The Memoirs Of The Duke Of Saint Simon Ii

THE MEMOIRS

OF THf

DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON

CN TH}'

JiEIGN OE LOUTS XTV. AXD THE EEGEXCY.

'l^ranslatcb from the

By BAYLE ST. JOHN.

IN THREE VOLUMES.—VOl. U.

goiibcn:

CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.

1876.

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

CIIAPTEE I.

PAGK.

Precedence at the Communion Table—The King offended with IN^dame
de Torcy~-The King’s Eeligion--Atheists and Jaiisenists-Project
against Scotland—Preparations—Failure The Chevalier de o .
George —His Eetum to Court - - “ " - x

CHAPTEE IL

Dcatli and Character of Brissac—Brissac and the

Pucliesse de Bourgogne—Scene at the Carp Basin King s belnsii-
ness—The King cuts Samuel Bernard’s Purse—A vain Capitalist
—Story of L6onand Florence the Actress—His Loves with
de Hoquelaure-Eun-away Marriage—Anger of Madame de Eo-

quelanre—A furious Mother—Opinions of the Court A Mistake
—Interference of the King—Fate of the Couple - - -

CHAPTEE III.

The Due d’Orltos in Spain—Offends Madame des IJrsins and M^Jime
de Maintenon—Laziness of M. de Yenddme in Flanders—Battle
of Oudenarde—Defeat and Disasters—Difference of M, de Ven-
d6me and the Due de Bourgogne - - - - “

CHAPTEE lY.

Conflicting Eeports—Attacks on the Due de Bourgogne—The Duchesse
de Bourgogne acts against Yenddme—Weakness of the Due
Cunning of Yenddme—The Siege of Lille—Anxiety for a Battle
—Its Delay—Conduct of the King and Monseigneur—A Picture
of Hoyal Family feeling—The Siege of Lille—Conduct of the
Mardclial de Boufaers ----- -

-

.u I C.

gf TECHNOLOGY LIBRARY

CONTENTS.

*vi

VMJE

CHAPTER V.

Equivocal position of tlie Due de Bourgogne—His weak conduct—Gon-
cealment of a Battle from the King—Return of the Due de Bour¬
gogne to Court — Incidents of Reception — Monseigneur—

Reception of the Due de Berry—Behaviour of the Due de Bour¬
gogne—Anecdotes of Gamaches—Return of 'V'endome to Court—

Hi s Star begins to wane—Contrast of Boufflers and Vendome—
Chamillart’s Project for retaking lille—How it was defeated by
Madame de Maintenon - - - - - - 43

CHAPTER VL

Tremendous Cold in Prance—^Wintera of 1708-1Y09—Pipanciers and
the Pamine—Interference of the Parliaments of Park and Dijon
—Dreadful Oppression—Misery of the People—New Tax«—
Porced Labour—General Ruin—Increased Misfortunes—Threat¬
ened Regicide—Procession of St. Genevieve—^Offerings of Plate to
the King—Discontent of the People—A Bread Riotj how app^^ 64

CHAPTER VII.

M. de Vendome out of favour—Death and Character of the Prince de
Conti—PaU of Vendome—Puys^guris Interview with the King—
Madame de Bourgogne against Vendome—Her decided Conduct—
Vendome excluded from Marly—He clings to Meudon—From,
which he is also expelled—His final Dip.grace and Abandonment—
Triumph of Madame de Maintenon - - - - 66

CHAPTER VLII.

Death of Pere La Chaise—His Infirmities in old Age—Partiality of
the King—Character of P^re La Chaise—^The Jesuits—Choice of
a new Confessor—Fagonk Opinion—Destruction of Port Royal
Jansenists and MoHnists—^Pascai—^Violent Oppression of the In- ^
habitants of Port Royal - - - “ ‘ - 76

CHAPTER IX.

Death of D’Avaux—A Quarrel about a Window—Louvois and the King
—Anecdote of Boi^euil—Madame de Maintenon and M. de Beau-
villiers—Harcourt proposed for the Council—His Disappointment
—Death of M. le Prince—His Character—Treatment of Ms Wife—

His XiOYe Adventures—^Hls Madn^—A Confessor brought—^No¬
body regreto him - - - - “ “ -83

CHAPTER X.

Progress of the War—Simplicity of Chamillait—^The Imperialists and
the Pope—Spanish Affairs—Due d'Orltosand Madame d^ Ursms
—^Arrest of flotte in Spain—Biscoveiy of the Intrigues of the Due
d’Orleans—Cabal against him—His Di^race and its Consequence 95

CONTENTS, vii

PJfiS

CHAFTEE XL

Danger of Chamillart—Witticism of D^Harconrt—Eaults of Ciiamilkrt
—Court Intrigues against Mm—Behaviour of the Courtiere—In¬
fluence of Madame de Maintenon—Dignified Fall of Chamillart—

He is succeeded "by Yoysin—First Experience of the new Minister
—The Campaign in Flanders—Battle of Malplaquet - - 102

CHAPTEE XIX

Disgrace of the Due d’Orldans—I endeavour to separate Mm from
Madame d’Argenton—Extraordinary Eeports—My various Collo¬
quies with him—The Separation—Conduct of Madame d’Argenton
—Death and Character of M. leDuc—The After-suppers of the King 113

CHAPTEE XIII.

Proposed Marriage of Mademoiselle—My Intrigues to bring it about—

The Duchesse de Bourgogne and other Allies—The Attack begun—
Progress of the Intrigue—Economy at Marly—The Marriage
agreed upon—Scene at St, Cloud—Horrible Eeports—The Mar¬
riage— Madame de Saint-Simon — Strange Character of the
Duchesse de Berry ------ 123

CHAPTEE XIY.

Birth of Louis XY.—The Marechal dela Meilleraye—St. EutMs Cadgel
—The Cardinal de BouiUoAs desertion from France—Ane«iotes
of Ms Audacity 134

CHAPTEE XY.

Imprudence of Yillars—The Danger of Truthfuine^—Military Mis¬
takes—The Fortunes of Berwick—The Sonof James—Berwick's
Eeport on the Army—Imprudent saying of Yillars—*^The Good
Little FeUow’' in a Sempe—What happens to him - -

CHAFTEE XYL

Duchesse de Berry drunk—Operations in Spain— Y endome demanded
by Spain—His Affront by the Duche^e de .Bourgogne-His
Arrival— Staremberg and Stanhope—The Flag of Spain leav^
Madrid—Entry of the Archduke—Enthusiasm of the Spaniards
—The King returns—Strategy of Staremberg—Affair of Brig-
Ij^^ega—Battle of Yillaviciosa—Its Consequences to Yendome and
to Spain

148

CHAPTER XYIL

State of the Country— New Taxes—The King's Conscience troubled—
Decision of the Sorbonne— Debate in the Council—Effect of the
Eoyal Tithe—Tax on Agioteurs—^Merriment at Court—D^ih of

a Son of Marechal Boufflers—The Jesuits

im

viii

CONTENTS.

PAGE

CHAPTER XYIIL

My Interview with Du Mont—A Mysterious Comraurdcation—^Anger
of Monseigneur against me—Houseliold of the Duchesse de Berry
—^Monseigneur taken ill of the Small Pox—Effect of the Hews—

The King goes to Meudon—The Danger diminishes—Madame de
Maintenon at Meudon—The Court at Versailles—Hopes and Pears
—^The Danger returns—Death of Monseigneur—Conduct of the
King - - - - - - - 168

CHAPTER XIX.

A Rumour reaches Versailles—^Aspect of the Court—Various Forms of
Grief—The Due dDrleans—^The Hews confirmed at Versailles—
Behaviour of the Courtiers—The Due and Duchesse de Berry—
TheDuc and Duche^ de Bourgogne—^Madame—A Swiss asleep—
Picture of a Court—The Heir ApparenPs night—^The King returns
to Marly—Character of Monseigneur—^Effect of his Death - 180

CHAPTER XX

Btate of the Court at Death of Monseigneur—Conduct of the Dauphin
and the Dauphine—The Duchesse de Berry—My Interview with
the Dauphin—^He is reconciled with M dDrldans - - 192

CHAPTER XXL

'Warnings to the Dauphin and Dauphine—^The Dauphine sickens and
dies—Illnei^ of the Dauphin— His Death—Character and Manners
of the Dauphine—^And of the Dauphin - - - - 207

CHAPTER XXIL

Certainty of Poison—^The supposed Criminal—Excitement of the People
against M. dDrldans—^The Cabal—My Danger and. Escape—The
Dauphin^s Casket 221

CHAPTER XXIII.

The King’s Selfishness—Defeat of the Czar—^Death of Catinat—Last
days of Vendfime—His Body at the Escurial—^Anecdote of Harlay
and the Jacobins—Truce in Flanders—Wolves - - - 232

CHAPTER XXIV.

Settlement of the Spanish Succe^on—Renunciation of France—Comic
Failure of the Due de Ber^—Anecdote of M. de Chevreuse—
Father DanieTs History and ite Reward - - - . 241

CHAPTER XXV.

The Bull Unigmiim —^My Interview with Father TeUier—Curious
Inadvertence of mine—^Peace—Due de la Rochefoucauld—^A Sui¬
cide in Public—Charmel—Two gay Sisters » - - 252

CONTENTS.

IX

CHAPTER XXVL

FAGE

The King of Spain a Widower—^Intrigu^ of Madame des Ursina—
Choice of the Princess of Parma—^The King of France kept in the
dark—Celebration of the Marriage—Sudden Fall of the Princ^e
des Ursins—Her Expulsion from Spain - - - - 26S

CHAPTER XXYII.

The King of Spain acquiesces in the Disgrace of Madame des IJrsms
—Its origin—Who struck the Blow—Her Journey to Versaill^

—Treatment there—^My Interview with her—She retires to Genoa
—^Then to Rome—Dies ------ 278

CHAPTER XSYIIL

Sudden Illness of the Due de Berry—Suspicious Symptoms—The
Dnehesse prevented from seeing Him—His Death—Character—
Manners of the Duchesse de Berry - - - - 288

CHAPTER XXIX.

Maisons seeks my Acquaintance—^His mysterious Manner—^Increase
of the Intimacy—Extraordinary News—^The Bastards declared
Princes of the Blood—^Rage of Maisons and NoaiMes—Opinion of
the Court and Country ------ 295

CHAPTER XXX.

The King Unhappy and Ill at Ease—Court paid to him-—A new
Scheme to rule him—He yields—^New Ann oyance—His Will—
Anecdotes concerning it—Opinions of the Court—du Maine - ^2

CHAPTER XXXL

A new Visit from Maisons—^His violent Projost—^My Objections—He
persists—His Death and that of his W5e—^Death of the Due de
Beauvilliers—His Chaiacter—Of the Cardinal d’E^trees—^Anec¬
dotes—Death of Fenelon ------ 312

CHAPTER XXXIL

Character and Position of the Due dUrldans—His Manners^ Taleni^
and Virtues— His Weakness—Anecdote ihiistrative thereof—‘‘The
D^bonnaire”— Adventure of the Grand Prieur in England—Edu-
' cation of the Due dUrleans—Character of Dubois—BLis pemiepus
Influence—^The Duc^s Emptiness—His Deceit—His Love of Paint¬
ing—The Fairies at his Birth—The Due’s Timidity—An Instance
of his Mistrustfulness ------ 3^

h

VOL. II.

X

CONTENTS.

CHAPTEE XXXIIL

PACK

The Due tries to raise the Devil—Magical Experiments—His Eeligioxis
Opinions—Impiety—Beads Habelais at Church—The Duchesse
dDrleans—Her Character—Her Life with her Husband—My
Discourses with the Due on the Future—My Plans of Government
—Place at Choice offered me—I decline the Honour—My
Eeason—^National Bankruptcy—The Due’s Anger at my Eefusal
—A Final Decision - _ - , _ . 335

CHAPTEE XXXIY.

The King’s Health declines—^Bets about his Death—^Lord Stair—My
new Friend—^The King’s last Hunt—And last Domestic and Public
Acts—^Doctors—Opium—^The King’s Diet—Failure of his Strength
—^His Hopes of Eecovery—^Increased Danger—Codicil to his Will
—^Interview with the Due d’Orl6ans—With the Cardinal de
Noailles—Address to his Attendants—The Dauphin brought to
him—^His Last Words—An Extraordinary Physician—The Cour¬
tiers and the Due d’Orleans—Conduct of Madame de Maintenon
—The King’s Death 34S

CHAPTEE XKXV.

Early Life of Louis XIV.—His Education—^Bis enormous Vanity—

His Ignorance—Cause of the War with Holland—His Mistakes
and Weakness in War—^The Euin of France—Origin of Yersailles
—^The King’s Love of Adulation, and Jealousy of People who came
not to Court—His Spies—His Vindictiveness—Opening of Letters
—^Confidence sometimes placed in him—A Lady in a Predicament 35*7

CHAPTEE XXXVL

Excessive Politeness—Lnfluenee of the Valets—How the King drove
out — Love of Magnificence—BQs Buildings—^Versailles—The
supply of Water—The King seeks for quiet—Creation of Marly
—^Tiemendous extravagance ----- sg*?

CHAPTEE XXXVII.

Amours of the King—^La Valliere—^Montespan—Scandalous Publicity
—^Temper of Madame de Montespan—Her unbearable Haughti¬
ness-Other Mistress—^Madame de Maintenon—Her For^mes
—^Her Marriage with Scarron—His Character and Society—How
she lived after his Death—Gets into better Company—^Acquaint¬
ance with Madame de Montespan—The King’s Children—His
Dislike of Widow Scarron—^Purchase of the Maintenon Estate—
Further Demands—M. du Maine on his Travels—Montespan’s
Hl-humoux—Madame de Maintenon supplants her—^Her bitter
Annoyance—Pregre® of the new Intrigue—Marriage of the King
and Madame de Maintenon ----- 375

MEMOIRS

OF THE

DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

CHAPTER L

Pr ecedence at the Communion Table—^The Kang offended with Mad^e
de Torcy —The King’s Religion— Atheists and Jansenists—Projectagaiost
Scotland— Preparations—Failure—The Chevalier de St. Geoi^—His re¬
turn to Court.

I WENT tliis stunmer to Forges, to try, by means of the waters
tbere, to get rid of a tertian fever that quinquina only sus¬
pended. Wbile there I heard of a new enterprise on the part
of the Princes of the blood, who, in the discredit in which the
King held tbem, profited without measure by his desire for the
grandeur of the ille^timate children, to acquire new advan¬
tages which were suffered because the others shared them.
This was the case in question.

After the elevation of the Mass—at the King’s communion—
a folding-chair was pushed to the foot of the altar, was
covered with a piece of stuff, and then with a large cloth, which
hung down before and behind. At the Pater the chaplain rose
and whispered in the King’s ear the names of all the Dues
who were in the chapel The King named two, always the
oldest, to each of whom the chaplain advanced and made a
reverence. During the communion of the priest the F - in g rwe,
and went and tnelt down on the hare floor behind this folding

VOIi. IL ^

2

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

seat, and took kold of the cloth; at the same time the two Dues,
the elder on the right, the other on the left, each took hold of
a corner of the cloth; the two chaplains took hold of the
other two corners of the same cloth, on the side of the altar, all
four kneeling, and the captain of the guards also kneeling
and behind the King. The communion received and the obla¬
tion taken som.e moments afterwards, the King remained a little
while in the same place, then returned to his own, followed by
the two Dues and the captain of the guards, who took theirs.
If a son of France happened to be there alone, he alone held
the right corner of the cloth, and nobody the other; and when
M. le Due d’Orl6ans was there, and no son of France was present,
M. le Due d’Orleans held the cloth in like manner. If a prince
of the blood were alone present, however, he held the cloth, but
a Due was called forward to assist him. He was not privileged
to act without the Due.

The princes of the blood wanted to change this; they were
envious of the distinction accorded to M. d’Orleans, and wished
to put themselves on the same footing. Accordingly, at the
Assumption of this year, they managed so well that M. le Due
served alone at the altar at the King’s communion, no Due being
called upon to come and join him. The surprise at this was very
great. The Due de la Force and the Marechal de Boufflers,
who ought to have served, were both present. I wrote to this
last to say that such a thing had never happened before, and
that it was contrary to all precedent. I wrote, too, to M. d’Or¬
leans, who was then in Spain, informing him of the circum¬
stance. When he returned he complained to the King. But
the King merely said that the Dues ought to have presented
themselves and taken hold of the cloth. But how could they
have done so, without being requested, as was customary, to
come forward ? What would the King have thought of them
if they had ? To conclude, nothing could be made of the
matter, and it remained thus. Never then, since that time, did
I go to the communions of the Eang.*

* How characteristic is this solemn narrative of etiquette round the com¬
munion table, not only of the King and the Court, but of Saint-Simon him-

THE KING IND MAJDAME BE TOECY.

S

An incident occurred at Marly about the same time^ ‘which
made much stir. The ladies who were inirited to hoi

the privilege of dining with the Edng. Tables were placed for
them, and they took up positions according to their rmk. The
non-titled ladies had also their special place. It so happened
one day, that Madame de Torcy (an untitled lady) placed her¬
self above the Duchesse de Duras, who arrived at table a nioinent
after her. Madame de Torcy offered to give up her place, but
it was a little late, and the offer passed away in complinients.
The King entered, and put himself at table. As soon as he sat
down, he saw the place Madame de Torcy had taken, and
fixed such a serious and surprised look upon her, that she
again offered to give up her place to the Duchesse de
Duras; but the offer was again declined. All through the
dinner the King scarcely ever took his eyes off Madame de
Torcy, said hardly a word, and bore a look of anger that
rendered everybody very attentive, and even troubled the
Duchesse de Duras.

Upon rising from the table, the King passed, according to
custom, into the apartments of Madame de llaintenon, followed
hy the princesses of the blood, who grouped themselves around
him upon stools; the others who entered, kept at a distance.
Almost before he had seated himself in his chair, he said to
Madame de Maintenon, that he had just been witness of an act
of incredible insolence'* (that was the term he used) which
had thrown, him into such a rage that he had been unable to
eat: that such an enterprise would have been insuppoi-table in
a woman of the highest quality; hut coming, as it did, from a
mere Eourgeoise, it had so affected him, that ten times he had
been upon the point of making her leave the table, and that he
was only restrained by consideration for her husband. After
this outbreak be made a long discourse upon the genealogy of
Madame de Torcy*s family, and other mattem ; and then, to the

self ? If it were my business to comment on such passag*es, -wliai; language
could I employ that would not seem to refer to the conduct of monkeys or
penguins rather than that of men ?

4 MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

astonisliment of all present, grew as angry as ever against
Madame de Torcy. He went off then into a discourse upon the
dignity of the Dues, and in conclusion, he charged the princesses
to tell Madame de Torcy to what extent he had found her con¬
duct impertinent. The princesses looked at each other, and not
one seemed to like this commission; whereupon the King, grow¬
ing more angry, said, that it must be undertaken however, and
left the room.

The news of what had taken place, and of the King s choler,
soon spread all over the Court. It was believed, however, that
all was over, and that nothing more would be heard of the
matter. Yet the very same evening the King broke out again
with even more bitterness than before. On the morrow, too^
surprise was great indeed, when it was found that the King,
immediately after dinner, could talk of nothing but this subject,
and that, too, without any softening of tone. At last he was
assured that Madame de Torcy had been spoken to, and this
appeased him a little. Torcy was obliged to write him a letter,
apologising for the fault of Madame de Torcy, and the King at
this grew content. It may be imagined what a sensation this
adventure produced aU through the Court.

While upon the subject of the King, let me relate an anecdote
of him, which should have found a place ere this. When M.
d’Orleans was about to start for Spain, he named the officers
who were to be of his suite. Amongst others was Fontpertius.
At that name the King put on a serious look.

“What! my nephew,” he said. “ Fontpertius! the son of a
Jansenist—of that silly woman who ran everywhere after M.
Arnould 1 I do not wish that man to go with you.”

“ By my faith. Sire,” replied the Due ffOrl^ans, “ I know not
what the mother has done; but as for the son, he is far enough
from being a Jansenist, Til answer for it; for he does not believe
in God.”

“ Is it possible, my nephew said the King, softening.

“Nothing more certain. Sire, I assure you.”

“ WeU, since it is so,” said the King, “there is no harm; you
can take him with you.”

PBOJECT AOUHST SOOTLA^TB.

5

This scene—^for it caa be called by no ether name—took plac»
in the morning, ^ter dinner M, d’Orl&ns rej^ted it to me,
bursting with laughter, word for word, just m I lm¥e written
it. When we had both well laughed at this, we admired the
profound instruction of a discreet and religious Eing, who con¬
sidered it better not to believe in God than to "te a Jan^nist,
and who thought there was less danger to his nephew from the
impiety of an unbeliever, than from the doctrines of a sectarian
M. d’Orldans could not contain himself while he told the story,
and never spoke of it without laughing untE the tears came
into his eyes. It ran aU through the Court and al over the
town, and the marvellous thing was, that the King was not
angry at this. It was a testimony of his attachment to the
good doctrine which withdrew him further and further from
Jansenism. The majority of people laughed with all their heart.
Others, more wise, felt rather disposed to weep than to laugh,
in considering to what excess of hlindne^ the King had
reached.

For a long time a most important project had knocked at
every door, without being able to obtain a hearing anywhere.
The project was this:—Hough, an English gentleman fall of
talent and knowledge, and who, above all, knew profoundly
the laws of his country, had filled various poste in England.
At first a minister by profession, and farioiis a^inst Eang
James; afterwards a Catholic and Kiiig James’s spy, he had
been delivered up tO' Elng William who pardoned hun. He
profited by this only to continue Ms services to James. He
was taken several times, and always escaped from the Tower
of London and other prisons. Being no longer able to dwell in
England he came to Eran», where he occupied himself always
with the same line of busine^, and was paid for that by the
-King (Louis XIY.) and by King James, the latter of whom he
unceasingly sought to re-establish. The union of Scotland with
England appeared to him a favourable conjuncture, by the de¬
spair of that ancient kingdom at seeing itself reduced into a
province under the yoke of the English, The Jacxihite |arty
remained there; the vexation caused by this forced union had

i

G MEMOIRS OF THE BUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

increased it, by tbe desire felt to break that union with the aid
of a Bang that they would have re-established. Hough, who
was aware of the fermentation going on, made several secret
journeys to Scotland, and planned an invasion of that country;
but, as I have said, for a long time could get no one to listen to
him.

The King, indeed, was so tired of such enterprises, that
nobody dared to speak to him upon this. All drew back. Ho
one liked to bell the cat. At last, however, Madame de Main-
tenon being ^ned over, the King was induced to listen to the
project. As soon as his consent was gained to it, another
scheme was added to the firat. This w^ to profit by the dis¬
order in which the Spanish Low Countries were thrown, and
to make them revolt against the Imperials at the very moment
when the affair of Scotland would bewilder the allies, and de¬
prive them of all support from England. Bergheyck, a man
well ac(]_uainted with the state of those countries, was consulted,
and thought the scheme good. He and the Due de Vendome
conferred upon it in presence of the Eling.

After talking over various matters, the discussion feU upon
the Meuse, and its position with reference to Maestricht Ven¬
dome held that the Meuse flowed in a certain direction. Berg¬
heyck opposed him. Vendome, indignant that a civilian
should dare to dispute military movements with him, grew
warm. *fiie other remained respectful and cool, but firm.
VendSme laughed at Bergheyck, as at an ignorant fellow .who
did not know the position of places. Bergheyck maintained
his point, Vendome grew more and more hot. If he was right,
what he proposed was easy enough; if wrong, it was impos¬
sible. It was in vain that Venddme pretended to treat with
disd^ Ms opponent, Bergheyck was not to be put down, and
the King, tired out at last with a di^ussion upon a simple
question of fact, examined the ina|®. He found at once that
Bergheyck was lighL Any other than the King would have
felt by this what manner of man was this general of Ms taste,
of his heart, and of Hs confidence; any other than Vendome
would have teen unfounded; bat it was Bergheyck in reality

PREPAEATIOH FOE mYABlOE,

j

who was so, to see the army in such hands and the blindness
of the King for him I He was immediately sent into Flanders
to work up a revolt, and he did it so well, that succe^
seemed certain, dependent, of course, upon success in Scot¬
land.

The preparations for the invasion of that country were at
once commenced. Thirty vessels were armed at Dunkerque
and in the neighbouring ports. The Chevalier de Forbin was
chosen to command the squadron. Four thousand men were
brought from Flanders to Dunkerque; and it was given out
that this movement was a mere change of garrison. The secret
of the expedition was well kept; but the misfortune was that
things were done too slowly. The fleet, which depended upon
Pontchartrain, was not ready in time, and that which depended
upon Chamillart, was still more behind hand. The two
ministers threw the fault upon each other; but the truth is,
both were to blame. Pontchartrain was more than accused of
delaying matters from unwillingness; the other from power¬
lessness.

Great care was taken that no movement should be seen at
Saint Germain, The afiTair, however, began in time to get
noised abroad. A prodigious quantity of arms and clothing for
the Scotch had been embarked; the movements by sea and land
became only too visible upon the coast. At i^t, on Wednesday
the 6th of March, the King of England set out from Saint Ger¬
main. He was attended by the Duke of Perth, who had been
his sub-preceptor; by the two Hamiltons, by Middleton, and a
very few others. But his departure had been postponed too
long. At the moment when all were ready to start, people
learned with surprise that the English fleet had appeared in
sight, and was blockading Dunkerque. Our troops, who were
already on board ship, were at once landed. The King of Eng¬
land cried out so loudly against this, and proposed so eagerlj"
that an attempt should be made to pass the enemy at all risks,
that a fleet was sent out to reconnoitre the enemy, and the
troops were re-embarked. But then a fresh mischance hap¬
pened. The Princess of England had had the measles, and was

8

MEMOi:^ OF THE DUKE OF SATNT-SIMOH.

"barely growing convalescent at the time of the departure of the
King, her brother. She had been prevented from seeing him,
lest he should be attacked by the same complaint. In spite of
this precaution, however, it declared itself upon him at Dun¬
kerque, just as the troops were re-embarked. He was in de¬
spair, and wished to be wrapped up in blankets and carried on
board. The doctors said that it would kill him; and he was
obliged to remain. The worst of it was, that two of five Scotch
deputies who had been hidden at Montrogue, near Paris, had
been sent into Scotland a fortnight before, to announce the
immediate arrival of the King with arms and troops. The
movement which it was felt this announcement would create,
increased the impatience for departure. At last, on Saturday
the 19th of March, the King of England, ha¥ cured and very
weak, determined to embark in spite of his physicians, and did
so. The enemy’s vessels had retired; so, at six o’clock in
the morning, our ships set sail with a good breeze, and in
the midst of a mist, which hid them from view in about an
hour.

Eorty-eight houis after the departure of our squadron, twenty-
seven English ships of war appeared before Dunkerque. But
our fleet was away. The very first night it experienced a
furious tempest. The ship in which was the King of England,
took shelter afterwards behind the works of Ostend. During
the storm, another ship was separated from the squadron, and
was obliged to take refuge on the coast of Picardy. This vessel,
a frigate, was commanded by Eambure, a lieutenant. As soon
as he was able he sailed after the squadron that he believed
alre^wiy in Scotland. He directed his course towards Edin¬
burgh, ^d found no vessel during all the voyage. As he ap¬
proached the mouth of the river, he saw around him a number
of barques and small vessels that he could not avoid, and that
he determined in consequence to approach with as good a grace
as po^ble. The masters of these ships told him that the King
was expected with imjmtience, hut that they had no news of
Mm, that they had come out to meet him, and that they would
send pilots to Eambure, to conduct him up the river to Edin-

CEUISE OF RAJCBIIEE.

9

burgh, where all was hope and joy. Eambnre, equally sur¬
prised that the squadron which bore the King of England, had
not appeared, and of the publicity of his forthcoming arrival,
went up towards Edinburgh more and more surrounded by
barques, which addressed to him the same language. A gentle¬
man of the country passed from one of these barques upon the
firigate. He told Kamhure that the principal noblemen of
Scotland had resolved to act together, that these noblemen could
count upon more than twenty thousand men ready to take up
arms, and that all the towns awaited only the arrival of the
King to proclaim him.

More and more troubled that the squadron did not appear,
Kambure, after a time, turned back and went in search of it.
As he approached the mouth of the river, which he had so
lately entered, he heard a great noise of cannon out at sea, and
a short time afterwards he saw many vessels of war there.
Approaching more and more, and quitting the river, he distin¬
guished our squadron, chased by twenty-six large ships of war
and a number of other vessels, all of which he soon lost sight
of, so much was our squadron in advance. He continued on
his course in order to join them ; but he could not do so until
all had passed by the mouth of the river. Then storing dear
of the rear-guard of the English ships, he remarked that the
•Bln g li'sh fleet was hotly chasing the ship of the King of England,
which ran along the coast, however, amid the fire of cannon
and oftentimes of musketry. Bambure tried, for a long time,
to profit by the lightness of his frigate to ^t a-head; but,
always cut off by the enemy’s vessels, and continually in danger
of being taken, he returned to Dunkerque, where he imme¬
diately despatched to the Court this sad and disturbing news.
He was followed, five or six days after, by the King of E]^lan^
who returned to Dunkerque on the 7th of April, with his
vessels badly knocked about.

It seems that the ship in which was the Prince, after ex^
riencing the storm I have already alluded to, set sail ag^ with
its squadron, hut twice got out of its reckoning witMn forty-
eight hours; a fact not easy to understand in a voyage iwm

10

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK

Ostend to Edinburgh. This circumstance gave time to the
English to join them ; thereupon the King held, a council, and
much time was lost in deliberations. When the squadron
drew near the river, the enemy was so close upon us, that to
enter, without fighting either inside or out, seemed impossible.
In this emergency it was suggested, that our ships should go
on to Inverness, about eighteen or twenty leagues further off.
But this wa^ objected to by Middleton and the chevalier Forbin,
who declared that the Bang of England was expected only at
Edinburgh, and that it was useless to go elsewhere; and
accordingly ihe project was given up, and the ships returned
to France.

This return, however, was not accomplished without some
difficulty. The enemy’s fleet attacked the rear-guard of ours,
and after an obstinate comMt, took two vessels of war and
some other vessels. Among the prisoners made by the English
were the Marquis de Lhvi, Lord Griffin, and the two sons of
Middleton; who al, after suffering some little bad treatment,
were conducted to London.

Lord Gnffin was an old Englishman, who deserves a word of
special mention. A firm Protestant, but much attached to the
Eong of England, he knew nothing of this expedition until
after the King’s departure. He went immediately in quest of
the Queen. With English freedom he reproached her for the
little confidence she had had in him, in spite of his services and
his constant fidelity', and finished by assuring her that neither
his age nor his religion would hinder him from serving the
King to the last drop of his blood. He spoke so feelingly that
the Queen was ashamed- After this he went to Versailles,
asked M. de Toulouse for a hundred louis and a horse, and *
without delay rode off to Dunkerque, where he embarked with
the others. In London he was wndemned to death; but he
showed so much firmness and such disdain of death, that his
judges were too much ashamed to allow the execution to be
carried out. The Queen sent him one respite, then another,
although he had never asked for either, and finally he was
allowed to remain at liberty in London on parole. He always

CONDUCT OF THE ENGL3EH COtJBT.

11

received fresh respites, and Kved in London as if in Ms own
country, ivell received everywhere. Being informed that th«^
respites would never cease, he lived thus several years, and
died very old, a natural death. The other prisoners were
equally well treated.

It was in this expedition that the King of England first
assumed the title of the Chevalier de St. George, and that his
enemies gave Mm that of the Pretender; hoth of wMch have
remained to him. He showed much will and firmness, which
he spoiled by a docility the result of a bad education, austere
and confined, that devotion, ill understood, together with the
desire of maintaining him in fear and dependence, caused the
Queen (who, with aU her sanctity, always wished to dominate)
to give him. He asked to serve in the next campaign in
Flanders, and wished to go there at once, or remain near
Dunkerque. Service was promised him, hut he was made to
return to St. Germain. Hough, who had been made a peer of
Ireland before starting, preceded him with the journals of the
voyage, and that of Forbin, to whom the King gave a
thousand crowns pension and ten thousand as a recompense.

The King of England arrived at St. Germain on Friday the
20th of April, and came with the Queen, thefoEowing Sunday,
to Marly, where our King was. The two K in gs embraced
each other several times, in the presence of the two Courte. But
the visit altogether was a sad one. The Courts, which met in
the garden, returned towards the Chateau, exchanging indif¬
ferent words in an indiflferent way.

Middleton was strongly suspected of having Ecx^uamted the
English with our project. They acted, at aE evente, as if they
had been informed of everything, and wished to appear to know
notHng. They made a semblance of sending their fleet to
escort a convoy to Portugal; they got in readiness the few
troops they had in England and sent them towards Scotland j
and the Queen, under various pretexts, detained in London,
untE the aflTair had faEed, the Duke of Harmlton, the rnc^t
powerful Scotch lord, and the life and soul of the expedition.
When aE was over, she made no arrests, and wisely avoids

12

MEMOIKS OF TWE 3>TJK:E OF SAHSTT-SIMOK.

tkromBg Scotknd into despair. TMs conduct mucli augmented
her authority in England, attached all hearts to her, and took
away all desire of stirring again by taking away all hope of
success. Thus failed a project so well and so secretly con¬
ducted until the end, which was pitiable; and with this project
failed that of the Low Countries, which was no longer
thought of.

The aEi^ uttered loud cri^ against this att empt on the part
of a power they believed at ite last gasp, and which, while
pretending to seek thought of nothing less than the

invasion of Gsmt Britein. The efifi^t of our failure was to
bind elc^r, and to imiate more and more this formidable
Mliimce.

DEATH OF MAJOE BUmAa

IS

CHAPTER n.

Death and character of Brissac—Brissac and the ^urt The

Duchesse de Bourgogne—Scene at the Carp Basm—^g's Selfetoeas—

The ’R'incr cuts Samuel Bernard's Purse—yam Capitalist—btory of
L6on and Florence the Actress—His Loves with Mdlle. de Eoquekure—
Eun-away Marriage—Anger of Madame de Eoquelauxe—A funoim
Mother—Opinions of the Court—A Mistake—Interference of the King-
Fate of the Couple.

Beissac, Major of the Body-guards, died of age and ennui
about this time, more than eighty years old, at his country-
house, to -which he had not long retired. The King had made
use of him to put the Guards upon that grand militaTy footing
they have reached. He had acquired the confidence of the
King by his inexorable exactitude, his hon^ty, and his aptitude.
He was a sort of -wild hoar, who had all the appearance of a
bad TTiflu, without being so in reality; but his manne rs were,
it must be admitted, harsh and disagreeable. The Kii^, speak¬
ing one day of the majors of the troops, said that if they were
good, they were sure to be hated.

“If it is necessary to be perfectly hated in order to be a
good major,” replied M. de Duras, who was behind theJCing
with the bAton, “behold. Sire, the best major in France!” and
he took Brissac, all confusion, by the arm. The King laughed,
though he would have thought such a sally very bad in ^y
other; but M. de Duras had put himself on such a firee footing,
that he stopped at nothing before the King, and often said the
sharpest things. This major had very robust health, and
laughed at the doctors—very often, even before the King at

OF TECHNOLOGY LIBRARY

14

MEMOIRS OF THE DITKE OP SAINT-SIMOH.

Fagon, whom nobody else would have dared to attack. Fagon
replied by disdain, often by anger, and with all his wit was
embarrassed. These short scenes were sometimes very
amusing.

Brhsac, a few years before his retirement, served the Court
ladies a nice turn. All through the winter they attended
evening prayers on Thursdays and Sundays, because the Kin g
went there; and, under the pretence of reading their prayer-
books, had little tapers before them, which cast a light on their
faces, and enabled the King to recognise them as he passed.
On the evenings when they knew he would not go, scarcely
one of them went. One evening, when the King was expected,
all the ladies had arrived, and were in their places, and. the
^ards were at their doom. Suddenly, Briasac appeared in the
King’s place, lifted his baton, and cried aloud, " Guards of the
King, withdraw, return to your quarters; the King is not
coming this evening.” The guards withdrew; but after they
had jroceeded a short distance, were stopped by brigadiers
posted for the purpose, and told to retnm in a few minutes.
■Rl^at Brissac had said was a joke. The ladies at once began
to murmur one to another. In a moment or two all the
were put out, and the ladies, with but few exceptions
left the chapel. Soon after the King arrived, and, much
astcnished to .see .so few ladies present, asked how it was that
nf.l;«.i]y wa.s there. At the conclusion of the prayers Brissae
related what he liad done, not without dweUing on the piety
of the Court ladies. The King and aU who accompanied him
laughed heartily. The story soon spread, and these ladies
would have .strangled Biissac if they had been able.

'pe Duchesse de Bonigogne being in the family way this
^•nng, was much inconvenienced. The King wished to go to
It -ntainebleau at the commencement of the fine season con-
trar^^ to his usual custom; and had declared this wish In
the mean time he desired to pay visits to Marly. Madame
de Bourgogne much amused him; he could not do without her
yet .o much movement was not suitable to her state. Madame'
de Mamtenon was uneasy, and Fagon gently intimated his

THE DTJCHESSE DE BOUEGOHKE.

15

opinion. This annoyed the King, accustomed to resti^n him¬
self for nothing, and spoiled by having seen his mistr^ses
travel when big with child, or when just recovering from their
confinement, and always in full dress. The hints a^inst going
to Marly bothered him, hut did not make him give them up.
All he would consent to was, that the journey should be put
off from the day after Quasimodo to the Wednesday of the
following week; hut nothing could make him delay Ms amuse¬
ment heyond that time, or induce Mm to allow the Princess to
remain at Yersailles.

On the following Saturday, as the Bang was taking a w^alk
after mass, and amusing himself at the carp basin between the
Chateau and the Perspective, we saw the Puchesse de Lude
coming towards him on foot and all alone, which as no lady
was with the King was a rarity in the morning. We under¬
stood that she had something important to say to Mm, and
when he was a short distance from her, we stopped so as to
.allow him to join her alone. The interview was not long.
She went away again, and the King came back towards us
and near the carps without saying a word. Each saw clearly
what was in the wind, and nobody was eager to speak. At
last the King, when quite close to the basin, looked at the
principal people around, and without addre^ing anybody,
said, with an air of vexation, these few words:—

The Puchesse de Bourgogne is huxt.’^

M. de la itochefoucauld at once nttered an exclamation. M.
de Bouillon, the Puc de Tresm^, and Mar&hal de Boufflers
repeated in a low tone the words I have named; and M.
de la Rochefoucauld returning to the char^, declared em¬
phatically that it was the greatest misfortune in the world,
and that as she had already wounded herself on other occasions,
she might never, perhaps, have any more children.

'^And if so,” interrupted the King Ml on a sudden, with
anger, “ what is that to me ? Has she not already a son; and
if he should die, is not the Due de Berry old enough to marry
and have one ? What matters it to me who succeeds me,—^the
one or the other 1 Axe they not all equally my grand-

16

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

diildreH ?’* And immediately, with impetuosity he added,
" Thank God, she is wounded, since she was to be so; and I
shall no longer be annoyed in my journeys and in everything
I wish to do, by the representations of doctors and the reason¬
ings of matrons. I shall go and come at my pleasure, and
shall!:» left in peace.”

A silence so deep that an ant might be heard to walk, sue-
<^eded this strange outburst. All eyes were lowered; no one
scarcely daxed to breathe. All remained stupefied. Even the
dome^itics and the gardeners stood motionless.

This silence lasted more than a quarter of an hour. The
King broke it as he leaned upon a balustrade to speak of a carp..
Nobody replied. He addre^d himself afterwards on the sub¬
ject of these emrps to domestics, who did not ordinarily join in
the <»nveimtion. Nothing but carps was spoken of with them.
AJl was languishing, and the King went away some time after.
As soon as we dared look at each other out of his sight, our
eyes met and told alL Everybody there was for the moment

the confidant of his neighbour. We admired—we marvelled_

we griev^ we shrugged our shoulders. However distant may
be that scene, it is always equally present to me. M. de la
Eochefoucmuld was in a fury, and this time without being
wrong. The chief ecuyer w^ ready to faint with afifright; I
myself examined everybody with my eyes and ears, and was
satisfied with myself for having long since thought that the
King loved and cared for himself alone, and was himself his-
only object in Hfe. This strange discourse sounded far and
■wide—mucli beyond Marly.

Let me here relate another anecdote of the ’R'ing _a trifle I

■was 'witne^ of. It was on the 7th of May, of this year, and at
Marly. The King walking round the gardens, sho'wing them
to Bergheyck, and talking with him upon the approaching
campaign in Flanders, stopped before one of the paviliems. It
was that occupied by Besmarets, vhe had recently succeeded
ChamiOart in the direction of the finances, and who was at
work within witt &muel Bernard, the femous banker, the
richest man in Europe, and whose money dealings were the

A Y±m CAPITALIST.

17

largest. The King observed to Desmarets that he was very
glad to see him with M. Bernard; then immediately said to
this latter:

You are just the man never to have seen Harly—eome and
see it now; I will give yon up afterwards to Desmarets.”

Bernard followed, and while the walk lasted the King spoke
only to Bergheyck and to Bernard, leading them everyi^’^here,
and showing them everything with the grace he so well knew
how to employ when he desired to overwhelm. I admixed, and
I was not the only one, this species of prostitution of the King,
so niggard of his words, to a man of Bernard’s degree. I was
not long in learning the cause of it, and I admired to see how
low the greatest kings sometimes find themselves reduced.

Our finances just then were exhausted. Desmarets no longer
knew of what wood to make a crutch. He had heen to Paris
knocking at every door. But the most exact engagements had
been so often broken that he found nothing but excuses and
closed doors. Bernard, like the rest, would advance nothing.
Much was due to him . In vain Desmarets represented to him
the pressing necessity for money, and the enormous gains he
had made out of the King. Bernard remained unshakeable.
The King and the minister were cruelly embarrassed. Des¬
marets said to the King that, after all was said and done, only
Samuel Bernard could draw them out of the mess, because it
was not doubtful that he had plenty of money everywhere;
that the only thing needed was to vanquish his determination
and the obstinacy—even insolence—^he had shown; that he
was a man crazy with vanity, and capable of opening liis purse
if the King deigned to flatter him.

It was agreed, therefore, that Desmarei^ should invite Ber¬
nard to dinner—should walk with Hm—and that the King
should come and disturb them as I have related. Bernard was
the dupe of this scheme; he returned from his walk with the
King enchanted to such an extent that he said he would prefer
ruining himself rather than leave in embarrassment a Prince
who had just treated him so graciously, and whose eulogiums
he uttered with enthusiasm! Desmarets profited by this trick

VOL. IT. ^

18 'memoirs of the dtjke of sahtt-simok

immediately, and drew much, more from it than he had proposed
to himself.

The Prince de L^on had an adventure just about this time,
which made much noise. He was a great, ugly, idle^ mis¬
chievous fellow, son of the Hue de Rohan, who had given him
the title I have just named. He had served in one campaign
very indolently, and then c[uitted the army, under pretence of
ill-health, to serve no more. Glib in speech, and with the
manners of the great world, he was full of caprices and fancies;
although a great gambler and spendthrift, he was miserly, and
cared only for himself. He had been enamoured of Florence,
an actress, whom M. d’Orl^ans had for a long time kept, and by
whom he had children, one of whom is now Archbishop of
Cambrai. M. de Leon also had several children by this crea¬
ture, and spent large sums upon her. When he went in place
of his father to open the States of Brittany, she accompanied
him in a coach and six horses, with a ridiculous scandal. His
father was in agony lest he should marry her. He offered to
insure her five thousand francs a-year pension, and to take care
of their children, if M. de Leon would quit her. But M. de
Leon would not hear of this, and his father accordingly com¬
plained to the King. The King summoned M. de L4on into his
cabinet; but the young man pleaded his cause so well there,
that he gained pity rather than condemnation. Nevertheless,
La Florence was carried away from a pretty little house at the
Temes, near Paris, where M. de Leon kept her, and was put in
a convent. M. de Leon became furious; for some time he
would neither see nor speak of his father or mother, and re¬
pulsed all idea of marriage.

At last, however, no longer hoping to see his actress, he not
only consented, but wished to marry. His parents were de¬
lighted at this, and at once looked about for a wife for him.
Their choice fell upon the eldest daughter of the Hue de Roque-
laure, who, although humpbacked and extremely ugly, was to
be very rich some day, and was, in fact, a very good match.
The affair had been arranged and concluded up to a certain
point, when all was broken off^ in consequence of the haughty

HTJNAWAT MAERIAGE.

19

olDstinacy whicK the D'uchei^e de EoquelaBre demanded
a larger snm with M. de Leon than M. de Bohan chc«e to
give.

The young couple were in despair; M. de Ldon^ tet Ms
father should always act in this way, as an excuse for giving
him notMng; the young lady, because she feared she should
•rot in a convent^ through the avarice of her mother, and never
marry. She was more than twenty-four years of age; he was
more than eight and twenty. She was in the convent of the
Daughters of the Cross in the Faubourg St. Antoine.

As soon as M. de Leon learnt that the marriage was broten
off, he hastened to the convent; and told all to Mademoisele
de Eoquelaure; played the passionate, the despairing; said,
that if they waited for their parents’ consent they would never
marry, and that she would rot in her convent. He proposed,
therefore, that, in spite of their parents, they should many
and become their own guardians. She agreed to this project,
and he went away in order to execute it.

One of the most intimate friends of Madame de Rc^uelaure
was Madame de la VieuviUe, and she was the only person
(excepting Madame de Hoquelaure herself) to whom the Su¬
perior of the convent had permission to confide Mademoisele
de Boquelaure. Madame de la Yieuville often came “to see
Mademoiselle de Boquelaure to take her out, and sometimes
sent for her. M. de Leon was made acquainted with this, and
took bis measures accordingly. He procured a coach of the
same size, shape, and fittings that of Mswiame de la Yieuvile,
with her arms upon it, and with three servanis in her lively ,
he counterfeited a letter in her handwriting and with her
seal, and sent tMs coach with a lackey wel-instracted to <^y
the letter to the convent, on Tuesday morning, the 29th of
May, at the hour Madame de la Yieuvile was accustomed to
send for her.

Mademoiselle de Boquelaure, who had been let into the
scheme, carried the letter to the Superior of the convent, and
said Madame de la Yieuville had sent for her. Had the Su¬
perior any message to send ?

2—2

20

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

The Superior, accustomed to these invitations, did not even
look at the letter, but gave her consent at once. Mademoiselle
de Koquelaure, accompanied solely by her governess, left the
convent immediately, and entered the coach, which drove oft*
directly. At the first turning it stopped, and the Prince
de Ldon, who had been in waiting, jumped in. The governess
at this began to cry out with all her might; but at the very
first sound M. de Ldon thrust a handkerchief into her mouth
and stifled the noise. The coachman meanwhile lashed his
horses, and the vehicle went off* at full speed to Bruyhres
near Mdnilmontant, the country-house of the Due de Lorgos,
my brother-in-law, and friend of the Prince de Ldon, and who,
with the Comte de Rieux, awaited the runaway pair.

An interdicted and wandering priest was in waiting, and as
soon as they arrived married them. My brother-in-law then
led these nice young people into a fine chamber, where they
were undressed, put to bed, and left alone for two or three
hours. A good meal was then given to them, after which the
bride was put into the coach, with her attendant, who was in
despair, and driven back to the convent.

Mademoiselle de Roquelaure at once went deliberately to the
Superior, told her all that had happened, and then calmly wont
into her chamber, and wrote a fine letter to her mother, giving
her an account of her marriage, and asking for pardon ; the
Superior of the convent, the attendants, and all the household
being, meanwhile, in the utmost emotion at what had occurred.

The rage of tlio Duchesso do Roquelaure at this incident
may be imagined. In her first unreasoning fury, she went to
Madame de la Vieuville, who, all in ignorance of what had
happened, w^as utterly at a loss to understand her stormy and
insulting reproaches. At last Madame de Roquelaure saw that
her friend was innocent of all connection with the inatter, and
turned the current of her wrath upon M. do L4on, against
whom she felt the more indignant, inasmuch as ho had treated
her with much respect and attention since the rupture, and
had thus, to some extent, gained her heart. Against her
daughter she was also indignant, not only for what she had

A FUEIOUS MOTHER.

21

done, but because she had exhibited much gaiety and freedom
of spirit at the marriage repast, and had diverted the company
by some songs.

The Due and Duchesse de Rohan were on their side equally
furious, although less to be pitied, and made a strange uproar.
Their son, troubled to know how to extricate himself from this
affair, had recourse, to his aunt, Soubise, so as to assure himself
of the King. She sent him to Pontchartrain to see the
chancellor. M. de Leon saw him the day after this fine
marriage, at five o’clock in the morning, as he was dressing.
The chancellor advised him to do all he could to gain the
pardon of his father and of Madame de Roquelaure. But he
had scarcely begun to speak, when Madame de Roquelaure
sent word to say, that she was close at hand, and wished the
chancellor to come and see her. He did so, and she immedi¬
ately poured out all her griefs to him, saying that she came,
not to ask his advice, but to state her complaint as to a friend
(they were very intimate), and as to the chief officer ot justice
to demand justice of him. When he attempted to put in a
word on behalf of M. de Leon, her fury burst out anew; she
would not listen to his words, but drove off to Marly, where
she had an interview with Madame de Maintenon, and by her
was presented to the King.

As soon as she was in his presence, she fell down on her
knees before him, and demanded justice in its fullest extent
against M. de Leon. The King raised her with the gallantry
of a prince to whom she had not been indifferent, ai).d sought
to console her; but as she still insisted upon justice, he asked
her if she knew fully what she asked for, which was nothing
less than the head of M. de L66n. She redoubled her entreaties
notwithstanding this information, so that the King at last
promised her that she should have complete justice. With
that, and many compliments, he quitted her, and passed into
his own rooms with a very serious ah, and without stopping
for anybody.

The news of this interview, and of what had taken place
soon spread through the chamber. Scarcely had people begun

A FUBIOUS MOTHEIt

21

clone, but because she bad exhibited much gaiety and freedom
of spirit at the marriage repast, and had diverted the company
by some songs.

The Due and Duchesse do Kohan were on tlieir side ecpially
furious, although less to be pitied, and made a strange uj)ro;ir.
Their son, troubled to know howto extricate himscdffroni tliis
affair, had recourse, to his aunt, Sotil)iso, so as to assure. lums(‘lf
of tho King. She sent him to lk:)ntchartrain to see tho
chancellor. M. do L&n saw liim tho day after tliis fine
marriage, at five o'clock in tho morning, as ho was dressing.
The chancellor advised him to do all lu^ (;ould h) gain tho
pardon of liis fathm: and of Madaano do Rotpiehiure, Jhit h (3
had s(3arcely h(‘gmi to speak, when Madame do lliupielaunj
sent word to say, ilmt she was (‘lose at luind, au<l wished the
ehaacudlor to eonui and siH^uu'. He did so, and slu3 immedi-
a.i<‘ly jioured out all hta* griids to him, saying that she canu^,
not to ask his a.(lvitu\ Imt to statt^. ho.r complaint as to a
(they W(3re yory iniimah*), and as to iliti child’ oHicHa’ of justiiu^
io dtnuand justita^ of him, Wluai he aiUaupUal to put in a
word on behalf of M. dc Leon, lu‘r fiuy burst out anew; she
would not ILsttai to his words, but drovt^ olf to Marly, wher(3
h1u 3 had an itiimwimv with Madanu*. de Maiutenon, aiul by her
was presented to tho King.

Ah Hooti as slu^ was in liLs presemu^, slu^ fell down on h(‘r
kiute-H b(d\)re him, and dc^mandtsl justice in its fulk^st mxhmt
against M. de Leon. The King raised lun* with the gallantry
of a i)riu(3(3 to whom slie had not Inum indiffenmt, and sought,
to console her; hut as she still insisted upon justici*, lu^ askcul
her if she knew fully what she askcsl for, whicdi was nothing
less than tlio head of M. (1(3 iaHin. Hhe n^douhlisl lus' (3nir(‘ati(‘S
notwithstanding this information, so that tln^ King at last
pruinised her tliat she should have complete justice. Witli
thatj, and many compliments, he (juitted her, and pa.ss<3d into
hiH own rooms with a very sorious air, and without stopjiing
for anybody.

The news of this interview, and of what had taken place
soon spread through tho chamber. Scarcely had people begun

22

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

to pity Madame de Eequelaure, than some, by aversion for the
grand imperial airs of this poor mother,—the majority, seized
hy mirth at the idea of a creature, well known to he very ugly
and humpbacked, being carried off by such an ugly gallant,—
burst out laughing, even to tears, and with an uproar completely
scandalous. Madame de Maintenon abandoned herself to mirth,
like the rest, and corrected the others at last, by saying it was
not very charitable, in a tone that could impose upon no one.

Madame de Saint-Simon and I were at Paris. We knew
with all Paris of this affair, but were ignorant of the place of
the marriage and the part M. de Lorges had had in it, when the
third day after the adventure I was startled out of my sleep at
five 0^ clock in the morning, and saw my curtains and my win¬
dows open at the same time, and Madame de Saint-Simon and
her brother (M. de Lorges) before me. They related to me all
that had occurred, and then went away to consult with a skil¬
ful person what course to adopt, leaving me to dress. I never
saw a man so crestfallen as M. de Lorges. He had confessed
what he had done to a clever lawyer, who had much frightened
him. After quitting him, he had hastened to us to make us go
and see Pontchartrain. The most serious things are sometimes
accompanied with the most ridiculous. M. de Lorges upon
arriving knocked at the door of a little room which 'preceded
the chamber of Madame de Saint-Simon. My daughter was
rather unwell. Madame de Saint-Simon thought she was worse,
and supposing it was I who had knocked, ran and opened the
door. At the sight of her brother she ran back to her bed, to
which he followed her, in order to relate his disaster. She rang
for the windows to be opened, in order that she might see
better. It so happened that she had taken the evening before
a n,ew servant, a country girl of sixteen, who slept in the little
room. M. de Lorges, in a hurry to be off, told this girl to make
haste in opening the windows, and then to go away and close
the door. At this, the simple girl, all amazed, took her robe
and her cotillon, and went upstairs to an old chamber-maid,
awoke her, and with much hesitation told her what had just
happened, and that she had left by the bedside of Madame de

INTEEFEEENCE OF THE KING.

23

Saint-Simon a fine gentleman, very young, all powdered, curled,
and decorated, who had driven her very quickly out of the
chamber. She was all of a tremble, and much astonished. She
soon learnt who he was. The story was told to us, and in spite
of our disquietude, much diverted us.

We hurried away to the chancellor, and he advised the priest,
the witnesses to the signatures of the marriage, and, in fact, all
concerned, to keep out of the way, except M. de Lorges, whom
he assured us had nothing to fear. "We went afterwards to
ChamUlart, whom we found much displeased, hut in httle alarm.
The King had ordered an account to he drawn up of the whole
affair. Nevertheless, in spite of the uproar made on aU sides,
people began to see that the King would not abandon to public
dishonour the daughter of Madame de Eoquelaure, nor doom to
the scaffold or to civil death in foreign countries the nephew of
Madame de Soubise.

Friends of M. and Madame de Eoquelaure tried to arrange
matters. They represented that it would be better to accept
the marriage as it was than to expose a daughter to cruel dis¬
honour. Strange enough, the Due and Duchesse de Eohan
were the most stormy. They wished to drive a very hard bar¬
gain in the matter, and made proposals so out of the way, that
' nothing could have been arranged but for the King. He did
what he had never done before in all his hfe; he entered into
aE the details; he begged, then commanded as master; he had
separate interviews with the parties concerned; and finally
appointed the Due d’Aumont and the chanceUor to draw up the
conditions of the marriage.

As Madame de Eohan, even after this, stid refused to give
her consent, the King sent for her, and said that if she and her
husband did not at once give in, he would make the marriage
valid by his own sovereign authority. FinaUy, after so much
noise, anguish, and trouble, the contract was signed by the two
families, assembled at the house of the Duchesse de Eoquelaure.
The banns were pubhshed, and the marriage took place at the
church of the Convent of the Cross, where MademoiseUe de
Eoquelaure had been confined since her beautiful marriage.

24 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

guarded night and day by five or six nuns. She entered the
church by one door. Prince de L4on by another; not a compK-
ment or a word passed between them; the curate said Tna.sg ;
married them; they mounted a coach, and drove off to the
house of a friend some leagues from Paris. They paid for their
folly by a cruel indigence which lasted all their lives, neither
of them having survived the Due de Eohan, Monsieur de Eoque-
laure, or Madame de Eoquelaure. They left several children.

i

DXTC D’OKLEAIJS IN SPAIN. 25

^CHAPTEE III.

The Due d’Orleans in Spain—Offends Madame des TJrsins and Madame de
Maintenon—Laziness of M. de Yendome in Manders—Battle of Oude-
narde—Defeat and Disasters—Difference of M. de Yendome and the Due
de Bourgogne.

The war this year proceeded much as before. M. d’Orleans
went to Spain again. Before taking the field he stopped at
Madrid to arrange matters. There he found nothing prepared^,
and everything in disorder. He was compelled to work day-
after day, for many hours, in order to obtain the most necessary
supplied. This is what accounted for a delay which was mali¬
ciously interpreted at Paris into love for the Queen. M. le Due
was angry at the idleness in which he was kept; even Madame
la Duchesse, who hated him, because she had formerly loved
him too well, industriously circulated this report, which wa»
believed at Court, in the city, even in foreign countries, every¬
where, save in Spain, where the truth was too well known. It
was while he was thus engaged that he gave utterance to a
pleasantry that made Madame de Maintenon and Madame de&
Ilrsms his two most bitter enemies for ever afterwards.

One evening he was at table with several French and Spanish
gentlemen, all occupied with his vexation against Madame des
Ursins, who governed everything, and who had not thought of
even the smallest thing for the campaign. The supper and the
wine somewhat affected M. d’Orleans. Still full of his vexation,
he took a glass, and, looking at the company, made an allusion
in a toast to the two women, one the captain^ the other the
lieutenant, who governed France and Spain, and that in so

26

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OE SAINT-SIMOM.

coarse and yet humorous a manner^ that it struck at once the
imagination of the guests, No comment was made, but every¬
body burst out laughing, sense of drollery overcoming prudence,
for it was well known that the she-captain was Madame de
Maintenon, and the she-lieutenant Madame des IJrsins. The
health was drunk, although the words were not repeated, and
the scandal was strange.

Half an hour at most after this, Madame des IJrsins was in¬
formed of what had taken place. She knew well who were
meant by the toast, and was transported with rage. She at
once wrote an account of the circumstance to Madame de Main-
tenon, who, for her part, was quite as furious. Inde irm.
They never pardoned M. d’Orldans, and we shall see how very
nearly they succeeded in compassing his death. Until then,
Madame de Maintenon had neither liked nor disliked M.
d’OrMans. Madame des Ursins had omitted nothing in order
to please him. From that moment they swore the ruin of this
prince. AH the rest of the King’s life M. d’Orldans did not fail
to find that Madame de Maintenon was an implacable and cruel
enemy. The sad state to which she succeeded in reducing him
influenced him during all the rest of his life. As for Madame
des Ursins, he soon found a change in her manner. She endea¬
voured that everything should fail that passed through his
hands. There are some wounds that can never be healed; and
it must be admitted that the Duc^s toast inflicted one especially
of that sort. He felt this; did not attempt any reconciliation;
and followed his usual course. I know not if he ever repented
of what he had said, whatever cause he may have had, so droll
did it seem to him, but he has many times spoken of it since to
me, laughing with all his might. I saw all the sad results
which might arise jfrom his speech, and nevertheless, while re¬
proaching M. d’OrMans, I could not help laughing myself, so
well, so simply, and so wittily expressed was his ridicule of the
government on this and the other side of the Pyrenees.

At last, M. le Due d’OrMans found means to enter upon his
campaign, but was so ill-provided, that he never was supplied
with more than a fortnight’s subsistence in advance. He

LAZINESS OF M. DE YENDdME,

27

obtained several small successes; but these were more than
•swallowed up by a fatal loss in another direction. The island
of Sardinia, which was then under the Spanish Crown, was
lost through the misconduct of the viceroy, the Duke of
Veragua, and taken possession of by the troops of the Arch¬
duke. In the month of October, the island of Minorca also
fell into the hands of the Archduke. Port Mahon made but
little resistance; so that with this conquest and Gibraltar, the
English found themselves able to rule in the Mediterranean, to
winter entire fleets there, and to blockade all the ports of
Spain upon that sea. Leaving Spain in this situation, let us
turn to Flanders.

Early in July, we took Ghent and Bruges by surprise, and
the news of these successes was received with the most un¬
bridled joy at Fontainebleau. It appeared easy to profit by
these two conquests, obtained without difficulty, by passing the
Escaut, burning Oudenarde, closing the country to the enemies,
and cutting them off from all supplies. Ours were very abund¬
ant, and came by water, with a camp that could not be at¬
tacked. M. de Yendome agreed to all this, and alleged nothing
against it. There was only one difficulty in the way,—^his
idleness and unwillingness to move from quarters where he
was comfortable. He wished to enjoy those quarters as long
as possible, and maintained, therefore, that these movements
would be just as good if delayed. Monseigneur le Due de
Bourgogne maintained on the contrary, with all the army—
even the favourites of M. de Vend&me—-that it would be better
to execute the operation at once, that there was no reason for
delay, and that delay might prove disastrous. He argued in
vain. Yenddme disliked fatigue and change of quarters. They
interfered with the daily life he was accustomed to lead, and
which I have elsewhere described. He would not move.

Marlborough clearly seeing that M. de Yendome did not at
once take advantage of his position, determined to put it out
of his power to do so. To reach Oudenarde, Marlborough had
a journey to make of twenty-five leagues. Yendome was so
placed that he could have gained it in six leagues at the most.

28

MEMOIRS OE THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK

Marborougli put himself in motion mth so much. diKgence
that he stole three forced marches before Vendome had the
slightest suspicion or information of them. The news reached
him in time, but he treated it with contempt according to his
custom, assuring himself that he should outstrip the enemy by
setting out the next morning. Monseigneur le Due de Bour¬
gogne pressed him to start that evening; such as dared repre¬
sented to him the necessity and the impoifance of doing so.
All was vain—in spite of repeated information of the enemy's
march. The neglect was such that bridges had not been
thought of for a little brook at the head of the camp, which it
was necessary to cross.

On the next day, Wednesday, the 11th of July, a party of
our troops, under the command of Biron, which had been sent
on in advance to the Escaut, discovered, after passing it as
they could, for the bridges were not yet made, all the army of
the enemy bending round towards them, the rear of their
columns touching at Oudenarde, where they also had crossed.
Biron at once despatched a messenger to the Princes and to M.
de Vendome to inform them of this, and to ask for orders.
Vendome, annoyed by information so different to what he ex¬
pected, maintained that it could not be true. As he was dis¬
puting, an officer arrived from Biron to confirm the news; but
this only imtated Venddme anew, and made him more obsti¬
nate. A third messenger arrived, and then M. de Vendome,
still affecting disbelief of the news sent him, flew in a passion,
but nevertheless mounted his horse, saying that all this was
the work of the devil, and that such diligence was impossible.
He sent orders to Biron to attack the enemy, promising to sup¬
port him immediately. He told the Princes^ at the same time,
to gently follow with the whole of the army, while he placed
himself at the head of his columns, and pushed on briskly to
Biron.

Biron meanwhile placed his troops as well as he could, on
ground very unequal and much cut up. He wished to execute
the order he had received, less from any hopes of success in a
combat so vastly disproportioned than to secure himself from

BATTLE OF OTJDENABDE.

29

the blame of a general so ready to censure those who did not
follow his instructions. But he was advised so strongly not
to take so hazardous a step, that he refrained. Mardchal
Matignon, who arrived soon after, indeed specially prohibited
him from acting.

While this was passing, Biron heard sharp firing on his left,
beyond the village. He hastened there, and found an encoun¬
ter of infantry going on. He sustained it as well as he could,
whilst the enemy were gaining ground on the left, and, the
aground being difficult (there was a ravine there), the enemy
were kept at bay until M. de Venddme came up. The troops
he brought were all out of breath. As soon as they arrived,
they threw themselves amidst the hedges, nearly all in
columns, and sustained thus the attacks of the enemies, and an
engagement which every moment grew hotter, without having
the means to arrange themselves in any order. The columns
that arrived from time to time to the relief of these were as
out of breath as the others, and were at once sharply charged
by the enemies, who, being extended in lines and in order,
knew well how to profit by our disorder. The confusion was
very great: the new-comers had no time to rally; there was a
long interval between the platoons engaged and those meant to
sustain them; the cavalry and the household troops were mixed
up pell-mell with the infantry, which increased the disorder to
such a point that our troops no longer recognised each other.
This enabled the enemy to fill up the ravine with fascines
sufficient to enable them to pass it, and allowed the rear of
their army to make a grand tour by our right to gain the head
of the ravine, and take us in flank there.

Towards this same right were the Princes, who for some
time had been looking from a mill at so strange a combat, so
•disadvantageously commenced. As soon as our troops saw
pouring down upon them others much more numerous, they
gave way towards their left with so much promptitude that
the attendants of the Princes became mixed up with their
masters, and all were hurried away towards the thick of the
fight, with a rapidity and confusion that were indecent. The

so MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK.

Princes stowed themselves everywhere, and in places the most
exposed, displaying much valonr and coolness, encouraging the-
men, praising the officers, asking the principal officers what
was to he done, and telling M. de Yendome what they thought.

The ineq[uatity of the ground that the enemies found in ad¬
vancing, after having driven in our right, enabled our men to
rally and to resist. But this resistance was of short duration*
Every one had been engaged in hand-to-hand combats; every
one was worn out with lassitude and despair of success, and a
confusion so general and so unheard-of. The household troops,
owed their escape to the mistake of one of the enemy^s officers,
who carried an order to the red coats, thinking them his own
men. He was taken, and seeing that he was about to share
■fcte peril with our troops, warned them that they were going
to he surrounded. They retired in some disorder, and so
avoided this.

The disorder increased, however, every moment. Nobody
recognised his troop. AU were pell-mell,—cavalry, infantry,
dragoons; not a battaKon, not a S(juadron together, and all in
confusion, one upon the other.

Night came. We had lost much ground, one-half of the
army had not finished arriving In this sad situation the
Princes consulted with M. de Yendome as to what was to be
done. He, furious at being so terribly out of his reckoning,,
afifronted everybody. Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne
wished, to speak; but Yenddme, intoxicated with choler and
ailthority, closed his mouth, by saying to him in an imperious
voice before everybody, ^'That he came to the army only on
condition of obeying him.” These enormous words, pro¬
nounced at a moment in which everybody felt so terribly the
weight of the obedience rendered to his idleness and obstinacy,
made everybody tremble with indignation. The young Prince
to whom they were addressed, hesitated, mastered himself, and
kept sHence. Yend6me went on declaring that the battle was not
lost—that it could be recommenced the next morning, when
the rest of the army had arrived, and so on. No one of con¬
sequence cared to reply.

A STRANGE COUNCIL OF WAR.

31

From every side soon came information, however, that the
disorder was extreme. Puysdgnr, Matignon, Sonstemon,
Cheladet, Puyguyon, all brought the same news. YendSme,
seeing that it was useless to resist all this testimony, and beside
himself with rage, cried, Oh, very well, gentlemen! I see
clearly what you wish. We must retire, then;’’ and look¬
ing at Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne, he added, know
you have long wished to do so. Monseigneur.”

These words, which could not fail to be taken in a double
sense, were pronounced exactly as I relate them, and were
emphasized in a manner to leave no doubt as to their significa¬
tion. Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne remained silent as
before, and for some time the silence was unbroken. ^At last,
Puys^gur interrupted it, by asking how the retreat was to be
executed. Each, then, spoke confusedly. Yendome, in his
turn, kept silence from vexation or embarrassment; then he
said they must march to Ghent, without adding how, or any¬
thing else.

The day had been very fatiguing; the retreat was long and
perilous. The Princes mounted their horses, and took the
road to Ghent. Yendbme set out without giving any orders, or
seeing to anything. The general officers returned to their
posts, and of themselves gave the order for retreat. Yet so
great was the confusion, that the Chevalier Eosel, lieutenant-
general, at the head of a hundred squadrons, received no orders.
In the morning he found himseK with his hundred squadrons,
which had been utterly forgotten. He at once commenced his
march; but to retreat in full daylight was very difficult, as he
soon found. He had to sustain the attacks of the enemy during
several hours of his march.

Elsewhere, also, the difficulty of retreating was great. Fight¬
ing went on at various points all night, and the enemy were on
the alert. Some of the troops of our right, while debating as
to the means of retreat, found they were about to be surrounded
by the enemy. The Yidame of Amiens saw that not a moment
was to be lost. He cried to the light horse, of which he was
Captain, Follow me,” and pierced his way through a line of

S2 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

the enemy’s cavalry. He then found himself in front of a line of
infantry, which fired upon him, hut opened to give him pas¬
sage. At the same moment, the household troops and others,
profiting hy a movement so bold, followed the Vidame and his
men, and all escaped together to Ghent, led on by the Vidame,
to whose sense and courage the safety of these troops was
owing.

M. de Vendome arrived at Ghent, between seven and eight
o clock in the morning. Even at this moment he did not for¬
get his disgusting habits, and as soon as he set foot to ground
. ... in sight of all the troops as they came by,—then at once
went to bed, without giving any orders, or seeing to anything,
and remained more than thirty hours without rising, in order
to repose himself after his fatigues. He learnt that Monsei¬
gneur de Bourgogne and the army had pushed on to Lawen-
deghem; but he paid no attention to it, and continued to sup
and to sleep at Ghent several days running, without attending
to anything.

CONFLICTING EEPORTS.

33

CHAPTER IV,

Oonflicting Eeports—Attacks on tke Due de Bourgogne—^The Duckesse de
Bourgogne acts against Vendome—Weakness of^tlie Due—Cunning of
Vendome—The Siege of Lille—Anxiety for a battle—Its delay—Conduct
of the King and Monseigneur—A picture of Eoyal Family feeling—The
Siege of Lille—Conduct of the Marechal de Boufflers.

As soon as Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne arrived at Lawen-
deghem, lie wrote a short letter to the King, and referred him.
I for details to M. de Yend&me. But at the same time he wrote

to the Duchesse, very clearly expressing to her where the
fault lay. M. de Yend6me, on his side, wrote to the King, and
tried to persuade him that the battle had not been disadvan¬
tageous to us. A short time afterwards, he wrote again, telling
the King that he could have beaten the enemies had he been
sustained ; and that, if, contrary to his advice, retreat had
not been determined on, he would certainly have beaten them
► the next day. For the details he referred to Monseigneur le

Due de Bourgogne.

I had always feared that some ill-fortune would fall to the
lot of Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne if he served under M.
de Yendome at the army. When I first learnt that he was
going to Flanders with M. de Yenddme, I expressed my
apprehensions to M. de Beauv^illiers, who treated them as un¬
reasonable and ridiculous. He soon had good cause to admit
that I had not spoken without justice. Our disasters at
Oudenarde were very great. We had many men and officers
killed and wounded, four thousand men and seven hundred offi¬
cers taken prisoners, and a prodigious (Quantity missing and dis-
VOL. 11 . 3

34 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OP SAIKT-SIMOK.

persed. All these losses "werej as I have sliowii, entirely dt-*
to the laziness and inattention of M. de YendSme. Yet tli*^
friends of that General—and he had many at the Court and i
the army—actually had the audacity to lay the blame upo^A
Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne. This was what I had foro -
seen, viz., M. de Yenddme, in case any misfortune occurretlr
would be sure to throw the burden of it upon Monseigneur
Due de Bourgogne.

Alb6roni, who, as I have said, was one of M. de Yend6mo*H'
creatures, published a deceitful and impudent letter, in whicl t
he endeavoured to prove that M. de Yenddme had acto<l
throughout like a good general, but that he had been thwarted
by Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne. This letter was dis¬
tributed everywhere, and well served the purpose for which it-
was intended. Another writer, Campistron—a poor, starving^
poet, ready to do anything to live—went further., He wrote
letter, in which Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne was persont—
ally attacked in the tenderest points, and in which Mardcha/1
Matignon was said to merit a court-martial for having couli-
seUed retreat. This letter, like the other, although circulated
with more precaution, was shown even in the cafes and in tlit9
theatres j in the public places of gambling and debauchery; oxx
the promenades, and amongst the newsvendors. Copies of itj
were even shown in the provinces, and in foreign countries ;
but always with much circumspection. Another letter sooia
afterwards appeared, apologising for M. de Yendome. This wan.
written by Comte d’Evreux, and was of much the same tone as.
the two others.

A powerful cabal was in fact got up against Monseigneur dcs
Bourgogne. Yaudevilles, verses, atrocious songs against him,
ran all over Paris and the provinces with a licence and au
rapidity that no one checked; while at the Court, the libertines
and the fashionables applauded; so that in six days it was
thought disgraceful to speak with any measure of this Prince,
even in his father’s house.

Madame de Bourgogne could not witness all this uproair
against her husband, without feeling sensibly affected by it.

THE DTJCHESSE HE BOtTEttOGNE ACTS.

35

She had been made acquainted by Monseigneur de Bourgogne
with the true state of the case. She saw her own happiness and
reputation at stake. Though very gentle, and still more timid,
the grandeur of the occasion raised her above herself. She was
cruelly wounded by the insults of Vend6me to her husband, and
by all the atrocities and falsehoods his emissaries published. She
gained Madame de Maintenon, and the first result of this step
was, that the Edng censured Chamillart for not speaking of the
letters in circulation, and ordered him to write to Alberoni and
D’Evreux (Campistron, strangely enough, was forgotten), com¬
manding them to keep silence for the future.

The cabal was amazed to see Madame de Maintenon on the
side of Madame de Bourgogne, while M. du Maine (who was
generally in accord with Madame de Maintenon) was for M. de
Vend6me. They concluded that the King had been led away,
but that if they held firm, his partiality for M. de Vendfime,
for M. du Maine, and for bastardy in general, would bring
him round to them. In point of fact, the King was led now
one way, and now another, with a leaning always towards M.
de Yenddme.

Soon after this, Chamillart, who was completely of the party
of M. de Yendome, thought fit to write a letter to Monseigneur
le Due de Bourgogne, in which he counselled him to live on
good terms with his general. Madame de Bourgogne never for¬
gave Chamillart this letter, and was always annoyed with her
husband that he acted upon it. His religious sentiments induced
him to do so. Yenddme so profited by the advances made to him
by the young Prince, that he audaciously brought Albdroni
with him when he visited Monseignfeur de Bourgogne. This
weakness of Monseigneur de Bourgogne lost him many friends,
and made his enemies more bold than ever. Madame de Bour¬
gogne, however, did not despair. She wrote to her hu,sband
that for M. de Yendome she had more aversion and contempt
than for any one else in the world, and that nothing would
make her forget what he had done. We shall see with what
courage she knew how to keep her word.

While the discussions upon the battle of Oudenarde were yet

3—2

36 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

proceeding, a league was formed with. France against the
Emperor by all the states of Italy. The King (Louis XIV.)
accepted, however, too late, a project he himself ought to have
proposed and executed. He lost perhaps the most precious
opportunity he had had during all Ms reign. The step he at
last took was so apparent that it alarmed the allies, and put
them on their guard. Except Flanders, they did nothing in
any other spot, and turned all their attention to Italy.

Let us return, however, to Flanders.

Prince Eug&ne, with a large booty gathered in Artois and
elsewhere, had fixed himself at Brussels. He wished to bear
off his spoils, which required more than five thousand waggons
to carry it, and which consisted in great part of provisions,
worth three million five hundred thousand francs, and set out
with them to join the army of the Duke of Marlborough. Our
troops could not, of course, be in ignorance of this. M. de
Vendome wished to attack the convoy with half his troops.
The project seemed good, and, in case of success, would have
brought results equally honourable and useful. Monseigneur
de Bourgogne, however, opposed the attack, I know not why;
and M. de Vendome, so obstinate until then, gave in to him in
this case. His object was to ruin the Prince utterly, for allow¬
ing such a good chance to escape, the blame resting entirely
upon him. Obstinacy and audacity had served M. de Ven¬
dome at Oudenarde; he expected no less a success now from
his deference.

Some anxiety was felt just about this time for Lille, which
it was feared the enemy would lay siege to. Boufflers went to
command there, at his own request, and found the place very
ill-garrisoned with raw troops, many of whom had never smelt
powder. M. de Vend&me, however, laughed at the idea of the
siege of Lille, as something mad and ridiculous. Nevertheless,
the town was invested on the 12th of August, as the King duly
learned on the 14th. Even then, flattery did its work. The
friends of Vend&me declared that such an enterprise was the
best thing that could happen to France, as the besiegers,
inferior in numbers to our army, were sure to be miserably

EXCITEMENT AT COUET.

37

iDeaten. M. de Vend6mej in the meantime, did not "budge from
the post he had taken up near Ghent. The King wrote to him
to go with his army to the relief of Lille. M. de Vend6me still
delayed ; another courier was sent with the same result. At
this, the King, losing temper, despatched another courier, with
orders to Monseigneur de Bourgogne, to lead the army to Lille,
if M. de Vendorne refused to do so. At this, M. de Vend6me
awoke from his lethargy. He set out for Lille, hut took the
longest road, and dawdled as long as he could on the way,
stopping five days at Mons Puenelle, amongst other places.

The agitation, meanwhile, in Paris, was extreme. The King
demanded news of the siege from liis courtiers, and could not
understand why no couriers arrived. It was generally expected
that some decisive battle had been fought. Each day increased
the uneasiness. The Princes and the principal noblemen of the
Court were at the army. Every one at Versailles feared for the
safety of a relative or friend. Prayers were ofiered ever 3 ^where.
Madame de Bourgogne passed whole nights in the chapel, when
people thought her in bed, and drove her women to despair.
Following her example, ladies who had husbands at the army
stirred not from the churches. Gaming, conversation ceased.
Fear was painted upon every face, and seen in every speech,
without shame. If a horse passed a little quickly, everybody
ran without knowing where. The apartments of ChamiUart
were crowded with lacqueys, even into the street, sent by people
desiring to be informed of the moment that a courier arrived ;
and this terror and uncertainty lasted nearly a month. The
provinces were even more troubled than Paris. The King
wrote to the Bishop, in order that they should offer up prayers
in terms which suited with the danger of the time. It may be
judged what was the general impression and alarm.

It is true, that in the midst of this trepidation, the partisans
of M. de Vendorne affected to pity that poor Prince Eugene, and
to declare that he must inevitably fail in his undertaking; but
these discourses did not impose upon me. I knew what kind
of enemies we had to deal with, and I foresaw the worst results
from the idleness and inattention of M. de Vendorne. One

38

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

evening, in the presence of Chamillart and five or six others,
annoyed by the conversation which passed, I offered to bet four
pistoles that there would be no general battle, and that Lille
would be taken without being relieved. This strange proposi¬
tion excited much surprise, and caused many questions to be
addressed to me. I would explain nothing at all; but sus¬
tained my proposal in the English manner, and my bet was
taken ; Oani, who accepted it, thanking me for the present of
four pistoles I was making him, as he said. The stakes were
placed in the hand of Chamillart.

By the next day, the news of my bet had spread abroad, and
made a frightful uproar. The partisans of M. de Yendome,
knowing I was no friend to them, took this opportunity to
damage me in the eyes of the King. They so far succeeded
that I entirely lost favour with him, without however suspect¬
ing it, for more than two months. All that I could do then,
was to let the storm pass over my head and keep silent, so as
not to make matters worse.

Meanwhile, M, de Yend6me continued the inactive policy he
had hitherto followed. In despite of reiterated advice from
the King, he took no steps to attack the enemy. Monseigneur
de Bourgogne was for doing so, but Yend&me would make no
movement. As before, too, he contrived to throw all the blame
of his inactivity upon Monseigneur de Bourgogne. He suc¬
ceeded so well in making this believed, that his followers in
the army cried out against the followers of Monseigneur de
Bourgogne wherever they appeared. Chamillart was sent by
the King to report upon the state and position of our troops,
and if a babtle had taken place and proved unfavourable to us,
to prevent such sad results as had taken place after Kamillies.

Chamillart came back on the 18th of September. No battle
had been fought, but M. de VendSme felt sure, he said, of
cutting oflf alksupplies from the enemy, and thus compelling
them to raise the siege.

The King had need of these intervals of consolation and
hope. Master as he might be of his words and of his features,
he profoundly felt the powerlessness to resist his enemies that

CONDUCT OF THE KING AND MONSEIGNEUR. 39

be fell into day by day. What I have related about Samuel
Bernard, the banker, to whom he almost did the honours of his
gardens at Marly, in order to draw from him the assistance he
had refused, is a great proof of this. It was much remarked
u»t Fontainebleau, just as Lille was invested, that, the city of
Paris coming to harangue him on the occasion of the oath
taken by Bignon, new Prevdt des Marchands^ he replied, not
only with kindness, but that he made use of the term '' grati¬
tude for his good city,’' and that in doing so he lost coun¬
tenance,—two things which during all his reign had never
escaped him. On the other hand, he sometimes had intervals
of firmness which edified less than they surprised. When
•everybody at the Court was in the anxiety I have already
described, he offended them by going out every day hunting
or walking, so that they could not know, until after his return,
the news which might arrive when he was out.

As for Monseigneur, he seemed altogether exempt from an¬
xiety. After Eamillies, when everybody was waiting for the
return of Chamillart, to learn the truth, Monseigneur went
a-way to dine at Meudon, saying he should learn the news soon
•enough. From this time he showed no more interest in what
was passing. When news was brought that Lille was invested,
he turned on his heel before the letter announcing it had been
read to the end. The King called him back to hear the rest.
He returned and heard it. The reading finished, he went
away, without offering a word. Entering the apartments of
the Princesse de Conti, he found there Madame d’Espinoy, who
had much property in Flanders, and who had wished to take a
trip there.

“ Madame,” said he, smiling, as he arrived, '' how would you
do just now to get to Lille ?” And at once made them ac¬
quainted with the investment. These things really wounded
the Princesse de Conti. Arriving at Fontainebleau one day,
during the movements of the army, Monseigneur set to work
reciting, for amusement, a long list of strange names of places
in the forest.

''Dear me, Monseigneur," cried she, "what a good memory

40

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

you have. What a pity it is loaded with such things only r
If he felt the reproach, he did not profit by it,

As for Mgr. le Due de Bourgogne, Monseigneur (his father)
was ill-disposed towards him, and readily swallowed all that
was said in his dispraise. Monseigneur had no sympathy with
the piety of his son; it constrained and bothered him. The
cabal well profited by this. They succeeded to such an extent
in alienating the father from the son, that it is only strict
truth to say that no one dared to speak well of Monseigneur le
Due de Bourgogne in the presence of Monseigneur. From this
it may be imagined what was the licence and freedom of speech
elsewhere against this Prince. They reached such a point, in¬
deed, that the King, not daring to complain publicly against
the Prince de Conti, who hated YendSme, for speaking in
favour of Monseigneur de Bourgogne, reprimanded liim sharply
in reality for having done so, but ostensibly because he had
talked about the affairs of Flanders at his sisteFs. Madame de
Bourgogne did all she could to turn the current that was
setting in against her husband; and in this she was assisted
by Madame de Maintenon, who was annoyed to the last degree
to see that other people had more influence over the King than
she had.

The siege of Lille meanwhile continued, and at last it began
to be seen that, instead of attempting to fight a grand battle,,
the wisest course would be to throw assistance into the place.
An attempt was made to do so, but it was now too late.

The besieged, under'the guidance of Marechal Boufilers, who
watched over all, and attended to all, in a manner that gained
him all hearts, made a gallant and determined resistance. A
volume would be necessary in order to relate all the marvels of
capacity and valour displayed in this defence. Our troops dis¬
puted the ground inch by inch. They repulsed, three times
running, the enemy from a mill, took it the third time, and
burnt it. They sustained an attack, in three places at once, of
ten thousand men, from nine o^clock in the evening to three
o'clock in the morning, without giving way. They re-captured
the sole traverse the enemy had been able to take from them.

SIEGE OF LILLE.

41

They drove out the besiegers from the projecting angles of the
^ counterscarp, which they had kept possession of for eight days.

