



Produced by David Widger





MEMOIRS OF MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN

Written by Herself


Being the Historic Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Madame de Montespan----Etching by Mercier

Hortense Mancini----Drawing in the Louvre

Madame de la Valliere----Painting by Francois

Moliere----Original Etching by Lalauze

Boileau----Etching by Lalauze

A French Courtier----Photogravure from a Painting

Madame de Maintenon----Etching by Mercier from Painting by Hule

Charles II.----Original Etching by Ben Damman

Bosseut----Etching by Lalauze

Louis XIV. Knighting a Subject----Photogravure from a Rare Print

A French Actress----Painting by Leon Comerre

Racine----Etching by Lalauze





BOOK 1.




TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.


Historians have, on the whole, dealt somewhat harshly with the
fascinating Madame de Montespan, perhaps taking their impressions from
the judgments, often narrow and malicious, of her contemporaries. To help
us to get a fairer estimate, her own "Memoirs," written by herself, and
now first given to readers in an English dress, should surely serve.
Avowedly compiled in a vague, desultory way, with no particular regard to
chronological sequence, these random recollections should interest us, in
the first place, as a piece of unconscious self-portraiture.  The cynical
Court lady, whose beauty bewitched a great King, and whose ruthless
sarcasm made Duchesses quail, is here drawn for us in vivid fashion by
her own hand, and while concerned with depicting other figures she really
portrays her own.  Certainly, in these Memoirs she is generally content
to keep herself in the background, while giving us a faithful picture of
the brilliant Court at which she was for long the most lustrous ornament.
It is only by stray touches, a casual remark, a chance phrase, that we,
as it were, gauge her temperament in all its wiliness, its egoism, its
love of supremacy, and its shallow worldly wisdom.  Yet it could have
been no ordinary woman that held the handsome Louis so long her captive.
The fair Marquise was more than a mere leader of wit and fashion.  If she
set the mode in the shape of a petticoat, or devised the sumptuous
splendours of a garden fete, her talent was not merely devoted to things
frivolous and trivial.  She had the proverbial 'esprit des Mortemart'.
Armed with beauty and sarcasm, she won a leading place for herself at
Court, and held it in the teeth of all detractors.

Her beauty was for the King, her sarcasm for his courtiers.  Perhaps
little of this latter quality appears in the pages bequeathed to us,
written, as they are, in a somewhat cold, formal style, and we may assume
that her much-dreaded irony resided in her tongue rather than in her pen.
Yet we are glad to possess these pages, if only as a reliable record of
Court life during the brightest period of the reign of Louis Quatorze.

As we have hinted, they are more, indeed, than this.  For if we look
closer we shall perceive, as in a glass, darkly, the contour of a subtle,
even a perplexing, personality.

P. E. P.







HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.

MADAME DE MONTESPAN.




CHAPTER I.

The Reason for Writing These Memoirs.--Gabrielle d'Estrees.


The reign of the King who now so happily and so gloriously rules over
France will one day exercise the talent of the most skilful historians.
But these men of genius, deprived of the advantage of seeing the great
monarch whose portrait they fain would draw, will search everywhere among
the souvenirs of contemporaries and base their judgments upon our
testimony.  It is this great consideration which has made me determined
to devote some of my hours of leisure to narrating, in these accurate and
truthful Memoirs, the events of which I myself am witness.

Naturally enough, the position which I fill at the great theatre of the
Court has made me the object of much false admiration, and much real
satire.  Many men who owed to me their elevation or their success have
defamed me; many women have belittled my position after vain efforts to
secure the King's regard.  In what I now write, scant notice will be
taken of all such ingratitude.  Before my establishment at Court I had
met with hypocrisy of this sort in the world; and a man must, indeed, be
reckless of expense who daily entertains at his board a score of insolent
detractors.

I have too much wit to be blind to the fact that I am not precisely in my
proper place.  But, all things considered, I flatter myself that
posterity will let certain weighty circumstances tell in my favour. An
accomplished monarch, to greet whom the Queen of Sheba would have come
from the uttermost ends of the earth, has deemed me worthy of his
entertainment, and has found amusement in my society.  He has told me of
the esteem which the French have for Gabrielle d'Estrees, and, like that
of Gabrielle, my heart has let itself be captured, not by a great king,
but by the most honest man of his realm.

To France, Gabrielle gave the Vendome, to-day our support.  The princes,
my sons, give promise of virtues as excellent, and will be worthy to
aspire to destinies as noble.  It is my desire and my duty to give no
thought to my private griefs begotten of an ill-assorted marriage.  May
the King ever be adored by his people; may my children ever be beloved
and cherished by the King; I am happy, and I desire to be so.




CHAPTER II.

That Which Often It is Best to Ignore.--A Marriage Such as One Constantly
Sees.--It is Too Late.


My sisters thought it of extreme importance to possess positive knowledge
as to their future condition and the events which fate held in store for
them.  They managed to be secretly taken to a woman famed for her talent
in casting the horoscope.  But on seeing how overwhelmed by chagrin they
both were after consulting the oracle, I felt fearful as regarded myself,
and determined to let my star take its own course, heedless of its
existence, and allowing it complete liberty.

My mother occasionally took me out into society after the marriage of my
sister, De Thianges; and I was not slow to perceive that there was in my
person something slightly superior to the average intelligence,--certain
qualities of distinction which drew upon me the attention and the
sympathy of men of taste.  Had any liberty been granted to it, my heart
would have made a choice worthy alike of my family and of myself.  They
were eager to impose the Marquis de Montespan upon me as a husband; and
albeit he was far from possessing those mental perfections and that
cultured charm which alone make an indefinite period of companionship
endurable, I was not slow to reconcile myself to a temperament which,
fortunately, was very variable, and which thus served to console me on
the morrow for what had troubled me to-day.

Hardly had my marriage been arranged and celebrated than a score of the
most brilliant suitors expressed, in prose and in verse, their regret at
having lost beyond recall Mademoiselle de Tonnai-Charente.  Such elegiac
effusions seemed to me unspeakably ridiculous; they should have explained
matters earlier, while the lists were still open.  For persons of this
sort I conceived aversion, who were actually so clumsy as to dare to tell
me that they had forgotten to ask my hand in marriage!




CHAPTER III.

Madame de Montespan at the Palace.--M. de Montespan.--His Indiscreet
Language.--His Absence.--Specimen of His Way of Writing.--A Refractory
Cousin.--The King Interferes.--M. de Montespan a Widower.--Amusement of
the King.--Clemency of Madame de Montespan.


The Duc and Duchesse de Navailles had long been friends of my father's
and of my family.  When the Queen-mother proceeded to form the new
household of her niece and daughter-in-law, the Infanta, the Duchesse de
Navailles, chief of the ladies-in-waiting, bethought herself of me, and
soon the Court and Paris learnt that I was one of the six ladies in
attendance on the young Queen.

This princess, who while yet at the Escurial had been made familiar
with the notable names of the French monarchy, honoured me during the
journey by alluding in terms of regard to the Mortemarts and
Rochechouarts,--kinsmen of mine.  She was even careful to quote matters
of history concerning my ancestors.  By such marks of good sense and good
will I perceived that she would not be out of place at a Court where
politeness of spirit and politeness of heart ever go side by side, or, to
put it better, where these qualities are fused and united.

M. le Marquis de Montespan, scion of the old house of Pardaillan de
Gondrin, had preferred what he styled "my grace and beauty" to the most
wealthy partis of France.  He was himself possessed of wealth, and his
fortune gave him every facility for maintaining at Court a position of
advantage and distinction.

At first the honour which both Queens were graciously pleased to confer
upon me gave my husband intense satisfaction.  He affectionately thanked
the Duc and Duchesse de Navailles, and expressed his most humble
gratitude to the two Queens and to the King.  But it was not long before
I perceived that he had altered his opinion.

The love-affair between Mademoiselle de la Valliere and the King having
now become public, M. de Montespan condemned this attachment in terms of
such vehemence that I perforce felt afraid of the consequences of such
censure.  He talked openly about the matter in society, airing his views
thereanent.  Impetuously and with positive hardihood, he expressed his
disapproval in unstinted terms, criticising and condemning the prince's
conduct.  Once, at the ballet, when within two feet of the Queen, it was
with the utmost difficulty that he could be prevented from discussing so
obviously unfitting a question, or from sententiously moralising upon the
subject.

All at once the news of an inheritance in the country served to occupy
his attention.  He did all that he could to make me accompany him on this
journey.  He pointed out to me that it behoved no young wife to be
anywhere without her husband.  I, for my part, represented to him all
that in my official capacity I owed to the Queen.  And as at that time I
still loved him heartily (M. de Montespan, I mean), and was sincerely
attached to him, I advised him to sell off the whole of the newly
inherited estate to some worthy member of his own family, so that he
might remain with us in the vast arena wherein I desired and hoped to
achieve his rapid advance.

Never was there man more obstinate or more selfwilled than the Marquis.
Despite all my friendly persuasion, he was determined to go.  And when
once settled at the other end of France, he launched out into all sorts
of agricultural schemes and enterprises, without even knowing why he did
so.  He constructed roads, built windmills, bridged over a large torrent,
completed the pavilions of his castle, replanted coppices and vineyards,
and, besides all this, hunted the chamois, bears, and boars of the
Nebouzan and the Pyrenees.  Four or five months after his departure I
received a letter from him of so singular a kind that I kept it in spite
of myself, and in the Memoirs it will not prove out of place.  Far better
than any words of mine, it will depict the sort of mind, the logic, and
the curious character of the man who was my husband.

MONTESPAN,--May 15, 1667.

