks in distress; it is

not reasonable that you should be the dupes of this gentleman, who his

swindled you out of fifty pistoles and his watch."  And then turning to

Courtin, he smilingly said: "You told me so yourself, monsieur; so give

the things up like a man, without being searched."

The astonishment and indignation of Courtin were such that he allowed

money and watch to be taken from him without uttering a single word; but

when the thieves were gone away, he would have strangled Fieubet had not

this latter been the stronger of the two.  Fieubet only laughed at him;

and upon arriving at Saint Germain told the adventure to everybody he

met.  Their friends had all the trouble in the world to reconcile them.

The year finished with an affair in which I was not a little interested.

During the year there were several grand fetes, at which the King went to

High Mass and vespers.  On these occasions a lady of the Court, named by

the Queen, or when there was none, by the Dauphiness, made a collection

for the poor.  The house of Lorraine, always anxious to increase its

importance, shirked impudently this duty, in order thereby to give itself

a new distinction, and assimilate its rank to that of the Princes of the

blood.  It was a long time before this was perceived.  At last the

Duchesse de Noailles, the Duchesse de Guiche, her daughter, the Marechal

de Boufflers, and others, took notice of it; and I was soon after

informed of it.  I determined that the matter should be arranged, and

that justice should be done.

The Duchesse de Lude was first spoken to on the subject; she, weak and

timid, did not dare to do anything; but at last was induced to speak to

Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, who, wishing to judge for herself as to

the truth of the matter, ordered Madame de Montbazon to make the

collection for the poor at the next fete that took place.  Although very

well, Madame de Montbazon pretended to be ill, stopped in bed half a day,

and excused herself on this ground from performing the duty.  Madame de

Bourgogne was annoyed, but she did not dare to push matters farther; and,

in consequence of this refusal, none of the Duchesses would make the

collection.  Other ladies of quality soon perceived this, and they also

refused to serve; so that the collection fell into all sorts of hands,

and sometimes was not made at all.  Matters went on so far, indeed, that

the King at last grew angry, and threatened to make Madame de Bourgogne

herself take this office.  But refusals still followed upon refusals, and

the bomb thus at length was ready to burst.

The King, who at last ordered the daughter of M. le Grand to take the

plate on New Year's Day, 1704., had, it seems, got scent of the part I

was taking in this matter, and expressed himself to Madame de Maintenon,

as I learnt, as very discontented with me and one or two other Dukes.

He said that the Dukes were much less obedient to him than the Princes;

and that although many Duchesses had refused to make the collection, the

moment he had proposed that the daughter of M. le Grand should take it,

M. le Grand consented.  On the next day, early in the morning, I saw

Chamillart, who related to me that on the previous evening, before he had

had time to open his business, the King had burst out in anger against

me, saying it was very strange, but that since I had quitted the army I

did nothing but meddle in matters of rank and bring actions against

everybody; finishing, by declaring that if he acted well he should send

me so far away that I should be unable to importune him any more.

Chamillart added, that he had done all in his power to appease the King,

but with little effect.

After consulting with my friends, I determined to go up to the King and

boldly ask to speak to him in his cabinet, believing that to be the

wisest course I could pursue.  He was not yet so reconciled to me as he

afterwards became, and, in fact, was sorely out of humour with me.  This

step did not seem, therefore, altogether unattended with danger; but,

as I have said, I resolved to take it.  As he passed, therefore, from his

dinner that same day, I asked permission to follow him into his cabinet.

Without replying to me, he made a sign that I might enter, and went into

the embrasure of the window.

When we were quite alone I explained, at considerable length, my reasons

for acting in this matter, declaring that it was from no disrespect to

his Majesty that I had requested Madame de Saint-Simon and the other

Duchesses to refuse to collect for the poor, but simply to bring those to

account who had claimed without reason to be exempt from this duty.

I added, keeping my eyes fixed upon the King all the time, that I begged

him to believe that none of his subjects were more submissive to his will

or more willing to acknowledge the supremacy of his authority in all

things than the Dukes.  Until this his tone and manner had been very

severe; but now they both softened, and he said, with much goodness and

familiarity, that "that was how it was proper to speak and think," and

other remarks equally gracious.  I took then the opportunity of

expressing the sorrow I felt at seeing, that while my sole endeavour was

to please him, my enemies did all they could to blacken me in his eyes,

indicating that I suspected M. le Grand, who had never pardoned me for

the part I took in the affair of the Princesse d'Harcourt, was one of the

number.  After I had finished the King remained still a moment, as if

ready to hear if I had anything more to say, and then quitted me with a

bow, slight but very gracious, saying it was well, and that he was

pleased with me.