They twice repulsed seven thousand men who attacked their
covered way and an outwork; at the third attack they lost an
angle of the outwork, hut remained masters of all the rest.

So many attacks and engagements terribly weakened the
garrison. On the 28th of September some assistance was sent
to the besieged by the daring of the Chevalier de Luxembourg.

^ It enabled them to sustain with vigour the fresh attacks that

were directed against them, to repulse the enemy, and, by a
grand sortie, to damage some of their works, and kill many of
their men. But all was in vain. The enemy returned again
and again to the attack. Every attempt to cut off their sup¬
plies failed. Finally, on the 23rd of October, a capitulation
was signed. The place had become untenable; three new
breaches had been made on the 20th and 21st; powder and
ammunition were failing ; the provisions were almost all eaten
r up: there was nothing for it but to give in.

Matechal Boufflers obtained all he asked, and retired into
the citadel with all the prisoners of war, after two months of
resistance. He offered discharge to all the soldiers who did
not wish to enter the citadel. But not one of the six thousand
he had left to him accepted it. They were all ready for a new
resistance, and when their chief appeared among them their
joy burst out in the most flattering praises of him. It was on
Friday, the 26th of October, that they shut themselves up in
the citadel.

The enemy opened their trenches before the citadel on the
29th of October. On the 7th of November they made a grand
attack, but were repulsed with considerable loss. But they
did not flinch from their work, and Boufliers began to see that
he could not long hold out. By the commencement of De¬
cember he had only twenty thousand pounds of powder left;
very little of other munitions, and still less food. In the town
and the citadel they had eaten eight hundred horses. Boufl3.ers,.
as soon as the others were reduced to this food, had it served
upon his own table, and ate of it like the rest. The Bang,

42

MEMOIRS OF THE EIJKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

learning in what state these soldiers were, personally sent word
to Boufflers to surrender, but the Marechal, even after he had
received this order, delayed many days to obey it.

At last, in want of the commonest necessaries, and able to
protract his defence no longer, he beat a parley, signed a capit¬
ulation on the 9th of December, obtaining all he asked, and re¬
tired from Lille. Prince Eugene, to whom he surrendered,
treated him with much distinction and friendship, invited him
to dinner several times,—overwhelmed him, in fact, with
attention and civilities. The Prince was glad indeed to have
brought to a successful issue such a difficult siege.

POSITION OF THE DXJC DE BOURGOGNE.

43

CHAPTER V.

Equivocal position of the Due de Bourgogne—His weak conduct—Conceal¬
ment of a battle from the King—Return of the Due de Bourgogne to
Court—Incidents of his reception—Monseigneur—Reception of the Due
de Berry—Behaviour of the Due de Bourgogne—^Anecdotes of Gamaches
—Return of Venddme to Court—His star begins to wane—Contrast of
Boufflers and Venddme—Chamillart’s project for retaking Lille—How it
was defeated by Madame de Maintenon.

The position of Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne at the army
continued to he equivocal. He was constantly in collision with
M. de Venddme. The latter, after the loss of Lille, wished to
defend the Escaut, without any regard to its extent of forty
miles. The Due de Bourgogne, as far as he dared, took the
part of Berwick, who maintained that the defence was impos¬
sible. The King, hearing of all these disputes, actually sent
Chamillart to the army to compose them; and it was a curious
sight to behold this penman, this financier, acting as arbiter
between generals on the most delicate operations of wax.
Chamillart continued to admire Venddme, and treated the Due
de Bourgogne with little respect, both at the army, and, after
his return, in conversation with the King. His report was
given in presence of Madame de Maintenon, who listened with¬
out daring to say a word, and repeated everything to the
Duchesse de Bourgogne. We may imagine what passed be¬
tween them, and the anger of the Princesse against the
minister. For the present, however, nothing could be done.
Berwick was soon afterwards almost disgraced. As soon as he
was gone, M. de Venddme wrote to the King, saying, that he
was sure of preventing the enemy from passing the Escaut—

44

SIEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SMOIT.

that he answered for it on his head. With such a guarantee
from a man in such favour at Court, who could doubt ? Yet,
shortly after, Marlborough crossed the Escaut in four places,
and Vendome actually wrote to the Eing, begging him to re¬
member that he had always declared the defence of the Escaut
to be impossible!

^ The cabal made a great noise to cover this monstrous auda¬
city, and endeavoured to renew the attack against the Due de
Bourgogne. We shall see what success attended their efforts.
The army was at Soissons, near Toumai, in a profound tran¬
quillity, the opium of which, had gained the Due de Bourgogne,
when^news of the approach of the enemy was brought. M. de
Vendome advanced in that direction, and sent word to the Due,
that he thought he ought to advance on the morrow with all
his army. The Due was going to bed when he received the
letter; and although it was too late to repulse the enemy, was
much blamed for continuing to undress himself, and putting off
action till the morrow.

To this fault he added another. He had eaten; it was very
early; and it was no longer proper to march. It was necessary
to wait fresh orders from M. de Vendfme. Tournai was near.
The Due de Bourgogne went there to have a game at tennis.
This sudden party of pleasure strongly scandalized the army,
^d i-aised all manner of unpleasant talk. Advantage was
taken of the young Prince’s imprudence to throw upon him
the blame of what was caused by the negligence of M. de Ten-
d6me.

A serious and disastrous action that took place during these
cations was actuaUy kept a secret from the Edng, until the
Due de la Tremoille, whose son was engaged there, let out the
toth Annoyed that the Emg said nothing to him on the way
m which hh son had distinguished himself, he took the oppor-
toity, whilst he was serving the King, to talk of the passage of
^e Escaut, and said that his son’s regiment had much suffered,
^ow, suffered?” cried the King; “nothing has happened.^’
Whereupon the Due related all to him. The King listened
with the greatet attention, and questioned him, and admitted

THE BXJC EETURNS TO COXJET.

45

before everybody that he knew nothing of all this. His sur¬
prise, and the surprise it occasioned, may be imagined.

It happened that when the King left table, Ohamillart unex¬
pectedly came into his cabinet. He was soon asked about the
action of the Escaut, and why it had not been reported. The
minister, embarrassed, said that it was a thing of no conse¬
quence. The King continued to press him, mentioned details^
and talked of the regiment of the Prince of Tarento. Chamil-
lart then admitted that what happened at the passage was so
disagreeable, and the combat so disagreeable, but so little im¬
portant, that Madame de Maintenon, to whom he had reported
all, had thought it best not to trouble the King upon the
matter, and it had accordingly been agreed not to trouble him.
Upon this singular answer the King stopped short in his ques¬
tions, and said not a word more.

The Escaut being forced, the citadel of Lille on the point of
being taken, our army exhausted with Lxtigue was at last dis¬
persed, to the scandal of everybody; for it was known that
Ghent was about to be besieged. The Princes received orders
to return to Court, but they insisted on the propriety of remain¬
ing with the army, M. de Vendome, who began to fear the
effect of his rashness and insolence, tried to obtain the permis¬
sion to pass the winter with the army on the frontier. He was
not listened to. The Princes received orders most positively to
return to Court, and accordingly set out.

The Duchesse de Bourgogne was very anxious about the way
in which the Due was to be received, and eager to talk to him
and explain how matters stood, before he saw the King or any¬
body else. I sent a message to him that he ought to contrive
to arrive after midnight, in order to pass two or three hours
with the Duchesse, and perhaps see Madame de Maintenon
early in the morning. My message was not received; at any
rate not followed. The Due de Bourgogne arrived on the 11th
of December, a little after seven o’clock in the evening, just as
Monseigneur had gone to the play, whither the Duchesse had
not gone, in order to wait for her husband. I know not why
he alighted in the Cour des Princes, instead of the Great Court

M 3CEM0IES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON*.

I was pnt then in the apartments of the Comtesse de Roncj;,
from which I could see all that passed. I came down, and saw
the Prince ascending the steps between the Dues de Beauvilliers
and De la Eocheguyon, who happened to be there. He looked
quite satisfied, was gay, and laughing, and spoke right and
left- I bowed to him. He did me the honour to embrace me *
in a way that showed me he knew better what was going on •
than how to maintain his dignity. He then talked only to me,
and whispered that he knew what I had said. A troop of
courtiers met him. In their midst he passed the Great Hall of
the Guards, and instead of going to Madame de Maintenon’s by
the priTate door, though the nearest way, went to the great
public entrance. There was no one there but the King and
Madame de Maintenon, with Pontchartrain; for I do not count
the Duchesse de Bourgogne. Pontchartrain noted well what
passed at the interview, and related it all to me that very
evening.

As soon as in Madame de Main tenon’s apartment was heard
the rumour which usually precedes such an arrival, the King
became sufficiently embarrassed to change countenance several
times. The Duchesse de Bourgogne appeared somewhat tremu¬
lous, and fluttered about the room to hide her trouble, pretend¬
ing not to know exactly by which door the Prince would arrive.
Madame de Maintenon was thoughtful. Suddenly all the doors
flew open: the young Prince advanced towards the King, who,
master of himself, more than any one ever was, lost at once aU
embarrassment, took two or three steps towards his grandson,
embrami him with some demonstration of tenderness, spoke of
h^ voyage, and then pointing to the Princesse, said, with a
smiling wuntenance: "Do you say nothing to her?” The
Prince turned a moment towards her, and answered respectfully,

« if he dared not turn away from the King, and did not move"

He then saluted Madame de Maintenon, who received him well.
Talk of travel, beds, roads, and so forth,,lasted, all standing^
some half-quarter of an hour; then the Khig said it would not
be fair to deprive him any longer of the pleasure of being alone
with Madame la Duche^e de Bourgogne, and that they would

RECEPTION OF THE DTJC DE BERRY. 47

have time enough to see each other. The Prince made a bo'w
to the King, another to Madame de Maintenon, passed before
the few ladies of the palace who had taken courage to put tbeir
heads into the room, entered the neighbouring cabinet, wbere
he embraced the Duchesse, saluted the ladies who were there,
that is, kissed them, remained a few moments, and then went
into his apartment, where he shut himself up with the Duchesse
de Bourgogne.

Their lasted two hours and more; just towards the

end, Madame d’O. was let in; soon after the Mardchale d’Estrdes
entered, and soon after that the Duchesse de Bourgogne came
out with them, and returned into the Great Cabinet of Madame
de Maintenon. Monseigneur came there as usual, on returning
from the comedy. Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, troubled
that the Due did not hurry himself to come and salute his
father, went to fetch him, and came back saying that he was
putting on his powder j but observing that Monseigneur was
little satisfied with this want of eagerness, sent again to hurry
him. Just then the Mardchale d’Estrees, hair-brained and light,
and free to say just what came into her head, began to attack
Monseigneur for waiting so tranquilly for his son, instead of
going himself to embrace him. This random expression did not
succeed. Monseigneur replied stiffly that it was not for him to
seek the Due de Bourgogne; but the duty of the Due de Bour-
gogne to seek him. He came at last. The reception was pretty
good, but did not by any means equal that of the King. Almost
immediately the King rang, and everybody went to the supper-
room.

During the supper, M. le Due de Berry arrived, and came to
salute the King at table. To greet Jivm all hearts opened.
The King embraced him very tenderly. Monseigneur only
looked at him tenderly, not daring to embrace his (youngest)
son in presence of the King. All present courted him. He
remained standing near the King all the rest of the supper, and
there was no talk save of post-horses, of roads, and such like
trifles. The King spoke sufficiently at table to Monseigneur le
Due de Bourgogne; but to the Due de Beny, he assumed a

48

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

very different air. Afterwards, there was a supper for the Due
de Berry in the apartments of the Duchesse de Bourgogne; but
the conjugal impatience of the Due de Bourgogne cut it ratlier
too short.

I expressed to the Due de Beauvilliers, with my accustomed
freedom, that the Due de Bourgogne seemed to me very gay on
returning from so sad a campaign. He could not deny this,
and made up his mind to give a hint on the subject. Every¬
body indeed blamed so misplaced a gaiety. Two or three days
.after his arrival the Due de Bourgogne passed three hours with
the liing in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon. I was
afraid that his piety would withhold him from letting out on
the subject of M. de Vendome, but I heard that he spoke on
that subject without restraint, impelled by the advice of the
Duchesse de Bourgogne, and also by the Due de Beauvilliers,
who set his conscience at ease. His account of the campaign,
of affairs, of things, of advices, of proceedings, was complete.
Amother, perhaps, less virtuous, might have used weightier
terms; but at any rate everything was said with a complete¬
ness beyond all hope, if we consider who spoke and who listened.
The Due concluded with an eager prayer to be given an army
in the next campaign, and with the promise of the King to that
effect. Soon after an explanation took place with Monseigneur
at Meudon, Mademoiselle Choin being present. With the latter
he spoke much more in private: she had taken his part with
Monseigneur. The Duchesse de Bourgogne had gained her
•over. The connection of this girl with Madame de Maintenon
was beginning to grow very close indeed.

Gamaches had been to the army with the Duede Bourgogne,
and being a free-tongued man had often spoken out very
sharply on the puerilities in which he indulged in company
with the Due de Berry, influenced by his example. One day
returning from mass, in company with the Due on a critical
day, when he would rather have seen him on horseback, he said
aloud, “You will certainly win the kingdom of heaven; but as
for the kingdom of the earth. Prince Eugene and Marlborough
know how to seek it better than you.” What he said quite as

RETURN OF VENDOME TO COURT.

49

publicly to the two Princes on their treatraent of the King of
England, was admirable. That Prince (known as the Chevalier
■de St. Georges) served incognito, with a modesty that the
Princes took advantage of to treat him with the greatest indif¬
ference and contempt. Towards the end of the campaign,
Gamaches, exasperated with their conduct, exclaimed to them
in the presence of everybody: Is this a wager ? speak frankly;
if so, you have won, there can be no doubt of that; but now,
speak a little to the Chevalier de St. Georges, and treat him
more politely.'' These sallies, however, were too public to
produce any good effect. They were suffered, but not at¬
tended to.

The citadel of Lille capitulated as we have seen, with the
consent of the King, who was obliged to acknowledge that the
Mardchal de BoufSers had done all he could, and that further
defence was impossible. Prince Eugfene treated Boufflers with
the greatest possible consideration. The enemy at this time
made no secret of their intention to invest Ghent, which made
the dispersal of our army the more shameful; but necessity
commanded, for no more provisions were to be go^.

M. de Vendome arrived at Versailles on the morning of
December 15 th, and saluted the King as he left table. The
Bang embraced him with a sort of enthusiasm that made his
cabal triumph. He monopolised all conversation during the
dinner, but only trifles were talked of. The King said he would
talk to him next day at Madame de Maintenon's. This delay,
which was new to him, did not seem of good augury. Pie went
to pay his respects to M. de Bourgogne, who received him well
in spite of all that had passed. Then Venddme went to wait
on Monseigneur at the Princesse de Conti's : here he thought
himself in his stronghold. He was received excellently, and
the conversation tui*ned on nothings. He wished to take ad¬
vantage of this, and proposed a visit to Anet. His surprise and
that of those present were great at the uncertain reply of Mon¬
seigneur, who caused it to be understood, and rather stiffly too,
that he would not go. Yenddme appeared embarrassed, and
abridged his visit. I met him at the end of the gallery of the

yoE. ii. 4

so

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

new wing, as I was coming from M. de Beauvilliers, turning
towards the steps in the middle of the gallery. He was alone,
without torches or valets, with Alberoni, followed by a man I
did not know. I saw him by the light of my torches; we
saluted each other politely, though we had not much acquaint¬
ance one with the other. He seemed chagrined, and was going
to M. du Maine, his counsel and principal support.

Next day he passed an hour with the King at Madame de
Maintenon’s. He remained eight or ten days at Versailles or
at Meudon, and never went to the Duchesse de Bourgogne’s.
This was nothing new for him. The mixture of grandeur and
irregularity which he had long affected seemed to him to have
freed him from the most indispensable duties. His Abbe Albe¬
roni showed himself at the King s mass in the character of a
courtier with unparalleled effrontery. At last they went to
Anet. Even before he went he perceived some diminution in
his position, since he lowered himself so far as to invite people
to come and see him,—he, who in former years made it a favour
to receive the most distinguished persons. He soon perceived
the falling-i©ff in the number of his visitors. Some excused
themselves from going; others promised to go and did not.
Every one made a difficulty about a journey of fifteen leagues,
which, the year before, was considered as easy and as necessary
as that of Marly. Yenddme remained at Anet until the first
voyage to Marly, when he came; and he always came to Marly
and Meudon, never to Versailles, until the change of which I
shall soon have occasion to speak.

The Mar^chal de Boufflers returned to court from his firm
but unsuccessful defence of Lille, and was received in a
triumphant manner, and overwhelmed with honours and
rewards. This contrast with Vendbme was remarkable: the
one raised by force of trickery, heaping up mountains like the
giants, leaning on vice, lies, audacity, on a cabal inimical to
the state and its heirs,^ a factitious hero, made such by will in

* Observe the curious identification’of the State and the King :—VMat
et ses Mritiers. This illustrates the probably apocryphal saying—
c^est MoiP

PEOJECT FOE EETAKINC^ LILLE.

51

despite of tmtli;—the other, without cabal, with no support
but virtue and modesty, was inundated with favours and the
applause of enemies was followed by the acclamations of the
public^ so that the nature of even courtiers changed, and they
were happy in the recompenses showered upon him 1

Some days after the return of the Due de Bourgogne,
Cheverny had an interview with him, on leaving which he
told me what I cannot refrain from relating here, though it is
necessarily with confusion that I write it. He said that,
speaking freely with him on what had been circulated during
the campaign, the Prince observed that he knew how and with
what vivacity I had expressed myself, and that he was in¬
formed of the manner in which the Prince de Conti had given
his opinion, and added that with the approval of two such
men, that of others might be dispensed with. Cheverny, a
very truthful man, came full of this to tell it to me at once. I
was filled with confusion at being placed beside a man as
superior to me in knowledge of war as he was in rank and
birth ^ but I felt with gratitude how well M. de Beauvilliers
had kept his word and spoken in my favour.

The last evening of this year (1708) was very remarkable,
because there had not yet been an example of any such thing.
The King having retired after supper to his cabinet with his
family, as usual, Chamillart came without being sent for. He
whispered in the King’s ear that he had a long despatch from
the Mar4chal de BoujBSlers. Immediately the King said good-
night to Monseigneur and the Princesses, who went out with
every one else; and the King actually worked for an hour
with his minister before going to bed, so excited was he by the
great project for retaking Lille!

Since the faU of Lille, in fact, Chamillart, impressed with
the importance of the place being in our possession, had laid
out a plan by which we were to lay siege to it and recapture
it. One part of his plan was, that the King should conduct
the siege in person. Another was, that, as money was so
difficult to obtain, the ladies of the Court should not accom¬
pany the King, as their presence caused a large increase of

4—2

52

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOH.

expense for carriages, servants, and so on. He confided Ms
project to the King, under a strict promise that it should be
kept secret from Madame de Maintenon. He feared, and -with
reason, that if she heard of it she would object to being
separated from the King for such a long time as would be
necessary for the siege. Chamillart was warned that if he
acted thus, hiding his plan from Madame de Maintenon, to
whom he owed everything, she would assuredly ruin him, but
he paid no attention to the warning. He felt all the danger
he ran, but he was courageous; he loved the State, and, if I
may say so, he loved the King as a mistress. He followed Ms
own counsels then, and made the Bang acquainted with Ms
project.

The King was at once delighted with it. He entered into
the details submitted to him by Chamillart with the liveliest in¬
terest, and promised' to carry out all that was proposed. He
sent for Boufflers, who had returned from Lille, and having, as
I have said, recompensed him for his brave defence of that place
with a peerage and other marks of favour, despatched him
privately into Flanders to make preparations for the siege.
The abandonment of Ghent by our troops, after a short and
miserable defence, made him more than ever anxious to carry
out this scheme.

But the King had been so unused to keep a secret from
Madame de Maintenon, that he felt himself constrained in
attempting to do so now. He confided to her, therefore, the
admirable plan of Chamillart. She had the address to hide ber
surprise, and the strength to dissimulate perfectly her vexation;
she praised the project; she appeared charmed with it; she
entered into the details; she spoke of them to Chamillart;
admired his zeal, his labour, his diligence, and, above all, bis
ability, in having conceived and rendered possible so fine and
grand a project.

From that moment, however, she forgot nothing in order to
ensure its failure. The first sight of it had made her tremble.
To be separated from the King during a long siege; to abandon
him to a minister to whom he would be grateful for all the

INTRIGUES OF MADAME DE MAINTENON.

53

success of that siege; a minister, too, who, although her
creature, had dared to submit this project to the King without
informing her; who, moreover, had recently offended her by
marrying his son into a family she considered inimical to her,
and by supporting M. de Vend&me against Monseigneur
de Bourgogne! These were considerations that determined her
to bring about the failure of Chamillart’s project and the dis¬
grace of Chamillart himself.

^he employed her art so well, that after a time the project
upon Lille did not appear so easy to the King as at first.
Soon after, it seemed difficult; then too hazardous and ruinous;
so that at last it was abandoned, and Boufflers had orders to
cease his preparations and return to France 1 She succeeded
thus in an affair she considered the most important she had
undertaken during all her life. Chamillart was much touched,
but little surjirised. As soon as he knew his secret had been
confided to Madame de Maintenon he had feeble hope for it.
Now he began to fear for himself.

54

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

CHAPTER VI.

TT6iii€iidous Cold in IFi’^.nco—"W^intsra of 1*700_i?* ^ •

oS^sMSeTof £ ^pSpTltew

General Ruin—iLreased Misfortunes — TWeLd^Soi

One of the reasons Madame de Maintenon had brought forward
which much Msisted her in opposing the siege of LiUe, was the
excessive cold of this winter. The winter was, in fact, terrible •
the memory of man could find no paraUel to it. The frost
came suddenly on Twelfth Night, and lasted nearly two
months, beyond all recollection. In four days the Seine and
all the other rivers were frozen, and, what had never been seen
before, the sea froze all along the coasts, so as to bear carts
even heavily laden, upon it. Curious observers pretended that
this cold surpassed what had ever been felt in Sweden and
Denmark. The tribunals were closed a considerable time
The worst thing was, that it completely thawed for seven or
eight days, and then froze again as rudely as before. This

caused the complete destruction of all kinds of vegetation__

even fruit-trees, and others of the most hardy kind were
destroyed. ' The violence of the cold was such, that the
strongest elixirs and the most spirituous liquors broke their
bottles in cupboards of rooms with fires in them, and surrounded
by chimneys, in several parts of the chateau of Versailles, as I
myself was one evening supping with the Due de Villeroy in
his little bed-room, I saw bottles that had come from a well-

INCIDENTS OF THE WINTER.

55

lieated kitchen^ and that had been put on the chimney-piece of
this bed-room (which was close to the kitchen), so frozen, that
pieces of ice fell into our glasses as we poured out from them.
The second frost ruined everything. There were no walnut-
trees, no olive-trees, no apple-trees, no vines left,—^none worth
speaking of, at least. The other trees died in great numbers;
the gardens perished, and all the grain in the earth. It is
impossible to imagine the desolation of this general ruin.
Everybody held tight his old grain. The price of bread
increased in proporbion to the despair for the next harvest.
The most knowing re-sowed barley where there had been
wheat, and were imitated by the majority. They were the
most successful^ and saved all; but the police bethought
themselves of prohibiting this, and repented too late! Divers
edicts were published respecting grain, researches were made
and granaries filled; commissioners were appointed to scour
the provinces, and all these steps contributed to increase the
general dearness and poverty, and that, too, at a time when, as
was afterwards proved, there was enough corn in the country
to feed all France for two years, without a fresh ear being
reaped.

Many people believed that the finance gentlemen had
clutched at this occasion to seize upon all the com in the king--
dom, by emissaries they sent about, in order to sell it at what¬
ever price they wished for the profit of the King, not for¬
getting their own. The fact that a large quantity of corn that
the King had bought, and that had spoiled upon the Loire,
was thrown into the water in consequence, did not shake this
opinion, as the accident could not be hidden. It is certain
that the price of corn was equal in all the markets of the
realm; that at Paris, commissioners fixed the price by force,
;and often obliged the vendors to raise it in spite of themselves;
that when people cried out, '"How long will this scarcity
last?’’ some commissioners in a market, close to my house,
near St. Germain des Prds, replied openly, '"As long as you
please,” moved by compassion and indignation, meaning
thereby, as long as the people chose to submit to the regula-

56

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOJST.

tiotij, according to -^^Mcli no corn entered Paris, except on an
order of D’Argenson. D’Argenson was tlie lieutenant of police.
The bakers were treated with the utmost rigour in order to
keep up the price of bread all over France. In the provinces,
officers called intendants did what D’Argenson did at Paris,
On all the markets, the com that was not sold at the hour
fixed for closing was forcibly carried off; those who, from pity,
sold their corn lower than the fixed rate were punished with
cruelty!

Max^chal, the King’s surgeon, had the courage and the
probity to tell all these things to the King, and to state the sin¬
ister opinions it gave rise to among all classes, even the most
enlightened. The King appeared touched, was not offended
with Mardchal, but did nothing.

In several places large stores of corn were collected by the
government authorities, but with the greatest possible secrecy.
Private people were expressly forbidden to do this, and in¬
formers were encouraged to betray them. A poor feUow,
having bethought himself of informing against one of the
stores alluded to above, was severely punished for his pains.
The Parliament assembled to debate upon these disorders. It
came to the resolution of submitting various proposals to the
King, which it deemed Kkely to improve the conffition of the
coimtry, and offered to send its Conseillers to examine into the
conduct of the monopolists. As soon as the King heard of
this, he flew into a strange passion, and his first intention was
to send a harsh message to the Parliament to attend to law
trials, and not to mix with matters that did not concern it.
The chancellor did not dare to represent to the King that what
the Parliament wished to do belonged to its province, but
calmed him by representing the respect and affection with
which the Parliament regarded him, and that he was master
either to accept or refuse its offers. No reprimand was given,
therefore, to the Parliament, but it was informed that the King
prohibited it from meddling with the com question. However
accustomed the Parliament, as well as all the other public
bodies, might be to humiliations, it wae exceedingly vexed by

PAELIAMENT OF BXTEGUNDY.

5T

this treatment, and obeyed with the greatest grief. The public
was, nevertheless, much affected by the conduct of the Parlia¬
ment, and felt that if the Finance Ministry had been innocent
in the matter, the Eling would have been pleased with what
had taken place, which was in no respect an attack on the ab¬
solute and unbounded authority, of which he was so vUely
jealous.

In the country a somewhat similar incident occurred. The
Parliament of Burgundy, seeing the province in the direst ne¬
cessity, wrote to the Intendant, who did not bestir himself the*
least in the world. In this pressing danger of a murderous
famine, the members assembled to debate upon the course to
adopt. Nothing was said or done more than was necessary,
and all with infinite discretion, yet the Ehng was no sooner in¬
formed of it than he grew extremely irritated. He sent a
severe reprimand to this Parliament; prohibited it from med¬
dling again in the matter; and ordered the President, who had
conducted the assembly, to come at once to Court to explain
his conduct. He came, and but for the intervention of M. le
Due would have been deprived of his post, irreproachable as
his conduct had been. He received a sharp scolding from the-
King, and was then allowed to depart. At the end of a few
weeks he returned to Dijon, where it had been resolved to re¬
ceive him in triumph; but, like a wise and experienced man,,
he shunned these attentions, arranging so that he arrived
at Dijon at four o'clock in the morning. The other Parlia¬
ments, with these examples before them, were afraid to act, and
allowed the Intendants and their emissaries to have it all their
own way. It was at this time that those commissioners were
appointed, to whom I have already alluded, who acted under
the authority of the Intendants, and without dependence of
any kind upon the Parliaments. True, a court of appeal
against their decisions was established, but it was a mere
mockery. The members who composed it did not set out to*
fulfil their duties until three months after having been ap¬
pointed. Then, matters had been so arranged that they re¬
ceived no appeals, and found no cases to judge. All this dark

o8 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SATNT-SIMOK.

"work remained, therefore, in the hands of D’Axgenson and the
Intendants, and it continued to he done with the same harsh¬
ness as ever.

Without passing a more definite judgment on those who in¬
vented and profited by this scheme, it may he said that there
has scarcely been a century which has produced one more mys¬
terious, more daring, better arranged, and resulting in an
oppression so enduring, so sure, so cruel. The sums it pro¬
duced were innumerable; and innumerable were the people
who died literally of hunger, and those who perished after¬
wards of the maladies caused by the extremity of misery; in¬
numerable also were the families who were ruined, whose ruin
brought down a torrent of other iUs.

Despite all this, payments, hitherto most strictly made,
began to cease. Those of the customs, those of the divers
loans, the dividends upon the H6tel de ViUe—in all times
so_ sacred all were suspended; these last alone continued, but
with delays, then with retrenchments, which desolated nearly
all the famihes of Paris and many others. At the same time
the taxes ^increased, multiphed, and exacted with the most
extreme rigour—completed the devastation of France. Every¬
thing rose incredibly in price, while nothing was left to buy
with, even at the cheapest rate; and although the majority of
the cattle had perished for want of food, and by the misery of
those who kept them, a new monopoly was established upon
horned beasts. A great number of people who, in preceding
years, used to relieve the poor, found themselves so reduced as
to be able to subsist only with great difficulty, and many of
them received alms in secret. It is impossible to say how
many others laid siege to the hospitals, until then the shame
and pumshment of the poor; how many ruined hospitals re-
vomited forth their inmates to the pubUc charge-that is to
^y, sent them away to die actually of hunger; and how many
decent fa^es shut themselves up in garrets to die of want.

It IS impossible to say, moreover, how aU this misery
wanned up zeal and charity, or how immense were the alms
distnbuted. But want increasing each instant, an indiscreet

NEW TAlTEa ,

59

and tyrannical cliarity imagined new taxes for the benefit of
the poor. They were imposed, and, added to so many others,
vexed numbers of people, who were annoyed at being com¬
pelled to pay, who would have preferred giving voluntarily.
Thus, these new tares, instead of helping the poor, really took
away assistance from them, and left them worse off than be¬
fore. The strangest thing of all is, that these taxes in favour
of the poor were perpetuated and appropriated by the King,
and are received by the financiers on his account to this day as
a branch of the revenue, the name of them not having even
been changed. The same thing has happened with respect to
the annual tax for keeping up the highways and thoroughfares
of the kingdom. The majority of the bridges were broken, and
the high roads had become impracticable. Trade, which suf¬
fered by this, awakened attention. The Intendant of Cham¬
pagne determined to mend the roads by parties of men, whom
he compelled to work for nothing, not even giving them bread.
He was imitated everywhere, and was made Counsellor of
State. The people died of hunger and misery at this work,
while those who overlooked them made fortunes. In the end
the thing was found to be impracticable, and was abandoned,
and so were the roads. But the impost for makiug them and
keeping them up did not in the least stop during this experi¬
ment or since, nor has it ceased to be appropriated as a branch
of the King’s revenue.

But to return to the year 1709. People never ceased won¬
dering what had become of all the money of the realm. Nobody
could any longer pay, because nobody was paid: the country-
people, overwhelmed with exactions and with valueless pro¬
perty, had become insolvent: trade no longer yielded anything
—good faith and confidence were at an end. Thus the King
had no resources, except in terror and in his unlimited power,
which, boundless as it was, failed also for want of having some¬
thing to take and to exercise itself upon. There was no more
circulation, no means of rfe-establishing it. All was perishing
step by step; the realm was entirely exhausted; the troops,
even, were not paid, although no one could imagine what was

60

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

done with the millions that came into the King’s coffers, The^
unfed soldiers, disheartened too at being so badly commanded^
were always unsuccessful; there was no capacity in generals or
ministers; no appointment except by whim or intrigue ; nothing
was punished, nothing examined, nothing weighed: there was
equal impotence to sustain the war and bring about peace : all
suffered, yet none dared to put the hand to this arch, tottering
as it was and ready to fall.

This was the frightful state to which we were reduced,,
when envoys were sent into Holland to try and bring
about peace. The picture is exact, faithful, and not over¬
charged. It was necessary to present it as it was, in order to
explain the extremity to which we were reduced, the enormity
of the concessions which the King made to obtain peace, and
the visible miracle of Him who sets bounds to the seas, by
which France was aUowed to escape from the hands of Europe,
resolved and ready to destroy her.

Meanwhile the money was re-coined; and its increase to a
third more than its intrinsic value, brought some profit to the
King, but ruin to private people, and a disorder to trade which
completed its annihilation.

Samuel Bernard, the banker, overthrew all Lyons by his.
prodigious bankruptcy, which caused the most terrible results.
Hesmarets assisted him as much as possible. The discredit
into which paper money had fallen, was the cause of his failure.
He had issued notes to the amount of twenty millions, and
owed almost as much at Lyons. Fourteen millions were given
to him in assignations, in order to draw him out of his diffi-
culties. It is pretended that he found means to gain much by
his bankruptcy, but this seems doubtful.

The winter at length passed away. In the spring so many
ciisoraers took place in the market of Paris, that more guards
than usual were kept in the city. At Saint Kock there was a
disturbance, on account of a poor fellow who had fallen, and
been trampled under foot; and the crowd, which was very large,
was very insolent to D’Argenson, Lieutenant of Police, who had
hastened there. M. de la Eochefoucauld, who had retired from

THREATENED REGICIDE.

61

the court to Chenil, on account of his loss of sight, received an.
atrocious letter against the King, in which it was plainly
intimated that there were still Kavaillacs left in the world;
and to this madness was added an eulogy of Brutus.*^ M. do
la Eochefoucauld at once went in all haste to the King with
this letter. His sudden appearance showed that something
important had occurred, and the object of his visit, of course,
soon became known. He was very ill received for coming so
publicly on such an errand. The Dues de Beauvilliers and
de Bouillon, it seems, had received similar letters, but had
given them to the King privately. The King for some days
was much troubled, but after due reflection, he came to the
conclusion that people who menace and warn have less inten¬
tion of committing a crime than of causing alarm.

What annoyed the King more was, the inundation of
placards, the most daring and the most unmeasured, against
his person, his conduct, and his government—^placards, which
for a long time were found pasted upon the gates of Paris, the
churches, the public places, above all upon the statues; which
during the night were insulted in various fashions, the marks
being seen the next morning, and the inscriptions erased.
There were also, multitudes of verses and songs, in which
nothing was spared.

We were in this state until the 16th of May. The procession
of St. Genevieve took place. This procession never takes place
•except in times of the direst necessity; and then, only in virtue
of orders from the King, the parliament, or the Archbishop of
Paris. On the one hand, it was hoped that it would bring succour
to the country; on the other, that it would amuse the people.

It was shortly after this, when the news of the arrogant de¬
mands of the allies, and the vain attempts of the King to obtain
an honourable peace became known, that the Duchesse de
Grammont conceived the idea of offering her plate to the King,
to replenish his impoverished exchequer, and to afford him

* The mind recoils with horror from the wretch to whom such an idea
could have presented itself amidst the blessings which the absolute authority
'Of Louis XIV. was showering upon the country.

62

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

means to cany on the war. She hoped that her example would
he followed by aU the Courts and that she alone would have
the merit and the profit of suggesting the idea. Unfortunately
for this hope, the I)uc_, her husband^ spoke of the project to*
Marechal Boufflers, who thought it so good, that he noised it
abroad, and made such a stir, exhorting everybody to adopt it,
that he passed for the inventor, and no mention was made of
the Due or the old Duchesse de Grammont, the latter of whom
was much enraged at thia ,

The project made a great hubbub at the Court. Nobody
dared to refuse to offer his plate, yet each offered it with much
regret. Some had been keeping it as a last resource, which
they were very sorry to deprive themselves of; others feared
the dirtiness of copper and earthenware; others again were
annoyed at being obliged to imitate an ungrateful fashion, aU
the merit of which would go to the inventor. It was in vairt
that Pontchartrain objected to the project, as one from which
only, trifling benefit could be derived, and which would do
great injury to France by acting as a proclamation of its em¬
barrassed state to all the world, at home and abroad. The
King would not listen to his reasonings, but declared himself
wfiling to receive aU the plate that was sent to him as a free-
wiU offering. He announced this; and two means were indi¬
cated at the same time, which aU good citizens might follow.
One was, to send their plate to the King’s goldsmith; the other,
to send it to the Mint. Those who made an unconditional gift
of their plate, sent it to the former, who kept a register of the*
names and of the number of marks he received. The King
regularly looked over this list, at least at first, and promised in
general terms to restore to everybody the weight of metal they
gave when his affeirs permitted—a promise nobody believed in
or hoped to see executed. Those who wished to be paid for-
their plate sent it to the Mint. It was weighed on arrival; the
names were written, the marks and the date; payment was
made according as money could be found. Many people were
not sorry thus to seU their plate without shame. But the loss
and the damage were inestimable in admirable ornaments of

EARTHENWAEE IN FASHION.

63

all kinds, with w’hich much of the plate of the rich was embel¬
lished.

When an account came to be drawn up, it was found that
not a hundred people were upon the list of Launay, the gold¬
smith ; and the total product of the gift did not amount to three
millions. I confess that I was very late in sending my plate.
When I found that I was almost the only one of my rank usino-
silver, I sent plate to the value of a thousand pistoles to the
Mint, and locked up the rest. AU the great people turned to
earthenware, exhausted the shops where it was sold, and set the
trade in it on fire, while common folks continued to use their
silver. Even the King thought of using earthenware, having
sent his gold vessels to the Mint, but afterwards decided upon
plated metal and silver; the Princes and Princesses of the blood
used crockery.

Ere three months were over his head the King felt all the
shame and the weakness of having consented to this surrender¬
ing of plate, and avowed that he repented of it. The inunda¬
tions of the Loire, which happened at the same time, and
caused the utmost disorder, did not restore the Court or the
public to good humour. The losses they caused, and the dam¬
age they did, were very considerable, and ruined many private
people, and desolated home trade.

Summer came. The dearness of all things, and of bread in
particular, continued to cause frequent commotions all over the
realm. Although, as I have said, the guards of Paris were
much increased, above all in the markets and the suspected
places, they were unable to hinder disturbances from breaking
out. In many of these D’Argenson nearly lost his life.

Mon seigneur arriving and returning from the Opera, was
assailed by the populace and by women in great numbers cry¬
ing, Bread ! Bread !” so that he was afraid, even in the midst
of his guards, who did not dare to disperse the crowd for fear of
worse happening. He got away by throwing money to the
people, and promising wonders ; but as the wonders did not
follow, he no longer dared to go to Paris.

The King himself from his windows heard the people of Ver-

€4* MEHOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

sailles crying aloud in the street. The discourses they held
were daring and continual in the streets and public places; they
uttered complaints, sharp, and but little measured, against the
government, and even against the King's person; and even ex¬
horted each other no longer to be so enduring, saying that
nothing worse could happen to them than what they suffered,
dying as they were of starvation.

To amuse the people, the idle and the poor were employed
to level a rather large hillock which remained upon the Boule¬
vard, between the Fortes St. Denis and St. Martin • and for all
salary, bad bread in small quantities was distributed to these
workers. It happened that on Tuesday morning, the 20th of
August, there was no bread for a large number of these people.
A woman amongst others cried out at this, which excited the
rest to do likewise. The archers appointed to watch over these
labourers, threatened the woman; she only cried the louder;
thereupon the archers seized her and indiscreetly put her in an
adjoining pillory. In a moment all her companions ran to her
aid, pulled down the pillory, and scoured the streets, pillaging
the bakers and pastrycooks. One by one the shops closed.
The disorder increased and spread through the neighbouring
streets; no harm was done anybody, but the cry was “ Bread !
Bread V and bread was seized everywhere.

It so fell out that Marechal Boufflers, who little thought
what was happening, was in the neighbourhood, calling upon
his notary. Surprised at the fright he saw everywhere^ and
learning the cause, he wished of himself to appease it. Accom¬
panied by the Due de Grammont, he directed himself towards
the scene of the disturbance, although advised not to do so.
When he arrived at the top of the Hue St. Denis, the crowd
and the tumult made him judge that it would be best to alight
firom his coach. He advanced, therefore, on foot with the Due
de Grammont among the furious and infinite crowd of people, of
whom he asked the cause of this uproar, promised them bread,
spoke his best with gentleness but firmness, and remonstrated
with them. He was listened to. Cries, several times repeated,
of Yive M. le Marechal de Boufflers," burst from the crowd.

INJeXITENCE OF MABECHAL BOUFFLEBS.

65

M. de Boufflers walked tkiis with M. de Grammont aU along the
Ene anx Ours and the neighbouring streets,—^into the very
centre of the sedition, in fact. The people begged him to repre¬
sent their misery to the King, and to obtain for them some
food. He promised this, and upon his word being given all
were appeased and aU dispersed with thanks and fresh accla¬
mations of '‘Vive M. le Marechal de BoufflersHe did a real
service that day. D’Argenson had marched to the spot with
troops; and had it not been for the Marechal, blood would
have been spilt, and things might have gone very far.

The Marechal had scarcely reached his own house in the
Place Eoyale than he was informed that the sedition had
broken out with even greater force in the Faubourg St. Antoine.
He ran there immediately, with the Due de Grammont, and
appeased it as he had appeased the other. He returned to
his own home to eat a mouthful or two, and then set out for
Versailles. Scarcely had he left the Place Eoyale than the
people in the streets and the shopkeepers cried to him to have
pity on them, and to get them some bread, always with " Vive
M. le Marechal de Boufflers 1” He was conducted thus as far as
the quay of the Louvre.

On arriving at Versailles he went straight to the Edng, told
him what had occurred, and was much thanked. He was even
offered by the King the command of Paris,—^troops, citizens,
police and all; but this he declined, Paris, as he said, haviug
already a governor and proper officers to conduct its affairs.
He afterwards, however, willingly lent his aid to them in
office, and the modesty with which he acted brought him new
glory.

Immediately after, the supply of bread was carefully looked
to. Paris was filled with patrols, perhaps with too many, but
they succeeded so weU. that no fresh disturbances took place.

VOL. n.

5

66

MEMOIES OF THE BHKE OF SAIHT-SMOH.

CHAPTER VII.

M. de Yendome out of favour—Death and character of the Prince de Conti
—PaH of Yendome—Puys^guPs interview with the ging —Madame de
Bourgogne against Yendome—Her decided conduct—Yendome excluded
from Marly—He clings to Meudon—From which he is also expelled—
His final disgrace and abandonment—Triumph of Ma/lfl.mA de Mainte-
non.

After bis return from the campaign, M. de Yendome con¬
tinued to be paid like a general serving in winter, and to enjoy
many other advantages. From all this, people inferred that lie
would serve during the following campaign; nobody dared to
doubt as much, and tbe cabal derived new strength therefrord.
But their Httle triumph -was not of long continuance. M. de
Yendome came to Versailles for the ceremony of the Order on
Candlemas-Day. He then learned that he was not to serve, and
that he was no longer to receive general’s pay. The blow was
violent, and he felt it to its fullest extent; but, with a prudence
that equalled his former imprudence, he swaUo wed the pill with¬
out making a face, because he feared other more bitter ones,
which he felt he had deserved. This it was that, for the first
time in his life, made him moderate. He did not affect to con¬
ceal what had taken place, but did not say whether it was in
consequence of any request of his, or whether he was glad or
sorry,—giving it out as an indifferent piece of news; and changed
nothing hut his language, the audacity of which he diminished
as no longer suited to the times. He sold his equipages.

M. le Prince de Conti died February 22, aged not quite forty-
five. His face had been cbarming; even the defects of his body

CFABAC5TEE OF THE PBIHCE DE CONTI.

67

and mind had infinite graces. His shonldem were too Mgli; his
head was a little on one side; his laugh would have seemed a
bray in any one else; his mind was strangely absent. He was
gallant with the women, in love with many, well treated by
several; he was even coquettish with men. He endeavoured
to please the cobbler, the lacquey, the porter, as well as the
Minister of State, the Grand Seigneur, the General,—all so
naturally that success was certain. He was consequently the
constant delight of every one, of the Court, the armies; the
divinity of the people, the idol of the soldiers, the hero of the
oflScers, the hope of whatever was most distinguished, the love
of the Parliament, the friend of the learned, and often the ad¬
miration of the historian, of jurisconsults, of astronomers, and
mathematicians, the most profound. He was especially learned
in genealogies, and knew their chimeras and their realities.
With him the useful and the polite, the agreeable and the deep,
all was distinct and in its place. He had friends, knew how to
choose them, cultivate them, visit them, live with them, put
himself on their level without haughtiness or baseness. But
this man, so amiable, so charming, so delicious, loved nothing.
He had and desired friends, as other people have and desire
articles of furniture. Although with much self-respect he was
a humble courtier, and showed too much how greatly he was in
want of support and assistance from all sides ; he was avaricious,
greedy of fortune, ardent and unjust. The King could not bear
him, and was grieved with the respect he was obliged to show
him, and which he was careful never to trespass over by a
single jot. Certain intercepted letters had excited a hatred
against him in Madame de Maintenon, and an indignation in
the King which nothing could efface. The riches, the talents,
the agreeable qualities, the great reputation which this Prince
had acquired, the general love of all, became crimes in him.
The contrast with M. du Maine excited daily irritation and
jealousy. The very purity of his Hood was a reproach to him.
Even his friends were odious, and felt that this was so. At last,
however, various causes made him to be chosen, in the midst of
a very marked disgrace to command the army in Flandera.

5—2

68 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK

He was delighted, and gave himself np to the most agreeable
hopes. But it was no longer time : he had sought to drown his
sorrow at wearing out his life unoccupied in wine and other
pleasures, for which his age and his already enfeebled body
were no longer suited. His health gave way. He felt it soon.
The tardy return to favour which he had enjoyed made him
regi'et life more. He perished slowly, regretting to have been
brought to deaths door by disgrace, and the impossibility of
being restored by the unexpected opening of a brilliant career.

The Prince, against the custom of those of his rank, had been
■very well educated. He was fuU of instruction. The disorders
of his life had clouded his knowledge but not extinguished it,
and he often read to brush up his learning. He chose M. de la
Tour to prepare him, and help him to die well. He was so
attached to life that all his courage was required. For three
months crowds of visitors fiUed his palace, and the people even
collected in the place before it. The churches echoed with
prayers for his life. The members of his family often went to
pay for masses for him, and found that others had already done
so. All questions were about his health. People stopped each
other in the street to inquire; passers-by were called to by
shopmen, anxious to know whether the Prince de Conti was to
live or to die. Amidst all this. Monseigneur never visited him;
and, to the indignation of all Paris, passed along the quay near
the Louvre going to the Opera, whilst the sacraments were be¬
ing carried to the Prince on the other side. He was compelled
by public opinion to make a short visit after this. The Prince
died at last in his aiun-chair, surrounded by a few worthy
people. Eegrets were universal; but perhaps he gained by his
disgrace. His heart was firmer than his head. He might
bave been timid at the head of an army or in the Council of
the King if he had entered it. The Kin g was much relieved
by Ms death; Madame de Maintenon also; M. le Due much
more; for M. du Maine it was a deliverance, and for M. de Ven-
ddme a consolation. Monseigneur learned it at Meudon as he
was going out to hunt, and showed no feeling of any kind.

The death of M. le Prince de Conti seemed to the Due

FALL OF VENDOME.

m

de Vend6me a considerable advantage, because he was thus
delivered from a rival most embarrassing by the superiority of
his birth, just when he was about to be placed in a high
military position. I have already mentioned Vend6me\s ex¬
clusion from command. The fall of this Prince of the Proud
had then begun: we have now reached the second step, between
which and the third there was a space of between two and
three months * but as the third had no connection with any
other event, I will relate it at once.

Whatever reasons existed to induce the King to take from
M. de Vendome the command of his armies, I know not, if all
the art and credit of Madame de Maintenon would not have
been employed in vain, together with the intrigues of M.
du Maine, without an adventure, which I must at once
■explain, to set before the reader’s eyes the issue of the terrible
struggle, pushed to such extremes, between Vendome, seconded
by his formidable cabal, and the necessary heir of the Crown,
supported by his wife, the favourite of the King, and Madame
de Maintenon, which last, to speak clearly, as all the Court
saw, for thirty years governed him completely.

When M. de Vendome returned from Flanders, he had a
short interview with the King, in which he made many bitter
complaints against Puysdgur, one of his lieutenant-generals,
whose sole offence was that he was much attached to M.
de Bourgogne. Puysdgur was a great favourite with the King,
^nd often, on account of the business of the infantry regiment,
of which the King thought himself the private colonel, had
private interviews with him, and was held in high estimation
for his capacity and virtue. He, in his turn, came back from
Flanders, and had a private audience of the King. The com¬
plaints that had been made against him by M. de VendSme
were repeated to him by the King, who, however, did not
mention from whom they came. Puysegur defended himself
so well, that the King in his surprise mentioned this latter
fact. At the name of VendSme, Puys^ur lost all patience.
He described fco the Kdng all the faults, the impertinences, the
obstinacy, the insolence of M. de VendSme, with a precision

70

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

and clearness which made his listener very attentive and veiy
fruitful in questions. Puys6gur, seeing that he might go on,
gave himself rein, unmasked M. de Vendome from top to toe,
described his ordinary life at the army, the incapacity of his
body, the incapacity of his judgment, the prejudices of his
mind, the absurdity and crudity of his maxims, his utter
ignorance of the art of war, and showed to demonstration, that
it was only by a profusion of miracles France had not been
ruined by him—^lost a hundred times over.

The conversation lasted more than two hours. The Kiner,
long since convinced of the capacity, fidelity, and truthfulness,
of Puysegur, at last opened his eyes to the truth respecting
this Vendome, hidden with so much art until then, and
re^rded as a hero and the tutelary genius of France. He was
vexed and ashamed of his credulity, and from the date of this
conversation Venddme fell at once from his favour.

Puysegur, naturally humble, gentle, and modest, but truth¬
ful, and on this occasion piqued, went out into the gallery after
his convemation, and made a general report of it to all,
virtuously braving Vendome and all his cabal. This cabal
trembled with rage; Venddme still more so. They answered
by miserable reasonings, which nobody cared for. This was
what led to the suppression of his pay, and his retirement to
Anet, where he afiected a philosophical indifference.

Crestfallen as he was, he continued to sustain at Meudon
and Marly the grand manners he had usurped at the time of
his prosperity. After having got over the first embarrassment,
he put on again his haughty air, and ruled the roast. To see
him at Meudon you would have said he was certainly the
master of the saloon, and by his free and easy manner to
Monseigneur, and, when he dared, to the King, he would have
been thought the principal person there. Mon seigneur de
Bourgogne supported this—his piety made him do so—but
Madame de Bourgogne was grievously offended, and watched
her opportunity to get rid of M. de Vendome altogether.

It came, the first journey the King made to Marly after
Easter. BreJAiifh was then the fashion. Monseigneur, playing

MADAME DE BOUBGOGNE AGAINST VEND6mE. 7l

at it one day witli Madame de Bourgogne and others,, and
being in want of a fifth player, sent for M. de Vend&me from
the other end of the saloon, to come and join the party. That
instant Madame de Bourgogne said modestly, but very in¬
telligibly, to Monseigneur, that the presence of M. de Vendome
at Marly was sufiSciently painful to her, without having him
at play with her, and that she begged he might be dispensed
with. Monseigneur, who had sent for VendSme without the
slightest reflection, looked round the room, and sent for some¬
body else. When Vend6me arrived, his place was taken, and
he had to suffer this annoyance before all the company. It
may be imagined to what an extent this superb gentleman was
stung by the affront. He served no longer; he commanded no
longer; he was no longer the adored idol; he found himself in
the paternal mansion of the Prince he had so cruelly offended,
and the outraged wife of that Prince was more than a match
for him. He turned upon his heel, absented himself from the
room as soon as he could, and retired to his own chamber,
there to storm at his leisure.-

Other and more cruel annoyances were yet in store for him
however. Madame de Bourgogne reflected on what had just
taken place. The facility with which she had succeeded in
one respect encouraged her, but she was a little troubled to
know how the King would take what she had done, and
accordingly, whilst playing, she resolved to push matters still
further, both to ruin her guest utterly and to get out of her
embarrassment; for, despite her extreme familiarity, she was
easily embarrassed, being gentle and timid. The brelan over,
she ran to Madame de Maintenon; told her what had just
occurred;^ said that the presence of M. de Yendome at Marly
was a continual insult to her; and begged her to solicit tlie
King to forbid M. de YendSme to come there. Madame
de Maintenon, only too glad to have an opportunity of
revenging herself upon an enemy who had set her at defiance,
and against whom all her batteries had at one time failed,
consented to this request. She spoke out to the King, who,
completely weary* of M. de YendSme, and troubled to have

72

MEMOIES OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

under liis eyes a man whom he could not doubt was dis¬
contented, at once granted what was asked. Before going to
bed, he charged one of his valets to teU M. de VendSme the
next morning, that henceforth he was to absent himself from
Marly, his presence there being disagreeable to Madame de
Bourgogne.

It may be imagined into what an excess of despair M.
de Vend6me fell, at a message so unexpected, and which
sapped the foundations of all his hopes. He kept silent, how¬
ever, for fear of making matters worse, did not venture
attempting to speak to the King, and hastily retired to Clichy
to hide his raue and shame. The news of his banishment

O

from Marly soon spread abroad, and made so much stir, that to
show it was not worth attention, he returned two days before
the end of the visit, and stopped until the end in a continual
shame and embarrassment. He set out for Anet at the same
time that the King set out for Versailles, and has never since
put his foot in Marly.

But another bitter draught was to be mixed for him.
Banished from Marly, he had yet the privilege of going to
Meudon. He did not fail to avail himself of this every time
Monseigneur was there, and stopped as long as he stopped,
although in the times of his splendour he had never stayed
more than one or two days. It was seldom that Monseigneur
visited Meudon without Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne
going to see him. And yet M. de Venddme never failed
audaciously to present himself before her, as if to make her feel
that at all events in Monseigneur’s house he was a match for
her. Guided by former experience, the Princesse gently
suflFered this in silence, a,nd watched her opportunity. It
soon came.

Two months afterwards it happened that, while Monseigneur
was at Meudon, the King, Madame de Maintenon, and Madame
de Bourgogne, came to dine with him. Madame de Main-
tenon wished to talk with Mademoiselle Ohoin without sending
for her to Versailles, and the King, as may be believed, was in
the secret. I mention this to account for the King’s visit.

MEUDON IN DANGER.

73

M. de Vend6nie, who was at Meudon as usual, was stupid
enough to present himself at the coach door as the Edng and
his companions descended. Madame de Bourgogne was much
offended, constrained herself less than usual, and turned away
her head with affectation, after a sort of sham salute. He felt
the sting, but had the folly to approach her again after dinner,
while she was playing. He experienced the same treatment,
but this time in a still more marked manner. Stung to the
quick and out of countenance, he went up to his chamber, and
did not descend until very late. During this time Madame de
Bourgogne spoke to Monseigneur of the conduct of M. de Ven-
d6me, and the same evening she addressed herself to Madame
de Maintenon, and openly complained to the Edng. She repre¬
sented to him how hard it was to her to be treated by Monsei¬
gneur with less respect than by the King : for while the latter
had banished M. de Vendome from Marly, the former continued
to grant him an asylum at Meudon.

M. de Venddme, on his side, complained bitterly to Monsei¬
gneur of the strange persecution that he suffered everywhere
from Madame de Bourgogne; but Monseigneur replied to him
so coldly that he withdrew with tears in his eyes, determined,
however, not to give up until he had obtained some sort of
satisfaction. He set his friends to work to speak to Monsei¬
gneur I all they could draw from him was, that M. de Venddme
must avoid Madame de Bourgogne whenever she came to Meudon,
and that it was the smallest respect he owed her until she was
reconciled to him. A reply so dry and so precise was cruelly
felb; but M. de Venddme was not at the end of the chastise¬
ment he had more than merited. The next day put an end to
all discussion upon the matter.

He was card-playing after dinner in a private cabinet, when
DAntin arrived from Versailles. He approached the players,
and asked what was the position of the game, with an eager¬
ness which made M. de Vendbme inquire the reason. D’Antin
said he had to render an account to him of the matter he had
entrusted him with.

‘A!” exclaimed Venddme, with surprise, '"I have entrusted
you with nothing.^^

74

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

'' Pardon me,” replied D’Antin; '' you do not recollect, then,
that I have an answer to make to you

Prom this perseverance M. de Vend6me comprehended that
something was amiss, quitted his game, and went into an
obscure wardrobe with D’Antin, who told him that he had been
ordered by the King to beg Monseigneur not to invite M. de
Venddme to Meudon any more ; that his presence there was as
unpleasant to Madame de Bourgogne as it had been at Marly.
Upon this, Vend6me, transported with fury, vomited forth all
that his rage inspired him with. He spoke to Monseigneur in
the evening, but was listened to as coldly as before. Vend6me
passed the rest of his visit in a rage and embarrassment easy to
conceive, and on the day Monseigneur returned to Versailles he
hurried straight to Anet.

But he was unable to remain quiet anywhere; so went off
with his dogs, under pretence of going a hunting, to pass a
month in his estate of La Perte-Aleps, where he had no proper
lodging and no society, and gave there free vent to his rage.
Thence he returned again to Anet, where he remained aban¬
doned by every one. Into this sohtude, into this startling and
public seclusion, incapable of sustaining a fall so complete, after
a long habit of attaining everything, and doing everything
he pleased, of being the idol of the world, of the Court, of the
armies, of making his veiy vices adored, and his greatest faults
admired, his defects commended,—so that he dared to conceive
the prodigious design of ruining and destroying the necessary
heir of the Crown, though he had never received anything but
evidences of tenderness from him, and triumphed over hi-m for
eight months with the most scandalous success,—it was, I say,,
thus that this Colossus was overthrown by the breath of a
prudent and courageous princess, who earned by this act merited
applause. All who were concerned with her, were charmed to
see of what she was capable; and all who were opposed to her
and her husband trembled. The cabal, so formidable, so lofty,
so accredited, so closely united to overthrow them, and reign,
after the King, under Monseigneur in their place—these chiefs,
male and female, so enterprising and audacious, fell now into

vendome’s titter abandonment.

75

mortal discouragement and fear. It was a pleasure to see tliem
work their way back with art and extreme humility, and turn
round those of the opposite party who remained influential, and
whom they had hitherto despised; and especially to see with
what embarrassment, what fear, what terror, they began to
crawl before the young Princesse, and wretchedly court the Due
de Bourgogne and his friends, and bend to them in the most
extraordinary manner.

As for M. de Vendome, without any resource, save what he
found in his vices and his valets, he did not refrain from brag¬
ging among them of the friendship of Monseigneur for him, of
which he said he was well assured. Violence had been done to
Monseigneur’s feelings. He was reduced to this misery of
hoping that his words would be spread about by these valets,
and would procure him some consideration from those who
thought of the future. But the present was insupportable to
him. To escape from it, he thought of serving in Spain, and
wrote to Madame des XJrsins asking employment. The King
was annoyed at this step, and flatly refused to let him go to
Spain. His intrigue, therefore, came to an end at once.

Nobody gained more by the fall of M. de VendSme than
Madame de Maintenon. Besides the joy she felt in overthrow¬
ing a man who, through M. du Maine, owed everything to her,
and yet dared to resist her so long and successfully, she felt,
also, that her credit became stiU more the terror of the Court;
for no one doubted that what had occurred was a great example
of her power. We shall presently see how she furnished another,,
which startled no less.

76

MEMOIES OF THE BTJKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

CHAPTEK VIII

Death, of Pere La Chaise—^His infiniiities in old age—Partiality of the
King—Character of P^re La Chaise—The Jesuits—Choice of a new
Confessor—Fagon's opinion—^Destruction of Port Royal—Jansenists
and Molinists—Pascal—^Violent oppression of the inhabitants of Port
Royal.

It is time now to retrace my steps to the point from which I
have been led away in relating all the incidents which arose out
of the terrible winter and the scarcity it caused.

The Court at that time beheld the renewal of a ministry,
which from the time it had lasted was worn down to its very
roots, and which was on that account only the more agreeable
to the King. On the 20th of January, the Pfere La Chaise,
the confessor of the King, died at a very advanced age. He
was of good family, and his father would have been rich had
he not had a dozen children. P^re La Chaise succeeded in
1675 to Pere Ferrier as Confessor of the King, and occupied
that post thirty “two years. The festival of Easter often caused
him politic absences during the attachment of the King for
Madame de Montespan. On one occasion he sent in his place
the P^re Deschamps, who bravely refused absolution. The
Pere La Chaise was of mediocre mind but of good character,
just, upright, sensible, prudent, gentle, and moderate, an enemy
of informers, and of violence of every kind. He kept clear of
many scandalous transactions, befriended the Archbishop of
Cambrai as much as he could, refused to push the Port Royal
des Champs to its destruction, and always had on his table a
>copy of the New Testament of P^re Quesnel, saying that he

DEATH OF PeRE LA CHAISE.

7r

liked what was good wherever he found it. When near his
eightieth year, with his head and his health still good, he
wished to retire, but the Eang would not hear of it. Soon
after, his faculties became worn out, and feeling this, he re¬
peated his wish. The Jesuits, who perceived his failing more
than he did himself, and felt the diminution of his credit, ex¬
horted him to make way for another who should have the
grace and zeal of novelty. For his part he sincerely desired
repose, and he pressed the King to allow him to take it, but all
in vain. He was obliged to bear his burthen to the very end.
Even the infirmities and the decrepitude that afflicted could
not deliver him. Deca 3 dng legs, memory extinguished, judg¬
ment collapsed, aU his faculties confused, strange inconveniences
for a confessor—^nothing could disgust the King, and he per¬
sisted in having this corpse brought to him and carrying on
customary business with it. At last, two days after a return
from Versailles, he grew much weaker, received the sacrament,
wrote with his own hand a long letter to the King, received a
very rapid and hurried one in reply, and soon after died at five
o’clock in the morning very peaceably. His confessor asked him
two things, whether he had acted according to his conscience,
and whether he had thought of the interests and honour of the
company of Jesuits; and to both these questions he answered
satisfactorily.

The news was brought to the King as he came out of his
cabinet. He received it like a Prince accustomed to losses,
praised the Pbre La Chaise for his goodness, and then said
smilingly, before all the courtiers, and quite aloud, to the two
fathers who had come to announce the death: ''He was so
good that I sometimes reproached him for it, and he used to
reply to me: 'It is not I who am good; it is you who are
hard.’"

Truly the fathers and all the auditors were so surprised at
this that they lowered their eyes. The remark spread directly;
nobody was able to blame the 'Phm La Chaise. He was
generally regretted, for he had done much good and never
harm except in self-defence. Mar6chal, first surgeon of the

78

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAXNT-SIMOH.

'King, and possessed of his confidence, related once to me and
Madame de Saint-Simon, a very important anecdote referring
to this time. He said that the King, talking to him privately
of the Pere La Chaise, and praising him for his attachment,
related one of the great proofs he had given of it. A few years
before his death the Pere said that he felt getting old, and that
the Kin g might soon have to choose a new confessor; he
begged that that confessor might be chosen from among the
Jesuits, that he knew them well, that they were far from
deserving all that had been said against them, but—still—he
knew them well—and that attachment for the King and desire
for his safety induced him to conjure him to act as he requested;
because the company contained many sorts of minds and
characters which could not be answered for, and must not be
reduced to despair, and that the King must not incur a risk—
that in fact an unlucky blow is soon given, and had been given
before then. Mar^chal turned pale at this recital of the King,
and concealed as well as he could the disorder it caused in
him. We must remember that Henry IV. recalled the Jesuits,
and loaded them with gifts merely from fear of them. The
King was not superior to Henry IV. He took care not to
forget the communication of the Pfere La Chaise, or expose
himself to the vengeance of the company by choosing a con¬
fessor out of their limits. He wanted to live, and to live
in safety. He requested the Dues de Chevreuse and de Beau-
viHiers to make secret inquiries for a proper person. Th^ fell
into a trap made, were dupes themselves, and the Church and
State the victims.

The P^re Tellier, in fact, was chosen as successor of P^re
La Chaise, and a terrible successor he made. Harsh, exact,
laborious, enemy of all dissipation, of all amusement, of
all society, incapable of associating even with his colleagues,
he demanded no leniency for himself and accorded none
to others. His brain and his health were of iron : his
conduct was so also ; his nature was savage and cruel.
He was profoundly false, deceitful, hidden under a thousand
folds; and when he could show himself and make himself

FAGON EXPRESSES AX OPIXIOX.

79

feared, lie yielded nothing, laughed at the most express pro¬
mises when he no longer cared to keep to them, and pursued
with fury those who had trusted to them. He was the terror
•even of the Jesuits, and was so violent to them that they
scarcely dared approach him. His exterior kept faith with
his interior. He would have been terrible to meet in a dark
lane. His physiognomy was cloudy, false, terrible; his eyes
were burning, evil, extremely squinting; his aspect struck all
with dismay. The whole aim of his life was to advance the
interests of his Society; that was his God; his life had been
.absorbed in that study: surprisingly ignorant, insolent, im¬
pudent, impetuous, without measure and without discretion, all
means were good that furthered his designs.

The first time Pere Tellier saw the King in his cabinet, after
having been presented to him, there was nobody but Bloin and
Kagon in a corner. Fagon, bent double and leaning on his
. stick, watched the interview and studied the physiognomy of
this new personage—his duckings, and scrapings, and his words.
The Edng asked him if he were a relation of MM. le Tellier.

' The goodfather humbled himself in the dust.I, sire! ” answered
he, a relative of MM. le Tellier ! I am very different from that.
I am a poor peasant of Lower Normandy, where my father was
a farmer.” Fagon, who watched him in every movement,
twisted himself up to look at Bloin, and said, pointing to the

. Jesuit:'' Monsieur, what a cursed-! ” Then shrugging his

shoulders, ho curved over his stick again. It turned out that
he was not mistaken in his strange judgment of a confessor.
This Tellier made all the grimaces, not to say the hypocritical
monkey-tricks of a man who was afraid of his place, and only
took it out of deference to his compmy.

I have dwelt thus upon this new confessor, because from him
•have come, the incredible tempests under which the Church,
the State, knowledge, and doctrine, and many good people of
all kinds, are still groaning ; and because I had a more intimate
■acquaintance with this terrible personage than had any man at
the Court. He introduced himself to me in fact, to my surprise;
and although I did all in my power to shun his acquaintance,

80 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK

I could not succeed. He was too dangerous a man to be treated
with anything but great prudence.

During the autumn of this year, he gave a sample of his
quality in the part he took in the destruction of the celebrated
monastery of Port Royal des Champs. I need not dwell at any
great length upon the origin and progress of the two religious-
parties, the Jansenists and the Molinists; enough has been
written on both sides to form a whole library. It is enough
for me to say that the Mohnists were so called because they
adopted the views expounded by the P^re Molina in a book he
wrote against the doctrines of St. Augustin and of the Church
of Rome, upon the subject of spiritual grace. The Pfere Molina
was a Jesuit, and it was by the Jesuits his book was brought
forward and supported. Finding, however, that the views-
it expounded met with general opposition, not only through¬
out France, but at Rome, they had recourse to their usual
artifices on feeling themselves embarrassed, turned them¬
selves into accusers instead of defendants, and invented a heresy
that had neither author nor follower, which they attributed to
Cornelius Jansenius, Bishop of Tpres. Many and long were
the discussions at Rome upon this ideal heresy, invented by
the Jesuits solely for the purpose of weakening the adversaries
of Mohna. To oppose his doctrines was to be a Jansenist. That
in substance was what was meant by Jansenism.

At the monastery of Port Royal des Champs, a number of
holy and learned personages lived in retirement. Some wrote,
some gathered youths around them, and instructed them in
science and piety. The finest moral works, works which have
thrown the most light upon the science and practice of religion,
and have been found so by everybody, issued from their hands.
These men entered into the quarrel against Molinism. This
was enough to excite against them the hatred of the Jesuits,
and to determine that body to attempt their destruction.

They were accused of Jansenism, and defended themselves
perfectly; but at the same time they carried the war into the
enemy^s camp, especially by the ingenious ‘‘ Provincial Letters
of the famous Pascal

VIOLENT PROCEEDINGS.

81

The quarrel grew more hot between the Jesuits and Port
Royal, and was telling against the former, when the Pfere
Tellier brought all his influence to bear, to change the current
of success. He was, as I have said, an ardent man, whose
divinity was his Molinism, and the company to which he
belonged. Confessor to the King, he saw himself in a good
position to exercise unlimited authority. He saw that the
King was very ignorant, and prejudiced upon all religious
matters ; that he was surrounded by people as ignorant and as
prejudiced as himself, Madame de Maintenon, M. de Beauvilliers,
M. de Chevreuse, and others, and he determined to take good
advantage of this state of things. Step by step he gained over
the King to his views, and convinced him that the destruction
of the monastery of Port Royal des Champs was a duty which
he owed to his conscience, and the cause of religion. This
point gained, the means to destroy the establishment were soon
resolved on.

There was another monastery called Port Royal, at Paris, in
addition to the one in question. It was now pretended that
the latter had only been allowed to exist by tolerance, and that
it was necessary one should cease to exist. Of the two, it was
alleged that it was better to preserve the one at Paris. A de¬
cree in council was, therefore, rendered, in virtue of which, on
the night from the 28th to the 29th of October, the abbey of
Port Royal des Champs was secretly invested by troops, and,
on the next morning, the officer in command made all the in¬
mates assemble, showed them a lettre de cachet^ and, without
giving them more than a quarter of an hour’s warning, carried
off everybody and everything. He had brought with him
many coaches, with an elderly woman in each; he put the
nuns in these coaches, and sent them away to their destina¬
tions, which were different monasteries, at ten, twenty, thirty,
forty, and even fifty leagues distant, each coach accompanied
by mounted archers, just as public women are carried away
from a house of ill-fame! I pass in silence all the accompani¬
ments to this scene, so touching and so strangely new. There
have been entire volumes written upon it.

VOL. II.

6

82

MEMOIBS OF THE BHKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

The treatment that these nuns received in their various
prisons, in order to force them to sign a condemnation of them¬
selves, is the matter of other volumes, which, in spite of tho
vigilance of the oppressors, were soon in everybody’s hands;
public indignation so burst out, that the Court and the Jesuits
even were embarrassed with it. But the Pere Tellier was not
a man to stop half-way anywhere. He finished this matter
directly; decree followed decree, Uttres de cachet followed
lettres de cachet. The families who had relatives buried in the
cemetery of Port Royal des Champs were ordered to exhume
and carry them elsewhere. AU the others were thrown into
the cemetery of an adjoining parish, with the indecency that
may be imagined. Afterwards, the house, the church, and all
the buildings were razed to the ground, so that not one stone
was left upon another. All the materials were sold, the ground
was ploughed up, and sown—not with salt, it is true, but that
was all the favour it received! The scandal at this reached
even to Rome. I have restricted myself to this simple and
.short recital of an expedition so military and so odious.

DEATH OF D’ATAUX.

83

CHAPTER TX

Death of D’Ayanx—quarrel about a -window—Louvois and the King—
Anecdote of Boisseuil—Madame de Maintenon and M. de Beauyilliers—
Harcourt proposed for the Council—His disappointment—Death of M.
le Prince—His character—Treatment of his -wife—His love adven¬
tures—His madness—A confessor brought—^Nobody regrets him.

The death of D'Avaux, who had formerly been onr ambas¬
sador in Holland, occurred in the early part of this year (1709).
D’Avaux was one of the first to hear of the project of William
of Orange upon England, when that project was still only in
embryo, and kept profoundly secret. He apprised the King
(Louis XIV.) of it, but was laughed at. Barillon, then our
ambassador in England, was listened to in preference. He, de¬
ceived by Sunderland and the other perfidious ministers of
James II., assured our Court that D’Avaux's reports were
mere chimeras. It was not until it was impossible any longer
to doubt that credit was given to them. The steps that we
then took, instead of disconcerting all the measures of the con¬
spirators, as we could have done, did not interfere with the
working out of any one of their plans. All liberty was left,
in fact, to William to carry out his scheme. The anecdote
which explains how this happened is so curious, that it de¬
serves to be mentioned here.

Louvois, who was then minister of war, was also superin¬
tendent of the buildings. The King, who liked building, and
who had cast off all his mistresses, had pulled down the little
porcelain Trianon he had made for Madame de Montespan, and
was rebuilding it in the form it still retains. One day he per-

6—2

84

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SlINT-SIMOH.

ceived;, for his glance was most searching, that one window was
a trifle narrower than the others. He showed it to Louvois,,
in order that it might he altered, which, as it was not then
finished, was easy to do. Louvois sustained that the window
was all right. The King insisted then, and on the morrow also,
but Louvois, pig-headed and inflated with his authority, would
not yield.

The next day the Eing saw Le Notre in the gallery. Al¬
though his trade was gardens rather than houses, the King did
not fail to consult him upon the latter. He asked him if he
had been to Trianon. Le Notre replied that he had not. The
King ordered him to go. On the morrow he saw Le Notre
again; same question, same answer. The King comprehended
the reason of this, and a little annoyed, commanded him to be
there that afternoon at a given time. Le Notre did not dare
to disobey this time. The King arrived, and Louvois being
present, they returned to the subject of the window, which
Louvois obstinately said was as broad as the rest. The King
wished Le Notre to measure it, for he knew, that, upright and
true, he would openly say what he found. Louvois piqued,
grew angry. The King, who was not less so, allowed him to
say his say. Le Notre, meanwhile, did not stir. At last, the
King made him go, Louvois still grumbling, and maintaining
his assertion with audacity and little measure. Le Notre
.measured the window, and said that the King was right by
i^everal inches. Louvois stiU wished to argue, but the King
silenced him, and commanded him to see that the vpindow was
altered at once, contrary to custom abusing him most harshly.

What annoyed Louvois most was, that this scene passed not
only before all the oflScers of the buildings, but in presence of
all who followed the King in his promenades, nobles, courtiers,
office]^ of the guard, and others, even all the rolete. The
dressing given to Louvois was smart and long, mixed with re¬
flections upon the fault of this window, which, not noticed so
soon, nd^ht have spoiled all the facade, and compelled it to be
re-built I

Louvoih who wa^ not accustomed to be thus treated, re-

ANECDOTE OF BOISSEDIL.

85

turned lioine in fury, and like a man in despair. His familiars
were frightened, and in their disquietude angled to learn what
had happened. At last he told them, said he was lost, and
that for a few inches the King forgot all his services, which
had led to so many conquests; he declared that henceforth he
would leave the trowel to the King, bring about a war, and
•so arrange matters that the King should have good need
of him!

He soon kept his word. He caused a war to grow out of
the affair of the double election of Cologne, of the Prince of
Bavaria, and of the Cardinal of Furstemberg; he confirmed it
in carrying the flames into the Palatinate, and in leaving,
as I have said, all liberty to the project upon England; he put
the finishing toudi to his work by forcing the Duke of Savoy
into the arms of his enemies, and making him become, by the
position of his country, our enemy, the most difficult and the
most ruinous. All that I have here related was clearly
brought to light in due time.

Boisseuil died shortly after D^Avaux. He was a tail, big
man, warm and violent, a great gambler, bad tempered,—who
often treated M. le Grand and Madame d’Axmagnac, great
people as they were, so that the company were ashamed,—and
who swore in the saloon of Marly as if he had been in a tap-
room. He was feared; and he said to women whatever came
uppermost when the fury of a cut-throat seized him. During
a journey the Bang and Court made to Nancy, Boisseuil one
evening sat down to play in the house of one of the courtiers.
A player happened to be there who played very high.
Boisseuil lost a good deal, and was very angry. He thought
he perceived that this gentleman, who was only permitted on
account of his play, was cheating, and made such good use of
his eyes that he soon found this was the case, and all on a sud¬
den stretched across the table and seized the gambler’s hand,
which he held upon the table, with the cards he was going to
deal. The gentleman, very much astonished, wished to with¬
draw his hand, and was angry. Boisseuil, stronger than he,
said that he was a rogue, and that the company should see it.

86

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

and immediately shaking his hand with fury put in evidence
his deceit. The player, confounded, rose and went away. The
game went on, and lasted long into the night. When finished^
Boisseuil went away. As he was leaving the door he found a
man stuck against the wall—^it was the player—vf^ho called
him to account for the insult he had received. Boisseuil re¬
plied that he should give him no satisfaction, and that he was
a rogue.

'' That may be,'' said the player, “ but I don't like to be told
so."

They went away directly and fought. Boisseuil received
two wounds, from one of which he was like to die. The other
escaped without injury.

I have said, that after the affair of M. de Cambrai, Madame
de Maintenon had taken a rooted dislike to M. de Beauvil-
liers. She had become reconciled to him in a^ppearance during
the time that Monseigneur de Bourgogne was a victim to the
calumnies of M. de Vend&me, because she had need of him. Now
that Monseigneur de Bourgogne was brought back to favour,
and M. de Vendome was disgraced, her antipathy for M. de
Beauvilliers burst out anew, and she set her wits to work to get
rid of him from the Council of State, of which he was a member.
The witch wished to introduce her favourite Harcourt there in
his place, and worked so well to bring about this result that
the King promised he should be received.

His word given, or rather snatched from him, the Edng was
embarrassed as to how to keep it, for he did not wish openly
to proclaim Harcourt minister. It was agreed, therefore, that
at the next Council Harcourt should be present, as though by
accident, in the King's ante-chamber; that, Spanish matters
being brought up, the King should propose to consult Harcourt,
and immediately after should direct search to be made for him ,
to see if, by chance, he was close at hand; that upon finding
him, he should be conducted to the Council, made to enter and
seat himself, and ever afterwards be regarded as a Minister of
State.

This arrangement was kept extremely secret, according to

BAIJGER OF M. DE BEIITVILLIEBS.

87

tlie express commands of the King. I knew it, liowe¥er. Just
before it was to be executed, and I saw at once that the day of
Harcourf s entry into the Council would he the day of M. do
Keanvilliers’ disgrace. I sent, therefore, at once for M. de
BeauTilliei's, begging him to come to my house immediately,
and that I would then tell him why I could not come to
him. Without great precaution everything becomes known at
Court.

In less than half an hour M. de Beauvilliers arrived, tolerably
disturbed at my message. I asked him if he knew anything,
and I turned him about, less to pump him than to make him
ashamed of his ignorance, and to persuade him the better after¬
wards to do what I wished. When I had well trotted out his
ignorance, I apprised him of what I had just learnt. He was
astounded; he so little expected it! I had not much trouble
to persuade him that, although his expulsion might not yet be
determined on, the intrusion of Harcourt must pave the way
for it. He admitted to me that for some days he had found the
King cold and embarrassed with him, but that he had paid
little attention to the circumstance, the reason of which was
now clear. There was no time to lose. In twenty-four hours
all would be over. I therefore took the liberty in the first
instance of scolding him for his profound ignoramce of what
passed at the Court, and was hold enough to say to him that
he had only to thank himself for the situation he found
himself in. He let me say to the end without growing angry,
then smiled, and said, “Well! what do you think I ought
to dor

That was just what I wanted. I replied that there was only
one course open to him, and that was to have an interview with
the King early the next morning; to say to him, that he had
been informed Harcourt was about to enter the Council; that
he thought the affairs of State would suffer rather than other¬
wise if Harcourt did so; and finally, to allude to the change
that had taken place in the King’s manner towards Mm
lately, and to say, with all respect, affection, and sub¬
mission, that he was equally ready to continue serving the

88

MEMOIES OF THE DUEIE OF SAINT-SIMON.

Bang or to give up his appointments, as his Majesty might
desire.

M, de Beauvilliers took pleasure in listening to me. He em¬
braced me closely, and promised to follow the course I had
marked out.

The next morning I went straight to him, and learned that
he had perfectly succeeded. He had spoken exactly as I had
suggested. The King appeared astonished and piqued that the
secret of Harcourt’s entry into the Council was discovered. He
would not hear a word as to resignation of office on the part of
M. de Beauvilliers, and appeared more satisfied with him than
ever. Whether, without this interview, he would have been
lost, I know not, but by the coldness and embarrassment of the
King before that interview, and during the first part of it, I am
nearly persuaded that he would. M. de Beauvilliers embraced
me again very tenderly—more than once.

As for Harcourt, sure of his good fortune, and scarcely able
to contain his joy, he arrived at the meeting place. Time ran
on. During the Council there are only the most subaltern
people in the ante-chambers and a few courtiers who pass that
way to go from one wing to another. Each of these subalterns
eagerly asked M. d'Harcourt what he wanted, if he wished for
anything, and importuned him strongly. He was obliged to
remain there, although he had no pretext. He went and came,
limping with his stick, not knowing what to reply to the
passers-by, or the attendants by whom he was remarked. At
last, after waiting long, he returned as he came, much disturbed
at not having been called. He sent word so to Madame de
Maintenon, who, in her turn, was as much disturbed, the Bang
not having said a word to her, and she not having dared to say
a word to him. She consoled Harcourt, hoping that at the
next Council he would be called. At her wish he waited again,
as before, during another Council, but with as little success.
He was very much annoyed, comprehending that the affair had
fallen through.

Madame de Maintenon did not, however, like to be defeated
in this way. After waiting some time she spoke to the King,

CHAJSACTEE OF M. LE FEIHCK

89

reminding tim what he had promised to do. The King replied
in confusion that he had thought better of it; that Harcourt
was on had terms with all the Ministers, and might, if admitted
to the Council, cause them much embarrassment; he preferred,
therefore, things to remain as they were. This was said in a
manner that admitted of no reply. Madame de Maintenon felt
herself beaten; Harcourt was in despair. M. de Beauvilliers
was quite re-established in the favour of the King. I pretended
to have known nothing of this affair, and innocently asked
many questions about it when all was over. I was happy to
the last degree that everything had turned out so welL

M. le Prince, who for more than two years had not appeared
at the Court, died at Paris a little after midnight on the night
between Easter Sunday and Monday, the last of March and tirst
of April, and in his seventy-sixth year. No man had ever more
ability of all kinds,—extending even to the arts and mechanics,
—more valour, and, when it pleased him, more discernment,
grace, politeness, and nobility. But then no man had ever
before so many useless talents, so much genius of no avail, or
an imagination so calculated to be a bugbear to itself and a
plague to others. Abjectly and vilely servile even to lackeys,
he scrupled not to use the lowest and paltri^t means to gain
his ends. Unnatural son, cruel father, terrible husband, det^t-
able master, pernicious neighbour; without friendship, without
friends—incapable of having any—jealous, suspicious, ever rest¬
less, full of slyness and artifices to discover and to scrutinise all,
(in which he was unceasingly occupied, aided by an extreme
vivacity and a surprising penetration,) choleric and headstrong
to excess even for trifles, difficult of access, never in accord
with himself, and keeping all around liim in a tremble; to
conclude, impetuosity and avarice were his masters, which
monopolised him always. With all this he was a man difficult
to be proof against when he put in play the pleasing qualities
he possessed.

Madame la Princesse, his wife, was his continual victim. She
was disgustingly ugly, virtuous, and foolish, a little hump¬
backed, and stunk like a skunk, even from a distance. All

90

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

these things did not hinder M. le Prince from being jealous of
her even to fury up to the very last. The piety, the indefatig¬
able attention of Madame la Princesse, her sweetness, her novice¬
like submission, could not guarantee her from frequent injuries,
or from kicks, and blows with the fist, which were not rare.
She was not mistress even of the most trifling things; she did
not dare to propose or ask anything. He made her set out
from one place to another the moment the fancy took him.
Often when seated in their coach he made her descend, or
return from the end of the street, then re-commence the journey
after dinner, or the next day. This see-sawing lasted once
fifteen days running, before a trip to Fontainebleau. At other
times he sent for her from church, made her quit high mass, and
sometimes sent for her the moment she was going to receive
the sacrament; she was obliged to return at once and put oif
her communion to another occasion. It was not that he wanted
her, but it was merely to gratify his whim that he thus troubled
her.

He was always of uncertain habits, and had four dinners
ready for him every day; one at Paris, one at Ecouen, one at
Chantilly, and one where the Court was. But the expense of
this arrangement was not great; he dined on soup, and the half
of a fowl roasted upon a crust of bread; the other half serving
for the next day. He rarely invited anybody to dinner, but
when he did, no man could be more polite or attentive to his
guests.