I count more than ever, madame, upon your journey to the Pyrenees. If you
love me, as all your letters assure me, you should promptly take a good
coach and come.  We are possessed of considerable property here, which of
late years my family have much neglected. These domains require my
presence, and my presence requires yours. Enough is yours of wit or of
good sense to understand that.

The Court is, no doubt, a fine country,--finer than ever under the
present reign.  The more magnificent the Court is, the more uneasy do I
become.  Wealth and opulence are needed there; and to your family I never
figured as a Croesus.  By dint of order and thrift, we shall ere long
have satisfactorily settled our affairs; and I promise you that our stay
in the Provinces shall last no longer than is necessary to achieve that
desirable result.  Three, four, five,--let us say, six years.  Well, that
is not an eternity!  By the time we come back we shall both of us still
be young.  Come, then, my dearest Athenais, come, and make closer
acquaintance with these imposing Pyrenees, every ravine of which is a
landscape and every valley an Eden.  To all these beauties, yours is
missing; you shall be here, like Dian, the goddess of these noble
forests.  All our gentlefolk await you, admiring your picture on the
sweetmeat-box. They are minded to hold many pleasant festivals in your
honour; you may count upon having a veritable Court.  Here it is that you
will meet the old Warnais nobility that followed Henri IV. and placed the
sceptre in his hand.  Messieurs de Grammont and de Biron are our
neighbours; their grim castles dominate the whole district, so that they
seem like kings.

Our Chateau de Montespan will offer you something less severe; the
additions made for my mother twenty years ago are infinitely better than
anything that you will leave behind you in Paris.  We have here the
finest fruits that ever grew in any earthly paradise.  Our huge, luscious
peaches are composed of sugar, violets, carnations, amber, and jessamine;
strawberries and raspberries grow everywhere; and naught may vie with the
excellence of the water, the vegetables, and the milk.

You are fond of scenery and of sketching from nature; there are half a
dozen landscapes here for you that leave Claude Lorrain far behind.  I
mean to take you to see a waterfall, twelve hundred and seventy feet in
height, neither more nor less.  What are your fountains at Saint Germain
and Chambord compared with such marvellous things as these?

Now, madame, I am really tired of coaxing and flattering you, as I have
done in this letter and in preceding ones.  Do you want me, or do you
not?  Your position as Court lady, so you say, keeps you near the
monarch; ask, then, or let me ask, for leave of absence.  After having
been for four consecutive years Lady of the Palace, consent to become
Lady of the Castle, since your duties towards your spouse require it.
The young King, favourite as he is with the ladies, will soon find ten
others to replace you.  And I, dearest Athenais, find it hard even to
think of replacing you, in spite of your cruel absence, which at once
annoys and grieves me.  I am--no, I shall be--always and ever yours, when
you are always and ever mine.

MONTESPAN.

I hastened to tell my husband in reply that his impatience and ill-humour
made me most unhappy; that as, through sickness or leave of absence, five
or six of the Court ladies were away, I could not possibly absent myself
just then; that I believed that I sufficiently merited his confidence to
let me count upon his attachment and esteem, whether far or near.  And I
gave him my word of honour that I would join him after the Court moved to
Fontainebleau, that is to say, in the autumn.

My answer, far from soothing or calming him, produced quite a contrary
effect.  I received the following letter, which greatly alarmed and
agitated me:

Your allegations are only vain pretexts, your pretexts mask your
falsehoods, your falsehoods confirm all my suspicions; you are deceiving
me, madame, and it is your intention to dishonour me. My cousin, who saw
through you better than I did before my wretched marriage,--my cousin,
whom you dislike and who is no whit afraid of you,--informs me that,
under the pretext of going to keep Madame de la Valliere company, you
never stir from her apartments during the time allotted to her by the
King, that is to say, three whole hours every evening.  There you pose as
sovereign arbiter; as oracle, uttering a thousand divers decisions; as
supreme purveyor of news and gossip; the scourge of all who are absent;
the complacent promoter of scandal; the soul and the leader of sparkling
conversation.

One only of these ladies became ill, owing to an extremely favourable
confinement, from which she recovered a week ago. At the outset, the King
fought shy of your raillery, but in a thousand discreditable ways you set
your cap at him and forced him to pay you attention.  If all the letters
written to me (all of them in the same strain) are not preconcerted, if
your misconduct is such as I am told it is, if you have dishonoured and
disgraced your husband, then, madame, expect all that your excessive
imprudence deserves.  At this distance of two hundred and fifty leagues I
shall not trouble you with complaints and vain reproaches; I shall
collect all necessary information and documentary evidence at
headquarters; and, cost me what it may, I shall bring action against you,
before your parents, before a court of law, in the face of public
opinion, and before your protector, the King.  I charge you instantly to
deliver up to me my child.  My unfortunate son comes of a race which
never yet has had cause to blush for disgrace such as this.  What would
he gain, except bad example, by staying with a mother who has no virtue
and no husband?  Give him up to me, and at once let Dupre, my valet, have
charge of him until my return.  This latter will occur sooner than you
think; and I shall shut you up in a convent, unless you shut me up in the
Bastille.

Your unfortunate husband, MONTESPAN.

The officious cousin to whom he alluded in this threatening letter had
been so bold as to sue for my hand, although possessed of no property.
Ever since that time he remained, as I knew, my enemy, though I did not
know, nor ever suspected, that such a man would find pleasure in spying
upon my actions and in effecting the irrevocable estrangement of a
husband and a wife, who until then had been mutually attached to each
other.

The King, whose glance, though very sweet, is very searching, said to me
that evening, "Something troubles you; what is it?"  He felt my pulse,
and perceived my great agitation.  I showed him the letter just
transcribed, and his Majesty changed colour.

"It is a matter requiring caution and tact," added the prince after brief
meditation.  "At any rate we can prevent his showing you any disrespect.
Give up the Marquis d'Antin to him," continued the King, after another
pause.  "He is useless, perhaps an inconvenience, to you; and if deprived
of his child he might be driven to commit some desperate act."

"I would rather die!" I exclaimed, bursting into tears.

The King affectionately took hold of both my hands, and gently said:

"Very well, then, keep him yourself, and don't give him up."

As God is my witness, M. de Montespan had already neglected me for some
time before he left for the Pyrenees; and to me this sudden access of
fervour seemed singularly strange.  But I am not easily hoodwinked; I
understood him far better and far quicker than he expected. The Marquis
is one of those vulgar-minded men who do not look upon a woman as a
friend, a companion, a frank, free associate, but as a piece of property
or of furniture, useful to his house, and which he has procured for that
purpose only.

I am told that in England a man is the absolute proprietor of his wife,
and that if he took her to the public market with a cord round her neck
and exhibited her for sale, such sale is perfectly valid in the eyes of
the law.  Laws such as these inspire horror.  Yet they should hardly
surprise one among a semibarbarous nation, which does nothing like other
peoples, and which deems itself authorised to place the censer in the
hands of its monarch, and its monarch in the hands of the headsman.

M. de Montespan came to Paris and instituted proceedings against me
before the Chatelet authorities.  To the King he sent a letter full of
provocations and insults.  To the Pope he sent a formal complaint,
accompanied by a most carefully prepared list of opinions which no lawyer
was willing to sign.  For three whole months he tormented the Pope, in
order to induce him to annul our marriage.  Of a truth, our Sovereign
Pontiff could have done nothing better, but in Rome justice and religion
always rank second to politics.  The cardinals feared to offend a great
prince, and so they suffered me to remain the wife of my husband.  When
he saw that on every side his voice was lost in the desert, and that the
King, being calmer and more prudent than he, did not deign to pick up the
glove, his folly reached its utmost limit.  He went into the deepest
mourning ever seen.  He draped his horses and carriages with black. He
gave orders for a funeral service to be held in his parish, which the
whole town and its suburbs were invited to attend.  He declared, verbally
and in writing, that he no longer possessed a wife; that Madame de
Montespan had died of an attack of coquetry and ambition; and he talked
of marrying again when the year of mourning and of widowhood should be
over.

His first outbursts of wrath were the source of much amusement to the
King, who naturally was on the side of decorum and averse to hostile
opinion.  Pranks such as these seemed to him more a matter for mirth than
fear, and, on hearing the story of the catafalque, he laughingly said to
me, "Now that he has buried you, it is to be hoped that he will let you
repose in peace."  But hearing each day of fresh absurdities, his Majesty
grew at last impatient.  Luckily, M. de Montespan, perceiving that every
house had closed its doors to him, decided to close his own altogether
and travel abroad.

Not being of a vindictive disposition, I never would allow M. de Louvois
to shut him up in the Bastille.  On the contrary I privately paid more
than fifty thousand crowns to defray his debts, being glad to render him
some good service in exchange for all the evil that he spoke of me.

I reflected that he had been my husband, my confidant, my friend; that
his only faults were bad temper, love of sport, and love of wine; that he
belonged to one of the very first families of France; and that, despite
all that was said, my son D'Antin certainly was nothing to the King, and
that the Marquis was his father.




CHAPTER IV.

Mademoiselle de la Valliere Jealous.--The King Wishes All to Enjoy
Themselves.--The Futility of Fighting against Fate.--What is Dead is
Dead.


MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIERE was tall, shapely, and extremely pretty, with
as sweet and even a temper as one could possibly imagine, which eminently
fitted her for dreamy, contemplative love-making, such as one reads of in
idyls and romances.  She would willingly have spent her life in.
contemplating the King,--in loving and adoring him without ever opening
her mouth; and to her, the sweet silence of a tete-a-tete seemed
preferable to any conversation enlivened by wit.

The King's character was totally different.  His imagination was vivid,
and mere love-making, however pleasant, bored him at last if the charm of
ready speech and ready wit were wanting.

I do not profess to be a prodigy, but those who know me do me the justice
to admit that where I am it is very difficult for boredom to find ever so
small a footing.