I learnt afterwards that he said the same thing of me in the evening to

Chamillart, but, nevertheless, that he did not seem at all shaken in his

prejudice in favour of M. le Grand.  The King was in fact very easy to

prejudice, difficult to lead back, and most unwilling to seek

enlightenment, or to listen to any explanations, if authority was in the

slightest degree at stake.  Whoever had the address to make a question

take this shape, might be assured that the King would throw aside all

consideration of justice, right, and reason, and dismiss all evidence.

It was by playing on this chord that his ministers knew how to manage him

with so much art, and to make themselves despotic masters, causing him to

believe all they wished, while at the same time they rendered him

inaccessible to explanation, and to those who might have explained.

I have, perhaps, too much expanded an affair which might have been more

compressed.  But in addition to the fact that I was mixed up in it, it is

by these little private details, as it seems to me, that the characters

of the Court and King are best made known.

In the early part of the next year, 1704., the King made La Queue, who

was a captain of cavalry, campmaster.  This La Queue was seigneur of the

place of which he bore the name, distant six leagues from Versailles, and

as much from Dreux.  He had married a girl that the King had had by a

gardener's wife.  Bontems, the confidential valet of the King, had

brought about the marriage without declaring the names of the father or

the mother of the girl; but La Queue knew it, and promised himself a

fortune.  The girl herself was tall and strongly resembled the King.

Unfortunately for her, she knew the secret of her birth, and much envied

her three sisters--recognised, and so grandly married.  She lived on very

good terms with her husband--always, however, in the greatest privacy--

and had several children by him.  La Queue himself, although by this

marriage son-in-law of the King, seldom appeared at the Court, and, when

there, was on the same footing as the simplest soldier.  Bontems did not

fail from time to time to give him money.  The wife of La Queue lived

very melancholily for twenty years in her village, never left it, and

scarcely ever went abroad for fear of betraying herself.

On Wednesday, the 25th of June, Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne had a son

born to him.  This event caused great joy to the King and the Court.

The town shared their delight, and carried their enthusiasm almost to

madness, by the excess of their demonstration and their fetes.  The King

gave a fete at Marly, and made the most magnificent presents to Madame la

Duchesse de Bourgogne when she left her bed.  But we soon had reason to

repent of so much joy, for the child died in less than a year--and of so

much money unwisely spent, in fetes when it was wanted for more pressing

purposes.  Even while these rejoicings were being celebrated, news

reached us which spread consternation in every family, and cast a gloom

over the whole city.

I have already said that a grand alliance, with the Emperor at its head,

had been formed against France, and that our troops were opposing the

Allies in various parts of Europe.  The Elector of Bavaria had joined his

forces to ours, and had already done us some service.  On the 12th of

August he led his men into the plain of Hochstedt, where, during the

previous year, he had gained a victory over the Imperialists.  In this

plain he was joined by our troops, who took up positions right and left

of him, under the command of Tallard and Marsin.  The Elector himself had

command of all.  Soon after their arrival at Hochstedt, they received

intelligence that Prince Eugene, with the Imperialist forces, and the

Duke of Marlborough with the English were coming to meet them.  Our

generals had, however, all the day before them to choose their ground,

and to make their dispositions.  It would have been difficult to succeed

worse, both with the one and the other.  A brook, by no means of a miry

kind, ran parallel to our army; and in front of it a spring, which formed

a long and large quagmire, nearly separated the two lines of Marshal

Tallard.  It was a strange situation for a general to take up, who is

master of a vast plain; and it became, as will be seen, a very sad one.

At his extreme right was the large village of Blenheim, in which, by a

blindness without example, he had placed twenty-six battalions of

infantry, six regiments of dragoons, and a brigade of cavalry.  It was an

entire army merely for the purpose of holding this village, and

supporting his right, and of course he had all these troops the less to

aid him in the battle which took place.  The first battle of Hochstedt

afforded a lesson which ought to have been studied on this occasion.