Formerly he had been in love with several ladies of the
Court; then, nothing cost too much. He was grace, magnifi¬
cence, gallantry in person—a Jupiter transformed into a shower
of gold. Now he disguised himself as a lackey, another time as
a female broker in articles for the toilette; and now in another
fashion. He was the most ingenious man in the world. He
once gave a grand fete solely for the purpose of retarding the
journey into Italy of a lady with whom he was enamoured,
with whom he was on good terms, and whose husband he
amused by making verses. He hired aU the houses on one
side of a street near St. Sulpice, furnished them, and pierced

THE JfAIlQUISE BE EICHELIEIT.

91

the connectiBg walls, in order to be able thus to reach the
place of rendezvous without being suspected.

Jealous and cruel to his mistresses, he had, amongst othera, the
Marquise de Richelieu; whom I name, because she is not worth
the trouble of being silent upon. He was hopelessly smitten
and spent millions upon her and to leam her movements. He
knew that the Oomte de Eoucy shared her favours (it was for
her that sagacious Comte proposed to put straw before the
house in order to guarantee her against the sound of the church
hells, of which she complained). M. le Prince reproached her
for favouring the Count. She defended herseK; but he watched
her so closely, that he brought home the offence to her without
her being able to deny it. The fear of losing a lover so rich
as was M. le Prince furnished her on the spot with an excel¬
lent suggestion for putting him at ease. She proposed to
make an appointment at her own house with the Comte de
Roucy, M. le Princess people to lie in wait, and when the
Comte appeared, to make away with him. Instead of the suc¬
cess she expected from a proposition so humane and ingenious^
M. le Prince was so horror-struck, that he warned the Comte
de Roucy, and never saw the Marquise de Richelieu again. aE
his life.

The most surprising thing was, that with so much ability,
penetration, activity, and valour, as had M. le Prince, with the
desire to be as great a Warrior as the Great Cond6, Ms father^r
he could never succeed in understanding even the fiist elemente
of the military art. Instructed as he was by bis father, he
never acquired the least aptitude in war. It was a profession
he was not born for, and for which he could not qualify him¬
self by study.

During the last fifteen or twenty years of his life, he was
accused of something more than fierceness and ferocity. Wan¬
derings were noticed in his conduct, which were not exhibited
in Ms own house alone. Entering one morning into the apart¬
ment of the Marechale de NoaiUes (she heiself has related this
to me) as her bed was being made, and there being only the
counterpane to put on, he stopped short at the door, crying with

92

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOIST.

transport, Oh, the nice bed, the nice bed!” took a spring, leaped
upon the bed, rolled himself upon it seven or eight times, then
descended and made his excuses to the Mardchale, saying that
her bed was so clean and so well-made, that he could not hinder
himself from jumping upon it; and this, although there had
never been anything between them; and when the Mardchale,
who all her life had been above suspicion, was at an age at
which she could not give birth to any. Her servants remained
stupefied, and she as much as they. She got out of the diffi¬
culty by laughing and treating it as a joke. It was whispered
that there were times when M. le Prince believed himself a
dog, or some other beast, whose manners he imitated; and I
have known people very worthy of faith who have assured me
they have seen him at the going to bed of the King suddenly
throw his head into the air several times running, and open
his mouth quite wide, like a dog while barking, yet without
making a noise. It is certain, that for a long time nobody saw
him except a single valet, who had control over him, and who
■did not annoy him.

In the latter part of his life he attended in a ridiculously
minute manner to his diet and its results, and entered into dis¬
cussions which drove his doctors to despair. Fever and gout
at last attacked him, and he augmented them by the course he
pursued. Finot, our physician and his, at times knew not what
to do with him. What embarrassed Finot most, as he related
to us more than once, was that M. le Prince would eat nothing,
for the simple reason, as he alleged, that he was dead, and that
dead men did not eat! It was necessary, however, that he
should take something, or he would have really died. Finot,
and another doctor who attended him, determined to agree
with him that he was dead, but to maintain that dead men
sometimes eat. They offered to produce dead men of this
kind; and, in point of fact, led to M. le Prince some per¬
sons unknown to him, who pretended to be dead, but who
ate nevertheless. This trick succeeded, but he would never
eat except with these men and Finot. On that condition he
ate weU, and this jealousy lasted a long time, and drove

STEANraE ILLNmSS OF M. LE PRIHCEl 9^

Finot to despair by ite duration; wbo, ne¥ertliel^, sometime
nearly died of laugliter in relating to us wkat pa^d at
these repasts, and the conversation from the other world heard
there.

M. le Prince’s malady augmenting, Madame la Princ^»
grew bold enough to ask him if he did not wish to think
of his conscience, and to see a confessor ? He amused him¬
self tolerably long in refusing to do so. Some months before
he had seen in secret P^re de la Tour. He had sent to the
reverend father asking him to come by night and disguised.
Pere de la Tour, surprised to the last degree at so wild a pro¬
position, replied that the respect he oped to the cloth would
prerent him visiting M. le Prince in disguise; but that he
would come in his ordinary attire. M. le Prince agreed to
this last imposed condition. He made the Pfere de la Tour
enter at night by a little back door, at which an attendant
was in waiting to receive him. He was led by this attendant,
who had a lantern in one hand and a key in the other, through
many long and obscure passages, and through many doors,
which were opened and closed upon him as he pa^ed. Having
arrived at last at the sick chamber, he confessed M. le Prints,
and was conducted out of the house in the same manner and
by the same way as before. These visits were reputed during
several months.

The Prince’s malady rapidly increased and b^same extreme.
The doctors found him so ill on the night of festmr Sunday
that they proposed to him the sacrament for the next day.
He disputed with them, and said that if he was so very
bad it would be better to take the sacramenis at once, and
have done with them. They in their turn oppcBed this, saying
there was no need of so much hurry. At last, for fear of
incensing him, they consented, and he received all hurriedly
the last sacraments. A little while after he called M. le Hue
to him, and spoke of the honours he wished at his funeral,
mentioning those which had been omitted at the funeral of
his father, but which he did not wish* to be omitted from

^4

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

his. He talked of nothing hnt this and of the stuns he had
spent at Chantilly, until his reason began to wander.

Not a sotd regretted him; neither servants nor friends, neither
child nor wife. Indeed the Princesse was so ashamed of her
tears that she made excuses for them. This was scarcely to
be wondered at.

PEOGEESS OF THE WAE.

95

CHAPTER X.

Progress of the war—Simplicity of Ohamillart—^The Imperialists and the
Pope—Spanish Affairs—Due d’OrMans and Madame des Ursins—Arr^fc
of FJotte in Spain—Discovery of the Intrigues of the Due dDrleans—
Cabal against him—^His Disgrace and its Consequences.

It is time now that I should speak of our military operations
this year and of the progress of the war. Let me commence by-
stating the disposition of our armies at the heginning of the
■campaign.

Mareehal Boufflers, having become dangerously ill, was
unable to take command in Flanders. Mareehal de Yillars was
accordingly appointed in his stead under Monseigneur, and
with him served the King of England, under his incognito of
the previous year, and M. le Due de Berry, as volunteers. The
Mareehal d’Harcourt was appointed to command upon the
Rhine under Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne. M. d’Orl&ins
■commanded in Spain; Mareehal Berwick in Dauphiny; and
the Due de Noailles in Roussillon, as usual The generals
went to their destinations, hut the Prince remained at the
Oourt.

Before I relate what we did in war, let me here state the
strange opposition of our nainisters in their attempfs to bring
about peace. Since Villars had introduced ChamiUart to Court,
he had heard it said that M. de Louvois did everybody’s busi¬
ness as much as he could; and took it into his head that
having succeeded to M. de Louvois he ought to act exactly like
him. For some time past, accordingly, Ohamillart, with the
knowledge of the Bang, had sent people to Holland and else-

96

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

where to negociate for peace, although he had no right to do
so, Torcy being the minister to whose department this business
belonged. Torcy likewise sent people to Holland and else¬
where with a similar object, and these ambassadors of the two
ministers, instead of working in common, did all in their power
to thwart each other. They succeeded so well that it was said
they seemed in foreign countries ministers of different powers,
whose interests were quite opposed. This manner of conducting^
business gave a most injurious idea of our government, and
tended very much to bring it into ridicule. Those who sin¬
cerely wished to treat with us, found themselves so embar¬
rassed between the rival factions, that they did not know what
to do; and others made our disagreements a plausible pretext
for not listening to our propositions.

At last Torcy was so annoyed with the interference of
Chamillart, that he called the latter to account for it, and
made him sign an agreement by which he bound himself to
enter into no negociations for peace and to mix himself in no-
foreign affairs; and so this absurdity came to an end

In Italy, early this year, we received a check of no small
importance. I have mentioned that we were invited to join
in an Italian league, having for its object to oppose the Emperor.
We joined this league, but not before its existence had been
noised abroad, and put the allies on their guard as to the
danger they ran of losing Italy. Therefore the Imperialists
entered the Papal States, laid them under contribution, ravaged
them, lived there in true Tartar style, and snapped their
fingers at the Pope, who cried aloud as he could obtain no
redress and no assistance. Pushed at last to extremity by the
milit ary occupation which desolated his States, he yielded to all
the wishes of the Emperor, and recognised the Archduke as
Eling of Spain. Philip V. immediately ceased all intercourse
with Rome, and dismissed the nuncio from Madrid. The
Imperialist, even after the Pope had ceded to their wishes,
treated him with the utmost disdain, and continued to ravage
his territories. The Imperialist minister at Rome, actually
gave a comedy and a ball in his palace there, contrary to the

SPAOTSH AFFIIES.

97

express orders of tte Pope, wto had forbidden all kinds of
amusement in tMs period of calamity. When remonstrated
with by the Pope, this minister said that he had promised a
f§te to the ladies, and could not break his word. The strangest
thing is, that after this public instance of contempt the
nephews of the Pope went to the fete, and the Pope had the
weakness to suffer it.

In Spain, everything went wrong, and people began to think
it would be best to give up that country to the house of
Austria, under the hope that by this means the war would be
terminated. It was therefore seriously resolved to recall all our
troops from Spain, and to give orders to Madame des Umins to
quit the country. Instructions were accordingly sent to this
effect. The King and Queen of Spain, in the greatest alarm at
such a violent determination, cried aloud against it, and begged
that the execution of it might at least be suspended for awhile.

At this, our King paused and called a Council to discuss the
subject. It was ultimately agreed to leave sixty-six battalions
of our troops to the King of Spain, but to withdraw all the
rest. This compromise satisfied nobody. Those who wished
to support Spain said this assistance was not enough. The
other party said it was too much.

This determination being arrived at, it seemed as though
the only thmg to be done was to send M. d’Orldaas to Spain to
take command there. But now will be seen the effect of that
mischievous pleasantry of his upon Madame de Maintenon and
Madame des TJrsins, the she-captadn/' and the"" she-lieutenant ”
—as he called them, in the gross language to which I have
before alluded. Those two ladies had not forgiven him his
witticism, and had determined to accomplish his disgrace. HSs
own thoughtless conduct assisted them in brining about this
result.

The King one day asked him if he had much desire to return
into Spain. He replied in a manner evidencing his willingne^
to serve, marking no eagerness. He did not notice that there
might be a secret meaning hidden under this question. When
he related to me what had passed between him and the King,

VOL. n. . 7

98

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMON".

I blamed the feebleness of his reply, and represented to hint
the ill efteet it would create if at such a time ho evinciod any
desire to keep out of the campaign. Ho appeared convinced
by my arguments, and to wish with more oag(UTie.s.s than before
to return to Spain.

Jl few days after, the King asked him, on what terms ho
believed himself with the Princosso des Ursina; and when M.
d’Orldans replied that he believed himself to bo on good torm.s
•with her, as he had done all in his power to he so, the King
said that he feared it was not thus, since she had asked that
he should not he again sent to Spain, saying that ho had
leagued himself with all her enemies there, and that a secretary
of his, named Renaut, whom he had loft behind him, kept up
such strict and secret intercourse with those enemies, that she
was obliged to demand his recall lest he might do wrong to the
name of his master.

Upon this, M. d’Orl^ans replied that he was infinitely sur¬
prised at these complaints of Madame des XJrsins, since ho had
done nothing to deserve them. The‘King, after reflecting for
a moment, said he thought, all things considered, that M.
d’Oi-leans had better not return to Spain. In a few days it
was publicly known that ho would not go. The withdrawal
of so many of our troops from Spain was the reason alleged.
;At the same time the King gave orders to M. d’0rl6u>s to st^iid
for his equipages from Spain, and added in his car, that ho had
better send some one of sense for tliom, who might bo the
bearer of a protest, if Philip V. quitted his throne. At least
this is what M. d’Orleans told me, although few people be¬
lieved bim in the end.

M. d’Orldans ebose for this errand a man named Flotti*. very
skilful in intrigue, in which ho had, so to speak, betm always
brought up. Ho went straight to Madrid, and one of his first
employments when ho arrived there was to look for Ihsuaut,
the secretary just alluded to. But Ronaut wa.s nowluuHs to bo
found, nor could any news bo hoard of him. Flotte staytsl
some time in Madrid, and then wont to the army which was
still in quarters. He remained there three weeks, idling from

ARREST OF FLOTTE IN' SPAIN.

99'

■quarter to quarter, saluting the Mar^clfal in command, who
■was much surprised at his long stay, and who pressed him to
return into France. At last Flotte took leave of the Mardchal,
asking him for an escort for himself and a commissary, with
whom he meant to go in company across the Pyrenees.
Twenty dragoons were given him as escort, and he and the
•commissary set out in a chaise.

They had not proceeded far before Flotte perceived that they
were followed by other troops besides those guarding them.
Flotte fearing that something was meant by this, slipped a
pocket-book into the hands of the commissary, requesting him
to take care of it. Shortly afterwards the chaise was surrounded
by troops, and stopped ; the two travellers were made to alight.
The commissary was ordered to give up the pocket-book, an
•order that he complied with very rapidly, and Flotte was
made prisoner, and escorted back to the spot he had just
Jeft.

The news of this occurrence reached the King on the 12th
■of July, by the ordinary courier from Madrid. The King
informed M, d’OrMans of it, who, having learnt it by a private
•coui-ier six days before, affected nevertheless surprise, and said
it was strange that one of his people should have been thus
•arrested, and that as his Majesty was concerned, it was for him
to demand the reason. The King replied, that in fact the
injury regarded him more than M. d’Orldans, and that ho
would give orders to Torcy to write as was necessary to
•Spain.

It is not difficult to believe that such an explosion made a
great noise, both in France and Spain; but the noise it made
•at first was nothing to that which followed. A cabal was
formed against Monsieur le Due d’Orleans. It was said that
he had plotted to place himself upon the Spanish throne, by
driving out Philip V., under pretext of his incapacity, of the
domination of Madame des Ursins, and of the abandonment
of the country by France; that he had treated with Stanhope,
commander of the English troops in Spain, and with whom
he was known to be on friendly terms, in order to be protected

7—2

100

MEMOnSS OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

by the Archduke. This was the report most •widely spread.
Others went further. In these M. d’Orldans was accused of
nothing less than of intending to divorce himself from Madame
la Duchessc d’OrMans, as having boon married to her by force ;
of intending to marry the sister of the Empress (widow of
Charles II.), and of mounting with her upon the Spanish throne;
to marry Madame d’Argenton, as the Queen Dowager was
sure to have no children, and finally, to poison Madame
d’Orl^ans.

Meanwhile the reply from Spain came not. The King and
Monseigneur treated M. d’Orl(^ans with a coldness which made
him sorely ill at ease; the majority of the courtiers, following
this example, withdrew from him. He was left almost alone.

I learnt at last from M. d’Orldans how far he was deserving
,pf public censure, and what had given colouring to the reports
spread against him. He admitted to me, that several of the
Spanish grandees had persuaded him that it was not possible
the King of Spain could stand, and had proposed to him to
hasten his fall, and take his place; that ho had rejected this
proposition with indignation, but had been induced to promise,
that if Philip V. fell of himself, without hope of rising, ho would
not object to mount the vacant throne, believing that by so
doing ho would be doing good to our King, by preserving Spain
to his house.

As soon as I heard this, I advised him to make a clean
breast of it to the King, and to ask his pardon for having actiiil
in this matter without his orders and without his knowledge.
He thought my advice good, and acted upon it. But the King
was too much under the influence of the enemies of M. d’Or-
14ans, to listen favourably to what was said to him. TIio facts
of the case, too, were much against M. d’Orldans. Both Ilcnaut
and Elotte had been entrusted with his secret. The former had
openly leagued himself with the enemies of Madame dos I Jrsins,
and acted with the utmost imprudence. He had been privately
arrested just before the arrival of Elotte. When this latter
was arrested, papers were found upon him which brought
everything to light. The views of M. d’Orl&ns and of those

DISOEIOB OF M. D’OEl/iAKS.

101

■who supported him -were clearly sho'wn. The King ■would not
listen to anything in favour of his nephew.

The whole Court cried out against M. d’Orl4ans; never was
such an uproar heard. Ho was accused of plotting to over¬
throw the King of Spain, he, a Prince of the blood, and so
closely allied to the two crowns! Monsoignour, usually so
plunged in apathy, roused himself to fury against M. d’Orl&ns,
and insisted upon nothing less than a criminal prosecution. He
insisted so strongly upon this, that the King at last consented
that it should take place, and gave orders to the chancellor to
examine the forms rociuisite in such a case. While the chancellor
was about this work, I wont to see him one day, and repre¬
sented to him so strongly, that M. d’OrMans’ misdemeanour did
not concern France at all, and could only he judged before a
Spanish tribunal, that the idea of a criminal trial was altogether
abandoned almost immediately after. M. d’Orl6ans was allowed
to remain in peace.

Madame dos Ursins and Madame de Mainterion had so far
triuniphcd, however, that M. d’Orlcans found himself plunged
in the deepest (lisgraco. Ho was universally shunned. When¬
ever ho appeared, peoi)le ilow away, so that they might not he
.soon in <!ommutuoation with him. His solitude was so great, that
for a whole month only one friend entered his house. In the
midst of this desertion, ho had no rosoiirco hut debauchery, and
the society of his mistress, Madame d’Argontoa The disorder
and scandal of his life had for a long time olFondod the King,
the Co.urt, and the public. They now unhappily eonfirraod
evorybo'dy in the bad opinion they had formed of him. That
the long disgrace ho sufiorod continued to confirm him in his
bad habits, and that it explains to some extent his after-conduct,
there can be no doubt. But I must leave him now, and return
to other matters.

102

MEMOIES OP THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOK.

CHAPTER XL

Dimger of Chaminart—Witticism of D’Harcourt—Faults of Chamillart—
Mm-Beliaviour of tlie courtiei^-Influence of
Ma^me de Mamtenon-Digmfled fall of Chanullart-He is succeeded
Minfater-The Campaign m

But, meanwhile, a great change had taken place at Court,
ChamiUart had committed the mistake of allowing the advance¬
ment of D’Harcourt to the head of an army. The poor man
did not see the danger; and when warned of it, thought his
cleverness would preserve him. Reports of his fall had already
began to circulate, and D’Antin had been spoken of in his place.
I wai’ned his daughter Dreus, the only one of the family to
whom It was possible to speak with profit. The mother with
little wit and knowledge of the Court, full of apparent confidence-
and sham cunmng, received all advice ill. The brothers were-
imbecile, the son was a child and a simpleton, the two other-
daughters too light-headed. I had often warned Madame de
Dreus of the enmity of the Duchesse de Bourgogne; and she
had spoken to her on the subject. The Princesse had answered
very col% that she was mistaken, that she had no such enmity.
At last I succeeded, in this indirect way, in forcing ChamiUart
to speak to the Edng on the reports that were abroad; but he
^d so in a half-and-half way, and committed the capital mis¬
take ot not nammg the successor which pubUc rumour men¬
tioned. The King appeared touched, and gave him all sorts of
assurances of friendship, and made as if he Uked him better

d’harcouet’s witticism.

103

tlian ever. I do not know if Cliamillart was then near kis
destruction, and whether this conversation set him up again;
hut from the day it took place all reports died away, and the
Court thought him perfectly re-established.

But his enemies continued to work against him. Madame
de Maintenon and the Duchesse de Bourgogne abated not a jot
in their enmity. The Marechal d’Harcourt lost no opportu¬
nity of pulling him to pieces. One day, among others, he was
declaiming violently against him at Madame de Maintenon’s,
whom he knew he should thus please. She asked him whom
he would put in his place, “M. Fagon, Madame,” he replied
coldly. She laughed, but said this was not a thing to joke
about; but he maintained seriously that the old doctor would
make a much better minister than Cliamillart, for he had some
intelligence, which would make up for his ignorance of many
matters; but what could be expected of a man who was igno¬
rant and stupid too ? The cunning Norman knew well the
effect this strange parallel would have; and it is indeed incon¬
ceivable how damaging his sarcasm proved. A short time
afterwards, D’Antin, wishing also to please, but more impru¬
dent, insulted the son of Chamillart so grossly, and abused the
father so publicly, that he was obliged afterwards to excuse
himself.

The Xing held, for the first time in his life, a real council of
war. He told the Due de Bourgogne of it, saying rather
sharply: “Come, unless you prefer going to vespers.” The
council lasted nearly three hours, and was stormy. The
Mar(ichals were freer in their language than usual, and com¬
plained of the ministers. All fell upon Chamillart, who
was accused, among other things, of matters that concerned
Desmarets, on whom he finished by turning off the King’s
anger, Chamillart defended himself with so much anger that
his voice was heard by people outside.

But he had of late heaped fault on fault. Besides setting
Madame de Maintenon and the Duchesse de Bourgogne against
him, he rather wantonly irritated Monseigneur, at that time
more than ever under the government of Mademoiselle Choin.

104 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

The latter had asked him a favour, and had been refused even
with contempt. Various advances at reconciliation she made
were also repulsed with contumely. Yet every one, even the
Duchesse de Bourgogne, crawled before this creature—the
favourite of the heir to the throne! Madame de Maintenon
actually caused the King to offer her apartments at Versailles,
which she refused, for fear of losing the liberty she enjoyed at
Meudon. D'Antin, who saw all that was going on, became the
soul of a conspiracy against Chamillart. It was infinitely well
managed. Everything moved in order and harmony—always
prudently, always knowingly.

The King, quietly attacked on all hands, was shaken; but
he had many reasons for sticking to Chamillart. He was his
own choice. Ho minister had stood aside so completely, and
allowed the King to receive ail the praise of whatever was
done. Though the Bang’s reason was, therefore, soon influ¬
enced, his heart was not so easily. But Madame de Maintenon
was not discouraged. Monseigneur, urged by Mademoiselle
Choiu, had abeady spoken out to the King. She laboured to
make him speak again; for, on the previous occasion, he had
been listened to attentively.

So many machines could not be set in motion without some
noise being heard abroad. There rose in the Court, I know
not what confused murmurs, the origin of which could not be
pointed out, publishing that either the State or Chamillart
must perish; that already his ignorance had brought the king¬
dom within an ace of destruction; that it was a miracle this
destruction had not yet come to pass; and that it would be
madness to tempt Providence any longer. Some did not blush
to abuse him; others praised his intentions, and spoke with
moderation of faults that many people reproached him bitterly
with. All admitted his rectitude, but maintained that a suc¬
cessor of some kind or other was absolutely necessary. Some
believing or trying to persuade others that they carried friend-
sMp to as far a point as was possible, protested that they
should ever preserve this friendship, and would never forget
the pleasure and the services that they had received from

INFLUENCE OF MADAME DE MAINTENON. 105

■Chaniillart; but delicately confessed tliat they preferred the
interests of the State to their own personal advantage and the
support they would lose ^ that, even if Chamillart were their
brother, they would sorrowfully admit the necessity of re¬
moving him! At last, nobody could understand either how such
<& man could ever have been chosen, or how he could have
remained so long in his place! All his faults and all his
ridicules formed the staple of Court conversation. If anybody
referred to the great things he had done, to the rapid gather¬
ing of armies after our disasters, people turned on their heels
and walked away. Such were the presages of the fall of
Chamillart.

The Marechal de Boufflers, who had never forgiven the
causes that led to the loss of Lille, joined in the attack on'
Chamillart; and assisted in exciting the King against him.
Chamillai’t has since related to me that up to the last moment
he had always been received equally graciously by the King—
that is, up to two days before his fall. Then, indeed, he no¬
ticed that the King’s countenance was embarrassed; and felt
inclined to ask if he was displeasing to him, and to offer to
retire. Had he done so, he might, if we may judge from what
transpired subsequently, have remained in office. But now
]!dadame de Maintenon had come personally into the field, and,
beheving herself sure of success, openly attacked Chamillart.
What passed between her and the King was quite private and
never related; but there seems reason to believe that she did
not succeed without difficulty.

On Sunday morning, November 9, the King, on entering the
Council of State, called the Due de BeauvUliers to him, and
requested him to go in the afternoon and tell Chamillart that
he was obliged, for motives of public interest, to ask him to re¬
sign his office; but that, in order to give him a mark of his
esteem and satisfaction with his services, he continued his pen¬
sion of minister—that is to say, twenty thousand francs, and
added as much more, with one to his son of twenty thousand
francs likewise. He added that he should have liked to see
Chamillart, but that at first it would grieve him too much: he

106 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOH.

was not to come till sent for; he might live in Paris, and go
where he liked. The Due de Beauvilliers did all he could to
escape from carrying so harsh a message, but could only obtain
permission to let the Due de Chevreuse accompany hb-n

They went to Chamillart, and found him alone, working in
his cabinet. The air of consternation with which they en¬
tered, told the unfortunate Minister that something disagree¬
able had happened; and without giving them time to speak,,
he said, with a serene and tranquil countenance, ‘‘ What is tho
matter, gentlemen ? If what you have to say concerns onlyr
me, you may speak: I have long been prepared for every¬
thing.” This gentle firmness touched them still more. They
could scarcely explain what they came about. Chamil¬
lart listened without any change of countenance, and said,
with the same air and tone as at first: “The King is the master.
I have endeavoured to serve him to the best of my ability. I
hope some one else will please him better, and be more lucky.’^
He then asked if he had been forbidden to write to the King,
and being told not, he wrote a letter of respect and thanks,
and sent it by the two Dues, with a Memoir which he had just
finished. He also wrote to Madame d^ Maintenon. He sent a
verbal message to his wife; and, without complaint, murmur,
or sighs, got into his carriage, and drove to L’Etang. Both
then and afterwards he showed the greatest magnanimity.
Every one went, fi’om a sort of fashion, to visit him. When I
went, the house looked as if a death had taken place; and it
was frightful to see, in the midst of cries and tears, the dead
man walking, speaking with a quiet, gentle air, and serene
brow,—unconstrained, unaffected, attentive to every one, not
at all or scarcely different from what he was accustomed to be.

Chamillart, as I have said, had received permission to live
at Paris, if he liked; but soon afterwards he innocently gave um¬
brage to Madame de Maintenon, who was annoyed that his dis¬
grace was not followed by general abandonment. She caused him
to be threatened secretly, and he prudently left Paris, and went
far away, under pretence of seeking for an estate to buy.

Next day -after the fall of Chamillart, it became known that

VOTSIN SUCCEEDS CHAMILLAET.

lor

the triumpli of Madame de Maintenon "was completed, and
that Yoysin, her creature, was the succeeding Secretary of
State. This Yoysin had the one indispensable quality for ad¬
mission into the counsels of Louis XIY.—not a drop of noble
blood in his veins. He had married, in 1683, the daughter of
Trudaine. She had a very agreeable countenance, without any
affectation. She appeared simple and modest, and occupied
with her household and good works; but in reality, had sense,
wit, cleverness, above all, a natural insinuation, and the art of
bringing things to pass without being perceived. She kept
with great tact a magnificent house. It was she who received
Madame de Maintenon at Dinan, when the King was besieging,
Hamur; and, as she had been instructed by M. de Luxem¬
bourg in the way to please that lady, succeeded most effectu¬
ally. Among her arts was her modesty, which led her pru¬
dently to avoid pressing herself on Madame de Maintenon, or
showing herself more than was absoliitely necessary. She was
sometimes two whole days without seeing her. A trifie,
luckily contrived, finished the conquest of Madame de Main¬
tenon. It happened that the weather passed suddenly from,
excessive heat to a damp cold, which lasted a long time. Im¬
mediately, an excellent dressing-gown, simple, and well lined,
appeared in the corner of the chamber. This present, by sn
much the more agreeable, as Madame de Maintenon had not
brought any warm clothing, tquched her also by its sudden¬
ness, and by its simple appearance, as if of its own accord.

In this way, the taste of Madame de Maintenon for Madame-
Yoysin was formed and increased. Madame Yoysin obtained
an appointment for her husband, and coming to Paris, at last,
grew extremely familiar with Madame de Maintenon. Yo^^sin
himself had much need of the wife that Providence had given
him. He was perfectly ignorant of everything but the dutiea
of an Intendant. He was, moreover, rough and uncivil, as the-
courtiers soon found. He was never unjust for the sake of
being so, nor was he bad naturally; but he knew nothing but
authority, the Edng and Madame de Maintenon, whose will was.
unanswerable—his sovereign law and reason. The choice was.

108 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOH.

settled between the King and Madame de Maintenon after
supper, the day of Chamillart^s fall. Voysin was conducted to
the King by Bloin, after having received the orders and instruc¬
tions of his benefactress. In the evening of that day, the King
found Madame Voysin with Madame de Maintenon, and kissed
her several times to please his lady.

Yoysin^s first experience of the duties of his ofl3.ce was un¬
pleasant. He was foolish enough, feeling his ignorance, to tell
the King, that at the outset he should be obliged to leave every¬
thing to his Majesty, but that when he knew better, he would
take more on himself. The King, to whom Chamillart used
himself to leave everything, was much offended by this lan¬
guage ; and drawing himself up, in the tone of a master, told
Voyrfn to learn, once for all, that his duties were to receive and
expedite ordeis, nothing else. He then took the projects
brought to him, examined them, prescribed the measures he
thought fit, and very stiffly sent away Voysin, who did not
know where he was^ and had great want of his wife to set his
head to rights, and of Madame de Maintenon to give him com¬
pleter lessons than she had yet been able to do. Shortly after¬
wards he was forbidden to send any orders without submitting
them to the Marechal de Boufflers. He was supple, and sure
of Madame de Maintenon, and through her of the Marechal,
waited for time to release him from this state of tutelage; and
showed nothing of his annoyance, especially to Boufflers himself.

Events soon happened to alter the position of the Mardchal
de Boufflers.

Flanders, ever since the opening of the campaign, had been
the principal object of attention. Prince Eugene and Marl¬
borough, joined together, continued their vast designs, and dis¬
dained to hide them. Their prodigious preparations spoke of
sieges. Shall I say that we desired them, and that we thought
of nothing but how to preserve, not use our army ?

Toumai was the fimt place towards which the enemies di¬
rected their arms. After a short resistance it fell into their
handa Villars^ bb I have said, was commander in Flanders.
Boufflers feeling that, in the position of affairs, such a post must

THE AEMIES AT MAXPLAQUEr.

109*

weigh very heavily upon one man, and that in ca^e of his death
there was no one to take his place, offered to go to assist him.
The King, after some little hesitation, accepted this magnani¬
mous offer, and BoufBers set out. I say magnanimous offer,
because Boufflers, loaded with honours and glory, might well
have hoped to pass the rest of his life in repose. It was hardly
possible, do what he might, that he could add to his reputa¬
tion : while, on the other hand, it was not unlikely that he
might be made answerable for the faults or shortcomings of
others, and return to Paris stripped of some of the laurels that
adorned his brow. But he thought only of the welfare of the
State, and pressed the King to allow him to depart to Flanders.
The King, as I have said, at last consented.

The surprise was great in the army when he arrived there.
The general impression was that he was the bearer of news of
peace. Yillars received him with an air of joy and respect, and
at once showed every willingness to act in concert -with him.
The two generals accordingly worked harmoniously together,
taking no steps without consulting each other, and showing
great deference for each other’s opinions. They were like one
man.

After the fall of Tournai, our army took up position at Mal-
plaquet, the right and the left supported [by two woods, with
hedges and woods before the centre, so that the plain was, as it
were, cut in two. Marlborough and Prince Eugene marched in
their turn, fearing lest Villars should embarass them as they
went towards Mons, which place they had resolved to besiege.
They sent on a large detachment of their army, under the com¬
mand of the Prince of Hesse, to watch ours. He arrived in
sight of the camp at Malplaquet at the same time that we en¬
tered it, and was quickly warned of our existence by three
cannon shots that Villars, out of braggadocio, fired by way of
appeal to Marlborough and Prince Eugene. Some little firing
took place this day and the next, the 10th of September, but
without doing much harm on either side.

Marlborough and Prince Eugene, warned of the perilous state
in which the Prince of Hesse was placed—he would have been

110 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

lost if ^li3<stGii6d. Bib 0 I 1 C 6 to join Itini, mid mrivod in

the middle of the morning of the 10th. Their first care was to
examine the position of our army, and to do so, ■while waitino*
for their rear-guard, they employed a stratagem which suc-
eeeded admirably.

They sent several officers, who had the look of subalterns, to
our lines, and asked to be allowed to speak to our officers.
Their req[uest was granted, Albergotti came down to them,
and discoumed with them a long time. They pretended they
came to see whether peace could not be arranged, but they, in
reality, spoke of little but compliments, which signified nothing.
They stayed so long, under various pretexts, that at last we
were obliged to threaten them in order to get rid of them. All
this time a few of their best general officers on horseback, and
a larger number of engineers and designers on foot, profited by
these ridiculous colloq_uies to put upon paper drawings of our
position, thus being able to see the best positions for their
cannon, and the best mode, in fact, in which aU thdr disposi¬
tion might be made. We learnt this artifice afterwards from
the prisoners.

It was decided that evening to give us battle on*the morrow,
although the deputies of the States-G-eneral, content with the
advantages that had been already gained, and not liking to run
the risk of failure, were opposed to an action taking place.
They were, however, persuaded to agree, and on the following
morning the battle began.

The struggle lasted many hours. But our position had been
badly chosen, and, in spite of every efibrt, we were unable to
maintain it. Villars, in the early part of the action, received
a wound which incapacitated him from duty. A IT the burden
of command fell upon Boufflers. He bore it weU; but after a
time finding his army dispersed, his infantry overwhelmed, the
ground slipping from under his feet, he thought only of beating
a good and honourable retreat. He led away his army in such
good order, that the enemy were unable to interfere with it in
the slightest degree. During all the march, which lasted until
night, we did not lose a hundred stragglers, and carried off aU

SIEGE OF MONS.

Ill

ihe cannon with, tlie exception of a few pieces. Tito enemy
passed the night npon the battle-field, in the midst of twenty-
five thousand dead, and marched towards Mons the next even¬
ing, They frankly admitted that in men killed and wounded,
in general officers and privates, in flags and standard, they had
lost more than we. The battle cost them, in fact, seven lieu¬
tenant-generals, five other generals, about eighteen hundred
^officers killed or wounded, and more than ^teen thousand
men killed or rendered unfit for service. They openly avowed,
.also, how much they had been surprised by the valour of the
majority of our troops, above all of the cavalry, and did not
•dissimulate that we should have gained the day, had we been
better led.

Why the Marechal Villars waited ten days to be attacked in
a position so disadvantageous, instead of at once marching
upon the enemies and overcoming, as he might at first easily
have done, it is difficult to understand. He threw all the blame
upon his wound, although it was weU known that the fate of
the day was decided long before he was hurt.

Although forced to retire, our men burned with eagerness to
■engage the enemies again. Mons had been laid siege to. Bouf-
£ers tried to make the besiegers give up the undertaking. But
his men were without bread and without pay; the subaltern
officers were compelled to eat the regulation bread, the general
officers were reduced to the most miserable shifts, and were like
the privates, without pay, oftentimes for seven or eight days
running. There was no meat and no bread for the army.
The common soldiers were reduced to herbs and roots for all
sustenance. TJnder these circumstances it was found impossible
to persevere in tr3ring to save Mons. Nothing but subsistence
oould be thought of.

The Court had now become so accustomed to defeats that a
battle lost as was Malplaquet seemed half a victory. Bouffl^ers
sent a courier to the Bang with an account of the event, and
.spoke so favourably of Villars that all the blame of the defeat
fell upon himself. Villars was everywhere pitied and applauded,
■although he had lost an important battle, when it was in his

112

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIOT-SIMOH.

power to beat the enemies in detail, and render them unable
to undertake the siege of Mons, or any other siege. If BoujHBlers
was indignant at this, he was still more indignant at what hap¬
pened afterwards. In the first dispatch he sent to the King^
he promised to send another as soon as possible giving full
details, with propositions as to how the vacancies which had
occurred in the army might be filled up. On the very evening
he sent off his second dispatch, he received intelligence that
the Elng had already taken his dispositions with respect to
these vacancies, without having consulted him upon a single
point. This was the first reward Boufflers received for the
services he had just rendered, and that, too, from a King who
had said in public that without Boufflers all was lost, and that
a^uredly it was God who had inspired him with the idea of
going to the army. From that time Boufflers fell into a dis¬
grace from which he never recovered. He had the courage ta
appear as usual at the Court; but a worm was gnawing him
within and destroyed him. Oftentimes he opened his heart to
me without rashness, and without passing the strict limits of
his virtue; but the poniard was in his heart, and neither time
nor reflection could dull its edge. He did nothing but languish
afterwards, yet without being confined to his bed or to his
chamber, but did not live more than two years. Villars, on
the contrary, was in greater favour than ever. He arrived
at Court triumphant. The Fing made him occupy an apart¬
ment at Vemailles, so that his wound might be well attended to.

What a contrast! What a difference between the services,
the merit, the condition, the virtue, the situation of these two
men 1 What inexhaustible funds of refiection I ^

* It is as well to point out that the silly and ignorant, who are unable to-
emancyate aem^ves from the influence of the title of Great, usually
gi’ron to ]Uuis 2^*5 who are yet candid enough to admit that in con¬
duct and tone of thought he never rose above the level of a pious dancin^-
ma^er, or conscientious master of the ceremonies, usually fall back on his
mysterious tect m choosmg men of genius ! Every page of Saint-Simon

combined with dishonesty, was the truo
pa^ioit to^ favour Interatare is good enough or servile enough to be
grateM to him for not stifling its development. Is Erance so sure that it
might not have done better ^

DISGRACE OF THE DHO D’OBLeAHS.

ns

CHAPTEE XII.

Disgrace of tli© Due d’Orl^ans—I endeavour to separate him from Madame
d'Argenton—Extraordinary Eeports—My various Colloquies with him
—The Separation— Conduct of Madame d’Argenton—Death and Cha¬
racter of M. le Due—The After-suppers of the King.

I HAVE described in its proper place the profound fall of M. le
Due d’Orldans and the neglect in which he lived^, out of all
favour with the King, hated by Madame de Maintenon and
Monseigneur, and regarded with an unfavourable eye by the
public, on account of the scandals of his private life. I had
long seen that the only way in which he could hope to recover
his position would be to give up his mistress, Madame d'Argen-
ton, with whonoL he had been on terms of intimacy for many
years past, to the knowledge and the scandal of all the world.
I knew it would be a bold and dangerous game to play, to try
to persuade him to separate himself from a woman he had
known and - loved so long; but I determined to engage in it,
nevertheless, and I looked about for some one to assist me in
this enterprise. At once I cast my eyes upon the Marechal de
Besons, who for many long years had been the bosom friend of
M. d’OrMans. He applauded the undertaking, but doubted, he
said, its success; nevertheless he promised to aid me to the
utmost of his power, and, it will be seen, was as good as his
word. For some time I had no opportunity of accosting M.
d’Orleans, and was obliged to keep my project in abeyance, but
I did not lose sight of it; and when I saw my way clear, I took
the matter in hand, determined to strain every nerve in order
to succeed.

VOL. n. 8

CARb^i.iii ii^oTiTUTE

OE TECHNOLOGY LIBRARY

114

MEMOIKS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK

It was just at tte commencement of the year 1710, that I
first spoke to M. d’Orleans. I began by extracting from him an
admission of the neglect into which he had fallen—the dislike
of the King, the hatred of Monseigneur, who accused him of
wishing to replace his son in Spain; that of Madame de Mainte-
non, whom he had offended by his bon-mot; the suspicions of
the public, who talked of his chemical experiments—and then,
throwing off all fear of consequences, I said that before he could
hope to draw back his friends and the world to him, he must
reinstate himself in the favour of the King. He appeared
struck with what I had said, rose after a profound silence,
paced to and fro, and then asked, ''But howl” Seeing the
opportunity so good, I replied in a firm and significant tone,
“ How ? I know well enough, but I will never tell you; and
yet it is the only thing to do.” " Ah, I understand you,” said
he,as though struck with a thunderbolt; "I understand you
perfectlyand he threw himself upon the chair at the end of
the room. There he remained some time, without speaking a
word, yet agitated and sighing, and with his eyes lowered. I
broke silence at last, by sajdng that the state which he was in
had touched me to the quick, and that I had determined in
conjunction with the Marechal de Besons to speak to him upon
the subject, and to propose the only means by which he could
hope to bring about a change in his position. He considered
some time, and then giving me encouragement to proceed, I
entered at some length upon the proposal I had to make to him,
and left him evidently affected by what I had said, when I
thought I had for the time gone far enough.

The next day, Thursday, January 2nd, Besons, to whom I
had written, joined me; and after I had communicated to him
what had passed the previous evening, we hastened to M.
d’Orldans. He received us well, and we at once commenced
an attack. In order to aid my purpose as much as possible, I
repeated to M. d’Orleans, at this meeting, the odious reports
that were in circulation against him, viz., that he intended to
repudiate his wife forced upon him by the King, in order to
many the Queen Dowager of Spain, and by means of her gold

THE HUCHESSE D’oELEANS.

115

to open up a path for himself to the Spanish throne; that he
intended to wait for his new wife’s death, and then marry
Madame d’Argenton, to whom the genii had promised a throne;
and I added, that it was very fortunate that the Duchesse
d’Orleans had safely passed through the dangers of her confine¬
ment, for already some wretches had begun to spread the
saying, that he was not the son of Monsieur for nothing. (An
allusion to the death of Henriette d’Angleterre.)

On hearing these words, the Due was seized with a terror
that cannot be described, and at the same time with a grief
that is above expression. I took advantage of the eflfeet my
discourse had had upon him, to show how necessary it was he
should make a great effort in order to win back the favour of
the King and of the public. I represented to him that the
only way to do this was to give up Madame d’Argenton, at
once and for ever, and to announce to the King that he had
done so. At first he would not hear of such a step, and I was
obliged to employ all my eloquence and aU my firmness too, to
make him listen to reason. One great obstacle in our way was
the repugnance of M. d’Orleans for his wife. He had been
married, as I have described in the early part of these memoirs,
against his will, and with no sort of affection for the woman
he was given to. It was natural that he should look upon her-
with dislike ever since she had become his wife. I did what I
could to speak in praise of Madame la Duchesse d’Orldans, and
Besons aided me; but we did little else than waste our breath
for some time. Our praises in fact irritated M. d’Orleans, and
to such a point, that no longer screening things or names, he
told us what we should have wished not to hear, but what it
was very lucky we did hear. He had suspicions, in fact, of
his wife’s honour; but fortunately I was able to prove clearly
and decisively that those suspicions were unfounded, and I
did so. The joy of M. d’Orldans upon finding he had been
deceived was great indeed; and when we separated from him
after mid-day, in order to go to dinner, I saw that a point was
gained.

A little before three o’clock I returned to M. d’Orldans, whom

8—2

11G MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMON.

I found alone in Lis cabinet with Besons. He received me
with pleasure, and made me seat myself between him and the
Ifarechal, whom he complimented upon his diligence. Our
conversation re-commenced. I returned to the attack with all
the arguments I could muster, and the MarecLal supported
me; but I saw with affright that M. ffOrleans was less reduced
than when we Lad quitted him in the mornings and that he
had sadly taken breath during our short absence. I saw that,
if we were to succeed, we must make the best use we could of
our time, and accordingly I brought all my powers into play
in order to gain over M. d’Orl4ans.

Feeling that everything was now to be lost or gained, T
spoke out with all the force of which I was capable, surprising
and terrifying Mardchal Besons to such a point, with my
hardihood, that he had not a word to say in order to aid me.
When I had finished, M. d'Orleans thanked me in a piteous
tone, by which I knew the profound impression I had made
upon his mind. I proposed, while he was still shaken,
that he should at once send to Madame de Maintenon, to
know ivhen she would grant him an audience; for he had
cleteiTuined to speak to her first of his intention to give
up Madame d’Argenton. Besons seconded me; and while we
were talking together, not daring to push our point farther,
M. d’Orleans much astonished us by rising, running with
impetuosity to the door, and calling aloud for his servants.
One ran to him, whom he ordered in a whisper to go to
Madame de Maintenon, to ask at what hour she would see him
on the morrow. He returned immediately, and threw himself
into a chair like a man whose strength fails him and who is at
Ms last gasp. Uncertain as to what he had just done, I asked
him if he had sent to Madame de Maintenon. TJes, Monsieur/^
said he, in a tone of despair. Instantly I started towards him,
and thanked him with all the contentment and all the joy
imagiimHe. This terrible interview, for the struggle we had
al gone through was very great, was soon after brought to a
close, and Besons and myself went our way, congratulating
each other on the success of this day^s labour.

GRIEF OF THE DUG.

117

Oh the next day, Friday, the 3rd of January, I saw M.
m d’Orleans as he preceded the King to mass, and in my im¬

patience I approached him, and speaking in a low tone, asked
him if he had seen '' that woman.” I did not dare to mention
names just then. He replied “yes,” but in so lackadaisical a
tone that I feared he had seen her to effect, and I asked him if
he had spoken to her. Upon receiving another “ yes,” like the
other, my emotion redoubled. “But have you told her all f I
said. “ Yes,” he replied, “ I have told her all.” “ And are yon
content?” said L “Nobody could be more so,” he replied; “I
was nearly an hour with her, she was very much surprised
and ravished.”

I saw M. ffOrleans under better circumstances at another
period of the day, and then I learnt from him that since
meeting me he had spoken to the King also, and told him all.

Ah, Monsieur,” cried I, with transport, '4iow I love you I” and
advancing warmly towards him, I added, “ How glad I am to
^ see you at last delivered; how did you bring this to pass?”

“I mistrusted myself so much,” replied he, “and was so
violently agitated after speaking to Madame de Maintenon,
that I feared to run the risk of pausing all the morning; so,
immediately after mass I spoke to the King, and”—here, over¬
come by his grief, his voice faltered, and he burst into sighs,
into tears, and into sobs. I retired into a corner. A moment
after Besons entered: the spectacle and the profound silence
astonished him. He lowered his eyes, and advanced but little.
At last we gently approached each other. I told him that M.
d’Orleans had conquered himself, and had spoken to the King.
The Mar^chal was so bewildered with surprise and joy that he
remained for some moments speechless and motionless: then
running towards M. d’Oiieans, he thanked him, felicitated him,
and wept for very joy. M. d’Orl4ans was cruelly agitated, now
maintaining a ferocious silence, and now bursting into a torrent
of sighs, sobs, and tears. He said at last that Madame de
Maintenon had been extremely surprised with the resolution
he had taken, and at the same time delighted. She assured
him that it would put him on better terms than ever with the

118

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAENT-SIMOH.

Eling, and that Madame d’Argenton should be treated with,
every consideration. I pressed M. d'OrMans to let us know
how the King had received him. He replied that the King
had appeared very much surprised, but had spoken coldly. I
comforted him for this disappointment by assuring him that
the King’s coldness arose only from his astonishment, and that
in the end all would be well

It would be impossible to describe the joy felt by Besons
and myself at seeing our labours brought to this satisfactory
point. I knew I should make many enemies when the part I
had taken in influencing M. d’Orleans to give up Madame
d’Argenton came to be known, as it necessarily would; but I
felt I had done rightly, and left the consequences to Providence.
Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans showed me the utmost gratitude
for what I had done. She exhibited, too, so much intelligence,
good sense, and ability, in the conversation I had with, her,
that I determined to spare no pains to unite her husband to
her more closely; being firmly persuaded that he would
nowhere find a better counsellor than in her. The surprise of
the whole court, when it became known that M. d’Orleans had
at last separated himself from Madame d’Axgenton, was great
indeed. It was only equalled by the vexation of those who
were opposed to him. Of course in this matter I was not
spared. For several days nothing was spoken of but this
rupture, and everywhere I was pointed out as the author of it,
Besons being scarcely alluded to. I parried the thrusts made
at me as well as I could, as much for the purpose of leaving all
the honour to M. d’Orleans, as for the purpose of avoiding the
anger of those who were annoyed with me; and also from a
just fear of showing that I had too much influence over the
mind of a Prince not without faulte, and who could not always
be led.

As for Madame d’Argenton, she received the news that her
reign was over with all the consternation, rage, and despair
that might have been expected. Mademoiselle de Chausseraye
was sent by Madame de Maintenon to announce the ill nevs^s
to her. When Mademoiselle de Chausseraye arrived at Madame

fall of MADAME D’AEGENTOK.

119

d’AxgeDton’s hoiise^ Madame d^Argeaton was out: she had gone
to supper with, the Princesse de Eohan. Mademoiselle de
Chausseraye waited until she returned, and then broke the
matter to her gently, and after much preamble and circum¬
locution, as though she were about to announce the death of
some one. The tears, the cries, the howliogs of Madame
•d’Argenton filled the house, and announced to all the domestics
that the reign of felicity was at an end there. After a long
silence on the part of Mademoiselle de Chausseraye, she spoke
her best in order to appease the poor lady. She represented
to her the delicacy and liberality of the arrangements M.
d’Orl^ans had made in her behalf. In the first place she was
free to live in any part of the realm except Paris and its
appanages. In the next place he assured to her forty-five
thousand livres a year, nearly all the capital of which would
belong to the son he had had by her, whom he had recog¬
nised and - made legitimate, and who has since become
•Grandee of Spain, Grand Prieur of France, and General of the
Galleys (for the best of aU conditions in France is to have
none at all, and to be a bastard). Lastly he undertook to pay
all her debts np to the day of the rupture, so that she
should not be importuned by any creditor, and allowed her
to retain her jewellery, her plate, her furniture—worth al¬
together about foTir hundred thousand livres. His liberality
amounted to a total of about two million livres, which I
thought prodigious.

Madame d'Axgenton, in despair at first, became more tractable
as she learnt the provisions which had been made for her, and
the delicacy wu-tli which she was treated. She remained four
•days in Paris, and then returned 'to her father’s house near
Port-Sainte-Maxence, the Chevalier d’Orleans, her son, remain¬
ing at the Palais Royale. The King after his first surprise had
worn away, was in the greatest joy at the rupture; and testified
his gratification to M. d’Orleans, whom he treated better and
better every day. Madame de Maintenon did not dare not to con¬
tribute a little at first; and in this the Prince felt the friendship
of the Jesuits, whom he had contrived to attach to him. The

120

ME3IOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK.

Ducliesse de Bourgogne did marvels of her own accord; and the^
Due de Bourgogne, also, being urged by M. de Beauvilliers.
Monseigneur alone remained irritated, on account of the Spanish

afikir.

I must here mention the death of M. le Due. He was en¬
gaged in a trial which was just about to be pleaded. He had
tor some time suffered from a strange disease, a mixture of
apoplexy and epilepsy, which he concealed, so carefully, that he
drove away one of his servants for speaking of it to his fellows.
For some time he had had a continual headache. This state
troubled the gladness he felt at being delivered from his
troublesome father and brother-in-law. One eveninsr he was

O

riding in his carriage, returning from a visit to the Hotel de
Coislin, without torches, and with only one servant behind,
when he felt so ill that he drew the string, and made his lackey
get up to tell him. whether his mouth was not all on one side.
This was not the case, but he soon lost speech and conscious¬
ness after having requested to be taken in privately to the
Hotel de Condd They there put him in bed. Priests and
doctors came. But he only made horrible faces, and died
about four o’clock in the morning.

Madame la Duchesse did not lose her presence of mind, and,
whilst her husband was dying, took steps to secure her future
fortune. Meanwhile she managed to cry a little, but nobody
lelievecl in her grief. As for M. le Due, I have already men¬
tioned some anecdotes of him that exhibit his cruel character.
He was a marvellously little man, short, without being fat. A
dwarf of Madame la Princesse was said to be the cause. He
was of a livid yellow, nearly always looked furious, and was
ever so proud, so audacious, that it was difiicnlt to get used to
iiim. His cruelty and ferocity were so extreme that people'
avoided him, and his pretended friends would not invite him to
Join in any merriment. They avoided Mm: he ran after them
to escape from solitude, and would sometimes burst upon them
during their jovial repasts, reproach them with turning a

cold shoulder to him, and change their merriment to desola¬
tion.

PEICEBENCE AT KING’S SUPPER.

121

After the death of M. le Due, a grand discussion on precedence
at the After-suppers, set on foot by the proud Duchesse d’Or-
leans^ was, after an elaborate examination by the King, brought
to a close. The King ordered his determination to be kept
secret until he formally declared it. It is necessary to set forth
in a few words the mechanism of the After-suppers every day..
The King, on leaving table, stopped less than a half-quarter of
an hour with his back leaning against the balustrade of his
chamber. He there found in a circle all the ladies who had
been at his supper, and who came there to wait for him a little
before he left table, except the ladies who sat, who came out
after him, and who, in the suite of the Princes and the Princesses
who had supped with him, advanced one by one and made him
a courtesy, and filled up the remainder of the standing circle
for a space was always left for them by the other ladies. The
men stood behind. The King amused himself by observing the
dresses, the countenances, and the gracefulness of the ladies^
courtesies, said a word to the Princes and Princesses who had
supped with him, and who closed the circle near him on either
hand, then bowed to the ladies on right and left, bowed once or
twice more as he went away, with a grace and majesty unparal¬
leled, spoke sometimes, but very rarely, to some lady in passing,
entered the first cabinet, where he gave the order, and. then
advanced to the second cabinet, the doors from the first to the
second always remaining open. There he placed himself in a
fauteuil. Monsieur, while he was there, in another; the
Duchesse de Bourgogne, Madame (but only after the death of
Monsieur), the Duchesse de Berry (after her marriage), the
three bastard-daughters^ and Madame du Maine (when she was
at Yersailles), on stools on each side. Monseigneur, the Due de
Bourgogne, the Due de Berry, the Due d’Orleans, the two bas¬
tards, M. le Due (as the husband of Madame la Duchesse), and
afterwards the two sons of M. du Maine, when they had grown
a little, and D Antin, came afterwards, all standing. It was the
object of the Duchesse d’Orleans to change this order, and make
her daughters take precedence of the wives of the Princes of

122 MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOH.

the Blood; but the King declared against her. When he
made the public announcement of his decision, the Due
d'Orleans took the opportunity of alluding to a marriage
which would console him for everything. I should think
so/' replied the King, dryly, and with a bitter and mocking
smile.

PROPOSED MARRIAGE OF MADEMIOISELLE.

123

CHAPTER XTT T.

Proposed mai-riage of Mademoiselle—My intrigues to bidng it about_The

Duchesse de Bourgogne and other Allies—The Attack begun—Progress of
the Intrigue—Economy at Marly—The Marriage agreed upon—Scene at
St. Cloud—Horrible Eeports—The Marriage—Madame de Saint-Simon
—Strange Character of the Duchesse de Berry.

It was the desire of the Due and Duchesse d’Orleans to marry
Mademoiselle (their daughter) to the Due de Berry (third son
of Monseigneur, and consequently brother of the Due be Bour¬
gogne and of the King of Spain). There were many obstacles
in the way—-partly the state of public affairs—^partly the fact
that the King, though seemingly, was not reaUy quite reconciled
—partly the recollection of that cruel h<m mot in Spain—
partly the fact that Monseigneur would naturally object to
marry his favourite son with the daughter of a man towards
whom he always testified hatred in the most indecent manner.
The recent union between Madame deMaintenon, Mademoiselle
Choin, and Monseigneur was also a great obstacle. In fact
after what M. le Due d’Orl4ans had been accused of in Spain,
with his abilities and talents jt seemed dangerous to maike him
the father-in-law of M. le Due de Berry.

Eor my part I passionately desired the marriage of Mademoi¬
selle, although I saw that all tended to the marriage of
Mademoiselle de Bourbon, daughter of Madame la Duchesse, in
her place. I had many reasons, private and public, for acting
against the latter marriage; but it was dear that unless very
vigorous steps were taken it would fall like a mUl-stone upon

124

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

mj head, crash me, and wound the persons to whom I was at--
tached. M. le Due d’Orleans and Madame la Duchesse d’Oiieans
were immersed in the deepest indolence. They desired, but
did not act. I went to them and explained the state of the
case—pointed out the danger of Madame la Duchesse—excited
their pride, their jealousy, their spite. Will it be believed that
it was necessary to put all this machinery in motion ? At last„
by working on them by the most powerful motives, I made
them attend to their own interests. The natural but extreme
laziness of the Duchesse d’Orleans gave way this time, but less
to ambition than to the desire of defeating a sister who was so
inimical to her. We next concerted how we should make use
of M. d’Orl&ns himself.

That Prince, with ah his wit and his passion for Mademoi¬
selle—which had never weakened since her birth—was like a
motionless beam, which stirred only in obedience to our
redoubled efforts, and who remained so to the conclusion of this
great business. I often reflected on the causes of this incredible
conduct; and was led to suppose that the knowledge of the
irremediable nature of what had taken place in Spain was the
rein that restrained him. However this may have been, I
was throughout obliged to use main force to bring him to
activity. I determined to form and direct a powerful cabal in
order to bring my views to pass. The first person of whom it
was necessaiy to make sure was the Duchesse de Bourgogne.
That Princesse had many reasons for the preference of Made¬
moiselle over Mademoiselle de Bourbon (daughter of Madame
k Duchesse). She knew the King perfectly; and could not be
ignorant of the power of novelty over his mind, of which power
she had herself made a happy experiment. What she had to
fe» was another hereelf—I mean a Princesse on the same terms
with the King as she was, who, being younger than she, would
amuse him by new childish playfulness no longer suited to her
age, and yet which she (the Duchesse) was still obliged to
employ. The very contrast of her own untimely childishness,
with a childishness so much more natural, would injure hen
e new favourite would, moreover, not have a husband to

THE DUCHESSE DE BOTTEGOGNB.

125

support; for the Due de Berry was already well-liked. The
Due de Bourgogne, on the eontrary, sineethe affair of Flanders,
had fallen into disgrace with his father, Monseigneur ; and his
•scruples, his preciseness, his retired life, devoted to literal com¬
pliance with the rules of devotion, contrasted unfavourably with
the free life of his younger brother.

The present and the future—whatever was important in life
—were therefore at stake with Madame la Duchesse de Bour¬
gogne; and yet her great duty to herself was perpetually in
danger of being stifled by the fictitious and petty duties of
■dafiy life. It was necessary to stimulate her. She felt these
things in general; and that it was necessary that her sister-in-
law should be a Princesse, neither able nor willing to give her
umbrage, and over whom she should be mistress. But in spite
of her wit and sense, she was not capable of feeling in a suffi¬
ciently lively manner of herself all the importance of these
things, amidst the effervescence of her youth, the occupation of
her successive duties, the private and general favour she seemed
to enjoy, the greatness of a rank in expectation of a throne, the
round of amusements which dissipated her mind and her days:
gentle, light, easy perhaps too easy. I felt, however, that from
the effect of these considerations upon her I should derive the
greatest assistance, on account of the influence she could exert
upon the King, and stiff more on Madame de Maintenon, both
of whom loved her exceedingly; and I felt all that the Duchesse
d’OrMans would have neither the grace nor the fire necessary
to stick it in deep enough—on account of her great interest in
the matter.

I influenced the Duchesse de Vifferoy and Madame de Ldvi,
who could work on the Duchesse, and also Madame d’O.; ob¬
tained the indirect assistance of M. du Maine—and by represent¬
ing to the Dues de Chevreuse, and de Beauvilliers, that if M.
de Berry married Mademoiselle de Bourbon, hatred would arise
between him and his brother, and great danger to the state,
enlisted them also on my side. I knew that the Due de Berry
vas a fort that could only be carried by mine and assault,
orking still further, I obtained the concurrence of the

126

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

Jesuits; and made the P^re de Treyonx our partisan. Nothing
is indifferent to the J esuits. They became a powerful instrument.
As a last ally I obtained the co-operation of the Marechal de
Boufflers. Such were the machines that my friendship for
those to whom I was attached, my hatred for Madame la
Duchesse, my care of my present and future situation, enabled
me to discover, to set going, with an exact and compassed
movement, a precise agreement, and the strength of a lever—
which the space of one Lent commenced and perfected—all
whose movements, embarrassments, and progress in their divers
lines I knew; and which I regularly wound up in reciprocal-
cadence every day!

Towards the end of the Lent, the Duchesse de Bourgogne,,
having sounded the King and Madame de Maintenon, had
found the latter well disposed, and the former without any
particular objection. One day that Mademoiselle had been
taken to see the King at the apartments of Madame de-
Maintenon, where Monseigneur happened to be, the Duchesse de
Bourgogne praised her, and when she had gone away, ventured,,
with that freedom and that predetermined impulsiveness
and gaiety which she sometimes made use of, to say: '' What
an excellent wife for M. le Due de Berry!’' This expression
made Monseigneur redden with anger, and exclaim, ''that
would be an excellent method of recompensing the Due
d'Orleans for his conduct in Spain T’ When he had said these
words he hastily left the company, all very much astonished
for no one expected a person seemingly so indifferent and so
measured to come out so strongly. The Duchesse de Bourgogne,,
who had only spoken so to feel the way with Monseigneur in
presence of the King, was bold and clever to the end. Turning
with a bewildered look towards Madame de Maintenon, " My
AunV’ quoth she to her, " have I said something foolish
The King, piqued, answered for Madame de Maintenon, and
said, warmly, that if Madame la Duchesse was working upon
Monseigneur she would have to deal with him. Madame de
Maintenon adroitly envenomed the matter by wondering at a
vivacity so uncommon with Monseigneur, and said that if

ECONOMY AT MAIILY.

127

]\l£ld.3iIB6 l^i DucllGSSB llEd. tllSit HlUcll of lIlfltlGXlCG, sllG "WOuld.
soon make Mm do other things of more consequence. The con¬
versation, interrupted in various ways and renewed, advanced
with emotion, and in the midst of reflections that did more in¬
jury to Mademoiselle de Bourbon than the friendsMp of Mon¬
seigneur for Madame la Buchesse could serve her.

When I learned this adventure, I saw that it was necessary
to attack Monseigneur by piquing the King against Madame la
Duehesse, and making him fear the influence of that Princesse
on Monseigneur and through Monseigneur on himself; that no
opportunity should be lost to impress on the King the fear of
being governed and kept in pupilage by his children; that it
was equally important to frighten Madame de Maintenon, and
show her the danger she was in from the influence of Monsei¬
gneur. I worked on the fears of the Duehesse de Bourgogne, by
Madame de Villeroy and de Levi; on the Due de Bourgogne,
by M. de Beauvflliers; on Madame de Maintenon, by the Mare-
chal de Boufflers; on the King himself, by the Pfere Tellier;
and all these batteries succeeded.

In order not to hurry matters too much, I took a turn to La
Ferte, and then came back to Marly just as the King arrived.
Here I had a little alarm, which did not, however, Mscourage
me. I learned, in fact, that one day the Duehesse de Bour¬
gogne, urged perhaps rather too much on the subject of Made¬
moiselle by Madame d’O., and somewhat annoyed, had shown an
inclination for a foreign marriage. Would to God that such a
marriage could have been brought about! I should always
have preferred it, but there were many reasons to render it im¬
possible.

On my arrival at Marly, I found everything in trouble there ;
the King so chagrined that he could not hide it—although
usually a master of himself and of Ms face; the Court believing
that some new disaster had happened which would unwillingly
be declared. Four or flve days passed in tMs way: at last it
became known what was in the wind. The King, informed
that Paris and all the public were murmuring loudly about the
expenses of Marly—at a time when it was impossible to meet

128

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMON.

-fclie most indispensable claims of a necessary and unfortunate
-war—was more annoyed this time than on any other occasion,
■although he had often received the same warnings. Madame
de Maintenon had the greatest difficulty to hinder him fi?om
returning straight to Versailles. The upshot was that the Edng
^leclared with a sort of bitter joy, that he would no longer feed
the ladies at Marly; that for the future he would dine alone,
.simply, as at Versailles; that he would sup every day at a
table for sixteen with his family, and that the spare places
should be occupied by ladies invited in the morning; that the
Princesses of his family should each have a table for the ladies
they brought with them; and that Madames Voysin and Desma-
rets should each have one for the ladies who did not choose to
eat in their own rooms. He added bitterly, that by ma.Viug
retrenchments at Marly he should not spend more there than at
Versailles, so that he could go there when he pleased without
being exposed to the blame of any one. He deceived himself from
one end of this business to the other, but nobody but himself
was deceived, if indeed he was in any other way but in expect¬
ing to deceive the world. The truth is, that no change was
made at Marly, except in name. The same expenses went on.
The enemies insultingly ridiculed these retrenchments. The
King’s subjects did not cease to complain.

About this time an invitation to Marly having been obtained
by Madame la Duchesse for her daughters, Mademoiselles de
Eourbon and de Charolois, the King offered one to Mademoi¬
selle. This offer was discussed before the Due and Duchesse
d’Orleans and me. We at last resolved to leave Mademoiselle 4 ,
at Versailles; and not to be troubled by seeing Mademoiselle de
Eourbon passing her days in the same salon, often at the same
play-table with the Due de Eerry, making herself admired by
the Court, fluttering round Monseigneur, and accustoming the
■eye of the Kang to her. We knew that these trifles would not
bring about a marriage; and it was still more important not to
give up Mademoiselle to the malignity of the Court, to exposure,
and complaints, from which it might not always be possible to
protect her.

THE MARBIAGE AGEEED TJPON.

129

But I had felt that it was necessary to act vigorously, and
pressed the Due d’Orleans to speak to the King. To my sur¬
prise he suddenly heaped up objections, derived from the public
disasters, with which a princely marriage would contrast dis¬
agreeably. The Duchesse d’Orldans was strangely staggered
by this admission; it only angered me. I answered by repeat¬
ing all my arguments. At last he gave way, and agreed to
write to the King. Here, again, I had many difficulties to
overcome, and was obliged, in fact, to write tbe letter myself,
and dictate it to him. He made one or two changes; and at last
signed and sealed it. But I had the greatest difficulty yet in
inciting bi-m to give it to the King. I had to foUow him, to
urge him, to pique him, almost to push him into the presence.
The King received the letter very graciously; it had its effect;
and the marriage was resolved on.

When the preliminaries were settled, the Due and Duchesse
d'’Orleans began to show their desire that Madame de Saint-
Simon should be lady of honour to their daughter when she had
become the Duchesse de Berry. I was far from flattered by
this distinction, and refused as best I might. Madame de Saint-
Simon went to have an audience of the Duchesse de Bourgogne,
and asked not to be appointed; but her objections were not
listened to, or listened to with astonishment. Meanwhile
I endeavoured to bring about a reconciliation of the Due
d’Orl4ans with La Choin; but utterly failed. La Choin posi¬
tively refused to have anything to do with the Due and
Duchesse. I was much embarrassed to communicate this news
to them, to whom I was attached. It was necessary, however,
to do so. I hastened to Saint Cloud, and found the Due and
Duchesse dDrl&ns at table with Mademoiselle and some ladies
in a most delightful menagerie, adjoining the railing of the
avenue near the village, with a charming pleasure-garden
attached to it All this belonged, under the name of Mademoi¬
selle, to Madame de Mar4, her governess. I sat down and
chatted with them; but the impatience of the Due d^Orleans
to learn the news could not be checked. He asked me if I was
very satisfied. ‘‘ Middling,” I replied, not to spoil his dinn er j

VOL. IT. 9

ISO MEMOIRS OF THE DUEIE OF SAHTT-SIMOH.

Irat he rose at once and took me into the garden. He was
mneh affected to hear of the ill-success of my negotiation; and
returned downcast to table. I took the first opportunity to
blame his impatience, and the facility with which he allowed
the impressions he received to appear. Always in extreme, he

said he cared not; and talked wildly of planting cabbages_

talk in which he indulged often without meaning anything.

Soon after, M. le Due d’Orldans went aside with Mademoiselle,
and I found myself placed accidentally near Ma.da.Tyift de Fon-
taine-MarteL She was a great firiend of mine, and much at¬
tached to M. d’Orldans; and it was by her means that I had
become friendly with the Due. She felt at once that some-
thing was going on; and did not doubt that the marriage of
Mademoiselle was on the carpet. She said so, but I did not
answer, yet without assuming an air of reserve that would
have convinced her. Taking her text from the presence of M.
le Due d’Orleans with Mademoiselle, she said to me confiden-
tially, that it would be well to hasten this marriage if it was
possible, because all sorts of horrible things were invented to
prevent it; and without waiting to be too much pressed, she
told me that the most abominable stories were in circulation as
to the friendship of father and daughter. The hair of my
head stood on-end. I now felt more heavily than ever with
what demons we had to do; and how necessary it was to
hurry on matters. For this reason, after we had walked about
a good deal after dark, I again spoke with M. d’Orldans, and
told him that if, before the end of this voyage to Marly, he did
not carry the declaration of his daughter’s marriage, it would
never take place.

I persuaded him; and left him more animated and encou¬
raged than I had seen him. He amused himself I know not in
what other part of the house. I then talked a little with
Madame de Mard, my relation and friend, until I was told that
M^ame de Fontaine-Martel wished to speak to me in the
ch&teau. When I went there I was taken to the cabinet of
the Duchesse d’Orl^ans, when I learnt that she had just been
made acquainted with the abominable reports spread against

CONDUCT OF MONSEIGNEUE.

131

lier husband and daughter. We deplored'together the misfor¬
tune of having to do with such furies. The Duchesse protested
that there was not even any seeming in favour of these calum¬
nies. The Due had ever tenderly loved his daughter from the
age of two years, when he was nearly driven to despair by a
serious illness she had, during which he watched her night
and day ; and this tenderness had gone on increasing day by
day, so that he loved her more than his son. We agreed that
it would be cruel, wicked, and dangerous to tell M. d^Orleans
what was said.

At length the decisive blow was struck. The King had an
interview with Monseigneur; and told him he had determined
on the marriage, begging him to make up his mind as soon as
possible. The declaration was soon made. What must have
been the state of Madame la Duchesse! I never knew what
took place in her house at this strange moment; and would
have dearly paid for a hiding-place behind the tapestry. As
for Monseigneur, as soon as his original repugnance was over¬
come, and he saw that it was necessary to comply, he behaved
very well. He received the Due and Duchesse d’Orl^ans very
well, and kissed h^r and drank their health and that of all the
family cheerfully. They were extremely delighted and sur¬
prised.

My next visit to Saint Cloud was very different from that in
which I reported the failure of my endeavours with Mademoi-
,selle Choin. I was received in triumph before a large company.
To my surprise, Mademoiselle, as soon as I appeared, ran to¬
wards me, kissed me on both cheeks, took me by the hand, and
led me into the orangery. Then she thanked me, and admitted
that her father had constantly kept her acepainted with all the
negotiations as they went on. I could not help blaming liis
■easiness and imprudence. She mingled all with testimonies of
the most lively joy; and I was surprised by her grace, her elo¬
quence, the dignity and the propriety of the terms she used. I
learned an immense number of things in this half-hour’s con¬
versation. Afterwards Mademoiselle took the opportunity to say
and do all manner of graceful things to Madame de Saint-Simon.

9-2

132 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

The Duchesse d’OrMans now returned once more to the
charge, in order to persuade my wife to be dame d’honneur to
her daughter. I refused as firmly as I could. But soon after
the King himself named Madame de Saint-Simon; and when
the Duchesse de Bourgogne suggested a doubt of her accept¬
ance, exclaimed, almost piq^ued: “Refuse! O no ! not when she-
learns that it is my desire.” In fact, I soon received so many
menacing warnings that I was obliged to give in; and Madame
de Saint-Simon received the appointment. This was made
publicly known by the King, who up to that very morning re¬
mained doubtful whether he would be met by a refusal or not;,
and who, as he was about to speak, looked at me with a HmilA
that was meant to please and warn me to be silent.
de Saint-Simon learned the news with tears. She was excel¬
lently well received by the King, and complimented agreeably
by Madame de Maintenon.

The marriage took place with the usual ceremonies. The
Due de BeauviUiers and Madame de Saint-Simon drew the cur¬
tains of the couple when they went to bed; and laughed to¬
gether at being thus employed. The King, who had given a
very mediocre present of diamonds to the new Duchesse de
Berry, gave nothing to the Due de Berry. The latter had so
little money that he could not play during the first days of the
voyage to Marly. The Duchesse de Bourgogne told this to the
King, who feeling the state in which he himself was, said thaf>
he had only five hundred pistoles to give him. He gave
them with an excuse on the misfortunes of the time, because
the Duchesse de Bourgogne thought with reason that a little
was better than nothing, and that it was insufferable not to be
able to play.

Madame de Mar6 was now set at liberty. The place of
Dame d’Atours was offered to her; but she advanced many
reasons for not accepting it, and on being pressed, refused with
an obstinacy that surprised every one. We were not long in
finding out the cause of her obstinate unwillingness to remain
with l^dame la Duchesse de Berry. The more that Princesse
allowed people to see what she was—and she never concealed

CHARACTER OF THE DXJCHESSE HE BERRY.

133

iierself—tte more we saw that Madame de Mare was in the
right ; and the more we admired the miracle of care and pru¬
dence which, had prevented anything &om coming to light;
and the more we felt how blindly people act in what they de¬
sire with the most eagerness, and achieve with much trouble
and much joy; and the more we deplored having succeeded in
an affair which, so far from having undertaken and carried out
as I did, I should have traversed with still greater zeal, even
if Mademoiselle de Bourbon had profited thereby without
knowing it, if I had known half a quarter—^what do I say ?
the thousandth part—of what we unhappily witnessed! I
shall say no more for the present; and as I go on, I shall only
•say what cannot be concealed; and I say thus much so soon
merely because the strange things that soon happened began
to develope themselves a little during this first voyage to
Marly.

134

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

CmJPTER XIV.

Birth, of Louis XV.—The Mar^ehal de la Meilleraye—St. BuWs Cudgel—

The Cardinal de Bouillon’s desertion from France—Anecdotes of his

audacity.

On Saturday, the 15th of February, the King was waked up
at seven o'clock in the morning, an hour earlier than usual, be¬
cause Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne was in the pains of
labour. He dressed himself diligently in order to go to her.
She did not keep him waiting long. At three minutes and
three seconds after eight o'clock, she brought into the world a
Due d^Anjou, who is the King Louis XV., at present reigning,,
which caused a great joy. This Prince was soon after
sprinkled by Cardinal de Janson in the chamber where he was
born, and then carried upon the knees of the Duchesse de
Ventadour in the sedan chair of the King into the King’s apart¬
ments, accompanied by the Mar&hal de Boufflers and by the
body-guards with officers. A little while after La Vrillifere car¬
ried to him the cordon hlen, and all the Court went to see him,,
two things which much displeased his brother, who did not
scruple to show it. Madame de Saint-Simon, who was in the
chamber of Madame la Dauphine, was by chance one of the
first who saw this new-born Prince. The accouchement passed
over very weU.

About this time died the Mar^chale de la Meilleraye, aged
eighty-eight years. She was the paternal aunt of the Mar^chal
de Villeroy and the Due de Brissac, his brother-in-law. It was
she who unwittingly put that cap on MM. de Brissac, which
they have ever since worn in their arms, and which has been

SAINT EUTH’S cudgel.

135

imitated. She was walking in a picture gallery of her ances¬
tors one day with her niece, a lively, merry person, whom she
obliged to salute and be polite to each portrait, and who in
pleasant revenge persuaded her that one of the said portraits
wore a cap which proved him to be an Italian Prince. She
swallowed this, and had the cap introduced into her arms, de¬
spite her family, who are now obliged to keep it, but who
always call it, " My Aunt’s cap.” On another occasion, people
were speaking in her presence of the death of the Chevalier de
Savoie, brother of the Comte de Soissons, and of the famous
Prince Eugene, who died very young, very suddenly, very de¬
bauched, and fuH of benefices. The talk became religious.
She listened some time, and then, with a profound look of con¬
viction, said: “For my part, I am persuaded that God will
think twice about damning a man of such high birth as that!”
This caused a burst of laughter, but nothing could make her
change her opinion. Her vanity was cruelly punished. She
used to afiect to apologise for having married the Mar^cbal de
la Meilleraye. After his death, being in love with Saint Huth,
her p&g6, she married him; but took care not to disclose her
marriage for fear of losing her distinction at Court. Saint Ruth
was a very honourable gentleman, very poor, tall, and well
made, whom everybody knew; extremely ugly—I don’t know
whether he became so after his marriage. He was a worthy
man and a good soldier. But he was also a rough customer,
and when his distinguished wife annoyed him he twirled his
cudgel and belaboured her soundly. This went so far that the
Marechale, not being able to stand it any longer, demanded an
audience of the King, admitted her weakness and her shame,
and implored his protection. The King kindly promised to set
matters to rights. He soundly rated Saint Ruth in his cabinet,
and forbade him to ill-treat the Mardchale. But what is bred
in the bone will never get out of the flesh. The Marechal came
to make fresh complaints. The King grew angry in earnest,
and threatened Saint Ruth. This kept him q,uiet for some time.
But the habit of the stick was too powerful; and he flourished
it again. The Marechale flew as usual to the King, who, seeing

136

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

that Saint Ruth was incorrigible, was good enough to send him
to Guyenne under pretence of employment. Afterwards he was
sent to Ireland, where he was killed.

The Mardchale de la Meilleraye had been perfectly beautiful,
and was fall of wit. She so turned the head of the Cardinal
de Retz, that he wanted to turn everything topsy-turvy in
France, in order to make himself a necessary man and force the
King to use his influence at Rome in order to obtain a dispen¬
sation by which he (the Cardinal) should be allowed, though a
priest and a consecrated Bishop, to marry the Mar6chale de la
Meilleraye while her husband was alive and she on very good
terms with him! This madness is inconceivable and yet
existed.

I have described in its place the disgrace of Cardinal de
Bouillon, and the banishment to which he was sentenced,
Exile did not improve him. He languished in weariness and
rage, and saw no hope that his position would ever change.
Incapable of repose, he had passed all his long enforced leisure
ip. a monastic war. The monks of Cluni were his antagonists.
He was constantly bringing actions against them, which they
as constantly defended. He accused them of revolt—they ac¬
cused him of scheming. They profited by his disgrace, and
omitted nothing to shake ofl* the yoke, which when in favour,
he had imposed upon them. These broils went on, until at last
a suit, which Cardinal de Bouillon had commenced against the
refractory monks, and which had been carried into the grand
Council of Paris, was decided against him, notwithstanding all
the efforts he made to obtain a contrary verdict. This was the
last drop which made the too full cup overflow, and which con¬
summated the resolution that Cardinal had long since had in
his head, and which he now executed.

By the terms of his exile, he was allowed to visit, without
restraint, his various abbeys, situated in different parts of the
realm.^ He took advantage of this privilege, gave out that he
was going to Normandy, but instead of doing so, posted away
to Picardy, stopped briefly at Abbeville, gained Arras, where
he had the Abbey of Saint Waast, thence feigning to go and

CAEDINAL DE BOUILLON.

137

see Lis aLLey of Vigogne, he passed over into the camp of the
enemy, and threw himself into the arms of the Duke of Marl¬
borough and Prince Eugene. The Prince d’Auvergne, his
nephew, had deserted from France in a similar manner some
time before, as I have related in its place, and was in waiting
to receive the Cardinal, who was also very graciously welcomed
by Pringe Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough, who intro¬
duced him to the heads of the army, and lavished upon him the
greatest honours.

Such a change of condition appeared very sweet to this spirit
so haughty and so ulcerated, and marvellously inflated the
Cardinahs courage. He recompensed his dear hosts by dis-
oourses, which were the most agreeable to them, upon the
misery of France (which his frequent journeys through the pro¬
vinces had placed before his eyes), upon its powerlessness to
sustain the war; upon the discontent which reigned among the
people; upon the exhaustion of the finances; in fine, he spared
nothing that perfidy or ingratitude could suggest to flatter them
and gain their favour.

No sooner had the Cardinal had time to turn round among
his new friends than he wrote a letter to the King announcing
his flight—a letter which was such a monstrous production of
insolence, of madness, of felony, and which was written in a
style so extravagant and confused that it deserves to be thus
specially alluded to. In this letter, as full of absurdities, im¬
pudence, and of madness, as of words, the Cardinal, while
pretending much devotion for the King, and much submission
to the Church, plainly intimated that he cared for neither.
Although this was as the sting of a gnat upon an elephant, the
King was horribly piqued at it. He received the letter on the
24th of May, gave it the next day to D’Aguesseau, attorney-
general, and ordered him to commence a suit against Cardinal
de Bouillon, as guilty of felony. At the same time the King
wrote to Rome, enclosing a copy of Bouillon’s letter, so that it
might be laid before the Pope. This letter received little
approbation. People considered that the Kang had forgotten
his dignity in writing it, it seemed so much like a justification

138

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

and so little wortliy of a great monarch. As for the Cardinal
de Bouillon^ he grew more haughty than ever. He wrote a
letter upon the subject of this trial with which he was threat¬
ened, even more violent than his previous letter, and proclaimed
that cardinals were not in any way amenable to secular justice,,
and could not be judged except by the Pope and all the sacred
college.

So in fact it seemed to be; for although the Parliament com¬
menced the trial, and issued an order of arrest against the Car¬
dinal, they soon found themselves stopped by difficulties which
arose, and by this immunity of the cardinals, which was sup¬
ported by many examples. After all the fuss made, therefore,
this cause fell by its own weakness, and exhaled itself, so to
speak, in insensible perspiration. A fine lesson this for the
most powerful princes, and calculated to teach them that if they
want to be served by Borne they should favour those that are
there, instead of raising their own subjects, who, out of Borne,
can be of no service to the State, and who are good only to
seize three or four hundred thousand livres a year in benefices,
with the quarter of which an Italian would be more than re¬
compensed. A French cardinal in France is the friend of the
Pope, but the enemy of the King, the Church, and the State ;
a tyrant very often to the clergy and the ministers, at liberty
to do what he likes without ever being punished for any¬
thing.

As nothing could be done in this way against the Cardinal,
other steps were taken. The fraudulent ‘‘ Genealogical History
of the House of Auvergne,’' which I have previously alluded to,
was suppressed by royal edict, and orders given that all the
copies of it should be seized. Baluze, who had written it, was
deprived of his chair of Professor of the Boyal College, and
driven out of the realm. A large quantity of copies of this
edict were printed and publicly distributed. The little patri¬
mony that Cardinal de Bouillon had not been able to carry
away, was immediately confiscated: the temporality of his bene¬
fices had been already seized, and on the 7th of July appeared
a declaration from the King, which, depriving the Cardinal of

AUDACITY OU THE CAEDINAL.

139 »

all his advowsons, distributed them to the bishops of the dio¬
ceses ia which those advowsons were situated.

These blows were very sensibly felt by the other Bouillons^
but it was no time for complaint. The Cardinal himself became
more enraged than ever. Even up to this time he had kept so
little within hounds that he had pontiScally officiated in the
church of Toumai at the Te Leum for the taking of Bouai (by
the enemies); and from that town (Tournai), where he had
fixed his residence, he wrote a long letter to M. de Beauvais,
bishop of the place, when it yielded, and who would not sing
the Te Deum, exhorting him to return to Toumai and submit-
to the new rule. Some time after this, that is to say, towards
the end of the year, he was guilty of even greater presumption.
The Abbey of Saint Amaud in Flanders, had just been given
by the King to Cardinal La Tremoille, who had been confirmed
in his possession by bulls from the Pope. Since then the abbey
had fallen into the power of the enemy. Upon this. Cardinal
de Bouillon caused himself to be elected Abbot by a minority
of the monks and in spite of the opposition of the others. It-
was curious to see this dutiful son of Kome, who had declared
in his letter to the King, that he thought of nothing except the
dignity of the King, and how he could best serve God and the
church, thus elect himself in spite of the bulls of the Pope, in
spite of the orders of the King, and enjoy by force the revenues-
of the abbey, protected solely by heretics!