Mademoiselle de la Valliere, after having begged me, and begged me often,
to come and help her to entertain the King, grew suddenly suspicious and
uneasy.  She is candour itself, and one day, bursting into tears, she
said to me, in that voice peculiar to her alone, "For Heaven's sake, my
good friend, do not steal away the King's heart from me!" When
mademoiselle said this to me, I vow and declare in all honesty that her
fears were unfounded, and that (for my part at least) I had only just a
natural desire to gain the good-will of a great prince. My friendship for
La Valliere was so sincere, so thorough, that I often used to superintend
little details of her toilet and give her various little hints as to
attentive conduct of the sort which cements and revives attachments.  I
even furnished her with news and gossip, composing for her a little
repertoire, of which, when needful, she made use.

But her star had set, and she had to show the world the touching
spectacle of love as true, as tender, and as disinterested as any that
has ever been in this world, followed by a repentance and an expiation
far superior to the sin, if sin it was.

Moreover, Mademoiselle de la Valliere never broke with me.  She shed
tears in abundance, and wounded my heart a thousand times by the sight of
her grief and her distress.  For her sake I was often fain to bid
farewell to her fickle lover, proud monarch though he was.  But by
breaking with him I should not have reestablished La Valliere.  The
prince's violent passion had changed to mere friendship, blended with
esteem.  To try and resuscitate attachments of this sort is as if one
should try to open the grave and give life to the dead.  God alone can
work miracles such as these.




CHAPTER V.

The Marquis de Bragelonne, Officer of the Guards.--His Baleful Love.--His
Journey.--His Death.


The Marquis de Bragelonne was born for Mademoiselle de la Valliere. It
was this young officer, endowed with all perfections imaginable, whom
Heaven had designed for her, to complete her happiness.  Despite his
sincere, incomparable attachment for her, she disdained him, preferring a
king, who soon afterwards wearied of her.

The Marquis de Bragelonne conceived a passion for the little La Valliere
as soon as he saw her at the Tuileries with Madame Henrietta of England,
whose maid of honour at first she was.  Having made proof and declaration
of his tender love, Bragelonne was so bold as to ask her hand of the
princess.  Madame caused her relatives to be apprised of this, and the
Marquise de Saint-Remy, her stepmother, after all necessary inquiries had
been made, replied that the fortune of this young man was as yet too
slender to permit him to think of having an establishment.

Grieved at this answer, but nothing daunted, Bragelonne conferred
privately with his lady-love, and told her of his hazardous project. This
project instantly to realise all property coming to him from his father,
and furnished with this capital, to go out, and seek his fortune in India
[West Indies.  D.W.]

"You will wait for me, dearest one, will you not?"  quoth he.  "Heaven,
that is witness how ardently I long to make you happy, will protect me on
my journey and guard my ship.  Promise me to keep off all suitors, the
number of whom will increase with your beauty.  This promise, for which I
desire no other guarantee but your candour, shall sustain me in exile,
and make me count as nought my privations and my hardships."

Mademoiselle de la Beaume-le-Blanc allowed the Marquis to hope all that
he wished from her beautiful soul, and he departed, never imagining that
one could forget or set at nought so tender a love which had prompted so
hazardous an enterprise.

His journey proved thoroughly successful.  He brought back with him
treasures from the New World; but of all his treasures the most precious
had disappeared.  Restored once more to family and friends, he hastened
to the capital.  Madame d'Orleans no longer resided at the Tuileries,
which was being enlarged by the King.

Bragelonne, in his impatience, asks everywhere for La Valliere.  They
tell him that she has a charming house between Saint Germain, Lucienne,
and Versailles.  He goes thither, laden with coral and pearls from the
Indies.  He asks to have sight of his love.  A tall Swiss repulses him,
saying that, in order to speak with Madame la Duchesse, it was absolutely
necessary to make an appointment.

At the same moment one of his friends rides past the gateway.  They greet
each other, and in reply to his questioning, this friend informs him that
Mademoiselle de la Valliere is a duchess, that she is a mother, that she
is lapped in grandeur and luxury, and that she has as lover a king.

At this news, Bragelonne finds nothing further for him to do in this
world.  He grasps his friend's hand, retires to a neighbouring wood, and
there, drawing his sword, plunges it into his heart,--a sad requital for
love so noble!




CHAPTER VI.

M. Fouquet.--His Mistake.--A Woman's Indiscretion May Cause the Loss of a
Great Minister.--The Castle of Vaux.--Fairy-land.--A Fearful
Awakening.--Clemency of the King.


On going out into society, I heard everybody talking everywhere about M.
Fouquet.  They praised his good-nature, his affability, his talents, his
magnificence, his wit.  His post as Surintendant-General, envied by a
thousand, provoked indeed a certain amount of spite; yet all such vain
efforts on the part of mediocrity to slander him troubled him but little.
My lord the Cardinal (Mazarin.  D.W.) was his support, and so long as the
main column stood firm, M. Fouquet, lavish of gifts to his protector, had
really nothing to fear.

This minister also largely profited by the species of fame to be derived
from men of letters.  He knew their venality and their needs.  His
sumptuous, well-appointed table was placed in grandiose fashion at their
disposal.  Moreover, he made sure of their attachment and esteem by fees
and enormous pensions.  The worthy La Fontaine nibbled like others at the
bait, and at any rate paid his share of the reckoning by the most profuse
gratitude.  M. Fouquet had one great defect: he took it into his head
that every woman is devoid of will-power and of resistance if only one
dazzle her eyes with gold.  Another prejudice of his was to believe, as
an article of faith, that, if possessed of gold and jewels, the most
ordinary of men can inspire affection.

Making this twofold error his starting-point as a principle that was
incontestable, he was wont to look upon every beautiful woman who
happened to appear on the horizon as his property acquired in advance.

At Madame's, he saw Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and instantly sent her
his vows of homage and his proposals.

To his extreme astonishment, this young beauty declined to understand
such language.  Couched in other terms, he renewed his suit, yet
apparently was no whit less obscure than on the first occasion.  Such a
scandal as this well-nigh put him to the blush, and he was obliged to
admit that this modest maiden either affected to be, or really was,
utterly extraordinary.

Perhaps Mademoiselle de la Valliere ought to have had the generosity not
to divulge the proposals made to her; but she spoke about them, so
everybody said, and the King took a dislike to his minister.

Whatever the cause or the real motives for Fouquet's disgrace, it was
never considered unjust, and this leads me to tell the tale of his mad
folly at Vaux.

The two palaces built by Cardinal Mazarin and the castles built by
Cardinal Richelieu served as fine examples for M. Fouquet.  He knew that
handsome edifices embellished the country, and that Maecenas has always
been held in high renown, because Maecenas built a good deal in his day.

He had just built, at great expense, in the neighbourhood of Melun, a
castle of such superb and elegant proportions that the fame of it had
even reached foreign parts.  All that Fouquet lived for was show and
pomp.  To have a fine edifice and not show it off was as if one only
possessed a kennel.

He spoke of the Castle of Vaux in the Queen's large drawing-room, and
begged their Majesties to honour by their presence a grand fete that he
was preparing for them.

To invite the royal family was but a trifling matter,--he required
spectators proportionate to the scale of decorations and on a par with
the whole spectacle; so he took upon himself to invite the entire Court
to Vaux.

On reaching Vaux-le-Vicomte, how great and general was our amazement! It
was not the well-appointed residence of a minister, it was not a human
habitation that presented itself to our view,--it was a veritable fairy
palace.  All in this brilliant dwelling was stamped with the mark of
opulence and of exquisite taste in art.  Marbles, balustrades, vast
staircases, columns, statues, groups, bas-reliefs, vases, and pictures
were scattered here and there in rich profusion, besides cascades and
fountains innumerable.  The large salon, octagonal in shape, had a high,
vaulted ceiling, and its flooring of mosaic looked like a rich carpet
embellished with birds, butterflies, arabesques, fruits, and flowers.

On either side of the main edifice, and somewhat in the rear, the
architect had placed smaller buildings, yet all of them ornamented in the
same sumptuous fashion; and these served to throw the chateau itself into
relief.  In these adjoining pavilions there were baths, a theatre, a
'paume' ground, swings, a chapel, billiard-rooms, and other salons.

One noticed magnificent gilt roulette tables and sedan-chairs of the very
best make.  There were elegant stalls at which trinkets were distributed
to the guests,--note-books, pocket-mirrors, gloves, knives, scissors,
purses, fans, sweetmeats, scents, pastilles, and perfumes of all kinds.

It was as if some evil fairy had prompted the imprudent minister to act
in this way, who, eager and impatient for his own ruin, had summoned his
King to witness his appalling system of plunder in its entirety, and had
invited chastisement.

When the King went out on to the balcony of his apartment to make a
general survey of the gardens and the perspective, he found everything
well arranged and most alluring; but a certain vista seemed to him
spoiled by whitish-looking clearings that gave too barren an aspect to
the general coup d'oeil.

His host readily shared this opinion.  He at once gave the requisite
instructions, which that very night were executed by torchlight with the
utmost secrecy by all the workmen of the locality whose services at such
an hour it was possible to secure.

When next day the monarch stepped out on to his balcony, he saw a
beautiful green wood in place of the clearings with which on the previous
evening he had found fault.

Service more prompt or tasteful than this it was surely impossible to
have; but kings only desire to be obeyed when they command.

Fouquet, with airy presumption, expected thanks and praise.  This,
however, was what he had to hear: "I am shocked at such expense!"

Soon afterwards the Court moved to Nantes; the ministers followed; M.
Fouquet was arrested.

His trial at the Paris Arsenal lasted several months.  Proofs of his
defalcations were numberless.  His family and proteges made frantic yet
futile efforts to save so great a culprit.  The Commission sentenced him
to death, and ordered the confiscation of all his property.