There were many officers present, too, who had been at that battle; but

they were not consulted.  One of two courses was open, either to take up

a position behind the brook, and parallel to it, so as to dispute its

passage with the enemies, or to take advantage of the disorder they would

be thrown into in crossing it by attacking them then.  Both these plans

were good; the second was the better; but neither was adopted.  What was

done was, to leave a large space between our troops and the brook, that

the enemy might pass at their ease, and be overthrown afterwards, as was

said.  With such dispositions it is impossible to doubt but that our

chiefs were struck with blindness.  The Danube flowed near enough to

Blenheim to be of sufficient support to our right, better indeed than

that village, which consequently there was no necessity to hold.

The enemies arrived on the 13th of August at the dawn, and at once took

up their position on the banks of the brook.  Their surprise must have

been great to see our army so far off, drawn up in battle array.  They

profited by the extent of ground left to them, crossed the brook at

nearly every point, formed themselves in several lines on the side to

which they crossed, and then extended themselves at their ease, without

receiving the slightest opposition.  This is exact truth, but without any

appearance of being so; and posterity will with difficulty believe it.

It was nearly eight o'clock before all these dispositions, which our

troops saw made without moving, were completed.  Prince Eugene with his

army had the right; the Duke of Marlborough the left.  The latter thus

opposed to the forces of Tallard, and Prince Eugene to those of Marsin.

The battle commenced; and in one part was so far favourable to us that

the attack of Prince Eugene was repulsed by Marsin, who might have

profited by this circumstance but for the unfortunate position of our

right.  Two things contributed to place us at a disadvantage.  The second

line, separated by the quagmire I have alluded to from the first line,

could not sustain it properly; and in consequence of the long bend it was

necessary to make round this quagmire, neither line, after receiving or

making a charge, could retire quickly to rally and return again to the

attack.  As for the infantry, the twenty-six battalions shut up in

Blenheim left a great gap in it that could not fail to, be felt.  The

English, who soon perceived the advantage they might obtain from this

want of infantry, and from the difficulty with which our cavalry of the

right was rallied, profited by these circumstances with the readiness of

people who have plenty of ground at their disposal.  They redoubled their

charges, and to say all in one word, they defeated at their first attack

all this army, notwithstanding the efforts of our general officers and of

several regiments to repel them.  The army of the Elector, entirely

unsupported, and taken in flank by the English, wavered in its turn.

All the valour of the Bavarians, all the prodigies of the Elector, were

unable to remedy the effects of this wavering.  Thus was seen, at one and

the same time, the army of Tallard beaten and thrown into the utmost

disorder; that of the Elector sustaining itself with great intrepidity,

but already in retreat; and that of Marsin charging and gaining ground

upon Prince Eugene.  It was not until Marsin learnt of the defeat of

Tallard and of the Elector, that he ceased to pursue his advantages, and

commenced his retreat.  This retreat he was able to make without being

pursued.

In the mean time the troops in Blenheim had been twice attacked, and had

twice repulsed the enemy.  Tallard had given orders to these troops on no

account to leave their positions, nor to allow a single man even to quit

them.  Now, seeing his army defeated and in flight, he wished to

countermand these orders.  He was riding in hot haste to Blenheim to do

so, with only two attendants, when all three were surrounded, recognised,

and taken prisoners.

These troops shut up in Blenheim had been left under the command of

Blansac, camp-marshal, and Clerembault, lieutenant-general.  During the

battle this latter was missed, and could nowhere be found.  It was known

afterwards that, for fear of being killed, he had endeavoured to escape

across the Danube on horseback attended by a single valet.  The valet

passed over the river in safety, but his master went to the bottom.

Blansac, thus left alone in command, was much troubled by the disorders

he saw and heard, and by the want which he felt of fresh orders.  He sent

a messenger to Tallard for instructions how to act, but his messenger was

stopped on the road, and taken prisoner.  I only repeat what Blansac

himself reported in his defence, which was equally ill-received by the

King and the public, but which had no contradictors, for nobody was

witness of what took place at Blenheim except those actually there, and

they all, the principals at least, agreed in their story.  What some of

the soldiers said was not of a kind that could altogether be relied upon.

While Blansac was in this trouble, he saw Denonville, one of our officers

who had been taken prisoner, coming towards the village, accompanied by

an officer who waved a handkerchief in the air and demanded a parley.