. But I have in the above recital alluded to the taking of
Douai: this reminds me that I have got to speak of our mili¬
tary movements, our losses, and our victories, of this year. In
Flanders and in Spain they were of some importance, and had
better, perhaps, have a chapter or more to themselves.

140

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

CHAPTEK XV.

Imprudence of YiUars—The Danger of Truthfulness—Military Mistakes—
The Fortunes of Berwick—^The son of James—Berwick's Keport on the
Army—^Imprudent saying of ViUars—The Good Little Fellow" in a
Scrape—^What happens to him.

The King, who had made numberless promotions, appointed
this year the same generals to the same armies. Villars was
•chosen for Flanders, as before. Having arrived at the very
summit of favour, he thought he might venture, for the first
time in his life, to bring a few truths before the King. He did
nothing then but represent 'to the ministers, nay, even to the
King and Madame de Mainten6n themselves, the wretched
state of our magazines and our garrisons; the utter absence of
aU provision for the campaign, and the piteous condition of the
troops and their officers, without money and without pay. This
was new language in the mouth of Villars, who hitherto had
•owed all his success to the smiling, rose-tinted account he had
given of everything. It was the frequency and the hardihood
of his falsehoods in this respect that made the King and Madame
•de Maintenon look lupon him as their sole resource; for he
never said anything disagreeable, and never found difficulties
anywhere. Now that he had raised this fatal curtain, the
aspect appeared so hideous to them, that they found it easier
to fly into a rage than to reply. From that moment they began
to regard Villars with other eyes. Finding that he spoke now
the language which everybody spoke, they began to look upon
hiTn as the world had always looked upon him,—to find him
ridiculous, silly, impudent, lying, insupportable; to reproach

HOW VILLAES GOT OUT OF A SCRAPE.

141

themselves with having elevated him from nothing, so rapidly
and so enormously; they began to shun him, to put him aside,
to make him perceive what they thought, and to let others
perceive it also.

Villars in his turn was frightened. 1 He saw the prospect of
losing what he had gained, and of sinking into hopeless dis¬
grace. With the effrontery that was natural to him, he
returned therefore to his usual flatteries, artifices, and deceits;
laughed at all dangers and inconveniences, as having resources-
in himself against everything! The coarseness of this variation
was as plain as possible; but the difficulty of choosing another
general was equally plain, and Yillars thus got out of the
quagmire. He set forth for the frontier, therefore, in his coach,
and travelling easy stages, on account of his wound, arrived in
due time at the army.

Neither Prince Eugene nor the Duke of Marlborough wished
for peace; their object was, the first, from personal vengeance
against the King, and a desire to obtain a still greater reputa¬
tion ; the second, to get rich, for ambition was the prominent
passion of one, and avarice of the other—their object was, I say,
to enter France, and profiting by the extreme weakness and
straitened state of our troops and of our places, to push their
conquests as far as possible.

As for the King, stung by his continual losses, he wished
passionately for nothing so much as a victory, which should
disturb the plans of the enemies, and deliver him from the
necessity of continuing the sad and shameful negotiations for
peace he had set on foot at Gertruydemberg. But the enemies
were well posted, and Yillars had imprudently lost a good
opportunity of engaging them. All the army had noticed this
fault; he had been warned in time by several general off cers,
and by the Marechal de Montesquieu, but he would not believe
them. He did not dare to attack the enemies, now, after having
left them leisure to make all their dispositions. The army cried
aloud against so capital a fault. Yillars answered with his
usual effrontery. He had quarrelled with his second in com¬
mand, the Marechal de Montesquieu, and now knew not what
to do.

142 MEMOIRS^ OP THE DUKE OP SAINT-EIMON.

In this criBis, no ongagoment taking place, tlie King tliouglit
it fitting to Hontl Berwick into Flanders to act as mediator, even,
to Homo extent, as dictator to tlio army. Ho was ordered to
bring back an account of all things, so that it might be seen
whofclier a battle could or could not bo fought.

I think I have already stated who Berwick was; but I will
hero add a few more words about him to signalise his prodigious
and rapid advancomont.

Wo wore in the golden ago of bastards, and Berwick was a
man who had reason to think so. Bastard of J amos II., of
England, he had arrived in Franco, at the age of eighteen, with
that monarch, after tho Revolution of 1688. At twenty-two
ho was made lioutonant-gonoral, and served as such in Flanders,
without having passed through any other rank. At thirty-
throe ho commanded in chief in Spain with a patent of general.
At thirty-four lie was made, on account of his victory at
Almanm, grandee of Spain, and chevalier of tho Golden Fleece.
He continued to command in chiof until February, 1706, when
ho was made Mardehal of 1^'ranco, hoing then not more than
thirty-Hix years old. Ho was an English Buko, and although
as Hucli ho bad no rank in France, the King had awarded it to
him, as to all who came over with James, This was making a
rapid fortune with a vengeance, under a King who regarded
people of thirty odd as children, but who tliought no more of
tlu 5 ages of liastardH than of those of the gods.

For more than a year past Berwick had coveted to be made
Buko and Peer. But ho could not obtain his'wish. Now,
however, that ho was to be sent into Flanders for the purpose
I have just doscrlbod, it soemod a good opportunity to try again.
Ho did try, and was ruccossM. Ho was made Buke and Peer.
Ho had boon twice married. By his first wife he had had a
son. By his second several sons and daughters. Will it be
believed that ho was hardy enough to propose, and that we
wore weak enough to accord to him, that his son of the
first bed should be formally excluded from the letters-patent
of Duke and Peer, and that those of the second bed should
alone he entered there 1 Yet so it was. Berwick was, in

FORTUNES OF BERWICK,

143

respect to England, like tke Jews who await for the Messiah. He
•coaxed himself always with the hope of a revolution in England,
which should put the Stuarts on the throne again, and reinstate
him in his wealth and honours. He was son of the sister of the
Duke of Marlborough, by which general he was much loved,
and with whom, by permission of the King, and of King James,
he kept up a secret intercourse, of which all three were the
-dupes, but which enabled Berwick to maintain other inter-
eourses in England, and to establish his batteries there, hoping
thus for his reinstatement even under the government estab¬
lished. This explains his motive for the arrangement he made
in the letters-patent. He wished his eldest son to succeed to
his English dukedom and his English estates; to make the
.second Duke and Peer of Prance, and the third Grandee of
Spain. Three sons hereditarily elevated to the three chief dig¬
nities of the three chief realms in Europe, it must be agreed was
not bad work for a man to have achieved at fifty years of age!
But Berwick failed in his English projects. Do what he could
nil his life to court the various ministers who came from England,
he never could succeed in re-establishing himself.

The scandal was great at the complaisance of the King in
•consenting to a family airangement, by which a cadet was put
over the head of his elder brother; but the time of the monsters
had arrived. Berwick bought an estate that he created under
.the name of Mtz-James. The King, who allowed him to do so,
was shocked by the name ; and, in my presence, asked Berwick
the meaning of it; he, without any embarrassment, thus ex-
,plained it:

The Kings of England, in legitimatising their children, give
. them a name and arms, which pass to their posterity. The name
varies. Thus the Duke of Bichmond, bastard of Charles II.,
had the name of Lennox; ” the Dukes of Cleveland and of
Grafton, by the same king, that of “ Pitz-Boi,” which means
“son of the king ; ” in fine, the Duke of Berwick had the name
ofPitz-James; " so that his family name for his posterity is
thus “ Son of James; ” as a name, it is so ridiculous in French,
that nobody could help laughing at it, or being astonished at
the scandal of imposing it in English upon France.

144

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

Borwiclc, liaving tlms obtained his recompense beforehand^
started off for Flanders, but not until he had seen everything
signed and scaled and delivered in due form. He found the
enemy so advantageously placed, and so •well prepared, that he
had no difficulty in subscribing to the common opinion of the
general officers, that an attack could no longer be thought of.
Ho gathered up all the opinions he could, and then returned to
Court, having been only about three weeks absent. His report
dismayed the King, and those who penetrated it. Letters from
the army soon showed the fault of which Yillars had been
guilty, and everybody revolted against this wordy bully.

Ho soon after was the subject of common talk at the Court,,
and in the army, in consequence of a ridiculous adventure, in
which he was the hero. His wound, or the airs that he gave
himself in consequence of it, often forced him to hold his leg
upon the neck of his horse, almost in the same manner as ladies
do. One day, ho let slip the remark that he was sick to death
of mounting on horseback like those “ harlots ” in the suite of
Madnmo do Bourgogne. Those “ harlots,” I will observe paren¬
thetically, wore all the young ladies of the Court, and the
daughtora <j(:‘ Madamo la Duchesso ! Such a remark uttered by
a g(uicral not much loved, speedily flow from ono end of the
camp to the other, and was not long in making its way to the
Court and to Tlio young horsowomon alluded to were

otlcndod; tiicir •frionds took up arms for them, and Madame la
HuchoBHO do Bourgogne could not holp showing irritation, or
avoid complaining.

Villars was ai^prisod of all, and was much troubled by this
ineroasc of enemies so rodoubtahlo, of whom just thou he as¬
suredly had no nood. Ho took it into his bead to try and dis¬
cover who had blabbed; and found it was Heudicourt, whom
Yillars, to advance his own interests, by moans of Heudicourt’s
mother (who was the evil genius of Madame de Maintenon),
had protected; and to whom oven, much against his custom,
ho had aotnally not lent, hut given money.

This Heudicourt (whom I have previously alluded to, apropos
of a song he wrote), was a merry wag, who excelled in making

THE GOOD LITTLE FELLOW.’

145

fun of people, in highly-seasoned pleasantry, and in comic songs.
Spoiled hy the favour which had always sustained him, he gave
full license to his tongue, and by this audacity had rendered
himself redoubtable. He was a scurrilous wretch, a great
drunkard, and a debauchee; not at all cowardly, and with a face
hideous as that of an ugly satyr. He was not insensible to this ;
and so, unfitted for intrigues himself, he assisted others in them,
and, by tliis honest trade, had acquired many friends amongst
the flower of the courtiers of both sexes—above all with the
ladies. By way of contrast to his wickedness, he was called
“■ the good little fellow; and " the good little fellow ” was
mixed up in all intrigues; the ladies of the Court positively
struggled for him; and not one of them, even of the highest
ranks, would have dared to fall out with him. Thus protected,
he was rather an embarrassing customer for Marechal de Villars,
who, nevertheless, falling back as usual upon his effrontery,
hit upon a bright project to bring home to Heudicourt the
expedient he had against him.

He collected together about fifteen general officers, and
Heudicourt with them. When they had all arrived, he left his
chamber, and went to them. A number of loiterers had
gathered round. This was just what Villars wanted. He
asked all the officers in turn, if they remembered hearing him
utter the expression attributed to him. Albergotti said he
remembered to have heard YilMrs apply the term “ harlots ” to
. the suttlers and the camp creatures, but never to any other
'woman. AH the rest followed in the same track. Then
Yillars, after letting out against this frightful calumny, and
against the impostor who had written and sent it to the Court,
addressed himself to Heudicourt, whom he treated in the most
cruel fashion. The good little fellow ” was strangely taken
aback, and wished to defend Mmself; but Yillars produced
proofs that could not be contradicted. Thereupon the ill-
favoured dog avowed his turpitude, and had the audacity to
approach Yillars in order to speak low to him; but the Mar4-
chal, drawing back, and repelling him with an air of indigna¬
tion, said- to him aloud, that with scoundrels hke him he

VOL. n. 10

14G

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

■vvishocl for no privacy. Gafclioring up liis pluck at tliis, Heudi-
coiirt gave rein to all liis impiulcnco, and declared that they
who bad been questioned had not dared to own the truth for
fear of offending the Mardchal; that as for hiinsolf ho might
have been wrong in speaking and writing about it, but he had
not imagined that words said beforo such a numorous company,
and in such a public place, could remain secret, or tliat he had
done more harm in writing about them than so many others
who had acted likewise.

The Mardchal, outraged upon hearing so bold and so truthful
a reply, let out with greater violence than ever against Heudi-
court, accused him of ingratitude and villainy, drove him away,
and a few minutes after had him arrested and conducted
as a prisoner to the chateau at Calais. This violent scene
made as much stir at the Court and in the army as that which
had caused it. The consistent and public conduct of Villars
was much approved. The King declared that he left Heudi-
court in his hands: Madame de Maintenon and Madame de
Bourgogne, that they abandoned him: and his friends avowed
that his fiiult was inexcusable. But the tide soon turned.
After the first hubbub, the excuse of “ the good little fellow ”
appeared excellent to the ladies who had their reasons for
liking him and for fearing to irritate him; and also to the army,
whore the Mardchal was not liked. Several of the officers who
had been publicly interrogated by Villars, now admitted that
they had been taken by surprise, and Iiad not wished to com¬
promise themselves. It was oven, going into base details,
argued that the Mardchal’s expression could not apply to
the vivandi^res and the other camp women, as they always
rode astride, one leg on this side one log on the other, like men,
a manner very different from that of the ladies of Madame do
Bourgogne. People contested the power of a general to deal
out justice upon his inferiors for personal matters in which the
service was in no wise concerned; in a word, lieu dicourt was
soon let out of Calais, and remained “the good little fellow ” in
fashion in spite of the Mardchal, who, tormented by so many
things this campaign, sought for and obtained permission to go

THE LAST CAMPAIGN IN ELANDEES.

147

and take the waters; and did so. He was succeeded by Har-
court, who was himself in weak health. Thus one cripple re¬
placed another. One began, the other ended, at Bourbonne.

Douai, Saint Yenant, and Aire fell into the hands of the enemy
•during this campaign, who thus gained upon us more and more,
while we did little or nothing. This was the last campaign in
rianders of the Duke of Marlborough. On the Rhine our
troops observed and subsisted: nothing more ; but in Spain
there was more movement, and I will therefore turn my glances
towards that country, and relate what took place there.

148

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

CHAPTER XVI.

Dixcliesse cle Bei*ry Drunk—Operations in Spain—^Yendome demanded by
Spain—His Affront by tbe Ducbesse de Bourgogne—His Arrival--
Staremberg and Stanhope—Tbe Flag of Spain leaves Madrid—Entry of
the Archduke—Enthusiasm of the Spaniards—The King lieturns—
Strategy of Staremberg—Affair of Brighuega—Battle of v illaviciosa
Its consequences to Venddme and to Spain.

Before I commence speaking of the affairs of Spain, let me
pass lightly over an event which, engrafted upon some others,
made much noise, notwithstanding the care taken to stifle it.

Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne supped at Saint Cloud
one evening with Madame la Duchesse de Berry and others—
Madame de Saint-Simon absenting herself from the party.
Madame la Duchesse do Berry and M. d’Orldans—but she more
than ho—got so drunk, that Madame la Duchesse d’Oii6ans.
Madame la Duchesse do Bourgogne, and the rest of the numer¬
ous comi)any tliere assembled, know not what to do. M, leDuc
do Berry was there, and him they talked over as well as they
could ; and the numerous company was amused by the Grande
Duchesse as well as she was able. The effect of the wine, in
more ways than one, was such, that people were troubled. In
spite of all, the Duchesse de Berry could not bo sobered, so that
it became necessary to carry her, drunk as she was, to Ver¬
sailles. All the servants saw her state, and did not keep it to
themselves; nevcrthcleKSS, it was hidden from the King, from
Monseigneur, and from Madame de Maintenon.

And now, having related this incident, let me turn to Spain.
The events which took place in that country were so jimpor-
tant, that I have thought it best to relate them in a continuous
narrative without interruption. We must go back to the com-

OPEEATIONS IN SPAIN.

149

mencement of the year, and remember the dangerous state
wMch Spain was thrown into, delivered np to her own wea <-
ness, France being too feeble to defend her; finding it di cu
enough, in fact, to defend herself, and willing to abandon her
ally entirely in the hope by this means to obtain peace.

Towards the end of March the King of Spain set out from
Madrid to put himself at the head of his army in Aragon.
Villadarias, one of his best and oldest general officers, was
chosen to command under him. The King of Spain went from
Saragossa to Lerida, where he was received with acclamations
by the people and his army. He crossed the Sfegre on the 14 th
of May, and advanced towards Balaguier, designing to lay siege
to it. But heavy rains falling and causing the waters to rise,
he was obliged to abandon his project. Joined a month after¬
wards by troops arrived from Flanders, he sought to attack the
enemy, but was obliged to content himself for the moment by
scouring the country, and taking some little towns where the
Archduke had established stores. All this time the Count of
Starembei’g, who commanded the forces of the Archduke, was ill,
this circumstance the King of Spain was profiting by. But the
Count grew well again quicker than was expected; promptly
assembled his forces; marched against the army of the King of
Spain; engaged it, and obliged it, all astonished, to retire under
Saragossa. This ill-success fell entirely on Villadarias, who
was accused of imprudence and negligence. The King of Spain
was desperately in want of generals, and M. de Vend&me
knowing this, and sick to death of banishment, had asked some
little time before to be allowed to offer his services. At first he
was snubbed. But the King of Spain, who eagerly wished for
M. de Yend&me, despatched a courier, after this defeat, begging
the K ing to allow him to come and take command. The King
held out no longer.

The Due de Yenddme had prepared everything in advance;
and having got over a slight attack of gout, hastened to Ver¬
sailles. M. du Maine had negociated with Madame de Mainte-
non to obtain permission to take Venddme to the Duchesse de
Bourgogne. The opportunity seemed favourable to them.

150 MEMOIEB OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

Vendomo was going to Spain to serve the brother and sister of
the Duchesse; and his departure without seeing her would
have had a very disagreeable effect. The Due du Maine,
followed by Vendome, came then that day to the toilette of the
Dxichesso do Bourgogne. There happened that there was a
very largo company of men and ladies. The Duchesse rose for
them, as she always did for the Princes of the Blood and others,
and for all the Dues and Duchesses, and sat down again as
usual; but after this first glance, which could not be refused,,
she, though usually very talkative and accustomed to look
round, became for once attentive to her adornment, fixed her
eyes on her mirror, and spoke no more to any one. M. du
Maine, with M. do Venddme stixck by his side, remained very
disconcerted; and M. du Maine, usually so free and easy, dared
not utter a single word. Nobody went near them or spoke
to them. They remained thus about half a quarter of an hour,
with an universal silence throughout the chamber—all eyes
being fixed on them; and not being able to stand this any
longer, slunk away. This reception was not sufficiently agree¬
able to induce Vendomo to pay his respects at parting; for it
would have boon more embarrassing still if, when according to
custom lie advanced to kiss the Duchesse de Bourgogne, she
had given him tlic unheard-of affront of a refusal. As for the
Due do Bourgogne, ho i-cceived Vendome tolerably politely,
that is to say, much too well.

Staremborg meanwhile profited by the advantage he had
gained; ho attacked the Spanish army under Saragossa and
totally defeated it. Artillery, baggage, all was lost; and the
rout was complete. This misfortune happened on the 20th of
August. The King, who had witnessed it from Saragossa, im¬
mediately afterwards took the road for Madrid. Bay, one of
his generals, gathered together eighteen thousand men, with
whom he retired to Tudela, without any impediment on the
part of the enemy.

M. de YendOmo learnt the news of this defeat while on his
way to Spain. Like a prudent man as he was, for his own in¬
terests, he stopped at once so as to see what turn affairs were^

STAREMBERQ AND STANHOPE.

151

taking, and to know kow to act. He waited at Bayonne, gain¬
ing time there by sending a courier to the King for instruc¬
tions how to act, and remaining until the reply came. After
its arrival ho sot out to continue his journey, and joined the
King of Spain at Valladolid.

Starenjherg, after his victory, was joined by the Archduke,
and a debate soon took place as to the steps next to be taken.
Starerubcrg was for giving battle to the army of eighteen,
tliousand men under Bay, which I have just alluded to, beat¬
ing it, and then advancing little by little into Spain, to make
head against the vanquished army of the King. Had this
advice been acted on, it could scarcely have failed to ruin the
King of Spain, and the whole country must have fallen intb
the hands of the enemy. But it was not acted on. Stanhope,
who comimuidcd the English and Dutch troops, said that his
QucHjn had ordered him to march upon Madrid when possible,
in preferciHH! to every other place. Ho therefore proposed that
they .should go straight to Madrid with the Archduke, pro¬
claim him King there, and thus terrify all Spain by seizing the
capibd. Htannnberg, who admitted that the project was daz¬
zling, snstaimid, however, that it was of little use, and of great
dangm-. He tried all in his power to shako the inflexibility of
Sta.nhope, but in vain, and at last was obliged to yield as being
the feebler of the two. The time lost in this dispute saved
the wrw-.k of the army which had just been defeated. "What
was afterwards dune saved the King of Spain.

When the plan of the allies became known, however, the
(sm.sb'.nuition at Madri<l, which was already groat, was ex¬
treme. The King re.stjlvod to withdraw from a place which
(■.ould not dtdbnd itself, and to carry away with him the Queen,
the Priiuio, and the Oouncils. The grandees declared that they
woxihl ftdlow the King and his fortune everywhere, and very
few failed to do so; the departure succoodod the declaration in
tw(mty-four hours. The Queou, holding the Prince in her
arms, at a bahumy of tlu) palac;e, spoke to the people assembled
Inmeath, with so much grace, force, and courage, that the suc¬
cess she had is incrodihle. The impression that the people

152 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

received was comraimicated everywhere, and soon gained all
the provinces. The Court thus left Madrid for the second
time in the midst^ of the most lamentable cries, uttered from
the bottom ot their hoai*t, by people who came from town and
country, and who so wished to follow the King and Queen that
considerable effort was required in order to induce them to re¬
turn, each one to his home.

Valladolid was the retreat of this wretched Court, which
in the most terrible trouble it had yet expeiienced, lost
neither judgment nor courage. Meanwhile the grandest aud
rarest example of attachment and of courage that had ever
been heard of or soon was seen in Spain. Prelates and the
humblest of the clergy, noblemen and the poorest people,
lawyers and artisans, all bled themselves of the last drop of
their substance, in order to form new troops and magazines,
and to provide all kinds of provisions for the Court, and those
who had followed it. Never nation made efforts so surprising
with a unanimity and a concert which acted everywhere at
ones. The Queen sold off all she possessed, received with her
own hands sometimes even as little as ten pistoles, in order to
content the zeal of those who brought, and thanked them with
as Tunch affection as they themselves displayed. She would
contiimally say that she should like to put herself at the head
of her troops, with her son in her arms. With this language
and her comluct, she gained all hearts, and was very useful in
such a strange oxtrenuty.

Tim Arcluhike meanwlulo arrived in Madrid with his army.
He entered there in triumph, and caused himself to he pro¬
claimed King of Spain, by the violence of his troops, who
dragged the trembling Oorregidor through the streets, which
for the most part were deserted, whilst the majority of the
houses were without inhabitants, the few who remained having
barricaded their doors and windows, and shut themselves up in
the most remote places, where the troops did not dare to break
in upon them, for fear of increasing the visible and general
despair, and in the hope of gaining by gentleness. The entry
of the Archduke was not less sad than his proclamation. A

KNTHUBIABM Of TIIK BPAHlARBli

153

ftsw nearcdj atKliblci and faebk accliimation« •were hoard, hut
wuro BO foread tlnat the Archduke, HouBihly aBtonishod, laade
ilnuu oimHo of hramolt lie did not dare to lodge in the palace,
or in ilm centre of Madrid, Imt Hlcpt at the extremity of the
city, fwul even tliere only for two or tlireo nights* Soarooly
any chiinage was inflicted tipoti the town. Btaremborg was
earefid ii> gain over the inhahiknts by conciliation and clom-
ency; yet Iuh army ptnlshed of all kinds of misery. Not a
person ccmhl bc', found to supply it with subsistence for
nmu or iK^ast—not even when offered money. I^rayors, men-
iieoH, oxecutiouH, all were perfectly useless. There was not a
C^uHtiliaJi who wcaild not have htdieviHl himself dishonoured in
selling the h^ast thing to tlu^. enemies, or in allowing them to
take it. It is thus that this magnaninunis people, without any
<4du*r ludp than tluur courage and their Ihhdity, sustained
themselves in ihe^ midst (*f their etunnies, whose army they
<sunstHl tt» peuish, whiles at tlu^ same time, by iiuu)neoival)le
proiUgitns, i!u*y funned a iuhv army for themselv(vs, perfectly
ispuppvtl ami funusIuHl, and put tluis, by themsedves, alone,
and fiir tlu* seciaul time, iht^. erown npoti the head of their
King, with a glory for ever an example to all the people of
Europe; so true it is that nothing approaches the strength
wliicdi is found in the heart of a nation for the succour and re-
eHtaldishment of Kiii|^ 1 *

Stanhope, who had not failed to see the extudlonce of
StariUidH*rg*s advic*e from the, first moment of their dispute,
now Hiiid iiiHolently, that having execnitod the orders of his
Qiitnui, it wiiH for Htaremberg t(^ «lmw the array otit of its em¬
barrassment. Ah for himself, hc^ had mdhing morci to do in the
matter! When ten or twelve days had (dapsod, it was resolved
fo rrnmvt' from Macbhl towards Toh^do. From tlu^. former
platan nothing was tiikcm away, except some of the King’s tap-
ust ry, whieli Htanla^pe, was not ashaimHl to (;arry off, but which
In* did not hmg keep. This act of mevamu^ss was blamed even

^ a wtra^r ohniS'v.atiou, than Salntr Siiueu tboaal^t.

Uiiiuaii iiaitio* is t<a» apt to uttribuO^ its <h‘‘owlatioa U> extaraal violyiioe-
aitd it* that the atnaigewt allies of iuose tliat enslave it tvre found

xviitiin its tiwii limwt.

154

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

by his own countrymen.'^ Staremberg did not make a long-
stay at Toledo, but in quitting the town, burnt the superb
palace in the Moorish style that Charles Quint had built there,
and that was called the Alcazar. This was an irreparable
damage, which he made believe happened accidentally.

As nothing now hindered the King of Spain from going to
see his faithful subjects at Madrid, he entered that city on the
2nd of December, in the midst of an infinite crowd and incredi¬
ble acclamations. He descended at the church of Notre Dame
dAtocha, and was three hours in arriving at the palace, so pro¬
digious was the crowd. The city made a present to him of
twenty thousand pistoles. On the fourth day after his arrival
at Madrid, the King left, in order to join M. de Yenddme and
his army.

But a little while before, this monarch was a fugitive wan¬
derer, almost entirely destroyed, without troops, without
money, and without subsistence. Now he found himself at the
head of ten or fifteen thousand men well armed, well clad,
well paid, with provisions, money, and ammunition in abun¬
dance; and this magical change was brought about by the
sudden universal conspiracy of the unshakable fidelity and
attachment without example, of all the orders of his subjects;
by their efforts and their industry, as prodigious the one as the
other.

Yenddme, in the utmost surprise at a change so little to be
hoped for, wished to profit by it by joining the army under
Bay, which was too weak itself to appear before Staremberg.
Yend6me accordingly set about making this junction, which
Staremberg thought only how to hinder. He knew well the
Due de Yend6me. In Savoy he had gained many a march upon
him; had passed five rivers in front of him; and in spite of
him had led his troops to M. de Savoie. Staremberg thought
only therefore in what manner he could lay a trap for M. de

* It would be unjust not to notice here, accepting Saint-Sinion^s state¬
ment of facts, that the French always indignantly point out the gathering
of art-booty by English and other generals; but can find nothing save
words of praise for the immense spoliations of this kind which they have
themselves committed.

mm OF HTAEIMBKIIG.

155

Vt^n(luuic% in wlfidi hu, with his army, might fall and "break his
nt^t^k wiilujiit hope of eseapo* With this view ho put his army
int-t> tpmrUu’H, afftvss to whi(‘h was easy ovcrywherO; which
AV(‘ro lu^ar i*ach otlu‘i\ juul which could assist each other in case
of nccil Ih^ l\nn\ placed all his English and Dutch, Stanhopo
at tlu'ir hca<l, in Drighucga, a little fortified town in good con¬
dition for defence. It was u-t the head of all the quarters of
Siaremhm'g's army, and at tlie tmtranco of a plain over which
M. de. Venddmt^« had to pass to join Bay,

Siar(‘mhi*rg was on the point of being joined by his army of
Kstrmnadura, so that in tlu^. i)vmt of M. do Venddme attacking
Brighm^ga, as lu‘, hoptal, he had a largo number of troops to
depend upon,

Vt‘nddmt% meanwhile, s(d out on his march. Ho was in¬
formed of Staremhm’gs position, but in a manner just stich as
Htaremb(u*g wisbtsl ; that is to say, he was led to believe that
Htanhnpe hntl made a wrong move in occupying Brighuega,
that he was ioo far rmuoviHl from Staremberg to rocoivo any
nssisianet^ from him, and that hv. could be easily overpowered.
Thni is Imw matters appeared to Ventloimi. Ho hastened his
mandi, ihertdbre, madi^ his dispositions, and on the 8th of
DiH’embmv after mid-day, approached Brighuega, called upon it
U> Hurrmulm*, and upon its nd'usal, pn^pared to attack it.

Inumaliaiely aftmnvarcls his surprises was great, upon disco-
vtering that there wt*,rc^ so many troops in the town, and that
in?dcacl of having to do witli a num outpost, ho was engaged
against a place of some conseipumce. Ho did not wish to retire^
ami pmhnpH hi', emdd not have done so with impunity. Ho sot
U), ihc*ndbri^, stcaaning in his usual manner, and did what ho
<H>uld excite his troops to make short work of a conquest
so dilbu'ent from wbat he had imagiiuuh and so dangerous
io di^lay.

NeviU'Uu^h’ss, Iht'. wc^ight of his mlstaki'. ])ressed xipon him as
iht' hours passcal and hc^ saw fresh iuimuiiss arrive. Two of his
assaullji had faikal: he (hiimnuimul to play at double or quits,
ami ordiU'ed a third nsHauIi. While', the dispositions wore being
nuule, on tlu^ f)ih of Deemubiir he learnt that Sta,romborg was

156

MEMOIRS OP THE BUKE OP SAINT-SIMON.

inarching again.sfc liim with four or iivo thousainl men, that is
to .say, with ju.st about half of what ho really hal. In this an-
gui.sh, Vc'mUlmo did not In^sitato to stivko (won tins drown of
Spain upon the hananl of the die. IIi,s third atta(!k was nuulo
with all the forc<^ of whiidi ho was capable. Every one of tins
Jissa,Hants kiunv tlui extismuty of tlu', dangtu-, and behaved with
so much valour and impetuosity, that thci town was <!arri(^d in
spit(‘ of an obstinate resistance. The besieged were obliged to
yield, and to the number of eight battalions and eight .sipuul-
rons, surrendered themselves prisoners of war, and with them,
Stanhope, their general, who so triumphant in Madrid, was
here obliged to disgorge the King’s tapestries that he hadtakmi
from the palace.

While the capitulation was being made, various information
camo to Vendome of Staremboi'g’s march, which it was neces¬
sary, above all, to hide from the prisoners, who, had they known
their liberator was only a league and a half distant from them,
as ho was then, would have broken the capitulation, and de¬
fended thcm.sel voa. M. do Venddmo’s embarrassment was great.
He bad, and at the same time, to march out and meet Mtanmi-
berg and to get rid of bis mnnorous prisoners. All was done,
bowovci', very Huccossfully. Buffieiont troops wore left in
Jlrighucga to attend to the evacuation, and winm it w'.as at an
end, those troojw left the place themsclv(‘,s and joiiuul tlu'ir (com¬
rades, who, with M. d(< V('mlrtm(', wein waiting for Btaiviuhcrg
ouli.side the town, at Villa.vieiosn., a little phuac that .aft(U'Wai'd.s
gav(> its minut to the batthc. Only four hundred num Wimt left
in llrigliutcga.

M. do Venddims arrangt'd his army in order of hatthc in a
tohcrably open plain, but ('.mbarra.sH(‘.d by little knolls in H(iv«*ra.l
plac.tcH, vtuy disaxlvautage.ous for tlu» cavalry. Imimaliately
afterwards the eannon began to lire on both sichw, and Hhuo.st
imnualiately the two litu's of the King of Spain pr(*pared to
charg(>,. After the battle had procasMled somci time', M. do Ven¬
dome perceived that his centre bc^gan to giv(( way, and that
the left of bis cavalry could notbimk the right of the enemies’.
He thouglit all was lost, and gave orders accordingly to his

BATTLE OF VILLAVICIOSA.

isr

men to retire towards Torija. Straightway, too, he directed
himself in that direction, with the King of Spain and a good
part of his troops. While thus retreating, he learnt that two
of his officers had charged the enemy’s infantry with the cavalry
they had at their orders, had much knocked it about, and had
rendered themselves masters, on the field of battle, of a large
number of prisoners, and of the artillery that the enemy had
abandoned. News so agreeable and so little expected deter¬
mined the Due de Yend6me and the King of Spain to return
to the battle with the troops that had followed them. The day
was, in fact^ won just as night came on. The enemies abam
doned twenty pieces of cannon, two mortars, their wounded
and their equipages; and numbers of them were taken pri¬
soners. But Staremberg, having all the night to himself, suc¬
ceeded in retiring in good order with seven or eight thousand
men. His baggage and the majority of his waggons fell a prey
to the vanquisher. Counting the garrison of Brighuega, the
loss to the enemy was eleven thousand men killed or taken,
their ammunition, artillery, baggage, and a great number of
flags and standards.

When we consider the extreme peril the Crown of Spain ran
in these engagements, and that this time, if things had gone ill
there was no resource, we tremble still. Had a catastrophe
happened, there was nothing to hope from France. Its exhaus¬
tion and its losses would not have enabled it to lend aid. In
its .desire for peace, in fact, it would have hailed the loss of the
Spanish crown as a relief. The imprudence, therefore, of M. de
Vendbme in so readily falling into the snare laid for him, is all
the more to be blamed. He takes no trouble to inform himself
of the dispositions of the enemy; he comes upon a place which
he believes a mere post, but soon sees it contains a numerous
garrison, and finds that the principal part of the enemy’s army
is ready to fall upon him as he makes the attack. Then he
begins to see in what ship he has embarked; he sees the double
peril of a double action to sustain against Stanhope, whom he
must overwhelm by furious assault, and against Starembei*g,
whom he must meet and defeat ; or leave to the enemies the

158

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMON.

Orown of Spain, and jiorhaps tin' person of Philip V., as prico
of iiis folly. BriirluK'jra is <r!un(!(l, hut it in witlnmt him. Villa-
vicioHa is gaitu'd, but it is also without him. 'I’his hero is nut
sharp-sightcsl (uiough to siui succa'ss when it comes, lie think.s
it dehait, and gives orch'Ts for retreat. When informed that the
battle is gaiiuul, ho returns to the (i(dd, and as daylight coimw,
perceives th(( fact to he. so. Ho is tpiitc without shanui for his
stupid mistake, and c,rie.s out that he has vanquislual, with an
impudonco to which the Hpaniards were not accustonuul; and,
to conclude, he allows ^Itaromhorg’s army to get clean off, in¬
stead of destroying it at once, as ho might have doms, and so
finished tho war. Such were the exploits of this great warrior,
so desired in Spain to resuscitate it, and such wore the first
proofs of his capacity upon arriving in that country 1*

At the moment that tho King of Spain was led back to the
battle-field by Vond&mo, and that they could no longer doubt
their good fortune, ho sent a courier to tho Queen. Her mortal
anguish was on tho instant changed into so great a joy, that
she went out immediately on foot into tho streets of Vittoria,
where all was delight; as it soon was over all Spain. Tho
nows of tlui vi<!tory was brought to tho King (of France) by
.Don (iaspai-d do Zuniga, who gav(5 an exact account of all tha.t
had occurred, liiding nothing r(i.s))e(!ting M. d(j Venddme, who

was thus nmnasked and disgraced, in spite of every elfort on
tho part of his cabal to defend him.

Among the allies, all (be lll^lm(^ of thi.s dcfeal fell upon Stan¬
hope. Seven or (uglit Ikum-s mon^ of re.sisLance on his part at
Brighuega wmdd hav(^ I'liabled Siare.mhcrg i,o come up to his
jwsistanco, and all tlu^ resounuss of Spain would then have hi'eji

^ * Despite VeiuirmK'Vialiemimilile rliar.'i.etee, it eaniuitlait lie evsleiit iimt

ftiiiit-SiuKia here eiviss way la his hatred, and <-arp!i iiaiuHtilinlilv. If we
were to <lepHvo a. I'eneral of (be heiadit of the ehaneeH ef war,‘jiad duly
wiparate frtaii mimiuiidin,',!; ciicaaiHtaaeeH what iit <l(ie to Ida own uiiaideil
j^euum, hew many ninderu henicn w<ndd <lwiudle to no hetter than tirare-.
crows ! As in the {dlert ef Vmidorne’H eonduet at I'lmrt and on (he ndiid
of the King, it is pevfeetly indillerent. Defeals formerly made him a liero-
ynitories now piove him a fo<i|. 'rids is ptabaps the mast strikiim inntama’
™ 01' Saint-Siwum’s Memoirs of tho alisohito luilUty of thts (In-at

Loiub Xi V.

STANHOPE IN ENGLAND.

169

swinihilrttotl. Staromborff, outrapjod at tha ill-succoss of his
uudarfeikin^, cried out londly against Stanhope. Some of the
principal oflicors who had been at Brigbutiga seconded these
(■omplaints. Stanhop(i ev(ni <lid not dare to deny his fault.
Ihi was allowed to demand leave of absence to go homo and
diife.nd biinself. TFci was badly received, stripped of all military
rank in Kngland and I lolland, and (as well as the officers under
him) was not without fear of his degradation, and was even in
danger of his life.

This recitiil of the events that took place in Spain, has led
mo away from otluu- matters of earlier date. It is time now
that I should return to them.

160

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

CHAPTEE XVII.

State of tlie Country—New Taxes—^The King’s Conscience troubled—De¬
cision of tbe Sorbonne—Debate in the Council—Effect of the Eoyal Tithe-
—Tax on Agioteurs—Merriment at Court—Death of a Son of Mar^chal
BoufiSlers—The Jesuits.

Although, as we Lave just seen, matters were beginning to
brighten a little in Spain, they remained as dull and overcast
as ever in France. The impossibility of obtaining peace, and
the exhaustion of the realm, threw the King into the most cruel
anguish, and Desmarets into the saddest embarrassment. The
paper of all kinds with which trade was inundated, and which
had all more or less lost credit, made a chaos for which no¬
remedy could be perceived. State-bills, bank-bills, receiver-
generars-bills, title-bills, utensil-bills, were the ruin of private
people, who were forced by the King to take them in payment,
and who lost half, two-thirds, and sometimes more by the
transaction. This depreciation enriched the money people, at.
the expense of the public; and the circulation of money ceased,
because there was no longer any money; because the King no
longer paid anybody, but drew his revenues still; and because
all the specie out of his control was locked up in the coffers of
the possessors.

The capitation tax was doubled and trebled, at the will of
the Intendants of the Provinces, merchandise and all kinds of
provision were taxed to the amount of four times their value
new taxes of all kinds and upon all sorts of things were exacted ;
all this crushed nobles and roturiers, lords and clergy, and yet
did not bring enough to the Bang, who drew the blood of all

HEW TAXES.

ICl

his subjects, squeezed out their very marrow, without distinc¬
tion, and who enriched an army of tax-gatherers and officials of
all kinds, in whose hands the best part of what was collected
remained.

Desmarets, in whom the King had been forced to put all his
confidence in finance matters, conceived the idea of esteblisUing,
in addition to so many taxe.s, that Koyal Tithe upon all the
property of each community and of each private person of the
realm, that the Mardchal do Vauban, on the one hand, and
Boisguilbort on the other, had formerly propo.sod; but, as I have
already described, as a simple and solo ta.x which would suffice
for all, which would all ontesr the <!oircir.s (jf the King, and by
means of which ov('ry other im|H).st would ho abolished.

Wo have H(s>n what sueec.ss thi.H proposition met with ; how
the financiers tn'inlihul at it; how the mini.stm's hlushcd at it,
with what anathemas it wa.s n‘j(‘(dcd, and to what e.\tenttlu^sc
two excellent and .skilful citiwms wens <lisgraeed. All this must
bo recollected hert*, sincii Dtwmari'ts, who had not lost sight of
this sysbun (not as relief and remtuly • -unpardonable crimes in
the financial doctrine), now luul re<;our.s«^ to it.

He imparted his projeud to (.hreo Mends, (lonncillors of
State, who examined it wtdl, and worked haul to see how to
overcome the obstecdos which arose in the way of its execu¬
tion. In the first place, it was uee.essary, in order to colloct thia
tax. to draw fromea<di person a <dear statesmout of his woalth,
of his d(d)ts, and so on. It w.as ne.e<^ssary to demand sure ))roofa
on these points so as not t<i be de<’e.iv(Kl. Hero Wiis all the diffi¬
culty. Nothing was tlumght of the dew»latiou this extra im¬
post must cause to a prodigitnis immher of men, or of their
despair uiarn finding thmnsedves <»hliged to disclose their family
secrets; to have a lamp thrown, as it wens, upon their most
delicate parts; all those thing.s, I say, wont for nothing. L(vs,s
than a month sufficed theses humams oomnsissksnorH to remUsr
an account of this gentle pn jeestto the (lyclop who had ehas-gesd
them with it. Desimirets thesresipon proposed it to the King,
who, accustomed as Ins was to this most ruinou.s imposts, could
not avoid being terrified at this, b'or a long while he had

162

MEMOmS OF THE DHKE OF SADTT-SIMON'.

heard nothing talked of hut the most extreme misery; this
increase saddened him in a manner so evident, that his valets
perceived it several days running, and were so disturbed at it,
that Mar6chal (who related aU this curious anecdote to me)
made bold to speak to the King upon this sadness, fearing for
his health. The King avowed to him that he felt infinite
trouble, and threw himself vaguely upon the state of affairs.
Eight or ten days after (during which he continued to feel the
same melancholy), the King regained his usual calmness, and.
called Mar&hal to explain the cause of his trouble.

The King related to Mardchal that the extremity of his affairs
had forced him to put on furious imposts; that setting aside
compassion, scruples had much tormented him for taking thus
the wealth of his subjects; that at last he had unbosomed him¬
self to the Pke Tellier, who had asked for a few days to think
upon the matter, and that he had returned after having had a
consultation with some of the most skilful doctors of the Sor-
bonne, who had decided that ctlZ ths wealth of his subjects wots
his, and that when he took it he only took what belonged to
him! The King added, that this decision had taken away all his
scruples, and had restored to him the calm and tranquillity he
had lost. Marechal was so astonished, so bewildered to hear
this recital, that he could not offer one word. Happily for him,
the King quitted him almost immediately, and Marechal re¬
mained some time in the same place, scarcely knowing where
he was.*

After the King had been thus satisfied by his confessor, no
time was lost in establishing the tax On Tuesday, the 30th
of September, Desmarets entered the Finance Council with the
necessary edict in Lis bag.

For some days everybody had known of this bomb-shell in

i-u* consultation related in the test is of course only astonishiny from
the clear manner in which the monarchical theory is propounded, and from
ae _semi-hyp(^ti(^ conduct of the King. Imagine a royal personage
having scruples at such an age, and under such oircumsUnc^ ! It is
^restuw to compare this anecdote with the invectives of Estienne de la
^tie, -^0 accuses monarchy of this very assumption that aU property

DEBATE IN’ THE COUNCIL.

163

fhe air, and had trembled with that remnant of hope which is
founded only upon desire; all the Court as well as all Paris
waited in a dejected sadness to see what would happen. People
whispered to each other, and even when the project was
rendered public, no one dared to talk of it aloud.

On the day above-named, the King brought forward this
measure in the Council, by ^saying, that the impossibility of
obtaining peace, and the extreme difficulty of sustaining the
war, had caused Desmarets to look about in order to discover
some means, which should appear good, of raising money; that
he had pitched upon this tax; that he (the King), although
sorry to adopt sach a resource, approved it, and had no doubt
the Council would do so likewise, when it was explained to
them. Desmarets, in a pathetic discourse, then dwelt upon the
reasons which had induced him to propose this tax, and after¬
wards read the edict through from beginning to end without
interruption.

No one spoke, moreover, when it was over, until the King
asked D’Aguesseau his opinion. D^Aguesseau replied, that it
would be necessary for him to take home the edict and read it
through very carefully before expressing an opinion. The King
said that D’Aguesseau was right—it would take a long time to
examine the edict—but after all, examination was unnecessary,
and would only be loss of time. All remained silent again,
except the Due de Beauvilliers, who, seduced by the nephew of
Colbert, whom he thought an oracle in finances, said a few
words in favour of the project.

Thus was settled this bloody business, and immediately after
signed, sealed, and registered, among stifled sobs, and published
amidst the most gentle but most piteous complaints. The pro¬
duct of this tax was nothing like so muct as had been imagined
in this bureau of Cannibals; and the King did not pay a single
farthing more to any one than he had previously done. Thus all
the fine relief expected by this tax ended in smoke.

The Marechal de Vauban had died of grief at the. ill-success
of his task and his zeal, as I have related in its place. Poor
Boisguilbert, in the exile his zeal had brought him, was terribly

11—2

164 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAUSTT-SIMON'.

aiSicted, to find he had innocently given advice 'which, he
intended for the relief of the State, but which had been made
use of in this frightful manner. Everyman, without exception,
saw himself a prey to the tax-gatherers : reduced to calculate and
discuss with them his own patrimony, to receive their signa¬
ture and their protection under the most terrible pains; to
show in public all the secrets of his family ; to bring into the
broad open daylight domestic turpitudes enveloped until then
in the folds of precautions the wisest and the most multiplied.
Many had to con'mnce the tax agents, but vainly, that although
proprietors, they did not enjoy the tenth part of their property.
All Languedoc oiBfered to give up its entire wealth, if allow<=‘d
to enjoy, free from every impost, the tenth part of it. The pro¬
position not only was not listened to, but was reputed an
insult and severely blamed.

Monseigneur le Luc de Bourgogne spoke openly against this
tax, and against the finance people, who lived upon the very man-
row of the people ; spoke with a just and holy anger that recalled
the memory of Saint Louis, of Louis XIL, father of the People,
and of Louis the Just. Monseigneur, too, moved by ibi.g iadig-
nation, so unusual, of his son, sided with him, and showed anger
at so many exactions as injurious as barbarous, and at so many
insignificant men so monstrously enriched with the nation’s
blood. Both father and son infinitely surprised those who
heard them, and made themselves looked upon in some sort, as
resources from which something might hereafter be hoped for.
But the edict was issued, and though there might be some hope
in the future, there was none in the present. And no one knew
who was to be the real successor of Louis XIY., and how under
the next government we were to be stiU more overwhelmed
than under this one.

One result of this tax was, that it enabled the King to
augment all his infantry -with five men per company.

A tax was also levied upon the usurers, who had much
gained by trafficking in the paper of the King, that is to say,
had taken advantage of the need of those to whom the King
gave this paper in payment. These usurers are called agiotev/rs.

MERRIMENT AT COURT.

m

Tlioir mode was, ordinarily, to give, for example, according as
the holder of paper was more or less pressed, three or four
hundred francs (the greater part often in provisions), for a bill
of a thousand francs ! This game was called agio. It was said
that thirty millions were obtained from this tax. Many people
gained much by it; I know not if the King was the better
treated.

Soon after this the coin was re-coined, by which great profit
was made for the King, and much wrong done to private people
and to trade. In all times it has been regarded as a very grciat
misfortune to meddle with corn and money. Desmarets has
accustomed us to tricks with the money ; M. Jo Due and
Cardinal Fleury to interfere with corn and to fictitious famine.

At the commencement of December, the King declared that
he wished there shotild be, contrary to custom, |)lays and
^‘apartments'’ at Versailles even when Monseignour should bo
at Meudon. Ho thought apparently ho must keep his Court
full of amusements, to hide, if it was possible, abroad and at
homo, the disorder and the extremity of affairs. For the same
reason, the carnival was opened early this season, and all
through the winter there wore many balls of all kinds at the
Court, where the wives of the ministers gave very magnificent
displays, like fStes, to Madame la DucheSso de Bourgogne and
to all the Court.

But Paris did not remain less wretched or the provinces less
desolated.

And thus I have arrived at the end of 1710.*

cannot refrain, at the end of this short narrative, containing so
terrible an exposure of the principles and conduct of the Great King of the
Great Age, from refening to tlia trite observation—trite from its extreme
truth—that we have hero sufficient explanation, not only of die occur¬
rence, but of the horrors of the French Revolution. We must remember
that, with rare exceptions, for a thousand years If ranee was subjecit to
tyrants of the same nature ; and that almost always when the country was
not desolated by oppression and taxation, it was desolated by bigotry or
licentiousness. All kings as such.—unless they have been tauglit to be
mere magistotes, instances of which are few—look, as Louis XIV. did,
tipon the nation as their property. This is why they not only seize money
wlierever they can find it, but interfere with everytliing, from tlu^ raligioiis
belief, to the wives and daughters of their subjects. ‘ A calculation has

166

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

At the commencement of the following year, 1711,—that is
to say, a few days after the middle of March,—a cruel misfortune
happened to the Mardchal de Boufflers. His eldest son was
fourteen years of age,, handsome, well made, of much promise,
and who succeeded marvellously at the Court, when his father
presented him there to the King to thank his Majesty for the
reversion of the government of Flow and of Lille. He returned
afterwards to the College of the Jesuits, where he was being
educated. I know not what youthful folly he was guilty of
wdth the two sons of D’Argenson; but the Jesuits, wishing to
show that they made no distinction of persons, whipped the
little lad, because, to say the truth, they had nothing to fear
from the Marechal de Boufflers; but they took good care to let
the others off, although equally guilty, because they had to
reckon with D’Argenson, lieutenant of the police, of much
credit in book matters, Jansenism, and all sorts of things and
affairs in which they were interested.

Little Boufflers, who was full of courage, and who had done
no more than the two Argensons, and with them, was seized
with such despair, that he fell ill that same day. He was
carried to the Marechal’s house, but it was impossible to save
him. The heart was seized, the blood diseased ; the purples
appeared; in four days all was over. The state of the father
and mother may be imagined 1 The King, who was much
touched by it, did not let them ask or wait for him. Ho sent
one of his gentlemen to testify to them tho share he had in
tlieir loss, and announced that he would give to their remaining
son what he had already given to the other. As for the Jesuits,
the universal cry against them was prodigious; but that was alL
This would be the place, now that I am speaking of the Jesuits,
to speak of another affair in which they were concerned. But I

been made that six thousand persons perished by executions of various,
lands during tbe French Devolution. If we compare this number with
the multitudes who suffered each famine brought on by the arrangements,
of the Klmg and his ministers and the connivance of the nobility, we shall
be astonished at the clemency shown by the people in the hour of vengeance
end triumph. °

THE JESUITS.

1C7

pass over, for the present, the dissensions that broke out at about
this time, and that ultimately led to the famous Papal Bull
Uiiigenitus, so fatal to the Church and to the State, so shame¬
ful for Eome, and so injurious to religion; and I proceed to
speak of tho great event of this year, which led to othens so
memorable and so unexpected.

168

MEMOIRS OE THE DtTKB OP SAINT-SIMOK.

CHAPTER xvm.

My interview with Du Mont—A Mysterious Communication—Anjfer of
Monseigueur against me—Household of the Duchosso do Borry---Mon-
seigneur taken ill of the Small Pox—Effect of the Nows—Tho King goes
to Meudon—The Danger diminishes—Madame do Maintonon at Moudon
—The Court at Versailles—Hopes and Pears—Tho Danger returns—
Death of Monseigneur—Conduct of the King.

But in order to understand the part I played in tho event I
have alluded to and the interest I took in it, it is necessary for
me to relate some personal matters that occurred in tho previous
year. Du Mont was one of tho confidants of Monsoignour;
but also had never forgotten what his father owed to mine.
Some days after the commencement of tho second voyage to
Marly, subsequently to tho marriage of tho Duchosso do Berry,
as I was coming hack from tho King’s mass, tho said Du Mont,
in tho crush at the door of tho little salon of tho chapol, took an
opportunity when he was not perceived, to pull me by my coat,
and when I turned round put a finger to his lips, and pointed
towards the gardens which are at tho bottom of the river, that
is to say, of that superb cascade which tho Cardinal Floury has
destroyed, and which faced the roar of the clidfimu. At tho
same time Du Mont whispered in my oar; “ To tho arbours 1”
That part of the garden was surrounded with arbours palisaded
so as to conceal what was inside. It was the least frequented
place at Marly, leading to nothing; and in tho afternoon even,
and the evening, few people within them.

Uneasy to know what Du Mont wished to communicate

A MYSTEEIOUS COMMUNICATION.

169

with so much mystery, I gently went towards the arbours
where, without being seen, I looked through on© of the openings
•until I saw him appear. Ho slipped in by the corner of the
chapel, and I went towards him. As he joiiKul nu^ begged
me to return towards the river, so as to be still more out of the
way; and then wo set oursedwes against tlu’* thickest palisades,
as far as possible ft'om all openings, so as to be still more con¬
cealed.’^ All this stirprised and frightened mo : I was still
more so when I learned what was tlu^ matt(n\

Du Mont then told me, on condition that I promiscul not to
show that I knew it, and not to mal<(^ use of my knowledges in
any way without his (Consent, that two days aften^the marriage
of the Due de Derry, having (mitnuHl towards tlu^, caul of tins
morning the c-ahinet of Mons<dgneur, h(‘. found him alom^, look¬
ing very K(‘rious. lie followcnl Monscugmmr, through tlu'- ga.rd(ms
alone, until lu^ cmt(U'<ul by tlu^. window th<^ apartnumis of tin*;
Princesso d(^ (lotdl, who was also alom*. As he entered Mon-
seigneur said with im air not natural to him, and vtny in¬
flamed—us if by way of interrogalion—that shc^ *^Hah very
quietly thtn*e/' This frightened her* so, tha.t slu^ asktul if theu’t^
was any news from Flanders, and what had happemed ? Moti™
seigneur answercul, in a tone of great annoyamu^,, tlu^t thert^ was
no news except that tin*. Dm; dt; Hnint-Simon hatl said, tliat now
that the marriage of the Due de Berry was brought about, it
would be proper to drivi; away Madame; la Ducluisw; and tin;
Prineesse de Oonti, after whieh it woidd be easy to goveum *Hho
gnuit imbecile,'* meaning hlmHelf This was why In; thought
she ought not to be so much at her ease. Tlien, suchhudy, as
if lashing his sides to get into a gr(‘ater rage, In; sjiokt; in a. way
such a speecli would have d(*Hcn’ved, ad<led meuac(‘s, said that
he would have tin; Due de Bourgogtn; to fear me, to ptit nn;
aside, and separate; himsedf entindy from me. This sort of
Bolilocpiy lasttsl a loiig time;, and I was not told what the

* To aiiclca’Htnnd all this pnH*autioa, it in to rtmuatilxo’ what

has pnwiouHly Ix^ui tohi (>f tha cotnpatiy of SwiMH spit's st't on foot by the
King for tlu' gjirthaw of Marly. Wliat n^al man wtmld be a courtier here
mx such conditions I

170

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOK

Princesse de Conti said to it,; but from the silence of Du Mont^
her annoyance at the marriage I had brought about, and other
reasons, it seems to me unlikely that she tried to soften Mon¬
seigneur.

Du Mont begged me not, for a long time at least, to shov
that I knew what had taken place, and to behave with the-
utmost prudence. Then he fled away by the path he had come
by, fearing to be seen. I remained walking up and down in
the arbour all the time, reflecting on the wickedness of my
enemies, and the gross credulity of Monseigneur. Then I ran
away, and escaped to Madame de Saint-Simon, who, as-
astonished and frightened as I, said not a word of the communi¬
cation I had received.

I never knew who had served me this id-turn with Mon-
seigneur, but I always suspected Mademoiselle de Lillebonne.
After a long time, having obtained with difficulty the consent
of the timid Du Mont, I made Madame de Saint-Simon speak
to the Duchesse de Bourgogne, who undertook to arrange the
affair as well as it could be arranged. The Duchesse spoke
indeed to Monseigneur, and showed him how ridiculously he
had been deceived, when he was persuaded that I could ever
have entertained the ideas attributed to me. Monseigneur
admitted that he had been carried away by anger; and that
there was no likelihood that I should have thought of any-
thing so wicked and incredible.

About this time the house of the Due and Duchesse de Berry
w^ constituted. RaciUy obtained the splendid appointment
of first surgeon, and was worthy of it; but the Duchesse de
Berry wept bitterly, because she did not consider him of hio-h
family enough. She was not so deHcate about La Haye, whose
appomtment she rapidly secured. The feUow looked in the
more complaisantly than ever. He was well made, but
iff, and with a face not at all handsome, and looking as if it
had l^n skinned. He was happy in more ways than one, and
^ more attached to his new mistress than to his master.
±Jie was very angry when he learned that the Due de
Berry had supplied himself vdth such an assistant.

MONSEIGNEUR TAKEN ILL.

171

Meantime, I continued on very uneasy terms witK Mon¬
seigneur, since I liad learned his strange credulity with respect
to me. I began to feel my position very irksome, not to say
painful, on this account. Meudon I would not go to—for me it
was a place infested with demons—^yet by stopping awny I ran
great risks of losing the favour and consideration I enjoyed at
Court. Monseigneur was a man so easily imposed upon, as I
had already experienced, and his intimate friends were so
unscrupulous that there was no saying what might be invented
on the one side and swallowed on the other, to my discredit.
Those friends, too, were, I laiew, enraged against me for divers
weighty reasons, and would stop at nothing, I was satisfied, to
procure my downfall. For want of better support I sustained
myself with courage. I said to myself, “We never experience
all the evil or all the good that we have apparently the most
reason to expect.” I hoped, therefore, against hope, terribly
troubled it must be confessed on the score of Meudon. At
Easter, this year, I went away to La Ferte, far from the Court
and the world, to solace myself as I could; but this thorn in
my side was cruelly sharp!. At the moment the most unlooked-
for it pleased God to deliver me from it.

At La Ferte I had but few guests: M. de Saint Louis, an
old brigadier of cavalry, and a Normandy gentleman, who had
been in my regiment, and who was much attached to me. On
Saturday, the 11th of the month, and the day before Quasimodo,.
I had been walking with them all the morning, and I had
entered aU alone into my cabinet a little before dinner, when a
courier sent by Madame de Saint-Simon, gave me a letter
from her, in which I was informed that Monseigneur was ill!

I learnt afterwards that this Prince, while on his way to
Meudon for the Easter f6tes, met at Chaville a priest, who was.
carrying Our Lord to a sick person. Monseigneur, and Madame
de Bourgogne, who was with him, knelt down to adore the
Host, and then Monseigneur inquired what was the malady of
the patient. “ The small pox,” he was told. That disease was.
very prevalent just then. Monseigneur had had it, but very
lightly, and when young. He feared it very much, and was-

172

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

strack with the answer he now received. In the evening he
said to Boudin, his chief doctor, ‘"I should not be surprised if
I were to have the small pox.” The day, however, passed over
as usual.

On the morrow, Thursday, the 9th, Monseigneur rose, and
meant to go out wolf-hunting; but as he was dressing, such a
£t of weakness seized him, that he fell into his chair. Boudin
made him get into bed again; but all the day his pulse was in
an alarming state. The King, only half informed by Kagon of
what had taken place, believed there was nothing the matter,
and went out walking at Marly after dinner, receiving news
from time to time. Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne and
Madame de Bourgogne dined at Meudon, and they would not
quit Monseigneur for one moment. The Princesse added to the
stnet duties of a daughter-in-law all that her gracefulness
could suggest, and gave everything to Monseigneur with her
own hand. Her heart could not have been troubled by what
her reason foresaw; but, nevertheless, her care and attention
were extreme, without any airs of affectation or acting. The
Due de Bourgogne, simple and holy as he was, and fuU of the
Idea of his duty, exaggerated his attention ; and although there
was a strong suspicion of the smaU pox, neither quitted Mon-
seigneur, except for the King’s supper.

The next day. Friday the 10th, in reply to his express de-
m^ands, the King was informed of the extremely dangerous state
of Monseignenr. He had said on the previous evening that he
would go on the following morning to Meudon, and remain
there dimng^ the illness of Monseignenr whatever its nature
™ght be. He was now as good as his word. Immediately

Whflr '7 forbade

wh ■ 1, ^ pox, to go there,

hwh was sugge^ by a motive of kindness. With Madame

it M ^ np tin abode

of^TchThlt™ 'f® Saint-Simon sent me the letter

01 Wliich I have just made mention.

I tte same truthfulness

peak era, and with as much exactness as possible. Ac-

THE DANGER DIMINISHES.

17^^

cording to tlie terms on whicli I was with Monseigneur and his-
intimates, may be imagined the impression made upon me by
this news. I felt that one way or other, well or ill, the, malady
of Monseigneur would soon teminate. I was quite at my ease
at La Fertd I resolved therefore to wait there until X received
fresh particulars. I despatched a courier to Madame de Saint-
Simon, requesting her to send me another the next day, and I
passed the rest of this day, in an ebb and flow of feelings ; the
man and the Christian struggling against the Tna.n and the
courtier, and in the midst of a crowd of vague fancies catching
glimpses of the future, painted in the most agreeable colours.

The courier I expected so impatiently arrived the next day,
Sunday, after dinner. The small pox had declared itself, I
learnt, and was going on as well as could be wished. I believed
Monseigneur saved, and wished to remain at my own house ;
nevertheless I took advice, as I have done aU my life, and with
great regret set out the next morniug. At La Queue, about
six leagues from Versailles, I met a flnancier of the name of La
Fontaine, whom I knew well. He was coming from Paris and
Versailles, and came up to me as I changed horses. Monsei¬
gneur, he said, was going on admirably ; and he added details
which convinced me he was out of all danger. I arrived at
Versailles, fuU of this opinion, which was confirmed by Madame
de Saint-Simon and everybody I met, so that nobody any longer
feared, except on account of the treacherous nature of this dis¬
ease in a very fat man of fifty.

The Eang held, his Council, and worked in the evening with
his ministers as usual He saw Monseigneur morning and
evening, oftentimes in the afternoon, and always remained
long by the bedside. On the Monday I arrived he had dined
early, and had driven to Marly, where the Duchesse de Bour¬
gogne joined him. He saw in passing on the outskirts of the
garden of Versailles his grandchildren, who had come out to
meet him, but he would not let them come near, and said

good day” from a distance. The Duchesse de Bourgogne had
had the small pox, but no trace was left.

The King only liked his own houses, and could not bear to

174

MEMOIKS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

be anywhere else. Tliis was why his visits to Meudon were
few and short, and only made from complaisance. Madame de
Maintenon was still more out of her element there. Althouo-h
her chamber was everywhere a sanctuary, where only ladies
entitled to the most extreme familiarity entered, she always
wanted another retreat near at hand entirely inaccessible ex¬
cept to the Duchesse de Bourgogne alone, and that only for a
few instants at a time. Thus she had Saint Cyr for Versailles
and for Marly ; and at Marly also a particular retiring place ;
at Fontainebleau she had her town house. Seeing therefore
that Monseigneur was getting on well, and that a long sojourn
at Meudon would be necessary, the upholsterers of the King
were ordered to furnish a house in the park which once Be¬
longed to the Chancellor le Tellier, but which Monseigneur had
bought.

When I arrived at Versailles, I wrote to M. de Beauvilliers
at Meudon praying him to apprise the King that I had returned
on account of the illness of Monseigneur, and that I would
have gone to see him, but that, never having had the small pox
I was included in the prohibition. M. de Beauvilliers did as I
asked, and sent word back to me that my return had been
very well timed, and that the King stiR forbade me as well as
Madame de Saint-Simon to go to Meudon. This fresh prohibi¬
tion did not distress me in the least. I was informed of all
that was passing there, and that satisfied me.

There were yet contrasts at Meudon worth noticing. Made¬
moiselle Choin never appeared while the King was with Mon¬
seigneur, but kept close in her loft. When the coast was clear
she came out, and took up her position at the sick man’s bed¬
side. AR sorts of compRments passed between her and Madame
de Maintenon, yet the two ladies never met. The King asked
Madame de Maintenon if she had seen MademoiseRe Choin, and
upon learning that she had not, was but Rl-pleased. Therefore
Madame de Maintenon sent excuses and apologies to Mademoi¬
selle Choin, and hoped she said to see her soon,—strange com-
plimenis from one chamber to another under the same roof.
They nevm: saw each other afterwards.

THE COURT OF THE DUC HE BOURGOGNE.

175

It should be observed, that P^re Tellier was also incognito at
lleudon, and dwelt in a retired room from which he issued
to see the King, but never approached the apartments of Mon-
iseigneur.

Yersailles presented another scene. Monseigneur le Due
;and Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne held their Court openly
there; and this Court resembled the first gleamings of the dawn
All the Court assembled there; all Paris also ; and as discretion
:and precaution were never French virtues, all Meudon came as
well. People were believed on their word when they declared
that they had not entered the apartments of Monseigneur that
•day, and consequently could not bring the infection. When
the Prince and Princesse rose, when they went to bed, when
they dined and supped with the ladies,—all public conversa¬
tions—all meals—all assemblies—were opportunities of paying
court to them. The apartments could not contain the crowd.
The characteristic features of the room were many. Couriers
arrived every quarter of an hour, and reminded people of the
illness of Monseigneur—he was going on as well as could be
■expected ; confidence and hope were easily felt; but there was
an extreme desire to please at the new Court. The young
Prince and Princesse exhibited majesty and gravity, mixed
with gaiety; obligingly received all, continually spoke to every
■one ; the crowd wore an air of complaisance; reciprocal satis¬
faction showed in every face; the Due and Duchesse de Berry
were treated almost as, nobody. Thus five days fled away in
increasing thought of future events—in preparation to be ready
for whatever might happen.

On Tuesday, the 14th of April I went to see the Chancellor,
and asked for information upon the state of Monseigneur. He
-assured me it was good, and repeated to me the words Fagon
had spoken to him, “that things were going on according to their
wishes, and beyond their hopes.” The Chancellor appeared, to
me very confident, and I had faith in him, so much the more,
because he was on an extremely good footing with Monseigneun
The Prince, indeed, had so much recovered, that the fish-women
• came in a body the self-same day to congratulate him, as they

176

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

did after his attack of indigestion. They threw themselves at
the foot of his bed, which they kissed several times, and in
their joy said they would go back to Paris and have a Te De'vu'm
sung. But Monseigneur, who was nob insensible to these
marks of popular affection, told them it was not yet time,,
thanked them, and gave them a dinner, and some money.

As I was going home, I saw the Duchesse d’Orl^ans walking
on a tenace. She called to me; but I pretended not to notice
her, because La Montauban was with her, and hastened home,,
my mind fiUed with this news, and withdrew to my cabinet.
Almost immediately afterwards Madame la Duchesse d’Orldans
joined me there. We were bursting to speak to each other
alone, upon a point on which our thoughts were alike. She
had left Meudon not an hour before, and she had the same tale
to tell as the Chancellor. Everybody was at ease there she
said; and then she extoUed the care and capacities of the doc¬
tors, exaggerating their success; and, to speak frankly and to
our shame, she and I lamented together to see Monseigneur, in
spite of his age and his fat, escape from so dangerous an illness.
She reflected seriously but wittily, that after an illness of this,
sort,^ apoplexy was not to be looked for; that an attack of indi¬
gestion was equally unlikely to arise, considering the care
Monseigneur had taken not to over-gorge himself since his
recent danger; and we concluded more than dolefully, that
henceforth we must make up our minds that the Prince would
live and reign for a long time. In a word, we let ourselves loose
in this rare conversation, although not without an occasional
scruple of conscience which disturbed it. Madame de Saint-
Simon aU devoutly tried what she could to put a di^ag upon
our tongues, but the drag broke, so to speak, and we continued,
our free discourse, humanly speaking very reasonable on our'
pa^, but which we felt, nevertheless, was not according to
religion. Thus two hours passed, seemingly very short. Ma¬
dame d’Orleans went away, and I repaired with Madame do
Saint-Simon to receive a numerous company.

Wlule thus an was tranquillity at Versailles, and even at
eudon, everything had changed its aspect at the chateau. Tho

THE DISEASE INCREASES.

177

King had seen Monseigneur several times during the day; but
in his after-dinner visit he was so much struck with the
extraordinary swelling of the face and of the head, that he
shortened his stay, and on leaving the chateau, shed tears.
He was re-assured as much as possible, and after the council
he took a walk in the garden.

Nevertheless Monseigneur had already mistaken Madame la
Princesse de Conti for some one else; and Boudin, the doctor,
was alarmed. Monseigneur himself had been so from the first’
and he admitted, that for a long time before being attacked, he
had been very unwell, and so much on Good Friday, that he
had been unable to read his prayer-book at chapel.

Towards four o’clock he grew worse, so much so that Boudin
proposed to Fagon to caU in other doctors, more familiar with
the disease than they were. But Fagon flew into a rage at
this, and would call in nobody. He declared that it would bo
better to act for themselves, and to keep Monseigneur’s state
secret, although it was hourly growing worse, and towards
seven o’clock was perceived by several valets and courtiers.
But nobody dared to open his mouth before Fagon, and the
King was actually allowed to go to supper and to finish it'
without interruption, believing on the faith of Fagon that
Monseigneur was going on well.

While the King supped thus tranquilly, all those who were
in the sick chamber began to lose their wits. Fagon and the
others poured down physic on physic, without leaving time for
any to work. The CW, who was accustomed to go and learn
the news every evening, found, against all custom, the doors
thrown wide open, and the valets in confusion. He entered
the chamber, and perceiving what was the matter, ran to the
bedside, took the hand of Monseigneur, spoke to him of God,
and seeing him full of consciousness, but scarcely able to speak’
drew from him a sort of confession, of which nobody had’
hitherto thought, and suggested some acts of contrition. The
poor Prince repeated distinctly several words suggested to him
and confusedly answered others, struck his breast, squeezed the
Curd 8 hand, appeared penetrated with the best sentiments, and
VOL. IL TO

178

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOH.

received with a contrite and willing air the ahsolntion of the
Cure.

As the King rose from the supper-tahle, he well nigh fell
backward when Fagon, coming forward, cried in great trouble
that all was lost. It may be imagined what terror seized all
the company at this abrupt passage from perfect security to
hopeless despair. The King, scarcely master of himself, at once
began to go towards the apartment of Monseigneur, and re¬
pelled very stiffly the indiscreet eagerness of some courtiers
who wished to prevent him, saying that he would see his son
again, and be quite certain that nothing could be done. As be
was about to enter the chamber, Madame la Princesse de Conti
presented herself before him, and prevented him from going in.
She pushed him back with her hands, and said that henceforth
he had only to think of himself. Then the King, nearly faint¬
ing from a shock so complete and so sudden, fed upon a sofa
that stood near. He asked unceasingly for news of all -who
passed, but scarce anybody dared to reply to him. He had sent
for Pere Tellier who went into Monseigneur’s room; but it was
no longer time. It is true the Je-suit, perhaps to console the
King, said that he gave him a well-founded absolution. Madame
de Maintenon hastened after the King, and sitting down beside
him on the same sofa, tried to crj’-. She endeavoured to
lead away the King into the carriage already waiting for him
in the court-yard, but he would not go, and sat thus outside the
door untd Monseigneur had expired.

The agony, without consciousne.ss, of Monseigneur lasted
more than an hour after the King had come into the cabinet.
Madame la Ducbesse and Madame la Princesse de Conti
divided their cares between the dying man and the King, to
whom they constantly came hnck; whilst the faculty con¬
founded, the valets bewildered, the courtiers hurrying and
murmuring, husiled against each other, and moved unceasingly
to and fro, backwards and forwards, in the same narrow space.
At ImI the &t^ moment arrived. Fagon came out, and allowed
m much to he understood.

The King, much afflicted, and very grieved that Monseignenr’s

COOLNESS OF THE KING.

179

confession Lad been so tardily made, abused Fagon a little; and
went away led by Madame de Maintenon and tbe two Princ^es.
He was somewhat struck by finding tbe vehicle of Monseigneur
outside; and made a sign that he would have another coach, for
that one made him suffer, and left the chateau. He was not,
however, so much occupied with his grief that he could not
call Pontchartrain to arrange the hour of the council of the
next day. I will not comment on this coolness, and shall
merely say it surprised extremely aU present; and that if
Pontchartrain had not said the council could be put off, no in¬
terruption to business would have taken place. The King got
into his coach with difficulty, supported on both sides.
Madame de Maintenon seated herself beside him. A crowd of
officers of Monseigneur lined both sides of the court on their
knees, as he passed out, crjdng to him with strange bowlings
to have compassion on them, for they had lost all, and must die
of hunger.

12—2

180

MEMOIES OF THE DOKE OP SAINT-SIMON,

CHAPTEE XIX.

A rumour reaches Versailles—Aspect of the Couii;—Various forms of mrief
—The Due d’Orleans—The news confirmed at Versailles—BehaviotTr of
the Courtiers—The Due and Duchesse de Berry—The Due and Ducliesse
de Bourgogne—Madame—A Swiss asleep—Picture of a Court—The I-Ieir
Aj^arent’s night—The Eing returns to Maidy-Character of Monsei^eur
—Effect of his Death. ®

While Meudon was filled with horror, all was tranquil at
Versailles, without the least suspicion. We had supped. The
company some time after had retired, and I was talking with
Madame de Saint-Simon, who had nearly finished undressing
herself to go to bed, when a servant of Madame la Duchesse do
Berry, who had formerly belonged to us, entered, all terrified,
lie said that there must be some bad news from Meudon, since
Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne had just whispered in the
ear of M. le Due de Berry, whose eyes had at once become red,
that he left the table, and that all the company shortly ufter
him rose with precipitation. So sudden a change rendered my
surprise extreme. I ran in hot haste to Madame la Duchesse
de Berry’s. Nobody was there. Everybody had gone to
Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne. I followed on with all
speed.

I found all Versailles assembled on arriving, all the ladies
hastily dressed—the majority having been on the point of
going to bed—all the doors open, and all in trouble. I learnt
that Monseigneur had received the extreme unction, that he
was without consciousness and beyond hope, and that the King
had sent word to Madame de Bourgogne that he was going to

ASPECT OP THE COURT.

181

Marly, and tliat she was to meet Mm as he passed through the
avenue between the two stables.

The spectacle before me attracted all the attention I could
bestow. The two I^rinces and the two Princesses were in the
little cabinet behind the bed. The bed toilette was as usual in
the chamber of the Duchesse de Bourgogne, which was filled
with all the Court in confusion. She came and went from the
cabinet to the chamber, waiting for the moment when she was
to meet the King j and her demeanour, always distinguished by
the same graces, was one of trouble and compassion, which the
trouble and compassion of others induced them to take for
grief. Now and then, in passing, she said a few rare words.
All present wore in truth expressive personages. Whoever had
eyes, without any knowledge of the Court, could see the
interests of all interested painted on their faces, and the in¬
difference of the indifferent ; these tranq^uil, the former pene¬
trated with grief, or gravely attentive to themselves to hide
their emancipation and their joy.

For my part, my first care was to inform myself thoroughly
of the state of affairs, fearing lest there might bo too much
alarm for too trifling a cause j then, recovering myself, I
reflected upon the misery common to all men, and that I my¬
self should find myself some day at the gates of death. Joy,
nevertheless, found its way through the momentary reflections
of religion and of humanity, by which I tried to master myself.
My own private deliverance seemed so great and so unhoped
for, that it appeared to me that the State must gain everything
by such a loss. And with these thoughts I felt, in spite of my¬
self, a lingering fear lest the sick man should recover, and was
extremely ashamed of it.

Wrapped up thus in myself, I did not fad, nevertheless, to
cast clandestine looks upon each face, to see what was passing
there. I saw Madame la Duchesse d’Orldans arrive, but her
countenance, majestic and constrained, said nothing. She went
into the little cabinet, whence she presently issued with the
Due d’OrMans, whose activity and turbulent air marked his
•emotion at tho spectacle more than any other sentiment. They

182 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON,

went away, and I notice this expressly, on account of what-
happened afterwards in my presence.

Soon afterwards I caught a distant glimpse of the Due de
Dourgogne, who seemed much moved and troubled; but the
glance with which I probed him rapidly, revealed nothiuo*-
tender, and told merely of a mind profoundly occupied with the
bearings of what had taken place.

Valets and chamber-women were already indiscreetly crying*
out; and iliGir grief showed well that they wore about to lose
something!

Towards half-past twelve we had news of the King, and
immediately after Madame de Bourgogne came out of the little
cabinet with the Due, who seemed more touched than when I
first saw him. The Princesse took her carf and her coifs from
the'toilette, standingwith a deliberate air, her eyes scarcely wet
—a fact betrayed by inquisitive glances cast rapidly to the right
and left—and, followed only by her ladies, went to her coach
by the great staircase.

I took the opportunity to go to the Duchesse d’Orldans,
where I found many people. Their presence made me vei-y
impatieut; the Duchesse, who was equally impatient, took a
light and went in. I whispered in the ear of the Duchesse do
Villeroy, who thought as I thought of this event. She nudged
me, and said in a very low voice that I must contain myself.
I was smothered with silence, amidst the complaints and tho
narrative surprises of those ladies; but at last M. lo Due
d Orleans appeared at tho door of his cabinet, and beckoned
me to come to him.

I followed him into tho cabinet, whore wo wore alone.
What was my surprise, remomboring the terms on which ho
was with Monseigneur, to see the tears streaming from his eyos.

“ Sir r exclaimed I, rising. Ho understood me at once; and
answered in a broken voice, really crying: "You are right to
be surprised—I am surprised myself; but such a spectacle
touches. He was a man with whom I passed much of my life,,
and who treated me well when he was uninfluenced. I feel,
very well that my grief won’t last long; in a few days I shall

THE NEWS CONFIRMED AT VERSAILLES. 183

discover motives of joyj at present, blood, relationship, bn-
manity,—all work; and my entrails are moved.” I praised his
sentiments, but repeated my surprise. He rose, thrust his
head into a corner, and with his nose there, wept bitterly and
sobbed, which if I had nofc seen I could not have believed.

After a little silence, however, I exhorted him to calm him¬
self. I represented to him that, everybody knowing on what
terms he had been with Monseigneur, he would be laughed at,
as playing a part, if his eyes showed that he had been weeping.
He did what ho could to remove the marks of his tears, and
we then wont back into the other room.

The interview of the Duchossc do Boui*gogne with the King
had not boon long. She mot him in the avenue between^ the
two stables, got down, and went to the door of tho carriage.
Madame do Maintonon cried out, “ Whore are you going ? Wo
boar tho plague about with us.” I do not know what tho
Iving said or did. The Princosso returned to hor carriage, and
came back to Versailles, bringing in reality the first news of
tho actual death of Monsoignour.

Acting upon tho advice of M. do Beauvilliers, all the company
had gone into tho salon. The two Princes, Monseigneur do
Bourgogne and M. de Berry, were there, seated on one sofa,
their Princesses at their side; all the rest of the company wore
scattered about iii confusion, seated or standing, some of the
ladies being on the floor, near the sofa. There could bo no doubt
of what had happened. It was plainly written on every face
in the chamber and throughout tho apartment. Monseigneur
was no more: it was known; it was spoken of; constraint with
respect to him no longer existed. Amidst the surprise, the
confusion, and the movements that prevailed, the sentiments ol
all were painted to the life in looks and gestures.

In tho outside rooms were hoard the constrained groans and
sighs of tho valets—-grieving for the master they had lost as
well as for tho master that had succeeded. Farther on begaix
tho crowd of courtiers of all kinds. Tho greater number— that
is to say tho fools—pumpod up sighs as well as they could,
and with wandering but dry eyes, sung the praises of Mon-

184

MEMOIES OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

seigneur—insisting especially on Lis goodness. They pitied
the King for the loss of so good a son. The keener began
already to be uneasy about the health of the King; and admired
themselves for preserving so much judgment amidst so much
trouble, which could be perceived by the frequency of their

repetitions. Others, really aflicted—the discomfited Cabal_

wept bitterly^ and kept themselves under with an effort as easy
to notice as sobs. The most strong-minded or the wisest, with
eyes fixed on the ground, in corners, meditated on the con¬
sequences of such an event—and especially on their own in¬
terests. Few words passed in conversation—here and there an
exclamation wrung from grief was answered by some neigh¬
bouring grief—a word every quarter of an hour—sombre and
haggard eyes—movements quite involuntary of the hands—
immobility of all other parts of the body. Those who already
looked upon the event as favourable in vain exaggerated their
gravity so as to make it resemble chagrin and severity; the
veil over their faces was transparent and hid not a single
feature. They remained as motionless as those who grieved
most, fearing opinion, curiosity, their own satisfaction, their
every movement; but their eyes made up for their immobility.
Indeed they could not refrain from repeatedly changing their
attitude like people ill at ease, sitting or standing, from
avoiding each other too carefully, even from allowing their eyes
to meet—nor repress a manifest air of liberty—nor conceal their
increased liveliness—nor put out a sort of brilliancy which dis¬
tinguished them in spite of themselves.

The two Princes, and the two Princesses who sat by their
sides, were more exposed to view than any other. The Due de
Bourgogne wept with tenderness, sincerity, and gentleness, the .
tears of nature, of religion, and patience. Dd. le Due de Berry
also sincerely shed abundance of tears, but bloody tears, so to
speak, so great appeared their bitterness; and he uttered not
only sobs, but cries, nay, even yells. He was silent sometimes,
but from suffocation, and then would burst out again with such
a noise, such a trumpet sound of despair, that the majority
present burst out also at these dolorous repetitions, either im-

185

THE DTJOHBSSE HE BOUEGOGNE AND MADAME.

pelled by affliction or decorum. He became so bad, in fact,
ijliat bis people were forced to undress him then and there, pD.fc
Him to bed, and call in the doctor. Madame la Duchesse de
3Berry was beside herself, and we shall soon see why. The
3miost bitter despair was painted with horror on her face.
There was seen written, as it were, a sort of furious grief,
Ibased on interest, not affection; now and then came dry lulls
•deep and sullen, then a torrent of tears and involuntary
gestures, yet restrained, which showed extreme bitterness of
mind, fruit of the profound meditation that had preceded.
Often aroused by the cries of her husband, prompt to assist
him, to support him, to embrace him, to give her smelling-
hottle, her care for him was evident; but soon came another
profound reverie—then a gush of tears assisted to suppress her
•cries. As for Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne she consoled
her husband with less trouble than she had to appear herself
in -want of consolation. Without attempting to play a part, it
was evident that she did her best to acq^uit herself of a pressing
■duty of decorum. But she found extreme difficulty in keeping
up appearances. When the Prince her brother-in-law howled,
■she blew her nose. She had brought some tears along with
her and kept them up with care; and these combined with
the art of the handkerchief, enabled her to redden her eyes,
and make them swell, and smudge her face; but her glances
•often wandered on the sly to the countenances of all present.

Madame arrived, in full dress she knew not why, and howl¬
ing she knew not why, inundated everybody with her tears in
embracing them, making the chateau echo with renewed cries,
and furnished the odd spectacle of a Princess putting on her
robes of ceremony in the dead of night to come and cry among
a crowd of women with but little on except their night dresses,
.—almost as masq_ueraders.

In the gallery several ladies, Madame la Duchesse d’Orl^ans,
Madame de Castries, and Madame de Saint-Simon among the
rest, finding no one close by, drew near each other by the side
of a tent-bedstead, and began to open their hearts to each other,
which they did with the more freedom, inasmuch as they had

18G

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

but one sentiment in common upon wlmt liad occurred. In
this gallery, and in the salon, there woro always during tlio
night several bods, in which, for security’s sake, certain Swiss
guards and servants slept. Those bods had boon put in their
usual place this evening before the bad nows came from Moudom
In the midst of the conversation of the ladies, Madame do Cas¬
tries touched the bod, felt something move, and was much ter¬
rified. A moment after they saw a sturdy arm, nearly naked,
raise on a sudden the curtains, and thus sliow them a groat
brawny Swiss under the sheets, half awake, and wholly amazed.
The fellow was a long time in making out his position, fixing
his eyes upon every face one after the other; but at last, siot
judging it advisable to got up in the midst of such a grand
company, he reburied himself in his bed, and closed the curtains.
Apparently the good man had gone to bed before anything bad
transpired, and had slept so soundly ever since that he had not
been aroused until then. Tho saddest sights have often tho
most ridiculous contrasts. This caused some of the ladies to
laugh, and made Madame d’Orleans fear lost tho conversation
should have been overheard. But after reflection, the sloop and
the stupidity of tho sleeper reassured her.