The King, content to have made this memorable and salutary example,
commuted the death penalty, and M. Fouquet learned with gratitude that he
would have to end his days in prison.

Nor did the King insist upon the confiscation of his property, which went
to the culprit's widow and children, all that was retained being the
enormous sums which he had embezzled.




CHAPTER VII.

Close of the Queen-mother's Illness.--The Archbishop of Auch.--The
Patient's Resignation.--The Sacrament.--Court Ceremony for its
Reception.--Sage Distinction of Mademoiselle de Montpensier.--Her
Prudence at the Funeral.


As the Queen-mother's malady grew worse, the Court left Saint Germain to
be nearer the experts and the Val-de-Grace, where the princess frequently
practised her devotions with members of the religious sisterhood that she
had founded.

Suddenly the cancer dried up, and the head physician declared that the
Queen was lost.

The Archbishop of Auch said to the King, "Sire, there is not an instant
to be lost; the Queen may die at any moment; she should be informed of
her condition, so that she may prepare herself to receive the Sacrament."

The King was troubled, for he dearly loved his mother.  "Monsieur," he
replied, with emotion, "it is impossible for me to sanction your request.
My mother is resting calmly, and perhaps thinks that she is out of
danger.  We might give her her death-blow."

The prelate, a man of firm, religious character, insisted, albeit
reverently, while the prince continued to object.  Then the Archbishop
retorted, "It is not with nature or the world that we have here to deal.
We have to save a soul.  I have done my duty, and filial tenderness will
at any rate bear the blame."

The King thereupon acceded to the churchman's wishes, who lost no time in
acquainting the patient with her doom.

Anne of Austria was grievously shocked at so terrible an announcement,
but she soon recovered her resignation and her courage; and M. d' Auch
made noble use of his eloquence when exhorting her to prepare for the
change that she dreaded.

A portable altar was put up in the room, and the Archbishop, assisted by
other clerics, went to fetch the Holy Sacrament from the church of Saint
Germain de l'Auxerrois in the Louvre parish.

The princes and princesses hereupon began to argue in the little closet
as to the proper ceremony to be observed on such occasions.  Madame de
Motteville, lady-in-waiting to the Queen, being asked to give an opinion,
replied that, for the late King, the nobles had gone out to meet the Holy
Sacrament as far as the outer gate of the palace, and that it would be
wise to do this on the present occasion.

Mademoiselle de Montpensier interrupted the lady-in-waiting and those who
shared her opinion.  "I cannot bring myself to establish such a
precedent," she said, in her usual haughty tone.  "It is I who have to
walk first, and I shall only go half-way across the courtyard of the
Louvre.  It's quite far enough for the Holy Wafer-box; what's the use of
walking any further for the Holy Sacrament?"

The princes and princesses were of her way of thinking, and the
procession advanced only to the limits aforesaid.

When the time came for taking the Sacred Heart to Val-de-Grace with the
funeral procession, Mademoiselle, in a long mourning cloak, said to the
Archbishop before everybody, "Pray, monsieur, put the Sacred Heart in the
best place, and sit you close beside it.  I yield my rank up to you on
the present occasion."  And, as the prelate protested, she added, "I
shall be very willing to ride in front on account of the malady from
which she died."  And, without altering her resolution, she actually took
her seat in front.




CHAPTER VIII.

Cardinal Mazarin.--Regency of Anne of Austria.--Her Perseverance in
Retaining Her Minister.--Mazarin Gives His Nieces in Marriage.--M. de la
Meilleraye.--The Cardinal's Festivities.--Madame de Montespan's Luck at a
Lottery.


Before taking holy orders, Cardinal Mazarin had served as an officer in
the Spanish army, where he had even won distinction.

Coming to France in the train of a Roman cardinal, he took service with
Richelieu, who, remarking in him all the qualities of a supple,
insinuating, artificial nature,--that is to say, the nature of a good
politician,--appointed him his private secretary, and entrusted him with
all his secrets, as if he had singled him out as his successor.

Upon the death of Richelieu, Mazarin did not scruple to avow that the
great Armand's sceptre had been a tyrant's sceptre and of bronze.  By
such an admission he crept into the good graces of Louis XIII., who,
himself almost moribund, had shown how pleased he was to see his chief
minister go before him to the grave.

Louis XIII. being dead, his widow, Anne of Austria, in open Parliament
cancelled the monarch's testamentary depositions and constituted herself
Regent with absolute authority.  Mazarin was her Richelieu.

In France, where men affect to be so gallant and so courteous, how is it
that when women rule their reign is always stormy and troublous?  Anne of
Austria--comely, amiable, and gracious as she was--met with the same
brutal discourtesy which her sister-in-law, Marie de Medici, had been
obliged to bear.  But gifted with greater force of intellect than that
queen, she never yielded aught of her just rights; and it was her strong
will which more than once astounded her enemies and saved the crown for
the young King.

They lampooned her, hissed her, and burlesqued her publicly at the
theatres, cruelly defaming her intentions and her private life.  Strong
in the knowledge of her own rectitude, she faced the tempest without
flinching; yet inwardly her soul was torn to pieces.  The barricading of
Paris, the insolence of M. le Prince, the bravado and treachery of
Cardinal de Retz, burnt up the very blood in her veins, and brought on
her fatal malady, which took the form of a hideous cancer.

Our nobility (who are only too glad to go and reign in Naples, Portugal,
or Poland) openly declared that no foreigner ought to hold the post of
minister in Paris.  Despite his Roman purple, Mazarin was condemned to be
hanged.

The motive for this was some trifling tax which he had ordered to be
collected before this had been ratified by the magistrates and registered
in the usual way.

But the Queen knew how to win over the nobles.  Her cardinal was
recalled, and the apathy of the Parisians put an end to these
dissensions, from which, one must admit, the people and the bourgeoisie
got all the ills and the nobility all the profits.

As comptroller of the list of benefices, M. le Cardinal allotted the
wealthiest abbeys of the realm to himself.

Having made himself an absolute master of finance, like M. Fouquet, he
amassed great wealth.  He built a magnificent palace in Rome, and an
equally brilliant one in Paris, conferring upon himself the wealthy
governorships of various towns or provinces.  He had a guard of honour
attached to his person, and a captain of the guard in attendance, just as
Richelieu had.

He married one of his nieces to the Prince of Mantua, another to the
Prince de Conti, a third to the Comte de Soissons, a fourth to the
Constable Colonna (an Italian prince), a fifth to the Duc de Mercoeur (a
blood relation of Henri IV.), and a sixth to the Duc de Bouillon. As to
Hortense, the youngest, loveliest of them all,--Hortense, the
beauteous-eyed, his charming favourite,--he appointed her his sole
heiress, and having given her jewelry and innumerable other presents, he
married her to the agreeable Duc de la Meilleraye, son of the marshal of
that name.

Society was much astonished when it came out that M. le Cardinal had
disinherited his own nephew, a man of merit, handing over his name, his
fortune, and his arms to a stranger.  This was an error; in taking the
name and arms of Mazarin, young De la Meilleraye was giving up those
which he ought to have given up, and assuming those which it behove him
to assume.

[De Mancini, Duc de Nevers, a relative of the last Duc de Nivernois. He
married, soon after, Madame de Montespan's niece.--Editor's Note]

Nor did he retain the great possessions of the La Meilleraye family.
Herein, certainly, he did not consult his devotion; since the secret and
fatherly avowal of M. le Cardinal he had no right whatever to the estates
of this family.

Beneath the waving folds of his large scarlet robe, the Cardinal showed
such ease and certainty of address, that he never put one in mind of a
cardinal and a bishop.  To such manners, however, one was accustomed; in
a leading statesman they were not unpleasant.

He often gave magnificent balls, at which he displayed all the
accomplishments of his nieces and the sumptuous splendour of his
furniture.  At such entertainments, always followed by a grand banquet,
he was wont to show a liberality worthy of crowned heads.  One day, after
the feast, he announced that a lottery would be held in his palace.

Accordingly, all the guests repaired to his superb gallery, which had
just been brilliantly decorated with paintings by Romanelli, and here,
spread out upon countless tables, we saw pieces of rare porcelain,
scent-bottles of foreign make, watches of every size and shape, chains of
pearls or of coral, diamond buckles and rings, gold boxes adorned by
portraits set in pearls or in emeralds, fans of matchless elegance,--in a
word, all the rarest and most costly things that luxury and fashion could
invent.

The Queens distributed the tickets with every appearance of honesty and
good faith.  But I had reason to remark, by what happened to myself, that
the tickets had been registered beforehand.  The young Queen, who felt
her garter slipping off, came to me in order to tighten it.  She handed
me her ticket to hold for a moment, and when she had fastened her garter,
I gave her back my ticket instead of her own.  When the Cardinal from his
dais read out the numbers in succession, my number won a portrait of the
King set in brilliants, much to the surprise of the Queen-mother and his
Eminence; they could not get over it.

To me this lottery of the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Changes

[The gallery to which the Marquise alludes is to-day called the
Manuscript Gallery.  It belongs to the Royal Library in the Rue de
Richelieu.  Mazarin's house is now the Treasury.]

I brought good luck, and we often talked about it afterwards with the
King, regarding it as a sort of prediction or horoscope.




CHAPTER IX.

Marriage of Monsieur, the King's Brother.--His Hope of Mounting a
Throne.--His High-heeled Shoes.--His Dead Child.--Saint Denis.


Monsieur would seem to have been created in order to set off his brother,
the King, and to give him the advantage of such relief.  He is small in
stature and in character, being ceaselessly busied about trifles,
details, nothings.  To his toilet and his mirror, he devotes far more
time than a pretty woman; he covers himself with scents, with laces, with
diamonds.