Denonville was a young man, very handsome and well made, who being a

great favourite with Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne had become

presumptuous and somewhat audacious.  Instead of speaking in private to

Blansac and the other principal officers--since he had undertaken so

strange a mission--Denonville, who had some intellect, plenty of fine

talk, and a mighty opinion of himself, set to work haranguing the troops,

trying to persuade them to surrender themselves prisoners of war, so that

they might preserve themselves for the service of the King.  Blansac, who

saw the wavering this caused among the troops, sharply told Denonville to

hold his tongue, and began himself to harangue the troops in a contrary

spirit.  But it was to late.  The mischief was done.  Only one regiment,

that of Navarre, applauded him, all the rest maintained a dull silence.

I remind my readers that it is Blansac's version of the story I am

giving.

Soon after Denonville and his companion had returned to the enemy, an

English lord came, demanding a parley with the commandant.  He was

admitted to Blansac, to whom he said that the Duke of Marlborough had

sent him to say that he had forty battalions and sixty pieces of cannon

at his disposal, with reinforcements to any extent at command; that he

should surround the village on all sides; that the army of Tallard was in

flight, and the remains of that of the Elector in retreat; that Tallard

and many general officers were prisoners; that Blansac could hope for no

reinforcements; and that, therefore, he had better at once make an

honourable capitulation, and surrender, himself with all his men

prisoners of war, than attempt a struggle in which he was sure to be

worsted with great loss.  Blansac wanted to dismiss this messenger at

once, but the Englishman pressed him to advance a few steps out of the

village, and see with his own eyes the defeat of the Electoral army, and

the preparations that were made on the other side to continue the battle.

Blansac accordingly, attended by one of his officers, followed this lord,

and was astounded to see with his own eyes that all he had just heard was

true.  Returned into Bleinheim, Blansac assembled all his principal

officers, made them acquainted with the proposition that had been made,

and told them what he had himself seen.  Every one comprehended what a

frightful shock it would be for the country when it learnt that they had

surrendered themselves prisoners of war; but all things well considered,

it was thought best to accept these terms, and so preserve to the King

the twenty-six battalions and the twelve squadrons of dragoons who were

there.  This terrible capitulation was at once, therefore, drawn up and

signed by Blansac, the general officers, and the heads of every corps

except that of Navarre, which was thus the sole one which refused.

The number of prisoners that fell to the enemy in this battle was

infinite.  The Duke of Marlborough took charge of the most distinguished,

until he could carry them away to England, to grace his triumph there.

He treated them all, even the humblest, with the utmost attention,

consideration, and politeness, and with a modesty that did him even more

honour than his victory.  Those that came under the charge of Prince

Louis of Baden were much less kindly treated.

The King received the cruel news of this battle on the 21st of August, by

a courier from the Marechal de Villeroy.  By this courier the King learnt

that a battle had taken place on the 13th; had lasted from eight o'clock

in the morning until evening; that the entire army of Tallard was killed

or taken prisoners; that it was not known what had become of Tallard

himself, or whether the Elector and Marsin had been at the action.  The

private letters that arrived were all opened to see what news they

contained, but no fresh information could be got from them.  For six days

the King remained in this uncertainty as to the real losses that had been

sustained.  Everybody was afraid to write bad news; all the letters which

from time to time arrived, gave, therefore, but an unsatisfactory account

of what had taken place.  The King used every means in his power to

obtain some news.  Every post that came in was examined by him, but there

was little found to satisfy him.  Neither the King nor anybody else could

understand, from what had reached them, how it was that an entire army

had been placed inside a village, and had surrendered itself by a signed

capitulation.  It puzzled every brain.  At last the details, that had

oozed out little by little, augmented to a perfect stream, by the,

arrival of one of our officers, who, taken prisoner, had been allowed by

the Duke of Marlborough to go to Paris to relate to the King the

misfortune that had happened to him.

We were not accustomed to misfortunes.  This one, very reasonably, was

utterly unexpected.  It seemed in every way the result of bad

generalship, of an unjustifiable disposition of troops, and of a series

of gross and incredible errors.  The commotion was general.  There was

scarcely an illustrious family that had not had one of its members

killed, wounded, or taken prisoner.  Other families were in the same

case.  The public sorrow and indignation burst out without restraint.