I had some doubts yet as to tho event that had taken place;
for I did not like to abandon myself to belief, until tlio word
was pronounced by some one in whom I could have faith. By
chance I met B’O., and I asked him. He answered mo clearly
that Monscigneur was no more. Thus answered, I tried not to
be glad. I know not if I succoodod well, but at least it is
certain, that neither joy nor sorrow blunted my curiosity, and
that while taking due care to preserve all decorum, I did not
consider myself in any way forced to play tho doleful I no
longer feared any fresh attack from the citadel of Meudon, nor
any cruel charges from its implacable garrison. I felt, there¬
fore, under no constraint, and followod every face with my
glances, and tried to scrutinise them, unobserved. It must bo
admitted, that for him who is well acipuaintod with the pri¬
vacies of a Court, the first sight of rare events of this nature, so
interesting in so many different respects, is extremely satis-

PICTTJEE OF A COURT.

187

factory. Every countenance recals tlie cares, tlie intrigues, tlie
labours employed in tlie advancement of fortunes—in tbe over-
tlirow of rivals: tlie relations, tlie coldness, tlie Hatreds, the
evil offices done, the baseness of all; hope, despair, rage, satis¬
faction, express themselves in, the features. See how all eyes
.j^sandor to and fro examining what passes around—how some
are astonished to find others more mean, or less mean than was
expected! Thus this spectacle produced a pleasure, which,
hollow as it may be, is one of the greatest a Court can bestow.

The turmoil in this vast apartment lasted about an hour, at
the end of which M. de Beaiivilliers thought it was high time
to deliver the Princes of their company. The rooms were
cleared. IVT. Ic Due do Berry went away to his rooms, partly
supported by his wife. All through the night he asked, amid
tears and cries, for news from Meudon; he would not under¬
stand the cause of the King’s departure to Marly. 'When at
length the mournful curtain was drawn from before his eyes^
tlnf state ho fell into cannot be described. The night of Mon-
soignour and Madame de Bourgogne was more tranquil. Some
one having said to the Princesse, that having no real cause to
bo affected, it would be terrible to play a part, she replied, quite
naturally, that without feigning, pity touched her and decorum
controlled her j and indeed she kept herself within these bounds
with truth and decency. Their chamber, in which they invited
several kdies to pass the night in arm-chairs, became immedi¬
ately a palace of Morpheus. All quietly fell asleep. The cur¬
tains were loft open, so that the Prince and Princesse could be
soon sleeping profoundly. They woke up once or twice for a
moment. In the morning the Due and Duchesse rose early,
tlxoir tears quite dried up. They shed no more for this cause
except on special and rare occasions. The ladies who had
watched and slept in their chamber, told their friends how-
traruiiul the night had been. But nobody was surprised, and
as there was no longer a Monseigneur, nobody was scandalised.
Madamo do Saint-Simon and I remained up two hours before
going to bed, and then went there without feeling any want ot
rest. In fact, I slept so little that at seven in the morning I

188 MEMOmS OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

was up; but it must be admitted that sucb restlessness is sweet,
and sucb re-awakenings are savoury.

I-Iorror reigned at Mcudon. As soon as tbe King left, all tbo
eourtiors left also, crowding into the first carriages that came-
In an instant Men don was empty. Mademoiselle Choin re¬
mained alone in her garret, and unaware of what bad taken
place. Sbe learned it only by tbe cry raised. Nobody thought
of tolbng her. At last some friends went up to her, hurried
her into a hired coach, and took her to Paris. The dispersion
was general. One or two valets, at the most, remained near
the body. La Vrilli^ire, to his praise be it said, was the only
courtier who, not having abandoned Monseigneur during life,
did not abandon him after his death. He had some difficulty
to find somebody to go in search of Capuchins to pray over the
corpse. The decomposition became so rapid and so groat, that
the opening of the windows was not enough; the Capuchins,
La Vrillihre, and the valets, were compelled to pass the night
outside.

At Marly everybody had felt so confident that the King's
return there was not dreamt of. Nothing was ready, no keys
of the rooms, no fires, scarcely an end of candle. The King
was more than an hour tlius with Madame de Maintenon and
■other ladies in one of tho ante-chambers. The King retired
into a corner, seated between Madame de Maintenon and two
other ladies, and wept at long intervals. At last the chamber
of Madame de Maintenon was ready. The King entered, re¬
mained there an hour, and then went to bed at nearly four
o’clock in the morning.

Monseigneur was rather tall than short; very fat, but with¬
out being bloated; with a very lofty and noble aspect without
any harshness; and he would have had a very agreeable face if
M, le Prince de Conti had not unfortunately broken his nose in
playing while they were both young. He was of a very beau¬
tiful fair complexion; he had a face everywhere covered with
a healthy red, but without expression; the most beautiful legs
in the world; his feet singularly small and delicate. Ho
wavered always in walking, and felt his way with his feet; he

CHARACTER OE MONSEIGNETJR.

189

was always afraid of falling, and if tlie path was not perfectly
even and straight, he called -for assistance. He was a good
horseman, and looked well when mounted; hut he was not a
hold ridei’. When hunting—they had persuaded him'that he
liked this amusement—a servant rode before him; if he lost
sight of this servant he gave himself up for lost, slacked his
pace to a gentle trot, and oftentimes waited under a tree for
the hunting party, and returned to it slowly. He was very
fond of the table, hut always without indecency. Ever since
that great attack of indigestion, which was taken at first for
apoplexy, he made hut one real meal a day, and was content,—
although a great eater, like th e rest of the royal family. Nearly
all his portraits well resemble him.

As for his character he had none; he was without enlighten¬
ment or knowledge of any kind, radically incapable of acq[uiring
any; very idle, without imagination or productiveness; with¬
out taste, without choice, without discernment; neither seeing
the weariness he caused others, nor that he was as a hall moving
at hap-hajsard by the impulsion of others; obstinate and little
to excess in everything; amazingly credulous and accessible to
prejudice, keeping himself, always, in the most pernicious hands,
yet incapable of seeing his position or of changing it; absorbed
in his fat and his ignorance; so that without any desire to do
ill he would have made a pernicious Bang.

His avariciousness, except in certain things, passed all belief.
He kept an account of his personal expenditure, and knew to a
penny what his smallest and his largest expenses amounted to.
Ho spent large sums in building, in furniture, in jewels, and in
hunting, which he made himself believe he was fond of.

It is inconceivable the little he gave to Ija Choin, whom he
so much loved. It never exceeded four hundred louis a quarter
in gold, or sixteen hundred louis a year, whatever the louis
might be worth. He gave them to her with his own hand,
without adding or subtracting a pistole, and, at the most, made
her but one present a year, and that he looked at twice before
giving. It was said that they were married, and certain cir¬
cumstances seemed to justify this rumour. As, for instance,

190

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

during the illness of Monseignenr, the King, as I have said,
asked Madame de Maintenon if she had seen Mademoiselle
Choin, and upon receiving a negative reply, was displeased.
Instead of driving her away from the chateau he inquired par¬
ticularly after her! This, to say the least, looked as though
Mademoiselle Choin was Monseigneur’s Maintenon; hut the
matter remained incomprehensible to the last. Mademoiselle
Choin threw no light upon it, although she spoke on many
other things concerning Monseigneur in the modest home at
Paris, to which she had retired for the rest of her days. The
King gave her a pension of twelve thousand livres.

Monseigneur was, I have said, ignorant to the last degree,
and had a thorough aversion for learning; so that, according to
his own admission, ever since he had been released from the
hands of teachers he had never read anything except the article
in the “ Gazette de France,” in which deaths and marriages are
recorded. His timidity, especially before the King, was equal
to his ignorance, which indeed contributed not a little to cause
it. The King took advantage of it, and never treated him as a
son, but as a subject. He was the monarch always, never the
father. Monseigneur had not the slightest influence with the
King. If he showed any preference for a person it was enough!
That person was sure to be kept back by the King. The King
was so anxious to show that Monseigneur could do nothing,
that Monseigneur after a time did not even try. He contented
himself by complaining occasionally in monosyllables, and by
hoping for better times.

The body of Monseigneur so soon grew decomposed, that im¬
mediate burial was necessary. At midnight on Wednesday he
was carried, with but little ceremony, to St. Denis, and de¬
posited in the royal vaults. His funeral services were said at
St. Denis on the 18th of the foUowing June, and atN6tre Dame
on the 8rd of July. As the procession passed through Paris
nothing but cries, acclamations, and eulogiums of the defunct
were heard. Monseigneur had, I know not how, much ■ en¬
deared himself to the common people of Paris, and this senti¬
ment soon gained the provinces; so true it is, that in France it
costs little to its Princes to make themselves almost adored!

MOTIVES OF CONSOLATION.

191

Tho King soon got over liis affiction for the loss of this son
•of fifty. Never was a man so ready with tears, so backward
with grief, or so promptly restored to his ordinary state- The
morning after the death of Monseignenr he rose late, called M.
do Boanvilliors into his cabinet, shed some more tears, and then
said that from that time Monseigneur le Due de Bourgogne and
Madame la Duchesse do Bourgogne were to enjoy the honours,
the rank, and tho name of Dauphin and of Dauphine. Hence¬
forth I shall call them by no other names.

My joy at this change may be imagined. In a few clays all
my causes of disquietude had been removed, and I saw a future
opening before mo full of light and promise. Monseigneur le
Due do Bourgogne become Dauphin, heir to the throne of
Franco; what favour might I not hope for ? I could not con-
•ccal or control my satisfaction.

But alas! it was soon followed by sad disappointment and
grievous sorrow.^

Tho death of Monaeigiietir leaving Louis XIT. almost in his dotage, on
tho throno, Bun-ouncled by young princes and princesses impatient for a new
reign worked a wonderful change in the Court of France. The subsequent
part of those Memoirs will show the steps that led to the Regency of the
Duo d’OrWans, and describe the state of France under that prince.

192

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

CHAPTER XX.

State of the Court at death of Monseignour—Conduct of the Dauplun and'
the Damhine—The Dunhesse do Berry—My interview with the i)au-
phin—He is reconciled with M. d’Orldans.

The death of Monseignour, as we have seen, mado a great
change in the aspect of the Court and in the relative positions
of its members. But the two persons to whom I must chiefly
direct attention are the Buchesse do Bourgogne and the
Duchesso do Berry. The former, on account of her husband’s
fall in the opinion of his father, had long boon out of favour
likowiso. Although Monsoignour had begun to treat her less
well for a long time, and most harshly during the campaign of
Lille, and above all after the expulsion of the Due do Vondthno
from Mailly and Moudon; yet after the marriage of the J)nc do
Beriy his coldness had still further increased. Tho adroit
princess, it is true, had rowed against the current with a steadi¬
ness and grace capable of disarming oven a woll-foundod re¬
sentment ; but tho persons who surrounded him looked upon
the melting of the ice as dangerous for their projects. Tho Due
and Buchesse do Bourgogne were every day still further
removed in comparative disgrace.

Things even went so far, that apropos of an engagement
broken oflf, the Buchesse resolved to exert her power instead
of her persuasion, and threatened the two Lillebonnes. A sort
of reconciliation was then patched up, but it was neither sincere
nor apparently so.

The cabal which laboured to destroy the Due and Buchesse

INFLUENCE OE THE CABAL,

193

de Bourgogne was equally assiduous in augmenting tlie in¬
fluence of the Duo de Berry, whose wife had at once been ^
admitted without having asked into the sanctuary of the
I’arvnlo. The object was to disunite the two brothers and
excite jealousy between them. In this they did not succeed
even in the slightest degree. But they found a formidable ally
in the Duchesse de Berry, who proved as full of wickedness and
ambition as any among them. The Due d’Orl6ans often called
his Duchesse Madame Lucifer, at which she used to smile with
complacency. He was right, for she would have been a prodigy
of pride had she not had a daughter who far surpassed her.
This is not yet the time to paint their portraits; but I must
give a word or two of explanation on the Duchesse de Berry.

That princess was a marvel of wit, of pride, of ingratitude
and folly—nay, of debauchery and obstinacy. Scarcely had she
been married a week when she began to exhibit herself in all
thcBG lights,—not too manifestly it is true, for one of the qualities
of which she was most vain was her falsity and power of con¬
cealment, but sufficient to make an impression on those around
her. People soon perceived how annoyed she was to be the
daughter of an illegitimate mother, and to have lived under her
restraint however mild; how she despised the weakness of her
father, the Duo d’Orl4ans, and how confident she was of her in¬
fluence over him; and how she had hated all who had inter¬
fered in her marriage—merely because-she could not bear to be
under obligations to any one—a reason she was absurd enough
publicly to avow and boast of. Her conduct was now based
on those motives. This is an example of how in this world
people work with their heads in a sack, and how human pru¬
dence and wisdom are sometimes confounded by successes
which have been reasonably desired and which turn out to he
detestable! We had brought about this marriage to avoid a
marriage with Mademoiselle de Bourbon and to cement the
union of the two brothers. We now discovered that there was
little danger of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, and then instead of,
her we had a Fury who had no thought but bow to ruin, those
who had established her, to injure her benefactors, to make her

VOL. IT.

194 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOK

husband and her brother quarrel, and to put herself in tho
power of her enemies because they were the enemies of her
natural friends. It never occurred to her that the cabal would
not be likely to abandon to her the fruit of so much labour and
so many crimes.

It may easily bo imagined that she was neither gentle nor
docile when Madame la Duchesse began to give her advice.
Certain that her father would support her, she played the
stranger and the daughter of France with her mother. Estrange¬
ment, however, soon came on. She behaved difibrontly in form,
but in effect the same with the Duchesse do Bourgogne, who
wished to guide her as a daughter, but who soon gave up
the attempt. The Duchesse de Berry’s object could only bo
gained by bringing about disunion between the two brothers,
and for this purpose she employed as a spring the passion of her
husband for herself.

The first night at Yersailles after the death of Monseignour
was sleepless. The Dauphin and Dauphino heard mass early
next morning. I went to soo thorn. Few persons were present
on account of tbo hour. Tho Brincosso wished to be at Marly
at the King’s waking. Their eyes were wonderfully dry, but
carefully managed; and it was easy to see they were moro
occupied with their now position than with the death of Mon¬
seigneur. A smile which they exchanged as they spoke in
whispers convinced mo of this. One of their first cares was to
endeavour to increase their good relations with the Due and
Duchesse do Berry. They were to see them before they wero
up. The Duo de Berry showed himself very sensible to this act,
and tho Duchesse was eloquent, clever, and full of tears. But
her heart was wrung by these advances of pure generosity.
The separation she had planned soon followed: and the two
princesses felt relieved at no longer being obliged to dino
together.

Thus never was change greater or more marked than that
brought about by the death of Monseigneur. That prince had
become the centre of all hope and of all fear, a formidable cabal
had seized upon him, yet without awakening the jealousy of

THE DAUPHINE’S DRESS.

195

the King, before whom all trembled, but whose anxieties did
not extend beyond his own lifetime, during which and very
reasonably, he feared nothing.

Before I go any further, let me note a circumstance charac¬
teristic of the King. Madame la Bauphine went every day to
Marly to see him. On the day after the death of Monseigneur
■she received, not without surprise, easily understood, a hint
from Madame de Maintenon. It was to the effect that she
■should dress herself with some little care, inasmuch as the negli¬
gence of her attire displeased the King! The princess did not,
think that dress ought to occupy her then ; and even if she had
thought so, she would have believed, and with good reason,
that she was committing a grave fault against decorum, a fault
which would have been less readily pardoned, since in every
way she had gained too much by what had just occurred not
to be very guarded in her behaviour. On the next day she
took more pains with her toilette; but what she did not being
found sufficient, the day following she carried with her some
things and dressed herself secretly in Madame de Maintenon’s
rooms; and resumed there her ordinary apparel before returning
to Versailles. Thus she avoided offence both to the King and to
society. The latter certainly would with difficulty have been
persuaded that in this ill-timed adornment of her person, her
own tastes went for nothing. The Comtesse de Mailly, who
invented the scheme, and Madame de Nogaret, who both liked
Monseigneur, related this to me and were piqued by it. From
this fact and from the cireumstance that all the ordinary plea¬
sures and occupations were resumed immediately after the
death of Monseigneur, the King passing his days without any
constraint,—it may be assumed that if the royal grief was
bitter its evidences were of a kind to promise that it would not
be of long duration.

M. le Bauphin, for, as I have said, it is by that title I shall
now name Mcnseigneur le Buc de Bourgogne—M. le Bauphin,
I say, soon gained all hearts. In the first days of solitude fol¬
lowing upon the death of Monseigneur, the King intimated
to M. de Beauvilliers that he should not care to see the new

13—2

196 MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

Dauphin go very often to Meudon. This was enough, M. lo
Dauphin at once declared that he would never sot his foot in
that palace, and that he would never quit the King. He was an
good as his word, and not one single visit did ho over aftorwarclH-
pay to Meudon. The King wished to give him fifty thousand
livres a month, Monsoignour having had that sum. M. lo
Dauphin would not accept them. He had only six thousand
livres per month. He was satisfied with double that amount
and would not receive more. This disinterestedness mucK
pleased the public. M. le Dauphin wished for nothing special
on his account, and persisted in remaining in nearly every¬
thing as he was during the life of Monseigneur. These auguriea
of a prudent and measured reign, suggested the brightest of
hopes.

Aided by his adroit spouse, who already had full possession
of the King’s heart and of that of Madame do Maintenon, M. lo
Dauphin redoubled his attentions in order to possess them also.
These attentions, addressed to Madame do Maintenon, produced
their fruit. She was transported with pleasure at finding a
Dauphin upon whom she could rely, instead of one whom sho
did not like, gave herself up to him accordingly, and by that
means secured to him the King’s favour. Tho first fortnight
made evident to everybody at Marly tho extraordinary change
that had come over tho King with respect to tlie Dauphin.
His Majesty, generally severe beyond measure with his legiti¬
mate children, showed the most marked graciousness for this
prince. The efiect of this, and of the change that had taken
place in his state, were soon most clearly visible in tho Dauphin.
Instead of being timid and retiring, diffident in speech, and
more fond of his study than of the salon, lie became on a sudden
easy and frank, sJiowing himself in public on aU occasions, con¬
versing right and left in a gay, agreeable, and dignified manner :
presiding, in fact, over the Salon of Marly, and over the groups
gathered round him, like the divinity of a temple, who receives
with goodness the homage to which he is accustomed, and re¬
compenses the mortals who offer it with gentle regard.

In a short time hunting became a less usual topic of conver-

REPUTATION OF THE DAUPHIN.

197

■Ration. History, and even science, were ton died upon lightly,
pleasantly, and discreetly, in a manner that charmed while it
instructed. The Dauphin spoke with an eloquent freedom that
opened all eyes, ears, and hearts. People sometimes, in gather¬
ing near him, were less anxious to make their court than to
listen to his natural eloquence, and to draw from it delicious
instruction. It is astonishing with what rapidity he gained
universal esteem and admiration. The public joy could not
keep silent. People asked each other if this was really the
eame man they had known as the Due de Bourgogne, whether
he was a vision or a reality ? One of M. le Dauphin’s friends,
to whom this question was addressed, gave a keen reply. He
answered, that the cause of all this surprise was, that previously
the people did not, and would not, know this prince, who,
novorthelesH, to those who had known him, was the same now
as he bad ever been; and that this justice would be rendered
to him when time had shown how much it was deserved.

From the Court to Paris, and from Paris to the provinces, the
reputation of the Dauphin flew on rapid wings. However
founded might be this prodigious success, we need not believe
it was entirely due to the marvellous qualities of the young
prince. It was in a great measure a reaction against the
hostile feeling towards him which had been excited by the
cabal, whose efforts I have previously spoken of. Now that
people saw how unjust was this feeling, their astonishment
added to their admiration. Everybody was filled with a senti¬
ment of joy at seeing the first dawn of a new state of things,
which promised so much order and happiness after such a long
confusion and so much obscurity.

Gracious as the King showed himself to M. le Dauphin, and
accustomed as the people grew to his graciousness, all the Court
was strangely surprised at a fresh mark of favour that was be¬
stowed one morning by his Majesty on this virtuous prince.
The King, after having been closeted alone with him for some
time, ordered his ministers to work with the Dauphin whenever
Rent for, and, whether sent for or not, to make him acquainted
with all public affairs; this command being given once lor all,

198 MEMOIRS OP THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

It is not easy to describe tlie prodigious movomont causod at
the Court by this order, so directly opposed to the tastes, to
tliG disposition, to the maxims, to the usage of tlio King, who
thus showed a confidence in the "Dauphin which was nothing
loss than tacitly transferring to him a largo part of the disposi¬
tion of puljlic affairs. This was a thunderbolt for tho
ministers,—who, accustomed to have almost everything their
own way, to rule over everybody and browbeat everybody at
will, to govern the state abroad and at homo, in fact,—fixing
all punishments, all recompenses, and always sheltering them¬
selves behind the royal authority—“ the King willn it so being
the phrase ever on their lips,—to these officers, I say, it was a
thunderbolt which so bewildered them, that they could not
hide their astonishment or their confusion. The public joy at
an order which reduced these ministers, or rather those kings,
to the condition of subjects, which put a curb upon their power,,
and iDrovided against the abuses they committed, was groat in¬
deed ! The ministers were compelled to bond their necks,
though stiff as iron, to the yoke. They all wont, with a hang¬
dog look, to show the Dauphin a feigned joy and a forced
obedience to the order they had received.

Hero, perha23s, I may as well sj)eak of the situation in which
X soon afterwards found myself with the Dauidun, the confi¬
dence as to the j)rc8ent and the future that I enjoyed with him,
and the many deliberations wo had upon public affairs. Tho
inattor is curious and interesting, and need no longer bo
deferred,

The Court being changed by the death of Monseigneur, I
soon began indeed to think of changing my conduct witli regard
to the new Dau^jhin. M, de Beauvilliers spoke to mo about
this matter first, but he judged, and I shared his opinion, that
slandered as I had been on ^^revious occasions, and remaining
still, as it were, half in disgrace, I must aj) 23 roaeh the Daujfiiin
only by slow degrees, and not endeavour to shelter myself
under him until his authority with the King had become sti'ong
enough to afford me a safe asylum. I believed, nevertheless,
that it would be well to sound him immediately} and on©

THE DAUPHIN AND THE DAUPHINE.

199

evening, when he was but thinly accompanied, I joined Mm in
the gardens at Marly, and profited by his gracious welcome to
say to him, on the sly, that many reasons, of which he was not
ignorant, had necessaiily kept me until then removed from him,
but that now I hoped to be able to follow with less constraint
my attachment and my inclination, and that I flattered myself
this would be agreeable to him. He replied in a low tone,
that there were sometimes reasons which fettered people, but
in our case such no longer existed; that he knew of my regard
for him, and reckoned with pleasure that we should soon see
each other more frequently than before. I am writing the
exact words of his reply, on account of the singular politeness
of the concluding ones. I regarded that reply as the successful
result of a bait that had been taken as I wished. Little by
little I became more assiduous at his promenades, but without
following them when the crowd or any dangerous people did
so ; and I spoke more freely. I remained content with seeing
the Dauphin in public, and I approached him in the Salon only
when I saw a good opportunity.

Some days after, being in the Salon, I saw the Dauphin and
the Dauphine enter together and converse. I approached and
heard their last words; they stimulated me to ask the prince
•what was in debate, not in a straightforward manner, but m a
sort of respectful insinuating way which I already adopted.
He explained to me that he was going to St. Germain to pay
an ordinary visit; that on this occasion there would be some
change in the ceremonial; explained the matter, and enlarged
with eagerness on the necessity of not abandoning legitimate

How glad I am to see you think thus, replied,'' ^ndhow
well you act in advocating these forms, the neglect of which
tarnishes everything."

He responded with warmth; and I seized the moment to say.
that if he, whose rank was so great and so decided, was rig
to pay attention to these things, how much we dukes had
reason to complain ot onr losses, and to try to sustain onrselves
Tlioroupon he entered into the question so far as to become the

200 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

advocate of our cause, and finished Tby saying that he regarded
our restoration as an act of justice important to the state; that
he knew I was well instructed in these things, and that I
should give him pleasure by talking of them some day.* He
rejoined at that moment the Dauphine, and they set off for St.
Germain.

A few days afte|‘ this the Dauphin sent for me. I entered
hy the wardrobe, where a sure and trusty valet was in waiting;
he conducted me to a cabinet in which the Dauphin was sitting
alone. Our conversation at once commenced. For a full hour
we talked upon the state of affairs, the Dauphin listening
with much attention to all I said, and expressing himself with
infinite modesty, sense, and judgment. His views, I found,
were almost entirely in harmony with mine. He was sorry, and
touchingly said so, for the ignorance of all things in which the
King was kept by his minister; he was anxious to see the
power of those ministers restricted; he looked with dislike
upon the incredible elevation of the illegitimate children; he
wished to see the order to which I belonged restored to the
position it deserved to occupy.

It is difficult to express what I felt in quitting the Dauphin.
A magnificent and near future opened out before me. I saw a
prince, pious, just, debonnaire, enlightened, and seeking to be¬
come more so; with principles completely in accord with my
own, and capacity to carry out those principles when the time
for doing so arrived. I relished deliciously a confidence so
precious and so full, upon the most momentous matters, and at
a first interview. I felt all the sweetness of this perspective,
and of my deliverance from a servitude which, in spite of my¬
self, I sometimes could not help showing myself impatient of.
I felt, too, that I now had an opportunity of elevating myself,
and of contributing to those grand works, for the happiness and
advantage of the state I so much wished to see accomplished.

A few days after this I had another interview with the
Dauphin. I was introduced secretly as before, so that no one

* This incredibly serious tone adopted in reference to mere questions of
etiquette and precedence is -worthy of remark.

THE DATJPHIK AND THE DAITPHINE. 201

perceived eitlier my coming or my departure. The same sub¬
ject we had previously touched upon we noy entered into
agaiuj and more amply than on the former occasion- The
Dauphin, in taking leave of me, gave me full permission to see
him in private as often as I desired, though in public I was
still to he circumspect.

Indeed there was need of great circumspection in carrying
on even private intercoume with the Dauphin. From this
time I continually saw him in his cabinet, talking with him in
all liberty upon the various persons of the Court, and upon the
various subjects relating to the state; but always with the
same secrecy as at first. This was absolutely neces.sary; as I
have just said, I was still in a sort of half disgrace: the King
did not regard me with the eyes of favour; Madame de
Maintenon was resolutely averse to me. If they two had sus¬
pected my strict intimacy with the heir to the throne, I should
have been assuredly lost.

To show what need there was of precaution in my private
interviews with the Dauphin, let me here relate am incident
which one day occurred when we were closeted together, and
which might have led to the gravest results.

The Prince lodged then in one of the four grand suites of
apartments, on the same level as the Salon,—^the suite that was
broken up during an illness of Madame la Piince^e de Qonti, to
make way for a grand staircase, the narrow and crooked one in
use annoying the King when he ascended it. The chamber of
the Dauphin was there; the bed had its foot towards the win¬
dows ; by the chimney was the door of the obscure wardrobe by
which I entered; between the chinfney and one of the two
windows was a little portable bureau; in front of the ordinary
entrance door of the chamber and behind the bureau v^as the
door of one of the Dauphine’s rooms; between the two windows
was a chest of drawers which was used for papera only.

There were always some moments of conversation before the
Dauphin set himself down at his bureau, and ordered me to
place myself opposite him. Having become more free with
him, I took the liberty to say one day in these first moments

202 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

of our discourse, that he would do well to bolt the door behind^
him, the door I mean of the Dauphine’s chamber. He said
that the Dauphine would not come, it not being her hour. I
replied that I did not fear that princess herself, but the crowd
that always accompanied her. He was obstinate, and would
not bolt the door, I did not dare to press him more. He sat
down before his bureau, and ordered me to sit also. Our de¬
liberation was long; afterwards we sorted our papers. Here
let me say this—Every time I went to see the Dauphin I
garnished all my pockets with papers, and I often smiled within
myself passing through the Salon, at seeing there many people*
who at that moment were in my pockets, and who were far
indeed from suspecting the important discussion that was going'
to take place. To return; the Dauphin gave me his papers to
put in my pocket, and kept mine. He locked up some in his
cupboard, and instead of locking up the others in his bureau,
kept them out, and began talking to me, his back to the chim¬
ney, his papers in one hand, his keys in the other. I was
standing at the bureau looking for some other papers, when on
a sudden the door in front of me opened, and the Dauphine
entered!

The first appearance of all three—^for, thank God ! she was
alone—the astonishment, the countenance of all have never left
my memory. Our fixed eyes, our statue-like immobility, and
our embarrassment were all alike, and lasted longer than a slow
Pater-noster. The Princesse spoke first. She said to the Prince
in a very ill-assured voice, that she had not imagined him in
such good company; smiling upon him and upon me. I had
scarce time to smile also and to lower my eyes, before the
Dauphin replied.

“Since you find me so,” said he, smiling in turn, “leave
me so.”

For an instant she looked on him, he and she both smiling at
each other more; then she looked on me, still smiling with
greater liberty than at first, made a pirouette, went away and
closed the door, beyond the threshold of which she had not
come.

MY ALAEM.

203

Never have I seen •woman so astonished; never man so
taken aback, as the Prince-after the Dauphine's departure ^
and never man, to say truth, was so afraid as I was at first,
though I quickly reassured myself when I found that our in¬
truder was alone. As soon as she had closed the door, “ Well^
Monsieur,” said I to the Dauphin, “ if you had drawn the holt ?

“ You were right,” he replied, “ and I was wrong. But no
harm is done. She was alone fortunately, and I guarantee to
you her secresy.”

“I am not troubled,” said I to him, (yet I was so mightily)
“but it is a miracle she was alone. With her suite you would
have escaped with a scolding perhaps, but for me, I should have
been utterly lost.”

He admitted again he had been wrong, and assured me more
and more that our secret was safe. The Dauphine had caught
us, not only t^te-a-t^te—of which no one had the least sus¬
picion—she had caught us in the fact, so to say, our crimes in
our hands. I felt that she would not expose the Dauphin, but
I feared an after-revelation through some over easy confidant.
Nevertheless our secret was so well kept if confided that it
never transpired. We finished, I to pocket, the Prince to lock
up, the papers. The rest of the conversation was short, and I
withdrew by the wardrobe as usual. M. de Beauvilliers, to
whom I related this adventure shortly afterwards, grew pale at
first, but recovered when I said the Dauphine was alorie. He
blamed the imprudence of the Dauphin, but assured me my
secret was safe. Ever since that adventure the Dauphine often
smiled upon me when we met, as if to remind me of it, and
showed marked attention "to me.

No sooner did I feel myself pretty firmly established on this
footing of delicious intimacy with the Dauphin than I conceived
the desire to unite him with M. le Due d’Orleans through the
means of M. de Beauvilliers. At the very outset, however, an
obstacle arose in my path.

I have already said, that the friendship of M. d’Orl^ans for
his daughter, Madame la Duchesse de Berry, had given em¬
ployment to the tongues of Satan, set in motion by hatred and

204

MEMOTES OP THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOK

jealousy. Evil reports even readied M. le Due de Berry, who
on his part, wishing to enjoy the society of his wife in full
liberty, was importuned by the continual presence near her, of
her father. To ward off a quarrel between son-in-law, and
father-in-law, based upon so false and so odious a foundation,
appeared to Madame de Saint-Simon and myself a pressing
^uty.

I had already tried to divert M. le Due d’Orleans from an
assiduity which wearied M. le Due de Berry; but I had not
succeeded. I believed it my duty then to return to the charge
more hotly; and remembering my previous ill-success, I prefaced
properly, and then said what I had to say. M. d’Orleans was
astonished; he cried out against the horror of such a vile im¬
putation and the villainy that had carried it to M le Due
de Berry. He thanked me for having warned him of it, a
service few besides myself would have rendered him. I left
him to draw the proper and natural conclusion on the conduct
he should pursue. This conversation passed one day at Versailles
about four o’clock in the afternoon.

On the morrow Madame de Saint-Simon related to me, that
returning home the previous evening, from the supper and the
cabinet of the King with Madame la Duchesse de Berry, the
Duchesse had passed straight into the wardrobe and called her
there; and then with a cold and angry air, said she was very
much astonished that I wished to get up a quarrel between
her and M. le Due d’Orleans. Madame Saint-Simon exhibited
surprise, but Madame la Duchesse de Berry declared that
nothing was so true; that I wished to estrange M. d’OrMans
from her, but that I should not succeed; and immediately
related all that I had just said to her father. He had had the
goodness to repeat it to her an hour afterwards 1 Madame de
Saint-Simon still more surprised, listened attentively to the
end, and replied that this horrible report was public, that she
herself could see what consequences it would have, false and
abominable as it might be, and feel whether it was not im¬
portant that M. le Due d’Orldans should be informed of it.
She added, that I had shown such proofs of my attachment for

205

DEBAUCHEEY OF M. D’OELEANS.

tliem and of my desire for their happiness, that I was above all
suspicion. Then she curtsied and leaving the Princess went to
bed. This scene appeared to me enormous.

For some time after this I ceased entirely to see M. le Duo
d’Orl^ans and Madame la Duchesse de Berry. They cajoled
me with all sorts of excuses, apologies, and so forth, hut I re¬
mained frozen. They redoubled their excuses aEd their prayers.
Friendship, I dare not say compassion, seduced me, and I al¬
lowed myself to be led away. In a word, we were reconciled.

I kept aloof, however, from Madame la Duchesse de Berry as
much as possible, visiting her only for form’s sake; and as
long as she lived never changed in this respect.

Being reconciled with M. d’Orldans, I again thought of my
project of uniting him to the Dauphin through M. de Beauvilliers.
He had need of some support, for on all sides he was sadly out of
favour. His debauchery and his impiety, which he had quitted
for a time after separating himself from Madame d’Argenton,
his mistress, had now seized on him again as firmly as ever.
It seemed as though there were a wager between him and his
daughter, Madame la Duchesse de Berry, which should cast
most contempt on religion and good manners.

The King was nothing ignorant of the conduct of his nephew.
He had been much shocked with the return to debauchery and
low company. The enemies of M. d’Orlto, foremost among
which was M. du Maine, had therefore everything in their
favour. As I have said, without some support M. d’Orl(ians
seemed in danger of being utterly lost.

It was no easy matter to persuade M. de Beauvilliers to fall
in with the plan I had concocted, and lend his aid to it. But, I
worked him hard. I dwelt upon the taste of the Dauphin for
history, science, and the arts, and showed what a ripe know¬
ledge of those subjects M. d’Orl^ans had, and what agreeable
conversation thereon they both might enjoy together. In brief
I won over M. de Beauvilliers to my scheme. M. d’Orl4ans, on
his side, saw without difficulty the advantage to him of union
with the Dauphin. To bring it about I laid before him two
conditions. One, that when in the presence of the Prince he

206

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

•should suppress that detestable heroism of impiety he affected,
more than he felt, and allow no licentious expressions to escape
him. The second was to go less often into evil company ah
Paris, and if he must continue his debauchery, to do so at the
least within closed doors, and avoid all public scandal. He
promised obedience, and was faithful to his promise. The
Dauphin perceived and approved the change; little by little
tlie object of my desire was gained.

As I have already said, it would be impossible for me to ex¬
press all the joy I felt at my deliverance from the dangers I
was threatened with during the lifetime of Monseigneur. My
respect, esteem, and admiration for the Dauphin grew more
and more day by day, as I saw his noble qualities blossom out
in richer luxuriance. My hopes, too, took a brighter colour
from the rising dawn of prosperity that was breaking around
me. Alas 1 that I should be compelled to relate the cruel
manner in which envious fortune took from me the cup of
gladness just as I was raising it to my lips.

EEPOETS OF POISON.

207

CHAPTER XXL

Waruinga to the Dauphin and Dauphine—The Dauphine sickens and dies—
Illness of the Dauphin—His death—Character and manners of the
Dauphine—And of the Dauphin.

On Monday, the 18th of January, 1712, after a visit to Yer-
.sailles, the King went to Marly. I mark expressly this journey.
No sooner were we settled there than Boudin, chief doctor of
the Dauphine, warned her to take care of herself, as he had re-
•ceived sure information that there was a plot to poison her and
the Dauphin, to whom he made a similar communication.
Not content with this he repeated it with a terrified manner
to everybody in the salon, and frightened all who listened to
■liira. The King spoke to him about it in private. Boudin
declared that this information was good, and yet that he did
not know whence it came; and he stuck to this contra'diction.
For, if he did.not know where the information came from, how
.could he be assured it was trustworthy ?

The most singular thing is, that twenty-four hours after
Boudin had uttered this warning, the Dauphin received a
.similar one from the King of Spain, vague, and without men¬
tioning whence obtained, and yet also declared to be of good
source. In this only the Dauphin was named distinctly—the
Dauphine obscurely and by implication—at least, so the Dau¬
phin explained the matter, and I never heard that he said
.•otherwise. People pretended to despise these stories of origin
amknown, but they were struck by them nevertheless, and in

20S

MEMOIRS OP THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

the midst of the amusements and occupations of the Courts
seriousness, silence and consternation were spread.*

The King, as I have said, went to Marly on Monday, the
18th of January, 1712. The Dauphine came there early with
a face very much swelled, and went to bed at once; yet she rose
at seven o’clock in the evening, because the King wished her to
preside in the salon. She played there, in morning dress, with
her head wrapped up, visited the King in the aj)artment of
Madame de Maintenqn just before his supper, and then again
went to bed, where she supped. On the morrow, the 19th,
she rose only to play in the salon, and see the King, returning
to her bed and supping there. On the 20th, her swelling di¬
minished, and she was better. She was subject to this com¬
plaint, which was caused by her teeth. She passed the fol¬
lowing days as usual. On Monday, the 1st of February, the
Court returned to Versailles.

On Friday, the 5th of February, the Due de Noailles gave a
very fine box full of excellent Spanish snuff to the Dauphine,
who took some, and liked it. This was towards the end of
the morning. Upon entering her cabinet (closed to everybody
else), she put this box upon the table, and left it there. To¬
wards the evening she was seized with trembling fits of fever.
She went to bed, and could not rise again even to go to the
King’s cabinet after the supper. On Saturday, the 6th of
February, the Dauphine, who had had fever all night, did not
fail to rise at her ordinary hour, and to pass the day as usual;
but in the evening the fever returned. She was but middling
all that night, a little worse the next day; but towards ten
o’clock at night she was suddenly seized by a sharp pain under
the temple. It did not extend to the dimensions of a ten sous
piece, but was so violent that she begged the King, who was
coming to see her, not to enter. This kind of madness of suf¬
fering lasted without intermission until Monday, the 8th, and

* These stories, and the subsequent events that seemed to confirm them,,
have never been explained. It is unfortunate, however, that Saint-Simon
should just previously have brought about an intimacy between the Due
d'OrlSans and the Dauphin, the Due having so repeatedly been accused of
poisoning practices.

THE DUG DE NOAILLES.

209

was proof against tobacco chewed and smoked, a quantity of
opium, and two bleedings in the arms. Fever showed itself
more when this pain was a little calmed; the Dauphin said
she had suffered more than in child-birth.

Such a violent illness filled the chamber with rumours con-
oerning the snuff-box given to the Dauphine by the Due de
Noailles. In going to bed the day she had received it and was
■seized by fever, she spoke of the snuff to her ladies, highly
praising it and the box, which she told one of them to go and
look for upon the table in the cabinet, where, as I have said, it
bad been left. The box could not be found, although looked
for high aud low. This disappearance had seemed very extra¬
ordinary from the first moment it became known. Now, joined
to the grave illness with which the Dauphine was so cruelly
assailed, it aroused the most sombre suspicions. Nothing,
however, was breathed of these suspicions, beyond a very re¬
stricted circle; for the Princess took snuff with the knowledge
of Madame de Maintenon, but without that of the King, who
would have made a fine scene if he had discovered it. This
was what was feared, if the singular loss of the box became
divulged.

Let me here say, that although one of my friends, the Arch¬
bishop of Rheims, believed to his dying day that the Due de
Noailles had poisoned the Dauphine by means of this box of
Spanish snuff, I never could iqduce myself to believe so too.
The Archbishop declared that in the manner of the Due de
Noailles, after quitting the chamber of the Princess, there was
something which suggested both confusion and contentment.
He brought forward other proofs of guilt, but they made no
impression upon me. I endeavoured, on the contrary, to shake
his belief, but my labour was in vain. I entreated him, how¬
ever, at least to maintain the most profound silence upon this
horrible thought, and he did so.

Those who afterwards knew the history of the box—and
they were in good number—were as inaccessible to suspicion
I; and nobody thought of charging the Due de Noailles
with the offence it was said he had committed. As for me, I

VOL. II. 14

210 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

"believed in his guilt so little that our intimacy remained the
same: and although that intimacy grew even up to*the death
of the King, we never spoke of this fatal snuif-hox.

During the night, from Monday to Tuesday, the 9th of
February, the lethargy was great. During the day the Kino-
approached the bed many times: the fever was strong, tlie
awakenings were short; the head was confused, and some marks
upon the skin gave tokens of measles, because they extended
quickly, and because many people at Versailles and at Paris
were known to be, at this time, attacked with that disease.
The night from Tuesday to Wednesday passed so much the more
badly, because the hope of measles had already vanished. The
King came in the morning to see Madame la Dauphin e, to
whom an emetic had been given. It operated weU, but
produced no relief The Dauphin, who scarcely ever left the
bedside of his wife, was forced into the garden to take the air
of which he had much need; but his disquiet led him back
immediately into the chamber. The malady increased towards
the evening, and at eleven o’clock there was a considerable
augmentation of fever. The night was very bad. On Thursday,
the 11th of February, at nine o’clock in the morning, the Kino-
entered the Dauphine’s chamber, which Madame de Maintenon
scarcely ever left, except when he was in her apartments. The
Princess was so ill that it was resolved to speak to her of re¬
ceiving the sacrament. Prostrated though she was she was
surprised at this. She put some questions as to her state; re¬
plies as little terrifying as possible were given to her, and little
by little she was warned against delay. Grateful for this
advice, she said she would prepare herself.

After some time, accidents being feared, Father la Due, her
(Jesuit) confessor, whom she had always appeared to like,
approached her to exhort her not to delay confession. She
looked at him, replied that she understood him, and then re¬
mained silent. Like a sensible man he saw what was the
matter, and at once said that if she had any objection to con¬
fess to him to have no hesitation in admitting it. Thereupon
she indicated that she should like to have M. Badly, priest of

.CHANGE OF A CONFESSOK.

211

the mission of the parish of Versailles. He was a man much
esteemed but not altogether free from the suspicion of Jan-
senism. Bailly, as it happened, had gone to Paris. This being
told her, the Dauphine asked for Father Noel, who was instantly
sent for.

The excitement that this change of confessor made at a
moment so critical may be imagined. All the cruelty of the
tyranny that the King never ceased to exercise over every
member of his family was now apparent. They could not have
a confessor not of his choosing! What was his surprise and
the surprise of all the Court, to find that in these last terrible
moments of life the Dauphine wished to change her confessor,
whose Order even she repudiated !

Meanwhile the Dauphin had given way. He had hidden his
own illness as long as be could, so as not to leave tbe pillow of
his Dauphine. Now the fever he had was too strong to be
dissimulated; and the doctors who wished to spare him the
sight of the horrors they foresaw, forgot nothing to induce him
to^ stay in his chamber, where, to sustain him, false news
was, from time to time, brought him of the state of his
spouse.

The confession of the Dauphine was long. Extreme unction
was administered immediately afterwards; and^ the holy
viaticum directly. An hour afterwards the Dauphine desired
the prayers for the dying to be said. They told her she was
not yet in that state, and with words of consolation exhorted
her to try and get to sleep. Seven doctors of tbe Court and of
Paris were sent for. They consulted together in the presence
of the King and Madame de Maintenon. All with one voice
were in favour of bleeding at the foot; and in case it did not have
the effect desired, to give an emetic at the end of the night.
The bleeding was executed at seven o’clock in the evening. The
return of the fever came and was found less violent than the
preceding. The night was cruel. The King came early
next morning to see the Dauphine. The emetic she took at
about nine o’clock had little efiect. The day passed in symptoms
each more sad than the other; consciousness only at rare

14—2

212

MEMOIRS OP THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOM.

intervals. All at once towards evening, tlie whole chamber
fell into dismay. A number of people were allowed to enter
although the King was there. Ju.st before she expired he left,
mounted into his coach at the foot of the grand staircase, and
with Madame de Maintonon and Madame de Oaylus went
away to Marly. They were both in the most bitter grief, and
had not the courage to go to the Dauphin, Upon arriving at
Marly the King supped in his own room ; and passed a short
time with M. d’Orldans and his natural children. M. le Due de
Derry, entirely occupied with his affliction which was great and
real, had remained at Versailles with Madame la Duchesse de
Derry, who, transported with joy upon seeing herself delivered
from a powerful rival, to whom, however, she owed all, made
her face do duty for her heart.

Monseigneur le Dauphin, ill and agitated by the most bitter
grief, kept his chamber; but on Saturday morning the 13th,
being pressed to go to Marly to avoid the horror of the noise
overhead where the Dauphine was lying dead, he set out for
that place at seven o’clock in the morning. Shortly after
arriving he heard mass in the chapel, and thence was carried in
a chair to the window of one of his rooms. Madame de Main¬
tonon came to see him there afterwards; the anguish of the
interview was speedily too much for her, and she went away.
Early in the moriiing I wont uninvited to see M. le Dauphin,
He showed me that ho perceived this with an air of gentleness
and of affection which penetrated me. Dut I was terrified with
his loolcs, constrained, fixed and with something wild about
them, with the change in his face and with the marks there,
livid rather than red, tliat I observed in good number and large;
marks observed by the others also. The Dauphin was standing.
In a few minutes he was apprised that the King had awaked.
The tears that ho had restrained, now rolled from his eyes; he
turned round at the news but said nothing, remaining stock
still. His three attendants proposed to him, once or twice, that
he should go to the King. He neither spoke nor stirred. I
approached and made signs to him to go, then softly spoke to
the same effect. Seeing that he still remained speechless and

HIS INTEEVIEW WITH THE KING.

213

motionless, I made bold to take Ins arm, representing to bim
that sooner or later he must see the King, who expected hina,
and assuredly with the desire to see and embrace him ; and
pressing him in this manner, I took the liberty to gently push
him. He cast upon me a look that pierced my soul and went
away. I followed him some few steps and then withdrew to
recover breath ; I never saw him again. May I by the mercy
of God, see him eternally where God’s goodness doubtless has
placed him!

The Dauphin reached the chamber of the King, full just then
of company. As soon as he appeared the King called him and
embraced him tenderly again and again. These first moments,
so touching, passed in words broken by sobs and tears.

Shortly afterwards the King looking at the Dauphin was
terrified by the same things that had previously struck nae
with affright. Everybody around was so, also the doctors more
than the others. The King ordered them to feelliis pulse;
that they found bad, so they said afterwards; for the time they
contented themselves with saying it was not regular, and that
the Dauphin would do wisely to go to bed. The King embraced
him again, recommended him very tenderly to take care of
himself, and ordered him to go to bed. He obeyed and rose
no more!

It was now late in the morning. The King had passed a
cruel night and had a bad headache; he saw at his dinner, the
few courtiers who presented themselves, and after dinner went to
the Dauphin. The fever had augmented: the pulse was worse
than before. The King passed into the apartments of Madame
de Maintenon, and the Dauphin was left with his attendants
and his doctors. He spent the day in prayers and holy
reading.

On the morrow, Sunday, the uneasiness felt on account of
the Dauphin augmented. He himself did not conceal his
belief that he should never rise again, and that the plot Boudin
had warned him of, had been executed. He explained himself to
this effect more than once, and always with a disdain of earthly
grandeur and an incomparable submission and love of God. It

214

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

is impossible to describe the general consternation. On Monday
the 15tli, the King was bled. The Dauphin was no better than,
before. The King and Madame de Maintenon saw him
separately several times during the day, which was passed in
prayers and reading.

On Tuesday the 16th, the Dauphin was worse. He felt him¬
self devoured by a consuming lire, which the external fever did
not seem to justify; but the pulse was very extraordinary
and exceedingly menacing. This was a deceptive day. The
marks on the Dauphin’s face extended over all the body. They
were regarded as the marks of measles. Hope arose thereon,
but the doctors and the most clear-sighted of the Court could
not forget that these same marks had shown themselves on the
body of the Dauphine; a fact unknown out of her chamber until
after death.

On Wednesday the 17th, the malady considerably increased.
I had news at all moments of the Dauphin’s state from Che verny,
an excellent apothecary of the King and of my family. He hid
nothing from us. He had told us what he thought of the
Dauphine’s illness; he told us now what he thought of the
Dauphin’s. I no longer hoped therefore, or rather I hoped to
the end, against all hope.

On Wednesday the pains increased. They were like a
devouring fire, but more violent than ever. Very late into the
evening the Dauphin sent to the King for permission to receive
the communion early the next morning, without ceremony and
without display, at the mass performed in his chamber. Nobody
heard of this, that evening ; it was not known until the follow¬
ing morning. I was in extreme desolation ; I scarcely saw the
King once a day. I did nothing but go in quest of news
several times a day, and to the house of M. de Cbevreuse,
where I was completely free, M. de Chevreuse—always calm,
always sanguine—endeavoured to prove to us by his medical
reasonings that there was more reason to hope than to fear, but
he did so with a tranquillity that roused my impatience, I
returned home to pass a cruel night.

On Thursday morning, the 18th of February, I learned that

POETRAIT OF THE DAUPHINE.

215

tlie Dauphin, who had waited for midnight with impatience,
had heard mass immediately after the communion, had passed
two hours in devout communication with God, and that his
reason then became , embarrassed. Madame de Saint-Simon
told me afterwards that he had received extreme unction: in
fine, that he died at half-past eight. These memoirs are not
written to describe my private sentiments. But in reading
them,—if, long after me, they shall ever appear,—my state and
that of Madame de Saint-Simon will only too keenly be felt. I
will content myself with saying, that the first days after the
Dauphin’s death scarcely appeared to us more than moments;
that I wished to quit all, to withdraw from the Court and the
world, and that I was only hindered by the wisdom, conduct,
and power over me of Madame de Saint-Simon, who yet had
much trouble to subdue my sorrowful desires.

Let me say something now of the young prince and his
spouse, whom we thus lost in such quick succession.

Never did princess arrive amongst us so young with so much
instruction, or with such capacity to profit by instruction. Her
skilful father, who thoroughly knew our Court, had painted it
to her, and had made her acquainted with the only manner of
making herself happy there. From the first moment of her
arrival she had acted upon his lessons. Gentle, timid, but
adroit, fearing to give the slightest pain to anybody, and
though all lightness and vivacity, very capable of far-stretching
views; constraint, even to annoyance, cost her nothing, though
she felt all its weight. Complacency was natural to her,
flowed from her, and was exhibited towards every member of
the Court.

Begularly plain, with cheeks hanging, a forehead too promi¬
nent, a nose without meaning, thick biting lips, hair and eye¬
brows of dark chestnut, and well planted; the most speaking
and most beautiful eyes in the world; few teeth, and those all
rotten, about which she was the first to talk and jest; the most
beautiful complexion and skin; not much bosom, but what
there was admirable ; the throat long, with the suspicion of a
goitre, which did not ill become her; her head carried gallantly.

216

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

majestically, gracefully; lier mien noble; bor smile most ex¬
pressive ; lier figure long, round, slender, easy, pcrfoGtly-
sbapod; her walk that of a goddess upon the clouds: with such
qualifications she pleased supremely. Grace accompanied lior
every step, and shone through her manners and her most ordi¬
nary conversation. An air always simple and natural, often
naive, but seasoned with wit—this with the ease peculiar to
her, charmed all who approached her, and communicated itself
to them. She wished to please even the most useless and the
most ordinary persons, and yet without making an effort to do
so. You were tempted to believe her wholly and solely devoted
to those with whom she found herself. Her gaiety—young,
quick, and active—animated all; and her nymph-like lightness
carried her everywhere, like a whirlwind which fills several
places at once, and gives them movement and life. She was the
ornament of all diversions, the life and soul of all pleasure, and
at balls ravished everybody by the justness and perfection of
her dancing. She could be amused by playing for small sums
but liked high gambling better, and was an excellent, good-
tempered, and bold gamester.

She spared nothing, not even her health, to gain Madamo do
Maintenon, and through her the King. Her suppleness towards
them was without example, and never for a moment was at
fault. She accompanied it with all the discretion that her
knowledge of them, acquired by study and exporieiicc, had given
her, and could measure their dispositions to an inch. In tliis
way she had acquired a familiarity with them such as none of
the King’s children, not even the bastards, had approached.

In public, serious, measured, with the King, and in timid
decorum with Madame de Maintenon, whom she never addressed
except as my aunt, thus prettily confounding friendship and
rank. In private, prattling, skipping, flying around them, now
perched upon the sides of their arm chairs, now playing upon
their knees, she clasped them round the nock, embraced them,,
kissed them, caressed them, rumpled them, tickled them under
the chin, tormented them, rummaged their tables, their papers
their letters, broke open the seals, and read the contents in

THE DAXJPHINE’S CHARACTEK.

217

spite of opposition, if she saw that her waggeries were likely to
be received in. good part. When the King was with his
ministers, when he received couriers, when the most important
affairs were under discussion, she was present, and with such
liberty, that, hearing the King and Madame de Maintenon speak
one evening with affection of the Court of England, at the time
when peace was hoped for from Queen Anne, “ My aunt,” she-
said, “you must admit that in England the queens govern
better than the kings; and do you know why, my aunt?”
asked she, running about and gambolling all the time, “ because
under kings it is women who govern, and men under queens.”
The joke is that they both laughed, and said she was right.

The King really could not do without her. Everything went
wrong with him if she was not by; even at his public supper?
if she were away an additional cloud of seriousness and silence
settled around him. She took great care to see him every day
upon arriving and departing; and if some ball in winter, or
some pleasure party in summer, made her lose half the night?
she nevertheless adjusted things so well that she went and em¬
braced the King the moment he was up, and amused him with
a description of the f^te.

She was so far removed from the thoughts of death, that on
Oandlemas-day she talked with Madame de Saint-Simon of
people who had died since she had been at Court, and of what
she would herself do in old age, of the life she would lead, and
of such like matters. Alas ! it pleased God, for our misfortune,,
to dispose of her differently.

With all her coquetry—and she was not wanting in it—uneven
woman seemed to take less heed of her appearance ; her toilette
was finished in a moment, she cared nothing for finery except
at balls and f^fces; if she displayed a little at other times it was
simply in order to please the King. If the Court subsisted
after her it was only to languish. Never was princess so re¬
gretted, never one so worthy of it: regrets have not yet passed
away, the involuntary and secret bitterness they caused still
remain, with a frightful blank not yet filled up.

Let me now turn to the Dauphin.

SI8 MEMOmS OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

The youth of this prince made every one tremble. Stern and
choleric to the last degree, and oven against inanimate objects;
impetuous with frenz:}^, incapable of suffering the slightest re¬
sistance even from the hours and the elements, without flying
into a passion that threatened to destroy his body; obstinate
to excess; passionately fond of all kind of voluptuousness, of
Women, with oven a worse passion strongly developed at the
same time; fond not less of wine, good living, hunting, music,
and gaming, in which last he could not endure to be beaten;
in fine, abandoned to every passion, and transported by every
pleasure; oftentimes wild, naturally disposed towards cruelty;
barbarous in raillery, and with an all-powerful capacity for
ridicule. He looked down upon all men as from the sky, as
atoms with whom he had nothing in common; even his brothers
scarcely appeared connecting links between himself and human
nature, although all had been educated together in perfect
cc[uality. His sense and penetration shone through everything.
His replies, even in anger, astonished everybody. He amused
himself with the most abstract knowledge. The extent and
vivacity of his intellect were prodigious, and. rendered him in¬
capable of applying himself to one study at a time.

So much .intelligence and of such a kind, joined to such
vivacity, sensibility, and passion, rendered his education diffi¬
cult. Hut God, who is the master of all hearts, and whose
divine spirit breathes where he wishes, worked a miracle on
this prince between his oigliteenth and twentieth years. From
this abyss he came out affable, gentle, humane, moderate, pa¬
tient, modest, penitent, and humble; and austere, even more
than harmonised with his position. Devoted to his duties,
feeling them to be immense, he thought only how to unite the
duties of son and subject with those he saw to be destined for
himself. The shortness of each day was his only sorrow. All
his force, all his consolation, was in prayer and pious reading.
He clung with joy to the cross of his Saviour, repenting sincerely
of his past pride. The King, with his outside devotion, soon
saw with secret displeasure his own life censured by that of a
prince so young, who refused himself a new desk in order to

THE DAUPHIN'S PURITY AND GOODNESS.

219

give the money it would cost to the poor, and who did not care
to accept some new gilding with which it was proposed to
furnish his little room.

Madame la Ducliesse de Bourgogne, alarmed at so austere a
spouse, left nothing undone in order to soften him. Her charms,
with which he was smitten, the cunning and the unbridled
importunities of the young ladies of her suite, disguised in a
hundred different forms—the attraction of parties and pleasures
to which he was far from insensible,—all were displayed every
day. But for a long time he behaved not like a prince hut like
a novice. On one occasion he refused to he present at a hall
on Twelfth Night, and in various ways made himself ridiculous
at Court.

In due time, however, he comprehended that the faithful
performance of the duties proper to the state in which he had
been placed, would be the conduct most agreeable to God. The
bark of the tree, little by little, grew softer without affecting
the solidity of the trunk. He applied himself to the studies
which were necessary, in order to instruct himself in public
affairs, and at the same time he lent himself more to the world*
doing so with so much grace, with such a natural air, that
everybody soon began to grow reconciled to him.

The discernment of this prince was such, that, like the beej
he gathered the most perfect substance from the best and most
beautiful flowers. He tried to fathom men, to draw from them
the instruction and the light that he could hope for. He con¬
ferred sometimes, but rarely, with others besides his chosen few.
I was the only one, not of that number, who had complete
access to him; with me he opened his heart upon the present
and the future with confidence, with sageness, with discretion.
A volume would not describe sufficiently my private interviews
with this prince,—what love of good! what forgetfulness of
self! what researches! what fruit! what purity of purpose!—
May I say it? what reflection of the divinity in that mind,
candid, simple, strong, which as much as is possible here below
had preserved the image of its maker!

If you had business, and thought of opening it to him, say

220

MEMOIRS OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON".

for a quarter of an hour or half an hour, he gave you oftei
times two hours and more, according as he found himself f
libei’ty. Yet he was without verbiage, compliments^ preface
pleasantries, or other hindrances; went straight to the poin
Q-nd allowed you to go also.

His undue scruples of devotion diminished every day, as h
found himself face to face with the world; above all, be we
well cured of the incbnation for piety in preference to talen
that is to say, for making a man ambassador, minister, c
general, rather on account of his devotedness than of his caps
city or experience. He saw the danger of inducing hypocris
hy placing devotion too high as a qualification for employ.

It was he who was not afraid to say publicly, in the Salon c
Harly, “ that a king is made for his subjects, and not the sul
jects for hima remark that, except under his own reign,, whic
God did not permit, would have been the most frightful bias
pliemy.

Great God! what a spectacle you gave to us in him. Who
tender but tranquil views he had ! What submission and lov
of God! What a consciousness of his own nothingness, and c
Ills sins! What a magnificent idea of the infinite mercy
"Wliat religious and humble fear! What tempered confidence
AYliat patience! What constant goodness for all who ap
proaclied him! France fell, in fine, under this last chastise
nient. God showed to her a prince she merited not. The eart]
was not worthy of him; he was ripe already for the blessei
eternity!*

* "Whatever deduction we may make from this panegyric, it is evider
that we_ are in presence of the results of the teaching of Fenelon, on wliic
the prejudiced Saint-Simon lays far too little stress.

GRIEF OF EUROPE.

221

CHAPTER XXII.

Oeirtainty of poisou—The supposed crimiual—Excitemeut of the people
against M, d’Orl6ans—The cabal—My danger and escape—The Dauphins
casket.

The consternation at tlie event that had taken place was real
and general; it penetrated to foreign lands and courts. Whilst
the people wept for him who thought only of their relief, and all
France lamented a prince who only wished to reign in order to
render it flourishing and happy, the sovereigns of Europe pnh-'
licly lamented him whom they regarded as their example, and
whose virtues were preparing him to he their arbitrator, and
the peaceful and revered moderator of nations. The Pope was
so touched that he resolved of himself to set aside all rule and
hold expressly a consistory; deplored there the inflnite loss the
church and all Christianity had sustained, and pronounced a
complete eulogium of the prince who caused the just regrets of
aU Europe.

On Saturday, the 13th, the corpse of the Hauphine was left
in its bed with uncovered face, and opened the same evening at
eleven in presence of all the faculty. On the 15th it was placed
in the grand cabinet, where masses were continually said.

On Friday, the 19th, the corpse of Monseigneur le Dauphin
was opened, a little more than twenty-four hours after his
■death, also in presence of all the faculty. His heart was im¬
mediately carried to Yersailles, placed by the side of that of
Madame la Dauphine. Both were afterwards taken to the Yal
■de Gr^ce. They arrived at midnight with a numerous cortege.
All was finished in two hours. The corpse of Monseigneur le

222

MEMOIRS OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

Dauphin was afterwards carried from Marl 3 ^ to Versailles, and
placed by the side of Madame la Dauphine on the same estrade.

On Tuesday, the 23rd February, the two bodies were taken
from Versailles to St. D4nis in the same chariot. The pro¬
cession began to enter Paris by the Porte St. Honor4 at two
o’clock in the morning, and arrived between seven and eight
o’clock in the morning at St Ddnis. There was great order in
Paris, and no confusion.

On Tuesday, the 8 th March, Monseigneur le Due de Bretagne,
eldest son of Monsieur le Dauphin, who had succeeded to the
name and rank of his father, being then only five years and
some months old, and who had been seized with measles within
a few days, expired, in spite of all the remedies given him.
His brother, M. le Due d’.Anjou, who still sucked, was taken ill
at the same time, but thanks to the care of the Duchesse de
Ventadour, whom in after hfe he never forgot, and who ad¬
ministered an antidote, escaped, and is now King.

Thus three Dauphins died in less than a year, and father,
mother, and eldest son in twenty-four days! On Wednesday,
the 9 th of March, the corpse of the little Dauphin was opened
at night, and without any ceremony his heart was taken to the
Val de Gr&ce, his body to St. Ddnis, and placed by the side of
those of his father and mother. M. le Due d’Anjou, now sole
remaining child, succeeded to the title and to the rank of
Dauphin.

I have said that the bodies of the Dauphin and the Dauphino
were opened in presence of all the faculty. The report made
upon the opening of the latter was not consolatory. Only one
of the doctors declared there were no signs of poison; the rest
were of the opposite opinion. When the body of the Dauphin
was opened, everybody' was terrified. His viscera were all dis¬
solved; his heart had no consistency; its substance flowed
through the hands of those who tried to hold it; an intolerable
odour, too, filled the apartment. The majority of the doctors
declared they saw in all this the effect of a very subtle and
very violent poison, which had consumed all the interior of the
body, like a burning fire. As before, there was one of their

CHARGE AGAINST M. d’0RL:6ANS.

223

number wlio held different views, but this was Marechal, who
declared that to persuade the King of the existence of secret
enemies of his family would be to kill him by degrees.

This medical opinion that the cause of the Dauphin’s and
the Dauphine’s death was poison, soon spread like wildfire over
the Court and the city. Public indignation fell upon M.
d’Orldans, who was at once pointed out as the poisoner. The
rapidity with which this rumour filled the Court, Paris, the
provinces, the least frequented places, the most isolated
monasteries, the most deserted solitudes, all foreign countries
and all the peoples of Europe, recalled to me the efforts of the
cabal, which had previously spread such black reports against
the honour of him whom all the world now wept, and showed
that that cabal, though dispersed, was not dissolved.

In effect M. du Maine, now the head of the cabal, who had
all to gain and nothing to lose by the death of the Dauphin
and Dauphine, from both of whom he had studiously held aloof,
and who thoroughly disliked M. d’Orleans, did all in his power
to circulate this odious report. He communicated it to Madame
de Maintenon, by whom it reached the King. In a short time
all the Court, down to the meanest valets, publicly cried
vengeance upon M. d’Orldans, with an air of the most unbridled
indignation and of perfect security.

M. d’Orl^ans, with respect to the two losses that afiiicted the
public, had an interest the most directly opposite to that of M.
du Maine; he had everything to gain by the life of the Dauphin
and Dauphine, and unless he had been a monster vomited forth
from hell he could not have been guilty of the crime with which
he was charged. Nevertheless, the odious accusation flew from
mouth to mouth, and took refuge in every breast.

Let us compare the interest M. d’Orleans had in the life of
the Dauphin with the interest M. du Maine had in his death,
and then look about for the poisoner.* But this is not all.

* The whole course of Saint-Simon’s narrative would seem to point rather
to the Duohesse de Berry as the guilty person than to any other. An at¬
tempt was made to poison the whole family of the heir to the throne—and
only one child at the breast escaped by accident. If this child, afterwards
Louis XV. had died, the Due de Berry would have succeeded to the crown.

■224

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

Lot US remember how M. le Due d’Orldans was treated by
Monseigiieiir, and yet wlmt genuine grief he displayed at the
death of that prince. What a contrast was this conduct with
that of M. du Maine at another time, who, after leaving the
King (Louis XIV.) at the point of death, delivered over to an
ignorant peasant, imitated that peasant so naturally and so
pleasantly, that bursts of laughter extended to the gallery, and
scandalised the passers-by. This is a celebrated and very
characteristic fact, which will find its proper place if I live long
enough to carry these memoirs up to the death of the King.

M. d’Oiidans was, however, already in such bad odour, that
people were ready to believe anything to his discredit. They
drank in this new report so rapidly, that on the I7th of
February, as he went with Madame to give the holy water to
the corpse of the Dauphine, the crowd of the people threw out
all sorts of accusations against him, which both he and Madame
very distinctly heard, without daring to show it, and were in
trouble, embarrassment, and indignation, as may be imagined.
There was even ground for fearing worse from an excited and
credulous populace when M. d’Orldans went alone to give the
holy water to the corpse of the Dauphin. For he had to endure
on hi.s passage atrocious insults from a populace which uttered
aloud the most frightful observations, which pointed the finger
at him with the coarsest epithets, and which believed it was
doing him a favour in not hilling upon him and tearing him to
pieces!

Similar circumstances took place at the funeral procession.
The streets resounded more with cries of indignation against
M, d’Orldans and abuse of him than with grief. Silent precau¬
tions wore not forgotten in Paris in order to check the public
fury, the boiling over of which was feared at diflbrent moments.
The people recompensed themselves by gestures, cries, and

"What, therefore, can Saint-Simon mean by aveniug that the Due cFOrkans
had no intep^Bt in the death of the victims ? If the whole plot had been
successful, his favourite and too-heloved daughter would have been Queen.
A better argument for his innocence is, that he afterwards suffered Louis
XV. to live.

INSULTS TO M. U’OELilANS.

225

other atrocities, vomited against K d'Orl^ans. Near the
Palais Boyal, before ■which the procession passed, the increase
of shouts, of cries, of abuse, was so great, that for some minutes
everything was to be feared. ■

It may be imagined what use M. du Maine contrived to
make of the public folly, the rumours of the Paris cafk% the
feeling of the salon of Marly, that of the Parliament, the re¬
ports that arrived from the provinces and foreign countries.
In a short time so overpowered was M. d’Orleans by the feeling
against him everywhere exhibited, that acting upon very ilt
judged advice he spoke to the King upon the subject, and
begged to be allowed to surrender himself as a prisoner at the
Bastile, until his character was cleared from stain.

I was terribly annoyed when I heard that M. d’Orleans had
taken this step, which could not possibly load to good. I had
quite another sort of scheme in my head which I Kshould have
proposed to him had I known of his resolve. Fortunately,
however, the King was persuaded not to grant M. d’Orldans'
request, out of which therefore nothing came. The Due mean¬
while lived more abandoned by everybody than ever; if in
the salon he approached a group of courtiers, each, without
the least hesitation, turned to the right or to the left and went
elsewhere, so that it was impossible for him to accost anybody
except by surprise, and if he did so, he was left alone directly
after with the most marked indecency. In a word, I was the
only person, I say distinctly, the only person, who spoke to M.
d’Orleans as before. Whether in his own house or in the
palace I conversed -with him, seated myself by his side in a
corner of the salon, where assuredly wo had no third person
to fear, and walked with him in the gardens under the very
windows of the King and of Madame de Maintenon.

Nevertheless, all my friends warned mo that if I pursued
this conduct so opposite to that in vogue, I should assuredly
fall into disgrace. I held firm, I thouglit that when wo did
not believe our friends guilty wo ought not to desert them, but
on the contrary, to draw closer to them, as by honour bound,
give them the consolation due from us, and show thus to the
VOL. n. ‘ IK ■

220

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

■world oiir hatred for caluiiiny. My friends insisted; gave me
to understand that the King disapproved my conduct, that
Madame de Maintenon was annoyed at it: they forgot nothing
to awaken my fears. But I was insensible to all they said to
me, and did not omit seeing M. d’Orldans a single day; often
stopping with him two and three hours at a time.

A few weeks had passed over thus, when one morning M.
de Beauvilliers called upon me, and urged me to plead busi¬
ness, and at once withdraw to La !Fert6; intimating that if I
did not do so of my own accord, I should be compelled by an
order from the King. He never explained himself more fully,
but I have always remained persuaded that the King or
Madame de Maintenon had sent him to me, and had told him
that I should be banished if I did not banish myself. Neither
my absence nor my departure made any stir; nobody sus¬
pected anything. I was carefully informed, without knowing
by whom, when my exile was likely to end: and I returned,
after a month or five weeks, straight to the Court, where I
kept up the same intimacy with M. d’Orleans as before.

But he was not yet at the end of his misfortunes. The
Princesse des Ursins had not forgiven him his pleasantry at
her expense. Chalais, one of her most useful agents, was
despatched by her on a journey so mysterious that its ob¬
scurity has never been illuminated. Pic was eighteen days on
the road, unknown, concealing his name, and passing within
two leagues of Chalais, where his father and mother lived,
without giving them any signs of life, although all were on
very good terms. He loitered secretly in Poitou, and at last
arrested there a Cordelier monk, of middle age, in the convent
of Bressuire, who cried, “Ah! I am lostT* upon being caught.
Chalais conducted him to the prison of Poitiers, whence ho
despatched to Madrid an officer of dragoons he had brought
with him, and who knew this Cordelier, whose name has never
transpired, although it is certain he was really a Cordelier, and
that he was returning from a journey in Italy and Germany
that had extended as far as Yienna. Chalais pushed on to
Paris, and came to Marly on the 27th of April, a day on which

AEEEST OF A COEDELIBE.

227

tLe King liad taken medicine. After dinner lie was taken by
Torcy to the King, with whom he remained half an hour, de¬
laying thus the Council of State for the same time, and then
returned immediately to Paris. So much trouble had not
been taken for no purpose: and Chalais had not prostituted
himself to play the part of prev6t to a miserable monk with- ’
out expecting good winnings from the game. Immediately
afterwards the most dreadful rumours were everywhere in
circulation against M. d’Orl&ns, who, it was said, had poisoned
the Dauphin and Dauphine by means of this monk, who,
nevertheless, was far enough away from our Prince and
Princess at the time of their death. In an instant Paris re¬
sounded with these horrors; the provinces were inundated
with them, and immediately afterwards foreign countries—
this too with an incredible rapidity, which plainly showed
how well the plot had been prepared—and a publicity that
reached the very caverns of the earth. Madame des XJrsins
was not less served in Spain than M. du Maine and Madame
de Maintenon in France. The anger of the public was doubled.
The Cordelier was brought, bound hand and foot, to the
Bastile, and delivered up to D’Argenson, lieutenant of Police.*

This D’Argenson rendered an account to the King of many
things which Pontchartrain, as Secretary of State, considered
to belong to his department. Pontchartrain was vexed be¬
yond measure at this, and could not see without despair his
subaltern become a kind of minister more feared, more valued,
more in consideration than he, and conduct himself always in
such manner that he gained many powerful friends, and made
but few enemies, and those of but little moment. M. d’Orldans
bowed before the storm that he could not avert; it could not
increase the general desertion ; he had accustomed himself to
his solitude, and, as he had never heard this monk spoken of,
had not the slightest fear on his account. D’Argenson, who

♦ It is to be observed that whenever Saint-Simon comes to talk of things
in whicli he was himself engaged or particularly interested, he becomes de¬
clamatory and magniloquent, losing much of his picturesqueness and almost
all his wit.

15—2

228

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON*,

questioned the Cordelier several times, and carried liis replies
daily to the King, was sufficiently adroit to pay his court to
M, d’OrMans, by telling him that the prisoner had uttered
nothing which concerned him, and by representing the services-
, he did M. d’Oi'leans with the King. Like a sagacious man,
D’Argenson saw the madness of popular anger devoid of all
foundation, and which could not hinder M. d’Orleans from
being a very considerable person in France, during a minority
that the age of the King showed to be pretty near. He took
care, therefore, to avail himself of the mystery which sur¬
rounded his office, to ingratiate himself more and more with
M. d’Or]6ans, whom he had always carefully though secretly
served; and this conduct, as will be seen in due time, pro¬
cured him a large fortune.

But I have gone too far. I must retrace my steps, to speak
of things I have omitted to notice in their proper place.

The two Dauphins and the Dauphine were interred at Saint
Ddnis, on Monday, the 18th of April. The funeral oration
was pronounced by Maboul, bishop of Aleth, and pleased; M.
de Metz, chief chaplain, ofliciated; the service commenced at
about eleven o’clock. As it was very long, it was thought
well to have at hand a large vase of vinegar, in case anybody
should be ill. M. de Metz having taken the first oblation, and
observing that very little wine was left for the second, asked for
more. This largo vase of vinegar was supposed to be wine,
and M, de Metz, who wished to strengthen himself, said, wash¬
ing his fingers over the chalice, '' fill right up.” He swallowed
all at a draught, and did not perceive until the end that he
load drunk vinegar; his grimace and his complaint caused
some little laughter round him; and he often related this ad¬
venture, which much soured him.

On Monday, the 10th of May, the funeral service for the
Dauphin and Dauphine was performed at Notre Dame,

Let me here say, that before the Prince and his spouse were
buried, that is to say, the Gth of April, the King gave orders
for the recommencement of the usual play at Maidy; and that
M, le Due de Berry and Madame la Duchesse de Berry pre-

AMUSEMENTS AT COURT AGAIN.

229

sided in the salon at the public lansquenet and breian, and the
different gaming tables for all the Court. In a short time the
King dined in Madame de Maintenon’s apartments once or
twice a week, and had music there. And all this, as I have
remarked with the corpse of the Dauphin and that of the
Dauphine still above ground!

The gap left by the death of the Dauphine could not, how-'
ever, be easily Med up. Some months after her loss, the King
began to feel great ennui steal upon him in the hours when he
had no work with his ministers. The few ladies admitted into
the apartments of Madame de Maintonon when he was there,
were unable to entertain him. Music, frequently introduced,
languished from that cause. Detached scones from the comedies
of Moli^ro were thought of, and wore played by the King’s
musicians, comedians for the nonce. Madame de Maintonon
introduced, too, the Mardchal do Yilleroy, to amuse the King
by relating their youthful adventures.

Evening amusements became more and more frequent in
Madame de Maintenon’s apartments, whore, however, nothing
could M up the void left by the poor Dauphine.

I have said little of the grief I felt at the loss of the prince
whom everybody so deeply regretted. As will be believed, it
was bitter and profound. The day of his death, I barricaded
myself in my own house, and only left it for one instant in order
to join the King at his promenade in the gardens. The vexa¬
tion I felt upon seeing him followed almost as usual, did not per¬
mit me to stop more than an instant, All the rest of the stay at
Versailles, I scarcely left my room, except to visit M. do Boau-
villiers, I will admit that, to reach M. de Beauvilliers’ house,
I made a circuit between the canal and the gardens of Versailles,
so as to spare myself the sight of the chamber of death, which
I had not force enough to appi’oach. . I admit that I was weak.
I was sustained neither by the piety, superior to all things, of
M. de Beauvilliers, nor by that of Madame de Saint-Simon, who
nevertheless not the less suffered. The truth is, I was in
despair. To those who know my position, this will appear loss
strange than my being able to support at all, so complete a mis-

230

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

fortune. I experienced this sadness precisely at the same age
as that of my father when he lost Louis XIII.; hut he at least
had enjoyed the results of favour, whilst I, Qustavi fcmlulum
melUs, et ecce morior. Yet this was not all.

In the casket of the Dauphin there were several papers he
had asked me for. I had drawn them up in all confidence; he
had preserved them in the same manner. There was one, very
large, in my hand, which if seen by the King, would have
robbed me of his favour for ever; ruined me without hope ol
return. We do not think in time of such catastrophes. The
King knew my handwriting; he did not know my mode of
thought, but might pretty well have guessed it. I had some¬
times supplied him with means to do so; my good friends of
the Court had done the rest. The King when he discovered
my paper would also discover on what close terms of intimacy
I had been with the Dauphin, of which he had no suspicion.
My anguish was then cruel, and there seemed every reason to
believe that if my secret was found out, I should be disgraced
and exiled during all the rest of the King’s reign.

What a contrast between the bright heaven I had so recently
gazed upon and the abyss now yawning at ray feet! But so it
is in the Court and the world! I felt then the nothingness of
even the most desirable future, by an inward sentiment, which,
nevertheless, indicates how we cling to it. Fear on account of
the contents of the casket had scarcely any power over me. I
was obliged to reflect in order to return to it from time to time,
Kegret for this incomparable Dauphin pierced my heart, and
suspended all the faculties of my soul. For a long time I
wished to fly from the Court, so that I might never again see
the deceitful face of the world; and it was some time before
prudence and honour got the upper hand.

It so happened that the Due de Beauvilliers himself was able
to carry this casket to the King, who had the key of it. M. de
Beauvilliers in fact resolved not to trust it out of his own
hands, but to wait until he was well enough to take it to the
King, so that he might then try to hide my papers from view.
This task was difficult for he did not know the position in the

THE DOCUMENTS BURNED.

231

casket of these dangerous documents, and yet it was our only
resource. This terrible uncertainty lasted more than a fort¬
night.

On Tuesday, the 1st of Marchj M. de Beauvilliers carried the
casket to the King. He came to me shortly after, and before
sitting down, indicated by signs that there was no further
occasion for fear. He then related to me that he had found the
casket full of a mass of documents, finance projects, reports
from the provinces, papers of all kinds, that he had read some
of them to the King on purpose to weary him, and had suc¬
ceeded so well that the King soon was satisfied by hearing only
the titles ; and, at last, tired out by not finding anything im¬
portant, said it was not worth while to read more, and that
there was nothing to do but to throw everything into the fire.
The Due assured me that he did not wait to be told twice,
being all the more anxious to comply, because at the bottom of
the casket he had seen some of my handwriting, which he had
promptly covered up in taking other papers to read their titles
to the King; and that immediately the word “fire” was
uttered, he confusedly threw all the papers into the casket, and
then emptied it near the fire, between the King and Madame
de Maintenon, taking good care, as he did so that my documents
should not be seen,—even cautiously using the tongs in order
to prevent any piece flying away, and not quitting the fireplace
until he had seen every page consumed. We embraced each
other, in the relief we reciprocally felt, relief proportioned to
the danger we had run.

232

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

CHAPTEE XXIII

The King’s Selfishness—Defeat of the Czar—Death of Catiuat—Last days>
of Vend&me—His Body at the Escurial—Anecdote of Harlayand the
Jacohins—Truce in Flanders—Wolves.

Let me here relate an incident which should have found a place
earlier, but which has been omitted in order that what has.
gone before, might he uninterrupted. On the 16th of the pre¬
vious July the King made a journey to Fontainebleau, where he
remained until the 14th of September. I should suppress the
bagatelle which happened on the occasion of this journey, if it
did not serve more and more to characterize the King.

Madame la Duchesse de Berr}’- was in the family way for the
first time, had been so for nearly three months, was much in¬
convenienced, and had a pretty strong fever. M. Fagon, the
doctor, thought it would be imprudent for her not to put
off travelling for a day or two. Neither she nor M. d'Orleans
dared to speak about it. M. le Due de Berry timidly hazarded
a word, and was ill received. Madame la Duchesse d’Orldans.
more timid still, addressed herself to Madame, and to Madame
de Maintenon, who indifferent as they might be respecting
Madame la Duchesse de Berry, thought her departure so
hazardous that, supported by Fagon, they spoke of it to the
King. It was useless. They were not daunted, however, and
this dispute lasted three or four days. The end of it was, that
the King grew thoroughly angry and agreed, by way of capitu¬
lation, that the journey should be performed in a boat instead
of a coach.

It was arranged that Madame la Duchesse de Berry should.

THE king’s PEOHIBITION.

233

leave Marly, where the King then was, on the 13th, sleep at
the Palais Koyal that night and repose herself there all the
next day and night, that on the 15th she should set out for
Petit-Bourg, where the King was to halt for the night, and
arrive like him, on the 16th, at Fontauiehleau, the whole journey
to be by the river. M. le Dnc de Berry had permission to ac¬
company his wife; but during the two nights they were to rest
in Paris the King angrily forbade them to go anywhere, even
to the opera, although that building joined the Palais Koyal,
and M. d’Orleans’ box could be reached without going out of
the palace.

On the 14th the King, under pretence of inquiry after them,
repeated this prohibition to M. le Due de Berry and Madame
his wife, and also to M. d’Orleans and Madame d’Orl6ans, who
had been included in it. He carried his caution so far as to
enjoin Madame de Saint-Simon to see that Madame la Duchesse
de Berry obeyed the instructions she had received. As maybe
believed, his orders were punctually obeyed. Madame de Saint-*
Simon could not refuse to remain and sleep in the Palais Koyal,
where the apartment of the queen-mother was given to her.
All the while the party were shut up there was a good deal of
gaming in order to console M. le Dilc de Berry for his confine¬
ment.

The provost of the merchants had orders to prepare boats for
the trip to Pontainebleau. He had so little time that they
were ill chosen. Madame la Duchesse de Berry embarked,
however, on the 16th, and arrived, with fever, at ten o’clock at
night at Petit-Bourg, where the Bang appeared rejoiced by
an obedience so exact.

On the morrow the journey recommenced. In passing
Melun, the boat of Madame la Duchesse de Berry struck
against the bridge, was nearly capsized, and almost swamped,
so that they were all in great danger. They got off, however,
with fear and a delay. Disembarking in great disorder at
Yalvin, where their equipages were waiting for them, they
arrived at Fontainebleau two hours after midnight. The King,
pleased beyond measure, went the next morning to see Madame.

234

MEMOIRS OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

la Duchesse de Berry in tlie beautiful apartment of the queen-
mother that had been given to her. From the moment of her
arrival she had been forced to keep her bed, and at six o’clock
in the morning of the 21st of July she miscarried and was
delivered of a daughter, still-born. Madame de Saint-Simon
ran to tell the King ; he did not appear much moved; he had
been obeyed ! The Duchesse de Beauvilliers and the Marquise
de Chatillon were .named by the King to carry the embryo to
St. Denis., As it was only a girl, and as the miscarriage had
no ill effect, consolation soon came.

It was some little time after this occurrence, that we heard
■of the defeat of the Czar by the Grand Yizier upon the Pruth.
The Czar annoyed by the protection the Porte had accorded
to the King of Sweden (in retirement at Bender), made an
appeal to arms, and fell into the same error as that which had
occasioned the defeat of the King of Sweden by him. The
Turks drew him to the Pruth across deserts supplied with
nothing; if he did not risk all, by a very unequal battle, he
must perish. The Czar was at the head of sixty thousand men:
he lost more than thirty thousand on the Pruth, the rest were
■dying of hunger and misery; and he without any resources,
■could scarcely avoid surrendering himself and his forces to the
Turks. In this pressing extremity, a common woman whom he
had taken away from her husband, a drummer in the army, and
whom he had publicly espoused after having repudiated and
confined his own wife in a convent,—joroposed that he should
try by bribery to induce the Grand Vizier to allow him and the
wreck of his forces to retreat. The Czar approved of the pro¬
position, without hoping for success from it. He sent to the
Grand Vizier and ordered him to be spoken to in secret. The
Vizier was dazzled by the gold, the precious stones, and several
valuable things that were offered to him. He accepted and re¬
ceived them; and signed a treaty by wliich the Czar was per¬
mitted to retire, with all who accompanied him, into his own
states by the shortest road, the Turks to furnish him with pro¬
visions, with which he was entirely unprovided. The Czar, on
his side, agreed to give up Azof as soon as he returned; destroy

CORRUPTION OF THE GRAND VIZIER.

235

all the forts and burn all the vessels that he had upon the
Black Sea; allow the King of Sweden to return by Pomerania ;
and to pay the Turks and their Prince all the expenses of the
war.

The Grand Vizier found such an opposition in the Divan to
this treaty, and such boldness in the minister of the King of
Sweden, who accompanied him, in exciting against him all the
chiefs of the army, that it was within an ace of being broken;
and the Czar, with every one left to him, of being made prisoner.
The latter was in no condition to make even the least resistance.
The Grand Vizier had only to will it, in order to execute it on
the spot. In addition to the glory of leading captive to Con¬
stantinople the Czar, his Court, and his troops, there would
have been his ransom, which must have cost not a little.
But if he had been thus stripped of his riches, they would
have been for the Sultan, and the Grand Vizier preferred
having them for himself. He braved it then with authority
and menaces, and hastened the Czar’s departure and his own.
The Swedish minister, charged with protests from the principal
Turkish chiefs, hurried to Constantinople, where the Grand
Vizier was strangled upon arriving.

The Czar never forgot this service of his wife, by whose
courage and presence of mind he had been saved. The esteem
he conceived for her, joined to his friendship, induced him to
crown her Czarina, and to consult her upon all his affairs and
all his schemes. Escaped from danger, he was a long time
without, giving up Azof, or demolishing his forts on the Black
Sea. As for his vessels, he kept them nearly aU, and would
not allow the King of Sweden to return into Germany, as he
had agreed, thus almost lighting up a'fresh war with the Turk.

On the 6th of November, 1711, at about eight o’clock in the
evening, the shock of an earthquake was felt at Paris and at
Versailles; but it was so slight that few people perceived it.
In several places towards Touraine and Poitou, in Saxony,
and in some of the German towns near, it was very perceptible
at the same day and hour. At this date a new tontine was
established in Paris.

236

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

I have so often spoken of Marshal Catinat, of his virtue,
wisdom, modesty, and disinterestedness; of the rare superiority
of his sentiments, and of his great qualities as captain, that
nothing remains for me to say except that he died at this
time very advanced in years, at his little house of Saint
Gratien, near Saint Denis, where he had retired, and which he
seldom quitted although receiving there but few friends. By
his simplicity and frugality, his contempt for worldly dis¬
tinction, and his uniformity of conduct, he recalled the memory
of those great men, who after the best-merited triumphs, peace¬
fully returned to their plough, still loving their country and
but little offended by the ingratitude of the Borne they had so
weU served. Catinat placed his philosophy at the service of
his piety. He had intelligence, good sense, ripe reflection; and
he never forgot his origin; his dress, his equipages, his furniture,
all were of the greatest simplicity. His air and his deportment
were so also. He was tall, dark, and thin; had an aspect
pensive, slow, and somewhat mean; with very fine and ex¬
pressive eyes. He deplored the signal faults tliat he saw
succeed each other unceasingly; the gradual extinction of all
emulation; the luxury, the emptiness, the ignorance, the con¬
fusion of ranks; the inquisition in the place of the police: he
saw all the signs of destruction, and he used to say it was only
a climax of dangerous disorder that could restore order to the
realm,

Yend6me was one of the few to whom the death of the
Dauphin and tie Dauphine brought hope and joy. He had
deemed himself expatriated for the rest of his life. He saw,
now, good chances before him of returning to our Court, and of
playing a part there again. He had obtained some honour in
Spain; he aimed at others even higher, and hoped to return to
France with aU the honours of a Prince of the Blood. His
idleness, his free living, his debauchery had prolonged his stay
upon the frontier, where he had more facilities for gratifying
his tastes than at Madrid. In that city, it is true, he did not
much constrain himself, but he was forced to do so to some
extent by courtly usages. He was, then, quite at home on the

MISERABLE DEATH OE VEND6mE.

237

frontier; there was nothing to do; for the Austrians weakened
“by the departure of the English, were quite unable to attack j
«,nd Vend6me, floating upon the delights of his new dignities,
thought only of enjoying himself in the midst of profound
idleness, under pretext that operations could not at once be
<5ommenced.

In order to be more at liberty he separated from the general
officers, and established himself with his valets and two or
three of his most familiar friends, cherished companions every¬
where, at Tignarez, a little isolated hamlet, almost deserted, on
the sea-shore and in the kingdom of Valencia. His object was
to eat fish there to his heart’s content. Ho carried out that
object, and filled himself to repletion for nearly a month. He
became unwell—his diet, as may bo believed, was enough to
cause this—but his illness increased so rapidly, and in so
■strange a manner, after having for a long time seemed nothing,
—that the few around him suspected poison, and sent on all
Bides for assistance. But the malady would not wait; it aug¬
mented rapidly with strange symptoms. Venddme could not
sign a will that was presented to him; nor a letter to the liing,
in which he asked that his brother might be permitted to return
to Court. Everybody near flew from him and abandoned him,
so that he remained in the hands of three or four of the meanest
■valets, whilst the rest robbed him of everything and decamped.
He passed thus, the last two or three days of his life, without
■a priest,—no mention even had been made of one,—without
other help than that of a single surgeon. The three or four
valets who remained near him, seeing him at his last extremity,
seized hold of the few things he still possessed, and for want of
better plunder, dragged off his bed-clothes and the mattress
from under him. He piteously cried to them at least not to
leave him to die naked upon the bare bed. I know not whether
they listened to him.

Thus died on Friday, the 10th of June, 1712, the haughtiest
■of men; and the happiest, except in the latter years of his
life. After having been obliged to speak of him so often, I get
.rid of him now, once, and for ever. He was fifty-eight years

238 MEMOIRS OE THE DUKE OE SAINT-SIMON.

old; tut in spite of the blind and prodigious favour he had
enjoyed, that favour had never been able to make aught but a
cabal hero out of a captain who was a very bad general, and a
man whose vices were the shame of humanity. His death
restored life and joy to all Spain.

Aguilar, a friend of the Due de Noailles^ was accused of
having poisoned him; but took little pains to defend himself,
inasmuch as little pains were taken to substantiate the ac¬
cusation. The Princesse des TJrsins, who had so well profited
by his life in order to increase her own greatness, did not profit
less by his death. She felt her deliverance from a new Don
Juan of Spain who had ceased to be supple in her hands, and
who might have revived, in the course of time, all the power
and authority he had formerly enjoyed in France. She was
not shocked thenby the joy which burst out without constraint;
nor by the free talk of the Court, the city, the army, of all
Spain. But in order to sustain what she had done, and cheaply
pay her court to M. du Maine, Madame de Maintenon, and
even to the King, she ordered that the corpse of this hideous,
monster of greatness and of fortune, should be carried to the
Escurial. This was crowning the glory of M. de Yend&me in
good earnest; for no private persons are buried in the Escurial,,
although several are to be found in St. Denis. But meanwhile,
until I speak of the visit I made to the Escurial—I shall do so*
if I live long enough to carry these memoirs up to the death
of M. d’OrMans,—let me say something of that illustrious,
sepulchre.

The Pantheon is the place where only the bodies of Kings
and Queens who have had posterity are admitted. In a separate
place, near, though not on the same floor, and resembling a
library, the bodies of children, and of queens who have had no
posterity, are ranged. A third place, a sort of antechamber to
the last named, is rightly called “the rotting room;” whilst the
other improperly bears the same name. In this third room,
there is nothing to be seen but four bare walls and a table in
the middle. The walls being very thick, openings are made in
them in which the bodies are placed. Each body has an

ANECDOTE OF BABLAY.

239

^ opening to itself, which is afterwards walled up, so that nothing

is seen. When it is thought that the corpse has been closed
up sufficiently long to be free from odour the wall is opened,
the body taken out, and put in a coffin which allows a portion
of it to be seen towards the feet. This coffin is covered with a
rich stuff and carried into an adjoining room.

The body of the Due de Vendome had been walled up nine
years when I entered the Escurial. I was shown the place it
I occupied, smooth like every part of the four walls and without

mark. I gently asked the monks who did me the honours of
the place, when the body would be removed to the other
chamber. They would not satisfy my curiosity, showed some
indignation, and plainly intimated that this removal was not
dreamt of, and that as M. de Yend6me had been so carefully
walled up he might remain so !

Harlay, formerly chief president, of whom I have so often
had occasion to speak, died a short time after M. de Vend6me.
I have already made him known. I will simply add an ac¬
count of the humiliation to which this haughty cynic was
reduced. He hired a house in the Rue de I’XJniversitd with a
partition wall between his garden and that of the Jacobins of
the Faubourg St. Germain. The house did not belong to the
Jacobins, like the houses of the Rue St. Dominique, and the
Rue du Bao, which, in order that they might command higher
rents, were put in connection with the convent garden. These
mendicant Jacobins thus derive fifty thousand livres a-year.
Harlay, accustomed to exercise authority, asked them for a
door into their garden. He was refused. He insisted, had
them spoken to, and succeeded no better. [Nevertheless the
Jacobins comprehended that although this magistrate, recently
so powerful, was now nothing by himself, he had a son and a
cousin, Councillors of State, whom they might some day have
to do with, and who for pride’s sake might make themselves
very disagreeable. The argument of interest is the best of all
with monks. The Jacobins changed their mind. The Prior,
accompanied by some of the notabilities of the convent, went
to Harlay with excuses, and said he was at liberty, if he liked

240

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

to make the door. Harlay^ true to liis character, looked at
tliem askance, and replied, tliat lie had changed his mind and
would do without it, The monks, much troubled by his refusal,
insisted ; he interrupted them and said, “Look you, my Lathers,
I am grandson of Achille du Harlay, Chief President of the
Parliament, who so well served the State and the Kingdom,
and who for his support of the public cause, was dragged to
the Bastille, where he expected to be hanged by those rascally
Leaguers; it would ill become me, therefore, to enter the house,
or pray to God there, of folks of the same stamp as that Jacques
Clement.” And he immediatelj?" turned his back upon them,
leaving them confounded. This was his last act of vigour.
He took it into his head afterwards to go out visi ting a good
deal, and as he preserved all his old unpleasant manners, he
afflicted all he visited; he went even to persons who had often
cooled their heels in his ante-chambers. By degrees, slight but
frequent attacks of apoplexy troubled his speech, so that
people had great difficulty in understanding him, and he in
speaking. In this state he did not cease his visits and could
not perceive that many doors were closed to him. He died in
this misery, and this neglect, to the great relief of the few who
by relationship were obliged to see him, above all of his son
and his domestic.

On the 17tli July, a truce between Franco and England, was
published in Flanders, at the head of the troops of the two
crowns. The Emperor, however, was not yet inclined for peace
and his forces under Prince Eughne continued to oppose us in
Flanders, where, however, the tide at last turned in our favour.
The King w’-as so flattered by the overflow of joj!" that took place
at Fontainebleau on account of our successes, that he thanked
the country for it, for the first time in his life. Prince Eug5no
in want of bread and of everything, raised the siege of Lan-
drecies, which he had been conducting, and terrible desertion
took place among his troops.

About this time, there was an irruption of wolves, which
caused great disorders in the Orleannais; the King’s wolf-
h-unters were sent there, and the people were authorised to
take arms and make a number of grand battues.

THE SPANISH SHCOESSION.

241

CHAPTER XXIV.

Settlement of the Spanish succession—Benunciation of Prance—Comic
failure of the Due de Berry—Anecdote of M. de Chevreuse—Bather
Daniel’s history and its reward.

Peace was now all but concluded between France and England.
There was, however, one great obstacle still in its way. Queen
Anne and her Council, were stopped by the consideration, that
the King of Spain would claim to succeed to the Crown of
France, if the little Dauphin should die. ISTeither England nor
any of the other powers at war, would consent to see the two
principal crowns of Europe upon the same head. It was neces¬
sary then above all things to get rid of this difficulty, and so
arrange the order of succession to our throne, that the case to
be provided against, could never happen. Treaties, renuncia¬
tion, and oaths, all of which the King had already broken,
appeared feeble guarantees in the eyes of Europe. Something
stronger Was sought for. It could not be found ; because there
is nothing more sacred among men than engagements, which
they consider binding on each other. What was wanting then
in mere forms it was now thought could be supplied by giving
to those forms the greatest possible solemnity.

It was a long time before we could get over the difficulty.
The King would accord nothing except promises in order to
guarantee to Europe that the two crowns should never be
united upon the same head. His authority was wounded at
the idea of being called upon to admit, as it were, a rival near
it. Absolut© without reply, as he had become, he had extin-
VOL. II.

242

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

guished and absorbed even the minutest trace, idea, and recol¬
lection, of all other authority, all other power in France except
that which emanated from himself alone. The English, little
accustomed to such maxims, proposed that the States-General
should assemble in order to give weight to the renunciations
to be made. They said, and with reason, that it was not
enough that the King of Spain should renounce France unless
France renounced Spain; and that this formality was necessary
in order to break the double bonds which attached Spain, to
France, as France was attached to Spain. Accustomed to their
parliaments, which are in effect their States-General, they be¬
lieved ours perserved the same authority, and they thought
such authority the greatest to be obtained and the best capable
of solidly supporting that of the King.

The effect of this upon the mind of a Prince almost deified
in his own eyes, and habituated to the most unlimited des¬
potism cannot be expressed. To show him that the authority
of his subjects was thought necessary in order to confirm his
own, wounded him in his most delicate part. The English
were made to understand the weakness and the uselessness of
what they asked; for the powerlessness of our States-General
was explained to them, and they saw at once how vain their
help would be, even if accorded.

For a long time nothing was done; France saying that a
treaty of renanciation and an express confirmatory declaration
of the King, registered in the Parliament, were sufficient; the
English replying by reference to the fate of past treaties. Peace
meanwhile was arranged with the English, and much beyond
our hopes remained undisturbed.

In due time matters were so far advanced in spite of ob¬
stacles thrown in the way by the allies, that theDucd’Aumont
was sent as ambassador into England; and the Duke of Hamil¬
ton was named as ambassador for France. This last, however,
losing his life in a duel with Lord Mohun, the Duke of Shrews¬
bury was appointed in his stead. .

At the commencement of the new year [1713] the Duke and
Duchess of Shrewsbury arrived in Paris. The Duchess was

EEPOEM IN COSTUME.

243

a great fat masculine creature, more than, past the meridian,
who had been beautiful and who affected to be so still; bare
bosomed; her hair behind her ears; covered with rouge and
patches, and full of finicking ways. All her manners were
that of a mad thing, but her play, her taste, her magnificence,
even her general familiarity made her the fashion. She soon
declared the women’s head-dresses ridiculous, as indeed they
were. They were edifices of brass wire, ribbons, hair, and all
sorts of tawdry rubbish more than two feet high, making
women’s faces seem in the middle of their bodies. The old
ladies wore the same, but made of black gauze. If they moved
ever so lightly the edifice trembled and the inconvenience was
extreme. The King could not endure them, but master as he
was of everything was unable to banish them. They lasted
for ten years and more, despite all he could say and do. What
this monarch had been unable to. perform, the taste and ex¬
ample of a silly foreigner accomplished with the most surprising
rapidity. From extreme height, the ladies descended to ex¬
treme lowness, and these head-dresses, more simple, more
convenient, and more becoming, last even now. Eeasonable
people wait with impatience for some other mad stranger who
will strip our dames of these immense baskets, thoroughly
insupportable to themselves and to others.

Shortly after the Duke of Shrewsbury arrived in Paris the
Hotel de Powis in London, occupied by our ambassador the
Due d’Aumont, was burnt to the ground. A neighbouring
house was pulled down to prevent others catching fire. The
plate of M. d’Aumont was saved. He pretended to have lost
everything else. He pretended also to have received several
warnings that his house was to be burnt and himself assassi¬
nated, and that the Queen to whom he had mentioned these
warnings, offered to give him a guard. People judged other¬
wise in London and Paris, and felt persuaded he himself had
been the incendiary in order to draw money from the King and
also to conceal some monstrous smuggling operations, by which
he gained enormously, and which the English had complained
of ever since his arrival. This is at least what was publicly

16—2

244

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

said in the two courts and cities, and nearly everybody be¬
lieved it.

But to return to the peace. The renunciations were ready,
towards the middle of March and were agreed upon. The
King was invited to sign them by his own most pressing in¬
terest ; and the Court of England, to which we owed all, was
not less interested in consummating this grand work, so as to
enjoy with the glory of having imposed it upon all the powers,
that domestic repose which was unceasingly disturbed by the
party opposed to the government, which party, excited by the
enemies of peace abroad, could not cease to cause disquiet to
the Queen’s minister, while, by delay in signing, vain hopes of
disturbing the peace or hindering its ratification existed in
people’s minds. The King of Spain had made his renuncia¬
tions with all the solidity and solemnity which could be
desired from the laws, customs, and usages of Spain. It only
remained for Erance to imitate him.

For the ceremony that was to take place, all that could be
obtained in order to render it more solemn was the presence
of the peers. But the King was so jealous of his autho¬
rity, and so little inclined to pay attention to that of others,
that he wished to content himself with merely saying in a
general way that he hoped to find all the peers at the Parlia¬
ment when the renunciations were made. I told M. d’Orl^ans
that if the King thought such an announcement as this was
enough he might rely upon finding not a single peer at the
Parliament. I added, that if the King did not himself invite
each peer, the master of the ceremonies ought to do so for him,
according to the custom always followed. This warning had
its effect. We all received written invitations, immediately.
Wednesday, the 18th of May, was fixed for the ceremony.

At six o’clock on the morning of that day I went to the
apartments of M le Due de Berry, in parliamentary dress, and
shortly afterwards M. d’Orleans came there also, with a grand
suite. It had been arranged that the ceremony was to commence
by a compliment from the Chief-President de Mesmes to M. le
Due de Berry, who was to reply to it. He was much troubled

LEARNING A SPEECH.

245

at this. Madame de Saint-Simon, to whom he nnbosomed him¬
self, found means, through a subaltern, to obtain the discourse
of the Chief-President, and gave it to M. le Duo de Berry, to
regulate his reply by. This, however, seemed too much for
him; he admitted so to Madame de Saint-Simon, and that he
knew not what to do. She proposed that I should take the
work off his hands; and he was delighted with the expedient.
I wrote, therefore, a page and a half full of common-sized
paper in an ordinary handwriting. M. le Due de Berr}’- liked
it, but thought it too long to bo learnt. I abridged it; he
wished it to be still shorter, so that at last there was not more
than three-quarters of a page. Pie had learned it by heart, and
repeated it in his cabinet the night before the ceremony to
Madame de Saint-Simon, who encouraged him as much as she
•could.

At about half-past six o’clock we set out—^M. le Due d’Orlcians,
M. le Due de Berry, myself, and M. le Due de Saint Aignan, in
■one coach, several other coaches following. M. le Due de Berry
was very silent all the journey, appearing to be much occupied
with the speech he had learned by heart. M. d’Orl6ans on the
•contrary, was full of gaiety, and related some of his youthful
adventures, and his wild doings by night in the streets of
Paris. We arrived gently at the Porte de la Conference, that
s to say—for it is now pulled down—at the end of the terrace,
and of the Qnai of the Tuileries.

We found there the trumpeters and drummers of M. le Due
de Berry’s guard, who made a great noise all the rest of our
journey, which ended at the Palais de Justice. Thence we went
to the Sainte Chapelle to hear Mass. The Chapelle was filled
with company, among which were many people of quality. The
crowd of people from this building to the grand chamber was
so great that a pin could not have fallen to the ground. On all
•sides, too, folks had climbed up to see what passed.

All the princes of the blood, the bastards, the peers, and the
parliament, were assembled in the palace. When M, le Due de
Berry entered, everything was ready. Silence having with
•difficulty been obtained, the Chief-President paid his compliment

246 MEMOIES OF THE DUHE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

to the Prince, When he had finished, it was for M. le Due de
Berry to reply. He half took off his hat, immediately put it
hack again, looked at the Chief-President, and said, Monsieur;'’
after a moment’s pause he repeated—“ Monsieur.” Then h©
looked at the assembly, and again said, “Monsieur.” After¬
wards he turned towards M. d’Orldans, who, like himself, was
as red as fire, next to the Chief-President, and finally stopped
short, nothing else than “ Monsieur ” having been able to issue
from his mouth.

I saw distinctly the confusion of M. le Due de Berry, and
sweated at it; but what could be done ? The Due turned
again towards M. d’Orldans, who lowered his head. Both were
dismayed. At last the Chief-President, seeing there was na
other resource, finished this cruel scene, by taldng off his cap
to M. le Due de Berry, and inclining himself very low, as if the
response was finished. Immediately afterwards he told the
King’s people to begin. The embarrassment of all the courtiers
and the surprise of the magistracy may be imagined!

The renunciations were then read; and by these the King of
Spain and his posterity gave up all claim to the throne of
France, and M. le Due d’Orleans, and M. leDuc de Berry to
succeed to that of Spain. These and other forms occupied a
long time. The chamber was all the while crowded to excess.
There was not room for a single other person to enter. It was
very late when all was over.

When everything was at an end M. de Saint Aignan and I
accompanied M. le Due de Berry and M. le Due d’Orldans in a
coach to the Palais Boyal. On the way the conversation was.
very quiet. M. le Due de Berry appeared dispirited, embarrassed,
and vexed. Even after we had partaken of a splendid and
delicate dinner, to which an immense number of other guests
sat down, he did not improve. We were conducted to the
Porte St. Honor6 with the same pomp as that in the midst of
which we had entered Paris. During the rest of the journey
to Versailles M. le Due de Berry was as silent as ever.

To add to his vexation, as soon as he arrived at Versailles,
the Princesse de Montauban, without knowing a word of what

HUMILIATION OF THE DUC DE BERRY.

247

liad passed, set herself to exclaim, with her usual flattery, that
she was charmed with the grace and the appropriate eloquence
with which he had spoken at the Parliament, and paraphrased
this theme with all the praises of which it was susceptible. M.
le Due de Berry blushed with vexation without saying a word j
she recommenced extolling his modesty, he blushing the more,
and saying nothing. When at last he had got rid of her, he
went to his own apartments, said not a word to the persons he
found there, scarcely one to Madame his wife, but taking
Madame de Saint-Simon with him, went into his library, and
shut himself up alone there with her.

Throwing himself into an arm-chair he cried out that he was
dishonoured, and wept scalding tears. Then he related to
Madame de Saint-Simon, in the midst of sobs, how he had
stuck fast at the Parliament, without being able to utter a word,
said that he should everywhere be regarded as an ass and a
blockhead, and repeated the compliments he had received from
Madame de Montauban, who, he said, had laughed at and
insulted him, knowing well what had happened; then infuriated
against her to the last degree, he called her by all sorts of names.
Madame de Saint-Simon spared no exertion in order to calm
M. de Berry, assuring him that it was impossible Madame
de Montauban could know what had taken place at the
Parliament, the news not having then reached Versailles, and
that she had had no other object than flattery in addressing
him. Nothing availed. Complaints and silence succeeded
each other in the midst of tears. Then, suddenly falling upon
the Due de Beauvilliers and the King, and accusing the defects
of his education: “ They thought only,” he exclaimed, “ of
making me stupid, and of stifling all my powers. I was
a younger son. I coped with my brother. They feared the
consequences; they annihilated me. I was taught only to play
and to hunt, and they have succeeded in making me a fool and
an ass, incapable of anything, the laughing-stock and disdain of
everybody.” Madame de Saint-Simon was overpowered with
compassion, and did everything to calm M. de Berry. Their
strange Ute-d-Ute lasted nearly two hours, and resumed the

248 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

next day but with less violence. By degrees M. le Due de
Berry became consoled, but never afterwards did any one
dare to speak to him of his misadventure at the peace
ceremony.

Let me here say that, the ceremony over, peace was signed
at Utrecht on the 10th April, 1713, at a late hour of the night.
It was published in Paris with great solemnity on the 22nd.
Monsieur and Madame du Maine, who wished to render them¬
selves popular, came from Sceaux to see the ceremony in the
Place Royale, showed themselves on a balcony to the people to
whom they threw some money—a liberality that the Ling,
would not have permitted in anybody else. At night fires were
lighted before the houses, several of which were illuminated.
On the 25th a Te Deum was sung at Notre Dame, and in the
evening there was a grand display of fireworks at the Grfeve,
which was followed by a superb banquet given at the H6tel de
YiUe by the Due de Tresmes, the Governor of Paris, to a
large number of distinguished persons of both sexes of the
Court and the city, twenty-four viohns playing during the
repast.

I have omitted to mention the death of M. de Chevreuse,
which took place between seven and eight o’clock in the
morning on Saturday, the 5th of November, of the previous
year (1712). I have so often aUuded to M. de Chevreuse in the
course of these pages, that I wiU content myself with relating
here two anecdotes of him, which serve to paint a part of his
character.

^ He was very forgetful, and adventures often happened to
him in consequence, which diverted us amazingly. Sometimes
hk horses were put to and kept waiting for him twelve or
^en hours at a time. Upon one occasion in summer this
^ppened at Vaucresson, whence he was going to dine at
Dampierre. The coachman, first, then the postilion, grew tired
of lool^g after the horses, and left them. Towards six o’clock
at night the horses themselves were in their turn worn out
Mted, and a din was heard which shook the house. Every¬
body ran out, the coach was found smashed, the large door

M. DE CHEVREUSE.—HIS ABSENCE OF MIND.

249

shivered in pieces j the garden railings, which enclosed both
■sides of the court, broken down; the gates in pieces; in short,
damage was done that took a long time to repair. M. de
Chevreuse, who had not been disturbed by this uproar even for
■an instant, was quite astonished when he heard of it. M. de
Beauvilliers amused himself for a long time by reproaching him
with it, and by asking the expense.

Another adventure happened to him also at Yaucresson, and
•covered him with real confusion, comical to see, every time it
was mentioned. About ten o’clock one morning a M. Sconin,
who had formerly been his steward, was announced. “'Let him
take a turn in the garden,” said M. de Chevreuse, “ and come
back in half an hour.” He continued what he was doing, and
•completely forgot his man. Towards seven o’clock in the even¬
ing Sconin was again announced. “ In a moment,” replied M.
de Chevreuse, without disturbing himself A quarter of an
hour afterwards he called Sconin, and admitted him. “ Ah, my
poor Sconin!” said he, “ I must offer you a thousand excuses for
having caused you to lose your day.”

“Not at all, Monseigneur,” replied Sconin. “As I have had
the honour of knowing you for many years, I comprehended
this morning that the half-hour might be long, so I went to
Paris, did some business there, before and after dinner, and here
I am again.”

M. de Chevreuse was confounded. Sconin did not keep
•silence, nor did the servants of the house. M. de Beauvilliers
made merry with the adventure when he heard of it, and ac¬
customed as M. de Chevreuse might be to his raillery, he could
not bear to have this subject alluded to. I have selected two
anecdotes out of a hundred others of the same kind, because
they characterise the man.

The liberaUty of M. du Maine which we have related on the
occasion of the proclamation of peace at Paris, and which
was so popular, and so surprising when viewed in connection
with the disposition of the King, soon took new development.
The Jesuits, so skilful in detecting the foibles of monarchs, and
so clever in seizing hold of everything which can protect them-

250 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

selves and answer their ends, showed to what extent they were
masters of these arts. A new and assuredly a very original
History of France, in three large folio volumes, appeared under
the name of Father Daniel, who lived at Paris in the establish¬
ment of the Jesuits. The paper and the printing of the work
were excellent; the style was admirable. Never was French
so clear, so pure, so flowing, with such happy transitions; in a
word, everything to charm and entice the reader; admirable
preface, magnificent promises, short, learned dissertations, a
pomp, an authority of dhe most seductive kind. As for the
history, there was much romance in the first race, much in the
second, and much mistiness in the early times of the third. In
a word, all the work evidently appeared composed in order to
persuade people—^under the simple air of a man who set aside
prejudices with discernment, and who only seeks the truth—
that the majority of the Eungs of the first race, several of the
second, some, even of the third, were bastards, whom thi pi defect
did not exclude firom the throne, or affect in any way.

I say bluntly here what was very delicately veiled in the
work, and yet plainly seen. The effect of the book was great;
its vogue such, that everybody, even women, asked for it. The
King spoke of it to several of his Court, asked if they had read
it; the most sagacious early saw how much it was protected;
it was the sole historical book the King and Madame de
Maintenon had ever spoken of. Thus the work appeared at
Versailles upon every table, nothing else was talked about,
marvellous eulogies were lavished upon it, which were some¬
times comical in the mouths of persons either very ignorant, or
who, incapable of reading, pretended to read and relish this
book.

But this surprising success did not last. People perceived
that this history, which so cleverly unravelled the remote part,
gave but a meagre account of modern days, except in so far as
their military operations were concerned, of which even the
minutest details were recorded. Of negotiations, cabals. Court
intrigues, portraits, elevations, falls, and the main springs of
events, there was not a word in all the work, except briefly,

EECOMPENSE OE AN HISTOELAN.

251

dryly, and witli precision as in tlie gazettes, often more super¬
ficially. Upon legal matters, public ceremonies, f^tes of dif¬
ferent times, there was also silence at the best, the same
laconism; and when we come to the afiairs of Eome and of the
League, it is a pleasure to see the author glide over that dan¬
gerous ice on his Jesuit states !

In due time critics condemned the work which, after so much
applause, was recognised as a very wretched history, which had
very industriously and very fraudulently answered the purpose
for which it was written. It fell to the ground then; learned
men wrote against it; but the principal and delicate point of
the work was scarcely touched in France with the pen, so great
was the danger.

Father Daniel obtained two thousand francs’ pension for his
history,—a prodigious recompense,—with a title of Historio¬
grapher of France. He enjoyed the fruits of liis falsehood, and
laughed at those who attacked him. Foreign countries did' not
swallow quite so readily these stories that declared such a
number of our early kings bastards; but great care was taken
not to let France be infected by the disagreeable truths therein
published.

252

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

CHAPTEE XXV.

The Bull UnigmiiMS—M.j Interview with Father TeUier—Curious inad¬
vertence of mine—^Beace—Due de la Eochefoucauld—Suicide in public
—Channel—^Two gay sisters.

It is now time that I should say something of the infamous
hull Uni^&nitus, which by the unsurpassed audacity and schem¬
ing of Father Le Tellier and his friends was forced upon the
Pope and the world.

I need not enter into a very lengthy account of the celebrated
Papal decree which has made so many martyrs, depopulated
our schools, introduced ignorance, fanaticism, and misrule, re¬
warded vice, thrown the whole community into the greatest
confusion, caused disorder everywhere, and established the most
arbitrary and the most barbarous inquisition; evils which have
doubled within the last thirty years. I will content myself
with a word or two, and will not blacken further the pages of
my Memoirs. Many pens have been occupied, and will be oc¬
cupied, with this subject. It is not the apostleship of Jesus
Christ that is in question, but that of the reverend fathers and
their ambitious clients.

It is enough to say that the new bull condemned in set terms
the doctrines of St. Paul (respected like oracles of the Holy
Spirit ever since the time of our Saviour), and also those of St.
Augustin, and of other fathers; doctrines which have always
been adopted by the Popes, by the Councils, and by the Church
Itself ^ The bull, as soon as published, met with a violent oppo¬
sition in Home from the cardinals there, who went by sixes by
c%hte, and by tens, to complain of it to the Pope. They might

THE BULL AT E0ME AND IN FRANCE.

25B

■well do so, for they had not been consulted in any way upon
this new constitution. Father Tellier and his friends had had
the art and the audacity to obtain the publication of it without-
submitting it to them. The Pope, as I have said, had been
forced into acquiescence, and now, all confused, knew not what-
to say. He protested, however, that the publication had been
made without his knowledge, and put off the cardinals with
compliments, excuses, and tears, which last he could always,
command.

The constitution had the same fate in France as in Kome.
The cry against it was universal. The cardinals protested that
it would never be received. They were shocked by its con¬
demnation of the doctrines of St. Augustin and of the other
fathers; terrified at its condemnation of St. Paul. There were
not two opinions upon this terrible constitution. The Court,
the city, and the provinces, as soon as they knew the nature of
it, rose against it like one man.

In addition to the articles of this constitution which I have
already named, there was one which excited infinite alarm and
indignation, for it rendered the Pope master of every crown t
As is well known, there is a doctrine of the church, which
says:—

An wnjust excommunication ought not to hinder from
doing our -dnity.

The new constitution condemned this doctrine, and conse¬
quently proclaimed that—

An unjust excommunication ought to hmder [zts] from
doing our duty.

The enormity of this last is more striking than the sunple
truth of the proposition condemned. The second is a shadow
which better throws up the light of the first. The results and
the frightful consequences of the condemnation are as clear as
day.

I ^.hir>k I have before said that Father TeUier, without any
advances on my part, -without, in fact, encouragement of any
kind, insisted upon keepmg up an intimacy with me, which I
could not well repel, for it came from a mah whom it would

254 MEMOIRS OF THE DHKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

have been very dangerous indeed to have for an enemy. As
soon as this matter of the constitution was in the wind, he
came to me to talk about it. I did not disguise my opinion
from him, nor did he disguise in any way from me the unscru¬
pulous means he meant to employ in order to get this bull
accepted by the clergy. Indeed, he was so free with me,
showed me so plainly his knavery and cunning, that I was, as
it were, transformed with astonishment and fright- I never
could comprehend this openness in a man so false, so arti¬
ficial, so profound, or see in what manner it could be useful to
him.

One day he came to me by appointment, with a copy of the
constitution in his hand in order that we might thoroughly
discuss it. I was at Versailles. In order to understand what
I am going to relate, I must give some account of my apart¬
ments there. Let me say, then, that I had a little back
cabinet, leading out of another cabinet, but so arranged that
you would not have thought it was there. It received no light
except from the outer cabinet, its own windows being boarded
up. In this back cabinet I had a bureau, some chairs, books,
and all I needed; my friends called it “my shop,’’ and in truth
it did not ill resemble one.

Father TeUier came at the hour he had fixed. As chance
would have it, M. le Due and Madame la Duchesse de Berry
had invited themselves to a collation with Madame de Saint-
Simon that morning. I knew that when they arrived I should
no longer be master of my chamber or of my cabinet. I told
Father TeUier this, and he was much vexed. He begged me
so hard to find some place where we might be inaccessible to
the company, that at last, pressed by him to excess, I said I
knew of only one expedient by which we might become free;
ajad I told him that he must dismiss his vathU (as the brother
who always accompanies a monk is called), and that then fur-
^hed with candles, we would go and shut ourselves up in my
back cabinet, where we could neither be seen nor heard, if
we took care not to speak loud when anybody approached.
He thought the expedient admirable, dismissed his companion,

MY DISCUSSION WITH TELLIEE.

255

..and we sat down opposite each, other, the bureau between us,
with two candles alight upon it.

He immediately began to sing the praises of the Gonstitu-
>tion Unigenitus, a copy of which he placed on the table. I
interrupted him so as to come at once to the excommunication
proposition. We discussed it with much politeness, but with
little accord. I shall not pretend to report our dispute. It
was warm and long. I pointed out to Father Tellier, that
supposing the King and the little Dauphin were both to die,
and this was a misfortune which might happen, the crown of
France would by right of birth belong to the King of Spain;
but according to the renunciation just made, it would belong
to M. le Due de Berry and his branch, or in default to M. le
Due d’Orldans. "Now,” said I, "if the two brothers dispute
the crown, and the Pope faTouring the one should excommuni¬
cate the other, it follows, according to our new constitution,
that the excommunicated must abandon all his claims, all his
partisans, all his forces, and go over to the other side. For
you say, an unjust excommunication ought to hinder us from
•■doing our duty. So that in one fashion or another the Pope
is master of all the crowns in his communion, is at liberty to
take them away or to give them as he pleases, a Kberty so many
Popes have claimed and so many have tried to put in action.”

My argument was simple, applicable, natural, and pressing:
it offered itself, of itself. Therefore, the confessor was amazed
by it; he blushed, he beat about the bush, he could not collect
himself. By degrees he did so, and replied to me in a manner
that he doubtless thought would convince me at once. “If
the case you suggest were to happen,” he said, "and the Pope
declaring for one disputant were to excommunicate the other
and all his followers, such excommunication would not merely
be vmjust, it would be false; and it has never been decided
that a false excommunication should hinder us from doing our
• duty.”

"Ah! my father,” I said, "your distinction is subtle and
clever I admit. I admit,, too, I did not expect it, but permit
ime some few more objections, I beseech you. Will the Ultra-

256

MEMOIES OF THE DTJE:E OF SAINT-SIMON.

montanes admit tlie millity of the excommunication? Is it-
not null as soon as it is unjust ? If the Pope has the power to
excommunicate unjustly, and to enforce obedience to his ex-
communication, who can limit power so unlimited, and why
should not his false (or nullified) excommunication be as much
obeyed and respected as his unjust excommunication ? Sup¬
pose the case I have imagined were to happen. Suppose the
Pope were to excommunicate one of the two brothers. De
you think it would be easy to make your subtle distinction
between a false and an unjust excommunication understood by
the people, the soldiers, the bourgeois, the officers, the lords,
the women, at the very moment when they would be preparing-
to act and to take up arms ? You see I point out great incon¬
veniences that may arise if the new doctrine be accepted, and
if the Pope should claim the power of deposing kings, dispos¬
ing of their crowns, and releasing their subjects from the oath
of fidelity in opposition to the formal words of Jesus Christ
and of all the scripture.”

My words transported the Jesuit, for I had touched the
right spring in spite of his efibrt to hide it. He said nothing^
personal to me, but he fumed. The more he restrained him¬
self for me the less he did so for the matter in hand. As
though to indemnify himself for his moderation on my ac¬
count, he launched out the more, upon the subject we were
discussing. In his heat, no longer master of himself, many
things escaped him, silence upon which I am sm’e he would
afterwards have bought very dearly. He told me so many
things of the violence that would be used to make his consti¬
tution accepted, things so monstrous, so atrocious, so terrible,,
and with such extreme passion that I feU into a veritable syn¬
cope. I saw him right in front of me between two candles,
only the width of the table between us (I have described else¬
where his horrible physiognomy). My hearing and my sight
became bewilderecL I was seized, while he was speaking, with
the ftdl idea of what a Jesuit was. Here was a man who by
his state and his vows, could hope for nothing for his family
or for himseh^ who could not expect an apple or a glass of

THE AGE OF TELLIER.

257

•wine more than his brethren; who was approaching an age
when he would have to render account of all things to God,
and who, with studied deliberation and mighty artifice, was
going to throw the state and religion into the most terrible
flames, and commence a most frightful persecution for ques¬
tions which affected him in nothing, nor touched in any way
the honour of the School of Molina!

His profundities, the violence he spoke of—aU this together,
threw me into such an ecstacy, that suddenly I interrupted
him by saying:

“My father, how old are you V’

The extreme surprise which painted itself upon his face as
I looked at him with all my eyes, fetched back my senses, and
his reply brought me completely to myself. “Why do you
ask ?” he rephed, smiling. The effort that I made over my¬
self to escape such a unique proposito, the terrible value of
which I fully appreciated, furnished me an issue. “ Because,”
said I, “never have I looked at you so long as I have now, you
in front of me, these two candles between us, and your face is
so fresh and so healthy, with aU your labours, that I am sur¬
prised at it.”

He swallowed the answer, or so well pretended to do so,
that he said nothing of it then nor since, never ceasing when
he met me to speak to me as openly, and as frequently as be¬
fore, I seeking him as little as ever. He rephed at that time
that he was seventy-four years old, that in truth he was very
weU; that he had accustomed himself, from his earhest years,
to a hard life and to labour; and then went back to the point
at which I had interrupted him. We were compelled, how¬
ever, to be silent for a time, because people came into my
cabinet, and Madame de Saint-Simon, who knew of our inter¬
view, had some difficulty to keep the coast clear.

For more than two hours we continued our discussion, he
trying to put me off with his subtleties and authoritativeness,
I offering but httle opposition to him, feeling that opposition
was of no use, all his plans being already decided. We sepa¬
rated without having persuaded each other, he. with many

VOL. n.

258 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIITT-SIMON’.

flatteries upon my intelligence, praying me to reflect -well upon
the matter; I replying that my reflections were aU made, and
that my capacity could not go farther. I let him out by the
little back door of my cabinet, so that nobody perceived him,
and as soon as I had closed it, I threw myself into a chair like
a man out of breath, and I remained there a long time alone,
reflecting upon the strange kind of ecstacy I had been in, and
the horror it had caused me.

The results of this eoTwtitution were, as I have said, terrible
to the last degree; every artifice, every cruelty was used, in
order to force it down the throats of the clergy, and hence the
confusion and sore trouble which arose aH over the realm. But
it is time now for me to touch upon other matters.

Towards the close of this year, 1713, peace with the Emperor
seemed so certain, that the King disbanded sixty battalions and
eighteen men per company of the regiment of the guards, and
one hundred and six squadrons; of which squadrons twenty-
seven were dragoons. At peace now with the rest of Europe
he had no need of so many troops, even although the war
against the Empire had continued; fortunately, however, it did
not. Negotiations were set on foot, and on the 6th of March
of the following year, 1714, after much debate, they ended suc¬
cessfully. On that day, in fact, peace was signed at Kastadt.
It was shortly afterwards published at Paris, a Te Deum sung,
and bonfires lighted at night; a grand collation was given at
the H6tel de YiUe by the Due de Tresmes, who at midnight
also gave, in his own house, a splendid banquet, at which were
present many ladies, foreigners, and courtiers.

This winter was fertile in balls at the Court; there were
several, fancy-dress and masked, given by M. le Due de Berry
by Madame la Duchesse de Berry,|M. le Due, and others. There
were some also at Paris, and at Sceaux, where Madame du
Maine gave many f&tes and played many comedies, everybody
going there from Paris and the Court—M. du Maine doing the
honours. Madame la Duchesse de Berry was in the family way
and went to no dances out of her own house. The King per¬
mitted her, on account of her condition, to sup with him in a

A JOKE AT THE OPERA;

259

role de chambre, as under siniila,r circumstaiLces lie liad per¬
mitted the two Danphines to do.

At the opera, one night this winter, the Abb^ Servien, not
liking certain praises of the King contained in. a Prologue, let
slip a bitter joke in ridicule of them. The pit took it up, re¬
peated it, and applauded it. Two days afterwards, the Abbe
Servien was arrested and taken to Vincennes, forbidden to speak
to anybody and allowed no servant to wait upon him. For
form’s sake seals were put upon his papers, but he was not a
Tna.Ti likely to have any fit for aught else than to light the fixe.
Though more than sixty-five years old, he was strangely
debauched.

The Due de la Eochefoucauld died on Thursday, the 11th of
January, at Versailles, seventy-nine years of age, and blind. I
have spoken of him so freq[uently in the course of these
memoirs, that I will do nothing more now than relate a few
particulars respecting him, which will serve in some sort to form
his portrait.

He had much honour, worth, and probity. He was noble,
good, magnificent, ever willing to serve his friends; a little too
much so, for he oftentimes wearied the King with importunities
on their behalf. Without any inteUect or discernment he was
proud to excess, coarse and rough in his manners—disagreeable
even, and embarrassed with all except his flatterers; like a
mfl.Ti who does not know how to receive a visit, enter or leave
a room. He scarcely went anywhere except to pay the indis¬
pensable compliments demanded by marriage, death, etc., and
even then as little as he could. He lived in his own house so
shut up that no one went to see him except on these same oc¬
casions. He gave himself up almost entirely to his valets, who
misled themselves in the conversation; and you were obliged to
treat them with aU sorts of attentions if you wished to become
a frequenter of the house.

I shall never forget what happened to us at the death of the
Prince of Vaudemont’s son, by which M. de la Eochefoucauld s
family came in for a good inheritance. We were at Marly. The
King had been stag-hunting. M. de Chevreuse, whom I found

17—2

260

MEMOIES OF THE DTJKE OP SAINT-SIMOH.

•when the King was being unbooted, proposed that we should
go and pay our compliments to M. de la Kochefoucauld. We
went. Upon entering, what was our surprise, nay, our shame,
to hnd ]M1. de la Hochefoucauid playing at chess with one of his
servants in livery, seated opposite to him ! Speech failed us.
M. de la Eochefoucauld perceived it, and remained confounded
himself. He stammered, he grew confused, he tried to excuse
what we had seen, saying that this lackey played very well,
and that chess-players played with everybody. M. de Che-
vreuse had not come to contradict him, neither had I; we turned
the conversation, therefore, and left as soon as possible. As
soon as we were outside we opened our minds to each other,
and ^d what we thought of this rare meeting, which, however
we did not make public. *

M. de la Eochefoucauld, towards the end of his career at
^urt, became so importunate, as I have said, for his friends
that the King was much relieved by his death. Such have
been his sentiments at the death of nearly all those whom he
iiad liked and favoured.

^ Of the courage of M. de la Eochefoucauld, courtier as he was
m spea mg to the King, I will relate an instance. It was
dmng one of the visits at Marly, in the gardens of which the
was amusing himself with a fountain that he set at
work I know not what led to it, but the King, usually so re-
^rved, spoke with him of the bishop of Saint-Pons, then in
ijsgmce on account of the affairs of Port Eoyal. M. de la
Eochefoucauld let him speak on to the end, and then began to
p^ the bishop. The discouraging silence of the King warned
he pemisted however, and related how the bishop,mounted
npon a mule, and visitmg one day his diocese, found himself

S a Si? T?'""

m a precipice There were no means of getting out of it excent
^omg back, but this was impossible, there not being enough
^ to turn romd or to alight. The holy bishop (for sufh

Tars.” lifW liB ey» to H.„eo w

^ ^ abandoned himself to Providence. Imme-

tely his mule rose up upon its hind legs, and thus upright,

A SUICIDE IN PUBLIC.

261

the bishop still astride, turned round until its head was where
its tail had been. The beast thereupon returned along the
path until it found an opening into a good road. Everybody
around the King imitated his silence, which excited the Due to
comment upon what he had just related. This generosity
charmed me, and surprised all who were witness of it.

The day after the death of M. de la Eochefoucauld, the
■Chancellor took part in a very tragic scene. A Vice-bailli of
Alengon had just lost a trial, in which, apparently, his honour, or
his property, was much interested. He came to Ponchartrain’s
where the Chancellor was at the moment, and waited until he
came out into the court to get into his carriage. The Vice-hailh
then asked him for a revision of the verdict. The Chancellor,
with much gentleness and goodness, represented to the man
that the law courts were open to him if he insisted to appeal,
hut that as to a revision of the verdict, it was contrary to
usage; and turned to get into his coach. While he was getting
in, the unhappy hailli said there was a shorter way of escaping
from trouble, and stabbed himself twice with a poniard. At the
cries of the domestics the Chancellor descended from the coach,
had the man carried into a room, and sent for a doctor, and a
confessor. The bailli made confession very peacefully, and died
an hour afterwards.

I have spoken in its time of the exile of Charmel and its
causes, of which the chief was his obstinate refusal to present
himself before the King. The vexation of the King against
people who withdrew from him was always very great. In
this case, it never passed away, but hardened into a strange
cruelty, to speak within limits. Charmel attacked with the
stone, asked permission to come to Paris to undergo an opera¬
tion. The permission was positively refused. Time pressed.
The operation was obliged to be done in the country. It was
so severe, and perhaps so badly done, that Charmel died three
days afterwards full of penitence and piety. He had led a life
remarkable for its goodness, was without education, but had
religious fervour that supplied the want of it. Ho was sixty-
eight years of age.

262

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMON.

The Har^chale de la Fert^ died at Paris, at the same time,
more than eighty years old. She was sister of the Comtesse
d’Olonne, very rich and a widow. The beauty of the two
sisters, and the excesses of their lives, made a great stir. No
women, not even those most stigmatized for their gallantry,
dared to see them, or to be seen anywhere with them. That
was the way then ; the fashion has changed since. When they
were old and nobody cared for them, they tried to become
devout. They lodged together, and one Ash-Wednesday went
and heard a sermon. This sermon, which was upon fasting
and penitence, terrified them.

" My sister,” they said to each other on their return, “ it was
aU true; there was no joke about it; we must do penance, or
we are lost. But, my sister, what shall we do?” After
Wng weU turned it over: “My sister,” said Madame
d’Olonne, “this is what we must do; we must make our
servants fast.” Madame d’Olonne thought she had very well
met the difficulty. However, at last, she set herself to work
in earnest, at piety and penitence, and died three months after
her sister, the Mar^chale de la Ferte. It will not be forgotten
that it was under cover of the Marechale that a natural child
was fest legitimated without naming the mother, in order that
by this example, the King’s natural children might be similarly
honoured, without naming Madame de Montespan, as I have
related in its place.

THE KING OF SPAIN A 'WIDOWEE.

263

CHAPTER XXVI.

The King of Spain a Widower—Intrigues of Madame des XJrsins—Choice
of the Princess of Parma—The King of France kept in the dark—Cele-
' hration of the Marriage—Sudden FaU of the Princesse des IJrsins—Her
Expulsion from Spain.

The Queen of Spain, for a long time violently attacked witk
the king’s evil around the face and neck, was just now at the
point of death. Obtaining no relief from the Spanish doctors,
she wished to have Helvetius, and begged the King by an ex¬
press command to send him to her. Helvetius much incon¬
venienced, and knowing besides the condition of the princess,
did not wish to go, but the King expressly commanded him.
He set out then in a post chaise, followed by another in case
his own should break down, and arrived thus at Madrid on the
11th of February, 1714. As soon as he had seen the Queen, he
said there was nothing but a miracle could save her. The
King of Spain did not discontinue sleeping with her until the
9th. On the 14th she died, with much courage, consciousness,
and piety.

Despair was general in Spain, where this queen was univer¬
sally adored. 'There was not a family which did not lament
her, not a person who has since been consoled. The King of
Spain was extremely touched, but somewhat in a royal manner.
Thus, when out shooting one day, he came close to the convoy
by which the body of his queen was being conveyed to the
Escurial; he looked at it, followed it with his eyes, and continued
his sport! Are these princes made like other human beings ?

The death of the Queen led to amazing changes, such as the

264

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOlir.

most prophetic could not have foreseen. Let me here, then,
relate the events that followed this misfortune.

I must commence by saying, that the principal cause which
had so long and scandalously hindered us from making peace
with the Emperor, was a condition, which Madame des Ursins
wished to insert in the treaty, (and which the King of Spain
supported through thick and thin) , to the effect that she should
be invested with a bond fide sovereignty. She had set her
heart upon this, and the King of Spain was a long time before
he would consent to any terms of peace that did not concede it
to her. It was not until the King had uttered threats against
him that he would give way. As for Madame des TJrsins, she
had counted upon this sovereignty with as much certainty as
though it were already between her fingers. She had counted
too TOth equal certainty upon exchanging it with our King
for the sovereignty of Touraine and the Amboise country and
had actually charged her faithful Aubigny to buy her some
land near Amboise to build her there avast palace, with courts
and out-buddings; to furnish it with magnificence, to spare
neither gilding nor paintings, and to surround the whole with
the most beautiful gardens. She meant to live there as
soverei^ lady of the countiy. Aubigny had at once set about
the work to the surprise of everybody: for no one could imagine
for whom such a grand building could be designed. He kept
the secret, pretended he was building a house for himself and

that just as peace was concluded

the Stipulation respecting Madame des Hrsins being
inserted in the treaty, nearly all was finished. Her sovereignty
scheme thoroughly failed; and to finish at once with that mad

SnS to ^^bigny, who Hved there all the rest of his life:

nt TVr “to the hands

daughter. It is one of the mol

“ ZTa. S-rance, and the ntcet

’’5' "i®* Creina, eiee«Jinglr

offend«J Madame de Maintenon and wounded her pride!a(

ISOLATION OF THE KING OF SPAIN.

265

felt^ -with jealousy, that the grand airs Madame des XJrsinsgave
herself were solely the effect of the protection she had accorded
her. She could not bear to be outstripped in importance by
the woman she herself had elevated. The King, too, was much
vexed with Madame des Ursins; vexed also to see peace
dlelayed; and to be obliged to speak with authority and menace
to the King of Spain, in order to compel him to give up the
idea of this precious sovereignty. The King of Spain did not
yield until he was threatened with abandonment by France. It
may be imagined what was the rage of Madame des Ursins
upon missing her mark after having, before the eyes of all
Europe, fired at it with so much perseverance, nay with such
unmeasured obstinacy. From this time there was no longer
the same concert between Madame de Maintenon and Madame
“des Ursins that had formerly existed. But the latter had
reached such a point in Spain, that she thought this was of no
consequence.

It has been seen with what art Madame des Ursins had un¬
ceasingly isolated the King of Spain; in what manner she had
shut him up with the Queen, and rendered him inaccessible,
not only to his Court but to his grand oj03.cers, his ministers^
even his valets, so that he was served by only three or four
attendants, all French, and entirely under her thumb. At the
■death of the Queen this solitude continued. Under the pretext
that his grief demanded privacy, she persuaded the King to leave
his palace and to instal himself in a quiet retreat, the Palace
of Medina-Celi, near the Buen-Ketiro, at the other end of the
city. She preferred this because it was infinitely smaller than
the Eoyal Palace, and because few people, in consequence,
could approach the Edng. She herself took the Queen’s place ;
and in order to have a sort of pretext for being near the King,
in the same solitude, she caused herself to be named governess
of his children. But in order to be always there, and so that
nobody should know when they were together, she had a large
wooden corridor made from the cabinet of the King to the
apartment of his children, in which she lodged. By this means
they could pass from one to the other without being perceived.

266

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

and mthout traversing the long suite of rooms, filled witk
courtiers^ that were between the two apartments. In this
maimer it was never known whether the King was alone or
with Madame des TJrsins; or which of the two was in the
‘ apartments of the other. When they were together or how
long is equally unknown. This corridor, roofed and glazed,
was proceeded with in so much haste, that the work went on,
in spite of the King’s devotion, on fgte days and Sundays. The
whole Court, which perfectly well knew for what use this
corridor was intended, was much displeased. Those who
directed the works were the same. Of this good proof was
given. One day, the Comptroller of the royal buildings, who
had been ordered to keep the men hard at it, Sundays andf^te
days, asked the P^re Eobinet, the King’s confessor, and the
only good one he ever had; he asked, I say, in one of those
rooms Madame des TJrsins was so anxious to avoid, and in the
presence of various courtiers, if the work was to be continued
on the morrow, a Sunday, and the next day, the F^te of the
Virgin. Eobinet replied, that the King had said nothing te
the contrary; and met a second appeal with the same answer.
At the thiid, he added, that before saying anything he would
wait tm the King spoke on the subject. At the fourth appeal
he lost patience, and said that if for the purpose of destroying
what had been commenced, he believed work might be done
even on Easter-day itself; but if for the purpose of continuing
the corridor, he did not think a Sunday or a fete day was a
fitting time,^ AU the Court applauded; but Madame des TJrsins,
to whom this sally was soon carried, was much irritated.

It was suspected that she thought of becoming something
more than the mere companion of the King. There were
several princes. Eeports were spread which appeared equivocal
and wMch terrified. It was said that the King had no need of
posterity, with all the children it had pleased God to bless him
with; but now he only needed a wife who could take charge
of those children. Not content with passing aU her days with
the King, md allowing him, like the deceased Queen, to work
with his ministers only in her presence, the Princesse des TJrsins

THE KING OF SPAIN WANTS A WIFE.

267

felt that to render this habit lasting she must assure herself of
him at all moments. He was accustomed to take the air, and
he was in want of it all the more now because he had been
much shut up during the last days of the Queen’s illness, and
the first which followed her death. Madame des Ursins chose
four or five gentlemen to accompany him, to the exclusion of
all others, even his chief officers, and people still more necessary.
These gentlemen charged with the amusement of the King,
were called recreadores. With so much circumspection,
importunity, preparation, and rumour carefully circulated, it
was not doubted that Madame des Ursins intended to marry
him; and the opinion, as well as the fear, became general. The
King (Louis XIV.), was infinitely alarmed; and Madame de
Maintenon, who had twice tried to be proclaimed Queen and
twice failed, was distracted with jealousy. However, if
Madame des Ursins flattered herself then, it was not for
long.

The King of Spain, always curious to learn the news from
Krance, often demanded them of his confessor, the only man to
whom he could speak who was not under the thumb of Madame
des Ursins. The clever and courageous Robinet, as disturbed
as others at the progress of the design, which nobody in the
two Courts of France and Spain doubted was in execution,
allowed himself to be pressed by questions—^in an embrasure
where the King had drawn him—^played the reserved and the
mysterious in order to excite curiosity more. When he saw it
was sufficiently excited, he said that since he was forced to
speak, his news from France was the same as that at Madrid,
where no one doubted that the King would do the Princess,e
des Ursins the honour to espouse her. The King blushed and
hastily replied, “ Marry her I oh no! not that! ” and quitted
him.

Whether the Princess des Ursins was informed of this sharp
repartee, or whether she despaired already of success, she
changed about; and judging that this interregnum in the
Palace of Medina-Celi could not last for ever, resolved to assure
herself of the King by a Queen who should owe to her such a

XEKClIlS OF THE DUKE OF SHOT-SMOH.

fis

nmrri*^, Mid who, having no other siippoit, would,
throw herielf into her arms bj gratitude and necessity. With
this view she explained hereelf to Albemni, who, since the
dcith of the Diic de Vend^^me, had remained at Madrid charged
with tfie of Parma; and proposed to him the marria^
of the Princas of Parma, daughter of the Dnch'^ and of the
late Pate of Parma, who hwi numded the widow of his
brother.

AJberaii ojtild with difficulty believe his ears. An alliance
so disproportioned appeared to him so much the more incredible,
he ttonght the Court of Pmnee would never consent to
it, and tliat without its consent the marri^^e could not be con-
doirf. Hie Princess in question wm the i^ue of double ille-
gitima^; by ter father desi»iii«i from a pof^, by her mother
fosm a natural ciaugliter of Charles Quint. She wm daughter
of a petty I^aki of Parma, and of a mother, entirely Austiiam
sister of the Dowager Empress and of the Dowager Queen of
S^ia (wtiOysG acts had excited such disapproval that she was
^ni from her exile at Toledo to Bayonne), sister too of the
Queen of Pcirtigah who had induced the King, her husband,
to receiYe the Arch duke at Lisbon, and to carry the war into
Spain. It did not seem reasonable, therefore, that such a
Princess would be accepted as a wife for the Kincr of
Spain. ^

Kothing of al this, however, stopped the Princess des Dmins;
her own interat was the most pressing consideration with her.
fli# wil of the King of Spain was entirely subject to her; she
Mi all the chan^ towaids her of our King and of M,adame
ie ^l^teiion; she no longer iop^i for a retiim of their favour;
ahe Mieveii that she mast look around for support against the
▼fiy authority which had esteblished her m powerfully, and
wHch mm destroy her; and «OTpied heiself solely in pushing
fcrw^ » marriage from which she expected everytMiig by
the ame use of the new queen as she had made of the
on© just deai The King of Spain was devout, he absolutely
■wmted m wife, the Prineeia des Ureins was of an age when h^
claims wt» but the chaims of art; in a woid, she mi Alberoni

the MAEQtns DE mLiMCAS.

26 &

to "work, and it may l»e Ijeliev^ die was not scmpaloxts as to
her means as soon as they were persuaded at Parma that she
was serious and not joking. Orry, always unit«i with MadamA
des ITrsins^ and all-powerful hy her means, was her wle con¬
fidant in this importMit afiair.

At that time the Marquis de Brancas was French mnhassador
at Madrid. He had flattered himself that Madame da TJrsins
would make him one of the Grandees of Spain. Instead of
doing so she simply bestowed upon him the order of the Golden
Fleece. He had never pardoned her for this. Entirely devoted
to Madame de Maintenon, he became on that very account an
object of suspicion to Madame des TJrsins, who did not doubt
that he cherished a grudge against her, on account of the favour
he had missed. She allowed him no accea to her^ and had her
eyes open upon all he did. Brancas in like manner watched
all her doings. The confessor, Eohinet, confided to him hk
fears respecting Madame des TJrsins, and the chiefs of a court
universally discontented, went and opened their hearts to
thinking it was France alone which cmald set to rights the
situation of Spain.

Brancas appreciated aH the importance of what was told
him, but warned hy the fate of the Abh4 d’Estrdes, fearing even
for his couriers, he took the precaution of sending word to the
Edng that he had pressing business to acquaint him wiih,
which he could not trust to paper, and that he wished to he
allowed to come to Yersailles for a fortnight. The reply was
the permission aaked for, accompani^, however, with an order
to commnmcate en route with the Due de Berwick, who was
about to pass to Barcelona.

Madame des TJrsins, who always found means to be informed
of everything, immediately knew of Brancas’s projoted journey,
and determiued to get the start of him. At once she had
sixteen relays of mules provided upon the Bayonne road, and
suddenly sent off to France, on Holy Thursday, Cardinal del
Giudiee, grand iuquiritor and minister of state, who had this
mean complaisance for her. She thus struck two blows at
once; she got rid, at least for a time, of a Cardinal minister

27 #

MMOIBS OF THE BtJKlE OF SAIKT-SIMOIT.

who troubled her, and anticipated Branca^ vhich in onr Court
•w« no small |K)iiil

Bmnms, who felt all the importance of arriving fimt, fol¬
lowed the C^dinal on Good Friday, and moved so well that he
overtook Mm at Bayonne, at night while he wa^ asleep;
Bmncms passed straight on, charging the Commandant to amuse
and to delay the Cardinal as long as possible on the morrow;
^ined ground, and arrived at Bordeaux vrith twenty-eight
post-homes that he had cmrried off with him from various
stetions, to keep them from the Cardinal He arrived at Paris
in this manner two days l^fore the other, and went straight to
Marly where llie Eliig was, to explain the business that had
M him there. He had a long audience with the King, and
reived a lodging for the rest of the visit.

The Cardiiml del Giudice rested four or five days at Paris,
and then came to Marly where he was introduced to the King.
The Cardinal wm somewhat emlmmassed; he was charged
with no business; all his mission was to praise Madame des
Ursins, and complain of the Marq_uis de Brancas. These
praises of Madame des Ursins were but vague; she had not
sufficient confidence in the Cardinal to admit to him her real
position in our Court, and to give him instructions accordingly,
so that wliat he had to say was sewn, all said; against the
Marquis de Branas he had reMly no fact to allege, his sole
crime was that he was too sharp-sighted and not sufficiently
devoted to the Princes.

The CawiiiMl was a courtier, a mai of telent, of business, of
intrigue, who felt, with that for a person of Ms

condition and weight, such a commission as he lx)re was very
empty. He app«red exceedingly agreeable in wnvemation,
rf namers, and was much liked In ^>od scwjiety. He

ms assiaiioiM m Hs attentions to the Bang, without im-
^artuniiig Mm for audiences that were unneces^xy; mid by all
wndael^ he ^ve Tea»n for televing tlmt he suspected
des Hrmns’ ie»deiic© in our Cour% and sought to giin
tod cimfiden«, so as to townie by the support of the
King, ptiH» ttkaster m Sfain; hut as w» shall, soon s^, Ms

A SATIHa OF THE KTEG.

in

ultramontane liotbim Hnderad tie accxmaplislmieat of Ms
measures. All tie smo^m of Ms journey resisted in Mndering
Branca from returning to S|mio, ^Oiis was no great pmnisi-
ment^ for Branchs h«i notMng more to io{» for from Madame
des TJrsins, and was not a man to lose his time for nothing.

Up to this period not a word had l^n mid to the King
(Louis XIY.) by the King of Spain upon the subject of Ms
marriage; not a Mnt had been given that he meant to re¬
marry, much less with a Parma princess. This proc^ding,
^grafted upon the sovereignty claimed by the Princ^sse d^
Ursins, and all her (induct with the King of Spain sincse the
death of the Queen, resolved our King to disgrace her without
appeal

A remark upon Madame des Ursins, accompanied by a smile,
escaped from the King, generally so complete a master of himself,
.and appeared enigmatical to such an extent, although striking,
that Torey, to whom it was addressed, understood nothing. In
his surprise, he related to Castries what the King had said;
Castries told it to Madame la Duch^e dUrleans, who reportod
it to M. d'Orl&ns and to me. We racked our brains to mm-
prehend it, but in vain; nevertheless such an unimtelligiMe
remark upon a person like Madame des Ursins, who up to this
lime h^ad been on such good terms with the King and Madame
de Maintenon, did not appear to me to be favourable. I was
confirmed in this view by what had just happened with regard
her sovereiemtv: but I was a thousand l^,crii« frnm thft

thunderbolt which this lightning aanouneed, and wMeh only
declared itself to us by its fall

It was not until the 27th of June that the King was made
.acquainted by the King of Spain with his approaching marriage.
Of course, through other channels, he had not failed to hear of
it long before. He pa®ed in the lightest and gentlest manner
in the world over this project, and the mystery so long and so
. complete with which it had been kept from him, stranger, if
possible, than the marriage iteelf He could not hmder it; but
from this moment he was sure of Ms vengeance gainst her
who had arranged and brought it alxml in this manner. The

172

SimOIM OF THE BUKE OF SAIOT-SIMOF.

dkgmm of Madame des Vmim was in fact determined on be¬
tween the King and Madame de Maintenon, but in a manner

oat bj whom or how it was carried out. It is good to admit
our ignoraoc€j and not to give fictions and inventions in place
of what we are nnacqoainted with.

I know not why, but a short time after this, the Princesse
des Ursim conceived such strong suspicion of the lofty and

having made this marriage, and wished to break it off! She
brought forwaid, therefore, I know not what difficulties, and

G

But Madame des ursins had chan^d her mind tcK) late. The

lyug ab lie cuuju, aiiu iiiis caused muca remarK. me marriage,,
which was to have been celebrated on the 25th of Aumist, did

O f

not lake place until the 15th of September. Immediately after

For dowry Ab had one hiindr«i timuCTud pistoles, and three
himdirf thousand Ivim* wo^rih of jewels. She had embarked
for JJimiite at di A violent temi^t sickened

her of She landai, therefore, at Mobmx), in orfer to

bv land Provens, lAnffuedcxx and Giuenne. so as to

of ter mothtr, and wiifow of Oiarles JL D^granges,
the ceremmi^ tos to h&r in Provence, with

JOTTENET OE THE QTJEEH OF SPAIH.

273

general, and intendants to follow her also, and serve her, though
she travelled incognito.

The new Queen of Spain, on arriving at Pau, found the
Queen Dowager, her aunt, had come expressly from Bayonne
to meet her. As they approached each other, they both de¬
scended at the same time, and after saluting, mounted alone
into a beautiful caliche that the Queen Dowager had brought
with her, and that she presented to her niece. They supped
together alone. The Queen Dowager conducted her to Saint
Jean Pied-de-Port (for in that country, as in Spain, the entrances
to mountain passes are called ports). They separated there,
the Queen Dowager 'making the Queen many presents, among
others a garniture of diamonds. The Due de St. Aignan joined
the Queen of Spain at Pau, and accompanied her by command
of the King to Madrid. She sent Grillo, a Genoese noble, whom
she has since made grandee of Spain, to thank the King for
sending her the Due de St. Aignan, and for the present he
brought with him. The officers of her household had been
named by Madame des Ursins.

The Queen of Spain advanced towards Madrid with the at¬
tendants sent to accompany her. She was to be met by the
Eng of Spain at Guadalaxara, which is about the same distance
from Madrid as Paris is from Fontainebleau. He arrived there,
accompanied by the attendants that the Princesse des TJrsins
had placed near hhn, to keep him company, and to allow no
one else to approach him. She followed in her coach, so as to
arrive at the same time, and immediately afterwards he shut
himself up alone with her, and saw nobody until he went to
bed. This was on the 22nd of December. The next day the
Princesse des Ursins set out with a small suite for a little place,
seven leagues further, called Quadra^ud, where the Queen was
to sleep that night. Madame des Ursins counted upon enjoying
all the gratitude that the Queen would feel for the unhoped-for
grandeur she had obtained by her means; counted upon passing
the evening with her, and upon accompanying her next day to
Guadalaxara. She found, upon arriving at Quadraque, that
the Queen had already reached there. She at once entered into

VOL. n. 1 o

27*4

HE5I0IES OF THE DUKE OF SAIST-SIMOH.

a lodgiag that had been prepared for her, oppcwite that of the
Queen. Slie was ia a fall Court dress. Afl«r adjusting it in a
hurried intmiier, she went to tlie Queen. The i»ldness and
stiffness of her reception surprised her extremelj*. She attri¬
buted it in the firet place to the embanmsment of the Queen,
and tried to melt this ice. EverylK)dj withdrew, in order to
leave the two alone.

Then the conveimtioa comimenced. The Queen would not
long allow Madame im Umns to «>iatiniie it; but hursk out
into reproMli« her for her imnncre, »ni for apjmring

there in a drew timi WMit of r^^ct for the mmpaiij

she WM iia. Madame des U»im, wh^e dws wm preper, and
who, on Mconnt of her res^tfal tad her dismni^

<»lciilatoi to win the Queen, believeil herself to be &r fitna
meritiiig this timtoent, was »imngely siii|>ri»d, and wished to
txems© herself; bnl the Qm«fn immediately legmn to altor
offensive wordp, to ciy oat, to eall aloud, to demand lie oMmm
of the gnard, and sharp'Jy to eomimiid Madame des Uraias to
leave her presence. The latter wishel to speak and defend
beraelf agminst the reproaclic^ she heard ; but the Queen, in-
CTessing her fiiiy mud her menaces, eriecl out to her people to
drive this mail wo'nmri from her presence sirid from the house;
And absolutely had her tamed out bj the shonldeis. Imme¬
diately afterwards, she called Ameazagi, liemtenant of the body¬
guard, and at the ame time the icujer who had the control of
her €qEipa-.ges. She ordered the first to arrest Mkkme des
Uraia% aad not quit her until he had placed her in a «»ch,
with two sure offi«rs of the giarf and ifteea soldieis as ^nri-
mels over her; tie second she coimmiid''€d to provide instontly
A mimh and six, with two or th^ f^toea, »ai send in it
the Princes des Frsins towards and withoofc

oii« stoppiBg ©n the romi. Amenrngo tried to reprerent to the
Qaeta that the King of Sfaia aloae had the power to give such
cemmaais; bat she haagMily asked Mm if ie li«i not revived
« ©rftr freai the King d S|aia to obey her in eveiythia^
wi^ont riiirve ami witiiout eomment. It was true he
reived mth an orfcr, thoigii nol^y imaw a w«d ibcml it.

TOE ramCMl SEMT mt OF ff5

lladame Am ’CTrsini was then iameiiiately airestelj mmA put
into a i^ch witli one of her waiting-womeB, wiliioat having
had tiffi© to chang® her costnme or Iitr to taka any

precaution ablest th© to proviile iier*>*’'if with m^j taosey
or other and without any kind of refre.-^liiiitnt in tlie

or ft chemise; nothing, in fact, t<i change or to ®lrtp in!
She w»s sMpp^ off tiaa (with two of the giuij, who

were ready as soon as the eiwh). In Ml Court sm

she left the Qaeta. la the veiy short mad tiiMiilltiotts into^rvil
which ek|^i, th# «at m ni»^c to llie Queen, who &w into
» frmh i^ion mpm. ni^ teing obeyed, »ad made her set out
immediately.

It was then nemrly seven o'clc«k in the evening, two ilays
before Christinas^ the ground all covered with snow and
and the cold extreme and very sharp mod bitter, it always m
in Spain. As sron m the Qiieea iMmed that the Princesse ties
TJrains wm out of Qiiadr^n^, die wrote to the King of S|»iQ,
by an officer of the guards whom she despatclie-ii to Gua^la-
lax&ra. The night wm so dark that it was only by means of
the snow that anything mnM 1» s«n.

It m not easy to ropre»nt the state of Madame des IJrans
in to© «^h. An exee« of Mtonislmeat and liewiMerMnt
prevailed at iwl^ md sasjMiidrf al other seatimemi; bat grief,
vexation, rage, Mid despair, sain folowei. In their inrn sac-
^ and profound reittstioni upon a step m violent, m
iinh'»:d-0C so imjnstiitHc is sli© thought. Then she
hop^ ever3rtliing from the friendship of the King of Spain and
his TOnfidenc© in her; pictured Ms anger and smrprise, and
thc» of to© group of atteched servitors, by whom she h^
stiiToiinded him, and who wonld be so interesteii in exciting the
King in her favour. The long winler^s niglit paised thias; the
wld was temMe, there was nothing to ward it off; the eoach-
mftn actually loit the ii» of one hand The moraiag advaaad;
ft halt was neceKary in order to bait the horses; as for the
travelers there » noiMmg for them ever ia the Spanish inns.
Yon are simply told where «ch thing jm wmnt is sold The
meat is oidimrily ^ve; the W'in^ toick, imt, and strong; ih©

18—2

27Q

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAmT-SIMON.

bread bad; tbe water is often wortbless; as to beds, there are
some, but only for the mule-drivers, so that you must carry
everything with you, and neither Madame des Ursins nor those
with her had anything whatever. Eggs, where they could find
any, were their sole resource; and these, fresh or not, simply
boiled, supported them during all the journey.

Until this halt for the horses, silence had been profound and
uninterrupted; now it was broken. During all this long night
the Princesse des Ursins had had leisure to think upon the
course she should adopt, and to compose her face. She spoke
of her extreme surprise, and of the little that had passed be¬
tween her and the Queen. In like manner the two ojflScers of
the guard accustomed, as was all Spain, to fear and respect her
more than their Bong, replied to her from the bottom of that
abyss of astonishment from which they had not yet arisen.
The horses being put to, the coach soon started again. Soon^
too, the Princesse des Ursins found that the assistance she ex¬
pected from the King did not arrive. ISfo rest, no provisions,
nothing to put on, until St. Jean de Luz was reached. As she
went further on, as time passed and no news came, she felt she
had nothing more to hope for. It may be imagined what rage
succeeded in a woman so ambitious, so accustomed to publicly
reign, so rapidly and shamefully precipitated from the summit
of power by the hand that she herself had chosen as the most
solid support of her grandeur. The Queen had not replied to
the last two letters Madame des Ursins had written to her.
This studied neghgence was of bad augury, but who would
have imagined treatment so strange and so unheard-of 1

Her nephews, Lanti and ChaJais, who had permission to join
her, completed her-dejection. Yet she was faithful to herself.
Neither tears nor regrets, neither reproaches, nor the slightest
weakness escaped her; not a complaint even of the excessive
cold, of the deprivation of all thin^, or of the extreme fatigue
of such a journey. The two officers who guarded her could not
contain their admiration.

At Jmn de Luz, where she arrived on the 14th of

January, l7lo, she found at last her corporeal ills at an end

SEHBS COURIEBS TO ^

She obtained a bed, change of dress, food, and her liberty. The
guards, their officers, and the coach which had brought her, re¬
turned; she remained with her waiting-maid and her nephews.
She had leisure to think what she might expect from Ver¬
sailles. In spite of her mad sovereignty scheme so long main¬
tained, and her hardihood in arranging the King of Spain’s
marriage without consulting our King, she flattered herself
she should find resources in a Court she had so long governed.
It was from St. Jean de Luz that she despatched a courier
charged with letters for the King, for Madame de Maintenon,
and for her friends. She briefly gave us an account in those
letters of the thunderbolt which had fallen on her, and asked
permission to come to the Court to explain herself more in
detail. She waited for the return of her courier in this her
first place of liberty and repose, which of itself is very agree¬
able. But this first courier despatched, she sent off Lanti with
letters written less hastily, and with instructions. Lanti saw
the King in his cabinet on the last of January, and remained
there some moments. From him it was known that as soc®.
as Madame des Ursins despatched her first courier, she had
sent her compliments to the Queen Dowager of Spain at
Bayonne, who would not receive them. What cruel morti¬
fications attend a faU from a ihrone I Let us now return to
<juadalaxara.

2T8

MEMOIRS OP THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMOK.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The King ^Spain acquiesces in the disgrace of Madame des TTrsins—Its
ongm—Who struck the Blow—Her Journey to Versailles—Treatment
^ere—My Interview with her—She retires to Genoa—Then to Borne—
Dies.

The officer of the guards, whom the Queen despatched with a
letter for the King of Spain as soon as Madame des Ursins
was out of Quadraqud, found the King upon the point of going'
to bed. He appeared moved, sent a short reply to the Queen,
and gave no orders. The officer returned immediately. What
is singular is, that the secret was so well kept that it did not
transpire until the next morning at ten o’clock. It may he
imagined what emotion seized the whole Court, and what
divers movements there were among all at Guadalaxara. How¬
ever, nobody dared to speak to the King, and much expecta¬
tion was built upon the reply he had sent to the Queen. The
morning passed and nothing was said; the fate of Madame des
Ursins then became pretty evident.

Chalais and Lanti made bold to ask the King for permission
to go and join the Princess in her isolation. Not only he al-
lowed them to do so, but charged them with a letter of simplo
civility, in which he told her he was very sorry for what had
happened; that he had not been able to oppose the Queen’s,
will; that he should continue to her her pensions, and see that
■they were p'unctually paid. He was as good as his word: as.
long as she lived she regularly received them.

The Queen arrived at Guadalaxara on the afternoon of the
day before Christmas day, at the hour fixed, and as though,

TBnE KING OF SPAIN’S WEBBING BAY.

279

nothing had occurred. The King received her in the same
manner on the staircase, gave her his hand, and immediately
led her to the chapel, where the marriage was at once cele¬
brated; for in Spain the custom is to marry after dinner.
After that he led her to her chamber, and straightway went
to bed; it was before six o’clock in the evening, and both got
up again for the midnight mass. What passed between them
upon the event of the previous evening was entirely unknown,
and has always remained so. The day after Christmas-day the
Edng and Queen alone together in a coach, and followed by all
the Couift, took the road for Madrid, where there was no more
talk of Madame des Ursins than if the King had never known
her. Our King showed not the least surprise at the news
brought to him by a courier despatched from Guadalaxara by
the Due de Saint Aignan, though all the Court was filled with
emotion and affright after having seen Madame des Ursins so
triumphant.

Let us now look about for some explanations that will
enable us to pierce this mystery—that remark to Torcy which
escaped the King, which Torcy could not comprehend, and
which he related to Castries, who told it to Madame la
Duchesse d’Orleans, from whom I learned it! Can we imagine
that a Parma princess brought up in a garret by m imperious
mother, would have dared to take upon herself, while six
leagues from the King of Spain whom she had never seen, a
step so bold and unheard-of, when we consider against whom
directed, a pemon possessing the entire confidence of that King
and reigning openly ? The thing is explained by the order, so
unusual and so secret, that Amenzago had from the King of
Spain to obej' the Queen in eveiything, without reserve and
without comment; an order that became known only at the
moment when she gave orders to arrest Madame des Ureins
and take her away.

Let us remark, too, the tranquillity with which our King
and the King of Spain received the first intelligence of this
event; the inactivity of the latter, the coldness of his letter
to Madame des Ursins, and his perfect indifference what be-

280 MEICOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOH.

came of a person wiio was so cterished tlie day before, and
wbo yet was forced to travel, deprived of everything, by roads
full of ice and snow. We must recollect that when the Eang
banished Madame des Ursins before, for opening the letter of
the Abbe d’Estr^es, and for the note she sent upon it, he did
not dare to have his orders executed in the presence of the
King of Spain. It was on the frontier of Portugal where our
King wished him to go for the express purpose, that the King
of Spain signed the order by which the Princesse des Ursins
was forced to withdraw from the country. Now we had a
second edition of the same volume. Let me add what I learnt
from the Marechal de Brancas, to whom Alberoni related, a
long while after this disgrace, that one evening as the Queen
was travelling from Parma to Spain, he found her pacing her
chamber, with rapid step and in agitation muttering to herself,
letting escape the name of the Princesse des Ursins, and then
saying with heat, I will drive her away, the first thing.” He
cried out to the Queen and sought to represent to her the
danger, the madness, the inutility of the enterprise which
overwhelmed him. “Keep aU this quiet,” said the Queen,
and never let what you have heard escape you. Not a word!
I know what I am about.”

All these things together threw much light upon a catas¬
trophe equally astonishing in itself and in its execution, and
clearly show our King to have been the author of it; the King
of Spain a consenting party and assisting by the extraordinary
order given to Amenzago; and the Queen the actress, charged
in some manner by the two Kings to bring it about. The
sequel in France confirmed this opinion.

The fall of the Princesse des Umins caused great changes in
Spain. The Comtesse d*Altamire was named Camarera mayor,
in her plac^. She was one of the greatest ladies in all Spain,
and was heredita:^ Duchess of Cardonne. CeHamare, nephew
of C^dinal del Giudice, was named her grand ecuyer; and the
Cardinal himself soon returned to Madrid and to considera¬
tion. As a natural consequence, Macanas was disgraced. He
Orry h^ orders to leave Sj^ the latter wiSiout seeing

THE PKIHCBSSE XJESIHS IN PAEIS.

281

the King. He cairied with him the maJedictians of the puhEc.
Pompadour, who had been named Ambassador in Spain only to
mnnse Madame dm IJrsins, wa^ dismissed, and the Due de
Saint-Aignan invested with that character, just as he was
about to return after having conducted the Queen to Madrid.

In due time the Princesse des Ursins arrived in Paris, and
took up her quarters in the house of the Due de NoirmoutieK,
her brother, in the Eue St. Dominique, close to mine. This
journey must have appeared to her very different from the last
she had made in France, when she was Queen of the Court.
Few people, except her former friends and those of her former
cabal, came to see her; yet, nevertheless, some curious folks
appeared, so that for the first few days there was company
enough; but after that, solitude followed when the ill-succem
of her journey to Yersailles became known. M. d’Orl6ans,
reunited now with the King of Spain, felt that it was due to
his interest even more than to his vengeance to show in a
striking manner, that it was solely owing to the hatred and
artifice of Madame des Ursins that he had fallen into such dis¬
favour on account of Spain, and had been in danger of losing
his head. Times had changed. Monseigneur was dead, the
Meudon cabal annihilated; Madame de Maintenon had turned
her back upon Madame des Ursins; thus ML d*Orleans was free
to act as he pleas^ Indted by Madame la Ducheme dDrlmns,
and more still by Madame, he begged the King to prohibit
Madame des Ursins from appearing anywhere (Veimilles not
even excepted) where she luight meet Madame la Duch^e de
Berry, Madame, Monsieur le Due, and Madame la Duchesse
dDrl6ans, who at the same time strictly forbade their households
to see her, and asked the persons to whom they were pytaeu-
larly attached to hold no intercourse with her. This made a
great stir, openly showed that Madame d^ Umins had utterly
lost the support of Madame de Maintenon and the King, and
much embarrassed her.

I could not feel that M. d’0rl4ins was acting wrong, in thus
paying off his wrongs for the injuries she had hea|^d upon him,
but I represented to bim, that as I bad always been an intimate

282

KEMOIKS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON'.

fnend of Madame des Ursins^ putting aside lier conduct to¬
wards Hm and making no comparison between my attachment
for him and my Mendship for her, I could not forget the marks
of consideration she had always given me, particularly in her
last triumphant journey (as I have already explained), and that
it would be hard if I could not see her. We capitulated
then, and M. le Due and Madame la Duchesse d^Orl&ns
permitted me to see her twice—once immediately; once when
she left—^giving my word that I would not see her three times,
and that Madame de Saint-Simon should not see her at all;
which latter clause we agreed to very unwillingly, but there
was no remedy. As I wished at least to profit by my chance,
I sent word to Madame des Ursins, explaining the fetters that
bound me, and saying that as I wished to see her at all events-
at my ease since I should see her so little, I would let pass the-
first few days and her first journey to Court, before asking her
for an audience. My message was very well received; she had
known for many years the terms on which I was with M..
d’Orleans; she was not surprised with these fetters, and was-
grateful to me for what I had obtained. Some days after she
had been to Versailles, I went to her at two o'clock in the day,
She at once closed the door to all comers, and I was tete-a-tete
with her until ten o'clock at night.

It may be imagined what a number of things were passed in
review during this long discourse. Our eight hours of conver¬
sation appeared to me like eight moments. She related to me
her catastrophe, without mixing up the ’King or the King of
Spain, of whom she spoke well; but, without violently attack¬
ing the Queen, she predicted what since has occurred. We sepa¬
rated at supper time, with a thousand reciprocal protestations
and regret that Madame de Saint-Simon could not see her. She
promised to inform me of her departure early enough to allow
us to pa^ another day together.

Her journey to Versailles did not pass off very pleasantly.
She dined with the Duchesse de Luders, and then visited
Madame de Mtoitenon; waited wdth her for the Edng, but
when he came did not stop long, withdrawing to Madame

FEABS OF THE PEINCl^S mm HBSUfS.

283

Adam’s, where she passed the nighi The next day she dined
with the Duchesse de Ventadour, and returned to Paris. She
was allowed to give np the pension she received from the King,
and in exchange to have her H6tel de Villa stock increased, so
that it yielded forty thousand livres a-year. Her income^
besides being doubled, was thus much more sure than would
have been a pension from the King which she doubted not M.
d’Orldans, as soon as he became master, would lake from her.
She thought of retiring into Holland, but the States-General
would have nothing to do with her, either at the Hague, or at
Amsterdam. She had reckoned upon the Hague. She next
thought of Utrecht, but was soon out of conceit with it, and
turned her regards towards Italy.

The health of the King, meanwhile, visibly declining,
Madame des Ursins feared lest she should entirely fall into the
clutches of M. d’Orleans. She fuUy resolved, therefore, to make
oJBT, without knowing, however, where to fix herself; and asked
•permission of the King to come and take leave of him at
Marly. She came there from Paris on Tu^day, the’6th of
August, so as to arrive as he left dinner, thal^ is, alxiut ten
o’clock. She was immediately admitted into the cabinet of the
King, with whom she remained iMe-Ortite fuH half an hour.
She passed immediately to the a|»rtmente of Madame de
Maintenon, with whom she remained an hour; and then got
into her coach and returned to Paris. I only knew of this
leave-taking by her arrival at Marly, where I had some trouble
in meeting her. As chance would have il^ I went in search of
her coach to ask her people what had become of her, and was
speaking to them when, lo and behold! she hereelf arrived.
She seemed very glad to see me, and made me mount with her
into her coach, where for little le^ than an hour we discourse
very freely. She did not dissimulate from me her feare; the
coldness the King and Madame de Maintenon had testifiai for
her through all their politeness; the iTOktion she found herself
in at the Court, even in Paris; and the uncertainty in which
she was as to the choice of a retreat; all this in detail, and
nevertheless without complaint, without regret^ without weak-

284

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

ness; always reassured and superior to events, as though some
one else were in question. She touched lightly upon Spain,
upon the ascendency the Queen was acquiring already over the
Eng, giving me to understand that it could not he otherwise;
running lightly and modestly over the Queen, and always
praising the goodness of the Eng of Spain. Fear, on account
of the passers-hy, put an end to our conversation. She was
very gracious to me; expressed regret that we must part; pro¬
ceeded to tell me when she should start in time for us to have
another day together; sent many compliments to Madame de
Saint-Simon; and declared herself sensible of the mark of
friendship I had given her, in spite of my engagement with M.
d’Orleans. As soon as I had seen her off, I went to M. Orleans,
to whom I related what I had just done; said I had not paid a
visit, hut had had simply a meeting; that it was true I could
not hinder myself from seeking it, without prejudice to the
final visit he had allowed me. Neither he nor Madame la
Duchesse d'OrMans complained. They had fully triumphed
over their enemy, and were on the point of seeing her leave
Fmnce for ever, without hope in Spain.

Until now, Madame des Ursins amused hy a residue of
friends, increased hy those of M. de Noirmoutiers with whom
she lodged and who had money, had gently occupied herself
with the arrangement of her affairs, changed as they were, and
in withdrawing her effects from Spain. The fear lest she
should find herself in the power of a Prince whom she had so
cruelly offended, and who showed, since her arrival in France,
that he felt it, hurried all her measures. Her terror augmented
hy the change in the Eng that she found at this last audience
had taken place since her first. She no longer doubted that his
end was very near; and all her attention was directed to the
means hy which she might anticipate it, and he well informed
of his health; this she believed her sole security in France.
Terrified anew by the accounts she received of it, she no longer
gave herself time for anything, hut precipitately set out, on the
14th August, accompanied ^ far as Essonne hy her two nephews.
She had not time to inform me, so that I have never seen her

W1;r SEABCH for A BEfREAX

285

since the day of onr conversation at Marly in Iier eoacli. Ste
did not breathe until she arrived at Lyons.

She had abandoned the project of retiring into HoUandy
where the Stat^-General would not have her. She hei^lf, too,
was disgusted with the equality of a republic, which counter-
balan^ced in her min d the picture of the literty enjoyed thei^
But she could not resolve to return to Rome, the theatre of her
former reign, and appear there proscril^d and old, as in an
asylum. She feared, too, a Iwd. re<^ption, remembering toe
quarrels that had taken place between the Courte of Rome and
Spain. She had lost many friends and acquaintance; in fifteen
years, of alienee all had passed away, and she felt the trouble
she might be subjected to by the ministers of the Emperor,
and by those of the two Crowns, with their partimns.^ ^ Turin
was not a Court worthy of her; the King of Sardinia had
not always been pleased with her, and they knew too much for
each other. At Tenice she would have been out of her ele-

ment. ^

Whilst agitated in this manner, without being able to m&fco
up her mind, she learned that the King was in extreme danger,
a danger exaggerated by rumour. Fear seized^ her lm% ha
should die whilst she was in his realm. She set eff immediately,
therefore, without knowing where to go; and solely to leave
France went to Chambery, as toe near^ place of ^ety,
arriving there out of breath, so to say.

Every place l)eing weU examined, she preferred (^noa; its
liberty pleased her; there -was intercourae there with a nch
and numerous nobility; the climate and the city were ^uti-
ful * toe place was in some sort a centre and halting-point
tw4n Madrid, Paris, and Borne, with which pk^ she was
always in communication, and always hungered after all that
passed thera Genoa determined on, she went there. She was

well received, hoped to fix her tahemade there, and indeed
stayed some years. Bat at last ennui seized her; perha^
vexation at not being made enough of. She conld not emt
without meddling, and what is there for a superannuated

286

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

woman to meddle witli at Genoa ? She turned her thoughts,
therefore, towards Rome. Then, on sounding, found her course
clear, quitted Genoa and returned to her nest.

She was not long there before she attached herself to the
King and Queen of England (the Pretender and his wife), and
soon governed them openly. What a poor resource ! But it
was courtly and had a flavour of occupation for a woman who
could not exist without movement. She finished her life there
remarkably healthy in mind and body, and in a prodigious opu¬
lence, which was not without its use in that deplorable Court.
For the rest, Madame des TJrsins was in mediocre estimation at
Rome, was deserted by the Spanish, little visited by the French,
but always faithfully paid by France and Spain, and unmolested
by the Regent. She was always occupied with the world, and
with what she had been, but was no longer; yet without
meanness, nay, with courage and dignity.

The loss she experienced in January, 1720, of the Cardinal
de la Tr6moille, although there was no real friendship between
them, did not fail to create a void in her. She survived him
three years, preserved all her health, her strength, her mind
until death, and was carried oflF, more than eighty years of age,
at Rome, on the 5th of December, 1722, after a very short
illness.

She had the pleasure of seeing Madame de Maintenon for¬
gotten and annihilated in Saint Cyr, of surviving her, of seeing
at Rome her two enemies, Giudice and Alberoni, as profoundly
disgraced as she,—one falling from the same height,—and of
relishing the forgetfulness, not to say contempt, into which they
both sank. Her death, which, a few years before, would have
resounded throughout all Europe, made not the least sensation.
The little English Court regretted her, and some private friends
also, of whom I was one. I did not hide this, although, on
account of M. le Due d’Orleans, I had kept up no intercourse
with her; for the rest, nobody seemed to perceive she had dis¬
appeared. She was, nevertheless, so extraordinary^ a person,
during all the course of her long life, everywhere, and had so

LIFE OF MADAME DES

287

grandly figured, althougli in various ways; Imd sucli rare in¬
tellect, courage, indusiay, and resource; reignai so publicly
and so at^lutely in Spain; and bad a cbaracter so sustained
and so unique, that her life deserve to he written, md would
lai:e a place among the mc^ curious fiagmente of the history
•of the tim^ in which she lived.

288

MEMOIES OF THU DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOIJ.

OECAPTER XXVm.

Sudden nine^ of tlie Due de Berry—Suspicious Symptoms—The Buchesse
prevented from seeing TTim —His Death—Chara^r—Maimers of the
Dnche^ de Berry.

Btjt I must return somewhat now, in order to make way for a
crowd of eTents which have been pressing forward aE this time,
but which I have passed by, in going straightforward at once
to the end of Madame des Ursins’ history.

On Monday, the 30th April, 1714, the King took medicine,
and worked after dinner with Pontchartraim This was at
Marly. About six o’clock, he went to M. le Due de Berry,
who had had fever all night. M. le Due de Berry had risen
without saying anything, had been with the King at the
medicine-hour, and intended to go stag-hunting; hut on leaving
the King’s chamber shivering seized him, and forced him to go
hack again. He was bled while the King was in his chamber,
and the blood was found very bad; when the King went to bed
the doctom told him the illness was of a nature to make them
hope that it might be a case of contagion. M. le Due de Berry
had vomited a good deal—a black vomit. Fagon said, con¬
fidently, that it was from the blood; the other doctors fastened
upon some chocolate he had taken on the Sunday. From this
day forward I knew what was the matter. Boulduc, apothecary
of the King, and extremely attached to Madame de Saint-Simon
and to me, whispered in my ear that M. le Due de Berry would
not recover, and that, with some little difference, his malady
was the same as that of which the Dauphin and Dauphine died.

EUMOTJBS OP POISON.

289

He repeated this the next day, and never once varied afterwards;
saying to me on the third day, that none of the doctors who
attended the Prince were of a different opinion, or hid from
him what they thought.

On Tuesday, the 1st of May, the Prince was bled in the foot
at seven o’clock in the morning, after a very had night; took
emetics twice, which had a good effect; then some maring. • but
still there were two accesses. The King went to the sick room
afterwards, held a finance council, would not go shooting, as he
had arranged, hut walked in his gardens. The doctors, con¬
trary to their custom, never reassured him. The night was
cruel. On Wednesday, the 2nd of May, the King went, after
Mass, to M. le Due de Berry, who had been again bled in the
foot. The King held the Council of State, as usual, dined in
Madame de Maintenon’s rooms, and afterwards reviewed his
Guards. Coettenfao, chevalier d’honneur of Madame la Duchesse
de Berry, came during the morning to beg the King, in her name,
that Chirac, a famous doctor of M d’Orleans, should he allowed
to see M. le Due de Berry. The King refused, on the ground
that all the other doctors were in accord, and that Chirac, who
might differ with them, would embarrass them. After dinner
Mesdames de Pompadour and La Vieuville arrived, on the part
of Madame la Duchesse de Berry, to heg the King that she
might be allowed to come and see her husband, saying that she
would come on foot rather than stay away. It would have
been better, surely, for her to come in a coach, if she so much
wished, and, before alighting, to send to the King for permission
so to do. But the fact is, she had no more desire to come t.hgn
M. de Berry had to see her. He never once mentioned her
name, or spoke of her, even indirectly. The Kdng replied to
those ladies by saying that he would not close the door against
Madame la Duchesse de Berry, but, considering the state she
was in, he thought it would be very imprudent on her part to
come. He afterwards told M. le Due and Madame la Duchesse
d Orleans to go to Versailles and hinder her from coming.
Upon returning from the review the King went again to see
M. le Due de Berry. He had been once more bled in the arm,
TOL. IL • 19

290 MEMOIR OF THE BTJKE OF SAES’T-SBIOH'-

liad voioited all day—blood too—and had taken some
Eobel water three times, in order to stop his sickness. This
¥oimting put off the communion. Pere de la Rue had been by
his side ever since Tuesday morning, and found him very
patient and resigned.

On Thursday, the 3rd, after a night worse than ever, the
doctom said they did not doubt that a vein had been broken
in the stomach. It was reported that this accident had
happened by an effort M. de Berry made when out hunting on
the previous Thuraday, the day the Elector of Bavaria arrived.
His horse slipped; in drawing the animal up, his body struck
against the pommel of the saddle, so it was said, and ever since
he had spit blcx>d every day. The vomiting ceased at nine
o’clcwk in the morning, but the patient was no better. The
King, who wm going steg-hunting, put it off. At six o’clock
at night M. de Berry was so choked that he could no longer
remain in bed; about eight o’clock he found himself so relieved
that he said to Madame, he hoped he should not die; but soon
after, the malady increased so much that Pdre de la Rue said it
was no longer time to think of anything but God, and of
receiving the Sacrament. The poor Prince himself seemed to
desire it.

A little after ten o’clock at night the King went to the
chapel, where a consecrated Host had been kept prepared
ever since the commencement of the illness. M. le Due de
Beriy received it, with extreme unction, in presence of the
King, with much devotion and respect. The King remained
nearly an hour in the chamber, supped alone in his own, did
not re<»ive the Princesses afterwards, but went to bed. M. le
Due d Orleans, at ten o’clock in the morning, went again to
Versailles, as Madame la Dachesse de Berry wished still to come
to Marly. M. le Due de Berry related to P4re de la Rue, who
at le»t said so, the accident just spoken of; but, it wa^ added
his head was then beginning to wander.” After losing the *
power of speech, he took the crucifix P^re de la Rue held,
kissed ii^ and placed it upon his heart. He expired on Friday,
the 4tli of May, 1714, at four o’clwk in the morning, in his

CHARACTER OF THE DIJC BE BERRY. 291

twenty-eighth year, having been bom at Versailles, the last
•day of August, 1686.

M. le Due de Berry was of ordinary height, rather fat, of a
bea,utiful blonde complexion, with a fresh, handsome face, indi¬
cating excellent health. He was made for society, and for
pleasure, which he loved; the best, gentlest, most compassionate,
and accessible of men, without pride, and without vanity, but
not without dignity or self-appreciation. He was of medium
intellect, without ambition or desire, but had very good sense,
and was capable of listening, of understanding, and of always
taking the right side in preference to the wrong, however spe¬
ciously put. He loved truth, justice, and reason; all that was
contrary to religion pained him to excess, although he was not
of marked piety. He was not without firmness, and hated con¬
straint. This caused it to be feared that he was not supple
enough for a younger son, and, indeed, in his early youth he
could not understand that there was any difference between

him and his eldest brother, and his boyish quarrels often caused
alarm.

He was the most gay, the most frank, and consequently the
most loved of the three brothers; in his youth nothing was
spoken of but his smart replies to Madame and M. de la Eoche-
foucauld. He laughed at preceptors and at masters—often at
pumshment. He scarcely knew anything except how to read
and write; and learned nothing after being freed from the ne¬
cessity of learning. This ignorance so intimidated him, that he
could scarcely open his mouth before strangers, or perform the
most ordinary duties of his rank; he had persuaded himself
that he was an ass and a fool, fit for nothing. He was so afraid
of the King that he dared not approach him, and was so con¬
fused if the King looked hard at him, or spoke of other things
t an hunting, or gaming, that he scarcely understood a word
or could collect his thoughts. As may be imagined, such fear
does not go hand in hand with deep affection.

He commenced Ufe with Madame la Duchesse de Berry as
do almost aU those who marry very young and green. He
became extremely amorous of her; this, joined to his gentleness

19—2

f92t MEMOIES OP THE DUKE OP SATN T-STMOyr.

aad natural complaisance, had the usual effect, which was to
thoroughly spoil her. He was not long in perceiving it; but
love was too strong for him. He found a woman proud,
haughty, passionate, incapable of forgiveness, who despised
him, and who allowed him to see it, because he had infinitely
l^s head than she; and because, moreover, she was supremely
false and strongly determined- She piqued herself upon both
these qualities, and on her contempt for religion, ridiculing M.
le Hue Berry for being devout; and all these things became
insupportable to him. Her gallantries were so prompt, so rapid,
so unmmsured, that he could not help seeing them. Her end¬
less private interviews with M. le Due d’Orleans, in which
everything languished if he was prraent, made him furious.
Violent msm&B fiequently took pla<» between them; the last,
which ocenrred at Rambouillet, went so far that Madame la
Duchesse de Berry re<»ived a kick * * * *, and a menace
that she should he shut up in a convent for the r^t of her life ;
and when M. le Due de Berry fell ill, he was thumbing his hat,
liKe a child, before the King, relating all his grievances, and
asking to be delivered from Madame la Duebesse de Berry.
Hitherto I have only alluded to Madame la Duchesse de Berry,
but, as will be seen, she became so singular a person when her
fether was Regent, that I will here make her known more com¬
pletely than I have yet done.

She was tall, handsome, well made, with, however, but little
grace, and had something in her eyes which made you fear
what she^was. like her father and mother she spoke well and
with facility. Timid in trifles, yet in other things terrifjdngly
Wd,—foolishly har^hty sometime^ and sometimes mean to
the lowest degree,—it may be said that she was a model of all
the vices, avarice excepted; and was all the more dangerous
b«»use she M art and talent I am not accustomed to over-
ootoar the picture I am obliged to pr^ent to render things
Hnderst^, and it will easOy be perceived how strictly I am
Praerred upon the ladies, and upon all gallantries, not intimately
with what may be called important matters. I
«ho«M he lo here, more than in any other case, ftom self-love, if

nElIGHTFTJL COBEtJPTION.

293

not from respect for the sex and dignity of the person. The con¬
siderable part I played in bringing about Madame la Duchesse
de Berr/s marriage, and the place that Madame de Saint-Simon,
in spite of herself and of me, occupied in connection with her,
would be for me reasons more than enough for silence, if I did
not feel that silence would throw obscurity over all the sequel
of this history. It is then to the truth that I sacrifice my self-
love, and with the same truthfulness I will say that if I had
known or merely suspected, that the Princesse was so bad as
she showed herself directly after her marriage, and always more
and more since, she would never have become Duchesse de
Berry.

I have already told how she annoyed M. le Due de Berry by
ridiculing his devotion. In other ways she put his patience to
severe trials, and more than once was in danger of public ex¬
posure. She partook of few meals in private, at which she did
not get so drunk as to lose consciousness, and to bring up aH
she had taken on every side. The presence of M. le Due de
Berry, of M. le Due and Madame la Duchesse d’Orl6ans, of
ladies with whom she was not on familiar terms, in no way
restrained her. She complained even of M. le Due de Berry
for not doing as she did. She often treated her father with a
haughtiness which was terrifying on all accounts.

In her gallantries she was as unrestrained as in other things.
After having had several favourites, she fixed herself upon La
Haye, who from King’s page had^become private dcuyer of M.
le Due de Berry. The oglings in the Salon of Marly were per¬
ceived by everybody; nothing restrained them. At last, it
must be said, for this fact encloses all the rest, she wished La
Haye to run away with her from Versailles to the Low Coun¬
tries, whilst M. le Due de Berry and the Eang were both living.
La Haye almost died with fright at this proposition, which she
herself made to him. His refusal made her furious. From
the most pressing entreaties she came to all the invectives that
rage could suggest, and that torrents of tears allowed her to
pronounce. La Haye had to suffer her attacks—now tender,
now furious; he was in the most mortal embarrassment. It

294

MEmiMS OF THE DUKE OF Si^T-SIMOS.

vas a long time before sbe eould l>e cured of her mad idea, and
ill the meanwhile slie sabjected the poor fellow to the most
frightful persecution. Her passion for La Haye continued
until tie death of M. le Due de Berry, and some time after.

M. le Due de Berry was buried at Saint Denis on Wednes¬
day, the 16th of May; M. le Diic d'Orl^ns was to have headed
the procession^ but the same odious reports apinst him that-
had circulated at the death of the Dauphin had agaiii appeared,,
and he to he let off. M. le Doc filed his place. Madame

la Dttchesse de &rry, who was in the fitmily way, kept her-
l»d; and in order that shouM not seen there when
people caane to pay her the usnal visits of condolen<», the room
was kept quite ciMrk. Many ridiculous scenes and much inde¬
cent laughter, that coiiM not Ib restrained, thus arcMe. Persons
accustomed to the room could see their way, hut those unac-
eustomed stuinMed at eveiy step, and need of guidance.
For want of this, Pirie du Trcvoux, and Per© Telier after him,
tolh *ddr««4 their complmeote to the ; others to the
foot of the l»d. This l^ame a secret amusement, but happily
did not last long«

As niaj* te ima.gined, the dmth of IL le Due de Berry was a
deliverance for Mailaine la Dichease de Beny. She was, as 1
have said, in the family wmj; she liof^d for a boy, and counted
ii{M}a enjoying as a widow more litertj than she had been able
to take as a wife. She had a miscarriage, however, on Satur-
diy, the 16 th of Jane, and was delivered of a daughter which
Hv^ only twelve hoars. Tie little corpre wm buried at Saint
Deals, Madame de at the h«d of the procession.

M^am© la Ducisc^e de &ny, shortly l^fore this event, re¬
vived two hundred thouaad livres iocome of f«nsioii; but the
establishment she would have if the child had been a hoy
WM mmi aitowrf her.

A SEW MM^METAM'CK

295

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mai«)ns seeks 1117 acquaintance—His mysterious manner—Increase of tlie
Intimacy—Extraoniinarj news—Hie Bastards declared Prince of the
Blood—Rage of !Maisons and Noailles—Opinion of the Court and Country.

It is time now that I sliould say something about an event
tbat caused an immense stir throughout the land, and was
much talked of even in foreign parts. I must first introduce,
however, a sort of a personage whose intimacy was forced upon,
me at this period; for the two incidents are in a certain degree
associated together.

M. d*0rl4ans for some little time had continually represents
to me, how desirous one of his acquaintances was to secure my
friendship. This acquaintance was Maisons, president in the
parliament, grandson of that superintendent of the finances who
built the superh chateau of Itaisons, and son of the man who
had premded so unworthily at the judgment of our trial with
M. de Luxembourg, which I have related in its place. Maisons
was a peison of much ambition, exceedingly anxious to make
a name, gradous and flattering in manners to gain Ms ends,
and amazingly fond of grand society.

The position of Maisons, where he Kved, close to Marly, af¬
forded him many opportuniti^ of drawing there the principal
people of the Court. It became quite the fashion to go firom
Marly to his chateau. The Bring grew accustomed to hear the
place spoken of, and was in no way displeased. Maisons had
managed to become very intimate with M. le Due and M. le
Prince de Contt These two prince being dead, he turned
his thoughts towar<fe M. d^Oxldans. He addrmed himself to

tSi KEMOIIS or IH® DUKE OF SIITT-SIMOF.

CiaillK, who always 'imen an intimate friend of M.d’Orl 6 ans,
and by him mmn ^ined the intimLacy of that prince. Bot lie
was not yet mtisfied. He wished to circumvent M. d’Orleans
more completely than he could by means of CaniHac. He ca^t
his eye, tlierefore, u|»e ma I think lie was afraid of me on
account of what I have related concerning his father. He had
an only mu atent the same age as my children. For a long
time he had made aU kinds of advani»s, and visited them often.
Tie S0H% mtiroacy did not^ however, sMist the father; so that
at ImI Maisons inide M. le Diic d’Orl^ns sp«ak to me himself.

I was cold; tri^ to gel oat of the matter with complimente
«i 4 i excuses* M. d^OrMans, who he had found a trea¬

sure in his aew a^uaintMice, retnmwi to the charge; but I
WM toI more d^ile. A few daj^s after, I was surprised by an
attack of the mme kind from M. de ^auviMers. How or when
he had foraied an intimacy with I have never been

abte to marai^el; bit formal it, b© had; and he im|KMrtun^ me
so Hincfa, aay exerted liis authority over m.% tlmt at last I found
I mmst give way. Hot to offend M. d’OrMans by yielding to
maotli'er after having refused to yield to liim, I waited until he
should again spmak to me on the subject, so that he might give
himself the cre^lit of vanqnisliiiig me, I did not wait long.
The Prina^ attackeil me anew, maintained that nothing would
more usefal to him than an intimacy "between myself and
Mmmms, wlio scarcely dared to see him, except in secret, and
with whom he had not the same leisure or liberty for discussing
a»Bj things that ia,iglit pre*iit themselves. I had replied to
all this before; but as I had lesolved to surrender to the Prince
{after Ae aolbority of the Diic de ]^M,.iivilJi€rs had vanquished
me), I with Iim wish.

^ Mtisons was soon infermed of it, and did not let my im)lu-
fcn grow colli ^ H. le Due d'Orieans ui^ me to g) and sleep
a Bight in Paris, Upon amviog there, I found a note from
wi# d,r«clj Mt m o^n of eomplimeiite to me
by the Prince and the Bake. This note, for reasons to be told
»e aftentaris, mppointed a meeting at eleven otelocfc this nighty
^ the plain the Ini'alMes^ ia a veiy mysteiioiis manner.

A MYSTisious jramira

297

I went there vithi an old coachman of my mother’s and a lackey
to put my people off the scent. There wa,s a little moonlight.
Maisons in a small carriage awaited me. We soon met. He
mounted into my coach. I never could comprehend the mystery
of this meeting. There was nothing on his part but advances,
•complimente, protestations, allusions to the former interview
of our fathers; only such things, in fact, as a man of cleverness
and breeding says when he wishes to form a close intimacy
with any one. Not a word that he said was of importance or
of a private nature.

I replied in the civillest manner possible to the abundance
he bestowed npon me. I expected afterwards something that
would justify the hour, the place, the mystery, in a word, of
our interview. What was my surprise to hear no syllable npon
these points. The only reason Maisons gave for our secret
interview was that from that time he should he able to come
and see me at Yersailles with less inconvenience, and gradually
increase the number and the length of his visits until people
grew accustomed to see him there I He then begged me not to
visit him in Paris, because his house was always too full of
people. This interview lasted little than half an hour. It
was long indeed, considering what passed. We separated with
much politeness, and the first time he went to Versailles he
^called upon me towards the middle of the day.

In a short time he visited me every Sunday. Our conver¬
sation by degrees became more serious. I did not fail to be on
my guard, but drew Mm out npon various subjects; he being
very willing.

We were on this footing when, returning to my room at
Marly about midday on Sunday, tbe 29th of July, I found a
lackey of Maisons with a note from him, in which he conjured
me to (juit all business and come immediately to Ms house at
Paris, where he would wait for me alone, and where I should
find that something was in question, that could not suffer the
slightest delay, that could not even be named in writing, and
which was of the most extreme importance. This lackey had
long since arrived, and had sent my people everywhere in search

-»S MEHOIES OF THE DITKE OF SAEIT-SDIOK-

ofmv. I wuii erij.'a^ed that day to dine with M. and Madame
de Laozun. To have broken mj engagement would have been
to iet the curiwity and the malignity of M. de Lauzun at
work. I dared not disappear; therefore I gave orders to my
coachman, and as soon as I had dined I vanished. Nobody
MW me get into my chaise; and I quickly arrived at Paris,
and immediately hastened to Maison’s with eagerness easy to
iimgin&

I found him alone with the Due de Noailles. At the first
glance I saw two dismayed men, who said to me in an ex-
haastrf manner, but after a heated though short preface, that
the King Iwl d«d«red his two Imtards and their male posterity
to all eternity, red prinw of the blood, with full Kberty to
assume all their dignitiw, honours, and rank, and capacity to
!<Bc«:ed to the thrt)r4e in default of the others.

At this new*!, which I did not expect, and the secret of which
had hitherto l*en preserved, without a particle of it transpiring,
my .111.4,1 ic.j. ^ I „ uvtred my head and remained profoundly
Khnt. in my reflections. They were soon disturbed

ty cnv. wiJ.h .ir.uH-1 me. These two men commenced pacing
the chamk-r; stanif,£‘.J with their feet; pushed and struck the
1.1-J.Jt -if , 11 .^. i 'i, t:. wished to be louder than the

‘^thir, an., mo h. iL. h.e.ko with their noise. I avow that
I-iM' '.h tu me on the part of two

incn, ..te and to whom this rank was

of BO eonse«:|aence; the other always so tranquil, so crafty
m Mter of himself. I knew not w'hy this sudden fury suc-
C'-edtd to ^-.ueli^dtjected oppression; and I was not without
suspicion tiiat tneir pa«on was pat on merely to excite mine-
II Uus was their design, it succeeded ill I remained in my
cto, and c.diij naked them what was the matter. My tran¬
quillity sharpened iLcL- fury. Never in my life have I seen
mjmmg m sarprisiag.

I teked them if thry had pme mad, and if instead of this
tempest it wou^ nut be better to reason, and see whether some-
comd not oe done. They dedared it was precisely because
mmmg «aid be doag agadnit a thing not only resolved on, but

USELESS mom.

2m

executed, declared, and sent to the Parliament, that they were
so farions; that M. le Due d’Orleans, on the terms he was with
the Eing, would not dare even to whisper objections; that the
Princes of the blood, mere children as they were, could only
tremble; that the Dukes had no means of opposition, and that
the Parliament was reduced to silence and slavery. There¬
upon they set to work to see who could cry the louder and
reviled again, sparing neither things nor pemons.

I, also, was in anger, but this racket kept me cool and made
me smile. I argued with them and said, that after all I pre¬
ferred to see the bastards princes of the blood, capable of suc¬
ceeding to the throne, than to see them in the intermediary
rank they occupied. And it is true that as soon as I had cooled
myself, I felt thus.

At last the storm grew calm, and they told me that the Chief
President and the Attorney-General—who, I knew, had been
at Marly very early in the morning at the Chancellor’s—^had
seen the Eung in his cabinet soon after he rose, and had brought
hack the declaration, all prepared. Maisons must, however, have
known this earlier; because when the lacq[uey he sent to me
set out from Paris, those gentlemen could not have returned
there. Our talk led to nothing, and I regained Marly in
all haste, in order that my absence might not he re¬
marked.

Nevertheless it was towards the King’s supper hour when I
arrived. I went straight to the salon, and found it very
dejected. People looked, hut scarcely dared to approach each
other; at the most, a sign or a whisper in the ear, as the
courtiers brushed by one another, was ventured on. I saw the
Bang sit down to table ; he seemed to me more haughty than
usual, and continually looked all around. The news had only
been known one hour; everybody was still congealed and upon
his guard.

As soon as the Ehng was seated (he had looked very hard at
me in passing) I went straight to M. du Maine’s. Although the
hour was unusual, the doors fell before me; I saw a man, who-
received me with joyful surprise, and who, as it were, moved-

W MMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SJiIHT-SIMOK.

ttawgli tie air towM^ds me, aH lame that he was. I saiid that
I mme to offer him m sincere compliment that we (the Dukes)
cMmecl no precedence over tlie princes of the blood; but what
Wi claimed was, that there should be nobc^y between the
prin« of the Mood and us ; that as this infemiediary rank no
longer existed, we had nothing more to say, but to rejoice that
w© had no longer to siip|K}rt what was insupportable. The Joy
of M« da Maine bujrst forth at my compliments, and he
stoMed me with a politenffis inspired by the transport of
triumplL

Bit if h© was delightei at the decltralaon of the Eiing, it
was for otherwiw with the world- Foreign dukes and princes
fnmid, but The Court uttered dull munniiis more

thm »iild have Wn expected. Paris Mad the province broke
mi; ^ Parlkroat did not kmp silent. Madame de Main-
%mm, with ter work, received the adoration of her

As for me, I vM content my^lf with but few reflations upon
this mcBt naons'ixoas, astounding, and frightful determination of
tli€ King. I will simply sty, that it is iiiipo®ible not to see
m it an attack up^n the Crown; contempt for the entire
mticffl, who;Se rights are tredden under foot by it; insult to aU
the priDc^ of the blood ; in fact the crime of high treason in its
rash and most eriminal extent. Yes! however venerable
God may Mve rendered In the eyes of men the majesty of Kings
and tieir s^red persons, which are his anointed; however
ex^mUe may the crime known m high treaa>n, of attempt¬
ing their Ives; however temble and singular may be the
punislmciits justlj invents to prevent that crime, and to re-
»v« bj their hootir the iii«t in&jaous from the infernal
mmlnMm of committing we onnot help finding in the
crime in §i2«tioii a plenitude not in the other, however abomi-
naMe xt^may be. Yea ! to overthrow the mmt holy kws, that
^v© existed ever since the establishineiit of mo^narehy; to ex-
tifigmkh a right tie most the mimt imfKttianfc—the

kicreat in the imaon: to make succession to the throne
ispraacly, ani debpotialj in a word, to

EEFLlCnOFS.

301

make of a bastard a crown prince ,—h a crime more black, more
vast, more terrible, than that of Mgb treason against tie cMef
of the state.’^

* I liave endeavoured to preserve the tone of maj^ic indignation which
Samt-Simon indulges in on this inadequate occasion. After all, the
merely exercised the imperial right of adoption ; and it is perf^ly immar-
terial whether the persons chosen were his natural children or not. The
Due du Maine was not a very estimable person, though we must remember
that Saint-Simon visits on him the sins of his father; but the Comte de
Toulouse seems to have been more respectable than any member of the
Boyal family then living, legitimate or not.

302

XIMOIK OF TEE DUKE OF SiHT-SIMON.

(MiJPfEE XXX

The King nnia^y and il at ««—C«irt pid to Mm—A new Sclieme to
rmlc Mm—He yieMa— New AaDoytiii»—Hk Wil—Aawicto mmmmr
ing it—C^iaioiia ©f tke Coort—da Maime.

But let me mow explain tj wlmt means tie Eng wm induct
to anive at, and publisli this terrible detcnniiiatioiiu

He wm growing oM, and ttongli no external cliaiage in bim
was Tisible, those near had for some time begun to fear
tliat he could not live long. This is not the place to des^^nt
upon a health hitherto so good and so even : suffice it to men¬
tion, that it silently l^gan to give way. Ovenrhelmed by the
most violent reverses of fortune after Iwing so long accustomed
to success, the King was even more overwhelmed by domestic
misfortiinea All his cliiMren lad disappeared before bim,
and left him 'alMndoned to the most fatal reflections. At
every moment be himself expected the same kind of death.
Iii'Sl»d of flnding relef from his anguish among these who
snrroiinirf Ma, and whom he smw most frequently, he met
with BOtMng but fi»h tronMe them Eic^pting Mar^ebab Ms
chief Burton, who unceMingly to cure him of Ms

suspicions, Madame de IMnteiion, M. im Maine, Fagon, Bloin,
the other prind^ valeto »M to' the Imtard and his former
to augment tb^ suspicions; and in
tmth it was not diffieall to do m. Hokxiy doubted that
poiiom had teen used, iioM)dy eoiild seriously doubt it; and
wbti was as persuaded as the rest, held a different

FEAES OF mmOK

SOS

opinion before tbe King only to deli Yer bim from a nsele^
torment vHcb could not but do bim injury. But M. da Mnine,
and Madame de Maintenon also, bad too mucb interest to
mamtain Mm in tMs fear, and by tbeir art filled Mm vitb
borror against M. d'Orleans, whom they named as the author
of these crimes, so that the Eling with this prince before his
•eyes ev^ery day, was in a perpetual state of alarm.

With his children the King had lost, and by the same way,
^ princess, who in addition to being the soul and ornament of
his court, was, moreover, all his amusement, all his joy, all his
affection, in the hours when he was not in public. Never,
since he entered the world, had he become really familiar with
any one but her; it has been seen elsewhere to what extent.
Nothing could fill up this great void: the bitterness of being
deprived of her augmented, because he could find no diversion.
This unfortunate state made him seek relief everywhere in
abandoning himself more and more to Madame de Maintenon
and M. du Maine.

They soon managed to obtain possession of as it were,
entirely; leaving no art unexhausted in order to flatter, to
amuse, to please, and to interest him. He was made to believe
that M. du Maine was utterly without ambition; like a good
father of a family, solely occupied with his cMldren, touched
with the grandeur of his neame^ to the Bang, simple, frank,
upright, and one who alter working at his duties all day, and
after giving himself time for prayer and piety, amused himR ftlf
in hunting, and drew upon his natural gaiety and cheerfulness,
without knovdng anything of the Court, or of what was passing !
Compare this portrait with his real character, p,nd we shall feel
with terror what a rattlesnake was introduced into the Bang’s
privacy.

Established thus in the mind and heart of the King, the
opportunity seemed ripe for profiting by precious time that
could not last long. Everybody smiled upon the project of M.
du Maine and Madame de Maintenon. They had rendered M.
d’OrMans odious in the eyes of the King and of the whole
country, by the most execrable calumnies. How could he

#

MMOIK OF THE BUKE OF SADfr-SIMOK.

m

dcfciai hiia»If ? sbiii iip ms the King vas, how oppose them ?
how interfeire with their dark designs ? M. du Maine wished
not only to be made prinee of the Mood, but to be made
gtianimn of tie heir to the throne, so as to dwarf the power of
the Ee^nt as much as possible. He flattered himself that
tte feeling he had excited a^nst M. d'OrMans in the Coart, in
Paris, and in the proTinces would be powerfiiUy strengthened
by dispcmtions so dishonourable; that he shonld find himself
receive as the guardian and protector of the life of the royal
infent, to whom was attached the salvation of France, of which
he would then become the idol; that the independent posses¬
sion of the young long, and of his military and civil households,
womM sfeengthen with the public applause the power with
wMdi he wonli be invested in the state by this tmtament;
that the Re^at, reviled and stripi^d in this manner, not only
would 1» in no condition to dispute anything, but would he

HOW TO BORE A KING. ^05

iis ^Rsements and diversions were made fatiguing and sad

^r because it was quite new to bim, and he was utterly
mtbout means to remove it. The few ladies who were adinitted
to the intimaoy of the King knew not what to makeTfte
ch^ge they saw in Madame de Maintenon. TheywerUuped

M tot by the plea „f toeaa, bet seeing .t b.t toTSZf
toon pMsed dl bonnds, that it had no infemission, that her toe

deranged that the King became as serious and as sad as shf
they tended eaoh other to find ont the eansa CT<^ 5
Bbonid be something in rtich they, uninowingly wem^f
oemed, tronHed them; so that they became even worse com'
pany to the King than Madame de Miintenon.

Tli6r6 was no rolief fortlio ICincr An
eommon-pte Wt of the Co«nTde^otonTw“no:

alets, who lost tongue as soon as they perceived that thev

si Zl'eT

^ astonished at the mysterious deiec-

tion of the Due du Maine, looked at each other wite uZ
^le to ^vine the cause. They saw that the KinJ“

tie mMt instmcted have ever been able to penetrate To de

w SI' iwTsjttlzrdTf

ir: a^r? r

..orpier.dil-rZ-dir^f«trmZ-

rszsTir/i"

double knowledge did not commencement. The

voii. n, ^ ^ “itil they heard the

20

306 MEMOIBS OF THE DUEJE OF SAINT-SIMON’.

friiJ-litful crash of the thunderbolt -whieh fell upon France, and

astonislied all Europe,

To give some idea of the opposition from the King, M. du
Maine and M^me de Maintenon had to overcome, and to
show how reluctantly he consented to their wishes, more than
one incident may be brought forward. Some days before the
news transpired, the King, full of the enormity of what he had
Just done for his Imstards, looked at them in his cabinet, in
presence of the valets, and of D’Antin and D’O., and in a
sharp manner, that told of vexation, and with a severe glance,
suddenly thus addre^ed himself to M. du Maine: “You have
wished it; but know that however great I may make you, and
yon may in my lifetime, you are nothing after me; and it
will Im for you then to avml youiself of what I have done for
you, if you can,”

Everybody present trembled at a thunder-clap so sudden, so
little expected, so entirely removed from the character and
custom of the King, and which showed so clearly the extreme
ambition of the Due du Maine, and the violence he had done to
tlie weakness of the King, who seemed to reproach himself for
it, and to reproach the bastard for his ambition and tyranny.
The ccinstemation of M. du Maine seemed extreme at this rough
sally, "iFhich no previous remark had led to. The King had
made a clean breast of it. Everybody fixed his eyes upon the
floor and held his breath. The silence was profound for a con¬
siderable time ; it finished only when the Kin g passed into his
wardrobe. In his al^nce everyix>dy breathed again. The
Eng"s heart was Ml to bumting with what he had just been
mwie to do; but like a woman who gives birth to two chdd-
»B, he had at present brought but one into the world, and bore
a steoni of which he must be delivered, and of which he felt
»I1 the without May relef from the suffering the first had
mused him,

A^in, m Sunday, the 27th August^ the Chief-President and
the Attorney-General were sent for by the King. He was at
Vemilles. As sc»n m they were alone with Mm, he took from

% which h© a large and thinfr packet^ sealed

THE king’s will FOECED FEOM HOT. SOT

With seven seals (I know not if by this M. du Maine wished to
mutate the mysterious hook with Seven Seals, of the Apoca-
type, and so sanctify the packet). In handing it to them, the
Kmg said: « Gentlemen, this is my will. No one hut myself
knows Its contents. I commit it to you to keep in the Parlia-
ment, to which I cannot give a greater testimony of my esteem
and confidence than by rendering it the depository of it. The
e^ple of the Kings my predecessors, and that of the wiU of
the King, my father, do not alLow me to he ignorant of what
may become of this; but they would have it; they have tor¬
mented me; they have left me no repose, whatever I might
say. ^ Very weU! I have bought my repose. Here is the vdU •
take it away; come what may of it, at least, I shaU have rest’
and shall hear no more about it.” '

At this last word, that he finished with a dry nod, he turned
his hack upon them, passed into another cabinet, and left them
both nearly turned into statues. They looked at each other
frozen by what they had just heard, and still more by what
t ey had just seen in the eyes and the countenance of the King -
and as soon as they had collected their senses, they retired and
went to Pa^. It was not known until after dinner ’that
the &ng had made a wfil and given it to them. In proportion
^ the news spread, consternation filled' the Court, whfie the
fiatterers, at bottom as much alarmed as the rest, and as Paris

"^Thf themselves in praises and eulogies.

The next day, Monday the 28th, the Queen of Englandlme

MXtlw ’ fde

said he t h vl ^ perceived her, Madame,”

_ my will, I have been tormented to do it;” then cast¬
ing his eyes upon Madame de Maintenon, «I have bought
repose; I know the powerlessness and inutility of it We fan

meanest. You have only to see what became of my father’s
^ immediately after his death, and the wfils of so many other
Kings. I know it weU; but nevertheless they have wished it •
they gave me no rest nor repose, no calm untiHt wasZe ■ Z

20-2

g08 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

■well! then, Madame, it is done; come what may of it, I shaU

he no longer tormented.”

Words such as these so expressive of the extreme violence
suffered hy the King, of his long and obstinate battle before
sm'rendering, of his vexation, and uneasiness, demand the
clearest proofs. I had them from people who heard them, and
would not advance them unless I were perfectly persuaded of
"fcllGlT ©X9<Ct)II6SS

A s soon as the Chief President and the Attorney-General
returned to Paiis, they sent for some workmen, whom they
led into a tower of the Palace of Justice, behind the Buvette, or
drinking-place of the grand chamber and the cabinet of the
Chief-President. They had a big hole made in the wall of this
tower, which is very thick, deposited the testament there,
closed up the opening with an iron door, put an iron grating
by way of second door, and then waUed all up together. The
door and the grating each had three locks, the same for both ;
and a different key for each of the three, which consequently
opened each of the two locks, the one in the door and the one
in the grating. The Chief-President kept one key, the
Attorney-General another, and the Chief Greffier of the Parlia¬
ment the third. The Parliament was assembled and the Chief-
President flattered the members as best he might upon the con¬
fidence shown them in entrusting them with this deposit.

At the same time was presented to the Parliament an edict
that the Chief-President and the Attorney-General had received
from the hand of the Chancellor at Versailles the same morning
the King had given them his will, and the edict was registered.
It was very short. It declared that the packet committed to
the Chief-President and to the Attorney-General contained the
will of the King, by which he had provided for the protection
and guardianship of the young King, and had chosen a Eegency
council, the dispositions of which for good reasons he had not
wished to publish; that he wished this deposit should be pre¬
served during his life in the registry of the Parliament, and
that at the moment when it should please God to call him from
the world, all the chambers of the Parliament, all the princes

DISPOSITIONS OP THE WILL.

309

of tile royal house, and all the peers who might he there, should
assemble and open the wiU; and that after it was read, all its
dispositions should be made public and executed, nobody to be
permitted to oppose them in any way.

Notwithstanding all this secrecy, the terms of the will were
pretty generally guessed, and as I have said, the consternation
was general. It was the fate of M. du Maine to obtain what
he wished; but always with the maledictions of the public.
This fate did not abandon him now, and as soon as he felt it,
he was overwhelmed, and Madame de Maintenon exasperated,
and their attentions and their care redoubled, to shut up the
King, so that the murmurs of the world should not reach, him.
They occupied themselves more than ever to amuse and to please
him, and to fill the air around him with praises, joy, and public
adoring at an act so generous and so grand, and at the same
time so wise and so necessary to the maintenance of good order
and tranquillity, which would cause him to reign so gloriously
even after his reign.

This consternation was very natural, and is precisely why
the Due du Maine found himself deceived and troubled by it.
He believed he had prepared everything, smoothed everything,
in rendering M. d’Orleans so suspected and so odious ; he had
succeeded, but not so much as he imagined. His desires and his
emissaries had exaggerated everything; and he found himself
overwhelmed with astonishment, when instead of the public
acclamations with which he had flattered himself, the will
would be accompanied, it was precisely the opposite.

It was seen very clearly that the will assuredly could not
have been made in favour of M. d’Orl^ans, and although public
feeling against him had in no way changed, no one was so
blind as not to see that he must be Kegent by the incontestable
right of his birth ; that the dispositions of the testament could
not weaken that right, except by establishing a power that
should balance his; and that thus two parties would be formed
in the state, the chief of each of which would be interested in
vanquishing the other, everybody being necessitated to join one
side or other, thereby running a thousand risks without any

310

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

advantage. The rights of the two disputants were compared.
In the one they were found sacred, in the other they could not
be found at all. The two persons were compared. Both were
found odious, but M. d’Orleans was deemed superior to M. du
Maine. I speak only of the mass of uninstructed people, and
of what presented itself naturally and of itself. The better in¬
formed had even more cause to arrive at the same decision.

M. d’Orleans was stunned by the blow; he felt that it fell
directly upon him, but during the lifetime of the King he saw
no remedy for it. Silence respectful and profound appeared to
bi TYi the sole course open; any other would only have led to an
increase of precautions. The King avoided aU discourse with
him upon this matter; M. du Maine the same. M. d’Orleans
was contented with a simple approving monosyllable to both,
like a courtier who ought not to meddle with anything; and
he avoided conversation upon this subject, even with Madame
la Duchesse d’Orleans, and with anybody else. I was the sole
person to whom he dared to unbosom himself; with the rest of
the world he had an open, an ordinary manner, was on his
guard against any discontented sign, and against the curiosity
of all eyes. The inexpressible abandonment in which he was,
in the noidst of the Court, guaranteed him at least from aU re¬
marks upon the will. It was not until the health of the King
grew more menacing that he began to speak and be spoken to
thereon.

As for M. du Maine, despite his good fortune, he was not to
be envied. At Sceaux, where he lived, the Duchesse du Maine^
his wife, ruined him by her extravagance. Sceaux was more
than ever the theatre of her follies, and of the shame and em¬
barrassment of her husband, by the crowd from the Court and
the town, which abounded there and laughed at them. She
herseK played there Athalie (assisted by actors and actresses)
and other pieces several times a week. Whole nights were
passed in coteries, games, ffetes, illuminations, fireworks,—in a
word, fancies and fripperies of every kind and every day. She
revelled in the joy of her new greatness—^redoubled her foEies;
and the Due du Maine, who always trembled before her, and

UNEASINESS OE M. DU MAINE.

311

who, moreover, feared that the slightest contradiction, would
entirely turn her brain, suffered all this, even piteously doing
the honours as often as he could without ceasing in his conduct
to the King.

However great might be his joy, whatever the unimaginable
greatness to which he had arrived, he was not tranquil. Like
those tyrants who have usurped by their crimes the sovereign
power, and who fear as so many conspiring ene m ies all their
fallen citizens they have enslaved—he felt as though seated
under that sword that Dionysius, tyrant of Syracuse, suspended
by a hair over his table, above the head of a man whom he
placed there because he believed him happy, and in this manner
wished to make him feel what passed unceasingly in himself.
M. du Maiine, who willingly expressed in pleasantry the most
serious things, frankly said to his familiars, that ho was “ like a
louse between two finger-nails ” (the princes of the blood and
the peers), by which ho could not fail to be cracked if he did
not take care ! This reflection troubled the excess of his plea¬
sure, and that of the greatness and the power to which so many
artifioes had elevated him. He feared the princes of the blood
as soon as they should be of age to feel the infamy and the
danger of the wound he had given them; he feared the parlia¬
ment, which even under his eyes had not been able to dissimu¬
late its indignation at the violence he had committed against
the most holy and the most inviolable laws; he even feared the
Dukes, so timid are injustice and tyranny !

312

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SXMOH.

CHAPTER XXXI.

A new yisit from Maisons—His violent Project—My Obieetions—He ner-
^ts—His Deatbandtbat of Ms Wife—Death of the Duc^de Beauvilliers—
Has Chaiacter—Of the Cardinal d’EstrSes-Anecdotes—Death of Fgnelon.

Let me return now to Maisons. Five days after the King’s
will had been walled up, in the manner I have described, he
came to me and made a pathetic discourse upon the injustice
done to M. le Due d’Orldans by this testament, and did all he
could to excite me by railing in good set terms against disposi¬
tions intended to add to the power and grandeur of the bastards.

When he had well harangued, I said he had told me nothing
new; that I saw the same truths as he with the same evidence;
that the worst thing I found was that there was no remedy.

‘No remedy!’-’ he exclaimed, interrupting me, with his sly
and cunning laugh; “courage and ability can always find one
for everything, and I am astonished that you, who have both,
should have nothing to suggest while eveiybody is going to
confusion.”

I asked him how it was possible to suppress a will registered
by edict; a document solemn and public deposited with cere¬
mony in the very depths of the palace, with precautions known
to everybody—nature and art combining to keep it in safety ?

“You are at a loss to know!” replied Maisons to me. “Have
ready at the instant of the King’s death sure troops and sensi¬
ble officers, all ready and well instructed; and with them,
masons and locksmiths—march to the palace, break open the

doors and the wall, carry oflF the will, and let it never be
seen.”

A VIOLEOT PROJECT.

313

In my extreme surprise I asked Mm, what he expected
would be the fruit of such violence ? I pointed out that to
seize by force of arms a public and solemn document, in the
midst of the capital, in despite of all law and order, would be
to put weapons into the hands of the enemies of M. le Due
d'OrMans, who assuredly would be justified in crying out
against this outrage, and who would find the whole country
disposed to echo their cries. I said too, that if in the execution
of such an odious scheme a sedition occurred, and blood were
shed, universal hatred and opprobrium would fall upon the
head of M. le Due d’OrMans, and deservedly so.

We carried on our discussion a long time, but Maisons would
in no way give up his scheme. After leaving me he went to
M. le Due d’Orleans and communicated it to him. Happily it
met with no success with the Due. Indeed, he was extremely
astonished at it; but what astonished us more was, that
Maisons persisted in it up to his death, which preceded by
some few days that of the King, and pressed it upon M. le Due
d'OrMans and myself till his importunity became persecution.

It was certainly not his fault that I over and over again
refused to go to the Grand Chamber of the Parliament to
examine the place, as Maisons wished me to do; I who never
went to the Parliament except for the reception of the peers
or when the King was there. Not being able to vanquish
what he called my obstinacy, Maisons begged me at the least
to go and fix myself upon the Quai de la Megisserie, where so
much old iron is sold, and examine from that spot the tower
where the will was; he pointed it out to me; it looked out
upon the Quai des Morfondus, but was behind the buildings
on the quai. What information could be obtained from such a
point of view may be imagined. I promised to go there, not
to stop, and thus awake the attention of the passers-by, but to
pass along and see what was to be seen; adding, that it was
simply out of complaisance to him, and not because I meant
to agree in any way to his enterprise.

What is incomprehensible is, that for a whole year Maisons
pressed his charming project upon us. The worst enemy of

314 MEMOIKS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

M. le Due d'Orl^ans could not have devised a more rash and
ridiculous undertaking. I doubt whether many people would
have^ been found in all Paris sufSciently deprived of sense to
fall in with it. What are we to think then of a Parliamentary
President of such consideration as Maisons had acquired at tho
Palace of Justice, at the Court, in the town, where ho had
always passed for a man of intellect, prudent, circumspect, in¬
telligent, capable, measured ? Was he vile enough, in concert
with M. du Maine, to open this gulf beneath our feet, to push
us to our ruin, and by the fall of M. le Due d’OrMans—tho solo
prince of the blood old enough to be Regent—to put M. le Due
du Maine in his place, from which to the crown there was only
one step, as none are ignorant, left to be taken ? It seems by
no means impossible: M. du Maine, that son of darkness, was,
judging him by what he had already done, quite capable of
adding this new crime to his long list.

The mystery was, however, never explained. Maisons died
before its darkness could be penetrated. His end was terrible.
He had no religion; his father had had none. He married a
sister of the Marcehal de Villars, who was in the same case.
Their only son they specially educated in unbelief Nevexihe-
less, everything seemed to smile upon them. They had wealth,
consideration, distinguished friends. But mark the end.

Maisons is slightly unwell. He takes rhubarb twice or thrice,
unseasonably; more unseasonably comes Cardinal de Bissy to
him, to talk upon the constitution, and thus hinder the opera¬
tion of the rhubarb; his inside seems on fire, but he will not
believe himself ill; the progress of his disease is great in a few
hours; the doctors, though soon at their wits^ ends, dare not
say so; the malady visibly increases; his whole household is
in confusion ; he dies, forty-eight years of age, in the midst of
a crowd of friends, of clients, without power or leisure to think
for a moment what is going to happen to his soul!

His wife survives him ten or twelve years, opulent, and in
consideration, when suddenly she has an attack of apoplexy
in her garden. Instead of thi n king of her state, and profiting
by leisure, she makes light of her illness, has another attack a

JUDGMENT ON MAISONS.

315

few days after, and is carried oif on the 5th of May, 1727, in
her forty-sixth year, without having had a moment free.

Her son, for a long time much aflBicted, seeks to distinguish
himself and acquire friends. Taking no warning from what
has occurred, he thinks only of running after the fortune of
this world, and is surprised at Paris by the small-pox. He be¬
lieves himself dead, thinks of what he has neglected all his
life, but fear suddenly seizes him, and he dies in the midst of
it, on the 13th of September, 1731, leaving an only son, who
dies a year after him, eighteen months old, all the great wealth
of the family going to collateral relatives.

These Memoirs are not essays on morality, therefore I have
contented myself with the most simple and the most naked
recital of facts; but I may, perhaps, be permitted to apply
here those two verses of the 37th Psalm, which appear so ex¬
pressly made for the purpose; “I have seen the impious
exalted like the cedars of Lebanon: Yea, he passed away, and,
lo, he was not; yea, I sought him, but he could not be found.”

But let me leave this subject now, to treat of other matters.
On Friday, the last day of August, I lost one of the best and
most revered of friends, the Due de Beauvilliers. He died at
Yaucresson after an illness of about two months, his intellect
clear to the last, aged sixty-six years, having been born on the
24th of October, 1648.

He was the son of M. de Saint Aignan, who with honour
and valour was truly romantic in gallantry, in belles-lettres,
and in arms. He was Captain of the Guards of Gaston, and
at the end of 1649 bought of the Due de Liancourt the post of
first-gentleman of the King’s chamber. He commanded after¬
wards in Berry against the party of M. le Prince, and served
elsewhere subsequently. In 1661 he was made Chevalier of
the Order, and in 1661 Duke and Peer. His first wife he lost
in 1679. At the end of a year he married one of her chamber¬
maids, who had been first of all engaged to take care of her
dogs. She was so modest, and he so shamefaced, that in de¬
spite of repeated pressing on the part of the King, she could
not be induced to take her tabouret. She lived in much re-

316 MEMOrBS OE THE DUKE OP SAINT-SIMON.

tireineiitj Siiid. Laid so mapiiy virtues tlia<t she luude herself re¬
spected all her life, which was long. M. de BeauviUiers was
. one of the children of the first marriage. I know not what
care M. and Madame de Saint Aignan took of the others, hut
they left him, until he was six or seven years of age, to the
mercy of their lodge-keeper. Then he was confided to the care
of a canon of Notre Dame de Clery. The household of the
canon consisted of one maid-servant, with whom the little boy
slept; and they continued to sleep together until he was four¬
teen or fifteen years old, without either of them thinking of
evil, or the canon remarking that the lad was growing into a
man. The death of his eldest brother called M. de BeauviUiers
home. He entered the army, served with distinction at the
head of his regiment of cavalry, and was brigadier.

He was tall, thin, had a long and ruddy face, a large aquiline
nose, a sunken mouth, expressive, piercing eyes, an agreeable
smile, a very gentle manner, but ordinarily retiring, serious,
and concentrated. By disposition he was hasty, hot, pas¬
sionate, fond of pleasure. Ever since God had touched him,
which happened early in his Ufe, he had become gentle, modest^
humble, kind, enlightened, charitable, and always fuU of real
piety and goodness. In private, where he was free, he was
gay, joked, and bantered pleasantly, and laughed with good
heart. He liked to be made fun of: there was only the story
of his sleeping with the canon’s servant that wounded his
modesty, and I have seen him embarrassed when Madame de
eauvilliers has related it,—smiling, however, but praying her
sometimes not to^ teU it. His piety, which, as I have said,
commenced early in life, separated him from companions of his
wn age. At the army one day, during a promenade of the
Eing, he walked alone, a little in front. Some one remarked
fr, and observed, sneeringly, that “ he was meditating.” The
^ng, who heard this, turned towards the speaker, and, looking

BeauviUiers, one of the best men
ot the Court, and of my realm.” This sudden and short
apology caused sUence, and food for refiection, so that the fault-
hnders remained in respect before his merit.

1vrAT) AMTi! DE BEAUVILLIERS.

317

The King must have entertained a high regard for him, to
give him, in 1670, the very delicate commission he entrusted
to him. Madame had just been so openly poisoned, the con¬
viction was so complete and so general that it was very diffi¬
cult to palliate it. Our King and the King of England
between whom she had just become a stronger bond, by the
journey she had made into England, were penetrated by grief
and indignation, and the English could not contain themselves.
The King chose the Due de Beauvilliers to carry his compliments
of condolence to the King of England, and under this pretext to
try to prevent this misfortune interfering with their friendship
and their union, and to calm the fury of London and the
nation. The King was not deceived: the prudent dexterity
of the Due de Beauvilliers brought round the King of England,
and even appeased London and the nation.

M de Beauvilliers had expressed a wish to be buried at
Montargis, in the Benedictine monastery, where eight of his
daughters had become nuns. Madame de Beauvilliers went
there, and by an act of religion, terrible to think of, insisted
upon being present at the interment. She retired to her house
at Paris, where during the rest of her life she lived in complete
solitude, without company or amusement of any kind. For
nearly twenty years she remained there, and died in 1733,
seventy-five years of age, infinitely rich in alms and all sorts
of good works.

The King taxed the infantry regiments, which had risen to
an excessive price. This venality of the only path by which
the superior grades can be reached is a great blot upon the
military system, and stops the career of many a man who
would become an excellent soldier. It is a gangrene which for
a long time has eaten into all the orders and all the parties of
the state, and under which it wfil be odd if all do not succumb.
Happily it is unknown, or little known, in aU the other countries
of Europe!

Towards the end of this year Cardinal d’Estr4es died in Paris
at his abbey of Saint Germain des Pr^s, nearly eighty-seven
years of age, having always enjoyed perfect health of body and

S18

MEMOIRS OE THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOH.

mind until tliis illness, which, was very short, and which left
his intellect clear to the last. It is proper and curious to pause
for a moment upon a personage, all his life of importance, and
who at his death was Cardinal, Bishop of Albano, Ahbd of
longpont, of Mont Saint Eloi, of Saint Nicholas-aux-Bois, of
la Staffarde in Piedmont (where Catinat gained a celebrated
battle before being Mar^chal of France), of Saint Claude in
Franche-Comtd, of Anchin in Flanders, and of Saint Germain
des Prds in Paris. He was also Commander of the Order of
the promotion of 1688.

Merit, aided by the chances of fortune, made out of an obscure
family of the Boulonais country, a singularly illustrious race in
the fourth generation, of which Mademoiselle de Tourbes alone
remains. The cardinal, brother of the last Mar&hal d’Estr&s,
their uncle, used to say, that he knew his fathers as far as the
one who had been page of Queen Anne, Duchess of Brittany;
hut beyond that he knew nothing, and it was not worth while
searching, Gabrielle d’Estrfes, mistress of Henry IV., whose
beauty made her father’s fortune, and whose history is too well
known to be here alluded to, was sister of the cardinaFs father,
but died thirty years before he was horn. It was through lior
that the family became elevated. The father of Cardinal
d’Estrees was distinguished all his life by his merit, his capacity,
and the authority and elevated posts he held. PIo was made
Marshal of France in 1626, and it is a thing uni(][uo that ho, his
son, and his grandson were not only Marshals of Franco, but
all three were in succession seniors of that corps for a long
time.

The Cardinal d’Estr&s was born in 1627, and for forty years
lived with his father, profiting by his lessons and liis considera¬
tion. He was of the most agreeable manners, handsome, well-
made, full of honour, wit, and ability; in society the pleasantest
person in the world, and yet well instructed; indeed, of rare
erudition, generous, obliging, dignified, incapable of meanness,
he was with so much talent and so many great and amiable
q^ualities generally loved and respected, and deserved to be.
He was made Cardinal in 1671, but was not declared until after

CHAKACTER OF THE CARDINAL.

319

many delays liad occurred. These delays much disturbed bim.
It was customary, then, to pay many visits. One evening the
Abbe de la Victoire, one of his friends, and very witty, arrived
very late at a supper, in a house where he was expected. The
company importunely asked him where he had been, and what
had delayed him.

“Alas!” replied the Abbe, in a tone of sadness, “where have
I been 1 I have been aU day accompanying the body of poor
M. de Laon.” [The Cardinal d’Estrees was then Bishop and
Dube of Laon.]

“M. de Laon 1” cried everybody, “M. de Laon dead! Why,
he was quite well yesterday. ’Tis dreadful. Tell us what has
happened.”

“ What has happened ?” replied the Abb6, still with the same
tone. “Why, he took me with him when he paid his visits,
and though his body was with me, his spirit was at Rome, so
that I quitted him very wearied.” At this recital grief changed
into merriment.

That grand dinner at Fontainebleau for the Prince of Tuscany,
-at which the Prince was to be the only guest, and yet never
received his invitation from the Cardinal, I have already
mentioned. He was oftentimes thus absent, but never when
business or serious matters were concerned, so that his forget¬
fulness was amusing. He never could bear to hear of his
domestic affairs. Pressed and tormented by his steward and
his maitre d’hStel to overlook their accounts, that he had not
seen for many years, he appointed a day to be devoted to them.
The two financiers demanded that he should close his door so
as not to be interrupted; he consented with difficulty, then
changed his mind, and said that if Cardinal Bonzi came he
must be admitted, but that it was not hkely he would come on
that particular day. Directly afterwards he sent a trusty
servant to Cardinal Bonzi, entreating him to come on such and
such a day, between three and four o’clock, conjuring Mm not
to fail, and begging him above all to come as of his own accord,
the reason to be explained afterwards. On the appointed day
Cardinal d’Estrees told his porter to let no one enter in the

320

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SATHT-SIMON-.

afternoon except Cardinal Bonzi;, who assuredly was not likely
to come, but who was not to be sent away if be did. His
people delighted at having their master to themselves all day
without interruption, arrived about three o'clock; the Cardinal
quitted his family and the few friends who had that day dined
with him, and passed into a cabinet where his business people
laid out their papers. He said a thousand-absurdities to them
upon his expenditure, of which he understood nothing, and
unceasingly looked towards the window, without appearing to
do so, secretly sighing for a prompt deliverance. A little before
four o’clock, a coach arrived in the court-yard; his business
people, enraged with the porter, exclaimed that there will then
be no more opportunity for working. The Cardinal in delight
referred to the orders he had given. You will see,” he added,

that it is Cardinal Bonzi, the only man I excepted, and who,
of all days in the world, comes to-day.”

Immediately afterwards, the Cardinal was announced, and
the intendant and maitre d’hotel were forced to make off with
their papers and their table. As soon as he was alone with
Bonzi, he explained why he had requested this visit, and both
laughed heartily. Since then his business people have never
caught him again, never during the rest of his life would he
hear speak of them.

He must have had honest people about him; for every day
his table was magnificent, and filled at Paris and at the Court
with the best company. His equipages were so, also; he had
numberless domestics, many gentlemen, chaplains, and secre¬
taries. He gave freely to the poor, and to his brother the
Marechal and his children (who were not well off), and yet died
without owing a crown to a living soul.

His death, fox which he had been long prepared, was fine—^
edifying and very christian-like. He was universally regretted.
A joke of his with the Xing is still remembered. One day, at
dinner, where he always paid much attention to the Cardinal,
the Xing complained of the inconvenience he felt in no longer
having teeth.

'‘Teeth, sire I” replied the Cardinal; "why, who has any
teeth r

DEATH OE FENELON.

321

The joke is that the Cardinal, though old, still had very white
and very beautiful teeth, and that his mouth, large, but agree¬
able, was so shaped that it showed them plainly in speaking.
Therefore the King burst out laughing at this reply, and aU
present also, including the Cardinal, who was not in the slightest
degree embarrassed. I might go on for ever telling about him,
but enough, perhaps, has been already said.

The commencement of the new year, 1715, was marked by
the death of Fdnelon, at Cambrai, where he had lived in dis¬
grace so many years. I have already said something about
him, so that I have now but little to add. His life at Cambrai
was remarkable for the assiduity with which he attended to
the spiritual and temporal wants of his flock. He was indefa¬
tigable in the discharge of his functions, and in endeavouring to
gain all hearts. Cambrai is a place much frequented; through
which many people pass. During the war the number of
wounded soldiers he had received into his house or attended to
in the hospitals passes aU belief. He spared nothing for them,
i^either physical comforts nor spiritual consolations. Thus it is
incredible to what an extent he became the idol of the whole
army. His manners, to high and low, were most afiable, yet
everywhere he was the prelate, the gentleman, the author of
“ Telemachus.” He ruled his diocese with a gentle hand, in no
way meddled with the Jansenistsj he left aU. untouched. Take
him for all in all, he had a bright genius and was a great man.
His admiration true or feigned for Madame Guyon remained to
the last, yet always without suspicion of impropriety. He had
so exactly arranged his aflairs that he died without money, and
yet without owing a sou to anybody.

322

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK

CHAPTEE XXXII

Character and jx^ition of the Due dCrMans—His Manners, Talents, and
Yirtues—His Weakness—Anecdote illustrative thereof—The D6bon-
naire”—^Adventure of the Grand Prienr in England—Education of the
Due d'Orleans—Characterof Dnbois—His pernicious Influence—The Due's
Emptiness—His deceit^—His love of painting—^The Fairies at his birth—
The Due's ’Timidity—An Instance of his Mistrustfulness,

The reign of Louis XIV. "was approaching its conclusion, so
ijhat there is now nothing more to relate hut what passed during
the last month of his life, and scarcely so much. These events,
indeed, so curious and so important, are so mixed up with those
that immediately followed the King’s death, that they cannot
be separated from them. It will he interesting and is necessary
to describe the projects, the thoughts, the difficulties, the
different resolutions, which occupied the brain of the prince,
who, despite the efforts of Madame de Maintenon and M. du
Maine, was of necessity about to be called to the head of affairs
during the minority of the young King. This is the place,
therefore, to explain all these things, after which we will resume
the narrative of the last month of the King’s life, and go on to
the events which followed his death.

But, as I have seen, before entering upon this thorny path,
it wil be as well to make known, if possible, the chief person¬
age of the story, the impediments interior and exterior in his
path, and all that personally belonged to him.

M. le Due d Orleans was, at the most, of mediocre stature,
ful-hodied without being fat; his manner and his deportment
were easy and very noble; his face was broad and very agree-

THE DTJC D’ORLeANS' PEESONAL CHAEAGTEE. 323

able, high in colour; his hair black, and wig the same. Al¬
though he danced very badly, and had but ill succeeded at the
riding-school, he had in his face, in his gestures, in all Ms
movements, infinite grace, and so natural that it adorned even
his most ordinary commonplace actions. With much ease when
nothing constrained him, he was gentle, afiable, open, of facile
and charming access; the tone of his voice was agreeable, and
he had a surprisingly easy flow of words upon all subjects
which nothing ever disturbed, and which never failed to sur¬
prise ; his eloquence was natural and extended even to his most
familiar discourse, while it equally entered into his observations
upon the most absti-act sciences, on which he talked most per¬
spicuously; the affairs of government, politics, finance, justice,
war, the court, ordinary conversation, the arts, and mechanics.
He could speak as well too upon history and memoirs, and was
well acquainted with pedigrees. The personages of former days
were familiar to him; and the intrigues of the ancient courts
were to him as those of his own time. To hear him, you would
have thought him a great reader. Not so. He skimmed; but
his memory was so singular that he never forgot things, names,
or dates, cherishing remembrance of things with precision; and
his apprehension was so good, that in skimming thus it was,
with him, precisely as though he had read very laboriously.
He excelled in unpremeditated discourse, which, whether in the
shape of repartee or jest, was always appropriate and vivacious.
He often reproached me, and others more than he, with ""not
spoiling him f but I often gave him praise merited by few, and
which belonged to nobody so justly as to him; it was, that
besides having infinite ability and of various kinds, the singular
perspicuity of his mind was joined to so much exactness, that
he would never have made a mistake in anything if he had
followed the first suggestions of his judgment. He oftentimes
took this my eulogy as a reproach, and he was not always
wrong, but it was not the less true. With all this he had no
presumption, no trace of superiority natural or acquired; be
reasoned with you as with his equal, and struck the most able
with surprise. Although he never forgot his own position, nor

21—2

324

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON*.

allowed others to forget it, he carried no constraint with him,
but put everybody at his ease, and placed himself upon the
level of all others.

He had the weakness to believe that he resembled Henry
IV. in everything, and strove to affect the manners, the gestures,
the bearing, of that monarch. Like Henry lY. he was natur¬
ally good, humane, compassionate; and, indeed, this man, who
has been so crueUy accused of the blackest and most inhuman
crimes, was more opposed to the destruction 6f others than any
one I have ever known, and had such a singular dislike to
causing anybody pain that it may be said, his gentleness, his
humanity, his easiness, had become faults; and I do not hesitate
to affirm, that that supreme virtue which teaches us to pardon
our enemies he turned into vice, by the indiscriminate prodi¬
gality with which he applied it; thereby causing himself many
sad embarrassments and misfortunes, examples and proofs of
which win be seen in the sequel.

I remember that about a year, perhaps, before the death of
the King, haviag gone up early after dinner into the apartments
of Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans at Marly, I found her in bed
with the meagrims, and M. d’Orleans alone in the room, seated
in an arm-chair at her pillow. Scarcely had I sat down than
Madame la Duchesse began to talk of some of those execrable
imputations concerning M. d^Orleans unceasingly circulated by
Madame de Maintenon and M. du Maine; and of an incident
arising therefrom, in which the Prince and the Cardinal de
Kohan had played a part against M. d’Orleans. I sympathised
with her all the more because the Hue, I knew not why, had
always distinguished and courted those twobrothers,and thought
he could count upon them. “ And what will you say of M.
ffOrleans,” added the Duchesse, "^when I tell you that since
he has known this, known it beyond doubt, he treats them ex¬
actly the same as^before”?^’

I looked at M. d’Orleans, who had uttered only a few words
to confirm the story, as it was being told, and who was
negligently lolling in his chair,- and I said to him with
warmth:

THE DfBONNAlKE.

325

“ Oh, as to that, Monsieur, the truth must he told; since
Louis the Dehonnaire, never has there been such a Debonnaire
as you.”

At these words he rose in his chair, red with anger to the
very whites of his eyes, and blurted out his vexation against
me for abusing him, as he pretended, and against Madame la
Duchesse d'OrMans for encouraging me and laughing at him.

" Go on,’^ said I, treat your enemies well, and rail at your
friends. I am delighted to see you angry. It is a sign that I
have touched the sore point; when you press the finger on it
the patient cries. I should like to squeeze out all the matter,
and after that you would be quite another man, and differently
esteemed.”

He grumbled a little more, and then calmed down. This
was one of two occasions only, on which he was ever really
angry with me.

Two or three years after the death of the Eang, I was chat¬
ting in one of the grand rooms of the Tuileries, where the
Council of the Eegency was, according to custom soon to be
held, and M. d’Orleans at the other end was talking to some one
in a window recess. I heard myself called from mouth to
mouth, and was told that M. d’OrMans wished to speak to me.
This often happened before the council. I went therefore to
the window where he was standing. I found a serious
bearing, a concentrated manner, an angry face, and was much
surprised.

Monsieur,” said he to me at once, I have a serious com¬
plaint against you; you, whom I have always regarded as my
best of friends.”

"Against me! Monsieur!” said I, stiU more surprised. "What
is the matter, then, may I ask ? ”

" The matter! ” he replied with a mien still more angry
" something you cannot denyverses you have made against
me.

—^verses!” was my reply. "Why, who the devil has
been telling you such nonsense ? You have been acquainted
with me nearly forty years, and do you not know, that never

326

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

in my life tave I been able to make a single verse—much less
verses.”

'‘No, no, by Heaven,” replied he, "you cannot deny these ; ”
and forthwith he began to sing to me a street song in his
praise, the chorus of which was: Our Regent is dehonnaire, la,
la, Tie is d^onnaire, with a burst of laughter.

"What!” said I, "you remember it still!” and smiling, I
added also, "since you are revenged for it, remember it in good
earnest.” He kept on laughing a long time before going to the
Council, and could not hinder himself. I have not been afraid
to write this trifle, because it seems to me that it paints the man.

M. d'Orleans loved liberty, and as much for others as for him¬
self. He extolled England to me one day on this account, as a
country where there are nobainishments, no " lettres de cachet,”
and where the king may close the door of his palace to any¬
body, but can keep no one in prison ; and thereupon related to
me with enjoyment, that besides the Duchess of Portsmouth,
Charles the Second had many subordinate mistresses; that
the Grand Prieur, young and amiable in those days, driven out
of France for some folly, had gone to England to pass his exile
and had been well received by the King. By way of thanks,
he seduced one of those mistresses, by whom the King was
then so smitten, that he sued for mercy, offered money to the
Grand Prieur, and undertook to obtain his reconciliation in
France. The Grand Prieur held firm. Charles prohibited him
the palace. He laughed at this, and went every daj^ to the
theatre with his conquest, and placed himself opposite the King.
At last, Charles not knowing what to do to deliver himself
from his tormentor, begged our King to recal him, and this was
done. But the Grand Prieur said he was very cofmortable in
England and continued his game. Charles outraged, confided
to the King (Louis XIV.), the state he was thrown into by the
Grand Prieur, and obtained a command so absolute and so
prompt, that his tormentor was afterwards obliged to go back
into France.

M. d’Orldans admired this; and I know not if he would not
have wished to be the Grand Prieur. He always related this

THE ABBE DUBOIS.

327

story with delight. Thus, of ambition for reigning or govern¬
ing, he had none. If he made a false move in Spain it was
because he had been misdirected. What he would have liked
best would have been to command armies while war lasted, and
divert himself the rest of the time without constraint to himself
or to others. He was, in fact, very fit for this. With much
valour, he had also much foresight, judgment, coolness, and vast
capacity. It may be said that he was captain, engineer, and
army purveyor; that he knew the strength of his troops, the
names and the company of the officers, and the most distin¬
guished of each corps; that he knew how to make himself
adored, at the same time keeping up discipline, and could
execute the most difficult things, while unprovided with every¬
thing. Unfortunately there is another side of this picture,
which it will be as well now to describe.

M. d’Orleans, by disposition so adapted to become the honour
and the master-piece of an education, was not fortunate in his
teachers. Saint Laurent, to whom he was first confided, was,
it is true, the man in aU Europe best fitted to act as the
instructor of kings, but he died before his pupil was beyond
the birch, and the young Prince, as I have related, fell entirely
into the hands of the Abb4 Dubois. This person has played
such an important part in the state since the death of the King,
that it is fit that he should be made known. The Abbe Dubois
was a little, pitiful, wizened, herring-gutted man, in a flaxen-
wig, with a weazel’s face, brightened by some intellect. In
familiar terms, he was a regular scamp. All the vices unceas¬
ingly fought within him for supremacy, so that a continual up¬
roar fiUed his mind. Avarice, debauchery, ambition, were his
gods; perfidy, flattery, foot-licking his means of action; com¬
plete impiety was his repose ; and he held the opinion as a
great principle, that probity and honesty are chimeras, with
which people deck themselves, but which have no existence. In
consequence, aU means were good to him. He excelled in low
intrigues j he lived in them, and could not do without them;
but they always had an aim, and he followed them with a
patience terminated only by success, or by firm conviction that

S2S MEMOIRS or THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOM.

he could not react wtat he aimed at, or unless, as he wandered
thus in deep darkness, a glimmer of light came to him from
some other cranny. He passed thus his days in sapping and
counter-sapping. The most impudent deceit had become
natural to him, and was concealed under an air that was simple,
upright, sincere, often bashful. He would have spoken with
grace and forcibly, if, fearful of saying more than he wished,
he had not accustomed himself to a fictitious hesitation, a stut¬
tering which disfigured his speech, and which, redoubled when
important things were in question, became insupportable and
sometimes unintelligible. He had wit, learning, knowledge of
the world, much desire to please and insinuate himself, but all
was spoiled by an odour of falsehood which escaped in spite
of him through every pore of his body—eveu in the midst of
his gaiety, which made whoever beheld it sad. Wicked besides,
with reflection, both by nature and by argument, treacherous
and ungrateful, expert in the blackest villanies, terribly brazen
when detected ; he desired everything, envied everything, and
wished to seize everything. It was known afterwards, when
he no longer could restrain himseF, to what an extent he was
selfish, debauched, inconsistent, ignorant of everything, passion¬
ate, headstrong, blasphemous and mad, and to what an extent
he publicly despised his master, the state, and all the world,
never hesitating to sacrifice everybody and everything to his
credit, his power, his absolute authority, his greatness, his
avarice, his fears and his vengeance.

Such was the sage to whom M. le Due d’Orleans was con¬
fided in early youth!

Such a good master did not lose his pains with his new dis¬
ciple, in whom the excellent principles of Saint Laurent had
not had time to take deep root, whatever esteem and aflFection
he may have preserved through life for that worthy man. I
will admit here, with bitterness, for everything should be
sacrificed to the truth, that M. le Due ^Orleans brought into
the world a failing—let us call things by their names—a weak¬
ness, which unceasingly spoiled all his talents, and which were
of marvellous use to his preceptor all his life. Dubois led him

THE DUG D’OELeANS’ LOVE OF DEBATJCHERT.

329

into debauchery, made him despise all duty and all decency,
and persuaded him that he had too much mind to be the dupe
of religion, which he said was a politic invention to frighten
ordinary intellects, and keep the people in subjection. He
filled him too with his favourite principle, that probity in man
and virtue in woman, are mere chimeras, without existence in
anybody except a few poor slaves of early training. This was
the basis of the good ecclesiastic’s doctrines, whence arose the
licence of falsehood, deceit, artifice, infidelity, perfidy ; in a
word, every villainy, every crime, was turned into policy,
capacity, greatness, liberty and depth of intellect, enlighten¬
ment, good conduct, if it could be hidden, and if supicions and
common prejudices could be avoided.

Unfortunately all conspired in M. d’Orleans to open his
heart and his mind to this execrable poison: a fresh and early
youth, much strength and health, joy at escaping from the yoke
as well at vexation at his marriage, the wearisomeness produced
by idleness, the impulse of his passions, the example of other
young men, whose vanity and whose interest it was to make
him live like them. Thus he grew accustomed to debauchery,
above all to the uproar of it, so that he could not do without
it, and could only divert himself by dint of noise, tumult, and
excess. It is this which led him often into such strange and
such scandalous debauches, and as he wished to surpass all his
companions, to mix up with his parties of pleasure the most
impious discourses, and as a precious refinement, to hold the
most outrageous orgies on the most holy days, as he did
several times during his Regency on Good Friday, by choice,
and on other similar days. The more debauched a man was,
the more he esteemed him; and I have unceasingly seen him
in admiration, that reached almost to veneration for the Grand
Prieur,—because for forty years he had always gone to bed
drunk, and had never ceased to keep mistresses in the most
public manner, and to hold the most impious and irreligious
discourses. With these principles, and the conduct that resulted
from them, it is not surprising that M. le Due d’Orleans was
false to such an extent, that he boasted of his falsehood, and

330 MEMoms or the bvke of saint-simoh.

plumed himself upon being the most skilful deceiver in the
world. He and Madame la Duchesse de Berry sometimes dis¬
puted which was the cleverer of the two; and this in public
before M. le Due de Berry, Madame de Saint-Simon, and
others 1 *

M. le Due d'Orleans, following out the traditions of the
Palais Koyal, had acquired the detestable taste and habit of
embroiling people one with the other, so as to profit by their
divisions. This was one of his principal occupations during all
the time he was at the head of affairs, and one that he liked
the best; but which, as soon as discovered, rendered him odious,
and caused him a thousand annoyances. He was not wicked,
far from it; but he could not quit the habits of impiety,
debauchery, and deceit into which Dubois had led him. A
remarkable feature in his character is, that he was suspicious
and full of confidence at the same time with reference to the
very same people.

It is surprising that with all his talents he was totally with¬
out honest resources for amusing himself. He was born bored;
and he was so accustomed to live out of himself, that it was
insufferable to him to return, incapable as he was of trying
even to occupy himself. He could only live in the midst of
the movement and torrent of business; at the head of an army
for instance, or in the cares that arose out of the execution of
campaign projects, or in the excitement and uproar of
debauchery. He began to languish as soon as he was without
noise, excess, and tumult, the time painfully hanging upon his
hands. He cast himself upon painting, when his great fancy
for chemistry had passed or grown deadened, in consequence of
what had been said upon it. He painted nearly aU the after¬
noon at Yersailles and at Marly.j* He was a good judge of

* These curious admissions of Saiat-Simon as to the execrable hypocrisy
of his favourite prince, singularly diminish our faith in his innocence of the
many horrible crimes laid to his charge.

t It is to be observed that Saint-Simon cannot see that the exercise of the
arts was a respectable amusement. He introduces these details by sajdng,
“ n se trouya destitu6 de toute espece de ressource avec tanfc de talents,
qui en devaient Stre une inepuisable d’amusements pour loi.” Then he tells
us, contemptuously, that M. d^Orldans spent his afternoons in painting.

THE FAIRIES AT THE BIRTH.

331

pictures, liked them, and made a collection, whicli in numher
and excellence “was not surpassed by those of the crown. He
amused himself afterwards in making composition stones and
seals over charcoal, the fumes of which o^ten drove me away •
and the strongest perfumes, which he was fond of all his life,,
but from which I turned him because the King was very much
afraid of them, and soon sniffed them. In fact, never was man
born with so many talents of all kinds, so much readiness and
facility in making use of them, and yet never was man so idle,,
so given up to vacuity and weariness. Thus Madame painted
him very happily by an illustration from fairy tales, of which
she was full.

She said, that all the fairies had been invited to his birth
that all came, and that each gave him some talent, so that he
had them all. But, unfortunately, an old fairy, who had dis¬
appeared so many years that she was no longer remembered,
had been omitted from the invitation lists. Piqued at this
neglect, she came supported upon her little wand, just at the
moment when all the rest had endowed the child with their
gifts. More and mop vexed, she revenged herself by rendering
useless aU the talents he had received from the other fairies,
not one of which, though possessing them all, in consequence
of her malediction, was he able to make use of. It must be
admitted, that on the whole this is a speaking portrait.

One of the misfortunes of this prince was being incapable of
following up anything, and an inability to comprehend, even,
how any one else could do so. Another, was a sort of insensi¬
bility which rendered him indifferent to the most mortal and
the most dangerous offences ; and as the nerve and principle of
hatred and friendship, of gratitude and vengeance, are the
same, and as they were wanting in him, the consequences were
infinite and pernicious. He was timid to excess, knew it, and
was so ashamed that he affected to be exactly the reverse, and
plumed himself upon his daring. But the truth is, as was
afterwards seen, nothing could be obtained from him, neither
grace, nor justice, except by working upon his fears, to which
he was very susceptible; or by extreme importunity. He tried

S32 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

to put people off by words, then by promises, of which he was
monstrously prodigal, but which he only kept when made to
people who had good firm claws. In this manner he broke so
many engagements that the m 9 st positive became counted as
nothing; and he promised moreover to so many different
people, what could only be given to one, that he thus opened
out a copious source of discredit to himself and caused much
discontent. Nothing deceived or injured him more than the
opinion he had formed, that he could deceive all the world. He
was no longer believed, even when he spoke with the best
faith, and his facility much diminished the value of everything
he did. To conclude, the obscure, and for the most part black¬
guard company, which he ordinarily frequented in his debauches,
and which he did not scruple publicly to call his Roues,
drove away aU decent people, and did him infinite harm.

His constant mistrust of everything and everybody was dis¬
gusting, above all when he was at the head of affairs. The
fault sprang from his timidity, which made him fear his most
certain enemies, and treat them with more distinction than his
friends; from his natural easiness, from a false imitation of
Henry IV., in whom this quality was by no means the finest;
and from that unfortunate opinion which he held, that probity
was a sham. He was, nevertheless, persuaded of my probity;
and would often reproach me with it as a fault and prejudice
of education which had cramped my mind and obscured my
understanding, and he said as much of Madame de Saint
Simon, because he believed her virtuous. I had given him so
many proofs of my attachment that he could not very well sus¬
pect me; and yet, this is what happened two or three years
after the establishment of the Regency. I give it as one of the
most striking of the touches that paint his portrait.

It was autumn. M. d’Orl&ns had dismissed the councils for
a fortnight. I profited by this to go and spend the time at La
Ferte. I had just passed an hour alone with the Due, and had
taken my leave of him and gone home, where in order to be in
repose I had closed my door to every body. In about an hour
at most, I was told that Biron, with a message from M. le Due

THE Due’s SUSPICIONS.

333

d’OrMans was at the door, with orders to see me, and that he
would not go away without. I allowed Biron to enter, all the
more surprised because I had just quitted M. le Due d’Orleans,
and eagerly asked him his news. Biron was embarrassed, and
in his turn asked where was the Marquis de EujBfec (my son).
At this my surprise increased, and I demanded what he meant.
Biron, more and more confused, admitted ^that M. le Due
d’Orleans wanted information on this point, and had sent him
for it. I replied, that my son was with his regiment at
Besan§on, lodging with M. de Levi, who commanded in Franche
Comte.

" Oh,” said Biron, I know that very well; but have you
any letter from him
What for 1” I asked.

''Because, frankly, since I must tell you all,” said he "M. le
Due d’Orl^ans vrishes to see his handwriting.”

He added, that soon after I had quitted M. le Due d’Orl^ans,
whilst he was walking at Montmartre in a garden with his
Bones and his harlots, some letters had been brought to him by
a post-office clerk, to whom he had spoken in private; that
afterwards he, Biron, had been called by the Due, who showed
him a letter from the Marquis de Kuffec to his master, dated
" Madrid,” and charged him, thereupon, with this present com¬
mission.

At this recital I felt a mixture of anger and compassion, and
I did not constrain myself with Biron. I had no letters from
my son, because I used to burn them, as I did all useless papers.
I charged Biron to say to M. le Due d’Orleans a part of what I
felt; that I had not the slightest acquaintance with anybody in
Spain; that I begged him at once to despatch a courier there in
order to satisfy himself that my son was at Besangon.

Biron, shrugging his shoulders, said all that was very good but
that if I could find a letter from the Marquis de Euflfec it would
be much better; adding, that if one turned up and I sent it to
him, he would take care that it reached M. le Due d^Orleans,
at table, in spite of the privacy of his suppers. I did not wish
to return to the Palais Eoyal to make a scene there, and dis-

S34

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK.

missed Biron. Fortunately, Madame de Saint-Simon came in
:Some time after. I related to her this adventure. She found
the last letter of the Marquis de Ruffec, and we sent it to Biron.
It reached the table as he had promised. M. le Due d’Orleans
seized it with eagerness. The joke is that he did not know the
handwriting. Not only did he look at the letter, but he read
it; and as he found it diverting, regaled his company with it;
it became the topic of their discourse, and entirely removed his
isuspicions. Upon my return from La Ferte, I found him
ashamed of himself, and I rendered him still more so by what
I said to him on the subject.

I learnt afterwards that this Madrid letter, and others that
followed, came from a sham Marquis de Euffec, that is to say,
from the son of one of Madame’s porters, who passed'himself
off as my son. He pretended that he had quarrelled with me,
■and wrote to Madame de Saint-Simon, begging her to inter¬
cede for him; and all this that his letters might be seen, and
that he might reap substantial benefits from his imposture in
the shape of money and consideration. He was a well-made
fellow, had much address and effrontery, knew the court very
well, and had taken care to learn all about our family, so as to
speak within limits. He was arrested at Bayonne, at the table
of Dadoncourt, who commanded there, and who suddenly
formed the resolution, suspecting him not to be a gentleman,
upon seeing him eat olives with a fork! When in gaol he con¬
fessed who he was. He was not new at the trade and was
confined some little time.

THE DTJC TORIES TO RAISE THE DEVTL.

335

CHAPTER XXXIIL

The puc tries to raise the Devil—^Magical Experiments—TTis religions
Opinions — Impiety — Reads Rabelais at Church — The Duchesse
d^Orl^ans—Her Character—Her Life with her Husband—My* Discourses
with the Due on the future—My Plans of Government—A place at choice
offered me—I decline the honour—My reason—ISTational Dankruptcy—
The Due’s Anger at my Refusal—A Final Decision.

But to return to M. le Due d’Orleans.

His curiosity, joined to a false idea of firmness and courage,
had early led him to try and raise the devil and make him
speak. He left nothing untried, even the -wildest reading, to
persuade himself there was no God; and yet beliewed mean¬
while in the devil, and hoped to see him and converse with him!
This inconsistency is hard to understand, and yet ii^ extremely
common. He worked with aU sorts of obscure people; and
.above all with Mirepoix, sub-heutenant of the Black Mus¬
keteers, to find out Satan. They passed whole nights in the
quarries of Vanvres and of Vaugirard uttering invocations. Ml
le Due d'Orl&ns, however, admitted to me that he had never
■succeeded in hearing or seeing anything, and at last had given
up this folly.

At first it was only to please Madame d’Argenton, but after¬
wards from curiosity, that he tried to see the present and the
future in a glass of water ; so he said, and he was no liar. To
be false and to be a liar are not one and the same thing, though
they closely resemble each other, and if he told a lie it was
only when hard pressed upon some promise or some business,
and in spite of himself, so as to escape from a dilemma.

Although we often spoke upon religion, to which I tried to

S36 MEMOIRS OF THE BXJKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

lead liim so long as I liad hope of success, I never could un¬
ravel the system he had formed for himself, and I ended by
becoming persuaded that he wavered unceasingly without
forming any religion at all. His passionate desire, like that of
his companions in morals, was this, that it would turn out that
there is no God; but he had too much enlightenment to be an
atheist; who is a particular kind of fool much more rare than
is thought. This enlightenment importuned him; he tried to-
extinguish it and could not. A mortal soul would have been
to him a resource; but he could not convince himself of its
existence. A God and an immortal soul, threw him into sad
straits, and yet he could not blind himself to the truth of both
the one and the other. I can say then this, I know of what
religion he was not; nothing more. I am sure, however, that
he was very ill at ease upon this pointy and that if a dangerous
iUness had overtaken him, and he had had the time, he would
have thrown himself into the hands of all the priests and all
the Capuchins of the town. His great foible was to pride him¬
self upon his impiety and to wish to surpass in that everybody
else.

I recoUect that one Christmas-time, at Versailles, when he
accompanied the Edng to morning prayers and to the three
midnight masses, he surprised the Court by his continued ap¬
plication in readiog a volume he had brought with him, and
which appeared to be a prayer book. The chief femme de
chamhre of Madame la JDuchesse d'Orleans, much attached to
the family, and very free as all good old domestics are, trans¬
fixed with joy at M. le Hue d’Orl^ans’s application to his book,
complimented him upon it the next day, in the presence of
others. M. le Due d'Orleans allowed her to go on some time,
and then said, ‘‘You are very siUy, Madame Imbert. Do you
know what I was reading 'I It was ‘ Eabelais,’ that I brought
with me for fear of being bored.”

The effect of this reply may be imagined. The thing was
too true, and was pure braggadocio; for, without comparison
of the places, or of the things, the music of the chapel was
much superior to that of the opera, and to all the music of

THE DUCHESSE D’ORLfeANS.

ssr

Europe; and at Christmas it surpassed itself. There was
nothing so magnificent as the decoration of the chapel, or the
manner in which it was lighted. It was full of people; the
arches of the tribune were crowded with the Court ladies, in
undress, but ready for conq[uest. There was nothing so sur¬
prising as the beauty of the spectacle. The ears were charmed
also. M. le Due d’Orldans loved music extremely; he could
compose, and had amused himself by composing a kind of little
opera, La Fare writing the words, which was performed before
the King. This music of the chapel, therefore, might well
have occupied him in the most agreeable manner, to say nothing
of the brilliant scene, without his having recourse to Kabelais,
But he must needs play the impious, and the wag.

Madame la Duchesse dOrl4ans was another kind of person.
She was tall, and in every way majestic; her complexion, her
■throat, her arms, were admirable; she had a tolerable mouth,
with beautiful teeth, somewhat long; and cheeks too broad,
and too hanging, which interfered with, hut did not spoil, her
beauty. What disfigured her most was her eyebrows, which
were, as it were, peeled and red, with very little hair; she had,
however, fii.ne eyelashes, and well-set, chestnut-coloured hair.
Without being hump-hacked or deformed, she had one side
larger than the other, and walked awry. This defect in her figure
indicated another, which was more troublesome in society, and
which inconvenienced herself. She had a good deal of intellect,
and spoke with much ability. She said all she wished, and
often conveyed her meaning to you without directly expressing
it; saying, as it were, what she did not say. Her utterance
was, however, slow and embarrassed, so that unaccustomed ears
with diflS.culty followed her.

Every kind of decency and decorum centered themselves in
hei', and the most exquisite pride was there upon its throne.
Astonishment will be felt at what I am going to say, and yet,
however, nothing is more strictly true: it is, that at the bottom
of her soul she believed that she, bastard of the King, had
much hououred M. d’Orleans in marrying him! M. le Due
d’Orleans often laughed at her pride, called her Madame

338

MEMOmS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOlSr.

Lucifer, in speaking to ker, and slie admitted that the name
did not displease her. She always received his advances with
coldness, and a sort of superiority of greatness. She was a
princess to the backbone, at all hours, and in all places. Yet,,
at the same time, her timidity was extreme. The King could
have made her feel ill with a single severe look; and Madame
de Maintenon could have done likewise, perhaps. At all events,.
Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans trembled before her; and upon
the most commonplace matters never replied to either him or
her without hesitation, fear printed on her face.

M. le Due and Madame la Duchesse d’Orl6ans lived an idle,
languishing, shameful, indecent, and despised life, abandoned
by all the Court. This, I felt, was one of the first things
that must be remedied. Accordingly, I induced Madame la
Duchesse d^Orleans to make an effort to attract people to her
table. She did so, persevering against the coldness and aver¬
sion she met with, and in time succeeded in drawing a toler¬
ably numerous company to her dinners. They were of exqui¬
site quality, and people soon got over their first hesitation, when
they found everything orderly, free, and unobjectionable. At
these dinners, M. d’Orleans kept within hounds, not only in his
discourse, but in his behaviour. But oftentimes his ennui led
him to Paris, to join in supper parties and debauchery.
Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans tried to draw him from these
pleasures by arranging small parties at her pretty little villa,
I’Etoile (in the park of Versailles), which the King had given
to hei’, and which she had furnished in the most delightful
manner. She loved good cheer, the guests loved it also, and at
table she was altogether another person—free, gay, exciting,
charming. M. le Due d’Orl4ans cared for nothing but noise,
and as he threw off all restraint at these parties, there was
much difficulty in selecting guests, for the ears of many people
would have been much confused at his loose talk, and their
ey^ much astonished to see him get drunk at the very com¬
mencement of the repast, in the midst of those who thought
only of amusing and recreating themselves in a decent manner,
and who never approached intoxication.

PLANS FOR THE FITTTOE.

339

As the King became weaker in health, and evidently drew
near his end, I had continued interviews with Madame d'Or-
Idans upon the subject of the regency, the plan of government
to be adopted, and the policy he should follow. Hundreds of
times before we had reasoned together upon the faults of the
Government, and the misfortunes that resulted from them.
What we had to do was to avoid those faults, educate the
young King in good and national maxims, so that when he
succeeded to power he might continue what the Eegency had
not had time to finish. This, at least, was my idea, and I
laboured hard to make it the idea of M. le Due d'Orleans. As
the health of the King diminished I entered more into details;
as I will explain.

What I considered the most important thing to be done, was
to overthrow entirely the system of government in which
Cardinal Mazarin had imprisoned the King and the realm. A
foreigner, risen from the dregs of the people, who thinks of
nothing but his own power and his own greatness, cares
nothing for the state, except in its relation to himself. He de¬
spises its laws, its genius, its advantages: he is ignorant of its
rules and its forms; he thinks only of subjugating all, of con¬
founding all, of bringing all down to one level. Richelieu and
his successor, Mazarin, succeeded so well in this policy that the
nobility, by degrees, became annihilated, as we now see them.
The pen and the robe people, on the other hand, were exalted;
so that now things have reached such a pretty pass that
the greatest lord is without power, and in a thousand dif¬
ferent manners is dependent upon the meanest plebeian. It
is in this manner that things hasten from one extreme to the
other.

My design was to commence by introducing the nobility
into the ministry, with the dignity and authority due to them,
and by degrees to dismiss the pen and robe people from all
employ not purely judicial. In this manner the administra¬
tion of public affairs would be entirely in the hands of the
aristocracy. I proposed to abolish the two offices of secretary
of state for the war department, and for foreign affairs, and to

22—2

340

MEMOIES OF THE BHKE OF SAINT-SIMO:Nr.

supply their place by councils; also, that the offices of the
navy should be managed by a council. I insisted upon the
distinct and perfect separation of these councils, so that their
authority should never be confounded, and the public should
never have the slightest trouble in finding out "where to ad¬
dress itself for any kind of business.

M. le Due d’Orleans exceedingly relished my project, which
we much discussed. This point arrived at, it became neces¬
sary to debate upon the persons who were to form these
councils. I suggested names, which were accepted or set aside,
according as they met his approval or disapprobation. ^^BuV'
said M. le Due d’Oideans, after we had been a long time at this
work, you propose everybody and never say a word of your¬
self. What do you wish to be

I replied, that it was not for me to propose, still less to
choose any office, but for him to see if he wished to employ me,
believing me capable, and in that case to determine the place
he wished me to occupy. This was at Marly, in his chamber,
and I shall never forget it.

After some little debate, that between equals would have
been called complimentary, he proposed to me the Presidency
of the Council of Finance. But I had good reasons for shrink¬
ing from this office. I saw that disordered as the finances had
become there was only one remedy by which improvement
could be effected; and this was National Bankruptcy. Had I
occupied the office, I should have been too strongly tempted
to urge this view, and carry it out, but it was a responsibility
I did not wish to take upon myself before God and man. Yet,
I felt as I said, that to declare the State bankrupt would be
the wisest course, and I am bold enough to think, that there is
not a man, having no personal interest in the continuance of
imposts, who of two evils, viz., vastly increased taxation, and
national failure, would not prefer the latter. We were in the
condition of a man who unfortunately must choose between
passing twelve or fifteen years in his bed, in continual pain, or
having his leg cut off. Who can doubt this ? he would prefer
the loss of his leg by a painful operation, in order to fibnd him-

CHOICE OF THE DUC DE NOAILLES.

S41

self two montlis after quite well, free from suffering and in tlie
enjoyment of aU Ms faculties.

I shrunk accordingly from the finances for the reason I have
above given, and made M. le Due d’Orleans so angry by my
refusal to accept the office he had proposed to me, that for three
weeks he sulked and would not speak to me, except upon un¬
important matters.

At the end of that time, in the midst of a languisMng con¬
versation, he exclaimed, Very well, then. You stick to your
text, you won’t have the finances 1”

I respectfully lowered my eyes and replied, in a gentle tone,
that I thought that question was settled. He could not restrain
some complaints, but they were not bitter, nor was he angry,
and then rising and taking a few turns in the room, without
saying a word, and his head bent, as was his custom when em¬
barrassed, he suddenly spun round upon me, and exclaimed,

“ But whom shall we put there

I suggested the Due de Noailles, and although the suggestion
at first met with much warm opposition from M. le Due
d’OrMans, it was ultimately accepted by him.

The moment after we had settled this point he said to me,
And you 1 what will you be and he pressed me so much to
explain myself that I said at last if he would put me in the
council of affairs of the interior, I thought I should do better
there than elsewhere.

Chief, then,” replied he with vivacity.

“ No, no ! not that,” said I ; simply a place in the council.”
We both insisted, he for, I against. '^A place in that
council,” he said, would be ridiculous, and cannot be thought
of. Since you will not be chief, there is only one post which
suits you, and which suits me also. You must be in the council
I shad be in,—the Supreme Council”

I accepted the post, and thanked him. From that moment
this distinction remained fixed.

I wiU not enter into all the suggestions I offered to M. le Due
d^Orleans respecting the Regency, or give the details of all the
projects I submitted to him. Many of those projects and sug-

342 MEMOIRS OF THE HtJKE OF SAINT-SIMOK

gestions were either acted upon only partially, or not acted
upon at all, although nearly every one met with his approval.
But he was variable as the winds, and as difficult to hold. In
my dealings with him I had to do with a person very different
from that estimable Dauphin who was so rudely taken away
from us.

But let me, before going further, describe the last days of the
King, his illness, and death, adding to the narrative a review
of his life and character.

THE king’s health DECLINES.

343

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The King’s Health Declines—^Bets about his Death—Lord Stair—My new
lYiend—The King’s last Hunt—^And last Domestic and Public Acts—^Doc¬
tors—Opium—^The King’s Diet—Failure of his Strength—-His hopes of
Hecovery—Increased Danger—Codicil to his Will—Interview with the
Due d’OrMans—With the Cardinal de Noailles—Address to his Attendants
—The Dauphin brought to him—His Last Words—An Extraordinary
! Physician—The Courtiers and the Due d’Orleans—Conduct of Madame
de Maintenon—The King’s Death.

Louis XIV. began, as I have before remarked^ sensibly to de¬
cline, and his appetite, which had always been good and
uniform, very considerably diminished. Even foreign countries
became aware of this. Bets were laid in London that his life
would not last beyond the first of September, that is to say,
about three months, and although the King wished to know
•everything, it may be imagined that nobody was very eager to
make him acquainted with the news. He used to have the
Dutch papers read to him in private by Torcy, often after the
Council of State. One day as Torcy was reading, coming un¬
expectedly—for he had not examined the paper ^upon the
account of these bets, he stopped, stammered, and skipped it.
The King, who easily perceived this, asked him the cause of
his embarrassment; what he was passing over, and why ?
Torcy blushed to the very whites of his eyes, and said that it
was a piece of impertinence unworthy of being read. The
King insisted; Torcy also : but at last thoroughly confused, he
could not resist the reiterated command he received, and read
the whole account of the bets. The King pretended not to be
touched by it, but he was, and profoundly, so that sitting down

344

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMON.

to table immediately afterwards, he could not keep himself from
speaking of it, though without mentioning the gazette.

This was at Marly, and by chance I was there that day.
The King looked at me as at the others, but as though asking
for a reply. I took good care not to open my mouth, and
lowered my eyes. Cheverny, (a discreet man,) too, was not so
prudent, but made a long and ill-timed rhapsody upon similar
reports that had come to Copenhagen from Vienna while he
was ambassador at the former place seventeen or eighteen years
before. The King allowed him to say on, but did not take tbe
bait. He appeared touched, but like a man who does not wish
to seem so. It could be seen that he did all he could to eat^
and to show that he ate with appetite. But it was also seen
that the mouthfuls loitered on their way. This trifle did not
fail to augment the circumspection of the Court, above all of
those who by their position had reason to be more attentive
than the rest. It was reported that an aide-de-camp of Lord
Stair, who was then English ambassador of our Court, and very
much disliked for his insolent bearing and his troublesome ways^
had caused these bets by what he had said in England respect¬
ing the health of the King. Stair, when told this, was much
grieve*d, and said Twas a scoundrel he had dismissed.

As the King sensibly declined I noticed that although terror
of him kept people as much away from M. d’Orleans as evei',
I was approached even by the most considerable. I had often
amused myself at the expense of these prompt friends ; I did
so now, and diverted M. d'Orl6ans by warning him beforehand
what he had to expect.

On Friday, the 9th of August, 1715, the King hunted the
stag after dinner in his calechey that he drove himself as usual.
'Twas for the last time. Upon his return he appeared much
knocked up. There was a grand concert in the evening in
Madame de Maintenon's apartment.

On Saturday, the 10th of August, he walked before dinner
in his gardens at Marly; he returned to Versailles about six
o'clock in the evening, and never again saw that strange work
of his hands. In the evening he worked with the Chancellor

THE king’s HEAXTH.

345

in Madame de Maintenon’s rooms, and appeared to everybody
very ill. On Sunday, the eleventh of August, be Held the
Council of State, walked after dinner to Trianon, never more
to go out again during life.

On the morrow, the 12th of August, he took medicine as
usual, and lived as usual the following days. It was known
that he complained of sciatica in the leg and thigh. He had
never before had sciatica, or rheumatism, or a cold; and for a
long time no touch of gout. In the evening there was a little
concert in Madame de Maintenon’s rooms. This was the last
time in his life that he walked alone.

On Tuesday, the 13th of August, he made a violent effort,
and gave a farewell audience to a sham Persian ambassador,
whom Pontchartrain had imposed upon him; this was the
last public action of his life. The audience, which was long,
fatigued the King. He resisted the desire for sleep which
came over him, held the finance council, dined, had. himself
carried to Madame de Maintenon’s, where a little concert was
given, and on leaving his cabinet stopped for the Huclaesse de
la Eochefoucauld, who presented to him the Duchesse de la
Eocheguyon, her daughter-in-law, who was the last lady pre¬
sented to him. She took her tabouret that evening at the
King’s grand supper, which was the last he ever gave. On the
morrow he sent some precious stones to the Persian ambassador
just alluded to. It was on this day that the Princesse des
Ursins set off for Lyons, terrified at the state of the King as I
have already related.

For more than a year the health of the King had diminished.
His valets noticed this first, and followed the progress of the
malady, without one of them daring to open his mouth. The
bastards, or to speak exactly, M. du Maine saw it; Madame de
Maintenon also; but they did nothing. Fagon, the chief phy¬
sician, much fallen off in mind and body, was the only one of
the King’s intimates who saw nothing. Mardchal, also chief
physician, spoke to him (Fagon) several times, but always
harshly repulsed. Pressed at last by his duty and bis attach¬
ment, he made bold one morning towards Whitsuntide to go to

346 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

Madame de Maintenon. He told her what he saw and how
grossly Fagon was mistaken. He assured her that the King,
whose pulse he had often felt, had had for some time a slow
internal fever; that his constitution was so good that with
remedies and attention all would go well, but that if the malady
were allowed to grow there would no longer be any resource.
Madame de Maintenon grew angry, and all he obtained for his
jzeal was her anger. She said that only the personal enemies
of Fagon could find fault with his opinion upon the King's
health, concerning which the capacity, the application, the ex¬
perience of the chief physician could not be deceived. The
best of it is that Mar^chal, who had formerly operated upon
Fagon for stone, had been appointed chief surgeon by him, and
they had always lived on the best of terms. Mar^chal, annoyed
as he related to me, could do nothing more, and began from
that time to lament the death of his master. Fagon was in
fact the first physician in Europe, but for along time his health
had not permitted him to maintain his experience; and the
high point of authority to which his capacity and his favour
had carried him, had at last spoiled him. He would not hear
reason, or submit to reply, and continued to treat the King as
he had treated him in early years; and killed him by his
obstinacy.

The gout of which the King had had long attacks, induced
Fagon to swaddle him, so to say, every evening in a heap of
feather pillows, which made him sweat all night to such an
■extent that it was necessary in the morning to rub him down
and change his linen before the grand chamberlain and the first
gentleman of the chamber could enter. For many years he had
drunk nothing but Burgundy wine, half mixed with water, and
so old that it was used up instead of the best champagne which
he had used all his life. He would pleasantly say sometimes
that foreign lords who were anxious to taste the wine he used,
were often mightily deceived. At no time had he ever drank
pure wine, or made use in any way of spirits, or even tea,
•coffee, or chocolate. Upon rising, instead of a little bread and
wine and water, he had taken for a long time two glasses of

THE KING S DIET.

347

sage and veronica; often between bis meals, and always on
going to bed, glasses of water with a little orange-flower water
in them, and always iced. Even on [the days when he had
medicine he drank this, and always also at his meals, between
which he never ate anything except some cinnamon lozenges
that he pnt into his pocket at his dessert, with a good many
•cracknels for the bitches he kept in his cabinet.

As during the last year of his life the King became more and
more costive, Fagon made him eat at the commencement of his
repasts many iced fruits, that is to say, mulberries, melons, and
figs rotten from ripeness; and at his dessert many other fruits,
finishing with a surprising quantity of sweetmeats. AU the
year round he ate at supper a prodigious quantity of salad.
His soups, several of which he partook of morning and evening,
were full of gravy, and were of exceeding strength, and every¬
thing that was served to him was full of spice, to double the
usual extent, and very strong also. This regimen and the
sweetmeats together Fagon did not like, and sometimes while
seeing the King eat, he would make most amusing grimaces,
without daring however to say anything except now and then
to Livry and Benoist, who replied that it was their business to
feed the King, and his to doctor him. The King never ate any
kind of venison or water-fowl, but otherwise partook of every¬
thing, f^te days and fast days alike, except that during the last
twenty years of his life he observed some few days of Lent.

This summer he redoubled his regime of fruite and dnnks.
At last the former clogged his stomach, taken after soup, weak¬
ened the digestive organs and took away his appetite, which
until then had never failed him all his life, though however
late dinner might be delayed he never was hungry or wanted
to eat. But after the first spoonfuls of soup, his appetite came,
as I have several times heard him say, and he ate so prodigi¬
ously and so solidly morning and evening that no one could
get accustomed to see it. So much water and so much fruit
unconnected by anything spirituous, turned his blood into gan¬
grene ; while those forced night sweats diminished its strength
and impoverished it; and thus his death was caused, as was

348

MEMOIES OE THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON*.

seen by tlie opening of his body. The organs -were found in
such good and healthy condition that there is reason to believe
he would have lived beyond his hundredth year. His stomach
above all astonished, and also his bowels by their volume and
extent, double that of the ordinary, whence it came that he
was such a great yet uniform eater. Kemedies were not
thought of until it was no longer time, because Fagon would
never believe him ill, or Madame de Maintenon either; though
at the same time she had taken good care to provide for her
own retreat in the case of his death. Amidst all this, the King
felt his state before they felt it, and said so sometimes to his
valets: Fagon always reassured him, but did nothing. The
Edng was contented with what was said to him without being
persuaded, but his friendship for Fagon restrained him, and
Madame de Maintenon still more.

On Wednesday the 14th of August, the King was carried to
hear mass for the last time; held the council of state, ate a
meat dinner, and had music in Madame de Maintenon's rooms.
He supped in his chamber^ where the court saw him as at his
dinner; was with his family a short time in his cabinet, and
went to bed a little after ten.

On Thursday, the Festival of the Assumption, he heard
mass in his bed. The night had been disturbed and bad. He
dined in his bed, the courtiers being present, rose at five and
was carried to Madame de Maintenon’s, where music was played.
He supped and went to bed as on the previous evening. As long
as he could sit up he did the same.

On Friday, the 16th of August, the night had been no better;
much thirst and drink. The King ordered no one to enter until
ten. Mass and dinner in his bed as before; then he was carried
to Madame de Maintenon's; he played with the ladies there,
and afterwards there was a grand concert.

On Saturday, j}he 17th of August, the night as the preceding.
He held the Finance Council, he being in bed; saw people at
his dinner, rose immediately after; gave audience in his
cabinet to the General of the order of Sainte-Croix de la
Br^tonnerie; passed to Madame de Maintenon’s, where he

THE king’s last ACTS.

S49

worked witb. the Chancellor. At night, Fagon slept for the
first time in bis chamber.

Sunday, the 18th of August, passed like the preceding days.
Fagon pretended there had been no fever. The King held a
Council of State before and after his dinner; worked afterwards
upon the fortifications with Pelletier; then passed to Madame
de Maintenon’s, where there was music.

Monday, the 19th, and Tuesday, the 20th of August, passed
much as the previous days, excepting that on the latter the
King supped in his dressing-gown, seated in an arm-chair; and
that after this evening he never left his room or dressed him¬
self again. That same day Madame de Saint-Simon, whom I
had pressed to return, came back from the waters of Forges.
The King, entering after supper into his cabinet, perceived her.
He ordered his chair to be stopped; spoke to her very kindly
upon her journey and her return; then had himself wheeled on
by Bloin into the other cabinet. She was the last Court lady
to whom he spoke. I don’t count those who were always near
him, and who came to him when he could no longer leave his
room. Madame de Saint-Simon said to me in the evening
that she should not have recognised the King if she had met
him anywhere else. Yet she had left Marly for Forges only on
the 6th of July.

On Wednesday, the 21st of August, four physicians saw the,
King, but took care to do nothing except praise Fagon, who
gave him cassia. For some days it had been perceived that he
■ate meat and even bread with difficulty, (though aU his life
he had eaten but little of the latter, and for some time only the
-crumb, because he had no teeth). Soup in larger quantity,
hash very light, and eggs compensated him; but he ate very
sparingly.

On Thursday, the 22nd of August, the King was still worse.
He saw four other physicians, who, like the first four, did
nothing but admire the learned and admirable treatment of
Fagon, who made him take towards evening some Jesuit bark
■and water and intended to give him at night, ass’s mUk. This
same day, the King ordered the Due de la Kochefoucauld to

350

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

bring him his clothes on the morrow, in order that he might

choose which he would wear upon leaving off the mourning he ^

wore for a son of Madame la Duchesse de Lorraine. He had not

been able to quit his chamber for some days; he could scarcely

eat anything solid; his physician, slept in his chamber, and yet

he reckoned upon being cured, upon dressing himself again^ and

wished to choose his dress ! In like manner there was the

same round of councils, of work, of amusements. So true it is,

that men do not wish to die, and dissimulate from themselves ^

the approach of death as long as possible. Meanwhile, let

me say, that the state of the King, which nobody was ignorant

of, had already changed M. d’Orleans' desert into a crowded

city.

Friday, the 2Srd of August, the night was as usual, the
morning also. The King worked with P^re Tellier, who tried, hut
in vain, to make him fill up several benefices that were vacant;
that is to say, Pdre Tellier wished to dispose of them himself,
instead of leaving them to M. le Due d’Orl^ans. Let nae state i

at once, that the feehler the King grew, the more Pfere Tellier
worried him; so as not to lose such a rich prey, or miss the
opportunity of securing fresh creatures for his service. But he
could not succeed. The King declared to him that he had
enough to render account of to God, without charging himself
with this nomination, and forbade him to speak again upon the
subject.

On Saturday evening, the 24th of August, he supped in his ^

dressing-gown, in presence of the courtiers, for the last time. I
noticed that he could only swallow liquids, and that he was
troubled if looked at. He could not finish his supper, and
begged the courtiers to pass on, that is to say, go away. He
went to bed, where his leg, on which were several black marks,
was examined. It had grown worse lately and had given him
much pain. He sent for Pfere Tellier and made confession.

Confusion spread among the doctors at this. Milk, and Jesuit m

bark and water had been tried and abandoned in turns; now,
nobody knew what to try. The doctors admitted that they
believed he had had a slow fever ever since Whitsuntide; and

CODICIL TO HIS WILL.

351

excused themselves for doing nothing on the ground that he
did not wish for remedies.

On Sunday, the 25th of August, no more mystery was made
of the King’s danger. Nevertheless, he expressly commanded
that nothing should he changed in the usual order of this day
(the f^te of St. Louis), that is to say, that the drums and the
hautboys, assembled beneath his windows, should play their
accustomed music as soon as he awoke, and that the twenty-
four violins should play in the ante-chamber during his dinner.
He worked afterwards with the Chancellor, who wrote under
his dictation, a codicil to his will, Madame de Maintenon being
present. She and M. du Maine, who thought incessantly of
themselves, did not consider the King had done enough for
them by his will; they wished to remedy this by a codicil,
which equally showed how enormously they abused the King’s
weakness in this extremity, and to what an excess ambition
may carry us. By this codicil the King submitted all the civil
and military household of the young King to the Due du Maine,
and under his orders to Mar^chal de Villeroy, who, by this
disposition became the sole masters of the person and the
dwelling place of the King, and of Paris, by the troops placed
in their hands; so that the Regent had not the slightest
shadow of authority and was at their mercy; certainly
liable to be arrested or worse, any time it should please M. du
Maine.

Soon after the Chancellor left the King, Madame de Main-
tenon who remained, sent for the ladies; and the musicians
came at seven o’clock in the evening. But the King fell asleep
during the conversation of the ladies. He awoke; his brain
confused, which frightened them and made them call the doctors.
They found his pulse so bad that they did not hesitate to
propose to him, his senses having returned, to take the sacra¬
ment without delay. Pfere Tellier was sent for; the musicians
who had just prepared their books and their instruments, were
dismissed, the ladies also; and in a quarter of an hour from
that time, the King made confession to Pfere Tellier, the
Cardinal de Rohan, meanwhile, bringing the Holy Sacrament

352 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOH.

from the Chapel, and sending for the Cure and holy oils. Two
of the King’s chaplains, summoned by the Cardinal, came, and
seven or eight candlesticks were carried by valets. The Cardinal
said a word or two to the King upon this great and last action,
during which the King appeared very firm, but very penetrated
with what he was doing. As soon as he had received Our
Saviour and the holy oils, everybody left the chamber except
Madame de Maintenon and the Chancellor. Immediately after¬
wards, and this was rather strange, a kind of book or httle
tablet was placed upon the bed, the codicil was presente(J. to the
King, and at the bottom of it he wrote four or five hues, and
restored the document to the Chancellor.

After this, the King sent for M. le Due d’Orldans, showed him
much esteem, friendship, and confidence ; but what is terrible,
with Jesus Christ still upon his lips—the Sacrament he had
just received—^he assured him, he would find nothing in his
will with which he would not feel pleased. Then he recom¬
mended to him the state and the person of the future
King.

On Monday the 26th of August, the King called to him the
Cardinals de Kohan and de Bissy, protested that he died in the
faith, and in submission to the church, then added, looking at
them, that he was sorry to leave the affairs of the church as
they were; that they knew he had done nothing except what
they wished j that it was therefore for them to answer before
God for what he had done ; that his own conscience was clear,
and that he was as an ignorant man who had abandoned him¬
self entirely to them. What a frightful thunderbolt was this
to the two cardinals; for this Avas an illusion to the terrible
constitution they had assisted Phre Tellier in forcing upon him.
But their calm was superior to all trial. They praised him and
said he had done well, and that he might be at ease as to the
result.

This same Monday, 26th of August, after the two Cardinals
had left the room, the King dined in his bed in the presence of
those who were privileged to enter. As the things were being
cleared away, he made them approach and addressed to them

LAST WOBLS OF THE KING.

353

these words, which were stored up in their memory ;—Gentle¬
men, I ask your pardon for the bad example I have given yoru
I have much to thank you for the manner in whicla you have
served me, and for the attachment and fidelity you liave always
shown for me. I am very sorry I have not done for you aU I
should have wished to do; bad times have been the cause. I ask
for my grandson the same application and the same fidelity you
have had for me. He is a child who may experience many
reverses. Let your example be one for all my other subjects.
Follow the orders my nephew will give you; he is to govern
the realm; I hope he will govern it well; I hope also that you
will all contribute to keep up union, and that if any one falls
away you will aid in bringing him back. I feel that I am.
moved, and that I move you also. I ask your pardon. Adieu,
gentlemen, I hope you will sometimes remember me.”

A short time after he called the Marechal de Tilleroy to
him, and said he had made him governor of the Dauphin. He
then called to him M. ie Due and M. le Prince do Conti, and
recommended to them the advantages of union among princes.
Then, hearing women in the cabinet, questioned who were
there, and immediately sent word they might enter. Madame
la Duchesse de Berry, Madame la Duchesse d’OrMans, and the
Princesses of the blood forthwith appeared, crying. The King
told them they must not cry thus, and said a few friendly words
to them, and dismissed them. They retired by the cabinet, weep¬
ing and crying very loudly, which caused people to believe out¬
side that the King was dead; and, indeed, the rumour spread
to Paris, and even to the provinces.

Some time after the King requested the Duchesse de Ven^
dour to bring the little Dauphin to him. He made the child
approach, and then said to him, before Madame de Maintenon
and the few privdeged people present, " My child, you are going
to be a great king; do not imitate me in the taste I have had or
building, or in tbat I have had for war; try, on tlie contrary,
to be at peace with your neighbours. Eender to God what you
owe Him; recognise the obligations you are under to Him;
make Him honoured by your subjects. Always follow goo

voi. n. 23

S54 MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

counsels; try to comfort your people, whicli I unhappily have
not done. Never forget the obligation you owe to Madame de
Ventadour. Madame {addressing her), let me embrace him
{and while errihracing Mm), my dear child, I give you my
benediction with my whole heart."’’

As the little Prince was about to be taken off the bed, the
King redemanded him, embraced him again, and raising hands
and eyes to Heaven, blessed him once more. This spectacle
was extremely touching.

On Tuesday, the 27fch of August, the King said to Madame
de Maintenon, that he had always heard, it was hard to resolve
to die; but that as for him, seeing himself upon the point of
death, he. did not find this resolution so difficult to form. She
replied that it was very hard when we had attachments to
creatures, hatred in our hearts, or restitutions to make. " Ah,”
rejoined the King, as for restitutions, to nobody in particular
do I owe any ; but as for those I owe to the realm, I hope in
the mercy of God.”

The night which followed was very agitated. The King was
seen at all moments joining his hands, striking his breast, and
was heard repeating the prayers he ordinarily employed.

On Wednesday morning, the 28th of August, he paid a com¬
pliment to Madame de Maintenon, which i^leased her but little,
and to which she replied not one word. He said, that what
consoled him in quitting her was that, considering the age she
had reached, they must soon meet again I

About seven o’clock in the morning, he saw in the mirror
two of his valets at the foot of the bed weeping, and said to
them,'' Why do you weep ? Is it because you thought me
immortal ? As for me, I have not thought myself so, and you
ought, considering my age, to have been prepared to lose me.”

A very clownish Proven»;al rustic heard of the extremity of
the King, while on his way from Marseilles to Paris, and came
this morning to Versailles with a remedy, which he said would
cure the gangrene. The King was so ill, and the doctors so at
their wits ends, that they consented to receive him. Pagou
tried to say something, but this rustic, who was named Le

A NEW DOCTOE.

355

Erun, abused him very coarsely, and Fagon accustomed to abuse
others was confounded. Ten drops of Le Brun’s mixture in
Alicante wine were therefore given to the King about eleven
o’clock in the morning. Some time after he became stronger,
but the pulse falling again and becoming bad, another dose was
given to, him about four o’clock, to recall him to life, they told
him. He replied, taking the mixture,'' To life or to death as it
shall please God.”

Le Brun’s remedy was continued. Some one proposed that
the King should take some broth. The King replied that it
was not broth he wanted, but a confessor, and he sent for him.
One day, recovering from loss of consciousness, he asked Pfere
Tellier to give him absolution for all his sins. P^re Tellier
asked him if he suffered much? ^'No,” replied the King,
" that’s what troubles me: I should like to sufier more for the
expiation of my sins.”

On Thursday, the 29th of August, he grew a little better; he
even ate two little biscuits steeped in wine, with a certain ap¬
petite. The news immediately spread abroad that the King
was recovering. I went that day to the apartments, of M. le
Due d’Orldans, where, during the previous eight days, there
had been such a crowd that, speaking exactly, a i)in would not
have fallen to the ground. Hot a soul was there ! As soon as
the Due saw me he burst out laughing, and said, I was the first
person who had been to see him all the day!' And until the
evening he was entirely deserted. Such is the world!

In the evening it was known that the King had only
recovered for the moment. In giving orders during the day,
he called the young Dauphin the young King.” He saw a
movement amongst those around him. Why not ?’^ said he,
that does not trouble me.” Towards eight o’clock he took the
elixir of the rustic. His brain appeared confused; he himself
said he felt very ill. Towards eleven o’clock his leg was
examined. The gangrene was found to be in the foot and the
knee ; the thigh much inflamed. He swooned during this
examination. He had perceived with much pain that Madame
de Maintenon was no longer near him. She had in fact gone

23—2

356

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOIST.

off on the previous day with very dry eyes to St. Cyr, not in¬
tending to return.* He asked for her several times during the
day. Her departure could not be hidden. He sent for her to
St. Cyr, and she came back in the evening.

Friday, August the SOth, was a bad day preceded by a bad
night. The Kin g continually lost his reason. About five
o’clock in the evening Madame de Maintenon left him, gave
away her furniture to the domestics, and went to St. Cyr never
to leave it.

On Saturday, the 31st of August, everything went from bad
to worse. The gangrene had reached the knee and all the
thigh. Towards eleven o’clock at night the King was found
to be so ill that the prayers for the dying were said. This re¬
stored him to himself. He repeated the prayers in a voice so
strong that it rose above all the other voices. At the end he
recognised Cardinal de Eohan, and said to him, These are the
last favours of the church.” This was the last man to whom,
he spoke. He repeated several times. Nunc et in hord mortis,
then said, ""Oh, my God, come to my aid: hasten to succour
me.”

These were his last words. Ail the night he was without
consciousness and in a long agony, which finished on Sunday,
the 1st September, 1715, at a quarter past eight in the morn¬
ing, three days before he had accomplished his seventy-seventh
year, and in the seventy-second of his reign. He had sur¬
vived all his sons and grandsons, except the King of Spain.
Europe never saw so long a reign or France a King so old.

* If anyfcliuig could make Madame de Maintenon more odious, it is this
heartless d^rtion of the old king in his last moments of agony and peni¬
tence.

CHABACTEB OP LOUIS XIV.

357

CHAPTEE XXXV.

Early Life of Louis XIV.—His Education—^His enormous Vanity—^His Ig¬
norance—Cause of the War with Holland—His Mistakes and Weakness
in War—The Euin of France—Origin of Versailles—^The King’s Lo^e of
Adulation and Jealousy of people who came not to Court—His Spies—^His
Vindictiveness—Opening of Letters—Confidence sometimes placed in
Mm—A Lady in a Predicament.

I SHALL pass over the stormy period of Louis XIV.’s minority.
At twenty-three years of age he entered the great world as King,
under the most favourable auspices. His ministers were the
most skilful in all Europe: his generals the best; his Court
was filled with illustrious and clever men, formed during the
troubles which had followed the death of Louis XIII.

Louis XIV. was made for a brilliant Court. In the midst of
other men, his figure, his courage, his grace, his beauty, his
grand mien, even the tone of his voice and the majestic and
natural charm of all his person, distinguished him till his death
as the King Bee, and showed that if he had only been born a
simple private gentleman, he would equally have excelled in
f^tes, pleasures, and gallantry, and would have had the greatest
success in love. The intrigues and adventures which early in Life
he had been engaged in— when the Comtesse de Soissons lodged
at the Tuileries, as superintendent of the Queen’s household,
and was the centre figure of the Court group—had exercised
an unfortunate influence upon him: he received those impres¬
sions with which he could never after successfully struggle.
From this time, intellect, education, nobility of sentiment, and
high principle, in others, became objects of suspicion to bun,

358

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK.

and soon of hatred. The more he advanced in years the more
this sentiment was confirmed in him. He wished to reign by
himself. His jealousy on this point unceasingly became weak¬
ness. He reigned, indeed, in little things; the great he could
never reach: even in the former, too, he was often governed.
The superior ability of his early ministers and his early gene¬
rals soon wearied him. He liked nobody to be in any way-
superior to him. Thus he chose his ministers, not for their
knowledge, but for their ignorance; not for their capacity, but
for their want of it. He liked to form them, as he said; liked
to teach them even the most trifiing things. It was the same
with his generals. He took credit to himself for instructing
them; wished it to be thought that from his cabinet he com¬
manded and directed all his armies. Naturally fond of trifles,
he unceasingly occupied himself with the most petty details of
his troops, his household, his mansions; would even instruct
his cooks, who received, like novices, lessons they had known
by heart for years. This vanity, this unmeasured and un¬
reasonable love of admiration, was his ruin. His ministers,
his generals, his mistresses, his courtiers, soon perceived bis
weakness. They, praised him with emulation and spoiled him.
Praises, or to say truth, flattery, pleased him to such an ex¬
tent, that the coarsest was well received, the vilest even better
relished. It was the sole means by which you could approach
him. Those whom he liked owed his afiection for them, to
their untiring flatteries. This is what gave his ministers so
much authority, and the opportunities they had for adulating
hi m, of attributing everything to him, and of pretending to
learn everything from him. Suppleness, meanness, an ad¬
miring, dependent, cringing manner—above all, an air of
nothingness—were the sole means of pleasing him

This poison spread. It spread, too, to an incredible extent,
in a prince who, although of intellect beneath mediocrity, was
not utterly without sense, and who had had some experience.
Without voice or musical knowledge, he used to sing, in pri¬
vate, the passages of the opera prologues that were fullest of
his praises! He was drowned in vanity; and so deeply, that

WAB WITH THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE.

359

at his public suppers—all the Court present, musicians also—
he would hum these self-same praises between his teeth, when
the music they were set to was played 1

And yet, it must be admitted, he might have done better.
Though his intellect, as I have said, was beneath mediocrity,
it was capable of being formed. He loved glory, was fond of
order and regularity; was by disposition prudent, moderate,
discreet, master of his movements and his tongue. Will it be
believed ? He was also by disposition good and just! God had
sufSLciently gifted him to enable him to be a good K i ng; per¬
haps even a tolerably greed King! All the evil came to him
from elsewhere. His early education was so neglected that
nobody dared approach his apartment. He has often been
heard to speak of those times with bitterness, and even to re¬
late that, one evening he was found in the basin of the Palais
Koyale garden fountain, into which he had fallen! He was
scarcely taught how to read or write, and remained so igno¬
rant, that the most familiar historical and other facts were
utterly unknown to him! He fell, accordingly, and sometimes
even in public, into the grossest absurdities.

It was his vanity, his desire for glory, that led him, soon
after the death of the King of Spain, to make that event the
pretext for war; in spite of the renunciations so recently
made, so carefully stipulated, in the marriage contract. He
marched into Flanders; his conquests there were rapid; the
passage of the Ehine was admirable; the triple alliance of
England, Sweden, and Holland only animated him. In the
midst of winter he took Franch e-Comte, by restoring which
at the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, he preserved his conquests in
Flanders. AH was flourishing then in the state. Kiches
everywhere. Colbert had placed the finances, the navy, com¬
merce, manufactures, letters even, upon the highest point; and
this age, like that of Augustus, produced in abundance il¬
lustrious men of all kinds,—even those illustrious only in
pleasures.

Le Tellier and Louvois, his son, who had the war depart¬
ment, trembled at the success and at the credit of Colbert, and

S60

MEMOIBS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK

had no difficulty in putting into the head of the King a new*
war, the success of which caused such fear to all Europe that
France never recovered from it, and after having been upon
the point of succumbing to this war, for a long time felt the
weight and misfortune of it. Such was the real cause of that
famous Dutch war, to which the King allowed himself to be
pushed, and which his love for Madame de Montespan rendered
so unfortunate for his glory and for his kingdom. Everything
being conquered, everything taken, and Amsterdam ready to
give up her keys, the King yields to his impatience, quits the
army, flies to Versailles, and destroys in an instant all the suc¬
cess of his arms'! He repaired this disgrace by a second con¬
quest, in person, of Eranche-Comte, which this time was pre¬
served by France.

In 1676, the King having returned into Flanders, took
Cond^; whilst Monsieur took Bouchain. The armies of the
King and of the Prince of Orange approached each other so-
suddenly and so closely, that they found themselves front ta
front near Heurtebise. According even to the admission of
the enemy, our forces were so superior to those of the Prince
of Orange, that we must have gained the victory if we had
attacked. But the King, after listening to the oj)inions of his
generals, some for, and some against giving battle, decided for
the latter, turned tail, and the engagement was talked of no
more. The army was much discontented. Everybody wished
for battle. The fault therefore of the King made much im¬
pression upon the troops, and excited cruel railleries against us
at home and in the foreign courts. The King stopped but
little longer afterwards in the army, although we were only in
the month of May. He returned to his mistress.

The following year he returned to Flanders, and took 0am-
brai 5 and Monsieur besieged Saint Omer. Monsieur got the
start of the Prince of Orange, who was about to assist the
place, gave him battle near Corsel, obtained a complete victory,
immediately took Saint Omer, and then joined the King. This
contrast so affected the monarch that never afterwards did he
give Monsieur command of an army I External appearances

VICTOEIES OF FEAKCE. 361

•were perfectly kept, up, but from that moment tbe resolution
was taken and always well sustained.

The year afterwards the King led in person the siege of
Ghent. The peace of Nimeguen ended this year the war with
Holland, Spain, &c.; and on the commencement of the fol¬
lowing year, that with the Emperor and the empire. America,.
Africa, the Archipelago, Sicily, acutely felt the power of
Erance, and in 1684 Luxembourg was the price of the delay
of the Spaniards in fulfilling all the conditions of the peace.
Genoa, bombarded, was forced to come in the persons of its
doge and four of its senators, to sue for peace at the com¬
mencement of the following year. Erom this date, until 1688,.
the time passed in the cabinet less in ffetes than in devotion
and constraint. Here finishes the apogeum of this reign, and
the fulness of glory and prosperity. The great captains, the
great ministers, were no more, but their pupils remained. The
second epoch of the reign was very different from the first; but
the third was even more sadly dissimilar.

I have related the adventure which led to the wars of this
period; how an ill-made window-frame was noticed at the
Trianon, then building; how Louvois was.blamed for it; his
alarm lest his disgrace should follow; his determination to en¬
gage the King in a war which should turn him from his
building fancies. He carried out his resolve: with what result
I have already shown. Erance was ruined at home; and
abroad, despite the success of her arms, gained nothing. On
the contrary, the withdrawal of the King from Gembloux,
when he might have utterly defeated the Prince of Orange,
did us infinite harm, as I have shown in its place. The peace
which followed this war was disgraceful. The King was ob¬
liged to acknowledge the Prince of Orange as King of England,
after having so long shown hatred and contempt for him. Our
precipitation, too, cost us Luxembourg; and the ignorance of
our plenipotentiaries gave our enemies great advantages in
forming their frontier. . Such was the peace of Eyswick, con¬
cluded in September, 1697.

This peace seemed as though it would allow Erance some

362

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAIKT-SIMOK.

breathing time. The King was sixty years of age, and had, in
his own opinion, acquired all sorts of glory. But scarcely were
we at peace, without having had time to taste it, than the
pride of the King made him wish to astonish all Europe by
the display of a power that it believed prostrated. And truly
he did astonish Europe. But at what a cost! The famous
camp of Compi^gne—for ’tis to that I allude—was one of the
most magnificent spectacles ever seen; but its immense and
misplaced prodigality was soon regretted. Twenty years after¬
wards, some of the regiments who took part in it were still in
difficulties from this cause. ^

Shortly afterwards, by one of the most surprising and un¬
heard-of pieces of good fortune, the crown of Spain fell into
the hands of the Due d’Anjou, grandson of the King. It
seemed as though golden days had come back again to France.
Only for a little time, however, did it seem so. Nearly all
Europe, as it has been seen, banded against France, to dispute
the Spanish crown. The King had lost aU his good ministers,
all his able generals, and had taken good pains they should
leave no successors. When war came, then, we were utterly
unable to prosecute it with success or honour. We were
driven out of Germany, of Italy, of the Low Countries. We
could not sustain the war, or resolve to make peace. Every
day led us nearer and nearer the brink of the precipice, the
terrible depths of which were for ever staring us in the face.
A misunderstanding amongst our enemies, whereby England
became detached from the grand alliance; the undue contempt
of Prince Eughne for our generals, out of which arose the
battle of Denain; saved us from the gulf. Peace came, and a
peace, too, infinitely better than that we should have ardently
embraced if our enemies had agreed amongst themselves be¬
forehand. Nevertheless, this peace cost dear to France, and
cost Spain half its territory—Spain, of which the King had
said not even a windmill would he yield I But this was an¬
other piece of folly he soon repented of.

Thus, we see this monarch grand, rich, conquering, the ar¬
biter of Europe; feared and admired as long as the ministers

THE KING TAKES TO BUILDING.

363

^iiid captains existed who reall}^' deserved the name. 'When
they were no more, the machine kept moving some time by
impulsion, and from their influence. But soon afterwards we
saw beneath the surface; faults and errors were multiplied,
and decay came on with giant strides; without, however,
opening the eyes of that despotic master, so anxious to do
everything and direct everything himself, and who seemed to
indemnify himself for disdain abroad by increasing fear and
trembling at home.

So much for the reign of this vain-glorious monarch.

Let me touch now upon some other incidents in his career,
and upon some points in his character.

He early showed a disinclination for Paris. The troubles
that had taken place there during the minority made him
regard the place as dangerous; he wished, too, to render him¬
self venerable by hiding himself from the eyes of the multitude;
all these considerations fixed him at St. Germains soon after
the death of the Queen, his mother. It was to that place he
began to attract the world by ffites and gallantries, and by
making it felt that he wished to be often seen.

His love for Madame de la VaUifere, which was at first kept
secret, occasioned frequent excursions to Versailles, then a little
card castle, which had been built by Louis XIII.—annoyed,
and his suite still more so, at being frequently obliged to sleep
in a wretched inn there, after he had been out hunting in the
forest of Saint Leger. That monarch rarely slept at Versailles
more than one night, and then from necessity; the King, his
son, slept there, so that he might be more in private with his
mistress; pleasures unknown to the hero and just man, worthy
son of Saint Louis, who built the little chiLteau.

These excursions of Louis XIV. by degrees gave birth to
those immense buildings he erected at Versailles; and their
convenience for a numerous court, so different from the apart¬
ments at St. Germains, led him to take up his abode there
entirely shortly after the death of the Queen. He built an
infinite number of apartments, which were asked for by those
who wished to pay their court to him; whereas at St. Germains

364 MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON*.

nearly everybody was obliged to lodge in the town, and the
few who found accommodation at the chateau were strangely
inconvenienced.

The frequent fStes, the private promenades at Versailles, the
journeys, were means on which the King seized in order to
distinguish or mortify the courtiers, and thus render them more
assiduous in pleasing him. He felt that of real favours he had
not enough to bestow; in order to keep up the spirit of devotion,
he therefore unceasingly invented all sorts of ideal ones, little
preferences and petty distinctions, which answered his purpose
as well.

He was exceedingly jealous of the attention paid him. Not
only did he notice the presence of the most distinguished
courtiers, but those of inferior degree also. He looked to the
right and to the left, not only upon rising but upon going to
bed, at his meals, in passing through his apartments, or his
gardens of Versailles, where alone the courtiers were allowed
to follow him; he saw and noticed everybody; not one escaped
him, not even those who hoped to remain unnoticed. He
marked well all absentees from the court, found out the reason
of their absence, and never lost an opportunity of acting to¬
wards them as the occasion might seem to justify. With some
of the courtiers (the most distinguished), it was a demerit not
to make the court their ordinary abode; with others ’twas a
fault to come but rarely; for those who never or scarcely ever
came it was certain disgrace. When their names were in any
way mentioned, “ I do not know them,” the King would reply
haughtily. Those who presented themselves but seldom were
thus characterised: ^^They are people I never see;” these
decrees were irrevocable. He could not bear people who liked
Paris.

Louis XIV. took great pains to be well informed of all that
passed everywhere; in the public places, in the private houses,
in society and familiar intercourse. His spies and tell-tales
were infinite. He had them of all species; many who were
^norant that their information reached him; others who knew
it; others who wrote to him direct, sending their letters through

OPENING LETTERS.

365

ohannels lie indicated; and all these letters were seen by him
alone, and always before everything else; others who sometimes
spoke to him secretly in his cabinet, entering by the back
stairs. These unknown means ruined an infinite number of
people of all classes, who never could discover the cause; often
ruined them very unjustly; for the King, once prejudiced, never
altered his opinion, or so rarely, that nothing was more rare.
He had, too, another fault, very dangerous for others and often
for himself, since it deprived him of good subjects. He had an
excellent memory; in this way, that if he saw a man who,
twenty years before, perhaps, had in some manner offended him,
he did not forget the man, though he might forget the offence.
This was enough, however, to exclude the person from all
favour. The representations of a minister, of a general, of his
'Confessor even, could not move the King. He would not yield.

The most cruel means by which the King was informed of
what was passing—for many years before anybody knew it—
was that of opening letters. The promptitude and dexterity
with which they were opened passes understanding. He saw
’extracts from all the letters in which there were passages that
the chiefs of the post-office, and then the minister who governed
it, thought ought to go before him; entire letters, too, were
sent to him, when their contents seemed to justify the sending.
Thus the chiefs of the post, nay, the principal clerks were in a
position to suppose what they pleased and against whom they
pleased. A word of contempt against the King or the govern¬
ment, a joke, a detached phrase, was enough. It is incredible
how many people, justly or unjustly, were more or less ruined,
always without resource, without trial, and without knowing
why. The secret was impenetrable; for nothing ever cost the
King less than profound silence and dissimulation.

Tliis last talent he pushed almost to falsehood, but never to
deceit, pluming himself upon keeping his word,—therefore he
scarcely ever gave it. The secrets of others he kept as reli¬
giously as his own. He was even flattered by certain confessions
and certain confidences; and there was no mistress, minister,
or favourite, who could have wormed them out, even though
the secret regarded themselves.

366

MEMOIRS OF THE DITKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

We know, amongst many otliei*s, the famous story of a woman
of quality, who, after having been separated a year from her
husband, found herself in the family-way just as he was on
the point of returning from the army, and who, not knowing
what else to do, in the most urgent manner begged a private
interview of the King. She obtained it, and confided to him
her position, as to the worthiest man in his realm, as she said..
The King counselled her to profit by her distress, and live more
wisely for the future, and immediately promised to retain her
husband on the frontier as long as was necessary, and to forbid
his return under any pretext, and in fact he gave orders the
same day to Louvois, and prohibited the husband not only all
leave of absence, but forbade him to quit for a single day the
post he was to command all the winter. The officer who was
distinguished, and who had neither wished nor asked to be em¬
ployed all the winter upon the frontier, and Louvois, who had
in no way thought of it, were equally surprised and vexed.
They were obliged, however, to obey to the letter, and without-
asking why; and the King never mentioned the circumstance
until many years afterwards, when he was quite sure nobody
could find out either husband or wife, as in fact they never
could, or even obtain the most vague or the most uncertain
suspicion.

POLITENESS OF THE KINO,

367

CHAPTEE XXXVI

Excessive Politeness—Influence of the Yalets—How the Kin g drove out-^
Love of Magnificence—His Buildings—^Versailles—The supply of Water
—^The King seeks for quiet—Creation of Marly—^Tremendous extrava¬
gance.

Never did man give with better grace than Louis XIV, or
augmented so much, in this way, the price of his benefits.
Never did man sell to better profit his words, even his smiles,
—^nay, his looks. Never did disobliging words escape him;
and if he had to blame, to reprimand, or correct, which was
very rare, it was nearly always with goodness, never, except on
one occasion (the admonition of Courtenvaux, related in its
place), with anger or severity. Never was man so naturally
polite, or of a politeness so measured, so graduated, so adapted
to person, time, and place. Towards women his politeness was
without parallel. Never did he pass the humblest petticoat
without raising his hat; even to chambermaids, that he knew
to be such, as often happened at Marly. For ladies he took his
hat off completely, but to a greater or less extent; for titled
people half off, holding it in his hand or against his ear some
instants, more or less marked. For the nobility he contented
himself by putting his hand to his hat. He took it off for the
princes of the blood, as for the ladies. If he accosted ladies he
did not cover himself until he had quitted them. All this was
out of doors, for in the house he was never covered. His reve¬
rences, more or less marked, but always light, were incompar¬
able for their grace and manner; even his mode of half raising
himself at supper for each lady who arrived at table. Though

268

MEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAIHT-SIMOH.

at last this fatigued him, yet he never ceased it; the ladies who
were to sit down^ however, took care not to enter after supper
had commenced.

If he was made to wait for anything while dressing, it was
always with patience. He was exact to the hours that he gave
for all his day, with a precision clear and brief in his orders.
If in the bad weather of winter, when he could not go out, he
went to Madame de Maintenon's a quarter of an hour earlier
than he had arranged (which seldom happened), and the captain
of the guards was not on duty, he did not fail afterwards to
say that it was his own fault for anticipating the hour, not that
of the captain of the guards for being absent. Thus, with this
regularity which he never deviated from, he was served with
the utmost exactitude.

He treated his valets well, above all those of the household.
It was amongst them that he felt most at ease, and that he
unbosomed himself the most familiarly, especially to the chiefs.
Their friendship and their aversion have often had grand results.
They were unceasingly in a position to render good and bad
offices: thus they recalled those powerful enfranchised slaves
of the Eoman emperors, to whom the senate and the great
people paid court and basely truckled. These valets during
Louis XIV.\s reign were not less courted. The ministers,
even the most powerful, openly studied their caprices; and the
princes of the blood,—nay, the bastards,—not to mention people
of lower grade, did the same. The majority were accordingly
insolent enough; and if you could not avoid their insolence,
you were forced to put up with it.

The Eng loved air and exercise very much, as long as he
could make use of them. He had excelled in dancing, and at
tennis and malL On horseback he was admirable, even at a
late age. He liked to see everything done with grace and ad¬
dress. To acquit yourself well or ill before him was a merit or
a fault. He said that with things not necessary it was best
not to meddle, unless they were done well. He was very fond
of shooting, and there was not a better or more graceful shot
than he. He had always in his cabinet seven or eight pointer

FAtTLTS OF VERSAILLES.

369

■bitches, and was fond of feeding them, to make himself known
to them. ^ He was very fond, too, of stag hunting; but in a
caliche, since he broke his arm, while hunting at Fontainebleau,
immediately after the death of the Queen. He rode alone in a
species of “ box,” drawn by four little horses—with five or sis
relays, and drove himself with an address and accuracy unknown
to the best coachmen. His postillions were children from ten
to fifteen years of age, and he directed them.

He liked splendour, magnificence, and profusion in every¬
thing : you pleased him if you shone through the brilliancy of
your houses, your clothes, your table, your equipages. Thus a
taste for extravagance and luxury was disseminated through
aU classes of society; causing infinite harm, and leading to
general confusion of rank and to ruin.

^ As for the King himself, nobody ever approached his mag¬
nificence. His buildings, who could number them? At the
same time, who was there who did not deplore the pride, the
caprice, the bad taste seen in them ? He built nothing useful
or ornamental in Paris, except the Pont Eoyal, and that simply
by necessity; sO that despite its incomparable extent, Paris is
inferior to naany cities of Europe. St. Germains, a lovely spot,
with a marvellous view, rich forest, terraces, gardens, and
water be abandoned for Versailles; the dullest and most un¬
grateful of all places, without prospect, without wood, without
water, without sod; for the ground is all shifting sand or
swamp, the air accordingly bad.

But he liked to subjugate nature by art and treasure. He
built at Versailles, on, on, without any general design, the
beautiful and the ugly, the vast and the mean, all jumbled
together. His own apartments and those of the Queen, are in¬
convenient to the last degree, dull, dose, stinking. The gardens
astonish by their magnificence, hut cause regret by their bad
taste. You are introduced to the freshness of the shade only
by a vast torrid zone, at the end of which there is nothing for
you but to mount or descend; and with the hid, which is very
short, terminate the gardens. The violence everywhere done
to nature repels and wearies us despite ourselves. The

VOL. II. 24

370

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SDIOK.

abundance of water, forced up and gathered together from all
parts, is rendered green, thick, muddy; it disseminates hu-
^dity, unhealthy and evident; and an odour still more so. i
might never finish upon the monstrous defects of a palace so
immense and so immensely dear, with its accompamments,

which are still more so. n i r 4 .-

But the supply of water for the fountains was all detective

at aU moments, in spite of those seas of reservoirs which had
cost so many millions to establish and to form upon the shifting
sand and marsh. Who could have beUeved it ? This defect
became the ruin of the infantry which was turned out to do
the work. Madame de Maintenon reigned. M. de Louvois
was well with her, then. We were at peace. He conceived
the idea of turning the river Eure between Chartres and
Maintenon, and of making it come to Versailles. Who can say
what gold and men this obstinate attempt cost during several
years, until it was prohibited by the heaviest penalties, in the
camp established there, and for a long time kept up; not to
speak of the sick,—above all, of the dead,—that the hard labour
and still more the much disturbed earth, caused ? How many
men were years in recovering from the effects of the contagion!
How many never regained their health at all! And not only
the sub-officers, but the colonels, the brigadiers and general
officers, were compelled to be upon the spot, and were not
at liberty to absent themselves a quarter of an hour from
the works. The war at last interrupted them in 1688, and
they have never since been undertaken; only unfinished
portions of them exist which will immortalise this cruel
folly.

At last, the King, tired of the cost and bustle, persuaded
Wmgsif that he should like something little and solitary. He
searched aU around Versailles for some place to satisfy this
new taste. He examined several neighbourhoods, he traversed
the hills near Si Germains, and the vast plain which is at the
bottom, where the Seine winds and bathes the feet of so many
towns, and so many treasures in quitting Paris. He was
pr^ed to fix himself at Lucienne, where Oavoye afterwards

FOUNDATION OF MARLY.

371

tad a hens#, the view from which is enchantiiig; but he replied
that, that fine situation would ruin him, and that as he wished
to go to no expense, so he also wished a situation which would
not urge him into any. He found behind Lucienne a deep
narrow valley, completely shut in, inaccessible from its swamps,
and with a wretched village called Marly upon the slope of one
of its hills. This closeness, without drain or the means of
having any, was the sole merit of the vallej^^. The King was
oveijoyed at his discovery. It was a great work, that of
draining this sewer of all the environs, which threw there their
garbage, and of bringing soil thither! The hermitage was
made. At first, it was only for sleeping in three nights, from
Wednesday to Saturday, two or three times a-year, with a
dozen at the outside of courtiers, to fill the most indispensable
posts.

By degrees, the hermitage was augmented, the hills were
pared and cut down, to give at least the semblance of a
prospect; in fine, what with buildings, gardens, waters, aque¬
ducts, the curious and well known machine, statues, precious
furniture, the park, the ornamental enclosed forest,—Marly has
become what it is to-day, though it has been stripped since the
death of the King. Great trees were unceasingly brought
from Compibgne or farther, three-fourths of which died and
were immediately after replaced; vast spaces covered with
thick wood, or obscure alleys, were suddenly changed into im¬
mense pieces of water, on which people were rowed in gondolas;
then they were changed again into forest (I speak of what I
have seen in six weeks); basins were changed a hundred
times; cascades the same; carp ponds adorned with the most
exquisite painting, scarcely finished, were changed and dif¬
ferently arranged by the same hands; and this an infinite
number of times; then there was that prodigious machine just
alluded to, with its immense aqueducts, the conduit, its
monstrous resources solely devoted to Marly, and no longer to
Versailles; so that I am under the mark in saying that
Versailles, even, did not cost so much as Marly.

24—2

372

memoirs of the DTTKB of SAINT-SXMOir.

Such was the fate of a place the abode of serpents, and of
carrion, of toads and frogs, solely chosen to avoid expens^
Such was the bad taste of the King in all things, and his proud
haughty pleasure in forcing nature; which neither the most
mighty war, nor devotion could subdue!

THE king’s AMOHES.

3Y3

CHAPTER XXXVn.

Amours of the King—La Vallifere—Montespaa—Scandalous PubUdty—

Temper of Madame de Montespan—Her rmbearable Haugbtme^ ^ -fv
Mistresses—Madame de Maintenon—Her Kortuues—Her M^i^e with
Scarron—His Character and Society—How she lived after his Heath-
Gets into better Company—Acquaintance with Madame de Montespan—
The Einff’s Children—His Dislike of Widow Scarron—Purchase of the
Maintenon Estate—Further Demands—M. du Maine on his Travels—
Montespan^s lU-humour—Madame de Maintenon supplants her—^
hitter Annoyance—Progress of the new Intrigue—Marriage of the Jling
and Madame de Maintenon.

Let me now speak of tke amours of the King which were even,
more fatal to the state than his huUding mania. Their scandal
filed all Europe, stupefied France, shook the state, and without
doubt drew upon the King those maledictions under the weight
of which he was pushed so near the very edge of the precipice,
and had the misfortune of seeing his legitimate posterity
within an ace of extinction in France. These are evils which
became veritable catastrophes and which will he long felt.

Louis XIV. in his youth more made for love than any of his
subjects—being tired of gathering passing sweets, fixed himself
at last upon La VaUi^re. The progress and the result of his
love are well kiiowii.

Madame de Montespan was ske whose rare beauty toucLed
bim next, even during the reign of Madame de La Valliere.
She soon perceived it, and vainly pressed her husband to carry
her away into Guienne. TV^ith foolish confidence he refused
?fco listen to her. She spoke to him more in earnest. In vain.
At last the King was listened to, and carried her off from her
husband, with that frightful hubbub which resounded -with

374 MEMOIKS or THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOK.

horror among all nations, and which gave to the world the^
new spectacle of two mistresses at once ! The King took them
to the frontiers, to the camps, to the armies, hoth of them in
the Queen's coach. The people ran from all parts to look at.
the three queens; and asked each other in their simplicity if
they had seen them. In the end, Madame de Montespam
triumphed, and disposed of the master and his Court with am
eclat that knew no veil; and in order that nothing should be-
wanting to complete the license of this life, M. de Montespan
was sent to the Bastille; then banished to Guienne, and his-
wife was appointed superintendent of the Queen's household.

The accouchements of Madame de Montespan were public..
Her circle became the centre of the Court, of the amusements,
of the hopes and of the fears of ministers and the generals, and
the humiliation of all Fmnce. It was also the centre of wit,
and of a kind so peculiar, so delicate, and so subtle, but always
so natural and so agreeable, that it made itself distinguished
by its special character.

Madame de Montespan was cross, capricious, ill-tempered,,
and of a haughtiness in everything which reached to the
clouds, and from the effects of which nobody, not even the
King was exempt. The courtiers avoided passing under her
windows, above all when the King was with her. They used
to say it was equivalent to being put to the sword, and this
phrase became proverbial at the Court. It is true that she
spared nobody, often without other design than to divert the
King; and as she had infinite wit and sharp pleasantry, nothing
was more dangerous than the ridicule she, better than anybody,
could cast on all With that she loved her family and her
relatives, and did not fail to serve people for whom she conceived
Mendship. The Queen endured with difficulty her haughtiness
—^veiy different from the respect and measure with which she
had been timted by the Duchesse de La YaUi^re, whom she
always loved; whereas of Madame de Montespan she would
say, “That strumpet will cause my death," The retirement,,
the austere penitence, and the pious end of Madame de Montes¬
pan have b^n alimdy d^cribed.

MONTESPAK AND HEE EIYALS.

375

During her reign she did not fail to have causes for jealousy.
There was Mademoiselle de Fontange, who pleased the King
sufficiently to become his mistress. But she had no intellect,
and without that it was impossible to maintain supremacy
over the King. Her early death quietly put an end to this
amour. Then there was Madame de Soubise, who, by the
infamous connivance of her husband, prostituted herself to the
King, and thus secured all sorts of advantages for that husband,
for herself, and for her children. The love of the King for
her continued until her death, although for many years before
that he had ceased to see her in private. Then there was the
beautiful Ludre, demoiselle of Lorraine, and maid of honour to
Madame, who was openly loved for a moment. But this amour
was a flash of lightning, and Madame de Montespan remained
triumphant.

Let us now pass to another kind of amour which astonished
all the world as much as the other had scandalised it, and
which the King carried with him to the tomb. Who does not
already recognise the celebrated Frangoise d’Aubignd, Marquise
de Maintenon, whose permanent reign did not last less than
thkty-two years ? ,

Born in the American islands, where her father, perhaps a
gentleman, had gone to seek his bread, and where he was stifled
by obscurity, she returned alone and at haphazard into France,
She landed at La BocheUe, and was received in pity by Madame
de Neuillant, mother of the Mardchale Duchesse de Navailles,
and was reduced by that avaricious old woman to keep the
keys of her granary, and to see the hay measured out to her
horses, as I have already related elsewhere. She came after¬
wards to Paris, young, clever, witty, and beautiful, without
friends and without money; and hy lucky chance made ac¬
quaintance with the famous Scarron. He found her amiable;
his friends perhaps still more so. Marriage with this joyous
and learned cripple appeared to her the greatest and most
unlooked-for good fortune; and folks who were, perhaps, more
in want of a wife than he, persuaded him to marry her, and
thus raise this charming unfortunate from her misery.

S76

lEEMOIES OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMOH.

Tlie marriage being brought about the new spouse pleased
the company which went to Scarron’s house. It was the
fashion to go there: people of wit, people of the Court and of
the city, the best and most distinguished went. Scarron was
not in a state to leave his house, but the charm of his genius,
of his knowledge, of his imagination, of that incomparable and
ever fresh gaiety which he showed in the midst of his afflic¬
tions, that rare fecundity, and that humour, tempered by so
much good taste that is still admired in his writings, drew
everybody there.

Madame Scarron made at home aU sorts of acquaintances,
which, however, at the death of her husband, did not keep her
from being reduced to the charity of the parish of St. Eustace.
She took a chamber for herself and for a servant, where she
lived in a very pinched manner. Her personal charms by de¬
grees improved her condition. Villars, father of the Mardchal;
Beuvron, father of D’Harcourt; the three Villarceaux, and
many others kept her.

This set her afloat again, and, step by step, introduced her
to the Hotel d’Albret, and thence to the Hotel de Richelieu,
and elsewhere; so she passed from one house to the other. In
these houses Madame Scarron was far from hein^ on the footinor
of the rest of the company. She w^as more like a servant than
a guest. She was completely at the heck and call of her hosts ;
now to ask for firewood; now if a meal was nearly ready;
another time if the coach of so-and*so or such a one had re¬
turned ; and so on, with a thousand little commissions which
the use of bells, introduced a long time after, differently dis¬
poses of.

It was in these houses, principally in the Hotel de Richelieu,
much more still in the H6tel d’Albret, where the Mar4chal
d’Albret lived in great state, that Madame Scarron made the
Boajority of her acquaintances. The Marechal was cousin-
german of M. de Montespan, very intimate with him, and with
Madame de Montespan. When she became the King’s mistress
he bemme her counseUer, and abandoned her husband.

To the intimacy between the Mar&hal d’Albret and Madame

itISE OF IrCADAME BE MA TWIPMO^yr.

377

<3e Montespan, Madame de Maiateuoii owed the g€K>d fortune
•slie met with, fourteen or fifteen yearn later. Madame de
Montespan continually visited the Hotel d’Albret, and w:as
much impressed with Madame Scarron. She conceived a
friendship for the obliging widow, and when she had her first
children by the King—M. du Maine and Madame la Duchesse,
whom the King wished to conceal—^she proposed that they
should be confided to Madame Scarron. A house in the Marais
was accordingly given to her, to lodge in with them, and the
means to bring them up, but in the utmost secrecy. After¬
wards, these children were taken to Madame de Montespan,
then shown to the King, and then by degrees drawn from
secrecy and avowed. Their governess, being established with
them at the Court, more and more pleased Madame de Montes¬
pan, who several times made the King give presents to her.
He, on the other hand, could not endure her; what he gave to
her, always little, was by excess of complaisance and with a
regret that he did not hide.

The estate of Maintenon being for sale, Madame de Montes¬
pan did not let the King rest until she had drawn from him
enough to buy it for Madame Scarron, who thenceforth assunied
its name. She obtained enough also for the repair of the
chateau, and then attacked the King for means to arran^ the
garden, which the former owners had allowed to go to rain.

It was at the toilette of Madame de Montespan that these
demands were made. The captain of the guards alone followed
the Edng there. M. le Mar^chal de Lorges, the truest man that
ever lived, held that post then, and he has often related to ms
the scene he witnessed. The King at first turned a deaf ear to
the request of Madame de Montosjwm, and then refused.
Annoyed that she still insisted, he said he had already done
more than enough for this creature; that he could not under¬
stand the fancy of Madame de Montespan for her, and her
obstinacy in keeping her after he had begged her so many
times to dismiss her ; that he admitted Madame Smrron was
insupportable to him, and provided he never saw her more and
never heard speak of her, he would open his purse again.

378 MEMOmS OF the of duke SAINT-SIMON.

though, to say truth, he had already given too much to a crea¬
ture of this kind! Never did M. le Mar4chal de Lorges forget
these words; and he has always repeated them to me and
others precisely as they are given here, so struck was he with
tliem and mnch more after all that he saw since, so as onis
ing and so contradictory. Madame de Montespan stopped
short, very much troubled by having too far pressed the King.

M.. du Maine was extremely lame; this was caused, it was
said, by a fall he had had from his nurse’s arms. Nothing done
for him succeeded; the resolution wa.s then taken to send him
to various practicians in Flanders, and elsewhere in the realms
then to the waters, among others to Bareges. The letters that
the governess wrote to Madame de Montespan, ^ving an
account of these journeys, were shown to the King. He
thought them well written, relished them, and the last ones
made his aversion for the writer diminish.

The ill humour of Madame de Montespan finished the
work. She had a good deal of that quality, and had become
accustomed to give it full swing. The King was the object
of it more frequently than anybody; he was still amorous,
but her ill humour pained him. Madame de Maintenon re¬
proached Madame de Montespan for this, and thus advanced
herself in the King’s favour. The King, by degrees, grew
accustomed to speak sometimes to Madame de Maintenon, to
unbosom to her what he wished her to say to Madame de
Montespan; at last to relate to her the chagrins this latter
caused him, and to consult her thereupon.

Admitted thus into the intimate confidence of the lover and
the mistress, and this by the King’s own doing, the adroit wait¬
ing woman knew how to cultivate it, and profited so well by her
industry that by degrees she supplanted Madame de Montespan,
who perceived, too late, that her friend had become necessary
to the Bang. Arrived at this point, Madame de Maintenon made,
in her turn, complainiB to the Kin g of all she had to suffer, from
a mistress who spar^ even him so little; and by dint of these
mutual eomplainte about Madame de Montespan, Madame de
Maintenon at last took her place, and knew well how to keep it.

DESPAHt OF HONTESPAK.

I’ortune, I dare not say ProTidence, wHch was prepaiing for
tte tanghtiest of kings, kumiliation tke mwt profonnd, the
most public, the most durable, the most unheard-of, strength¬
ened more and more Hs taste for this woman, so adroit and
expert at her trade; while the continued ill humour and jealousy
of Madame de Montespan. rendered the new union stiH more
solid. It was this that Madame de Sdvigne so prettily paints,
enigmatically, in her letters to Madame de Grignan, in which
she sometimes talks of these Court movements; for Madame
de Maintenon had been in Paris in the society of Madame de
Sdvignd, of Madame de Conlange, of Madame de La Fayette,
and had begun to make them feel her importance. Charming
touches are to be seen in the same style upon the favour, veiled
but brilliant, enjoyed by Madame de Soubise.

It was while the King was in the midst of his partiality for
Madame de Maintenon that the Queen died. It was at the
same time, too, that the id hmnour of Ma^e de Montespan
became more and more insupportable. This imperious beauty,
accustomed to domineer and to he adored, could not struggle
against the despair which the prcKpect of her fell caused her.
What carried her beyond all honnds, was that she could no
longer disguise from herself that die had an abject nvsl wl«m
she had supported, who owed everything to her; whom she
had so much liked that she had several times refused to djsm«
her when pressed to do so by the King; a rival, too, so beneath
her in beauty, and older by several y^; to f^ ttat it was
this lady’s-maid, not to say this servant, that the
freouently went to see; that he sought only her; that wtod
not dissimulate his uneasiness if he did not find ®

quitted all for her; in fine, that at all moments she (^_ame
de Montespan) needed the intervention of Madame de l^te-
non, in order to attract the King to reconcile her with him, or
to obtain the favours she asked for. It was then, ^

propitious to the enchantress, that the King became free by the

'^'ne the fet few days at Saint Cloud, at

whence he went to Fontainebleau, where he spent all the

S80

MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON.

autumn. It was there that his liking, stimulated by absence,
made him find that absence insupportable. Upon his return it
is pretended—for we must distinguish the certain from that
which is not so—it is pretended, I say, that the King spoke ^
more freely to Madame de Maintenon, and that she, venturmg
to put forth her strength, retrenched herself behind devotion
and prudery; that the King did not cease, that she preached
to him and made him afraid of the devil, and that she balanced
his love against his conscience with so much art, that she suc¬
ceeded in becoming what our eyes have seen her, but what
posterity will never believe she was.

But what is very certain and very true, is, that some time
after the return of the King from Kontainebleau, and in the
midst of the winter that foEowed the death of the Queen (pos¬
terity wiE with difficulty believe it, although perfectly true
and proved), Pere de la Chaise, confessor of the King, said mass
at the dead of night in one of the King’s cabinets at Yersailles,
Bontems, governor of Versailles, chief valet on duty, and the
most confidential of the four, was present at this mass, at which
the monarch and La Maintenon were married in presence of
Harlay, archbishop of Paris, as diocesan, of Louvois (both of
whom drew from the King a promise that he would never
declare this marriage), and of Montchevreuil. This last
was relative and friend of Villarceaux, to whom during the
summer he lent his house at Montchevreuil, remaining there
himself, however, with his wife; and in that house Villar-
ceaux kept Madame Scarron, paying aE the expenses because
his relative was poor, and because he (VElarceaux) was.ashamed
to take her to his own home, to live in concubinage with
her in the presence of his wife whose patience and virtue he
lesj^cted.

The satiety of the honeymoon, usuaEy so fatal, and especiaEy
the honeymoon of such marriages, only consoEdated the favour
of Madame de Maintenon. Soon after, she astonished every¬
body by the apartments given to her at Versailles, at the top
of the grand staircase facing those of the Kin g and on the
same floor. From that moment the King always passed some

MAKRIAGE WITH THE HMG.

3S1

tours witt her every day of Ms life; wterever ste miglit be
she was always lod,ged near him, and on the same floor if

possible.

"What manner of |»raon she was,^—this incredible enchantress,
—and how she governed all-powerfiilly for more than thirty

years, it behove me now to explain!

EHB O F vo n n.

:KSi^ sMifTSita, mmimmMt