He is passionately fond of fetes, large assemblies, and spectacular
displays.  It was in order to figure as the hero of some such
entertainment that he suddenly resolved to get married.

Mademoiselle--the Grande Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle d'Eu, Mademoiselle de
Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle de Saint-Fargeau,
Mademoiselle de la Roche-sur-Yon, Mademoiselle d'Orleans--had come into
the world twelve or thirteen years before he had, and they could not
abide each other.  Despite such trifling differences, however, he
proposed marriage to her.  The princess, than whom no one more determined
exists, answered, "You ought to have some respect for me; I refused two
crowned husbands the very day you were born."

So the Prince begged the Queen of England to give him her charming
daughter Henrietta, who, having come to France during her unfortunate
father's captivity, had been educated in Paris.

The Princess possessed an admirable admixture of grace and beauty, wit
being allied to great affability and good-nature; to all these natural
gifts she added a capacity and intelligence such as one might desire
sovereigns to possess.  Her coquetry was mere amiability; of that I am
convinced.  Being naturally vain, the Prince, her husband, made great use
at first of his consort's royal coat-of-arms.  It was displayed on his
equipages and stamped all over his furniture.

"Do you know, madame," quoth he gallantly, one day, "what made me
absolutely desire to marry you?  It was because you are a daughter and a
sister of the Kings of England.  In your country women succeed to the
throne, and if Charles the Second and my cousin York were to die without
children (which is very likely), you would be Queen and I should be
King."

"Oh, Sire, how wrong of you to imagine such a thing!" replied his wife;
"it brings tears to my eyes.  I love my brothers more than I do myself. I
trust that they may have issue, as they desire, and that I may not have
to go back and live with those cruel English who slew my father-in-law."

The Prince sought to persuade her that a sceptre and a crown are always
nice things to have.  "Yes," replied Henrietta slyly, "but one must know
how to wear them."

Soon after this, he again talked of his expectations, saying every
minute, "If ever I am King, I shall do so; if ever I am King, I shall
order this; if ever I am King," etc., etc.

"Let us hope, my good friend," replied the Princess, "that you won't be
King in England, where your gewgaws would make people call out after you;
nor yet in France, where they would think you too little, after the
King."

At this last snub, Monsieur was much mortified.  The very next day he
summoned his old bootmaker, Lambertin, and ordered him to put extra heels
two inches high to his shoes.  Madame having told this piece of childish
folly to the King, he was greatly amused, and with a view to perplex his
brother, he had his own shoe-heels heightened, so that, beside his
Majesty, Monsieur still looked quite a little man.

The Princess gave premature birth to a child that was scarcely
recognisable; it had been dead in its mother's womb for at least ten
days, so the doctors averred.  Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans, however,
insisted upon having this species of monstrosity baptised.

My sister, De Thianges, who is raillery personified, seeing how
embarrassed was the cure of Saint Cloud by the Prince's repeated requests
for baptism, gravely said to the cleric in an irresistibly comic fashion,
"Do you know, sir, that your refusal is contrary to all good sense and
good breeding, and that to infants of such quality baptism is never
denied?"

When this species of miscarriage had to be buried, as there was urgent
need to get rid of it, Monsieur uttered loud cries, and said that he had
written to his brother so that there might be a grand funeral service at
Saint Denis.

Of so absurd a proposal as this no notice was taken, which served to
amaze Monsieur for one whole month.




CHAPTER X.

M. Colbert.--His Origin.--He Unveils and Displays Mazarin's Wealth.--The
Monarch's Liberality.--Resentment of the Cardinal's Heirs.


A few moments before he died, Cardinal Mazarin, through strategy, not
through repentance, besought the King to accept a deed of gift whereby he
was appointed his universal legatee.  Touched by so noble a resolve, the
King gave back the deed to his Eminence, who shed tears of emotion.

"Sire, I owe all to you," said the dying man to the young prince, "but I
believe that I shall pay off my debt by giving Colbert, my secretary, to
your Majesty.  Faithful as he has been to me, so will he be to you; and
while he keeps watch, you may sleep.  He comes from the noble family of
Coodber, of Scottish origin, and his sentiments are worthy of his
ancestors."

A few moments later the death-agony began, and M. Colbert begged the King
to listen to him in an embrasure.  There, taking a pencil, he made out a
list of all the millions which the Cardinal had hidden away in various
places.  The monarch bewailed his minister, his tutor, his friend, but so
astounding a revelation dried his tears.  He affectionately thanked M.
Colbert, and from that day forward gave him his entire consideration and
esteem.

M. Colbert was diligent enough to seize upon the millions hidden at
Vincennes, the millions secreted in the old Louvre, at Courbevoie and the
other country seats.  But the millions in gold, hidden in the bastions of
La Fere, fell into the hands of heirs, who, a few moments after the
commencement of the Cardinal's death-agony, sent off a valet post-haste.

The Cardinal's family pretended to know nothing of this affair; but they
could never bear M. Colbert nor any of his kinsfolk.  The King, being of
a generous nature, distributed all this wealth in the best and most
liberal manner possible.  M. Colbert told him to what use Mazarin meant
to put all these riches; he hoped to have prevailed upon the Conclave to
elect him Pope, with the concurrence of Spain, France, and the Holy
Ghost.




CHAPTER XI.

The Young Queen.--Her Portrait.--Her Whims.--Her Love for the King.--Her
Chagrin.


MARIA THERESA, the King's new consort, was the daughter of the King of
Spain and Elizabeth of France, daughter of Henri IV.  At the time of her
marriage she had lost her mother, and it was King Philip, Anne of
Austria's brother, who himself presented her to us at Saint Jean de Luz,
where he signed the peace-contract.  The Spanish monarch admired his
nephew, the King, whose stalwart figure, comely face, and polished
manners, were, indeed, well calculated to excite surprise.

Anne of Austria had said to him, "My brother, my one fear during your
journey was lest your ailments and the hardships of travel should hinder
you from getting back here again."

"Was such your thought, sister?"  replied the good man.  "I would
willingly have come on foot, so as to behold with my own eyes the superb
cavalier that you and I are going to give to my daughter."

After the oath of peace had been sworn upon the Gospels, there was a
general presentation before the two Kings.  Cantocarrero, the Castilian
secretary of state, presented the Spanish notabilities, while Cardinal
Mazarin, in his pontifical robes, presented the French.  As he announced
M. de Turenne, the old King looked at him repeatedly.  "There's one,"
quoth he, "who has given me many a sleepless night."

M. de Turenne bowed respectfully, and both courts could perceive in his
simple bearing his unaffected modesty.

On leaving Spain and the King, young princess was moved to tears.  Next
day she thought nothing of it at all.  She was wholly engrossed by the
possession of such a King, nor was she at any pains to hide her glee from
us.

Of all her Court ladies I was the most youthful and, perhaps, the most
conspicuous.  At the outset the Queen showed a wish to take me into her
confidence but it was the lady-in-waiting who would never consent to
this.

When, at that lottery of the Cardinal's, I won the King's portrait, the
Queen-mother called me into her closet and desired to know how such a
thing could possibly have happened.  I replied that, during the
garter-incident, the two tickets had got mixed.  "Ah, in that case," said
the princess, "the occurrence was quite a natural one.  So keep this
portrait, since it has fallen into your hands; but, for God's sake, don't
try and make yourself pleasant to my son; for you're only too fascinating
as it is.  Look at that little La Valliere, what a mess she has got into,
and what chagrin she has caused my poor Maria Theresa!"

I replied to her Majesty that I would rather let myself be buried alive
than ever imitate La Valliere, and I said so then because that was really
what I thought.

The Queen-mother softened, and gave me her hand to kiss, now addressing
me as "madame," and anon as "my daughter."  A few days afterwards she
wished to walk in the gallery with me, and said to me, "If God suffers me
to live, I will make you lady-in-waiting; be sure of that."

Anne of Austria was a tall, fine, dark woman, with brown eyes, like those
of the King.  The Infanta, her niece, is a very pretty blonde, blue-eyed,
but short in stature.

To her slightest words the Queen-mother gives sense and wit; her
daughter-in-law's speeches and actions are of the simplest, most
commonplace kind.  Were it not for the King, she would pass her life in a
dressing-gown, night-cap, and slippers.  At Court ceremonies and on
gala-days, she never appears to be in a good humour; everything seems to
weigh her down, notably her diamonds.

However, she has no remarkable defect, and one may say that she is devoid
of goodness, just as she is devoid of badness.  When coming among us, she
contrived to bring with her Molina, the daughter of her nurse, a sort of
comedy confidante, who soon gave herself Court airs, and who managed to
form a regular little Court of her own.  Without her sanction nothing can
be obtained of the Queen.  My lady Molina is the great, the small, and
the unique counsellor of the princess, and the King, like the others,
remains submissive to her decisions and her inspection.

French cookery, by common consent, is held to be well-nigh perfect in its
excellence; yet the Infanta could never get used to our dishes.  The
Senora Molina, well furnished with silver kitchen utensils, has a sort of
private kitchen or scullery reserved for her own use, and there it is
that the manufacture takes place of clove-scented chocolate, brown soups
and gravies, stews redolent with garlic, capsicums, and nutmeg, and all
that nauseous pastry in which the young Infanta revels.

Ever since La Valliere's lasting triumph, the Queen seems to have got it
into her head that she is despised; and at table I have often heard her
say, "They will help themselves to everything, and won't leave me
anything."