Nobody who had taken part in this humiliation was spared; the generals

and the private soldiers alike came in for blame.  Denonville was

ignominiously broken for the speech he had made at Blenheim.  The

generals, however, were entirely let off.  All the punishment fell upon

certain regiments, which were broken, and upon certain unimportant

officers--the guilty and innocent mixed together.  The outcry was

universal.  The grief of the King at this ignominy and this loss, at the

moment when he imagined that the fate of the Emperor was in his hands,

may be imagined.  At a time when he might have counted upon striking a

decisive blow, he saw himself reduced to act simply on the defensive, in

order to preserve his troops; and had to repair the loss of an entire

army, killed or taken prisoners.  The sequel showed not less that the

hand of God was weighty upon us.  All judgment was lost.  We trembled

even in the midst of Alsace.

In the midst of all this public sorrow, the rejoicing and the fetes for

the birth of the Duc de Bretagne son of Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne,

were not discontinued.  The city gave a firework fete upon the river,

that Monseigneur, the Princes, his sons, and Madame la Duchesse de

Bourgogne, with many ladies and courtiers, came to see from the windows

of the Louvre, magnificent cheer and refreshments being provided for

them.  This was a contrast which irritated the people, who would not

understand that it was meant for magnanimity.  A few days afterwards the

King gave an illumination and a fete at Marly, to which the Court of

Saint Germain was invited; and which was all in honour of Madame la

Duchesse de Bourgogne.  He thanked the Prevot des Marchand for the

fireworks upon the river, and said that Monseigneur and Madame had found

them very beautiful.

Shortly after this, I received a letter from one of my friends, the Duc

de Montfort, who had always been in the army of the Marechal de Villeroy.

He sent word to me, that upon his return he intended to break his sword,

and retire from the army.  His letter was written in such a despairing

tone that, fearing lest with his burning courage he might commit some

martial folly, I conjured him not to throw himself into danger for the

sake of being killed.  It seemed that I had anticipated his intentions.

A convoy of money was to be sent to Landau.  Twice he asked to be allowed

to take charge of this convoy, and twice he was told it was too

insignificant a charge for a camp-marshal to undertake.  The third time

that he asked this favour, he obtained it by pure importunity.  He

carried the money safely into Landau, without meeting with any obstacle.

On his return he saw some hussars roving about.  Without a moment's

hesitation he resolved to give chase to them.  He was with difficulty

restrained for some time, and a last, breaking away, he set off to attack

them, followed by only two officers.  The hussars dispersed themselves,

and retreated; the Duc de Montfort followed them, rode into the midst of

them, was surrounded on all sides, and soon received a blow which

overturned him.  In a few moments after, being carried off by his men, he

died, having only had time to confess himself, and to arrive at his

quarters.  He was infinitely regretted by everybody who had known him.

The grief of his family may be imagined.

CHAPTER XXX

The King did not long remain without some consolation for the loss of the

battle of Hochstedt (Blenheim).  The Comte de Toulouse--very different in

every respect from his brother, the Duc du Maine--was wearied with

cruising in the Mediterranean, without daring to attack enemies that were

too strong for him.  He had, therefore, obtained reinforcements this

year, so that he was in a state to measure his forces with any opponent.

The English fleet was under the command of Admiral Rooks.  The Comte de

Toulouse wished above all things to attack.  He asked permission to do

so, and, the permission being granted, he set about his enterprise.  He

met the fleet of Admiral Rooks near Malaga, on the 24th of September of

this year, and fought with it from ten o'clock in the morning until eight

o'clock in the evening.  The fleets, as far as the number of vessels was

concerned, were nearly equal.  So furious or so obstinate a sea-fight had

not been seen for a long time.  They had always the wind upon our fleet,

yet all the advantage was on the side of the Comte de Toulouse, who could

boast that he had obtained the victory, and whose vessel fought that of

Rooks, dismasted it, and pursued it all next day towards the coast of

Barbary, where the Admiral retired.  The enemy lost six thousand men; the

ship of the Dutch Vice-Admiral was blown up; several others were sunk,

and some dismasted.  Our fleet lost neither ship nor mast, but the

victory cost the lives of many distinguished people, in addition to those

of fifteen hundred soldiers or sailors killed or wounded.