I am not unjust, and I admit that a husband's public attachments are not
exactly calculated to fill his legitimate consort with joy.  But,
fortunately for the Infanta, the King abounds in rectitude and
good-nature.  This very good-nature it is which prompts him to use all
the consideration of which a noble nature is capable, and the more his
amours give the Queen just cause for anxiety, the more does he redouble
his kindness and consideration towards her.  Of this she is sensible.
Thus she acquiesces, and, as much through tenderness as social tact, she
never reproaches or upbraids him with anything.  Nor does the King
scruple to admit that, to secure so good-natured a partner, it is well
worth the trouble of going to fetch her from the other end of the world.




CHAPTER XII.

Madame de la Valliere Becomes Duchess.--Her Family is Resigned.--Her
Children Recognised by the King.--Madame Colbert Their Governess.--The
King's Passion Grows More Serious.--Love and Friendship.


Out of affection and respect for the Queen-mother, the King had until
then sought to conceal the ardour of his attachment for Mademoiselle de
la Valliere.  It was after the six months of mourning that he shook off
all restraint, showing that, like any private person, he felt himself
master of his actions and his inclinations.

He gave the Vaujours estate to his mistress, after formally constituting
it a duchy, and, owing to the two children of his duchy, Mademoiselle de
la Valliere assumed the title of Duchess.  What a fuss she made at this
time!  All that was styled disinterestedness, modesty.  Not a bit of it.
It was pusillanimity and a sense of servile fear.  La Valliere would have
liked to enjoy her handsome lover in the shade and security of mystery,
without exposing herself to the satire of courtiers and of the public,
and, above all, to the reproaches of her family and relatives, who nearly
all were very devout.

On this head, however, she soon saw that such fears were exaggerated. The
Marquise de Saint-Remy was but slightly scandalised at what was going on.
She and the Marquis de Saint-Remy, her second husband, strictly proper
though they were, came to greet their daughter when proclaimed duchess.
And when, a few days afterwards, the King declared the rank of the two
children to the whole of assembled Parliament, the two families of
Saint-Remy and La Valliere offered congratulations to the Duchess, and
received those of all Paris.

M. Colbert, who owed everything to the King, entrusted Madame Colbert
with the education of the new prince and princess; they were brought up
under the eyes of this statesman, who for everything found time and
obligingness.  The girl, lovely as love itself, took the name of
Mademoiselle de Blois, while to her little brother was given the title of
Comte de Vermandois.

It was just about this time that I noticed the beginning of the monarch's
serious attachment for me.  Till then it had been only playful badinage,
good-humoured teasing, a sort of society play, in which the King was
rehearsing his part as a lover.  I was at length bound to admit that
chaff of this sort might end in something serious, and his Majesty begged
me to let him have La Valliere for some time longer.

I have already said that, while becoming her rival, I still remained her
friend.  Of this she had countless proofs, and when, at long intervals, I
saw her again in her dismal retreat, her good-nature, unchanging as this
was, caused her to receive and welcome me as one welcomes those one
loves.




CHAPTER XIII.

First Vocation of Mademoiselle de la Valliere.--The King Surprises His
Mistress.--She is Forced to Retire to a Convent.--The King Hastens to
Take Her Back.--She Was Not Made for Court Life.--Her Farewell to the
King.--Sacrifice.--The Abbe de Bossuet.


What I am now about to relate, I have from her own lips, nor am I the
only one to whom she made such recitals and avowals.

Her father died when she was quite young, and, when dying, foresaw that
his widow, being without fortune or constancy, would ere long marry
again.  To little Louise he was devotedly attached.  Ardently embracing
her, he addressed her thus:

"In losing me, my poor little Louise, you lose all.  What little there is
of my inheritance ought, undoubtedly, to belong to you; but I know your
mother; she will dispose of it.  If my relatives do not show the interest
in you which your fatherless state should inspire, renounce this world
soon, where, separated from your father, there exists for you but danger
and misfortune.  Two of my ancestors left their property to the nuns of
Saint Bernard at Gomer-Fontaines, as they are perfectly well aware. Go to
them in all confidence; they will receive you without a dowry even; it is
their duty to do so.  If, disregarding my last counsel, you go astray in
the world, from the eternal abodes on high I will watch over you; I will
appear to you, if God empower me to do so; and, at any rate, from time to
time I will knock at the door of your heart to rouse you from your
baleful slumber and draw your attention to the sweet paths of light that
lead to God."

This speech of a dying father was graven upon the heart of a young girl
both timid and sensitive.  She never forgot it; and it needed the fierce,
inexplicable passion which took possession of her soul to captivate her
and carry her away so far.

Before becoming attached to the King, she opened out her heart to me with
natural candour; and whenever in the country she observed the turrets or
the spire of a monastery, she sighed, and I saw her beautiful blue eyes
fill with tears.

She was maid of honour to the Princess Henrietta of England, and I filled
a like office.  Our two companions, being the most quick-witted, durst
not talk about their love-affairs before Louise, so convinced were we of
her modesty, and almost of her piety.

In spite of that, as she was gentle, intelligent, and well-bred, the
Princess plainly preferred her to the other three.  In temperament they
suited each other to perfection.

The King frequently came to the Palais Royal, where the bright, pleasant
conversation of his sister-in-law made amends for the inevitable boredom
which one suffered when with the Queen.

Being brought in such close contact with the King, who in private life is
irresistibly attractive, Mademoiselle de la Valliere conceived a violent
passion for him; yet, owing to modesty or natural timidity, it was plain
that she carefully sought to hide her secret.  One fine night she and two
young persons of her own age were seated under a large oak-tree in the
grounds of Saint Germain.  The Marquis de Wringhen, seeing them in the
moonlight, said to the King, who was walking with him, "Let us turn
aside, Sire, in this direction; yonder there are three solitary nymphs,
who seem waiting for fairies or lovers."  Then they noiselessly
approached the tree that I have mentioned, and lost not a word of all the
talk in which the fair ladies were engaged.

They were discussing the last ball at the chateau.  One extolled the
charms of the Marquis d'Alincour, son of Villeroi; the second mentioned
another young nobleman; while the third frankly expressed herself in
these terms:

"The Marquis d'Alincour and the Prince de Marcillac are most charming, no
doubt, but, in all conscience, who could be interested in their merits
when once the King appeared in their midst?

"Oh, oh!"  cried the two others, laughing, "it's strange to hear you talk
like that; so, one has to be a king in order to merit your attention?"

"His rank as king," replied Mademoiselle de la Valliere, "is not the
astonishing part about him; I should have recognised it even in the
simple dress of a herdsman."

The three chatterers then rose and went back to the chateau.  Next day,
the King, wholly occupied with what he had overheard on the previous
evening, sat musing on a sofa at his sister-in-law's, when all at once
the voice of Mademoiselle de la Beaume-le-Blanc smote his ear and brought
trouble to his heart.  He saw her, noticed her melancholy look, thought
her lovelier than the loveliest, and at once fell passionately in love.

They soon got to understand one another, yet for a long while merely
communicated by means of notes at fetes, or during the performance of
allegorical ballets and operettas, the airs in which sufficiently
expressed the nature of such missives.

In order to put the Queen-mother off the scent and screen La Valliere,
the King pretended to be in love with Mademoiselle de la
Mothe-Houdancour, one of the Queen's maids of honour.  He used to talk
across to her out of one of the top-story windows, and even wished her to
accept a present of diamonds.  But Madame de Navailles, who took charge
of the maids of honour, had gratings put over the top-story windows, and
La Mothe-Houdancour was so chagrined by the Queen's icy manner towards
her that she withdrew to a convent.  As to the Duchesse de Navailles and
her husband, they got rid of their charges and retired to their estates,
where great wealth and freedom were their recompense after such pompous
Court slavery.

The Queen-mother was still living; unlike her niece, she was not
blindfold.  The adventure of Mademoiselle de la Mothe-Houdancour seemed
to her just what it actually was,--a subterfuge; as she surmised, it
could only be La Valliere.  Having discovered the name of her confessor,
the Queen herself went in disguise to the Theatin Church, flung herself
into the confessional where this man officiated, and promised him the sum
of thirty thousand francs for their new church if he would help her to
save the King.

The Theatin promised to do what the Queen thus earnestly desired, and
when his fair penitent came to confess, he ordered her at once to break
off her connection with the Court as with the world, and to shut herself
up in a convent.

Mademoiselle de la Valliere shed tears, and sought to make certain
remarks, but the confessor, a man of inflexible character, threatened her
with eternal damnation, and he was obeyed.

Beside herself with grief, La Valliere left by another door, so as to
avoid her servants and her coach.  She recollected seeing a little
convent of hospitalieres at Saint Cloud; she went thither on foot, and
was cordially welcomed by these dames.

Next day it was noised abroad in the chateau that she had been carried
off by order of the Queen-mother.  During vespers the King seemed greatly
agitated, and no sooner had the preacher ascended the pulpit than he rose
and disappeared.

The confusion of the two Queens was manifest; no one paid any heed to the
preacher; he scarcely knew where he was.

Meanwhile the conquering King had started upon his quest.  Followed by a
page and a carriage and pair, he first went to Chaillot, and then to
Saint Cloud, where he rang at the entrance of the modest abode which
harboured his friend.  The nun at the turnstile answered him harshly, and
denied him an audience.  It is true, he only told her he was a cousin or
a relative.

Seeing that this nun was devoid of sense and of humanity, he bethought
himself of endeavouring to persuade the gardener, who lived close to the
monastery.  He slipped several gold pieces into his hand, and most
politely requested him to go and tell the Lady Superior that he had come
thither on behalf of the King.

The Lady Superior came down into the parlour, and recognising the King
from a superb miniature, besought him of his grandeur to interest himself
in this young lady of quality, devoid of means and fatherless, and
consented, moreover, to give her up to him, since as King he so
commanded.

Louise de la Beaume-le-Blanc obeyed the King, or in other words, the
dictates of her own heart, imprudently embarking upon a career of
passion, for which a temperament wholly different from hers was needed.
It is not simple-minded maidens that one wants at Court to share the
confidence of princes.  No doubt natures of that sort--simple,
disinterested souls are pleasant and agreeable to them, as therein they
find contentment such as they greedily prize; but for these unsullied,
romantic natures, disillusion, trickery alone is in store.  And if
Mademoiselle de la Beaumele-Blanc had listened to me, she might have
turned matters to far better account; nor, after yielding up her youth to
a monarch, would she have been obliged to end, her days in a prison.

The King no longer visited her as his mistress, but trusted and esteemed
her as a friend and as the mother of his two pretty children.

One day, in the month of April, 1674, his Majesty, while in the gardens,
received the following letter, which one of La Valliere's pages proffered
him on bended knee:

SIRE:--To-day I am leaving forever this palace, whither the cruellest of
fatalities summoned my youth and inexperience.  Had I not met you, my
heart would have loved seclusion, a laborious life, and my kinsfolk.  An
imperious inclination, which I could not conquer, gave me to you, and,
simple, docile as I was by nature, I believed that my passion would
always prove to me delicious, and that your love would never die.  In
this world nothing endures. My fond attachment has ceased to have any
charm for you, and my heart is filled with dismay.  This trial has come
from God; of this my reason and my faith are convinced.  God has felt
compassion for my unspeakable grief.  That which for long past I have
suffered is greater than human force can bear; He is going to receive me
into His home of mercy.  He promises me both healing and peace.

In this theatre of pomp and perfidy I have only stayed until such a
moment as my daughter and her youthful brother might more easily do
without me.  You will cherish them both; of that I have no doubt. Guide
them, I beseech you, for the sake of your own glory and their well-being.
May your watchful care sustain them, while their mother, humbled and
prostrate in a cloister, shall commend them to Him who pardons all.

After my departure, show some kindness to those who were my servants and
faithful domestics, and deign to take back the estates and residences
which served to support me in my frivolous grandeur, and maintain the
celebrity that I deplore.

Adieu, Sire!  Think no more about me, lest such a feeling, to which my
imagination might but all too readily lend itself, only beget links of
sympathy in my heart which conscience and repentance would fain destroy.

If God call me to himself, young though yet I am, He will have granted my
prayers; if He ordain me to live for a while longer in this desert of
penitence, it will never compensate for the duration of my error, nor for
the scandal of which I have been the cause.

Your subject from this time forth, LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE.

The King had not been expecting so desperate a resolve as this, nor did
he feel inclined to hinder her from making it.  He left the Portuguese
ambassador, who witnessed his agitation, and hastened to Madame de la
Valliere's, who had left her apartments in the castle at daybreak.  He
shed tears, being kind of heart and convinced that a body so graceful and
so delicate would never be able to resist the rigours and hardships of so
terrible a life.

The Carmelite nuns of the Rue Saint Jacques loudly proclaimed this
conversion, and in their vanity gladly received into their midst so
modest and distinguished a victim, driven thither through sheer despair.

The ceremony which these dames call "taking the dress" attracted the
entire Court to their church.  The Queen herself desired to be present at
so harrowing a spectacle, and by a curious contradiction, of which her
capricious nature is capable, she shed floods of tears.  La Valliere
seemed gentler, lovelier, more modest and more seductive than ever.  In
the midst of the grief and tears which her courageous sacrifice provoked,
she never uttered a single sigh, nor did she change colour once.  Hers
was a nature made for extremes; like Caesar, she said to herself, "Either
Rome or nothing!"

The Abbe de Bossuet, who had been charged to preach the sermon of
investiture, showed a good deal of wit by exhibiting none at all.  The
King must have felt indebted to him for such reserve.  Into his discourse
he had put mere vague commonplaces, which neither touch nor wound any
one; honeyed anathemas such as these may even pass for compliments.

This prelate has won for himself a great name and great wealth by words.
A proof of his cleverness exists in his having lived in grandeur,
opulence, and worldly happiness, while making people believe that he
condemned such things.




CHAPTER XIV.

Story of the Queen-mother's Marriage with Cardinal Mazarin Published in
Holland.


Despite the endeavours made by the ministers concerning the pamphlet or
volume about which I am going to speak, neither they nor the King
succeeded in quashing a sinister rumour and an opinion which had taken
deep root among the people.  Ever since this calumny it believes--and
will always believe--in the twin brother of Louis XIV., suppressed, one
knows not why, by his mother, just as one believes in fairy-tales and
novels.  This false rumour, invented by far-seeing folk, is that which
has most affected the King.  I will recount the manner in which it
reached him.

Since the disorder and insolence of the Fronde, this prince did not like
to reside in the capital; he soon invented pretexts for getting away from
it.  The chateau of the Tuileries, built by Catherine de Medici at some
distance from the Louvre, was, really speaking, only a little
country-house and Trianon.  The King conceived the plan of uniting this
structure with his palace at the Louvre, extending it on the Saint Roch
side and also on the side of the river, and this being settled, the
Louvre gallery would be carried on as far as the southern angle of the
new building, so as to form one whole edifice, as it now appears.

While these alterations were in progress, the Court quitted the Louvre
and the capital, and took up its permanent residence at Saint Germain.

Though ceasing to make a royal residence and home of Paris, his Majesty
did not omit to pay occasional visits to the centre of the capital.  He
came incognito, sometimes on horseback, sometimes in a coach, and usually
went about the streets on foot.  On these occasions he was dressed
carelessly, like any ordinary young man, and the better to ensure a
complete disguise, he kept continually changing either the colour of his
moustache or the colour and cut of his clothes.  One evening, on leaving
the opera, just as he was about to open his carriage door, a man
approached him with a great air of mystery, and tendering a pamphlet,
begged him to buy it.  To get rid of the importunate fellow, his Majesty
purchased the book, and never glanced at its contents until the following
day.

Imagine his surprise and indignation!  The following was the title of his
purchase:

"Secret and Circumstantial Account of the Marriage of Anne of Austria,
Queen of France, with the Abbe Jules Simon Mazarin, Cardinal of the Holy
Roman Church.  A new edition, carefully revised.  Amsterdam."

Grave and phlegmatic by nature, the King was always master of his
feelings, a sign, this, of the noble-minded.  He shut himself up in his
apartment, so as to be quite alone, and hastily perused the libellous
pamphlet.

According to the author of it, King Louis XIII., being weak and languid,
and sapped moreover by secret poison, had not been able to beget any
heirs.  The Queen, who secretly was Mazarin's mistress, had had twins by
the Abbe, only the prettier of the two being declared legitimate.  The
other twin had been entrusted to obscure teachers, who, when it was time,
would give him up.

The princess, so the writer added, stung by qualms of conscience, had
insisted upon having her guilty intimacy purified by the sacrament of
marriage, to which the prime minister agreed.  Then, mentioning the names
of such and such persons as witnesses, the book stated that "this
marriage was solemnised on a night in February, 1643, by Cardinal de
Sainte-Suzanne, a brother and servile creature of Mazarin's."

"This explains," added the vile print, "the zeal, perseverance, and
foolish ardour of the Queen Regent in defending her Italian against the
just opposition of the nobles, against the formal charges of the
magistrates, against the clamorous outcry, not only of Parisians, but of
all France.  This explains the indifference, or rather the firm resolve,
on Mazarin's part; never to take orders, but to remain simply 'tonsure'
or 'minore',--he who controls at least forty abbeys, as well as a
bishopric.

"Look at the young monarch," it continued, "and consider how closely he
resembles his Eminence, the same haughty glance; the same uncontrolled
passion for pompous buildings, luxurious dress and equipages; the same
deference and devotion to the Queen-mother; the same independent customs,
precepts, and laws; the same aversion for the Parisians; the same
resentment against the honest folk of the Fronde."

This final phrase easily disclosed its origin; nor upon this point had
     his Majesty the slightest shadow of a doubt.

The same evening he sent full instructions to the lieutenant-general of
police, and two days afterwards the nocturnal vendor of pamphlets found
himself caught in a trap.

The King wished him to be brought to Saint Germain, so that he might
identify him personally; and, as he pretended to be half-witted or an
idiot, he was thrown half naked into a dungeon.  His allowance of dry
bread diminished day by day, at which he complained, and it was decided
to make him undergo this grim ordeal.

Under the pressure of hunger and thirst, the prisoner at length made a
confession, and mentioned a bookseller of the Quartier Latin, who, under
the Fronde, had made his shop a meeting-place for rebels.

The bookseller, having been put in the Bastille, and upon the same diet
as his salesman, stated the name of the Dutch printer who had published
the pamphlet.  They sought to extract more from him, and reduced his diet
with such severity that he disclosed the entire secret.

This bookseller, used to a good square meal at home, found it impossible
to tolerate the Bastille fare much longer.  Bound hand and foot, at his
final cross-examination he confessed that the work had emanated from the
Cardinal de Retz, or certain of his party.

He was condemned to three years' imprisonment, and was obliged to sell
his shop and retire to the provinces.

I once heard M. de Louvois tell this tale, and use it as a means of
silencing those who regretted the absence of the exiled
Cardinal-archbishop.

As to the libellous pamphlet itself, the clumsy nature of it was only too
plain, for the King is no more like Mazarin than he is like the King of
Ethiopia.  On the contrary, one can easily distinguish in the general
effect of his features a very close resemblance to King Louis XIII.

The libellous pamphlet stated that, on the occasion of the Infanta's
first confinement, twins were born, and that the prettier of the two had
been adopted, another blunder, this, of the grossest kind.  A book of
this sort could deceive only the working class and the Parisian lower
orders, for folk about the Court, and even the bourgeoisie, know that it
is impossible for a queen to be brought to bed in secret.  Unfortunately
for her, she has to comply with the most embarrassing rules of etiquette.
She has to bear her final birth-pangs under an open canopy, surrounded at
no great distance by all the princes of the blood; they are summoned
thither, and they have this right so as to prevent all frauds,
subterfuges, or impositions.

When the King found the seditious book in question, the Queen, his
mother, was ill and in pain; every possible precaution was taken to
prevent her from hearing the news, and the lieutenant-general of police,
having informed the King that two-thirds of the edition had been seized
close to the Archbishop's palace, orders were given to burn all these
horrible books by night, in the presence of the Marquis de Beringhen,
appointed commissioner on this occasion.




CHAPTER XV.

Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans Wishes to be Governor of a Province.--The
King's Reply.--He Requires a Fauteuil for His Wife.--Another Excellent
Answer of the King's.


In marrying Monsieur, the King consulted only his well-known generosity,
and the richly equipped household which he granted to this prince should
assuredly have made him satisfied and content.  The Chevalier de Lorraine
and the Chevalier de Remecourt, two pleasant and baneful vampires whom
Monsieur could refuse nothing, put it into his head that he should make
himself feared, so as to lead his Majesty on to greater concessions,
which they were perfectly able to turn to their own enjoyment and profit.

Monsieur began by asking for the governorship of a province; in reply he
was told that this could not be, seeing that such appointments were never
given to French princes, brothers of the King.

Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans hastened to point out that Gaston, son of Henri
IV., had had such a post, and that the Duc de Verneuil, natural son of
the same Henri, had one at the present time.

"That is true," replied the King, "but from my youth upward you have
always heard me condemn such innovations, and you cannot expect me to do
the very thing that I have blamed others for doing.  If ever you were
minded, brother, to rebel against my authority, your first care would,
undoubtedly, be to withdraw to your province, where, like Gaston, your
uncle, you would have to raise troops and money.  Pray do not weary me
with indiscretions of this sort; and tell those people who influence you
to give you better advice for the future."

Somewhat abashed, the Duc d'Orleans affirmed that what he had said and
done was entirely of his own accord.

"Did you speak of your own accord," said the King, "when insisting upon
being admitted to the privy council?  Such a thing can no longer be
allowed.  You inconsiderately expressed two different opinions, and since
you cannot control your tongue, which is most undoubtedly your own, I
have no power over it,--I, to whom it does not want to belong."

Then Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans added that these two refusals would seem
less harsh, less painful to him, if the King would grant a seat in his
own apartments, and in those of the Queen, to the Princess, his wife, who
was a king's daughter.

"No, that cannot be," replied his Majesty, "and pray do not insist upon
it.  It is not I who have established the present customs; they existed
long before you or me.  It is in your interest, brother, that the majesty
of the throne should not be weakened or altered; and if, from Duc
d'Orleans, you one day become King of France, I know you well enough to
believe that you would never be lax in this matter.  Before God, you and
I are exactly the same as other creatures that live and breathe; before
men we are seemingly extraordinary beings, greater, more refined, more
perfect.  The day that people, abandoning this respect and veneration
which is the support and mainstay of monarchies,--the day that they
regard us as their equals,--all the prestige of our position will be
destroyed.  Bereft of beings superior to the mass, who act as their
leaders and supports, the laws will only be as so many black lines on
white paper, and your armless chair and my fauteuil will be two pieces of
furniture of the selfsame importance.  Personally, I should like to
gratify you in every respect, for the same blood flows in our veins, and
we have loved each other from the cradle upwards.  Ask of me things that
are practicable, and you shall see that I will forestall your wishes.
Personally, I daresay I care less about honorary distinctions than you
do, and in Cabinet matters I am always considered to be simpler and more
easy to deal with than such and such a one.  One word more, and I have
done.  I will nominate you to the governorship of any province you
choose, if you will now consent in writing to let proceedings be taken
against you, just as against any ordinary gentleman, in case there should
be sedition in your province, or any kind of disorder during your
administration."

Hereupon young Philippe began to smile, and he begged the King to embrace
him.




CHAPTER XVI.

Arms and Livery of Madame de Montespan.--Duchess or Princess.--Fresh
Scandal Caused by the Marquis.--The Rue Saint Honore Affair.--M. de
Ronancour.--Separation of Body and Estate.


When leaving, despite himself, for the provinces, M. de Montespan wrote
me a letter full of bitter insults, in which he ordered me to give up his
coat-of-arms, his livery, and even his name.

This letter I showed to the King.  For a while he was lost in thought, as
usual on such occasions, and then he said to me:

"There's nothing extraordinary about the fellow's livery.  Put your
servants into pale orange with silver lace.  Assume your old crest of
Mortemart, and as regards name, I will buy you an estate with a pretty
title."

"But I don't like pale orange," I instantly replied; "if I may, I should
like to choose dark blue, and gold lace, and as regards crest, I cannot
adopt my father's crest, except in lozenge form, which could not
seriously be done.  As it is your gracious intention to give me the name
of an estate, give me (for to you everything is easy) a duchy like La
Valliere, or, better still, a principality."

The King smiled, and answered, "It shall be done, madame, as you wish."

The very, next day I went into Paris to acquaint my lawyer with my
intentions.  Several magnificent estates were just then in the market,
but only marquisates, counties, or baronies!  Nothing illustrious,
nothing remarkable!  Duhamel assured me that the estate of Chabrillant,
belonging to a spendthrift, was up for sale.

"That," said he, "is a sonorous name, the brilliant renown of which would
only be enhanced by the title of princess."

Duhamel promised to see all his colleagues in this matter, and to find me
what I wanted without delay.

I quitted Paris without having met or recognised anybody, when, about
twenty paces at the most beyond the Porte Saint Honor, certain sergeants
or officials of some sort roughly stopped my carriage and seized my
horses' bridles "in the King's name."

"In the King's name?"  I cried, showing myself at the coach door.

"Insolent fellows!  How dare you thus take the King's name in vain?"  At
the same time I told my coachman to whip up his horses with the reins and
to drive over these vagabonds.  At a word from me the three footmen
jumped down and did their duty by dealing out lusty thwacks to the
sergeants.  A crowd collected, and townsfolk and passers-by joined in the
fray.

A tall, fine-looking man, wrapped in a dressing-gown, surveyed the tumult
like a philosopher from his balcony overhead.  I bowed graciously to him
and besought him to come down.  He came, and in sonorous accents
exclaimed:

"Ho, there! serving-men of my lady, stop fighting, will you?  And pray,
sergeants, what is your business?"

"It is a disgrace," cried they all, as with one breath.  "Madame lets her
scoundrelly footmen murder us, despite the name of his Majesty, which we
were careful to utter at the outset of things.  Madame is a person (as
everybody in France now knows) who is in open revolt against her husband;
she has deserted him in order to cohabit publicly with some one else. Her
husband claims his coach, with his own crest and armorial bearings
thereon, and we are here for the purpose of carrying out the order of one
of the judges of the High Court."

"If that be so," replied the man in the dressing-gown, "I have no
objection to offer, and though madame is loveliness itself, she must
suffer me to pity her, and I have the honour of saluting her."

So saying, he made me a bow and left me, without help of any sort, in the
midst of this crazy rabble.

I was inconsolable.  My coachman, the best fellow in the world, called
out to him from the top of his bog, "Monsieur, pray procure help for my
mistress,--for Madame la Marquise de Montespan."

No sooner had he uttered these words than the gentleman came back again,
while, among the lookers-on, some hissing was heard.  He raised both
hands with an air of authority, and speaking with quite incredible
vehemence and fire, he successfully harangued the crowd.

"Madame does not refuse to comply with the requirements of justice," he
added firmly; "but madame, a member of the Queen's household, is
returning to Versailles, and cannot go thither on foot, or in some
tumbledown vehicle.  So I must beg these constables or sergeants (no
matter which) to defer their arrest until to-morrow, and to accept me as
surety.  The French people is the friend of fair ladies; and true
Parisians are incapable of harming or of persecuting aught that is
gracious and beautiful."

All those present, who at first had hissed, replied to this speech by
cries of "Bravo!"  One of my men, who had been wounded in the scuffle,
had his hand all bloody.  A young woman brought some lavender-water, and
bound up the wound with her white handkerchief, amid loud applause from
the crowd, while I bowed my acknowledgments and thanks.

The King listened with interest to the account of the adventure that I
have just described, and wished to know the name of the worthy man who
had acted as my support and protector.  His name was De Tarcy-Ronancour.
The King granted him a pension of six thousand francs, and gave the Abbey
of Bauvoir to his daughter.

As for me, I kept insisting with might and main for a separation of body
and estate, which alone could put an end to all my anxiety.  When a
decree for such separation was pronounced at the Chatelet, and registered
according to the rules, I set about arranging an appanage which, from the
very first day, had seemed to me absolutely necessary for my position.

As ill-luck would have it, the judges left me the name of Montespan,
which to my husband was so irksome, and to myself also; and the King,
despite repeated promises, never relieved me of a name that it was very
difficult to bear.




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Armed with beauty and sarcasm
Conduct of the sort which cements and revives attachments
Console me on the morrow for what had troubled me to-day
Depicting other figures she really portrays her own
In England a man is the absolute proprietor of his wife
In Rome justice and religion always rank second to politics
Kings only desire to be obeyed when they command
Laws will only be as so many black lines on white paper
Love-affair between Mademoiselle de la Valliere and the King
Madame de Montespan had died of an attack of coquetry
Not show it off was as if one only possessed a kennel
That Which Often It is Best to Ignore
Violent passion had changed to mere friendship
When women rule their reign is always stormy and troublous
Wife: property or of furniture, useful to his house
Won for himself a great name and great wealth by words





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan,
Volume I., by Madame La Marquise De Montespan

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