Towards evening on the 25th, by dint of maneuvers, aided by the wind, our

fleet came up again with that of Rooks.  The Comte de Toulouse was for

attacking it again on the morrow, and showed that if the attack were

successful, Gibraltar would be the first result of the victory.  That

famous place, which commands the important strait of the same name, had

been allowed to fall into neglect, and was defended by a miserable

garrison of forty men.  In this state it had of course easily fallen into

the hands of the enemies.  But they had not yet had time to man it with a

much superior force, and Admiral Rooks once defeated, it must have

surrendered to us.

The Comte de Toulouse urged his advice with all the energy of which he

was capable, and he was supported in opinion by others of more experience

than himself.  But D'O, the mentor of the fleet, against whose counsel he

had been expressly ordered by the King never to act, opposed the project

of another attack with such disdainful determination, that the Comte had

no course open but to give way.  The annoyance which this caused

throughout the fleet was very great.  It soon was known what would have

become of the enemy's fleet had it been attacked, and that Gibraltar

would have been found in exactly the same state as when abandoned.  The

Comte de Toulouse acquired great honour in this campaign, and his stupid

teacher lost little, because he had little to lose.

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

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

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

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

magnificently with the Crown furniture, and was very graciously received

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

had fixed upon a wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

herself to the caprices and the jealousy of an old Italian 'debauche' the

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

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

be good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We only gained a torrent of tears for our pains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

France, but at Mantua.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

would not be well to commit themselves further without more certain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

spread abroad with all the ridicule which attached to it.

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

thus disobeyed.  The Lorraines plastered over the affair by representing

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

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

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

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

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

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

pity they were not taken to finish the romance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it; a fact which shows their art and ascendency.

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

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

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

the King.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

made for himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this novelty rendered suspicious other dogmas against the antiquity of

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

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

to seek to enlighten herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

although at first they had looked upon her coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXXI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

situation she lost her own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

carrying it off.  This struggle threw Nangis into a terrible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

assiduous and enlightened understood the state of affairs; but either

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

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

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

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

Vrilliere, nor without suffering and displeasure gently manifested on the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

intrigues, with a measureless ambition that was sometimes pushed to

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

himself to refrain from uttering an intelligible word during a whole

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

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

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

bringing himself thus to the necessity of never speaking to anybody

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

Duchesse de Bourgogne before all the Court without impropriety and

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

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

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

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

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

approached the nearest to Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne when Maulevrier

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

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

conversation was principally composed of reproaches--but reproaches

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

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

transported him at last to the extremity of folly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

peace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what became of Maulevrier after this point of the narrative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

himself deprived of the recompense he had considered certain were very

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

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

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

representations and his authority were alike useless.  Maulevrier hoped

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

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

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

Gibraltar and returned to Madrid.  This disobedience was at once

chastised.  A courier was immediately despatched to Maulevrier,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

standing reproach to the soft-spoken Abbe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

himself shut up at home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

terms, that he might ever reckon on the Duchess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

victim of himself.

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

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

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

that Madame de Maintenon seemed embarrassed and harsh towards Madame de

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

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

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

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

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

explanation he received.  Madame de Bourgogne felt the necessity,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

these verses as much as possible.

CHAPTER XXXII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

address to escape from, without seriously infringing the etiquette

established.

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

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

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

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

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

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

declared himself satisfied with his mission in Switzerland, Puysieux

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

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

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

he was not pleased with his Majesty.

"And why not?" said the King.

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

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

years ago."

"What promise?" asked the King.

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

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

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

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

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

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

nevertheless that cordon bleu is still to come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Court anecdotes which are curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

useless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to boast of this before my face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Madame de Maintenon looked forward to a recommencement of those relations

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

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

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

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

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

to gain as much advantage as possible from it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

intoxication which seized her in consequence of the treatment she

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

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

details I have just related.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all that eloquence and persuasiveness for which Madame des Ursins was

remarkable.  The effect of it exceeded her hopes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tact.  What a change in a few months!

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

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

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

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

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

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

went into winter quarters at the end of October.

I cannot quit Flanders without relating another instance of the pleasant

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

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

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

entrusted with military command.  Finding these hopes frustrated, he

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hindrances which I particularly remarked."

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

nothing between the two armies?"

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

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

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

from his pocket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

snuffbox!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

la-Chapelle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yet most dangerous fellow in the world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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End of this Project Gutenberg Etext Memoirs of Louis XIV. and The Regency,

v4, by the Duc de Saint-Simon

          MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV AND HIS COURT AND OF THE REGENCY

                        BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON