Memoirs of the court of France, and city of Paris: containing the intrigues of that court, and the characters of the ministers of state, and other officers; together with the occurrences of the town. In two parts. Translated from the French:

MEMOIRS Of the Court OF FRANCE, And of the City OF PARIS.

PART II.

K. James's Manifesto had no effect. It be|ing the Interest of all the Confederates to keep K. William upon the Throne, that he had mounted by the unanimous consent of his People, they took no notice of it. The Plenipotentiaries, at the Reswick Treaty, carry'd on the Conferences without any great Concern in his Interest. All that France could do on his behalf, was, a secret Article providing for the ••••een, his Wife's Joynture, to be sign'd at the same time with the Treaty. The insignificancy

of this Manifesto, appear'd in his most Christian Majesties Declaration to all the Allies; that he own'd K. William as the lawful King: With|out which Article, he could expect no Accommo|dation. This accknowledgment did not ••uch perplex that Prince, who went upon sure grounds: For in the Articles of Peace propos'd by the King, when his Plenipotentaries offer'd to state that Article, he advis'd 'em to dash it out, because he knew, very well, how to keep up the Dignity confer'd upon him by the Parliament of England, with the Succours of his People and Allies: So that this Question was to bear no Fi|gure among those contested by the respective Parties.

In the mean time, the Armies, pursuant to their usual Custom, made preparations for the Field; and the King having re-enforc'd his Troops, with those he had recall'd from Italy, would not listen to the Truce that was offer'd to him by the Allies. The Mareshalls Villeroy, and Boufflers, Commanded the Army in Flan|ders, which was the most considerable. But tho' they succeeded to the command the Duke of Luxemburg had before his Death, yet they were far short of succeeding to his Reputation. Vil|leroy, for his first Adventure, suffer'd the Prince of Vaudemont to escape, whom he might have entirely defeated: And his carelesness, not to mention his Insufficiency, occasion'd the loss of Namur Boufflers having thrown himself into that Place, made so sorry a Defence, that, after his return from that Expedition, L' Apparat, who was chief Engineer at the Siege of Barcelona, told him to his Face, That if he had been with|in the Walls of Namur, it had either been still in the King's Hands, or else he had cut off a great part of K. William's Army. The Mar••|shal

was mightily surpriz'd with this Discourse, which seem'd to charge him either with Cow|ardice, tho', indeed, L' Apparat was mistaken if h•• took that for his weak side, or else with want of Experience: for one of these two must needs have occasion'd the loss of that Place: However he reply'd, That his success before Barcelona made him take such measures as be|came him very ill; and that he would make him eat in his words, were it not that he knew he had receiv'd some Blows on the Head, which had turn'd his Brains. L' Apparat made Answer, That the Mareshal ought not to apply to him|self what he mean'd of another: that he pray'd God to forbid that ever he should censure his Conduct; that he was very sensibIe of the defe|rence and respect that was due to him; that he only mean'd, that Mr. de Megrigny, who was employ'd to defend Namur in the Quality of Engineer, had acted his part so very ill, that he would not stand to affirm that he either wanted Courage, or at least, had forgot himself. By this means, L' Apparat clear'd himself: And the Mareshal was very well pleas'd to see him throw upon another, what he had apply'd to himself. But Soldiers do not always examine things so nicely; whoever has the General Com|mand, they impute all their good or bad Success to him. The whole Army regretted the loss of their late General. Besides, there was a vast difference between him, and those who fill'd his Post. Mareshal Villeroy was puff'd up with a great Opinion of himself, tho', at the same time, he never had done any thing upon which he could ground so much concei••edness. On the contrary, the Soldiers call'd to mind, how contemptuous|ly his Father treated him upon his return from the Siege of Lisle, by reason of some Charge

laid against him, insomuch, that if he had not, by a desperate turn, retriev'd his Reputation in the Conquest of the County, which happen'd the next Year, he had run the risque of never returning. As for Mareshall Boufflers, 'tis true, he could not be charg'd with any such thing; for he was so cautious and irresolute, that 'twas manifest he was a stranger to that Presumption, that render'd the other unsupportable. But, af|ter all, this irresolution spoke him diffident of himself; for which reason, the Soldiers said, The Duke of Luxemburg read what he had to do in his Hunch; but neither of the present Ge|nerals could find any thing in their Heads.

Some Hours before that General's Death, he call'd the Duke of Montmoran••y, his Eldest Son, to his Bed-side, and gave him to know, that to make him easy, he behov'd to give him a Pro|mise, which would afford him some Comfort in his Passage to the other World. The Duke of Montmorancy promising Obedience to his Commands, the poor dying General buoy'd up with Hopes, told him, That since he had been long 〈…〉〈…〉 Marchioness ••f Belle••onds, 〈…〉〈…〉 be the Fool to Marry her, ••••on 〈…〉〈…〉 des••••'d he would 〈◊〉〈◊〉, upon 〈◊〉〈◊〉, not to Marry her, when his Eyes were 〈◊〉〈◊〉. This Lady was the Duke of Mazarin's 〈◊〉〈◊〉: Her Father's Devourness occasion'd her being Married to the Marquis of Bell••fonds; for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, his Father, was as devout as the 〈◊〉〈◊〉; but the Ma••quis was not a proper ma•••••• for her: ••or he had ••••i••••er the Estate, nor a thousand other things, that a Lady, of her Quality, might have expected in a Husband. However, as Children do not always follow their Father's ••oot-steps, so the Marquis was not near so devc••t as the Maresh••ll; upon which account,

the Duke of Mazarin frequently repented that he had made him his Son-in-Law. At last, after the Marquis had liv'd some time with the Duke's Daughter, he was Kill'd at the head of his Regiment in the Battle of St••enkerke. The Government of Vincennes, being given by the Duke of Mazarin with his Daughter, be|came vaca••t by the Marquis's Death; so that the Marchioness was but in sorry circumstances for a Lady of Quality: For tho' the King gave that Government to her Son, and the survivor|ship to the Maresh••ll of Bell••fonds, yet the in|comes arising to her out of her Husband's Estate, were but very narrow. 'Twas for this reason, that the Duke of Luxemburg fear'd his Son's Marrying of her, he being then a Widdower by the Death of his Wife, who was a Daughter of the Duke of Chevreuse. The Duke of Montmo|rancy, whom his Father never press d to any thing that was not to his advantage, readily com|ply'd with his Father's Demands in giving his Promise. Two Days after, the Duke of Luxem|burg Died, and his Son resolv'd to stand to his Promise, tho' he continued still to visit the Wid|dow, and even became more in Love with her than before: However having no Issue by his Wife, and being a Person of a great Figure in regard of the Government of Normandy, which his Father had procur'd him, he had a mind to Marry again. The Marchioness of Seignelay was a proper match for him, both for Estate and Quality. She was very handsome, and her Age bore a suitable proportion to his. But this Lady, being the Widdow of a Minister of State, in whose life-time every body stoop'd to her, stood upon the point of Honour, when she preceiv'd that the Duke's Agents pretended, that she behov'd to give the Duke considerable odds,

because she had Children; after which she would never hear of the Proposal agen. She thought, that notwithstanding her Widdow-hood, she was, at any time, as good as the Duke of Montmor|ancy, who had assum'd the Title of Luxemburg after his Father's Death; and that it became him to treat with her at even hands. The Duke finding she would not give him any thing, look'd out for a Wife else-where; and having pitch'd upon the only Daughter of the Marquis of Cle|rembaut, who had formerly a place in Monsieur's Houshold, Married her a few Days after. She was but fourteen Years of Age, and was very Pretty, tho' she was not a Beauty. Her Mother being the Widdow of Count du Plessis, the present D••ke of Choiseul's Eldest Brother had Married her Husband for Love; and being acquainted with the Pleasure of the Conjugal State, when Man and Wife live in perfect Union, would needs put her Son-in-Law upon the same Foot with the Marquis of Clerembaut. She us'd all man|ner of perswasives to oblige him to keep Com|pany with no Woman but his Wife. But the D••ke of Luxemburg having Married her Daugh|t••r only for his Interest, and having always Lov'd the Marchioness of Bellefonds, did not like her Remonstrances. He told her, all the World was not like her Husband; and scarce any body but himself, could confine their Ad|dresses to one Woman. His Mother-in-Law, not discourag'd by this answer, renew'd the at|tack several times. She would even oblige him never to see his Mistress again: But the Duke would never give her his Promise to that effect; upon which she put the shrew upon him, and treated him, just as if the regulation of his Conduct had been her Province. The Duke did not like her ways: However, to make her sen|••sible,

that that was not the way to win, or break him, he re-doubled his visits to the Marchioness of Bellefonds. This put the Old Woman into a Passion. She teaz'd her Son-in-Law so incessantly, that he was oblig'd to tell her, he would either take away his Wife to an|other House (for they liv'd all together, the Mother-in-Law and her Husband being oblig'd, by the Contract of Marriage, to give them both Lodging and Diet) or else Dine and Sup always abroad. And, indeed, he was as good as his word: But when he saw all his Remon|strances were ineffectual, he began to lye out in the Night: sometimes in the Bagnio's, and sometimes in Luxemburg-House, which was still furnish'd. But all this was so far from producing the proposed Effect, that his Mo|ther-in-Law grew still more uneasy, and trou|blesome, insomuch, that he was quickly oblig'd to leave her for good and all.

This Duke had three Brethren, and two Sist|ers, one of which Married the Prince of Neu|schattel, as I intimated above; The other was shut up in a Convent, but would willingly have come out if she could. As for the Brethren, one of them was hunch-back'd like his Eather: For which reason, the late Duke of Luxemburg design'd him for the Church, pursuant to the common Practice of Persons of Quality, who al|lot only to God Almighty, what is not fit for the World. The two other Brethren were Count Luce, and Chevalier Luxembourg: The former being already a Brigadier in the King's Army, and in good repute among the Soldiers, quickly assum'd the Title of Duke of Chatillon, upon the Death of the Dutchess of Mekleburg, his Aunt, who made him her universal Heir, and, among other things, left him the Dutchy of

Chatillon, with the Lands of Marlau, which brought in better than forty thousand Livres a Year. The King reviv'd that Dukedom in his Favour; for it had lain extinct by the Death of the Duke of Chatillon, his Aunts first Husband. This new Duke Married afterwards Mademoi|selle de R••han, descended of an infamous Branch of the House of Tremouille; for the Marquis of R••han her Father, and her Grand-Father, as well as the Abbot of Tremouille, her Uncle, were Persons that did not deserve such Illustrious Titles. As for Count Ol••nne, her Father's Elder Brother, 'tis true, he had more Sense than either her Father, or the Abbot, and did not love Drinking as they did: But, after all, he had never been much known in the World, if his Wife had not made up that Defect; for the care she took in spreading his Reputation, was Crown'd with such admirable success, that there were Generals in the Army who were not so much spoken of as he. However he did one thing that met with a general Approbation from the World, namely his separation from her, as soon as he saw her bestow upon others, what was only his due. But having inur'd him|self to her Customs while they liv'd together, he retain'd a Tincture of 'em after her depar|ture. He lov'd to see a great deal of Company in his House, as she did in hers; and a great many met there, and G••m'd every Night. By th••s means, His Majesty, who always discou|rag'd Impiety, came to be inform'd, that he w••nt beyond many others in a dexterity of Coin-•••••• Oaths. Upon this, His Majesty sent him word, That if he continued in that course, ••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••me to repent it ere long. This Com|pl••••ent made him wiser than he was before; so that what further Progress he made in his wont|ed

Course, was done Incognito. 'Twas to be wish'd, that the King's Authority could have reform'd his Brethren as soon as himself. Tho' Swearing was not their Crime, yet one would not have taken them for Persons of Quality, unless he had known them. The Chevalier de Rohan, and the Abbot Tremouille, lodg'd in a scandalous Tippling-House; tho' the last was worth almost ten Thousand Livers a Year, and the first had enough to Live upon. Upon this account, a Gentleman belonging to the Court, to oblige them to recollect themselves, sent 'em a great Pacquet, Counter-sign'd by a Secretary of State, as if it had come from the Court: 'Twas address'd, To my Cousins, the Abbot Tre|mouille, and Chevalier Rohan, at the six Monks Tavern, in Paris. 'Twas deliver'd to their Land|lady, at a time, when they were abroad; and tho' they had not much Sense, yet they under|stood it to be a ridiculing of their Drunkenness. The name of Cousin, in the Subscription, was a Privilege that all their Family formerly en|joy'd, tho', at present, 'tis confin'd to the Eldest: So that if they were not Dukes and Peers, as they are at present, yet the King would al|ways Dignifie them with the Title of My Cousin, unless His Majesty pleas'd to take that Preroga|tive from them, as he has sometimes done to other Families.

For instance, the Counts of Clermont Lodeve, whose Posterity the Marquis of Sessack pretends, at present, to renew: This Family, I say, in former times, were intitled to the same Privi|lege; and 'tis only of late, that the King de|priv'd 'em of it, and that upon this occasion; The Elder Brother of that Marquis, being or|der'd to the Bastile, by reason of a Blow he gave to the Bishop of Londeve, in Languedock, was

in a quanda••y whether he should obey the Or|der, or not, because he was not styl'd Cousin in the Seal'd Letter that was sent him. However, Count Olonne, who was worth almost forty Thousand Livers a Year, having no Children, resolv'd to marry Chevalier Rohan, his Brother, in hopes that the Off-spring would not resemble the Father. There being few Ladies of Quality, tho' never so Ordinary and Poor, that would accept of him for a Husband; He fix'd upon one of his own Cousins that had nothing, namely, Mademoiselle Noirmoutier, Sister to the Dutches|ses of Brachiane, and Lanti: She was likewise of the Tremouille Family, and the Daughter of the Duke of Noirmoutier, who had so great a hand in the first Paris War. As soon as he open'd the matter to her, she trembled from top to toe, as being acquainted with the Character of her design'd Husband; but his promise of settling his whole Estate upon his Brother, in case the marriage went on, and a great many other things that he represented to her as matter of Comfort, did so tame her, that she presently comply'd. And thus she married the Man in the World, that deserv'd least to be Lov'd; and upon other scores, had so little knowledge of his own Character, that some time after, when some Citizens came to Game at her House, ••••e of 'em, not knowing the Chevalier, and see|ing him offer her a Seat, bid him give her an|other, because that one did not please her Mademoiselle Noirmoutier, who then enjoy'd the Title of Marchioness of Rohan, was oblig'd to put up a great many other Affronts. But, Gaming, which she lov'd to the last degree, made amends for every thing; and the Profit she drew from it, compensated the avarice of Count Olonne, who having made her Husband

his Heir, was so sharp set, that he would give him nothing while he Liv'd. Mr. Harlei, Son-in-Law to the present Chancellor, lov'd Gaming as passionately as she, and us'd to game in her House, where he made such a Voyage, that a few such more would have ruin'd him. She, and Madam Theron, won twenty Thousand Crowns of him, at one bout; and upon such losses, it being natural to offer some Plea or o|ther for not paying, he did not do as Mr. Ver|thamont did; for instead of paying the Money without any words, in order to stifle the scan|dal, he gave it out, that he was Cheated. The Chancellor displeas'd with his Conduct, told him, 'Twas a sorry Excuse, and that when the King had catch'd a Man cheating him, he ex|pell'd him the Court; which was a Lesson for others, that it behov'd him to follow. In fine, he gave him twenty Thousand Crowns to be deliver'd to those that won that summ of him. The Marchioness of Rohan, had several such little Jobbs, which help'd her out while she wait|ed for Count Olonne's Death: At last he Died, as well as her Husband, who left her only one Daughter. Upon this, she resolv'd to breed up her Daughter as a great Heiress, and to enjoy her self. But, as the saying is, Man proposes, and God disposes. Her self was snatch'd away soon after 'em. She was seiz'd with a violent Pain in a very sensible Part; and to appease the unsufferable Pain, and procure her some Rest, she took a Dose of Opium that was somewhat stronger than ordinary, immediately after the taking of it, she slept effectualy, but so as never to awake; for next Day she was found Dead in her Bed. 'Twas her Daughter that the Duke of Chatillon Married: And tho' she was the Daughter of a Father and Mother that

were not very well spoken of, and withal, not so agreeable as her Sister-in-Law, yet she found out the secret of living more happily with her Husband, than the Dutchess of Luxemburg did with hers: For that Duke continued still to visit Madam Bellefonds, which inrag'd his Mo|ther-in-Law so much, that if she had had her Will, she had taken her Daughter from him: But, as there are some Rules in the way of Ju|stice, that one is oblig'd to follow in spite of all that may happen; so it behov'd both she, and her Daughter to be patient.

At the same time, the King gave a Pension of six thousand Live••s to Madam de Cav••is; and when he bestow'd the Gift, gave her to know, that he was angry with himself for being so late in gr••ti••ying her; and that she should lose ••••thing by staying so long, for that the Pre|••••••t he then made her, was but a Pattern of what he design'd to do for the future, both for h••••, and h••r Husband. Mr. de Cavoy was grand Marshal of the apartments of the King's House, a place that entitled his Predeces••ors to the or|der of the Holy Ghost. But at the last in|stallment, he had not that Dignity Conferr'd upon him; tho' many others, that had not so much reason to expect it as he, were then invest|ed with it. The reason was said to be this. He appear'd to be too much interess'd in some things, for which he employ'd the Marquis of S••ign••|l••y's I••terest, being in very good terms with that Minister. For the purpose; the Scene was l••id between him and a Merchant, to whom he promis'd, upon a consideration of Ten Thousand Crow••s, to release a Vessel of his that had been s••iz'd as a true Prize. And in effect, he pro|••••r'd the Restitution from that Minister, upon whom it depended. But as every Man has E|n••mies;

so those that had an interest in the Confiscation of the Ship, took occasion to ac|quaint the King, that Mr. Cavoy, in considera|tion of a private Interest, had caus'd a seizure to be restor'd without a valuable Ransome. Up on this, His Majesty revers'd the Decree that the Counsel had given on the Merchant's behalf: So that his Ship and Cargo was confiscated a|new, and sold for the King's Benefit. This done, Mr. de Cavois was obliged to return the ten Thousand Crowns he had already fingered: And forasmuch as he did not repay it, till he was pressed and urged to it, It came to the King's Ears, for there are always People about Court, that are never a sleep when they have an opportunity of injuring their Neighbour. Be|sides, a chief reason why they would not for|give Cavo••s, was, That there was a misunder|standing between the Marquis de Louv••is, and the Marquis de S••ign••l••••; and the Creatures of the one, hunted only for opportunities of ruin|ing the Creatures of the other, presuming that ••••ch a Sacrifice would be very agreeable to their ••••tron. In fine, the Death of the Marquis de S••ign••l••y, had, in a manner, Buried Mr. de Ca|••••••s, in his Master's Disgrace, when the King ••eviv'd him by this his bounteous present. He had bought a House at Lo••vettienne, a small Village about a Muske•• shot from Marli. At this place, his Wi••e, a Native of Bri••tany, kept a Dairy, and having made some Butter after the fashion of her own Country, made a Present of it to the King, as an acknowledgement of his late Bounty. His Majesty lik'd the Butter a|bove all things in the World, insomuch, that he desired her to send him some, not only to Marli, but to Versailles, when he return'd thither.

In the mean time, the Marquis of Cascaye, Am|bassador from Portugal, entertain'd the Publick with a very diverting Scene. He was a very Rich Man, and brought as much Silver Plate to Paris, as might have served for twenty Am|bassador's Tables. He was a passionate lover of Gaming, especially at Lansquenet, which was always in vogue, notwithstanding the efforts of a n••w Lieutenant of the Police, to suppress it, who, for that end, went about to several Houses of the City where the Gamesters Assembled. Ma|dam le Camus Destouches, having a House in the Arsenal, and being fearless of that Officer's Visits, kept two days in the week for that Game. The Ambassador went thither, and having lost all his Money, began to play upon tick. An Adventurer that play'd at the same place, and lost his Money as well as the Marquis, being out of Humour, happened to say, 'Twas a strange thing to see Men loose their money every day, and yet play upon Credit. The Gentleman spoke it with reference to some others that distinguished themselves that way, as well as the Ambassador. But the Ambassador applying it to himself, testified his Displeasure by giving him two Blows upon the spot, with all his force: And to entertain him yet better, order|ed his Gentleman of the Horse, who always followed him, to give him some Blows with the flat side of his Sword. The Gentleman of the Horse put his Master's Commands in Execution, before the other could put himself in a posture of Defence; so that he was treated at a very handsome rate. Madam de Frenoi being present said; She wonder'd that a Man, especially one of his Character, would give such usage before Ladies, there being several in the Company be sides her self. This she spoke in a finical way

affecting the air of Quality, and that in such words as might make her pass for such. But the Dutchess de la Ferte, having a design upon her, either because de Frenoi was handsomer than she, or because she was one of the losers; reply'd, That it did not become a little Cit, like her, to censure the Actions of a Person of the Marquis of Cascay's Quality. The Scene being thus changed, they were so intent upon the new Dispute about Decorum, that they forgot what had passed; only the poor Man that was banged, kept a heavy clutter, Swearing and blustring, that he would Die by it, or have sa|tisfaction for the Affront he had received: But whatever was in it, 'tis now almost a Year since the thing happen'd, and I do not find that he has done any thing suitable to his words. As for Madam de Frenoi, she was as good a Ton|gue-pad as the Dutchess, and managed her Point to the advantage. Some days after the Ambassador came again to the Royal Palace, to play at the House of a Lady of another sort of Quality than Madam Destouches. The Dutch|ess of Ferte happening to be there, and retain|ing a resentment of the disagreeable words that Madam du Frenoi had uttered upon the account of his Conduct, asked him, if he ordered his Gentleman of the Horse always to follow him; for he was with him then, and, indeed, at all times followed him as close as a shadow does the Body. The Ambassador was about to give her some answer or other; but she interrupted him by setting forth, that there was no body in the Company to beat, so that the Champion would loose his time in staying there: That it was a thing unheard of among Ladies of Qua|lity, such being in that Company, to converse with a Man that at the last meeting, had treated

their Sex without Respect or Honour; and, that if such things took in Portugal, it was not so in France, where the Ladies knew bet|ter things. This last Article the Ambassador would not grant to her. He had taken too much pains to learn of the Court and City La|dies how to play at Cards, to quit the Profes|sion so easily. But, as to the first Article, He made Answer, That since she desired his Gen|tleman of the Horse should be sent away, it should be done. The new Quarrel being thus put up, they went to Gaming: In the mean time, the poor Fellow that was Drubb'd, run up and down Versailles and Paris, in quest of reparation for the A••tront: But his Interest be|ing insignificant in either, He lost his Labour, and put up the Blows He had received.

The Marquis of Ceaquin continued still to slight his ••ady; and Her Relations, under|standing that He went often to the Opera, and had a••d 〈…〉〈…〉 a she Creature retaining to it, ob|•••••••• 〈…〉〈…〉 His Majesty an Order, Prohibiting all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Quality, or any others to stand upon 〈◊〉〈◊〉: For 'twas there that several In|〈◊〉〈◊〉 were first set on Foot, which were af|terwards improved behind the Scenes, and at last finished elsewhere. This unsow'd a great many little Sparks that went thither only to belch out a thousand smutty and rank Stories among these Women, who did not so much as wrap up the foulest Bawdry in clean Linnen: For they were all so very Lewd, that they did not blush to speak themselves such things, the very hearing of which would, at other times, have covered them with Confusion and Dis|order.

The Chevalier de la Hilliere, Governor of Ro|••ro•• Died about this time. He had formerly been a Lieutenant in the Life-Guard. He did not much distinguish himself in his Life-time; and I remem|ber to have read some where or other, That as he walked one day before the King, the point of his Sword having pierc'd through the Scabbard, gave His Majesty a prick in the Leg; upon which the King told him, He believ'd his Sword never hurt any body before. I shall not confirm this piece of detraction, of which His Majesty is less capable than another; for whatever occasion Men of Quality may have given him to com|plain, he never spoke to any of them in disoblig|ing Terms. But 'tis certain, that tho' this Knight was not much talk'd of in his Life-time, yet it was otherwise after his Death. He made a Will that many wonder'd at; which was much of the same Nature with that made by the Farmer of the Revenues mentioned in the First Part of this Work: Nay, it was rather more valid; for instead of choosing soft smooth Words, to signify that he had cheated the King, he downright own|ed himself guilty of Robbery. He set forth, in plain terms, that he had Robb'd the King of twen|ty Thousand Livers, while he was Governor of the Place above-mention'd; and order'd his Heirs to make Restitution of the same, before they ap|propriated to themselves one Farthing of his E|state. A great many put in for his Government; for there were People enough about Court ready to take the alarm upon any vacancy, who wanted some Subsistence of the King, because they had spent most of what they had in his Service. But Mr. Bartillac, Lieurenant General of His Ma|jesty's Forces, had the best luck. He had serv'd a long time without getting any thing; and the King having gratified all the old Officers, would

not let him be the only One that could say, He was forgot▪

In the mean time, Marshal Boufflers represent|ed to His Majesty, That he was dissatisfied with one of his Lieutenant Generals, not that he was a Coward, and unworthy of his Post, but because he was so Sawcy, that he had all the trouble in the World to make him receive his Orders. The King reply'd, that he ought to discard him, and that would quickly make him easy. This Mar|shal, who is a younger Brother of the House of Pic|cardy, serv'd first in the Guards in the quality of Aid-Major: After that, his Eldest Brother Marrying Madam Guenegaut, the Daughter of Mr. du Ples|sis Guenegaut, Secretary of State, pay'd him down his Portion. Then he bought the Royal Regi|ment of Dragoons, and began to distinguish him|self at the head of it in the Battle of St. Fran|cis. Upon this, Mr. de Turenne, who study'd to serve all the World, spoke so much of him to the King, that His Majesty had a deep impression of his Character. After that; he serv'd, as the rest did, till Turenne, his good Friend, Died. Mar|shal Crequi, who succeeded Turenne, in the qua|lity of a General, could not endure Boufflers at first, and charg'd him with intermeddling Offici|ously where he was not desir'd, and very often without knowing well what he said. He drew this check upon himself, by boasting of some in|telligence he had receiv'd of the Enemy: For the Marshal being a proud Man, did not like such doings, alledging, That they insinuated an accusa|tion against him, as if he had not taken all the ne|cessary Measures for having as good intelligence as he. Whatever was in it, Mr. Boufflers, by his Pa|tience, conquer'd the General's Aversion, and they became such good Friends, that General Crequi was the first that confirm'd to His Majesty the Character that Turenne had given him of Boufflers.

And that Marshal having, in the latter part of his Life, retriev'd the eclipse he met with, at Con|sardick Bridge; his Confirmation did Boufflers no harm; for the King befriended Mr. Boufflers, and having made him a Lieutenant General 〈…〉〈…〉 after the Peace of Nimeguen, rais'd him a••••••••|wards to a higher Post. He was already Coll•••••••• General of the Dragoons; and the late Duke of Le|sdiguieres, lent him Money to buy that Post, per|haps, more to disoblige the Marquis of Louvois, than to oblige Mr. Boufflers; for that Minister de|sign'd the Post for the Chevalier Tilladet, his Cousin German, tho' all the Army said, he was less worthy of it than the other. Considering his Interest at Court, and Mr. Boufflers his incapa|city to purchase it, he thought he could not miss the procuring of it to Tilladet, especially since Tilladet had the most considerable Post next to Boufflers, in the Regiment. His design in procur|ing it to Tilladet, was to transfer it afterwards to one of his own Sons; for which reason he was not pleas'd with the Duke of Lesdiguieres, for lending the Money: And Mr. Boufflers was, for sometime, doubtful, whether the Marquis was his Friend, or his Enemy. But at last, that Minister find|ing that Mr. Boufflers had the King's Ear, and that His Majesty look'd upon him as another Turenne, not with reference to his capacity which was, far short of that General's; but by reason of his be|ing dis-interess'd like him, and his inviolable re|spect for his Person; That Minister, I say, upon these considerations drop'd the spite he had against him, and accordingly did not oppose His Majesty's Bounty to him. He was made Governor of Lux|embourg, after the King took it; and Marshal Crequi Dying some time after, His Majesty be|stow'd upon him the Government of Lorrain, which was vacant by the Marshal's Death. After that, the War broke out, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he gave him the

Command of an Army; tho' he was then but a Lievtenant General; and order'd Rubantel, a Liev|tenant General, and Lieutenant Collonel of the Regiment of Guards, to receive Orders from him. This disoblig'd Rubantel the more, that he had ••een Eldest Captain in the Regiment, when the other was but A••d-Ma••••r; having succeeded to his Bro|ther's Company, who was kill'd in the Siege of V••len••••••nnes. He would have shewn his Resent|ment before the Judges; but his Interest was not great there, because he had refus'd to marry Ma|dam S. P••••anges, who was since married to one Verne••••l, Judge of the Court of Requests: So that they were not troubled at this his Mor|tifi••ation.

He serv'd under this New General with a great deal of discontent; but he quickly met with a great|er Aff••ont; for Mr. Boufflers his Interest at Court gr••w so much, that he had not only a blew Rib|band, but was made a Marshal of France, Gover|nor of the French Flanders, and Collonel of the Regiment of Guards. This last piece of Honour conferr'd upon him; disoblig'd Rubantel more than any thing else; for being Lieutenant Collonel of that Regiment, he was oblig'd to obey his Orders every Day, whether in Camp, or at Court. Some time after, the King designing a review of that Regiment, Boufflers made his review first, in order to remedy all Deficiencies before the King saw them. During this review, Mr. Rubantel sate upon Thorns; and as soon as Mr. Boufflers gave orders, that the Regiment should file off before him, mounted his Coach, and came to Paris, to avo••d the necessity of saluting him with Pike in hand. The Marshal complain'd of this to the King: And this was the Person that Boufflers pointed to, when he told the King (as we intimat|ed above) that he was dissatisfied with one of his Lieutenant Generals. His Majesty finding it his

Interest to prevent such an occasion of scandal in his Army, in which the measures of Subordinati|on must always be maintain'd, order'd Rubantel to be reprimanded by the Marquis de Barbesieux, the Son of the Marquis de Louvois, who had Died suddenly, and whose place of Secretary of State he had succeeded to. This did not make Rubantel the wiser; for upon several other occa|sions, he display'd an impatience in being subject to the Marshal; upon which the King was so An|gry, that he resolv'd to take his Commission from him. His Majesty discover'd part of his mind to the Duke of Rochefoucaut, who told him, that tho' Rubantel was in the wrong, yet, if his Ma|jesty would be pleas'd to consider the Case, he would find that his Crime, as great as it was, did not deserve so severe a Punishment; that he had been Captain of the Guards Forty Years; and tho' he was bound to give a blind Obedience to whatever Superiour his Majesty plac'd over him, yet considering 'twas natural for a Man not to love to see himself commanded by another that had been long his Inferior, 'twas very possible for him to depart from his Duty. These words soften'd the King's Humour; but his Majesty being oblig'd to put another in his place, by reason of the ill con|sequences that might ensue upon the failure of an exact Discipline in his Regiments, commanded the Marquis of Barbesieux, to order Rubantel to resign his Post in Favour of Count Avejeant, an old Captain of the Guards, and Marshal de Camp. This Count was the Son-in-Law of the late Mr. Valot, the King's first Physician; and was at first look'd upon by his Wife's Family, as a person un|worthy of their Alliance; for she had a great E|state, and he had scarce any: But the King had a kindness for him, because he was bred up his Page, and chang'd his Religion betimes; and in the progress of time, he, whom they look'd upon

as the most scandalous Member of their Family, such as it was, became, not only the Ornament, but the support of the same. The like happen'd before to the Family of Bourdeaux, which made almost as sorry a Figure as Vallot's. The Eldest Daughter of the Intendant of the Finances, a Widdow of a Member of Parliament, being Court|ted by Mr. Sanguin, the Father of the Marquis of Livri, first Steward to the King, inveigh'd so bitterly against him, that she was heard say, He was unworthy of being receiv'd into her Fa|mily. But, after all, she was so wise and hap|py as to Court him, when she saw him in Fa|vour: And if she had not engag'd him in her Interest, she had been at a loss upon several oc|casions.

To return from this Digression: The Marquis de Barbesieux, having deliver'd the King's Com|mands, told Rubantel at the same time, That his Carriage to Marshal Boufflers had so displeas'd the King, that he would never have done any thing for him, if the Marshal had not interceded on his behalf; that upon his Intercession, his Majesty be|stowed upon him the Government of Baratu-Fort, with a Pension of four Thousand Livers; and that he behov'd to return thanks to the Marshal upon that score. Rubantel, considering that a great many of his juniors had some of them Govern|ments long before, and others more considerable Posts, was so incens'd upon the Compliment, that he immediately return'd the Marquis this An|swer, That he would rather choose to receive no Fa|••ours, than to purchase them at that rate; and that so long as he had the honour to serve his Majesty, he thought he had done his Duty, in such a manner, as to deserve some grants, without needing the recom|mendation of any one. This said, he went away without staying for any reply; and the Marquis Barbesieux having given the King an account of

his Answer; His Majesty said aloud, before all the Court, That he was not much surpriz'd with his procedure, because he had known him long before to be a Man of that Kidney. He spoke likewise some other words, which gave Rubantel's Friends a jealousie, that he might come to be commit|ted. Thereupon the Duke of Rochefoucaut, being touch'd with Pitty towards this unfortunate Man, whose long Service seem'd to deserve a better Fate: This Duke, I say, presum'd to offer to His Majesty all that he thought was capable to ap|pease his Wrath. His Majesty reply'd, That he would consider all his Remonstrances; but that he had suffer'd so many things from him already, that he wonder'd himself was so late in doing what he had then done; that this was not the first time he had given him occasion to be Angry with him, and that he had met with other instances of his inso|lence, when he did not seem to take notice of it. These words displaying still a resentment, the consequences of which were to be fear'd: The Duke of Rochefoucaut took the Liberty to make Answer. That, tho' His Majesty had bore something of ill humour in that Man, yet he would be pleas'd to consider, that he had stood the brunt of many a Musker-Shot in his Service; and for the space of forty Years, the Regiment of Guards was never imploy'd in any Siege, but he appear'd and ha••ard|ed himself as well as any of the Regiment; That himself had seen him Charge again five or six times, when a great many Men were Kill'd; That he had given equal proof of his Valour, in I do not know how many Battels; and had spent so much of his Blood, that the honourable marks he bore in his Body, deserv'd at His Maiesty's Hands a pardon for some escapes of his Tongue.

This Discourse had the desired effect: The King's Anger relented; but things being then at another pass, than in the Reign of Cardinal Ma|zarin,

in which Favours were obtain'd by com|plaining, or pretending to be formidable, for by such means, two, or three Persons got Marshals Staffs, and others were preser'd to Posts of Ho|nour: This time (I say) being of a different stamp from that, insomuch, that the greatest Complai|sance and Submission, were necessary means for having Success; the King did not renew the of|fer either of Baratu-Fort, or the Pension. On the contrary, he bestowed that Governor's place upon Mr. Bac••evilliers, who had been long forgot, and whatever merit he might have, was like to have continued so all his Life, if he had not luckily been the Marquis of Montchevreuil's Sister's Son. With|out this Circumstance, His Ma••esty had never heard of him; for he had the misfortune to serve in the former War, either in Catalonia, or Messina: And 'tis a great misfortune for an Officer of any Ambition, to be so far out of his Master's sight. He continued a great while Lieutenant Collo|nel of Horse. But, at last, his Uncle being load|ed every day with Royal Favours, and ••apprehend|ing, that it would be an unhandsome thing not to make his Nephew share in his good Fortune, in|treated Madam Maintenon to represent his Servi|ces to the King. That Lady perform'd his re|quest very willingly; and the King told her frank|ly, That if she had not spoken to him, he might have continued a long time without knowing that Officer, that being the first time that ever he heard of his Name. Thereupon His Majesty made him a Brigadier, without staying till he had a Regiment for him. However the first vacancy was his; and that he was scarce possess'd of, when he was made a Marshal de Camp, and soon after, a Lieutenant General; so that no Man was ever observ'd to rise so fast. At last, His Majesty Crown'd all his Fa|vours with a Present of the above mentioned Go|vernment, and took his Younger Brother into his

Houshould, where he is, at present, an Ensign of the Life-Guards.

Another Officer in the Army was yet more un|fortunate than Rubantel; for after being imprison|ed in the Bastile, and losing his Regiment which was worth better than ten thousand Crowns a Year, he had never obtain'd his liberty if the Peace had not been made: This was a Son of the Duke of Tirconnel's, by a Lady that he had promis'd marriage to, tho he never perform'd his Promise. His Name was Talbot, which was like|wise the Duke's Name, and is a Name very famous both in England, and in France, from whence that House deriv'd its Original. He was a Brigadeer in the Army in Italy, and had a Regiment there. He came from that Country to Court, about two or three Years ago, at the time when King James pretended to Sail for England, upon which King James bid Talbot follow him; but Talbot made Answer, That tho' he had an Irish Regiment, yet being in the Service and Pay of his most Christian Majesty, he could not dispose of his Person without His Majesty's leave; and that if he would be so kind as to speak of it to the King, he would be glad to obey his Commands. I know not whether Talbot spoke these words with such an Air as sig|nifyed his unwillingness to go; or whether that Prince took it ill, that one of his Subjects should say, He could not obey him without his most Christi|an Majesty's leave. But, in fine, Kine James disco|ver'd by his Countenance, that he had forgot, that Talbot was the Son of a Man that had done him great Service; and to this Day, is, by all that know him, esteem'd the most faithful and affecti|onate to his Prince, of any that we have seen for a long time. Talbot perceiv'd this as well as the rest: But whether it was that he did not trouble himself about it, or that Wine which he lov'd too well, had sunk his Judgment; He told that

very Day to the Marquis de Larré, at a Drinking|match, what had pass'd between King James and him, adding withall, very imprudently, whether through the influence of Wine, or real Thought, That he could not imagine what that Prince mean'd to do in England; and that he was respected or be|lov'd by very few; every body almost being perswad|ed that he was a thousand times fitter for a Con|vent, than for the Throne. Next Day, the Mar|quis de Larré visited the Marquis de Barbesieux, with whom he was in Favour, and gave him an account of what pass'd between him and Talbot, thinking, perhaps, rather to do him Service, than to injure him. For the purpose, he might have in his view to inform that Minister of his inviol|able Affection to the King's Service, upon the comparison with K. James's. But the Marquis of Barbesieux having told the Story to a Lady that he Courted, and she having told it to the Queen of England; This Princess sollicited the King to cause Talbot to be taken up. Accordingly he was taken up at Versailles, and carried to the Bastile, believing that a Prince of K. James's Devotion, would confine his resentment to a few days Im|prisonment. But as devout People are seldom guilty of granting Pardons, or at least, have no great Name for it; so he was quickly made to understand, that K. James had a mind to have him broke. The Dutchess of Tirconnel, being a Lady of Honour to the Queen of England, us'd her endeavours to prevènt the Blow, that was about to reduce that poor Gentleman to the State he was in when he came from his Mother's Belly. For tho' he had serv'd a long time, and had great Incomes, yet he had been so careless a Husband, that he could scarce raise two thousand Crown•• upon all he had. Marshal de Noailles, who was his Friend, and under whom he had serv'd in Ca|talonia, sollicited the King to avert the misfortune:

But His Majesty reply'd, That it did not lie at his door; and that if the King and Queen of England did not desire him to be broke, he was satisfied. But, at the same time, he justly blam'd him for drawing that Disgrace upon himself; and the Marshal could not excuse it otherwise than upon the score of Wine, which often sinks the Reason of the most sensible Men. Mr. de Vendôme inter|ceeded likewise on his behalf: But 'twas all in vain: For K. James, and his Queen, made not only his Regiment, but a Pension, that he had, to be taken from him. And thus he had the morti|fication of seeing himself unplum'd by one stroak of his Tongue of all the Fruit of his Services. And which is yet worse, tho', at present, he is at liberty, I do not know that he has yet obtain'd any thing, tho' I see him every day going from Paris to Versailles, and from Versailles to St. Germains. He has been a long time, without obtaining leave of K. James, and his Queen, to come and beg their pardon; their Majesties thinking it proper to shew that their Resentment continues still.

Among all this matter of Affliction, especially to Talbot and Rubantel, as well as their Friends, there happened a new Scene at Paris, that may be entertaining to the Publick: The Wife of one that belonged to the Pay-Office, a very Coquette Lady in her way, had one day a mind to ride in her Coach. Her Coach-man having combin'd with some of her Servants to play her a trick, got upon his Coach-box, without dressing his Horses, or cleaning the Coach. The Lady ask'd him what he mean'd by serving a Person of her Quality in that fashion. Her Quality, after all, was not very great; but since Madam du Fresnoi, the Wife of a common Citizen's Son, when speaking of her self, took upon her to say, A Woman of my Qua|lity; by the same reason, this good Woman might call herself a Lady of Quality; for both her own,

and her Husband's Father, were something more than the others. However, the Coach-man gave her no Answer, knowing that nothing provokes a Woman more than not answering her, whether she be in the right, or the wrong. She redoubled her repri|mands to make him speak; and finding that he was still mute, attack'd him with threats and hard words: At last the Coach-man, very unconcernedly, answered her, That she made a great deal of noise for a small matter; and if she would take his ad|vice, she should give over bawling, and make no more words of it. The Lady inrag'd with such an insolent Answer, redoubled her threats and abusive Language: But the Coach-man having kept the best to the last, told her, That he wondered that such a one as she should be so ill to please, and that she was too well served for a W—At that word she was out of all Patience, and called up her Foot-men, who had sheer'd off on purpose to have the more Diversion by the Comedy. They ran up to her all in a heat to know her Pleasure. She ask'd them to act for her in being reveng'd upon that insolent Fellow. The Foot-men pretending to know nothing of the matter; she gave them to know, that he had the impudence to call her W—and that the least they could do was to break his Arms, or Legs: But she was mightily surpriz'd, when, instead of being provok'd, as she expected, they looked down. Then she ask'd them what they mean'd by it? and forc'd them to speak as if it had been against their Wills. Their Answer, which was much more provaking than any thing she had yet heard, was, That if she wanted only to have her Coach-man beaten, she might go see for other Executioners; that they would not beat or thrash any body without a just Cause; and that they did not take speaking of the Truth to be such. She reply'd, That it seemed they took her to be a W—as well as the Coach-man did. And they An|swer'd,

very freely, That they knew her to be such, and were ready to witness it when she pleas'd. This rais'd her Passion to that degree, that she called upon the rest of her Servants to give her the suc|cour that her Foot-men had refused. The first that appear'd was Mistress Cook, who ask'd her what put her in such a Passion; the Lady had no sooner told her the matter, but she made answer, That the Coach-man and Foot-men were not much to blame; and that they charg'd her with nothing that was not true. Then came in the Chamber-maid, who, not being in the Conspiracy with the rest, said, That 'twas not worth her while to make so many words, and that she would go and call a Commissary to put them all in Prison: But that word cost her very dear; for as soon as they saw her making ready to go out, they fell upon her, and beat her one after another. The Lady fled to her Chamber for fear they should give her as much: And, at last, the Chamber-maid got clear, and fled likewise to her Chamber. Both of them bolted their doors, and continued there waiting for the Master of the House, in order to complain of the usage they had received. The Coach-man perceiving that his Mistress was mew'd up, took the Horses from the Coach, and curry'd them: And, in a word, did all that was to be done, in order to make it appear upon his Master's return, that his Mistress was in the wrong. But both he, and his accom|plices, had us'd another precaution, that was yet better. They had complain'd four days a-go to the Commissary of the Ward, that she would not pay them their Wages; and having, at the same time, given a Summons in order to have her cast in Court, they only stay'd in the House till the Husband came; and before his Wife could speak with him, gave him to know, that they would stay no longer with her, because they could not get a Far|thing out of her hands. The Husband would have

kept them, but they did not care to stay. After they were all gone, he was surpriz'd with an ac|count of the tricks they had plaid with his Wife. Had he been wise, he would have advis'd her not to speak of the matter to any body, and would have taken the same advice to himself: But as every Man is not as wise as his Affairs require, so he was the fool to go himself and complain of his Servants; and thus was the first that divulg|ed what he ought to have conceal'd: But the Com|plaint given in by the Servants four days before, made People believe, that whatever he said, was by way of Recrimination. Upon which, his Friends advis'd him to drop the thing, and make no more noise of it. They had much ado to perswade him; for his Wife threw in all the fire she could to disswade him: But at last, his own Reason con|vinced him, that that was his only way, unless he had a mind to make himself to be pointed at as he walked along the Streets.

As this Lady was branded for a Coquette by her Servants; so I present you with a story of an|other, that, indeed, had not that misfortune, but was no less such in her Husband's Opinion. Mr. Tourville, before he was made a Marshal of France, married the Daughter of a Farmer Ge|neral; who was the Widdow of the Marquis of Poplinicre, the Nephew of the late Madam Col|bert. 'Twas a lucky hit for the Marshal to mar|ry that Lady, especially at the time when it hap|pened; for he was only a younger Brother in Normandy, and that of a Family that was in no great Circumstances: But Fortune stood by him, when every body thought he was lost. We must know, that after the Marquis of Seignelay, his Pro|tector, was Dead, he was writ to from Court, that then was the time, or never, to shew his mettle; for he had never given proof of it all the time that he was employ'd as a Marine.

This Reproach serv'd for a Spur that twitch|ed him to the Quick, insomuch, that when he re|ceiv'd Orders to Fight the Enemies Fleet at any rate, he did his Duty; and tho' he was unfortu|nate in the way of Success; yet he was there|upon prefer'd to that degree, that if he had still been unmarried, he could, perhaps, have desired no more of that Woman. But, whether it was that he began to slight her, or that, he thought, he might keep Company with Misses, without giv|ing her any dissatisfaction; He had a sweet Eye upon one of his Neighbours, that she was as jealous of, as of another. She told him her Sentiments of the thing; and not only took the pains to undeceive him, but made a noise that was very troublesome to the Lady, that she deem'd her for her Rival. I cannot be positive upon the truth of the matter; but 'tis said, that this jealous Lady acquainted the Womans Husband with the Marshal's intimacy with her. 'Tis likewise Re|ported, that the Husband surprized them in a posture that did not allow him to doubt of the information he had received. Whatever was in it, the Woman was put into a Convent; and the Marshal, either out of the chagrin occasion'd by her confinement, or through the discontent his La|dy had given him upon other occasions, sent her out of Paris to one of his own Territories. His Plea was, that she would not do something that he•• desired of her; and the pretence was the more specious, that it related to his Interest. But the Lady bore her Banishment from Town the more impatiently, that she was eternally galled with jealousie, and return'd to Paris without giving him notice. She Lodged in his Apartment, de|signing to lie so close, that he should know nothing of the matter, till her own Friends, and her first Husband's Relations should have acquainted the King with the injustice done her. The Marshal's

Servants seeing her come into his House, gave notice of it to their Master, who, without asking her the reason why she returned without his order, complained of it to the King. At the same time, he desired His Majesty to grant him a Warrant to put her into some Convent, pretending, by that means, to enjoy all her Estate: But His Majesty being informed of several things, would not be so hasty, and desired, in the first place, to know the occasion of their Divorce. The Mareshal in|deavour'd, by all means, to cover and perplex the Story, and turned it upon the score of Interest; but the King made Answer, That Commissioners ought to be appointed to inspect which of them was in the wrong. This was all that his Lady desir|ed; and thus she continued at Paris in spight of him, and made it her business to thwart all his Intrigues.

In the mean time, his Misses Sister came to be married; and that being a favourable opportunity of reconciling her to her Husband, the poor re|cluse's Friends invited her to be present at the marriage. He was a little restive upon the point: However, being uneasy in Living alone, and want|ing only to be urged to it, he pretended, that in marrying her, he had not received the same ad|vantages as they gave to his Sister-in-Law. If they pleas'd, they might have given him the same answer as the Marshal Feuillade gave one day to the Brother of Mr. Courchamp, Master of Requests, who is, at present, Master of the King's Houshold, and Collonel of a Regiment of Foot. He had a mind to be an Ensign in the Guards, and that Mar|shal offering to sell him a Commission at double the worth, he represented to him, that it was not worth so much; upon which the Marshal re|plied, That he owned it was true; but, withall, that he ought to know, that that sort of Posts were sold according to the merit of those that pre|tended

to buy 'em; That there was one price for a Man of Quality, and another for such as he, and in effect, That neither his Physiognomy, nor his Air, would bring any honour to the Re|giment. I do not insist upon the Consideration of his Birth; for that Regiment has been fill'd, I do not know how long, with Men of the same Degree; and I think the Marshal had no reason to inflame the price of the Commission, because he was only a Tradesman's Son. But let that be as it will (as I said before) the Recluse's Rela|tion might have alledg'd the same Reasons to her Husband: Nay, they had a better Title so to do; for 'tis natural to give with a Girl in Marriage, in proportion to the Circumstances of him that Marries her. In fine, he stood out boldly, not|withstanding that he had a mind to take his Wife home again. He was not present at the Mar|riage, which was accompanied with a sad Scene; for the Bride's Mother, that was well but four Days before, Died the same day, that the Nup|tial Benediction was pronounced. The Bride|groom, who did not marry any great Beauty, was not much troubled at that Circumstance, because he had no great prospect of Pleasure in her Com|pany. His Bride's Face promising but little satis|faction, he willingly abstain'd from the Duties of a Husband, upon the plea of the loss of her Mother. But he could not handsomely put it off longer than the second Night, at which time he was oblig'd to break the Ice: And this comforted the new married Lady, upon the loss of the first Night, especially considering, that she fear'd her Deformity would have eternis'd her Affliction.

Another Lady was Married at the same time, that would have taken it very ill, if her Husband had thus amus'd himself with crying and lamentation on the Wedding-Night. 'Twas Madam Girardin,

the Widow of Mr. Girardin, who was first a Lieu|tenant of a Province, and after that, was sent Am|bassador to Constantinople. He had play'd his Game to good purpose; for upon the Division of his Estate, his Widow had above a hundred thou|sand Crowns for her share, besides a great quan|tity of Moveables, that was worth half as much. She had likewise a good Marriage of it, upon other scores, which made her bear a good Figure, inso|much, that many Persons about Court had her in their Eye: But she lik'd the Marquis of Canillac better than any other of her Suitors, tho' he had nothing but his Sword to trust to. This Lady had two Brethren, one of them President to the Parliament, and the other Master of Requests, and Intendant of a Province. Fearing they would oppose her Marriage, if she discovered her Design, she resolv'd to be Married without giving them any notice. For they were both Lawyers, and forasmuch as that sort of Men are very sharp Sighted where they have any Interest, she would not be oblig'd either to have recourse to the King to stifle their Opposition, or to secure herself at Law. Thus was the matter concluded without their knowledge; and it happened, that on the Wedding-Day, the Intendant having arriv'd at Pa|ris but twenty four Hours before, sent her word by his Foot-man, That he would come and Dine with her. The Foot-man coming to the Gate, was surpriz'd to find a Porter and Foot-men, with Live|ries different from his; and being introduc'd by one of these Foot-men into my Ladies Chamber, he found her a Bed with a Man: However, not knowing what the matter mean'd, and not daring to ask any of her Servants, he only deliver'd his Master's Compliment. The Lady made answer, That truly she had other things to mind, than the giving his Master a Dinner; and that she doubted if she could be stirring, when he should come to

Dinner. With the same Breath, she bid him give her Brother to know, that she only put off the Com|plment to another time; and that then she would acquaint him with the Reason, why she would not give him a meeting that day. The Air with which she spoke these words, gave the Foot-man to un|derstand, that she lik'd the Trade she had lately taken up. When he return'd, and gave his Master an account of all he saw or heard, the Intendant went immediately to impart the good News to the President. The President having known by Experience, what small stress ought to be laid on a Woman's Prudence, took the matter at first to be Criminal. He thought his Sister had en|tertain'd a Gallant, and told his Brother, that he would ruine h••r, and that they should think of expedients to prevent it. The Intendant having a better Opinion of the Women, than his Brother, reply'd, That he was too forward, and that they ought not to Condemn their Sister upon such slight grounds; and that he believ'd she was Mar|ried, because his Foot-man said, her Servants had changed their Livery. The President, who upon the hopes of having a share in her Succession, had shewn his Displeasure upon the apprehension of her entertaining a Gallant; was yet more disgust|ed when he heard of a Husband: And forasmuch as all his remaining Comfort consisted in disanul|ling the Marriage, in case she had Married a Fortune-Hunter, He sent one of his Foot-men to her Gate, to know what Name she went by. But when his Foot-man return'd, and acquainted him, that her Name was Canillac, and that her Hus|band was an Officer in the second Company of Musqueteers; he then was sensible, that he had nothing to hope for upon that score.

About the same time, Mr. Bignon de Blansi, Master of Requests, the Nephew of Mr Pontchar|train, was likewise married to Madam He|bert

Debuc, the Niece of Madam Pompone, and the Daughter of Mr. Hebert Debuc, Master of Requests. Mr. Blansi was Brother to the Inten|dant of Piccardy. His first Lady was Mademoi|selle Brunet, who died in Child-bed when she was but twenty two Years of Age, and left him no Issue. Some days after his second marriage, Mr. Pontchartrain procur'd him a Commission for being a Master of Requests, that might be worth two thousand Livres a Year. He had another Com|mission before that brought him no Profit. Tho' after all, those who have such sort of Places, continue still to desire them, because they are not only Posts of Honour, but make way for others that are more profitable. Mr. Pontchartrain, who commonly has the disposal of that sort of things, design'd this Post for Mr. Harouis, Son-in-Law to Mr. Richebourg, Madam Pontchartrain's Uncle, who, besides the Honour of being her Kinsman, was thereby qualified, not only for this, but for a more considerable Commission. Accordingly he order'd Mr. Depinet, one of his Deputies that looks after such things, to make ready an Act, and carry it to the Chancellor. But this Magi|strate having a grudge against Pontchartrain, in|stead of filling up the blank with Mr. Harouis his Name, according to Mr. Pontchartrain's de|sire signfy'd to him by his Deputy, ask'd him how long a Controller General had offer'd to give Laws to a Chancellor, and at the same time, gave him to know, that he understood his own Business without being taught it, and fill'd up the Blank with the Name of Arnothon, Master of Requests. Depinot returning to Mr. Pontchar|train, gave him an account of the Chancellor's Compliment. Mr. Pontchartrain was unwilling to make any noise, tho' perhaps he had Reason enough, only after that he did nothing relating to his Office, without speaking first to the King; so that it

was not in the Chancellor's Power to thwart him.

Much about the same time, there happen'd an|other marriage, which I would be loath to insert here, if it had not given occasion to one word that was taken notice of. Mr. de la Ferrier, the Son of that Berrier, whose memory is still odious to all the World, tho' he has been a long time Dead: This Man married his Daughter to the Son of Des Chiens, whose Birth and Places bore a near re|semblance to his Father, and all that he did. For tho' he had the Impudence to say, that he was descended of a Noble Family, yet all the Country bears witness, that his Father, and his Ancestors, deriv'd their Extraction from the scum of the People. However, Mr. de la Ferrier's Lady be|ing Grand-Child to the late Mr. Novion, first President, his Alliance with that Family, of which his Lady descended by the Mother-side, was so monstrous, that all the World cried out, that the Blood of the Novions was disgrac'd, since, whereas it was formerly mingled with that of Luxemburg, in the Person of the late Count de Tremes, Father to the present Duke de Gevres, it was now bestow'd upon Chiens (Dogs.) But the matter lay here; these Chiens were furnish'd with Golden Teeth; and the Father had got so consi|derably by the Places he had in this War, that the Novions were nothing near so considerable as he. This Mr. de la Ferriere, was not reckon'd a Beast, either in Council, or in his own Domestick Af|fairs, tho' there was a time, when he pass'd for a Bankrupt; and upon that false Report, 'twas said, That the King would take all his Places from him, for fear his Poverty should tempt him to be unjust in the discharge of his Offices. But if we may credit what happen'd soon after the mar|riage of his Daughter, to whom he gave nothing; all this pretended Poverty was only a faint, to

impose upon the Publick; for his Brothers, with whom he was at law for their Portions, present|ed a Request to the Judges, setting forth, That their Father had left an Estate of two millions of money, which he was actually possess'd of; and that their Eldest Brother kep•• it up, without doing them Justice. This Petition made his Creditors very uneasy. They alledg'd, That since his own Brethren had thus inform'd against him, the Council before which they pleaded, and which he endeavour'd to move to Compassion, by his pretended Poverty, ought not to have any re|gard to his Allegations, for depriving them of their Right. In former times, Cardinal Mazarin made use of much such another Argument to ruine Mr. Fouquet; for Abbot Fouquet his Brother revil'd him horridly; and whenever any-body offer'd to plead for him, the Cardinal made Answer, That they did not know Mr. Fouquet so well as his Brother; and that by consequence, his Testimony was preferable to theirs. And, in effect, the Ab|bot, who was an odd sort of a Man, being at once the greatest Braggadochio, and the greatest Coward in the World: This Abbot, I say, had a great hand in ruining the Super-Intendant. He presented Memorials against him; and 'tis well known what weight they were of, when the question was put, Whether he should be Arrested or not. This Abbot was such a Vaunting Fel|low, that he pretended he would take the Prince, and the Marshal of H••••quincourt, by the Beard, to make them repent of their taking up Arms a|gainst the King. But on the same very day, that Barbesieres came from ••l••nders, on purpose to car|ry off the Father of Mr. Girardin mention'd above, who was a famous Partisan, some-body came and told the Abbot, that the Prince had sent out a Party to take him up, having heard the Stories he had spoke of him; and thus put him in such

a Fear, that he durst not venture to go out of Paris, without a strong Guard.

Soon after all these Marriages, a Sentence of Banishment was granted against Medemoiselle de Varennes, a Lady of Quality, in the Country of Maine, who was more known by the Affection that great Prelate had for her, than by the Reputation of her Ancestors. 'Twas said, that this Affecti|on was the effect of Amorous Embraces; and that her Friend before his Death, advised her to marry some Person of Quality, that had no|thing, upon Condition, that he should own her Children to be his. He had made her so rich by his Bounty, that he thought she was in a Condi|tion to tempt every body. 'Tis true, there were a great many poor Wretches, that would have been glad of such an adventure. But 'twas not that sort of Men, that she had a mind to: Not|withstanding the scandalous terms, she pretended still to have her choice, and receiv'd Visits from all the Court, in a House of hers, that resembled an inchanted Palace. To carry on the Wheedle the better, she entertain'd them very handsomly, and in Lent regal'd them with Meat, notwithstand|ing the King's Orders to the contrary. For His Majesty, to put a stop to all manner of Libertinism, had order'd, that only those, who were sickly, or otherwise incommoded, should have liberty to eat Meat with the Church's Permission; and that they should not let any body share with them, under the pain of incurring his Displeasure. But, tho' Madam Varennes was far from that Condition, being in very good Health, yet she not only eat of it herself, but invited all her Visiters to eat with her. The King got notice of this, and sent her a Letter under the great Seal, to be gone. Her Friends promis'd her a Grant of some time be|fore she went into Exile: But instead of mak|ing preparations for her Departure, she promis'd a

thousand Pistols to Count Gramont for procuring a Revocation of the Sentence. Count Gramont being a Person that subsists only by the King's Bounty, and at such Wind-falls does not use to be asleep: This Count, I say, did not pretend to deny the thing to the King, that being the wrong way to compass his Design; but represented to His Majesty, That the Lady being set all-alone at Ta|ble, where she fed upon Mear, pursuant to a per|mission she had from the Curate, some people came in and surpriz'd her, and, in spite of her Teeth, sat down with her; that this was no in|fraction upon the design of His Majesty's Or|der, and that all the World might be catched in the same Trap, as well as she, without they kept their Gates shut at Meal-times, as in a Convent. In fine, he pleaded her Cause with such dexterity, that the King granted his Request, upon a pro|mise, that the Lady would be more cautious for the future. Then the Marquis of Vieuxburg be|gan to declare himself a Sui••••r to the fair Lady, tho' he could not well do it without a breach of Faith to Mademoiselle de Bulli, a Lady of Qua|lity, near Neuchatel in Normandy, to whom he had given a Promise of Marriage. He was the Son of the Chancellor's Lady; and having lost his Eldest Brother at the Siege of Namur, car|ried on by the Enemies, succeeded to his Estate, which was not inconsiderable. The good Name he had in that Province, together with this Suc|cession, and a little Honour, if he had had any, ought to have deterr'd him from so scandalous an Alliance: But this Lady having inchanted him, he open'd his mind to her; and by the discovery of his Design, pleas'd her so well, that she offer'd to give him all she had, provided he Married her. In effect, the business was kept private for some time; and in the mean time, the Chancellor's La|dy happening to die, both of them were sensible

that it was a favourable accident for them, in re|g••rd she would never have suffered her Son to be guilty of that Folly, in her Life-time. The Chan|cellor, who had been kept ignorant of his Lady's illness for some days, and hinder'd from going to her Chamber, under the pretence of some preju|dice that might thereby accrue to either of their Healths: This Magistrate, I say, gave his Lady a magnificent Funeral. In the mean time, he went and spent some days with the President Fourci, and after that return'd to his own House, and recom|menc'd the exercise of his Office, which has this privilege beyond all others, That those who are invested with it, never wear mourning, either for their Relations, or for the King himself. Mon|sieur, and Mr. de Chartres, gave him a Visit to Solace him upon his Loss. The next day the Pope's Nuncio came to his House, and every body thought he had come upon the same Errand. But tho' the measures of Civility requir'd that Com|pliment, especially since he came to the Chancel|lor's own House; yet he made him another, that quickly discover'd the chief reason of his coming. However, it was not disagreeable; for after having assur'd him of the Pope's Respect for him, and his Family, He presented to him a Brief from His Holiness, permitting the second Son of Ma|dam Harlai, his Daughter, to possess all sorts of Abbeys, even those mortgag'd to Regulars, tho' he was then but nine Years of Age. The reason that mov'd the Pope to this Dispensation, was set forth in the Brief. It imported, that his Holi|ness was infinitely glad to hear that Mr. Harlai was gone from France, upon a design of making a ge|neral Peace; and that His Holiness thought him|self oblig'd to testify this his Joy, by granting that favour to his Son. But after all, the Holy Father had not taken up this desire of giving Peace to Christendom, till the King was expell'd Italy

by the Savoy-Treaty, under the pretence, that Ita|ly would always be fetter'd, so long as His Ma|jesty was possess'd of any thing on that side. Thus Popes, Kings, and great Folks, talk as they will; tho' at the same time they are glad to insinuate to others, that they design nothing but what will redound to the advantage of those who are subject to them.

Count Marsan, the Youngest Brother of all the Princes of the House of Lorraine, who married the Marchioness of Siegnelay, after the Duke of Luxemburg broke off from her, got at that time a Pension of Twenty thousand Livers. This was matter of surprisal to every-body, not only by rea|son of the small Service he had ever done to the State, but because he had always a sorry Interest at Court. For the purpose. When he married the Marchioness of Albret, Widow to the Mar|quis of Albret, Marshal de Camp, who was kill'd when he went to see his Mistress; at that time, the King turn'd that Lady out of the Queen's Retinue; not that she had done any thing de|serving that disgrace; but only, because she had married a Man that the King did not like. The reason of the King's dislike, was grounded on his having some intrigue with a Young Prince, that His Majesty took care of, and his being charg'd with cajoling and wheedling a Young Princess, that he was equally concern'd for. But after all, he found ways and means to attone for all that; and upon that score was oblig'd to his Lady, who has Friends of Interest and Credit. At present, he enjoys above fifty thousand Crowns a Year, tho' before his first marriage, he was not worth a Groat; and just now he has bought one of the finest Houses in Paris. He had it from President Tam|bonneau; and that Magistrate bore some hard words from the first President, upon the account of some Difficulties relating to the execution of the

Bargain. That House had formerly a large Gar|den to it, part of which Mr. Tombonneau cut off, and joyn'd it to another House of his; and Count Marsan alledg'd, That tho' that part was cut off by a particular clause, Calculated for that pur|pose; yet at that time, it ought to be undone, because it return'd naturally to the purchase to which it had always belong'd. They agreed to leave the matter to the Arbitration of the first Pre|sident. But whether this Magistrate was partial, or thought it was justice to give it against Tom|banneau, He deliver'd his mind in such harsh terms, as insinuated, that he had over-reach'd Count Marsan. 'Twas some time before Mr. Tam|bonneau would agree to his Verdict; but at last the matter was accommodated; and at this day, Count Marsan lives in that fine House. Mr. Pont|chartrain had a mind for the House; but being a Man of a different stamp from some Ministers, who do not grudge to give any price for what they like, he could not come up to Mr. Tomban|neau's price. To be plain, when a Man throws away his money at such a rate, 'tis a sign he comes easily by it; whereas good Husbandry speaks a fair purchase.

The Princess of Harcourt, whose Husband is of the same Family with Count Marsan, but not ••ear so Rich, lost at that time, a Law-Suit with Madam Nemours, which she thought she had been sure of. 'Twas laid before the Council, and related to the Register of Lions, which she justly alledg'd to have been the property of her Grand-Fa|ther, by the Mother's-side. This her Grand-Father was the famous Farmer of the Revenue, call'd Garnier, who, tho' he was Born to very little, had got such a vast Estate, that he might have boasted of greater matters than Sebastian Zamer did in former times; for whereas this Man en|titled himself, a Master of five hundred thousand

Crowns, the other might have pretended to six|teen millions. He was effectually possess'd of eight millions clear of the best money in the World, and the King owed him as much. But soon after Mr. Fouquet was catch'd, the Court of Justice came upon him, and there he was Taxed in proportion to what he had got, so that his whole Fortune was melted in a moment. By good luck he had married a whole Regiment of Daughters very handsomely; and having pay'd their Portions in ready money, Mr. Colbert, who rak'd into the very Branches of Families, could find no plea to suck out the Blood, that they en|deavour'd to maintain their Honour with. The Princess of Harcourt's Mother, who was married to Count Brancas, Gentleman of Honour to the Queen's Mother, had thus escaped that Minister's scrutiny, because all her Portion was money paid down. However, her Daughter was of the same Humour with her Grand-Father, so that it was not long of her, if she was not Rich. She lost the above-mentioned Suit only by one Vote, which she thought ought to have lest oppos'd her. Hav|ing always been very careful in making interest with the Ministers, she hop'd that Mr. Pontchar|train, who was one of the Judges, would favour her; But equity prevailing with honest Men, be|yond all other Considerations, he was one of those that cast her. Tho' after all, when he was ask'd wherein Madam Nemours's Cause had the advantage of hers, He reply'd, That he could not well tell; and that if he had thought the rest would have been of his mind, he would have manag'd that Cause like the Oyster in Boileau's Satyrs, in giving the two Shells to the two Prin|cesses, and the fleshy part to the King, because the property contested by them, belong'd in effect only to His Majesty. The Princess of Harcourt, who will never lose any thing for want of a vi|gorous

defence, does not yet give her Cause over for lost; and having sometimes been lucky in Law-Suits, she hopes to have the same good For|tune in this. But since her Fortune has been out of her Hands these twelve or fifteen Years, 'tis not probable that 'twill ever return to her. She made a shift, by the interest of one of her Friends, to perswade Mademoiselle de Guise, to give her Husband the Dukedom of Guise, and Guise-house, which were worth at least three millions. The procuring of this favour had cost the Prince of Harcourt some Compliments and Addresses to his Benefactress: But his Humour being not so pliable as his Lady's, he re-assum'd his Character, when he thought the business was done. Madam Guise complain'd of this to the Friend that had acted the part of a Mediator; and he being not able to perswade the Prince to continue his Visits, she resum'd her Gift. This Thunder-struck his Lady, who upon this Affair had display'd her ut|most prouess. However, she is to be commended for managing so wisely the Affairs of her Family, which her Husband neglects. He minds nothing but his Diversion, while she scrapes up money to pay a Pension, that she's oblig'd to give him upon the consideration of his having turn'd over all his Estate to her. But the Times we live in being so unhappy, that little can be made of a Land-E|state, she would find it very hard to do what she does, if she did not find ways of getting of some|thing from time to time. She neglects no oppor|tunity, small or great, it never scapes her, provided she has any prospect of success.

About that time, the Court was very hot upon the execution of a project, that had been propos|ed by several Persons a long time before; I mean that of taking Carthagena, where the Banks of several Nations were lodg'd, as well as part of the Riches of Perou. In the beginning of the

War, a Rochel-Man, call'd Petit, was taken up, who had gone to Holland, and there abjur'd his Religion, upon the perswasion of his Wife; and after her Death had return'd to France. He was well vers'd in Sea-Affairs; and having been im|ploy'd by the Dutch, orders were given to take him Dead or Alive. Mr. Vilette, a Lieutenant-General at Sea, was imploy'd to execute the Or|ders; and, indeed, he once made up so close to him, that he thought to have given a good account of him: But Petit being on Board of a better Sai|ler, than any of the Lieutenant-General's Ships, he luckily got off; tho some time after, he de|liver'd himself into the Hands of the Governor of Vallenciennes, who gave notice of the same to the Court. In regard, he return'd with a re|solution to re-assume his wonted Religion and O|bedience, and had spoke so to some People, who had acquainted the Ministers with it; they could not handsomely indite him, but contented them|selves with securing his Person in the Bastille; that being thought necessary, for that after such an escape as his, 'twas to be feared he might do the like again, if ever he fell into the Hands of such a Woman as his first Wife was. His Im|prisonment was a great surprizal to him: How|ever, having time enough in Prison to think of his Concerns, he bethought himself, that he would never be set at Liberty, unless he attoned for his Crime, by some great piece of Service. Having considered again and again of the mat|ter, and being well acquainted with the Coast where Carthagena lies; he lit upon the same Thought as others had before him. He was of Opinion, That 'twas not impossible for the King to make himself Master of that place, and even of—which is yet Richer, and, as it were, the Magazine of all the Riches of Perou. Having hatch••d this Thought, his next business was to

give it vent; for which end, he asked to speak with Mr. Besmaux, Governor of the Bastille. But whether the Governor thought the Man was troubled with maggoty Fancies, or whether he had no mind to be himself an instrument of losing his Prisoners, by whose maintenance he got a great deal, and for that reason called them his Pigeons; Whatever was in it, he would not al|low him Paper to express his Thoughts upon, but only promised to speak of his Project to a Mini|nister of State. Tho' after all, 'tis very likely he did not that; for 'tis plain, that, if he had, Mr. Pontchartain, who had the management of Marine. Affairs, was too good a Servant of the King's, to neglect such a proposal as that. The Prisoner re|ceiving no Answer, notwithstanding the Gover|nor's Promise to bring him one; cut off the Mar|gins of a Book that he had, and having made some Ink of Soot or Charcoal, wrote down his Project, together with several other things, that then came into his Head. He had not well finish|ed his Scheme, when Marshal Tourville came to the Bastille to try some Cannon of a new inven|tion. The Cannon were fired into the Ditch, which the Prisoner observing through the Grates of the Chamber, threw out his Paquet well wrap|ed up. It fell at the Marshal's Feet, who have|ing time to read the Superscription, viz. To Mar|shal Tourville, upon Affairs of great consequence relating to the Sea. This Pacquet to be delivered to Mr. Pontchartrain. Having read, I say, this Superscription, he refufed to deliver it to Mr. Besmaux, who ask'd it of him. The Governor indeavour'd to perswade him to it; by setting forth, That a Minister whose time was so preci|ous, ought not to be disturb'd with idle Whims; that probably there was nothing in the Pacquet, but such Vapours as the damps of a Prison are apt to excite; and that for his part, he was teaz'd

every day with such things, but that he never minded them. Mr. Tourville looking up to the Window where the Pacquet fell, ask'd him, who was in that Chamber? Mr. Besmaux made An|swer, That 'twas a Rochel Renegado, without tel|ling his Name: But the Marshal knowing that Petit was Prisoner in the Castle, and taking that to be his Apartment, told the Governor, that since the Pacquet came from so good a place, he was ob|liged to give it to Mr. Pontchartrain. Accordingly he gave it to him; and that Minister having pe|rus'd it, found some things in it better explain'd than in the other Memorials that had formerly been given in upon that Subject. Then he let the matter sleep for a while, in order to digest things more maturely; and at last spoke of it in private to some Sea-Officers, that he thought ca|pable to resolve some Doubts he had upon that Head. Some of them represented it as impos|sible; and others as a very dangerous enterprize; only Mr. Pointis spoke of it as an easy thing, be|cause he wanted to be imploy'd in the Expedition. One must be prepossess'd with an expectation of success in any Enterprize, in order to go through with it. Accordingly, in several Conferences be|tween that Minister, and Pointis, the latter ap|pear'd still more and more forward, and remov|ed several Difficulties, that the other look'd up|on as very considerable: So great an itch had Pointis to signalize himself in that Expedition. But Glory was not the only motive in his view; he had another that weigh'd as much with him, tho' it was not altogether so Honourable. He was in Love with President Ferrand's Daughter, and neither of them having any Estate, in the ardour of his Passion to enjoy her, he thought no Wall whatsoever would stand before him. Mr. Pontchartrain perceiving that he was the Man he wanted, and that he could never find another

that would carry on the Enterprize with so much heat: Upon this consideration, I say, he gave him a Promise of being imploy'd upon that Design. Pointis recounted the Affair to his Mi|stress, and among many other sweet words told her, That she should have the Triumph of that Place; that for his part, all his Ambition was, to lay at her Feet, all the Riches that the Expedition should afford; and that he accounted himself but too happy, if by that means he could procure her favour. While he was thus taken up in Court|ship, Mr. Ponchartrain went effectually about the business. There being a necessity of an infinite sum of money, to answer the Charge that His M••jesty was at upon other accounts: He had a mind that this Expedition should cost the King nothing. With this view, by the King's permis|sion, he erected a Company, which advanc'd the money for carrying on the Expedition, upon Con|dition of receiving the Profits that should accrue by it; some put in a thousand Pistols, some more, some less; the Fleet was got ready, and Mr. Pointis put to Sea, when no body knew where he was going. The English thought he had a de|sign upon their Possessions in Carolina, and gave the necessary Orders to prevent it. The Dutch were apprehensive of a design upon them. How|ever, Mr. Pontis fell in upon Carthagena, all on a sudden, when the Spaniards least expected it, and Landed there some Soldiers that he had brought with him. At the same time, the Governor of St. Domingo, being acquainted with the Design, brought some Buckaneers to assist at the Siege. Pointis stood much in need of them, and without them he had never compass'd his end. But they were so dissatisfied upon the small share they had of the Booty, that they first complain'd to him, and then threaten'd openly to send some body to Court, to demand justice of him. He laugh'd, both at

their Complaints and Threats, fancying, that his success would procure him a hearing to their pre|judice. There was an immense quantity of Riches in that City, both in Bars of Silver, Gold-dust, and pretious Stones: And he did not neglect his own Coffers, no more than some Captains of Ships, whose Avarice was more notorious than his own: For on Board of one of them, there was found Effects, to the value of eighty thousand Crowns; he having converted the money into Goods, which he was afterwards oblig'd to convert into money again. Others were likewise convicted of having endeavour'd to enrich themselves upon the Com|pany's Charges, while it was only suspected. But since Malice and Calumny is very forward, e|specially upon such things, for which every Man is believed to have a good Appetite; 'twould not be just to be positive in the Accusation. In that City, there was a Young Man, who was the Son of the Governor of Lima; and, by his Folly, had a mind to furnish those who vented Romances, with Truths instead of their ordinary Fables. He was seiz'd with a Passion of Love for the Prin|cess of Conti, the King's Daughter, upon seeing her Picture, which fell accidentally into his Hands, by an Engagement with the Buccaneers: He found it in the Arms of one that was Kill'd, and presently took it into his own, as being a Trea|sure that he esteem'd more than the Pearls and Diamonds he had found among the Spoil. Ne|ver were such Follies committed, as that young Fool was guilty of, after the sight of that Pi|cture; every day he kissed it a thousand times, and he never ingaged, without invoking it before hand, as the only Deity that could assist him. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 good Fortune he had, he imputed it all to it, which enlarged his esteem of it more and more. But at last being over-power'd in an En|g••gement with a King, in the Neighbourhood of

his Father's Government; the King, as barbarous as he was, lov'd the Picture as passionately as he, As soon as he cast his Eyes upon it, he ask'd. What Picture it was, and would have snatch'd it from him: Upon that, he threw himself at the King's Feet, conjuring him to take his Life, be|fore he robb'd him of his Picture. The Conqueror seeing him in so humble a Posture, took pity of him, and offer'd to let him keep his Picture, pro|vided he gave him to know the Original. The Young Gentleman reply'd, That he could not sa|tisfie him upon that point, because he did not know himself whose it was: And with the same Breath, acquainted him how it came into his Hands, and offer'd to get it Copy'd. The Prince was so much taken with the Beauty of the Pi|cture, that he caus'd several Copies to be drawn from it: These he order'd to be hung up in the Temples of his false Gods, in order to adore the Original, which he thought could not be so pret|ty, unless she were Divine. The Young Gentle|man having thus sav'd his Picture, was afraid of losing it at Carthagena, when Mr. Pointis took it; Fancying, that all the World were as great Fools as he, and the Prince that made an Idol of it. The first Compliment he made to Mr. Poin|tis, was, That by the right of Conquest, he was Master of all that he had; but as for that Pi|cture, he would part with it and his Life at the same time. Mr. Pointis was so much dazzl'd with the prospect of the Riches that lay before him, that he had forgot every thing, and even Madam Ferrand; and thus having other things in view than the Picture, he gave him to know, that he might be easie, and what Pictures he had a mind for, were those of the King of Spain, and other Princes, engrav'd upon Gold; and as for the Pictures of Women, he would quit them for a trifle, 'provided they were only valuable

for their Beauty, or good Painting. This Pro|mise put the Young Gentleman in good Heart: And Mr. Pointis having cloy'd himself with the Plunder of the Town, had the curiosity to look upon the Thing that occasioned the Spaniard's Sighs: for he gave deep Sighs every minute, which made people believe, that he was a very p••••••••on••te Lov••r. He shew'd Mr. Pointis the Picture, upon his making Oath, that he would not f••ll in Love with it. As soon as Mr. Pointis saw it, he knew it to be the Princess of Conti's, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, he knew the Lady, and that his Love was fixed upon a very deserving Object. The Young Gentleman pressing him to tell who the Lady was, he could not deny his Request. Up|on this Discovery, it had been very unhandsome in such a Lover as this, not to go to France. Ac|cord••ngly he intreated Mr. Pointis, to let him have a place in one of his Ships. Mr. Pointis having promised him that Favour, did not make him stay long 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he set Sail: but tho' the Sea-Air c••••ld the Gentleman's Passion for his Mistress, the Admiral round himself in a greater quandary than the Gentleman. An English Squadron, much stronger th••n his own, having notice, that he was still 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Carthagena, stood towards that place, in order to dispossess him of the Riches he had p••llag••d. The Governor of St. Domingo, who had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to his Government, and was not w••ll pleased with the Usage that he and the Buc|••••••eers h•••• met with, did nevertheless give him Advice of their Design, because it concern'd the King's ••nterest. Mr. Pointis made such good use of the Intelligence, that he weigh'd Anchor and avoided the English, and at last arriv'd at Brest, ••fter having s••ap'd several Storms, and other troublesome Accidents.

Before his arrival at Brest, several Accidents hap|pen'd both at Sea and Land. The most considerable Occurrence at Sea, was Mr. Nesmond's falling in with three English Ships, homeward bound from India. They made a tolerable Defence, but be|ing unequally match'd, i. e. three to six, they were taken. All the three were richly Laden; and Mr. Nesmond having put Mr. Montchevreuil with one Bene, an Irish man, both of 'em Sea-Lien tenants, on board of one of these Ships; these two plotted together to defraud the Owners of the Prize, while no-body minded 'em. Accordingly they secur'd all they could; and shar'd some Di|amonds, and other valuable Goods, equally be|tween 'em. But Mr. Montchevreuil's Indiscretion, in spending at Brest much more than his Incomes could afford, quickly discovered the Intrigue: His Father allowed him nothing; and all he had was a Pension of one thousand Livers, and his E|quipage. Upon this, Intendant Begnon smelling the matter, gave notice of it to the Court. His Interest at Court might have prevented his Ar|rest, if Mr. Begnon's Intelligence had not been put out of all doubt, by his imprudence, in set|ting out his very Foot-men with the best Mus••ins he had taken in that Ship. Bene, indeed, acted more prudently; and it was not long of him that the thing took Air: But Mr. Montchevreuil's im|prudence carried it so far, that they were both taken up. Bene, who had not so much Interest as the other, could not get off, notwithstanding the Wisdom of his Conduct. Begnon wrote him a thundring Note, concluding in these few words, You are happy in having Mr. Montchevreuil for a Partner in your Robbery; Assure your self, that if you were by your self, I would have ca••s••d you to be Hang'd in forty eight Hours. At the Mari••es interceeded on his behalf, because he was a good Officer; but forasmuch as the one could

not be indited without the other, they were both clear'd after five or six months Imprisonment. But after all, if all the Thieves had been Hang|ed, Bene had got more Company than Mr. Mont|chevreuil: For at the Sale of these Prizes, which amounted in Gross to 2500000 Livres, a great many things were transacted, that were not very fair. Those who had a mind to 'em, gave a large Present to the persons that were empower|ed to adjudge 'em, to prevent their being sold by Retail, pursuant to the desire of those who were interess'd in the matter. But whatever the Present was, they lost nothing by it; for at Nants they sold the Goods by Retail, at three Millions profit.

In the mean time, the Archbishop of Paris im|ploy'd his utmost endeavours, to make good the Character the King had procur'd him, by giving him that rich Benefice. Tho' his Brother's For|tune might have done something for him, yet he did not owe his Preferment to that, but only to his own Merit. While he was Bishop of Cha|lons, a See that he had before his accession to that of Paris, he always acted up to the Office of a Holy Prelate. To continue the same course of Piety that he had always follow'd, he made Head a|gainst Vice: And accordingly one of his first Edicts, after his accession to the last See, was levell'd against the Masquerades; an Abuse, that in earnest ought not to be suffer'd among Christians. What a strange preparation is the Commission of a thou|sand lewd and foolish Actions, for the Repent|ance that ought to be Preach'd up in Lent! The Emperor extirpated this disorder at Vienna, under the sole pretext of the War with the Turks. Nobody was there allow'd to disguise themselves; and even School-Boys were not allow'd to do it with impunity. However, the Archbishop not using the same pretence to sink that disorder at

Paris, but that of the Love and Gratitude we owe to God, for shedding his Blood for us upon the Cross, had not the same success as the Empe|ror had at Vienna. If he had had recourse to the King, for the putting his Edict in execution, per|haps the fear of displeasing that Monarch would have gone farther, than the fear of God. But whether it was, that he did not speak of it to the King, or that the King had some Reasons of State for not minding him; there was as many Masquerades that Year, as if there had never been an Order against 'em. The Archbishop finding he could not compass his design, bent his Thoughts upon another Disorder, that wanted as much to be remedy'd; I mean the Debauchery of Women: that was got to such a height, that no Language can reach. There was always two Convents at Paris, for shutting up these Wretches; and two Societies have been since Erected, for the same purpose, by the Care and Charity of some Ver|tuous Ladies. In these Societies, they are far from being used so severely, as at the Magdalon|nettes, and Filles Repent••••, where the Whips are ••o far from freeing a So••l from Vice, that, on the contrary, they make 'em regret, that they cannot continue their past course of Life. We must not pretend to translate a Person all on a sudden, from Vice to Vertue, especially by Cor|rection; for that ought to be effected by degrees, and rather by Perswasion, than by Force. This gentle method was used in these two Societies; one of which is call'd St. Isidore, and the other Bon Post••ur. The latter had this peculiar Custom, that they forc'd none to come among 'em. All the Actions of that House, were answerable to its Title. The Girls that repented of their Lewdness, or were afraid of falling into it, came thither of their own accord, and were entertain'd there as long as they pleas'd; and their Governantes ei|ther

procur'd 'em some Place in a Person of Qua|lity's House, if they were fit for Service, or got 'em Husbands, if they lik'd that better. When they desired to be gone, they were suffered to go, tho' 'twas to be fear'd, they might return to their Vomit. This Society, and this Custom is still kept up; and all pious Persons, of what Condi|tion soever, not only visit these lost Sheep, that are thus return'd to their Flock, but likewise Eat with 'em very often. This they take to be a more effectual method, as indeed it is, to reclaim them, than that of letting Dogs loose upon 'em. And 'tis for this reason that the House is entitl'd Bon Pasteur, The good Shepherd; for the Good Shep|herd, who, properly speaking, is the Son of God, did not scruple to eat with Publicans.

As for the Daughters of St. Isidore, they were not used so very gently, as those of the Bon Pasteur; but kept a sort of a Medium between these and the Magdalonnettes. The Archbishop, whose Province it is to take Cognisance of all that passes in that sort of Houses, knowing that these liv'd under a Director, whose Doctrine he suspected, would have taken them from him. But they stood by him with some warmth; and the more they shew'd their zeal to keep him, the more the Archbishop pressed to put another in his place. At last, they told him freely, That if he put in another, they would not receive him, and that they would ra|ther disperse than comply with it. Now they had liberty to disperse, for they were not settled there, either by the King's Letter, or an Order from the Court of Justice. Accordingly, perceiv|ing that the Archbishop was immoveable, and fully resolv'd to subject them to his Obedience, they actually dispers'd; for which the Archbishop was blam'd by a great many, especially by those who were not acquainted with the reason, that had oblig'd him to do as he did.

At that time, Mr. Verthamont de Villemont dyed, who was the only Man that perhaps made the King depart from his wonted Moderation. He was Master of Requests; and making use of the Authority he had among the Gown-men, both by his Place, and by the numerousness of his Rela|tions and Friends, did what he could to Ruine a Gentleman of the Name of Servon, that had been his Neighbour in the Country. Servon being Re|lated to Mr. Perefixe, Archbishop of Paris, had recourse to him, who engag'd to protect him, af|ter he found that Magistrate so proud of his Interest, that he openly contemn'd both his Friend and him. Verthamont finding that the Archbishop had declar'd against him, and that he had imbark'd in that Cause for the sake of some Interest of his own, form'd a design against his Life, and alledg'd, that he had a Love int••••gue upon that side. On the other hand, the Archbishop form'd a design against his Life. Thus th•••• rais'd between 'em the greatest Suit that had ••••en seen for a long time; and the Cause being ••••ought before the Council, the King himself a••••••••d at the Decision; which Mr. Villemont, who knew his Integrity and Justice, was not pleas'd with. The Archbishop being sensible that his Honour was very much touch'd by the Accusation prefer'd against him by that Magistrate; and that 'twas not enough for him to maintain, that it was an Imposture, as it was, but to prove it to be such; upon this view I say, he desir'd him to condescend to the Circum|stances of the Fact, in order to his Conviction. Accordingly Verthamont advanc'd, That on such a Day, at such an Hour, in such a Year, and at such a Place, he had an interview with a certain Lady, whom it was well known he had formerly visited with some sort of Familiarity. Now, Mr. Perefixe was at that time at Rhodes, of which he was Bishop before his Accession to the See of

Paris; and for fear Verthamont should retract and throw his mistake upon the weakness of his Me|mory; he pretended at first to make but weak Defences, in order to make the other maintain his Forgery with more Impudence. This Verthamont did not fail to do; for fancying that the whole Court was on his side, the Answers being so fri|volous, he insisted on the Charge, because the Archbishop had summon'd him to declare, whe|ther he adher'd to his Accusation, or not. He likewise condescended to a great many particu|lars of matter of Fact, which seem'd probable. The Archbishop finding him engag'd so far, that he could not afterwards retract, desir'd to be allow'd to prove himself Alibi. This was the best method he could take ••o justifie his Innocence, and retort the Calumny upon his Adversary. The Court could not refuse to hear his Proof; so, he prov'd, not only by Witnesses, but likewise by an Order he made, as Bishop that day, which was Publish'd throughout his Diocess; he prov|ed, I say, that he was above one hundred and fif|ty Leagues off from the place of the alledg'd In|terview. Verthamont was strangely surpris'd, when he saw himself thus Convicted. However, as all Litigious Men have some back Door or o|ther, he alledg'd, That, indeed, he was out as to the Year; but as to the Fact it self, and the Day, he was certainly in the right: But after what was past, that Reason would not bear: So that he was not only order'd to make reparation of the Prelat's Honour; but he, and his Posterity, were declar'd uncapable for ever of enjoying any Magistracy. The Sentence contain'd likewise o+ther Punishments against him, which 'twere too tedious to insert here. However, fancying the King would be so good as to dispense with part of 'em, he had the boldness to appear at the King's Levee some days after. The King was

incens'd when he saw him, and commanded him, in har••h words, to depart his Chamber. Vertha|mont obey'd, without staying for a second Order; and was even oblig'd to retire to the Country, for the King would not allow him so much as to continue at Paris.

The Plenipotentiaries continued still at Reswick, and it being uncertain whether the Peace would be concluded or not, new Edicts were issued forth. One of 'em oblig'd the great Cities and Towns of the Provinces, to take Lanthorns, like those at Paris; and to buy themselves off by a Tax to be laid upon the twentieth Penny. By that Edict the King promis'd, in consideration of that Tax, to be at the charge of the Lights for ever. In fine, 'twas visible, that this was only a new in|vention for raising of Money, which was much wanted at that time. Mr. Caumartin, Intendant to the Finances, was order'd to carry the Edict to the first President, in order to have it con|vey'd to the Attorney-General, who read it with the coldest Humour of any Man in the World. Mr. Caumartin expected, that when he had read it, he would give him his Sentiments of the matter, which he meant to Communicate to the Minister of State. But the Magistrate continuing silent for some time, he turn'd the Edict over, and put it several times into the Hands of the Magistrate, who still return'd it: At last, being tired with shuffling it to and again, he broke silence, and said, It was a fine Edict, and that he and his Friends ought to be convinc'd that it was such. At least, said he, for my particular satisfaction, I expect|ed you would have done me the honour to tell me, in whose Head all these Lanthorns were first projected. Upon this Expression Mr. Caumartin could not refrain from Laughing, and imparted the occasion of Laughter to his Friends. After all, the Case was laid before the Parliament,

and no one had the same curiosity as this Magi|strate had.

The Conferences at Reswick did not divert the King from sending puissant Armies into the Field. By vertue of the Peace of Savoy, he was Superior in force to his Enemies; and part of his Troops that had serv'd in Italy, he had transported to Catalonia. In this Province he was still Master of the Cities of Roses and Gironne, with some other Places of importance; and had a free ac|cess to Bar••••lona, which is the Metrapolitan of that Country, and, in a manner, the Barrier of the Spanish Monarchy. This City, which is Rich, Great, well Peopled, and the ordinary Residence of the Nobility of that Country, is situated on the Mediterranean, and has a very considerable port upon that side. The opposition that the House of Austria had hitherto made to the Peace, mov'd the King to Besiege it: He thought, that if he could take it, he could at least, bring the Spanish Branch to reasonable terms, considering, that after that, even Madrid itself was not secure. His Majesty wrote his Thoughts of this matter to Mr. Vendome, who commanded the Troops in that Country. This General sent him word, that the Troops he had there were not sufficient for so great an Enterprize; and that it could not be compassed with less than fifty Thousand Men. Now at that time he had s••arce ••wenty five Thousand. But His Majesty having ten Thousand more ready upon a Call, comm••nded him to make prepara|tions for the Design, and promis'd to send 'em to him when he wanted 'em. After such positive Orders, Mr. Vendome had nothing else to do, but to concert all measures for satisfying the King. The Spaniards having already taken the Ala••m at the loss of their other Places in that Province, and perceiving that the King meant to possess himself of that Place, sent their best Troops

thither. The Queen of Spain being the Empreses's Sister, desir'd the Emperor to send some Regiments under the pretence of preserving that Province. But that was not her main Design: She had a greater eye upon the interest of Arch-Duke Charles, her Nephew; for her Husband having no Issue, and being not very healthy, she had a mind to se|cure to him the Crown that Philip IV. had be|queath'd him by his Will. Pursuant to this de|sign, she had brought some Germans into the Council, in order to stifle the Artifices, that France, and even some Spanish Grandees might set on foot, either for the interest of that Crown, or for their own; for there were some of 'em that laid claim to the Blood of the Ancient Kings of C••stile, and others to that of the Kings of Arragon. These German Counsellors acted in concert with her; and the Emperor sent 'em Instructions, to the end that nothing might be concerted contrary to his Interest, or that of the Arch-Duke, his Son. In the mean time, His Imperial Majesty sent the Troops that were desired; and it being much his Interest not to lose Barcelona, he intreated the En|glish and Dutch to send a Fleet into the Medi|terranean. He was very sensible what was like|ly to happen, because the King made new pre|parations in Provence, and seem'd to have nothing so much in view as the Conquest of that Place. However, his Intreaty did not come so very sea|sonably; whether it was, that the English and Dutch had occasion to employ their Ships else|where, or, which is very probable, that they thought the taking of that Place would so humble the House of Austria, that they would not oppose the Peace any longer; for they did not much trouble their Heads upon the matter.

While preparations for War were made, not only in that Country, but in all the other seats of War; a new War broke out in the Church,

which might have caus'd great disorders, if it had not been quickly stifled; indeed it might have been sooner stifled, if the Arch-bishop of Paris, and the Bishop of Meaux had not been very complaisant to a certain Gentleman that I shall call by his Name by and by, by which means it took deeper Root than it might have done. To understand this matter throughly, 'twill not be improper to carry our account of things a little higher. In the Popedom of Innocent XI. a Priest call'd Molinos, started up at Rome, who taught very uncommon Doctrines, and did not want followers. Among many erroneous Doctrines, this was the greatest, That when the Soul came once to a certain point of Sanctity, it was not capable of sinning, and then it had no part or concern in the Actions of the Body. 'Tis a standing Maxim, that we ought not to censure a Man's in|tentions, especially when his Morals are uncul|pable as to outward appearance; and for that reason I shall be very cautious of saying, that this new Sectary, under the pretence of so great Purity, conceal'd a great many Disorders that his Enemies have falsly charg'd upon him. Perhaps he meant, that the Soul cannot controul some Infirmities that we are subject to from our Mo|ther's Womb: And provided these are detested by her, she is not accountable for 'em before God. Were it so, nothing could be objected against his Doctrine, for such is the Doctrine of the Church; and what St. Paul teaches us, who was continually tempted notwithstanding his being one of the greatest Saints in Paradise. However, since a great many uncouth Consequences might be drawn from his way of explaining himself, both upon this Article, and many others, the whole Church rose up against him. Rome, in whose view the thing happen'd, Arrested him; and his Case being brought before the Inquisition, he was there Con|demned

by such Commissioners as were appointed. He submitted himself to their Censure, and some Years after died in Prison: Upon which 'twas ge|nerally thought, that this new Heresie, known by the name of Quietism, was so far from passing the Alps, that it died outright with him. But the Case was quite otherwise: For not only Italy was stuffed with his Errours, but even France itself was tainted with them. One Madam Guy|••a, the Widow of Mr. Montargis, who, after the g••tting of a great Estate upon the Canal of Bria••e, left her with two Children: This Lady, I say, minded nothing less than the true Educa|tion of her Children: Not that she wanted either Wit or Judgment; nay, on the contrary, she had a greater share of both than what is natural to Wo••en, or what herself ought to have desired: For she meddled with what did not become her, and shoving her No••e into Books, pretended to explain not only the Fathers but even the Scripture it self. In fine, having heard of Molinos and his Herefie, she could not be easie till she had •• Copy of his Books, and canvass'd 'em all over. Malicious People will tell you, that she approv'd of 'em, to cover some Enormities that were charg|ed upon her. In the mean time, she fell in with a Barnabite, a Sav••yard by Nation, who resided in a Convent, belonging to that order at Montargis. She made him her Confessour in ordinary and her Confident; and having pour'd her Venom into his Bosom, compil'd a great many Books, either with his help, or without it, so as to make the same Figure in France, that Molinos had done at Rome. Mean while, she ought to have been apprehensive of his ••ate; for tho' the Inquisition has not the same ••ooting in all Countries, yet she was not ignorant that the venting of a new Doctrine was a disallow|able Action. She dispers'd her Books among the Convents, and several other places; and the Ab|bot

of Fenelon, the Gentleman whose Name I pro|mised not to forget, finding them of a piece with his Sentiments, approv'd 'em secretly. This he durst not do publickly, by reason that he was made Sub-praeceptor to the Children of the Royal Family; and that the discovery of this his Appro|bation, would not only cut off his arrival at a Bishoprick, but dispossess him of the Post he was then in. However, Madam Guyon's Writings being publish'd, began to make a noise in the World; and in regard that the advances contain'd in 'em, incourag'd all the periods of a dissolute Life, or at least, made way for very odd consequences; upon this Consideration, I say, the Bishop of Meaux, as well as the Bishop of Paris, who was then only Bishop of Chalons, undertook to make her sensible of her Error. They had Conferences upon this Head with the Abbot of Fenelon, whom they deem'd to be tainted with the same Doctrine. He, on the other hand justify'd her Assertions; and maintain'd, that her Thoughts were Just and Or|thodox, tho' the Meaning and Explication that they forc'd upon her, was Heretical. He likewise spoke up for her Morals, and the Conduct of her Life, which he pretended to be particularly ac|quainted with, tho' both the one and the other were much suspected.

The warmth he shew'd in justifying her, con|firm'd the two Prelates in the Thought, That the Doctrine he vindicated, was as much his own, as hers. They told him as much, and he on the other hand did not deny it; but had the submis|sion to assure 'em, That he would willingly change his Mind, if he were convinced of the Error. To this purpose, an Assembly was held at Issi; but before they met, Madam Guyon had given in to the Bishop of Meaux, a Copy of all her Writings, in order to be examin'd at his leisure. The Bi|shop examin'd it with all possible Care; and like|wise

was at the pains of inspecting the Conduct of her Life for some time, by which means he discover'd that she inflamed the Evil, by pretend|ing to Authorize her Doctrine by Miracles, and a Gift of Prophecy, bestow'd upon her by God. She recounted Stories to this effect, pretending to confirm 'em by credible Witnesses; and in a word, never did Woman, or Man, carry Fanati|cism so far as she did. In fine, there was cause enough for putting her up in Bedlam, if it had not been for those who supported her. All the Ab|bot of Fenelon's Friends were hers; the Duke of Beauvillers, Governor to the Princes of the Royal Family, was suspected to be an Abettor of her Errors, as well as the Duke of Chevreuse, and their whole Families. The thing that confirm'd the general suspicion of the Duke de Beauvillers beyond the rest, was the putting his eight Daugh|ters into a Convent at Montargis. 'Twas con|cluded from thence, that Montargis being the place where this Heresie was first hatched in France, that Convent being a Convent of Benedictines, was likewise tainted. The whole Family of Charost was suspected in like manner of falling in with this Heresie. But that which restrain'd scrupu|lous and nice Consciences from Condemning it, at a time when they were very sensible of its perni|cious Consequences, was, That neither the Court, nor France itself, could boast of Persons of such Christian Lives, and Regular Morals, as all the Favourers of the new Doctrine were of. Their Piety was not of so late a date, as the Heresie of Mo••in••s, that Madam Guyon Reviv'd: From their first appearance at Court, they were all eminent for Vertue; and 'twas in consideration of that, that the King chose to put the Children of France under the Government of the Duke of Beauvil|lers. He had been thirty Years a Courtier; and during that space of time, had never counter acted

the Measures of Vertue, which shin'd in all his Actions; and in a word, no Man could be in grea|ter esteem at Court, than himself. So that, when the Publick saw him charg'd with the Abetting of this new Doctrine, they look'd upon the Charge as Invidious, as well as Zealous. They put this construction upon the matter, that the Post he was in, created him private Enemies, who wanted to succeed him, and stood at nothing to compass their End.

Whatever was in it, the Abbot of Fenelon, who always shewed a disposition to obey what Deci|sion should be made at Issi, joyned with Madam G••yon in singling out a third Person, who would cast the Ballance upon the side he declared for, if the two Bishops who were to meet should be of a contrary Sentiment. The Bishop of Meaux pre|tends, in a Book he has lately published, That all this was carried on, without the King's know|ing any thing of the matter. This I am willing to believe, because he said it. And I likewise be|lieve, that the reason in his view, was, to pre|vent the King's having an ill opinion of the Ab|bot of Fenelon; His Majesty being an Enemy to all new Opinions, not only out of Piety, but out of Policy; since nothing is more apt to disturb the Repose of a State, than Innovations in Reli|gious Matters. The third Person I mention'd but now, was Mr. Tronson, Doctor of the Sorbonne, Superior of the Seminary of S. Sulpitius, a Man of sound Principles, and one whose Life and Con|versation were blameless. Before the Assemblies met, the Abbot of Fenelon had time to Compile a Vindication of Madam Guyon's Books; but not|withstanding all his Precaution, they were Con|demn'd with one general Voice. Madam Guyon had promised to submit to the Judgment of these three Doctors, as well as the Abbot of Fenelon. And both of 'em seeming to submit, these Judges

thought the Matter was laid asleep, tho at the same time, the Fire was only smoother'd under the Ashes. The Abbot of Fenelon, had a mind to be a Bishop, before he kindled it again. And in effect, he was no sooner Install'd Archbishop of Cambray, but he return'd to his Vomit, notwith|standing that he had invited the two Prelates that Contemn'd his Doctrine, to assist at the Ceremony of his Consecration. However, he went on with a great deal of Precaution, pretending that the Sentence pronounced against him, was only owing to a misunderstanding of the true Sense of the Books under Examination. He gave high Enco|miums of the Vertue of that Lady, which at that time began to be more warmly attack'd than before, for 'twas alledg'd, She had only reviv'd Molinos's Doctrine for a Cloak to the disorderly things she was charg'd with. Madam Guyon, for her part was so far from a true Submission to the Censure of those Judges, that she began again to Write a Vindication of her Doctrine. The Arch|bishop of Cambray, who pretended all along to keep in with the two Prelates that had Con|demn'd him, as if the Allegations he had made on the behalf of the Lady, and her Principles, were such as they would have joyn'd with, if they had been fully acquainted with her Person and Doctrines. This Prelate, I say, made a coun|terfeit Censure of the liberty that the Lady took in setting Pen to Paper again. At last, the King was inform'd of the Matter, but so, that nothing was said against the Bishop of Cambray; either because they had a mind to try if they could gain him otherwise, or because they fear'd his Plot was so well contriv'd, that he would come off clear, notwithstanding all the Testimony they could bring against him. Madam Guyon was Im|prison'd at Vincennes, by the King's Order. As the Mind of Man is always curious and fond

of Novelties, so her Books were sought for e|very where, insomuch that there was not half enough for those that wanted 'em. This Lady had a Daughter that was married to the Count de Vaux, the Eldest Son of the late Mr. Fouquet, Superintendant of the Finances. He was Brother to the Dutchess of Charost; and being troubled at the Imprisonment of his Mother-in-Law, as, indeed, he ought to have been, He left no Stone unturn'd to procure her release. The Abbot of Fenelon did the same thing under hand. 'Twas represented to the King, that she herself would condemn her own Advances, if she thought they imported what was alleg'd against her, and that she was so far from meaning any such thing, that she thought herself oblig'd to take up her Pen again to undeceive the World; but since His Majesty was displeas'd with her Writing, she would take care not to transgress his Orders for the future. In fine, her Resolution to submit to the Doctrine of the Church, was so dextrously represented to the King, that he condescended to set her at liberty, upon condition, that she should retire to a Con|vent, just by Paris, where her Conduct might be more narrowly inspected: Thither she went, and behaved herself for some time so well, that 'twas really believ'd she was wean'd from her Errors. In the mean time, this thing having made a great noise, the Bishop of Meaux resolv'd to publish a Book to undeceive those that might favour the New Doctrine. He communicated his Design not only to the Bishop of Chalons, who was then made Archbishop of Paris; but likewise to the Bi|shop of Cambray. He gave the latter to know, that he hop'd he would affix his Approbation to the Book, which he desir'd both out of respect to him, and for enforcing and recommending it to the World. He represented farther, That there was a general Report, that he had favour'd that La|dy;

and that by this means he would shew to the World, that tho' he once thought well of her, yet he did not subscribe to her Errors. The Bi|shoy of Meaux alledges, That he promised his Approbation, and that after this interview, they parted good Friends. This he avers openly in a Book of his that's but just Published. How|ever, the Archbishop of Cambray went some days after, to visit the Archbishop of Paris, and ac|quainted him, that he had a mind to write upon that Subject himself, but would not put his Book to the Press, before he knew his Sentiments of it. The Archbishop of Paris endeavour'd to dissuade him from pursuing his Design, and re|monstrated to him, That the least partiality to that Lady's Tenets, would infallibly ruine him. The other reply'd, That he might easily imagine he had no mind to Print any ill thing, since he offered to shew it first to him. But this Ans|wer did not please the Archbishop of Paris. He continued his utmost endeavour to take him off from his Resolution; but at last finding he could not prevail, he desir'd, that at least, he should not Print his Book till the Bishop of Meaux had Published his. The Archbishop of Cambray promis'd not to do it; and the Archbishop of Paris thinking he would keep his word, ac|quainted the Bishop of Meaux with what he had said. In the mean time he expected a sight of the Manuscript; and, indeed, the Bishop of Cam|bary sent it to him, but it was writ in such an ab|stracted manner, that the first time he read it, he could understand little or nothing of it. In that Manuscript he set forth, That if the Doctrine of the Quietists consisted in the belief of such and such things, he was ready to Condemn it; but if it maintain'd such and such things, he was ready to vindicate it. Thus was his Book divided into several Chapters, some containing a description

of the Quietism, That all Doctors ought to re|ject; and others of the Quietism, That, as he alledg'd, all the World ought to approve of. The Archbishop of Paris, who had not much time to peruse it, being much taken up in the exercise of his Episcopal Office, thought he might keep the Manuscript as long as he would, espe|cially considering, that the Archbishop of Cam|bray had promis'd not to put it to the Press till the Bishop of Meaux's Book was Published. But he would needs have it again, and the Archbishop of Paris gave it him, after he had shewn him two or three Chapters that he thought proper to be lick'd over again. But, after all, this Book was Published before the Bishop of Meaux's; and the Author having thus broke his word to the Archbishop of Paris, fell out both with him and the other Prelate. The Bishop of Chartres joyn'd with them in representing to the King the per|nicious Consequences that would insue upon the toleration of that New Doctrine. His Majesty having spoke of it to the Archbishop of Cam|bray, that Prelate pretended to maintain, that he had said nothing in his Book, but what was con|formable to the Tradition of the Church; and that he was willing to refer the matter to Rome, and submit to their decision. The King not be|ing qualify'd to judge of these things himself, was oblig'd to strike Sail to such a plausible sub|mission: But the other three Prelates being still at his Ear, remonstrated to him, That 'twas not pro|per for the Royal Off-spring to be under the Con|duct of a Man that was so notoriously suspected of Heresie. This gave His Majesty such an Alarm, that he ordered the Archbishop of Cambray to re|tire to his Archbishoprick. In the mean time, the Cause was transferr'd to Rome, as being the only Tribunal capable to determine a Question of that Nature. Each of the Parties endeavour'd to

make Friends in that place. Mr. Bossuet sent his Nephew thither, who, by the Interest he had be|yond others, might be capable to put his Orders in Execution. The Archbishop of Cambray sent likewise a Person that he confided in, tho' his greatest hopes depended upon Cardinal Bouillon, who was his particular Friend. He order'd him to prolong the Affair as much as possible, that he might have time to set things in a clear light, and to give His Holiness to understand, that the op|position he met with proceeded more from a party concern, than from a Religious Zeal. In the mean while, Madam Guyon's Principles were found in the Royal Abbey of St. Lewis at St. Cir, and a disco|very was made, that some Nuns were so influ|enc'd by 'em, that they were downright Quietists. Madam Maintenon was mightily troubled at this, she being the Person to whom the Nobility of France owes the Erecting of that Religious House, in which they have the opportunity of being rid of their Daughters for a time, and sometimes for ever: And what troubled her yet more, a Nun that was her particular Favourite, was one of the poyson'd number. However, the King transplant|ed 'em to other Convents, to prevent their infect|ing of the rest. This Sect which had been ex|tinct at Rome from the Condemnation of Molinos, began to revive there, when the Abettors under|stood, that it still had footing beyond the Alps, and even that an Archbishop had openly declar'd himself a Protector of it. Such was the confor|mity of their Sentiments with his, that they cry'd up whatever he advanc'd; and tho' they did not know him, and indeed had scarce ever heard of him, yet the whole City was presently fill'd with several Writings, in which they not only applaud|ed his Doctrine, but made an infinite number of Panegyricks upon his Person, as if they had been intimately acquainted with him. The Archbishop

of Cambray being acquainted with all that pass'd at Rome by an Express he had sent thither, did not nevertheless confide so much in them, as to abstain from Writing himself: For he sent 'em several Papers by way of Letters, in which he explain'd the Objections made against his Book, in order to rectifie the consequences that might be drawn from thence. In the mean time, nothing was said to Madam Guyon, nor to the Archbishop's Friends that were about the Children of France. Among these was the Abbot of Beaumont his Ne|phew, to whom he had procur'd the place of be|ing Sub-praeceptor to the young Princes, and who had always acted up to the Duty of his Post. In regard 'tis natural for a Nephew to adhere to his Uncle, and that the obligation he had receiv'd from his Uncle, suggested a Presumption, that he would not easily depart from his Interest, the King was sollicited to disgrace him. 'Twas re|presented to His Majesty, That the Young Prin|ces were not safe under his Conduct, no more than under his Uncle's; and that tho' he had not publickly taken up with his Errors, yet 'twas to be fear'd he might suck in their Contagion. The King thought it an unjust thing, upon a simple suspicion, to turn a Man out of his Post, that could not be convicted of any Crime. He was resolv'd to see farther into the matter before he would condescend to any such thing. Thus was he continued in his place, and his Enemies were forc'd to wait for a more favourable opportunity to ruine him.

While the Bishops were thus making War one with another, two Ecclesiastick Orders were re|concil'd, that had not always liv'd in a good un|derstanding; I mean the Jesuits and the Priests of the Oratory, who upon several occasions have de|monstrated to the World, that they are not al|ways of the same Opinion. The Doctor of St.

Martha, a Person of great Merit, distinguishing Piety, and profound Learning, was turn'd out from being General of the Priests of the Oratory, by the intrigues of the Jesuits, supported by the late 〈◊〉〈◊〉 de Chanvallon, Archbishop of Paris. To pry into what was done in that Society, the Je|suits, as well as the Archbishop, had got a false Brother there, who gave 'em notice of every thing, so that no-body could imagine how the dis|covery came; for he was so disguis'd, that he was taken for the greatest Zealot of all the Brethren. An Archbishoprick was promis'd him in recom|pence for his Service, and the Good Fathers were as good as their word in due time, that is, when they found another of their Society, that pro|mis'd to perform what he did. The conferring of a Bishoprick upon this Traitor, rais'd a sus|picion in that Society; but since it might be at|tributed to something else than the true Cause, that was not enough for a true Conviction. At that time the Traitor of St. Martha was not yet depos'd; he continuing his steady Course, quickly observ'd that there were Traitors among them, tho' he did not determine whether the Bishop or another. However, that Bishop being remov|ed from thence, the simpler sort of People look|ed upon that as a vindication of him, tho' the more sensible part of Mankind did not excuse him the more for that. They fancy'd what was true, that he had given his Place to another, who would be equally zealous upon the prospect of the like Recompence. They were in the right of it; for they did nothing but what the Arch|bishop and the Jesuits knew: However they did not trouble themselves, being sensible that they did nothing but what was to be done. In the mean time, the Doctor of St. Martha had occa|sion to have some business with the Archbishop; and one day when he had his Audience, that

Prelate put him into his Closet, till he had finish'd a Conference with a person upon a bu|siness of Consequence. As soon as the Doctor enter'd the Closet, he spy'd upon the Table, a|mong other Papers, one that he knew to be the Hand of one of his Priests; and having the curiosity to know what it was, found it to be an account he gave the Archbishop of a thing that had been privately concerted among them. This Paper he put in his Pocket, thinking the Arch|bishop would not perceive that 'twas he that took it, and carry'd it home, after finishing the Affair he came upon. Immediately upon his re|turn he consulted with those of his Society, that he knew would be faithful in keeping the secret, whether or not he should shew this Paper to him that wrote it. Some were against the shewing of it, because that would give the Archbishop to know, that 'twas he that took it; but others thought this no inconveniency; nay, on the con|••ary, they thought they were oblig'd to shew that they knew both the Traitor and the Treache|ry. The Father joyn'd with the last, and accor|dingly took aside the writer of the Paper that was then in his Pocket, and check'd him for what he had done. The writer offer'd to deny the Fact, fancying that he spoke only by sus|picion. Then the Father of St. Martha advis'd him in a Christian manner, not to add a Lye to his former Fault, and withal acquainted him, that he knew all the particulars, for which rea|son 'twas in vain for him to offer to disguise any thing. The treacherous Brother was of the same Humour with those, who, when once they have advanc'd a thing, could rather see it cut in peices, than lop any thing of it: For in pursuance of their Temper, he insisted still upon the Negative. But the General not being able longer to bear his impudent Lying, produc'd the writing out of

his Pocket, and prov'd the Charge against him by his own hand Writing. The Traitor was migh|tily surpriz'd at the appearance of the Paper; having then nothing more to say, all his reserve was to cry out upon the Archbishop for ruining him entirely, by giving his Paper to the Gene|ral. The Archbishop made Oath that it did not come that way; and well he might, since it was discover'd as above. However, the Archbishop smelling from thence, that the Father had snatch'd up that Paper when he was in the Closet, advis'd the false Brother not to be concern'd, for that he would procure the Royal Protection for him, in case his Society offer'd to affront him. In effect, the Society of which he was a Member design'd to expel him; but the Archbishop prohibited them in the King's Name, to think of it; so that he continued among these Priests, and does to this day. In the mean time the Archbishop could not for|get the Trick that the Father of St. Martha had plaid him. That joyn'd with other things, gave the Archbishop an opportunity of representing him to the King as a Jansenist, and imploying the Royal Authority to depose him. Father de la Tour, the present General of that Order, was elected in his room, and deserv'd that Post upon several accounts, especially by reason of his sin|gular Piety, and distinguishing Zeal. The Je|suits oppos'd his Election under hand, alledging, That he was as much a Jansenist as the Father of St. Martha. Several things were offer'd to|wards his justification; but that very thing that was design'd for his further Ruine, prevented his exclusion. He was Confessor to one Madam de Fond Pertuis, that was a zealous Devotee to Mr. Arnaud, insomuch that she went to Flanders several times during the last War. This new General having advice of this, prohibited her to return to Flanders again, unless she chose another

Confessor. But she did not stand to go thither once more, in spite of his order to the contrary. However he did not offer to enquire further into her Conduct; but the thing being heard of at Court; the King saw plainly that he was not so much a Jansenist as he was represented ••to be, in regard he censur'd that Lady's adhering to one that was reckon'd the head of that Sect. Thus was his exclusion prevented; and the Jesuits finding what a good Opinion the King had of him, invited him to P••••••ch a•• a solemn Festival in the Church of St. Louis. He return'd their Complement by de|siring them to single out one of their Society to Preach before the Priests of the Oratory, upon the day of another solemn Festival. Thus was the Reconciliation brought about, that I spoke of but now. But, after all, I doubt if the Je|suits were cordial in the matter; for this Gene|ral had for some time indeavour'd to stifle their Practice. A great many Ladies of Quality that us'd to confess to Father Bourdaloux, or some of their Society, desir'd that he might be their Di|rector. Among others the Dutchess of Aumont deserted them, and put in with him: And this be|ing a Practice that seldom passes with impunity among Directors, would have eterniz'd the Quar|rel between the two Companies, if the Jesuits, who have fully as much Policy as Learning, had not thought it proper to take no farther notice of it. At this day Father de la Tour Preaches in their Church; but as he is not equal to many of 'em, either in Gracefulness or Eloquence, so they did not stand to give him the precedency as to the Direction of Consciences, because he, for his part, was oblig'd to stoop to them in the way of Preaching. Madam Harlai, the Plenipotentiary's Lady, had become one of his Penitents, ever af|ter she had the happiness to be convinc'd, that it was impossible to work her Salvation in this

World, if she liv'd as most Women now a days do: But being as fond of Gaming as ever her Husband could be, particularly of Lansquenet, which is as bewitching as Bassette, insomuch, that when Women are once seiz'd with a Passion for it, they'll rather sell their Smock than abstain from it: This Lady, I say, being such a passionate Lover of that Game, that 'twas to be fear'd she might relapse into her old vomit, by frequenting publick Company every day; This Director gave her four of his other Penitents to have an eye upon her. These Spies reliev'd one another under the pre|tence of keeping her Company; and she was the less sensible of the Design, because they were all four much of her Age and Condition. One, in|deed was of a higher Birth than she, as being the Widow of a Son of the Blue-Ribbon, one of whose Ancestors had been a Marshal of France. For, notwithstanding that the Lawyers have a great value for their Character, especially when their Magistracy gives as great a distinction as the Family of Harlai is possessed of; yet 'tis certain, that there's a great deal of difference between th•• Gown and the Sword, when the latter is attended with distinguishing Circumstances. This Lady had been the Marchioness of St. Valeri. As for her own Family she was a Bullion, that is to say, the Daughter of the Marquis of Mon Lovet; a Marquis indeed of a late standing, but of a golden Nobility; for he was the Son of Mr. de Bullion, Superintendant of the Finances, who left three Children, among which the descendants of the Eldest were only capable to keep his Riches; as for the other two, their Posterity has no resem|blance of the Superintendant that was once in their Family; they are as poor as Devils, and the third of these Children commenc'd his mise|ry in their Life: time, by making an unlucky Mar|riage. He fell in Love with his Mother's Wo|man,

and Married her, upon whch his Mother disinherited him. After he had quench'd his Pas|sion with Enjoyment, he quickly became sensible of his Fault; but 'twas then too late to think of a Remedy. However, being very much troubled for the loss of such a fine Succession, he left Lions, where he was wont to live, and came to Paris; having first instructed his Wife in what she was to do towards the backing of his De|sign. The Orders he gave her, were, to go into the Country, and spread a Report in the City, that she was at the Point of Death: Now, it being customary in all places to inlarge Reports as they spread, the whole City of Lions was presently fill'd with the noise, not only of the Lady's sham Illness, but even of her Death. Her Husband, who had been hitherto frustrated in all his attempts towards the regaining of his Mother's Favour, knowing how cases stood at Lions, went into deep mourning, and so repair|ed to St. Eustache, where his Mother commonly went. He cast himself, as 'twere, accidentally in her way; and she seeing him in such a Garb, had the curiosity to inform herself under hand, of the Reason of it; for she would not speak to him herself. Her followers being perswaded that his Wife was Dead, told her, what they heard of the matter; upon which she gave her Son's Relations and Friends to know, That forasmuch as the occasion of the difference be|tween her and him was gone, she would not keep Anger longer. She invited him to come and see her; and the Deed by which he was disinherited being tore, he found ways and means to retain her Friendship, insomuch, that she not only par|don'd his Marriage, but likewise his abusing of her Credulity, in making her believe that his Wife was Dead.

Madam Harlai's three other Keepers were the Attorney General's Lady, Madam Harouis, and Madam Chateaurenard. This last was the hand|somest of all the four, but had not been always so devout as they, for she was mightily taken up in the way of the World: But the disgrace of her Husband's Family, with some other melancho|ly Circumstances that are not uncommon in the way of Life, oblig'd her to pursue a course that might screen her from all disquiet; so that she became so very pious, that her Piety was a pat|tern for those who had grown old in the pursuit of it, before ever she thought of such a course of Life. Her Husband was the Son of the late Mr. Dacquin, the King's first Physician, who not being satisfied with the Estate he had, occasion'd his own Banishment from the Court, by impor|tuning the King with unseasonable Requests: Nay, he was so bold, as to represent to His Ma|jesty, that his Services were at least equal to any that could be done of what nature soever; and in effect, that since his Life was to him the most precious and dear thing in the World, 'twas an obvious consideration, that the person who pre|serv'd it by his Prescriptions, was not be despis|ed. Before he ventur'd upon such Discourses, that is, while he observ'd the measures of Respect, due to His Majesty; both he and his Family had a thousand liberal Gifts conferr'd upon 'em. His Majesty had made his Eldest Son Secretary of his own Closet, and an honorary Counsellor of the Parliament, a favour that is not promiscuously granted; and besides all this, he was Intendant of the Generality of Moulins. When this Honour was conferr'd upon him, he was scarce twenty five Years old. But immediately upon his Fa|ther's beginning to talk so high, he was included in his Father's Disgrace, and recall'd. The Name of Chateaurenard which he bore, was the Title

of an Estate he bought from Mr. Amat, the Son of a famous Farmer of the Revenues. This Amat, who scarce understood his Interest so well as his Father, discover'd upon his first imbarking in the World, that Gaming was his only de|light; and upon that score, several Sharpers Courted him in hopes to have part of the Riches left him by his Father. Among others, an En|sign of the Life-Guard had ••pretty good success; for he won of him a large sum in ready Money, and another upon tick. But that sort of Com|merce being the King's aversion, and the Ensign being better vers'd in shuffling the Cards, than in unsheathing his Sword for the King's Service; Up|on these considerations, he was broke when His Majesty purg'd the Companies of their scandalous Members. The above-mentioned Estate belonged formerly to a very good Family of that Name. It had once a Castle upon it that serv'd to over-awe the Burgundians, when they were under the Dukes of Burgundy, who were the greatest Enemies that ever the Kings of France had; notwithstanding that they had the honour to spring from their Blood. The Heir of that Family having done something in opposition to the King's Interest; his Estate was forfeited and reunited to the Royal Demes|nes. The Family of Chatillon Coligni, whose Pos|sessions were adjacent to that Estate, bought it of the King as lying conveniently for them, and kept it a great many Years, till William Prince of Orange Married Louise de Coligni, the Daughter of Admiral de Coligni, who bears so great a Fi|gure in our History; by which means it pass'd into the House of Nassau, and there continued till the Princes of Orange, the present King of England's Mother, sold it as her Son's Guardian to Mr. Amat Farmer of the Revenues. At this day the Arms of the Princes of Orange are placed in the most eminent part of the City, if it be allowable to

call a Place a City, that is only a Hole, and that one of the most wretched Holes in the Universe. But let it be as it will, the Inhabitants of that Hole or Town, call it which you will, thinking to ingratiate themselves at Court in the beginning of the last War, by setting forth their hatred of King William, intreated the Marquis of Louvois by a Letter, to allow 'em to take down these Arms. But such a Request deserving no Answer, that Minister gave 'em none; and thus were the Arms preserv'd from their mistaken Zeal; so that they stand to this day where they were plac'd an Age ago.

At that time the Bishop of Dax Died; and his Death robb'd the publick of his History of the King, which he was carrying on, upon the pre|cedent of Mr. Perefixe's History of Henry IV. He thought it became a Bishop to undertake that sort of performance. But after all, if he had employ'd his time in finishing the History of the Church begun by Mr. Godeau; that Province, as I take it, had been more suitable to his Chara|cter. However, he search'd every corner for the finding of Memoirs to answer his Design. And not long before his Death, I saw him come to one of my Friends, that had belong'd to Cardinal Mazarin, to know of him, whether the late King of England was present at the Negotiation of Peace, carry'd on by that Minister, with Don Louis de Haro, in 1659. Upon his departure, my Friend acquainted me with the occasion of his Visit; which was to me a mighty surprisal, for that all the World knows, that that Prince would have been there, but that his Eminence would not allow of it. The Reason he went upon, was, That he fear'd the disobliging of Richard the Son of Crom|wel, who had been declar'd Protector of England after his Father's Death. So that that Prince who had advanc'd within six Leagues of the place where

the Conferences were held, was oblig'd to return. My Lord Bath, whom he had sent to know if his Presence would be acceptable, receiv'd this Ans|wer, That 'twas not proper for him to appear there; and that the above-mentioned Minister would still take the same care of his Interest. But had the Prince been so simple as to trust him, and take no other measures, he had been in a fair way of never mounting his Throne. The Bishop I mention'd but now, had resign'd his Bishoprick a great while ago, perhaps in order to have the more leisure to pursue his History: 'Tis probable he thought to out-do Racine, or Boileau; but I question if he should have succeeded: If his Talent lay that way, I must say that it was a hidden one; for he was never found to be capable of doing much.

Had the Marquis of Rouville, who was eighty Years old, died as he did, he had not sustain'd so great a loss, because he had not any History upon the Stocks; but instead of Dying, the old Gen|tleman acted the part of a very Lively Man, and one that had no mind to die so soon. He com|menc'd a suit against his Relations, who mean'd to interdict him, under the pretence that he was very old; and having always been an ill Husband, there was no hopes of his growing better in his old days. Had the late Prince been still alive, and sate as his Judge, he had not only given it for his Adversaries, but order'd him to be Impri|son'd; for he us'd to say, that if there had been two ••••••••••••es in France, he would not scruple to leave it for his Life-time. His meaning was, That he was the most troublesome Man in the World: which was also the Opinion of a good many People, who, in imitation of this Prince, did not satisfie themselves with Trifles. He chose ra|ther the Condition of one of his own Men in a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Corner, at Chantilly, than to be oblig'd

to hear such an idle Fellow speak; nor did he stand to say, that he was far less uneasie with his Pullets, and the other Creatures that he kept in his Managry, and visited twice a day, than he would be with Men of his Character. Yet it was a strange manner of Occupation for a Prince, so famous for having gain'd so many Battels, and whose very first Essays in War had equal'd the Actions of those that grew old in the Trade. The Enter|prize of Barcelona was still in hand, as well as the design to have the Prince of Conti chosen King of Poland; and the Court was exceeding di|ligent to bring both the Affairs to a happy Issue. The one was, indeed, more easier than the other, tho' both appeared very hard; at least, there was some reason to judge the latter more easie than the former, because all they had to do, was, to spare no money to make it succeed; they were only to gain the Votes of those who are always for the highest Bidder; for as that is the Harvest of the Poles, who reap nothing when they have a King upon the Throne; so it is long since they own'd their resemblance of the Swiss, in regard nothing is to be done with them without money. The Prince of Conti had sent thither already two hundred thousand Crowns of his own, and the King for his part, who would have reap'd a great advantage, by obtaining that Crown for the Prince, sent fourtimes as much. Abbot Polignac, the King's Ambassador at that Court, distributed the money amongst those he had engag'd in his Party, and taking that Election to depend intirely upon Cardinal Radzionwski, Archbishop of Gnesne, who by virtue of this last Dignity, was Prince and Regent of the Kingdom, during the va|cancy of the Throne, ••lavish'd his money upon him, while he thought it sufficient to feed others with fine Promises. But the Generals of the Ar|my of the Crown, and the Lithua••ian Troops,

who were equally sharp set with the Cardinal, did not find their Account in that sort of manage|ment; neither were the Palatines satisfied, foras|much as they thought their Swords deserv'd to be considered no less than the Cardinal's Mitre. Ab|bot Polignac had disguis'd his Project for a long time, and made the Queen Dowager of Poland, be|lieve, that the King, his Master, had only put up the Prince of C••nti by way of Provision, in case there were no other in whom he could confide. Be|sides that, the Prince of Conti was very-indiffer|ent upon the matter; and if he consented to it, 'twas rather to please the King, than to gratifie his Inclination. So far he said well; and that Prince who was passionately fond of France, was afraid of nothing more, than to hear that he was elected King of Poland. But as for His Majesty, he was of another mind, for he desir'd nothing more earnestly than to see the Crown upon that Prince's Head, by reason of the advantage he ex|pected from thence. The Queen Dowager being, like most people, easily perswaded to believe what she wish'd gave credit to the insinuations of Abbot Polignac. She took a great deal of pains to justifie to him her Conduct, in what she had done for several Years against the King's Interest; and gave him to know, that His Majesty had for••'d her to it by his ill usage; and that when|ever His Majesty pleas'd to alter his measur••s with reference to her, she would really shew, that she d••••••r'd nothing more than the restoring of the good understanding that had been betwixt the two Crowns in the beginning of the Reign of the King her late Husband. She continued to repre|••••rt, That i•• His Majesty would vouchsafe his P••••••ction to Prince James her Son, whom she mean••d to prefer to the Throne, as soon as he a••••••vd at that Dignity, he should do every thing in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with His Majesty's pleasure; and

that His Majesty ought not to fear that the Al|liance he had concluded with a suspected Family, would oblige him to counteract his Interest; that he knew well, that Princes have but little regard for their Wive's Relations, at a time when either their Glory or Grandure are in view; and that her Son would continue in an inseparable U|nion with his Crown, insomuch that he would put the Service of His Majesty upon the same ballance with his own.

These words were very acceptable to the Ab|bot of Polignac, who knew, that a Reconciliation between two Parties is the more sincere, when both sides are eager in justifying their past Con|duct. Nay, he pretended to have some sense of the justness of her Complaints against the King, in order to insinuate himself more effectually in|to her Breast. In fine, he agreed with her to transfer all the Votes for the Prince of Conti to her Son; and upon that consideration she pro|mis'd to use her utmost efforts in taking off Sapi|eha, great General of Lith••ania, from the House of Austria, the Interest of which he seem'd to espouse very warmly. Sapieha was extream powerful in that Dutchy, and was rather Master than General of it, possessing vast Territories, and great Char|ges in it, which was the reason that every one trembled under him. The Abbot of Polignac had no other design in it, but to weaken the party of the House of Austria, flattering himself with the Thoughts, that Prince James his Party would ne|ver be able to make Head against his own; for he was very far from thinking to keep his word to the Queen, and all he said to h••••, was only to the end he might the more easily deceive her. Nevertheless she was so credulous, that to assure him the better of the Confidence she had in him, she sent him her Picture, which he seem'd to have desir'd very earnestly. He set it up in the most con|spicuous

place of his Chamber, to make her the better believe how much he esteem'd it. However, that Princess acted nothing but in concert with him. She endeavour'd to take off Sapieha from the House of Austria. Sapieha did not deceive her in the least. He told her freely, That he was so engag'd in the Interest of that Family, that there was but one thing that could oblige him to quit it, and that was, to have the Crown set upon his own Head, and that it was in her power to con|tribute to it, if she pleas'd: That she should only joyn her Interest, with that he could make for him|self; which if she pleas'd to consent to, he would in|fallibly set her upon the Throne with him; for that he being a Widdower and she a Widdow, no|thing could hinder them from Marrying. The Queen Dowager, however earnest she was to Reign, did not at all relish that Proposal. She knew Sapieha's Spirit, who tho' he would have kept his Promise to her, yet would hardly have allow'd her the very shadow of the Kingly Power, while he himself would manage the whole with|out Controul. She had had already two Hus|bands, over whom she had always a great ascen|dant, and now she did not pretend to degenerate in the least from what she had always been, tho' she was passed the time of inspiring any new Flames.

The House of Austria, in imitation of that of France, caus'd the Ministers which they had at that Court, to act so secretly, that it was impossible, even for the most clear sighted, to pry into their Con|duct. There was hardly any one who did not be|lieve that their design was to advance Prince James to the Throne. The honour▪ he had in being Brother-in-Law to the Emperor and the King of Spain, confirm'd them in their Thoughts. However, that House had quite a different in|clination. They mistrusted the Queen of Poland,

whose Actions they were no strangers to, and knowing that she had sent Money into France, they look'd upon her as a Woman that had been always inclin'd that way. They knew that the French have always a secret inclination for their Country, which never dies but with their last Breath. Besides, they knew that Princess had a certain ascendant over her Son, that would assure her of the Reins of the Government, if ever they set the Crown upon his Head. However, all these Reasons were more than sufficient to oblige the Emperor and the King of Spain to prefer their own Interests, to that of their Brother-in-Law, who was a Prince upon whom they could not rely very much; for he was far short of the quali|ties of the King his Father. They cast their Eyes upon a Person very worthy of that Crown. The Duke of Saxony, a young Prince, who had di|stinguished himself to a great degree in the Wars the Emperor had against the Infidels, and whom he had set at the Head of his Army, seem'd to both of them to be the Man. His Imperial Ma|jesty labour'd to remove a difficulty that oppos'd their design. The Duke was of the Lutheran Religion, and ever in some measure considered as the head of all that Party, because it was one of his Ancestors that afforded a Retreat to Lu|ther, and who, after having embrac'd his Doctrine, undertook also his protection against the Emperor, who pretended to have him punished, because he dar'd to Preach a New Religion. It is truly astoni|shing, why his Imperial Majesty and the King of Spain, would not rather endeavour to chuse the Duke of Bavaria, who was Son-in-Law to the one, and Nephew to the other, he being also a Catholick, which was a necessary Quality for the King of Po|land: Besides, he was much Richer than the Duke of Saxony, and that is no mean quality to be considered in a design of that Nature: But

whether that Elector was altogether indifferen•••• or whether the two Princes judged it necessary to continue him in the Government of Flanders, they fix'd intirely upon the other Duke. The Emper|or propos'd the matter to him, and told him, that it should only be long of his Religion, if the Affair did not succeed▪ The Duke found the thing of too great a Consequence to determine sud|denly. However charming the proposition was; he consider'd the Condition they annexed to it was too weighty for him. He demanded some time to give his Answer; and the Emperor judg|ed, that because he listned already, all would have a favourable Issue if he press'd him never so little. He began to infinuate to him, that both the first Calvinists and Lutherans had always believ'd, that one might as well be sav'd in the Catholick Religion, as in Theirs; and that the Crown they propos'd to him, was certainly well worth all the trouble they asked of him; and at the same time made him converse with a num|ber of Doctors, that pushed the Affair a great deal further, and alledg'd a great many Reasons to prove, that the Catholick Religion was the on|ly true Religion, and that which had been always profess'd in the Church.

The Bright lustre of the Crown of Poland, made the Duke relish their admirable Reasons; and some Ministers who conferr'd before him with these Doctors (tho' neither the one nor the other knew to what purpo••e all this was doing) a|greed, that according to the Explication the Ca|tholicks make now adays of their Faith, it was void of all manner of Venom; so that the Duke was more than half perswaded to go all the length they desir'd of him. The Catholick Do|ctors hearing the Ministers speak after that man|ner, That the Prince might harbour no further scruple in his mind, alledg'd, that nonehad ever

explain'd their Faith after any other manner than what they do at present, excepting some sort of People that were glad to make others believe some different Thing; that one might only read the Council of Trent to know the truth of it; and that all those of their Religion had no other Doctrine, than such as was taught there. The Duke was glad that they prepared for him the way he desir'd; being inform'd by the Em|peror, that his Intrigues in Poland were so strong|ly laid, that his Enemies would find it hard to overturn them. There was nothing that diswad|ed him so much from making a profession of that Religion, as the fear that his hopes would prove abortive. Accordingly, being a Man of precaution, he promis'd to the Emperor to per|form all they desir'd of him, upon the proviso of the certainty of his Election: Now, this as|surance that he demanded, was a very difficult Point, because it depended upon the Votes of a great many People that were capable of falsify|ing their words. The very Bishop of Cujavia, tho' he headed the Interest of the House of Au|stria, shew'd no great resolution in determining who he should Vote for, notwithstanding he had already taken of his Money. He design'd to make use of that Election as a means to make him|self a Cardinal; and was sensible; that whatso|ever side was prefer'd, he would meet with invinci|ble Obstacsle to his pretensions. The Bishop of Passaw waited only to see the Emperor's Success, in order to make a Proposal for the succession to that Crown. He being Brother to the Empress, the Bishop of Cujavia was convinc'd that he would be too hard for him; and that upon that score the same thing would be said to him, that upon the like occasion was formerly said to the Coadjutor of Paris. Cardinal Mazarin had formerly promis'd to invest him with the Purple, upon the proviso of some things that were mutually concerted;

but he forfeited this promise, the Cardinal desir'd the Prince of Conti to procure the nomination of another. The Bishop of Cuja|via fearing, and that very justly, that the same thing might happen to him, would glad|ly have gone over to the French side, if he had not been jealous of the Abbot of Polignac, whom he took to be of such a Temper, as not to give up the pretentions he equally made to the Cardinal's Cap. In this quandary he caus'd some to feel his Pulse, to try if he would quit his Preten|tions; but the Abbot being as fond of the prefer|ment as he, thought his request very indiscreet, and neglected the King's Interest in carrying on his own. In effect, had he resign'd his Pretentions to this Prelate, he had, by that means, joyn'd the Prelate's Interest to his own, and had certain|ly procur'd the Election of the Prince of Conti. But he fancied, that by the Primat's Assistance, and by the help of some Money he still expect|ed from France, he would compass his design without him.

The Bishop perceiving how confident he was of his good Success, since he despis'd his Of|fers, which any other would have valued at a far higher rate than what he demanded of him, endeavour'd to cast in some difference betwixt Him and the Queen of Poland. He caus'd in|form that Princess, that she would be extream|ly impos'd upon, if she rely'd upon his Promises, and advis'd her to have some better security of him, than his word, unless she had a mind to leave room for a future Repentance. The Queen, who was naturally suspicious, resolved to make her advantage of this advice; and that she might have the more confidence in Polignac's Expres|sions, she desir'd that he might procu••e for her the King's Letter, by which she might be as|sur'd of what his Majesty was pleas'd to ••••quaint

her by his Ambassador. The Abbot put her in hopes of it, designing to elude her, whenever she urg'd him too close to make good his Promise. In the mean time he wrote to France, that Af|fairs went fairly for the Prince of Conti: But if they design'd to make the success not only proba|ble, but infallible, they should not ••ail to send him a considerable sum of Money. The Court of France was never in greater necessity than at that time; having resolv'd to attack Barcelona, they were equipping a strong Fleet in Provence, that put them to a vast Expence: Besides, they were considerably exhausted to procure a Peace from their Enemies, that at that time was so necessary to them; all their Provinces were ruin'd by the War; and tho' other States were hardly in better Circumstances, yet they were affraid, that the Subjects would scarce be any longer capable of bearing so heavy a Charge.

They had been a long time resolv'd (as is al|ready mention'd) upon the design of Barcelona, in hopes that the Spaniards, who alone with the Emperor oppos'd the Peace, would change their Sentiments, when they saw themselves attack'd even in the very Bowels. For tho' that place, be upon the Frontiers of France, yet there be|ing only two or three places of strength betwixt it and Madrid, it was not doubted, but that Conquest would Alarm them much more than the loss of four better places in Flanders. But af|ter all, tho' these Reasons pleaded for carrying on the attack without any delay, it was never|theless put off for some time upon important Considerations. The very Inhabitants of Marseil|les oppos'd it's Bombardment, in regard they had a great many effects in it, which would have been lost, if it had been reduc'd to Ashes. They made a considerable Present to the Court, to procure a due regard to their Interest: But at last, all the

Considerations that retarded the Seige, •• being taken away, it was discours'd on more warmly than ever.

This Enterprize could not be carried on with|out a great deal of Charge, as I intimated before; but the Court that is seldom sensible of the pub|lick miseries, and had a Minister that found the Mistery, to raise as much Money as they pleas'd without overcharging the People, thought that this ought not to hinder them from bringing their E|nemies to a Compliance. In effect, the Provinces were rather miserable, because they wanted Hands to labour the Ground, than that they were over|charg'd by exorbitant Imposts: So that His Ma|jesty, who was still full of Money, notwithstand|ing all these immense Expences, thought fit to satisfie the Abbot of Polignac, in regard that he assur'd them, there was nothing else wanting to make all have a prosperous Success: So that he sent him not only the sum he desir'd, but four hundred thousand Livers over and above; that if he came to fail in his Negotiation, he should not blame an unseasonable Parcimony. The Queen of Poland seeing him receive so large re|mittances, and distribute them according to the Cardinal's Advice; found him very remote from her Interest, and began to be extream jealous of his Conduct. She had reason to suspect, that he only thought to amuse her; and as the esteem they had of the Prince of Conti, in that King|dom, was far superior to that they had for Prince James her Son, she began to press the Abbot up|on the assurances of his Promise. He shifted it, by telling her sometimes, that the King being now ready to begin the Campaign, had no time to think of any thing else; at other times, that the King expected that if he brought over to the party of Prince James, the Voices he had gain'd for the Prince of Conti, she would be pleas'd to repay

him the Money he had sent into that Country, for making the Party.

The Queen's Council could hardly blame so just an offer, but distrusting that it was only a pretence of the Ambassador's to delay Affairs, advis'd the Queen to yield to him in that Article; for if he meant to be ingenuous, the Prince her Son could never fail of the Crown. The Queen be|lieved her Council; and she herself communicated it to the Abbot; but that Ambassador being now at a loss what to Answer, thought fit to propose to her something concerning his own particular Interest. He told her, that during the life of the King her Husband, he had the promise of the Court, that if he got the Prince of Conti to be chosen King, he should allow him to name whom he pleas|ed for the Cardinal Dignity; that he expected she would be pleas'd to stipulate the same thing with her Son, that all his pains migh•• not be fruitless; That there were some Prelats in her Son's Interest, who had the same pretentions, in case he were chosen King, and that he desir'd they might resign in his favour: That Her Majesty ought not to take it ill, that he should require this of her; for perhaps in his Lifetime he should not have so fa|vourable an opportunity to arrive to that honour|able Dignity.

As soon as the Queen's Council heard him talk af|ter that manner, they were the more confirmed in their Sentiments of him: However, to cut off all opportunities to make use of that difficulty, they us'd their Interest with the Prelats that were of Prince James his Party, to resign what the Abbot desir'd; which they did in consideration of the pro|mises the Queen had made to them; and that Princess acquainting the Ambassador with it, he pretended all went well; and that all that remain|••d 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••e done now, was, to reimburse the sums he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 advanced, o•• which he had the Accounts readvly

by him: Now He had not propos'd that as to be done presently; all he desir'd before, was, That when Prince James should be chosen, the Queen and He should be oblig'd to make that Restitution. So all that were in the Interest of the Queen, finding that he had only altered his Conduct, the better to amuse her, judged it expedient, that Her Majesty should not only break off all measures with him, but do it also very openly. Their Reason was, That as France had it's Enemies as well as Partisans, the secret Union which they suspected she entertained with him, hindred those who had openly declar|ed themselves against France, to imbrace her In|terest. The Queen believ'd them, and after once sounding the Abbot of Polignac touching his last Resolution, she made him sensible, That she was no more of an humour to be amus'd. She wrote a Letter also to the Marchioness of Bethu|nes, to be deliver'd to his most Christian Majesty. In it she complains of the Abbot's disengenuity; and how uselesly he lavish'd the King's Money; for however powerful he believ'd his Interest, it was no ways capable to equal that of the House of Austria, except they joyn'd it with hers. This Marchioness was Sister to the Queen, and both of them were Daughters to the Marquis of Ar|quien, who was Captain of the Duke of Orlean's hundred Swiss, and afterwards Cardinal, by the Nomination of the late King of Poland. The late Princess Mary of Gonsague, had carried that Queen with her into Poland, when she her|self went thither in the same quality, being Married to Ladislaus, who then possess'd that Crown. She had taken her for one of her Maids of Ho|nour; and the Prince Lubomirsky falling in Love with her, as well as Sobiesky, who was after|wards her Husband, the Queen declar'd herself in favour of the first, because he was by far the greater Prince of the two. In the mean time Lu|bomirsky

dying a little after, and the Affairs of that Country proving unfavourable for Casimir, Ladislaus his Brother, who was chosen King after Ladislaus, and had moreover Married his Wid|dow, Queen Mary, knowing that Sobiesky con|tinued always his Affection for Princess Lubomir|sky, promis'd to procure her for him in Marriage, if he would declare himself for the King her Hus|band: Which he did, and as he had already gain'd a great Reputation in that Kingdom, his declaring himself was of vast advantage to Casimir. How|ever, after a great many different Accidents that are foreign to my Subject, Casimir dying without Issue as well as King Ladislaus his Brother, and a French Prince making interest for the Crown, as well as the present Duke of Lorain, his Father; the Bishop of Marseilles, who was Ambassador for France in that Country, seeing it go cross to the Interest of the Person whom his Master pro|pos'd, chang'd his Conduct very dexterously, and told the Dyet, That it was none of their busi|ness to Court their Neighbours, for what they might easily find among themselves, provided they were satisfied with it; That John So|biesky was a person very worthy of their Crown, who would govern them with all the pru|dence and satisfaction that it was possible for any other Prince to do. Sobiesky had beat the Turks in many Rencounters; and even very lately had rescued the Republick from imminent Danger by a glorious Victory: So that his fresh Services pleading more in his favour than it was possible for the Ambassador of France to do, He was chosen King, notwithstanding a former Decree of the Republick, by which they excluded their own Subjects from the Crown.

By these means the Queen of Poland, of an or|dinary French Girl, became Queen. However, tho' her Birth ought to have oblig'd her to all

the Respect imaginable for the Crown of France, under whose Government she had drawn her first Breath, yet she very soon forgot it, because His most Christian Majesty would not comply with all her desires. The Marquis of Vitry, Ambassador of France, at that Court, in the King her Hus|band's time, pass'd his time there very uneasily; and he miss'd been assassinated very narrowly, be|cause she suspected him to be the cause of all the Displeasure she received from the Court of France. The King, who made use of the Prince her Husband, as a check over the Emperour and Empire, was oblig'd to conceal his Resentment of that Princess her Conduct. Matters were better adjusted by the moderation and prudence of His most Christian Majesty, and by the secret Re|flections that Princess might have had of her in|justice to a Prince worthy to govern the Universe. But as it is impossible always to dissemble ones Sentiments, she soon made the breach between Her and His Majesty wider than ever: For being by the Divine Goodness rais'd to so high a Dig|nity, it vex'd her extreamly, that her Father had no mark of Distinction in his Court: She therefore intreated the King to create him Duke and Peet. The Marquis of Arquien, was a person abandon'd to his Pleasures, and became so far a slave to them, that tho' he was advanc'd to a great Age, yet 〈…〉〈…〉 Wise, but plung'd into Debau|cheries that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 extreamly upon the honour of his Daughter and gain'd no Reputation to him|self, either as Father-in-Law to a great King, or as a Man of Quality. He avowedly kept his Miss, whom he allowed to go by his Name; for she was known by no other, than by that of Louison D' Arquien; and that coming often to His Maiesty's Ear, he thought it not very convenient to grant the Queen the Dignity she demanded for her Fa|ther

That Repulse was resented with all the Malice Woman is capable of; she obliged the King, her Husband, to discontinue all secret Intelligence with His Majesty; and as the Emperor, at that time, was engaged in a Bloody War against the Turks, she incessantly importuned him, until he had concluded an Offensive and Defensive League with His Imperial Majesty. The Almighty brought all that to pass for the relief of Vienna, which the Turks had Besieged; and beyond all perad|venture, had also been taken, had not His Polish Majesty come to Relieve it. However, so lively and impatient a Princess, could not but shew her resentment much more to the Abbot of Po|lignac, because the present Affair was of far grea|ter consequence, than any thing that had passed for|merly; and the World saw, by the violence of her Resentment, that she would continue it all her Life. She sent to him to have her Picture again; and because he refused to restore it, thinking still to amuse her, she immediately sent the same Per|son, that had formerly spoke to him, to let him know, That if he would not restore it in a friend|ly manner, she would oblige him to do it by force. The Ambassador, who was sensible how she had treated the Marquis of Vitry, would not run the risque of a second refusal He returned her Pi|cture; and seeing the Queen had broke off all measures with him, he observed none with her, but what her Sex and Dignity obliged him to. In the mean time, he distributed some small Money he had received, among the Commanders of the Army of the Crown, and of that of Lithuania. They thought it convenient to refuse it; but as all he gave them was not capable to satisfie their hungry Appetites, so they were not the more oblig'd by it, to comply with his Design.

An Officer of the Army of the Crown, who was the Elector of Brandenburg's Subject, having

heard even those who received the Money, vent their Railleries, resolv'd to come and acquaint His Majesty of it at Versailles, believing the King would certainly reward him liberally; so quitting his Charge, and leaving that Country expresly, he passed through all Germany, and arriving in Hol|land, came to the Marshal Bo••ffler's Army, upon the Frontiers of the Spanish Flanders. The Officer of the main Guard having stopped him, was inform'd by him, who he was, whence he came, and in some measure, of the nature of his Business; and sent him to the Marshal, to acquaint him of what he was not willing to declare there. This Stranger did not know one Word of French; but as he spoke Latin to perfection, he made the General easily understand, That he came from Po|land, and that he had Affairs of moment, relating to that Country; and this is all he would tell him, as if the Marshal had not been worthy of his Secret. The General seeing a Person of an ill mein, that pleaded nothing in his favour, but ra|ther gave him an ill opinion of him, was like to cause him to be taken up; but considering he would do better to send him under a sure Guard to Court, he put him into the hands of an Officer, whom he order'd to take two or three Troopers for his Escorte.

The Officer went along with him to Versailles, where this Man was reputed a Spy, as soon as he offer'd to speak: For after what the Abbot of Po|lignac had Wrote to them, they were fully per|swaded, that the Affairs of the Prince of Conty went as well as they could wish in that Country; they would not believe a tittle of what he alledg'd, it being quite contrary to Polignac's Relation. He told the Secretary of State, to whom the Marshal had sent him, That they were highly mistaken, if they believ'd, that the Poles would ever chuse that Prince for their King. They ask'd him the

reason; but he not being able to produce any o|ther than that I mention'd but now, it was reck|on'd so bad a one, that he was immediately sent to Prison. They were resolv'd to draw up an In|dictment against him; but Mons. D'Argenson, who was employ'd to Try him, being a Man full of Justice and Equity, had no sooner examin'd him, but he found it plain, that all his Crime consisted in having thought to make his Fortune, by bring|ing this News. He reported the same thing to the Court; and the Process against this pretended Criminal, consisting only of an Interrogatory or two, it was dropt, till they saw how the Election of Poland would go.

The Duke of Saxony thought it convenient, in the mean time, to make a faint show of the Catho|lick Religion, without having the least inclination to it. He saw that it was absolutely necessary for obtaining the Crown of Poland: so having brought over to his Interest a Bishop of his own Family, that was of that Religion; this Prelate, at the Emperor's sollicitation, gave him a Certificate, That he had privately Abjured Lutheranism. This they shewed secretly to the Palatines that were in the Austrian Party, who seem'd to have no other view in Corresponding with it, than to advance Prince James's Election: At least, the World be|liev'd so, and France was of that opinion, so that they did not dream that ever that Elector had thought in the least of the Crown. The Queen of Poland was impos'd upon, as well as others; the Palatines delay'd Affairs on purpose, that they might be more courted, and have the opportunity of filling their Purses. The Elector was obliged to borrow Money from all hands, to forward his Interest. The Elector of Brandenburg lent him considerable Sums upon a Mortgage of the Baillages that lay convenient for him. He like|wise rais'd immense Sums in his own Dominions,

upon the pretence that being in the Emperor's Ser|vice, he wanted the assistance of his own People, be|cause it was not possible for the Emperor to pay the Subsidies they had agreed upon. Moreover, instead of making his Correspondence with the Duke of Erandenburg to appear, he feign'd he was at variance with him, upon the account of the Domains that both of them had upon the Confines of Poland; and accordingly, both of them march'd thither their Troops, as if they design'd imme|diately to come to a Rupture. France that had too many Enemies to deal with, to be indifferent in desiring to get rid of at least some part of 'em, was catch'd as well in this Snare, as in the former. They were willing to believe, that this would not fail to make a powerful diversion in their favour; and as it was impossible for some part of the German Princes to be meer Spectators in the Dif|ferences of these two Princes, so they expected a considerable ease upon each side.

The march of these Troops was very cunning|ly contriv'd, and disprov'd with a witness, what had been publish'd a while ago, to the disadvan|tage of the House of Austria. Some would have it, that for many Years together that Family had been always Trick'd by France; and that by ob|serving only their ordinary Course, as if there had been none else more ready and sure to for|ward their Designs, they had so degenerated from the Wisdom and Greatness of Charles V. that all Europe had forgot them; but as they manag'd this Intrigue, that was contriv'd at Vienna, they were overjoy'd to know that France had lost its Preten|sions to the Title.

While these considerable Affairs were transact|ing in Poland, some other Matters pass'd in France of less consequence for the State, but in which some particular Persons found themselves more interress'd. Paris, that had furnish'd the Scene for

that Lady, who had met with so ill usage from her own Domesticks, afforded also the following, which is extraordinary enough to plead for some place in these Annals. It appear'd to me so uncommon, that I doubted for a long time, whether I should insert it. I was sensible, that among so many certain Things as I here present you with, I ought not to run the risque of Writing any that I have rea|son to suspect: In fine, this Matter has been con|firm'd to me by so many Hands, that if I be de|ceiv'd, it must be, because they took pleasure to impose upon me. I receiv'd six different Letters from Paris, that contain'd the same thing; so that, after all the Precautions I us'd, I suppose, that however extraordinary the Matter appears, it may be credited, after the enquiry I have made in it. In effect, if we should doubt of all the surprizing Things Paris affords, we must ne|cessarily doubt of all that happens there; for every Day produces such Accidents, as one would hardly believe without infallible Testi|mony.

A Girl was forc'd to profess, by the uncon|trolable Will of Parents, who by this means meant to take her off from the Inclinations she had for a Person, they would not have her Marry; notwithstanding she was shut up, she always con|tinu'd a Respect for him, that troubled her ex|treamly, in the exercises of her new Profession. Her Lover, for his part, could never forget her; but having seen her put on the Habit, he ought to have laid aside all hopes of ever enjoying her. Yet being always tormented with his Passion, which was so much the more violent, that while the Young Nun continu'd in the way of the World, she gave him all the demonstrations of her Esteem that he could reasonably desire; he robb'd his Father (a Rich Merchant) of Twenty thousand Livres in Gold, Cloath'd himself in a Girl's Habit, and went

to the Convent where she was, after having hid himself for a whole Month in the City, pretend|ing to be Sick. His first Compliment to the Con|vent was, That he was resolv'd to become a Nun. He told 'em, he was come from the Country, and was the Daughter of Parents that had made a considerable Estate by Trafficking; and having shew'd his Trea|sure to these Nuns, it secur'd him more in their esteem, than any Profession whatsoever.

So extream desirous were they to have it, that they easily dispenc'd with inquiring any farther after the place of her Nativity, or what Faults this disguis'd Girl might be liable to in her Youth. They were satisfy'd, for that she promised them the whole, provided they would Maintain her while she Liv'd. However, she told them, that they might not think she was ill natur'd, That if she meant to let them have the whole Sum, it was, because she had no Relations in France; That her Father and Mother, who had come thither, were origi|nally English. And thus having told them a thousand pretty Stories, at length she concluded, That she was a poor Orphan, and would be very glad to lay out her Money to the best advantage; or at least, to secure herself from the Miseries of Neces|sity.

This Relation of the pretended Orphan appear'd so ingenuous to the Hungry Nuns, that they re|solv'd to receive her into their Cloyster, without troubling themselves with any farther inquiry into her Circumstances, than what their Eyes could afford them into the goodness of her Coin. How|ever, there arose a little difficulty betwixt the Parties; for the Nuns desir'd to have the Money presently deliver'd up to them, or at least, when she assum'd the Habit; but she, for her part, pre|tended only to do it when she Profess'd; tho' she meant never to do it; for she design'd her Mony for some other use than what the Nuns had ever

thought of: And to that purpose told them, That she could not be satisfy'd, whether their Rules and manner of Life would suit with her Temper, and till she was fully assured of that, they ought to demand no other Conditions of her, but that of paying handsomly for her Board, which she would never scruple to do; that in the mean time, she would put out her Money to Interest, which would fall to them in course, whenever she had assum'd the Profession; but that she intended to secure herself before she was stripped of her Money. She de|manded nothing but what was just; and besides, threaten'd to find out some other place, if they re|fused any longer to accept of her Conditions. Being afraid to slip the opportunity, they agreed with her upon her own Terms. So, this preten|ded young Gentlewoman, having put on the White Vail, in a few days, bestow'd so Li|berally upon her Habit, as if Money had cost her nothing. All the Nuns were wonderfully edified by her generosity, only her Mistress, in the midst of all their Joy for so rich a Prize, continued still in her wonted indisposition, as if she had been altogether mortify'd. The resem|blance she found between herself and her Spark, open'd her Wounds afresh, that were still too tender, not to be sensible of any thing that touched them.

The Scene being thus over, The Novice be|gan soon to accost the Lady that oblig'd him to dissemble his Sex. But being unwilling to entertain her in the Torment she was in, she told her all of a sudden, what Love had forced her to do; she added moreover, That she was fully resolv'd to Starve herself, if she would shew her no Compassion; That she was cer|tainly inform'd, she had assum'd the Profession against her Inclination; and if she had yet any sense of the passion she had for her, while with her Parents, she had no reason to doubt, but the

recent Testimony she now gave her, would en|gage her to enter into all the measures she would advise her; That she had fallen upon this Inven|tion, not to rob her of her Honour, but to restore her to to the tranquility she had lost, and to re|cover her own also; That she could enjoy no more after she had enter'd into the Convent; That she wanted not Money to carry them thorow, in exp••ctation of a better Fortune; and tho' the Sum was not of great importance, yet she kn••w how to manage it to that advantage, as would se|cure them from the Injuries of Necessity; That she was fully resolv'd to Marry her, if she pleas••d; That it was certain her Vows were of no force, since she was compell'd to them, and so it depended in|tirely upon herself, to be freed from her present Captivity, since it was not possible for her to be happy without her; That neither of them ought to regard the meanness of the Present she offer'd her now, in comparison of what both of them could have reasonably expected, if Love had not embroil'd them with their Parents; That she would endeavour to be at ease without them, and of|tentimes there was more satisfaction in a middle ordinary F••rtune, than in a sumptuous one; That great R••ches are always attended with great Cares, and provided that a Husband and Wife, who love one another tenderly, be out of the reach of Necessity, they may be indifferent for other Super|fluities.

The Nun found this way of reasoning very perti|nent▪ it ••eing altogether conformable to her own Sense and Inclination. She agreed with her Lover in all things. They pass'd three Months in this In|trigue•• doing nothing but what became the strictest Honour, the there might have been some incroach|ments upon Decercy. The Novice feign'd her|self Sick alle••ging, (after they had asked her a great many times, What she ail'd) That her Sick|ness

proceeded only from the Austerity of the Convent, which she could never be able to go through. The Discreet Mothers were a little vexed to hear her speak after that rate, forseeing that the twenty thousand Livers they had rely'd upon, would slip out of their Fingers; but there being no remedy, they were fain to restore to her her tem|poral Habit, and give her her Pass. She present|ly took up her Money, and gave it to the Ban|kers for Bills of Exchange upon Italy, where she was resolved to pass her time, as soon as she made sure of her Mistress. Having mutually adjusted all things; the Night be|fore they put their Plot in Execution, the Nun uninter'd a Sister that had been just Buried, carried her to her Bed, and having set Fire to it, made her escape into the Garden of the Con|vent, where her Spark had fastned a Ladder of Cords to a certain place of the Wall they had condescended upon. He waited for her at the other side with a Coach, and receiving her into it, while the whole Convent was in an uproar about the Fire, carried her to a Lodging he had intirely at his command.

The poor Nuns had much to do to quench the Fire that frighted them extreamly, for fear of having their whole Convent destroyed by it. However, having mastered it at length, tho' with a considerable loss, they all of them run immedi|ately to the Chamber where the Fire first began, and being extreamly troubled that she did not appear, they doubted not in the least but she had perished in the Flames. They were soon con|firm'd in the certainty of their belief, when they found the remnants of a dead Body in the ruins of that Chamber, thinking really the rest had been consumed by the Fire. Nothing was heard but Grief and Lamentation upon all hands; some re|hearsing the praises of the dead Nun, whom they

thought they could never lament sufficiently. O|thers who were as much interess'd as compassio|nate, griev'd more for the loss of the House, than of the Dead; and while they amused them|selves with these or such like Reflections, not one of them dream'd of what had happen'd; but the most probable thing they said, was, That her Pa|rents when acquainted with her unhappy Disaster, must needs Censure themselves, in regard they had forced her to assume the Profession against her Inclination.

In the mean time, the two Lovers escap'd into Italy, pursuant to their design: There they were Marry'd, having met with a Priest to their Mind; or one perhaps so tender of their Interest, as to ease a poor Girl of her Vows, without giving her the trouble of applying herself to any other Authority, than his own. The young Husband applied himself to Traffick, in which he was so fortunate, as in twenty Years time, to make a considerable Estate. In that time, Providence blessed him with a numerous Off spring; but at length he died in the five and fortieth Year of his Age. The Lady, who was much about the same Age, notwithstanding the tender Love and Prosperity of her Husband, being still frighted with a check of Conscience, resolv'd upon a Journey to Rome, to obtain the Holy-Father's Absolution for what she had done. The Pope refused it abso|lutely, without she promised faithfully to return to the Convent. She was extreamly unwilling to comply, in regard of the tender Affection she had for her Children. In fine, preferring the tran|quility of her Conscience to every thing, she conquer'd all obstacles that would have hindred her, and promis'd His Holiness to obey his Com|mand: She had a favourable Passage by Sea into France, together with her whole Family, which she carry'd along with her to Rome, to move

His Holiness to a Compassion for them. When she arrived at Marseilles, she took the way to Paris, concealing from the World, both Her|self, and her Affairs. She lodg'd some time In|cognito in the Suburbs of St. Germans, to dispose of her Family, before she would withdraw into the Cloyster. And tho' she had put her Affairs in order, she would by no means go thither, before she was assured of a civil Usage. She was not ignorant of the terrible Penalty they were liable to, that leap'd over the Walls of the Con|vent, as she had done. That she should not be exposed to it, she offered underhand, Twenty thousand Livres for her Pardon. This Summ charmed all the Nuns Eyes, which they looked upon as a Present sent them from Heaven. They were mightily surprized at her Resurrection, and acquainted her Friends with it, who doubted a long time, whether they ought to rejoice at it, or shew her some Mark of their displeasure, for wandring about the World, with a Person, upon whose account she had been forced to turn Nun. As it was never seen, that all the World was of the same Opinion, so some continued their Indigna|tion against her, and would never see her; others did not mind the matter so much: But all of 'em agreed to have her stript of the Mony she brought from Italy, pretending it was not in her power to dispose of it to her Children. She secured it in a Person's Hands whom she had reason to con|fide in, to have it divided amongst her Children, whenever they should either Marry, or establish themselves some other way in the World. How|ever, they were not the only Persons who gaped after it; her deceased Husband's Friends began also to bestir themselves upon the news of what had passed. Both Parties commenced their Pro|cess against the Children, pretending to have them declared Bastards. So much for this extraordi|nary

Scene, which, in effect, appeared in such a manner to me, that I should never have had the confidence to have mentioned it here, without hav|ing taken all imaginable Precautions with refe|rence to it. It is not very hard to conjecture what Decision Justice will make in it. However, it will hardly be soon determined. The Judges are seldom very prompt in deciding Causes, when the Parties are in Circumstances to dispense with Money. They believe it would derogate too much from their laudable Custom, to dispatch readily Affairs that afford Gleanings.

The Court being about that time at Marli, the Count of Chamilly was nam'd amongst others to go thither. In a discourse of the War, some young Gentlemen there took a share in the Conver|sation: And the King ask'd the Count of Gram|mont, softly, how he liked the young Gentle|men's way of reasoning. Grammont, who has a pleasant freedom in all his Expressions, being glad to make use of this opportunity to serve the Count of Chamilly, who had been neglected for a considerable time, answer'd His Majesty, That he ought not to be surpriz'd at these young Men's way of reasoning; for if any were at the pains to ask them, if ever the Grave was Besieged, they would say nothing of what had pass'd there, nor who had defended the Place. The King perceiv'd his Design, which was to up|braid His Majesty, that after so glorious an A|ction, Chamilly had not been rewarded as others had, who had not his merit to plead for them. But it is no surprizing matter now a-days, to see Actions of Renown shot in their Carier. Courage and Conduct doth not intitle a Man to a plentiful Fortune, he must also be learn'd in the Art of Truckling to the Ministers. The Marquis of Louvois was extraordinary upon this account; and however highly he valued the Good and Advantage of the State, which none

could deny to him; yet to serve the King faith|fully was no sufficient Character to recommend one, unless he were his Creature: Without that nothing would do; it was his constant Maxim, that it was impossible to be His Ma|jesty's Friend, without being the Ministers. I shall neither justifie nor condemn him; there is a great deal to be said on both sides. His Ma|jesty, who without dispute, is the most sincere and prudent Prince in the Universe, took this oc|casion to do Chamilly all the justice that could be expected. So that those who were entirely Strangers to the Siege of the Grave, as the Count of Grammont pretended, might easily be inform'd of all that pass'd there.

In the mean time, the Spaniards being alarm'd at the Preparations the King was making in Pro|vence, acquainted the English and Dutch afresh of i••, to the end they might send their Fleet into the Mediterranean, to make Head against the King's. These two Powers, being full as weary of the War as His Most Christian Majesty, for that no advantage could accrue to them by continuing of it, amused them from time to time with fair Promises, without troubling themselves to per|form them. They thought it convenient to allow France to act its utmost Efforts upon that side, that the House of Austria might become the more tractable, and oppose no more a Tranquility, of which all Europe stood in need. The Pope made use of his Interest in vain, to draw over that House to it, so great was their confidence, that France would at last be oppressed by so many Enemies as were United against it. The Duke of Savoy's falling off, gained nothing upon their obstinacy, tho' it eased France very sensibly. The Pope could never offer his Mediation to decide the Quarrel, most of the Parties interessed, being of another Religion. In fine, the Swedish King accom|plished

what His Holiness could never bring to pass. He made the Parties agree to accept of him, as Mediator of their Differences. The Ca|stle of Ryswick was named for the Place of their Congress, tho' the Emperor opposed it upon se|veral accounts. They endeavoured to accommo|date Matters in an amicable way, which was ex|ceeding hard to do, considering the Exorbitant De|mands of the House of Austria. These insisted always upon the Restitution of all they had lost since the Treaty of the Pyrenees, and had no re|gard to the two later Treaties of Aix-la Chapel, and Nimiguen; alledging, They had only been obliged to make them, by a superior Force, to a|void the utter Desolation of their States. The Duke of Lorrain, for his part, demanded the Re|stitution of his Domains, without any regard to the Conditions that were agreed upon by the Treaty of Nimiguen; which seemed so insupportable to his Father, that he chose rather never to enter into the Treaty, than accept of them upon these Terms. A great many other Princes came also to thwart it, who demanded Reparation of the King for a great many Places and Villages, that they alledg'd, he had divested them of; insomuch, that His most Christian Majesty might have been compared to the Bird in the Fable, from which all the other Birds (his Enemies) meant to pluck a Feather.

It had been very hard to redress all these Con|fusions, if the common Misery had not obliged the English and Hollanders to remove the Diffi|culty; it had like to have proved a Gordian-Knot, where the Sword is more necessary than Art. But as these two Powers, to speak properly, were the very Life of the Alliance, that had no motion, but from this Spring; they asked the French Ple|nipotentiaries at Ryswick, if they meant to stand to the Preliminaries that were stipulated with Monsieur Calliers; otherwise, it were to no pur|pose

to Meet; but if they intended faithfully to perform what was agreed upon, they would soon remove all other obstacles. These Preliminaries were of no less consequence, than the Restitu|tion of two intire Provinces, and of one Place of equal importance to all the rest. These two Powers doubted, that Calliers had made these ad|vances of his own Head, that he might with the greater facility, discover their Pretensions; but his Colleagues having assured them it was the King's sincere Intention, they went on with the Treaty, in such a manner, as the World might perceive, they meant to bring it to a happy Con|clusion.

In the mean time, the Court of France increas'd in the number of Subjects, by the Conquests it made during the course of the War, tho it had to do with so many Enemies, as one would have thought were sufficient to bring it to Desolation. No|thing but Coaches was to be seen at Versailles; some of them with the Ornaments peculiar to the Electors of the Empire; and that was become so fashionable, that even the French themselves had them set upon theirs. However, the better sort of Men despised it, seeing no apparent rea|son, why they were so ready to imitate the Cu|s••oms of the Empire; for if His Majesty had firmly pretended to it, he was so far from it now, that there was not the least appearance of his ar|riving to it. However, there were some of these Gentlemen who had a just Title to carry them; particularly the Count of Egmont, who Married Madamoiselle De Conac, the Archbishop of Aix's Niece, His Majesty conferr'd the Honours of the Louvre upon her: And these were justly due to her, because her Husband was Lineally Descended of the Dukes of Ghelderland, which created to her a great deal of envy amongst the other Ladies of Quality; insomuch, that the Mareschal d'Estree's

Lady could not dissemble her Resentment of it. One day at Dinner with Mons. Pontchartrain, she said, without regarding if any there would resent her discourse, She admir'd, that the Count of Egmont would condescend to Marry such a Girl as Madamoiselle Conac. The Chevalier d'Obtere, Governor of Couelloure, over-heard her, and be|ing Uncle to the young Gentlewoman, could not avoid being concern'd at it. He told the Gentleman who sat next him, How unbecoming it was for Morin the Jew's Daughter, to talk after that man|ner, of a Person of his Niece's Quality: that he own'd the Honour the Alliance had done both to her and all her Friends: but great as it was, it fail'd of that the Morins had by the Blood of the Estrees; that the difference was not so great between the Egmonts and the Conacs, as betwixt the Etrees and the Burgesses of the City of Tours. All the Company expected, that the Chevalier would not fail to resent it after that manner; and knowing that the Lady was ignorant of the Chevalier's Interest in Madamoiselle, they continu'd the Conversation upon the same subject with her, that she might avoid a second oversight. Then she became sensible of her fault, and of the pri|vate reproof they gave her; but whether she had done it, because she knew him not, or through im|prudence, she never made him any acknowledge|ment of it.

Lent follow'd soon after, and a certain Monk, nam'd Seraphin, Guardian of the Capucins at Meudon, was chosen to Preach before the King that Season; he behav'd himself with such free|dom, that it was generally believ'd he would be forbid the Pulpit; but His Majesty was so intent upon his Devotion, as some alledge, out of a principle of Christianity, in favour of the Peace, that he overlook'd a great many things, which at any other time he would have maintain'd with

the point of his Sword: I say, His Majesty, who honours all Men of Probity, was so far from be|ing offended at it, that he own'd, nothing pleas'd him more than his Sermons, and desir'd him to continue them after the same manner, nor did the King ever neglect any of them; but perceiving that the Duke of Rochefoucaut never came to them, he ask'd him the reason. The Duke re|ply'd, That he had no Seat in the Church. His Majesty conferr'd the Bishop of Orlean's, his first Almoner's Seat upon him, the Bishop being then at his Cathedral, two days journey from Paris, whence returning very soon, he de|sir'd to have his Seat again; the Duke refus'd it, pretending he never had it but out of Decen|cy; and now His Majesty conferring it upon him, he meant to shut him out of it. This difference made no less noise than Monsieur Boleau's Lu|trin. Both parties were back'd by their Friends in their pretensions, and if they durst to have fought for it, they were sufficiently animated against each other to have done it; but resting satisfied to shew, that they were both Men of Spirit, they turn'd their Indignation to sollicite His Majesty, that he would be pleas'd to decide the cause in favour of the respective Party.

The King gave it for the Duke, which vex'd the Prelate to that degree, that, out of spite, he return|ed to his Diocess. He carried the Abbot of Coaslin along with him, as if, by that, he meant to engage him in his Resentment. This Abbot had the survivorship of the Prelate's Charge, as first Almoner, and the expectation of the first Bishoprick should fall: Besides, his Uncle had no reason to complain of the favours of the Court. After the Death of Monsieur Chanvallon, Archbishop of Paris, the King had awarded him his nomination for a Cardinal's Cap, which he had formerly gratified the Archbishop with.

So that neither of them could be excus'd from im|prudence, that shew'd so much Passion, for so small a cause.

About the same time, his Brother, the Duke of Coaslin had another kind of Vexation that seem'd to be better grounded than theirs: His Coach was Arrested for Debt, which the Advo|cate, Master of Requests, and Register of the Points of Honour, before the Mareschals of France, al|ledg'd was unduly done, because of his Dignity. Some years ago, he made a great deal of noise about it, in favour of the Duke of Ventadour, who suffer'd the same Affront; but as he was far inferior in Wit and Reputation to Monsieur Pom|ponne, his Brother-in-law, after he had been cru|shed in the Defence he undertook in Ventadour's Affair, he never dar'd to appear in defence of Coaslin. He was e'en ready to lay down his Charge before the Mareschals of France, which made him the more wary of engaging into new Troubles, for fear of ending as he had begun.

Tho' this was some Mortification for the Duke, to be oblig•••• to Walk home a-foot, yet about the same time, a more pressing Vexation afflict|ed the Dutchess or Svlly; for the Princess of Furstemberg caus'd to seize both her Bed and Furniture, for her Rent: tho' she had run only three Years in Arrear, there being thirteen Years Rent due at the Death of the Duke her Hus|band, of which the Dutchess had clear'd ten, since she was a Widow: But there being a misunder|standing between them, and the Princess alledging, that the Dutchess had spoke with more freedom than decency of her, when her Husband had been Wounded at Hunting, she laid hold of this op|portunity, to make her repent of her imprudence. These two Affairs were represented to the King, to kn••w if his Majesty would exempt the Duke•• 〈…〉〈…〉, or reduce the•• ••o their

immovables. But His Majesty's Answer gave them small encouragement; he reply'd, That eve|ry one was concern'd to pay their Debts; and tho he did not approve of some procceedings, yet it was sufficient that they were screen'd by Ju|stice.

The Dutchess of Lude's interest had bet|ter success for the Dutchess of Vernevil, her Mo|ther. The King conferr'd a Pension of Twelve thousand Livres upon her, which she had almost refus'd, reputing it too mean for a Person of her Rank. For as she had the honour to be the Wi|dow of the King's Uncle, she thought it her due to be treated as a Princess of the Blood, tho' the advantage he boasted of, came•••• the Left-hand. His Majesty seldom gave them less than Twenty thousand Livres, and she thought it was none of her business to accept of so little, considering what others receiv'd, who could not come in competiton with her. In effect, the Count of Brancas enjoy'd Fourteen thousand Livres for his Life; and after his Death, His Majesty continu'd it to the Princess of Harcourt, his eldest Daughter. A great many others had also larger Pensions than her's, which vex'd her to that degree, that she told her Daugh|ter, She meant to resign it again freely to the King. The Dutchess of Lude, not thinking it convenient for her to resent after this manner the First-fruits of her favour, disswaded her from it; for it is His Majesty's Prerogative to give, and not to receive Laws.

About that time, the only Son of the Mar|quis of Gordes, presented a Petition to the King, that vex'd the Marquis of Rhodes much more than his Gout, which afflicted him for many Years. The Marquis of Rhodes had married the other Sister: He was no such Gamester as his Father; but had a much lighter Head: For, had he been on|ly a Gamester, the Bishop had pardon'd him, for

in that he had been of his own Kidney; but the Prelate thinking him somewhat maddish, causes him to be shut up in a Convent. This poor Gentle|man believ'd that the Bishop had impos'd upon His Majesty in the Affair, and thought he could easily perswade the King of the contrary, had he the honour to see him; but as Fools do not think they are so, or rather believe they are the wisest of Men, if you credit their Oath: The King did not think it convenient to trust him: He was afraid to be deceiv'd, as he had been late|ly by a Num-scul, who had escap'd out of the Bastille, where his Friends had shut him up upon the same account. He was a Cadet of the House of Usez, but so little reform'd by his Imprisonment, that immediately upon his escape he committed the height of Folly in marrying very miserably. He chose a Woman that was neither Rich, Young, nor Handsome, and for an additional comfort, the Widow of a Common Fellow, that became a Gentleman only at his Death; for they did him the favour to cut his Throat in consideration of his Wife, who was more honestly descended; for had they treated him according to his merit, they were affraid she might lye under the imputation of the Wife of a Man that was Hang'd. But his Folly did not stop there, for he carried her a|long with him to Versails and St. Cloud, where he had reviv'd the Angels that had died a long time before. But as People have sometimes more plea|sure in Fools than in Wise Men, every one di|sturb'd his Brain the more, in making him believe they delighted in his Folly.

Much about that time, there happen'd a quar|rel betwixt two Persons of Quality at St. Cloud, who treated one another after the rate of true Billingsgate. Their Sex excus'd them from the use of the Sword, to decide it, but being equal|ly provided with the A••ms of the Sex, they fair|ly

disputed for the Victory. The one was Prin|cess of Montaban, and the other Madam of Gra|ncei. At last, both having spent their Spirits in the Controversie, without the least respect to one anothers reputation, Madam of Grancie appeal'd to Monsieur—who was present, to decide their Difference. The Princess accepted freely of the motion, and having call'd him that minute, intreated him to judge the Affair impartially. He gave thim an attentive hearing, but after both of them had taken the pains to set forth their Cause, he made answer, That he discharged the Process. They ask'd him in a grumbling way, what he meant? But the answer he made them, shock'd them more than all that went before. He reply'd, That he had no other Sentence to give to such people as them, and all they offer'd was as light as Wind. They could never get him to give another Reason, which made them resolve upon a mutual Accommodation, without giving any body any further trouble upon the matter.

This gave great joy to the Judge, who finding them afterwards in a good understanding with one another, accosted them in this manner, I told you (said he) That the Sentence I pronounced, was the only one that could be given amongst such People as you: Women of your Quality quarrel and agree again with equal facility; and unless a Lover be in the case, there is no fear of an Acco|modation. Had the Duke of Orleans, who loves Novelty, been chosen Judge of their Difference, he had possibly decided it rather in favour of the one than the other. Tho' he had formerly some inclinations for Madan Grancie, he thought now, that her Face wrinkled with Age, was not to be put in competition with the Charms of the Princess of Montauban. This Lady made him Laugh when he had no mind to it; she inherited

from her Ancestors, a Genius for Comedy, for she was Daughter to the Count of Nogent, and Sister to the Chevalier of Nogent, who is still alive, and whose only Trade, since he left the War, was to make the Marquis of Louvois laugh. This Minister had him along with him in his own Colash, in all his Journies; nor was he the on|ly person who lov'd to divert himself with Childish Expressions; for Monsieur Colbert at his leisure Hours, had also People to entertain him with ridiculous Stories. It's pity but Madam D'Anoy, and Madam de Moral, had thought at that time of diverting him with their Fairies; they had been often very acceptable. Thus you see great Men have their weak side as well as others; and there is nothing that convinces us more of the frailty of humane Nature.

The pleasure the Duke of Orleans found in the Princess of Montauban's Conversation, made him resolve to carry her along with him to Marly. All are not free to go thither, and it must be by Stratagem that leave is obtain'd to go; for after the King is earnestly sollicited, he reckons it a par|ticular Favour to grant it, as in effect it is, to go where the Prince goes, and to appear before him in a place where there is no confusion to be seen, tho' it prevails in other places where the Court comes. The Duke's expectation was frustrated, for His Majesty refus'd his Request. However, the Duke not being much discourag'd at the first Repulse, insisted in his demand, ho|ping to obtain it at last by his importunity. At last seeing His Majesty inexorable, he intreated him at least to impart his Reason. No doubt tho' the King, who always goes upon good grounds, had a very plausible Reason, but suspecting it might prove disobliging to the Princess, he desir'd, in a smiling way, to be excus'd from a thing he had resolv'd not to tell. The Duke, who is always

very pressing in what he undertakes, observing that the King had only ••old him so in a smiling way, importun'd His Majesty more than ever to know his Reason. His Majesty to be freed from his importunity, at last made him answer, That because he was so very earnest, he would tell him freely; That he was always well pleas'd to see handsome Women, and the Princess of Mon|tauban being none of the number, he would not accustom his Eyes to look upon her. In effect, she was very far from being Handsome. Her Face was mark'd with scars from her Infancy; she was Hunch'd Back'd, but found the secret to con|ceal it in some measure, by the help of Steel Bodies; besides, being somewhat advanc'd in Years, she was the more insupportable. How|ever, being still as Handsome in the Duke's Opini|on, as a great many other Women whom His Majesty Honour'd with the same Favour, he still pleaded on her behalf. He ask'd His Ma|jesty if she was not as Handsome as such and such Ladies whom he always carried along with him to the Castle of Marly. The King fell a Laughin••g when he saw his Brother take it so pa|tiently, and left him to continue his Discourse which tended only to perswade him, that the La|dies which he mentioned, had no better Title to such marks of distinction than she, for whom he was pleading; for he made him no other ans|wer than what he told him at first.

Madam de Montauban resolving to go to Ver|sailles at any rate; and seeing all the Duke's Endeavours prove Fruitless, thought of a more plausible pretext. She applied herself to the Princess of Harcourt, who had the secret of ob|taining a great many things, when others met with a refusal. Five hundred Crowns brought her Project to bear; and by these means she had the Honour to go to Marly, an Honour she had

aspir'd to of a long time, and which was like to have cost her her Wits, if she had not obtain'd it. The King was well enough pleas'd with the grant he had made; he found her very pleasant and good Humour'd; and this Lady, who never knew what t•• was to fast Fridays or Saturdays, found it no difficulty to comply with what others did there. In effect, finding herself in a place where the King never allow'd any one to eat Flesh, She out of Love to His Majesty, or out of Fear to displease him, did, what neither the Love nor Fear of God were ever capable to oblige her to do. But every person there knowing her ordi|nary practice in that Affair, she thought it con|venient to vindicate herself to those who were highly offended at the difference she made be|twixt a mortal Man and God. But all she said had rather more Gallantry in it than real Apo|logy. She could say nothing, but that the Food there, had a taste very different from the Food of the rest of Mankind; that the Beams of the Sun of France created another kind of warmth than the ordinary Sun, insomuch, that there was a certain happiness under his influence, that was not to be found any where else.

But this sort of Discourse produc'd a quite dif|ferent effect from what she expected; for those who blam'd her before, condemn'd her much more now. They thought it had been much more proper for her (as no doubt it was) to have avoided all manner of Apology, than to make use of that she made: For as they maintain'd very well, it was an adding of impiety to the scandal, to attribute more power to a Man than to God; but she suffered them to go on, being sure to have the wanton Youths on her side; for 'tis at Court as at other places, they divert themselves often with ridiculous Trifles; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••••est and most P••ous are not always the

most respected. This appear'd too evidently not long after in a difference she had with her Husband. He came to Court alone, while her entry was accompanied with a numerous Train of all sorts of people, shewing by that means the respect they had for her. Hence she took occasion to insult over him, as if his Solitude had given him an aversion to innocent Mirth. But he reply'd so smartly home, that she would gladly have di|spensed with the severe Compliment she oblig'd him to return. They found what he said was somewhat extraordinary, especially of one des|cended of a Family that never had the Reputa|tion of being over Witty; for he was the Son of the Duke of Montbason, whom they had shut up in a Convent for his giddy Brain, at least, that was all the Reason they gave for divesting him of his Estate, tho' in good earnest they would be oblig'd to build more Bedlams than one, if they meant to shut up all that are many degrees greater Num sculls than he.

Debauchery was still in vogue amongst the Women, and consequently amongst the Men; ho' the King omitted nothing that could be done to oblige all People to a just observance of their Duty. The Italian Comedians, who had a dexterity of Acting every thing happily, took thence an occasion of introducing so many in|decencies upon their Stages, that 'twas complain|ed of to His Majesty. This displeas'd him the more, that they published an Advertisement of representing very soon a person of Quality. Therefore His Majesty expell'd them out of the Kingdom; and for a long time he was indifferent as to the Play; and if at any time he order'd them to act before him, it was rather to amuse the young People, or through policy, than for any pleasure he himself took in it. In effect, it is convenient to keep the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in Action, and some

people allow even of a lesser evil to obviate a greater. Tho' I hardly believe that the Gentle|men of Port Royal would be of that Opinion, were they consulted in it; and amongst all the Casuists, we shall never find any reasonable pre|tence, that can warrant us to commit any evil. However, His Majesty had no sooner form'd this Resolution, than he sent Monsieur D'Argenson to shut up their Theater. Accordingly he went im|mediately before they could have the least in|telligence of the Storm that threatned them, and call'd a great many Commissaries to attend him; not that he fear'd any Rebellion; but in regard the King commanded him to go about it with the greatest solemnity: For the Scandal they had given being publick, the King would have their Punishment to be the same. Besides, he com|manded to seal up all their Seats. He knew they had kept their Manuscripts in them, and therefore would make sure of all they had given Advertisements of. They were extreamly sur|prised at this manner of Usage, and the more, in that they had never dream'd of it. They went all in a Body to Versailles, to prostitute them|selves at His Majesty's Feet; they represented to him, how they were call'd, before they came to France, which was matter of fact; for Car|dinal Mazarin, who himself was the greatest Comedian in the Universe, and, perhaps, was afraid to forget a part he had Acted all his days, desir'd from time to time, to see some new Scenes to put him in mind of his Trade. Upon this score they alledg'd, That having left their Coun|try upon that invitation, it was an injustice done to them at that time, to turn 'em out of the Na|tion. But the King foreseeing what they aim'd at, prevented them, saying, he doubted not but it was to please Cardinal Mazarin they under|took that Journey; and if they pleas'd to own

the truth, they had no reason to repent of their Trouble: They came into France a Foot, and were in a condition to go out of it in a Coach. This Reply gave them to understand, that His Majesty was Displeas'd; therefore they thought to make their Application to some good Patron, to appease him; but whether it was, that every one was more ready to abandon them, than pro|tect them, because they had spared no body up|on their Theater; or that the Courtiers were sen|sible the King had no inclination to shew them any favour; not one person was found to plead for them: They were therefore oblig'd to look out for some other Trade for their future subsistence, and their Theater continues shut up till this day.

In the mean time the King's Army in Flanders, laid Seige to Ath, a place His Majesty had given up to the Spaniards, by the Treaty of Nimiguen. The Count de Rheux commanded within the Town with a good Garrison, amongst whom were a great many French Deserters, who looking up|on themselves lost if they came to be known, desir'd to have the charge of the principal attacks. In all appearance they would choose rather to be cut to pieces than to surrender. But the Count of Rheux considering they might also deliver up the Post, in expectation of a Pardon, was so far from trusting or uniting them in one Body, as they desir'd, that he dispersed them amongst the different Regiments to avoid the pre|sent Consequences he fear'd. There were three Marshals of France in that Army, namely, the Marshal of Vlileroy, the Marshal of Boufflers, and the Marshal of Catinat; but this last being beyond dispute, the greatest of the three, it was to him the King gave the Direction of the Siege. Villeroy and Boufflers made head against the Ene|mies Army, which was jointly commanded by King William and the Duke of Bavaria. But

if these two Princes made any motion, it was not to run any risque; for they were sensible all their attempts would prove in vain. The Trea|ty of Reswick was going on a pace, and knowing very well that the King would be oblig'd to give up that Place by the Peace, they did not think it convenient to Sacrifice one Man for its relief. If they had no mind to venture a Battle, they might easily lay Siege to Dinant, while Marshal de Catinat was busied at Ath. But then Brussels that was Bumbarded the Year before, was left expos'd for Villeroy and Boufflers to Besiege; so that they could not conveniently quit their Post. Besides, they knew that Ath was one of the places the Plenipotentaries of France offer'd to give up to the Allies. It had been therefore very needless for them to throw away the lives of Men upon that design, since they were sure of ha|ving it without stroak of Sword.

These reasons oblig'd them to keep their Sta|tions; or if they mov'd at any time, it was only to find a Camp where their Troops could be supplied more conveniently with all necessaries. By that means Marshal de Catinat found little difficulty in his Enterprize. The Count de Reux, for his part, was prepossess'd as well as King William and the Duke of Bavaria with a design of husbanding his Men, it being his Interest as well as the King's. Insomuch that there was hardly any shooting from the Town; nor was there ever a Siege where the Besieged made less noise. The French were extreamly astonish'd at it; and the Governor having surrendred, said in a merry mode, to the Hostages, who were sent to make the Capitulation, that it must be own|ed the French are very bad Husbands, considering how poor they were said to be, for that they had lavished many thousand weight of Powder be|fore that Place, and yet he was ready to hold,

if they pleas'd, five hundred Pistoles to a Pen|ny, that in less than four Months time the Spaniards would enter the place, without being at the expence of one grain of Powder. These Hostages were not ignorant of his meaning, and could hardly avoid condemning their own Folly. They own'd they were very much to blame, to throw away so many Lives upon a place with|out the least expectation of any Advantage. Not that they had lost any Person of Consequence, nor, indeed, so many Common Soldiers as was at first alledg'd; but what they spoke was with regard to the insignificancy of that Conquest; for as few as they were, it was still a greater loss than necessary, since their Blood ought to have been valued.

The Duke of Vendome, for his part, Besieged Barcelona, both by Sea and Land; tho' he had acquainted His Majesty, that he was in no Cir|cumstances to do it, yet being commanded by a supreme Order, he was oblig'd to undertake it a|gainst his Inclination. It was never known that any place was invested; after such a manner; for he had not Troops enough to make the Cir|cumvallation. So that the Besieged had always opportunity to keep a Communication with the Vice Roy of Catalonia, who took the Field in or|der to relieve them. The Duke of Vendome; to supply his want of Men, took out of the King's Ships that were before the Town, all who were able to carry Arms. This added somewhat to his Force, but not sufficiently to compleat his Circumvallation: So that all the World believ'd he had engag'd in an Enterprize, which would cerrainly cost him his Honour. In effect, besides that the Besieged could depart and enter the Town at liberty, they were so numerous, that one would have thought it was rather an Army than a Ga••rison. They had eleven Thousand Men

in the place; and the Queen of Spain being in hopes of preserving it for her Nephew, recom|mended it in particulor to the Prince of Armstadt, who, next to the Governor, had the principal Command. He promis'd Her Majesty confident|ly to behave himself so, as she should have no rea|son to be dissatisfied; and to make good his Promise, there pass'd very few days withou•• making some Sallies, which extreamly retarded the advancing of the Works. They disputed every Inch of Ground with 'em; and the World was ready to believe, That as the Arms of France had gain'd some Reputation at the taking of Ath, their Glory was like to be obscur'd by a far different Event before this place; and for an additional misfortune, the News from Poland gave them reason to suspect that the Abbot of Polignac had acted too precipitantly in declaring the Prince of Conti King; for all the advices parti|cular Persons receiv'd from that Country, were so unfavourable, that now they despair'd of suc|cess.

However, their News from all hands made no mention of the Duke of Saxony, and the Em|peror conceal'd his Design as to that Affair, so closely, that it was impossible to penetrate into it. It was generally believ'd, That Prince James was the only Rival the Prince of Conti had to fear; and this was the common Opinion in Po|••and; for not one dream'd of the Duke of Sax|ony but such as were in the Plot. Neverthe|less Prince James was universally hated by great and small, in regard of the King his Father, who, ever since he had mounted the Throne, behaved himself towards his Subjects, rather as a particular interessed Person, than as a true Sovereign; for he had made open Sale of all the Favours with which the Kings his Predecessors had always us'd to gratifie their Subjects: So that tho' these People

were for many Ages, accustom'd to choose no-King in a strange Family, when their own Roy|al Family afforded one; yet they had forgotten that Custom so far in regard of him, that they would rather have seen the meanest of them|selves upon the Throne, than have chosen any of his Issue. They were extreamly afraid that they, following his Example when advanced to the Royal Dignity, would squeeze their Subjects to the very Marrow, as he had always done.

This general Aversion rais'd the hopes of the Abbot of Polignac, tho' he saw that a great many of the Palatines would not declare for the Prince. This he attributed to their Avarice, and thought it was only out of a design of obliging him to give more Money. They were glad to find him of that Opinion; for while he con|tinued ignorant of their Conduct, their Affair was like to have the better success. In fine, This, and the Affair of Barcelona, were the two things that were most in view at France, when the Duke of Vendome wrote to His Majesty, if he did not send him some Succours, he had reason to fear, that his Honour would certainly suf|fer in the Enterprize in which he was engag|ed. He gave the King a particular account of what had pass'd before the Place, that His Ma|jesty might be the more sensible of his straits: So that the King having no more Reason to doubt of his Necessity, caus'd all the Troops he could draw out of Languedoc and Provence to march th••••her. This fresh Re-inforcement wrought won|••••••, tho' even then, they nere not in a Con|•••••••• to draw the Line of Circumvallation. The 〈…〉〈…〉 lost no time to attack the Outworks which 〈…〉〈…〉 batter'd for a long time with a great many 〈…〉〈…〉 The Soldiers behav'd themselves with an 〈…〉〈…〉 Bravery; and having made theselves Ma|sters

of the Covert Way, they afterwards attack'd the Bastion, which was taken and re-taken twice. A Colonel of the Irish, nam'd Dillon, who Commanded one of these attacks, had pass'd his time there very indifferently, if he had not been well belov'd by the Regiment. One of his Sol|diers who had deserted into the Town, came within four paces of him, and having distin|guished him from the others, Dillon, said he, Mind that it's in my power to Kill thee; but I won't; for thou never hast done me any harm: However, because thou hast by thee an Officer who is a common Hang-man of the Soldiers, I'll at least hinder him from doing any more mischief. This said, he Shot him through the Belly dead upon the Spot. This Bastion having been thus disput|ed by both Parties, it fell, at last, into the hands of the Duke of Vendome, who rais'd a Battery upon it; from which he thundred in such a man|ner into the Town, that he judg'd, in all ap|pearance, the Enemies would be oblig'd to sur|render it in a short time. He acquainted the King with these News, and wrote to him, That he hoped in five or six days to send Chameraut to His Majesty, with an account of the Place's being surrendred. Every one was glad to hear this News, with which His Majesty was over|joy'd. This Express was very acceptable; and while they were impatient for the arrival of the other, who was to compleat His Majesty's satis|faction, they admir'd mightily that good Fortune, that made him Master of a Place where there was not only a numerous Garrison, but where it was also impossible for his own Army to shut up all the Passages. However, from day to day they waited Chameraut's arrival; and expected him with the first Post. At last there arriv'd one, who they believ'd, came from that Country, because his ••haise was extreamly Dirty. But no Dirt comes

thence; for it is always dry there, in regard, it•• seldom, or never Rains in that Country; but the Roads leading from thence being very deep, and it having Rain'd so much lately, there was a sudden Report in Paris, that an Express was arriv'd with the News of Barcelona's being taken. However, it was a pleasant sort of Courier that came in that Chaise, namely a lusty Sturgeon, which they had catch'd in Normandy, and sent to the Dauphin; yet it was needless to tell the World so; none was like to believe it, being so prepossess'd with Chemeraut's arrival. This oblig|ed a Court Lord to Answer these Faithless Peo|ple who spoke to him after that manner, That it was true the Courier was arriv'd; but had rencountred with a Misfortune upon the Road, so that none could learn the particulars of the Towns being taken, from him; That having met with Assassins, the Postillion brought him dead in the Chaise, and that no doubt they had car|ried off his Packet; for having search'd him, they had found none about him. This Dis|course gave occasion to another piece of News fully as true as the former: For the Report flying about very suddenly, all Paris believ'd the next day, that Chemeraut had been Kill'd. However, the Man was in excellent good health, and so far from having any desire to die, that he took all possible care of his Person. He was as Fat and Gross as four other Men, nor did he become so by feeding upon the Air, for he generally eat as much as other twelve Men.

After all, these News prov'd only false A|larms. Before the Town was taken, the Viceroy was resolv'd to hazzard a Battle with the Duke, and, for that purpose, summon'd together all those whom they call Miquelets in that Country; and having joyn'd them with his regular Troops, he

approach'd to the Duke of Vendome. It had been in vain for him to cut off their Provisi|ons by Land, they being supply'd from the Sea. He had a more noble Design than to amuse himself so meanly, he meant to decide the Af|fair all at once by a Battle; and to that pur|pose having call'd a Council of War, he resolv|ed, with his General Officers, to march the next day in the Evening, directly towards the Duke. He acquainted the Governor of Barcelona with his Resolution, to the end, that at the same time, he might make a vigorous Sally upon the Enemies, and so attack them upon all sides. In less than half an hour after, the Duke knew all the measures they had concerted against him, and being thus put upon his Guard, he march'd to meet him the Night before he was to exe|cute his Design. But the Viceroy had already divided his Army in two parts, in order to at|tack him with the greater advantage. This was made known to the Duke, who fell upon him with extraordinary fury; notwithstanding the Laurels the Vice-Roy had promised to himself, he was still in Bed when they came to acquaint him, that his Guards lost ground; they made no re|sistance at all, but betook them to their heels; and the Duke had certainly taken the Viceroy (as was expected) in Bed, if they had not awaked him of a sudden. The Noise he heard about his Tent, having surpriz'd his Attendants as well as himself, made them believe that all was lost: He excus'd his Valet de Chambre from his Duty at that time; and fearing he had no time to Dress, he made the best of his way Nak|ed as he was, thinking the greatest thing he could do, was to save himself. The part of his Army that was with him, followed his Example, ex|cept a very few that put themselves upon the Defence. The Duke made a great many Priso|ners;

the Vice-Roy's small Trunk fell also into his hands, with twenty Tousand Pistols in Specie; and the Soldiers made a considerable Booty. All he wanted now to compleat his Victory, was, to know, that the other Detachment he had sent against him, had met with the same Fate, and in a very little time he had that satisfaction. He knew that Mons. D'Usson, whom he had en|trusted with that Expedition, had behav'd him|self gallantly; and return'd to joyn him with all the Glory he could desire.

The Governor of Barcelona was as much sur|prised as the Prince D'Armstad, when he heard these Tydings. The Duke did not keep him long in the Dark, he sent to acquaint him with it, that he might not continue any longer to make a fruitless Defence. But having still eight Thousand Men in Garrison, he thought it Dis|honourable to surrender to a Prince, who had not Soldiers enough to invest the Place intirely, and therefore kept out some few days longer, ra|ther to fulfil the Duty of a brave Commander, (of which he had been always emulous) than out of any hops of hindring the Town from be|ing taken.

In effect, in a very few days he caus'd a Parly to be beat, pretending to give up the Town on|ly, and retire with his Men into the Castle, which (being situated upon a Hill) he could hold out for a considerable time. But he delay'd so long in surrendring, that the Duke refus'd to accept any other Composition, than to have the Castle given up as well as the Town. The Go|vernor thought this condition very severe; but as those who are Conquer'd, are commonly ob|lig'd to receive Laws from the Conqueror, so he was fain to accept of it. It was then that Chemeraut appear'd at Court of a different size from a Sturgeon. He brought these good Ty|dings

to the King, which pleas'd His Majesty extreamly, who began to fear some reverse of Fortune might have happen'd to the Duke of Vendome, since he had sent his last Express. Che|meraut had twenty Thousand Livers for his pains, and a Commission to act as Marshal de Camp. His Majesty being now freed from all his Fears, had more reason to be assur'd of the Peace; for besides that, the Conference at Ryswick went on apace, there were some other Conferences up|on the same Subject, betwixt the Marshal of Boufflers and the Earl of Portland. After the loss of Ath, King William, who knows how to make his advantage of every thing, judging this Earl, in every degree, as dexterous as the Marshal, thought it convenient to employ him upon that Head; by this means he meant to remove more speedily, a great many difficulties that could not be so easily terminated in a longer time. At Ryswick, in regard of the Formalities, the Pleni|potentaries were oblig'd to observe measures with one another. Portland sent a Trumpeter, as of his own accord, to the Marshal, to ask a pri|vate interview with him, without making any mention of his Affair. The Marshal thought it convenient, with the Advice of the other two French Marshals, to consent to it; and having agreed, that they should meet by themselves, and their Guards should be of an equal number; The Earl propos'd to him to remove some Dif|ferences there, that would require too long time at Ryswick. The Marshal being unwilling to un|dertake any thing without express Order from His Majesty, sent an Express to know his Will. The great desire the King had to make Peace, made him approve of what the Earl propos'd, without considering, perhaps, what advantage he might have over the Marshal, in a superiour Ge|nius; and the inconvenience of putting him upon

a level with a Marshal of France, an Honour His Majesty ought not to look upon as indiffer|ent. It's true, as the King of France had advanc|ed Boufflers from a Cadet of Picardy, to the Dignity of a Duke, Marshal of France, Gover|nor of the most considerable Province of his Kingdom; And, in fine, of a Knight of his Or|der: So King William had rais'd the other from an ordinary Gentleman of Guelderland, to an Earl and Peer of England, and Knight of the Order of the Garter. But still there was this difference, that the one Commanded an Army, and the other never did: Besides, there was that also to be said, That His most Christian Ma|jesty had never own'd King William, and so the French esteem'd only the Earl as the Favourite of a Prince, whom they had never recogniz'd as King.

King William was glad that His most Chri|stian Majesty over-look'd all those considerations; not that he wanted to obtain a recognisance from him, as well as from other Crown'd Heads; but because he knew well that the English were as passionately desirous of a Peace as the French. Their Commerce was then at a stand; and, which is very surprising, the most Christian King had been a gainer by what was reckon'd his probable Ruin. After he had lost I do not know how many Ships at la Hogue, and was ren|der'd uncapable of appearing at Sea; He had found his Account in the way of Piracy, and had taken so many Prizes both from the Eng|lish and Dutch, that both of 'em were quite cast down. 'Tis inconceivable what an infinite num|ber these Prizes are said to amount to; and tho' I have heard an account of it from one of the greatest Traders in England, who ought to know that Affair as well as any body, yet I shall be cautious of repeating it, for fear I should be

charg'd with Credulity. In effect, the thing is so surprizing, that it astonishes one: But, after all, if we consider that these two Nations sub|sist only by their Commerce, and that the Sea was continually cover'd with their Vessels, so that the French had an opportunity of attacking 'em every minute with an advantage, especial|ly when they were without Convoys; upon this consideration, I say, we may easily conceive how they came to sustain so great a loss. But let it be as it will, K. William being sensible of the necessity of a Peace, in order to be free from such Inconveniencies, order'd my Lord Portland to re|move all the difficulties that might oppose it.

In the mean time K. James had but a sorry Game to play. Pursuant to the King's Promise of never making a Peace till he were restored, He had all along hop'd, that His Majesty would effect his Restoration sooner or later. And this his expectation was screw'd higher by the King's open Declaration to all Europe, that he would make his Promise good. Besides, that this un|happy Prince was turn'd out of his Dominions, only, because he would not declare against the King. He had been frequently Sollicited to op|pose the King's Interest before the Prince of O|range came into his Place; and had he done that, no Potentate whatsoever would ever have consented to his being disquieted. Nay, to speak the Truth, 'twas a thing of too dangerous Con|sequence for the Potentates themselves; but that Prince having discover'd his firm Resolution to stand by the secret Alliance he had made with the King, all other Princes combin'd against him, because he would not joyn with them in reducing a Power that seem'd to threaten their Repose. This, the most Ch••istian King was very sensible of, and did not fail to acknow|ledge it. He did for him all that he could do,

and offer'd both him and his Qeen a Retreat and Entertainment. Tho' he was engag'd in a War with the greatest part of Europe, yet he gave him fifty thousand Louis d'Ors a Year. 'Tis true, this was but a small allowance for the King of England, upon the comparison with what he had when he possess'd his Dominions; but 'twas a great deal for a Prince to give, that was at the same time oblig'd to maintain four or five hun|dred thousand Men, to make head against the numerous Enemies that his Grandeur had rais|ed against him; and upon that score, doubtless K. James was oblig'd to him. But after all, 'twas not long of the King that he did not make good his Promise. The unfortunate Prince had been always guilty of the same Fault, that his Brother committed when he occasion'd the loss of the Battle of Dunbar. He caress'd the Scots in such a manner, that he himself oppos'd his own Restauration. His chief Minister was a Scotch|man, and there having always been a great jea|lousie between the English and Scots, the pre|ference he gave to the latter at his Court, ali|enated the Hearts of the former. This was the occasion, that a great many Enterprizes form'd on his behalf, never took; and forasmuch as that Prince had much more Devotion than Brains, as the French could not but lament his Fate, so they could not avoid saying, That tho' he had sunk himself by his bad Conduct, yet 'twas not reasonable they should suffer themselves to be suck'd in along with him. In fine, the King being much more oblig'd to his own King|dom than to any other, could not avoid the gi|ving him to know, That many things he did were directly opposite to his Interest. Nay, all his true Friends had told him the same thing upon several occasions, insomuch, that to satisfie the one and the other, he pretended to disgrace My Lord

Melfort, Brother to the Chancellor of Scotland. This Minister was hated, not only at his Ma|ster's Court, but even by the French, who had attended K. James in Ireland. These alledg'd, That if it had not been for him, Things had. gone otherwise in that Country than they did Nay, some of 'em did not stand to charge him openly with keeping a Correspondence with the Enemies; affirming, that if it had not been so, he had never made such opposition as he did, against all that Mr. Roses, the most Christian King's Lieutenant General, proffer'd to attempt in that Country. And, in earnest, if the digression were excusable, I could easily make it out, that that Minister wanted either Conduct or Fidelity. God forbid, that I should affirm with others, that he entertain'd a Corespondence with K. William. But to over-look all these things, and return to my Subject, all these Circumstances oblig'd His most Christian Majesty to joyn with K. William in removing the Obstacles that might retard the Peace. The first Conference between Marshal Bouf|flers and my Lord Portland, was seconded quickly by several others. They adjusted several things that the Plenipotentaries at Ryswick would not have agreed upon in a Years time. However, at one of their Interviews, where several Of|ficers were present on both sides, My Lord Port|land hearing a discharge of Cannon and Musquets in the French Army, ask'd the Marshal what the meaning of it was: The Marshal made answer, That 'twas occasion'd by the News the King had sent of the Prince of Conti's Election to the Crown of Poland. This was matter of Fact; for Abbot P••••ignac had dispatch'd a Courier to the Court to acquaint the King, that the Prince was proclaim'd King of Poland by the Cardinal Primate and some Palatines that sided with him. But this Intelligence included another part, name|ly,

That the Elector of Saxony was likewise pro|claim'd King, by the Bishop of Cujavia, and all the Partisans of the House of Austria. This ought, at least probably, to have prevented our making so much haste; and upon that score, my Lord Portland fell a Laughing; and told the Marshal, That, indeed, this spoke the French to be quicker than all other Nations; That they had formerly shewn the same disposition upon many Occasions; and that in this Affair, they still continu'd to have the start of their Allies; but in the mean time, the Allies having time enough to testifie their Joy, upon the advantages that accru'd to 'em, had re|solv'd to stay till Night, or next Morning, before they gave a solemn proof of the Joy they were fill'd with, upon the News, That the Duke of Saxony, and not the Prince of Conty, had mounted that Throne.

The Marshal thought he Banter'd him, in proposing a Protestant for a Dignity, that could not be enjoy'd but by a Roman-Catholick. Had my Lord made mention of Prince James, it had made another sort of impression upon him. In fine, my Lord Portland having a mind that he should not flatter himself any longer, upon the imaginary Success of the French Party, gave him a naked account of the Matter. Upon this dis|covery, the Army that was Celebrating the Glory of the Prince of Conty, with a full admiration of his Valou••, were then mightily surpriz'd. How|ever, they were unwilling to believe it; for that Nation can never be perswaded of any thing that tends to their disadvantage; whether it be, That this is a common Humour among other Nations, or, That they in particular are presumptuous up|on their own Merit. But what inflam'd their suspicion, the Court, who knew the bottom of Things, more than any body else, was very silent upon the Matter, after the Solemnity was over.

Their design in the Solemnity, was only to per|swade the People, That their Interest went well in Poland; and so to comfort 'em, in some mea|sure, for the loss of the Money they had sent thither. The People were the more willing to shew their Congratulation, That all of 'em had not only a Respect, but a Love for the Prince of Conty; nay, they even ador'd him; so true it is, That a good Reputation is able to produce mar|vellous Effects in the Minds of the People.

I cannot tell what the Prince's own Thoughts were, or whether he believ'd the Report, of the reality of his Election. He made no discovery of his Mind. Those who were accustom'd to weigh Things before they c••••dit 'em, took the li|berty to speak 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mind. Some were of opinion, That supposi•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 case had been as favourable, as it was represented, yet they could not make it bear, withou•• Blows. They were likewise sensi|ble, That the War they were oblig'd to undertake upon that account, would be very disadvantage|ous to 'em. They knew very well, that the Duke of Saxony was a powerful Prince, and that his Confederate Princes had their Troops conveniently Posted; that they could easily conduct 'em to Po|land, without any danger; whereas, the Troops to be sent from France, would be oblig'd to im|bark in some Sea-Port of the French ••landers, and land in the Neighbourhood of certain Potentates, whose Affection to the Prince of Conty, the King had some reason to doubt.

The Prince of Conty, perceiving he would be oblig'd to unsheath his Sword, if he meant to make good his Election, durst not display the Affliction he was under, upon the view of leaving a Mistress, that he lov'd as passionately as a Crown. His only aim, was to please the King, who press'd him to accept of that Crown, as well for his own Interest, as out of the Love he bore

him. However, such a degree of indifference was very odd, in a Prince of his Courage, and a Nephew of the Prince of Conde. One would have thought, that he would have exerted his utmost efforts, to mount the Throne, since his Uncle, upon a design of that nature, had not only rais'd a Civil War in his Country, but put himself at the Head of the Capital Enemies of his King and Country. Some days pass'd without any noise, only the King saluted the Prince and Princess, as King and Queen of Poland. In like manner, all the Grandees pay'd 'em the Respect suitable to that Dignity; and in order to give a colour for his not departing to receive the Crown, 'twas gi|ven out, That Ambassadors were expected from Poland, to fetch him. The more credulous sort of People satisfy'd themselves with this News; but the more sensible part of Mankind, were more distrustful than ever, of the validity of the Election. They own'd, indeed, That to wait the Arrival of Ambassadors, was a Thing of more Glory, than to depart before their Arrival; but, at the same time, they alledg'd, (and that very justly) That 'twas not expedient, when a Crown is not disputed, and that the Crown being pro|mis'd to him, he was so far from being ty'd to that 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that he ought to set out with the utmost 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and appear at the Head of his Party; le••t, for want of his Presence, many should be corrupted, and drawn over to his E|nemy

Fr••nce had not forgot, That the occasion of the War they were then engag'd in, (which in a man|ner threaten'd their very Throne) was their un|seasonable Difference with the Pope; and upon that view, were sensible, That tho' His Holiness had not so much Interest in this Affair, as in the former; yet they ought not to neglect him. In order to secure his Favour, They represented,

with the utmost application, their suspicion of the Elector of Saxony's Conversion. Indeed, that was a very nice Point; and all Men, tho' never so partial, were sensible, That his declaring for the Roman Religion, had more of Ambition in it, than Devotion. However, the Pope being un|willing that a Protestant Prince should Sit upon that Throne, was so much against the Elector, that one would have thought he could never be for him. Besides, the Cardinal-Primate sent a Courier, to assure him, That the Interest of the Catholick Religion was entirely ruin'd, if he suf|fer'd the Elector to be prefer'd to the Prince of Conty. This Message, he was prompted to, as well by his Interest, as by his Zeal for the Ro|man Religion; for the Bishop of Cujavia had in|croach'd upon the Privileges of the Archbishop of Gnesne, which justly claims the sole Right of Proclaiming the Elected King.

In the mean time, there happen'd a Quarrel between Husband and Wife, in one of the princi|pal Families retaining to the Court. 'Twas neither occasion'd by Jealousie, nor the disproportion of Tempers, as such Differences commonly are; but by a very odd Adventure, when the one approv'd of a Thing, that the other did not. We must know, that a Noble Venetian, not a Member of the Senate, but one of the Nobles of the Terra|firma, being Marry'd to a Lady that he lov'd very tenderly, had so much Complaisance, as to sa|tisfie her Curiosity, by carrying her to see France. But tho' the Beauty of France draws so many Strangers to visit it, yet her design was only to have it said, that she resembled the Queen of Sheba, in coming so far to see the Glory of Solo|mon. She had heard a thousand great Things of the King and His Reign; and being fond of see|ing with her Eyes, whether the Reports were true, or enlarg'd beyond the due extent, she came

on purpose along with her Husband to Versailles; in order to make the discovery. Such an Adven|ture as this, was only wanting to compleat the History of the King; and those who are employ'd in Writing it, will take care not to forget it. However, the Husband and his Wife appearing of a sudden at Court, Mr. Bontems, Governor of the Castle, had a mind to know who they were, pursuant to the King's Orders, injoyning him to take notice of all the unknown Faces that ap|pear'd there. Accordingly, he caus'd to ask 'em, Who they were? and what brought 'em there? He was the more particular in his Questions, in that he heard their Equipage was a true Bohemian E|quipage; and had serv'd to amuse not only Men of Sense, but even the very Children. When the Question was ask'd 'em, they were surpriz'd, for that such Conduct was inconsistent with the Li|berty that Reigns in their Country. But being inform'd, that all unknown Faces were treated the same way, the Noble Venetian would needs go in Person, to acquaint Mr. Bontems with the occasion of their Voyage. Mr. Bontems was sur|priz'd to hear of his Complaisance, and having spoke of it to the King, was order'd to bring 'em both to see him Dine. To recompence the charge they were at, they were plac'd in the most con|venient Place, for having a full view of the King. I cannot tell what their Thoughts were, or whe|ther they said what the Queen of Sheba said of Solomon; but all the Courtiers being acquainted with their Errand, none of 'em us'd 'em so, as one not long ago was by John Bart, one of the famousest Pyrates that the King had during the last War; if it be lawful to give that Title to a Man that obey'd the King's Orders. Pray God forbid, that in using that expression, I should mean to reflect upon the Methods us'd by that Prince, for disturbing the Repose of his Enemies.

I am too sensible of the Respect we ought to have for Supream Powers, to indulge my self in that liberty. And I am likewise sensible, That he hav|ing so many Enemies upon him, shew'd in that; as in all other things, the depth of his judg|ment.

To return to my subject, John Bart having the curiosity (as well as these Foreigners) to see the King Dine, there came a Person dignify'd with a Blue Ribbon, that finding he had a good Place, took it from him, without being over-aw'd by his Mein, which speaks him more a simple Tar|pallion, than a Commander of a Squadron. John Bart had heard, that some Compliment was due to a Blue Ribbon; however, he took him by the Coat, upon which the Badges of his Knighthood were fix'd, and told him, with a loud Voice, Mr. Blue Ribbon, pray give me my Place; you see the King when you will; but for me who does not see him but at the four Festivals of the Year, 'tis but rea|sonable that I should not tamely suffer my self to be robb'd of an advantage that I enjoy so seldom. The King hearing that, fell a Laughing; and told the Gentleman with the blue Ribbon, That Bart was in the right; and that 'twas His Pleasure, that he should give Bart his Place, and rather stand behind him, than affront him in that manner. Upon that, John Bart being better known on Board, than at Court, the Blue-Ribbon Spark turn'd about to view him; and apprehending his Mein to be much different from his Reputation, whisper'd to a Duke that was just by him, That if the Noble Venetian, and his Lady, had receiv'd as little satisfaction from the sight of the King, as he had from that of John Bart, they would be sure to grudge their Money. But that could not be; for tho' the King is very much alter'd from what he was, yet he still preserves his good Mein; insomuch, that 'tis still visible, that he has been a very graceful Man.

In fine, they were far from meeting with what John Bart did; for every body knew they came too far, not to have the opportunity of seeing the King. But they had no sooner receiv'd satisfaction in that point, than they return'd to Italy. 'Tis said, they staid only three days at Paris; and that, rather to rest themselves, than to see the Curiosities of the Place. This Scene being Acted in the Face of the whole Court, and being the common subject of Discourse; the Person of Quality, I pointed to above, happening to Talk of it to his Lady, a Quarrel ensued, after this man|ner: The Lady told her Husband, That if she were to wish for any thing in this World, it should be this, That she might have as Complaisant a Husband, as that Venetian Lady; he having un|dertaken a Journey of almost 1000 Leagues, on purpose to please her; and by that means shewn the greatest instances of a pliant Temper, that any Man can ever shew. Her Husband reply'd, That his Conduct did not speak so much a flexi|ble Temper, as Folly; and that, for his part, if he had a Wife, that would desire such a thing of him, he would look on her as the greatest and most extravagant Fool, not only in Paris, but e|ven in Bedlam. Each of 'em maintain'd their Sentiments with great warmth; and the Lady told him, That it seem'd he was not in the hu|mour to satisfie her, in case she desir'd to see the Emperor, or the King of Spain. The Gentleman made answer, That if ever that Maggot took her, he would not content himself with shutting her up in Bedlam, but would stifle her with his own Hands, as a Mad-woman. Perhaps he only said so, to signifie the aversion he had for these two Princes, who were the King's Enemies: But the Lady putting a Literal meaning upon the reply, they came to high Words, and quarrel'd out|right,

This was the Product of the Complaisance that a Noble Venetian shew'd to his Lady: But in the mean while, there happen'd an Accident at Court, that was yet more surprizing, and that one Day, will perplex the Historians, tho' they are not very fond of sounding the truth of it. There's a little Town in Provence, call'd Salon, that formerly gave Birth to Nostradamus, a Man very well known at this Day, by his Centuries; some of which have come to pass in so convincing a man|ner, that what was formerly obscure, is now as clear as Sunshine. Among these Articles, I rec|kon what relates to the Death of Charles I. King of England, and that of Mr. de Cinqumares, pro|vided still, that these were not foisted after-hand into his Works. But let that be as it will, this Town which produc'd a sort of a Prophet in the preceding Age, has furnish'd us with one in this; or at least, such a Character is given of a cer|tain Gentleman, that appear'd then at Court, of whom this is the History. About that time, the pretended Ghost of that famous Astrologer above|mention'd, appear'd to a Man of this City. I know not whether it was by Night or by Day; but this I know, That the Apparition put the Man in a great fear; and above all things, ad|vis'd him, not to mention to any body, what he spoke to him; nay, he did not except his Wife; and the Man made a sign with his Head, import|ing, that he would obey him; for he was at that time Speechless, and fear had so much influence upon him, that he could not open his Mouth. Thereupon the Apparition advis'd him to go to the Intendant of Provence, and give him to know from him, That he should give him Letters, to introduce him to the King: It represented further, That it would not tell him presently what he was to say before the King, but that he would appear again to him, when he should come near

to Versailles, and there teach him his Les|son.

Upon that, the Apparition disappear'd, and left him for Dead, so much was the Man fright|ned by his Wonders, as well as by his dismal As|pect. After some time, the Man came to him|self; but so, as that 'twas plain he had some|thing extraordinary in his Head. His Wife ask'd him what it was; but the Prohibition, laid upon him by the Apparition, kept him from discover|ing any thing for some time. At last, his Wife having us'd a thousand Wheedles, to make him reveal his Mind; he open'd his Mouth I know not how often, in order to recount the Adventure, and shut it as often again; by reason that the Apparition had back'd the Prohibition with such Threats, as scar'd him. He told his Wife, That he should dye, if ever he broke Silence upon the Matter; and the fear that this should come to pass, stiffed his Words, when he was most temp|ted to speak.

His Wife's Curiosity was inflam'd by his re|serv'dness; she press'd him more than ever to re|veal the Secret. The Husband reply'd, That his Life depended upon it, and that he could not do it. But that Word screw'd up her Curiosity to the last degree. In fine, she would not let him be easie, till he made the discovery; and the poor Man being foolishly fond of her, had no sooner acquainted her with the Apparition, and the discourse that pass'd, than he fell down quite Dead upon the spot. Upon this, the Woman was as much astonish'd as he was, when the Ghost appear'd to him. But after second Thoughts, she constru'd the discourses he utter'd before his Death, to be only the effect of a Brain disturb'd by a Mortal Sickness, and told nothing of the Matter; or if she did, 'twas with such an Air,

as if she had taken his Discovery, for the Ravings of a distemper••d Brain.

This Accident made no great Noise in Salon, or the adjacent places; which certainly it would, if it had been fully known: Nay, the People there, did dot so much as mind it; for every one, as well as his W••••e, believ'd that the Man's Brai••s were ••ut of order, when he talk'd of his Vision. But at the s••me time, the Vision appear'd to another Inhabitent of the same City, and made him the same Compliment; and he was as foolish as the other; f••r he spoke of it that same day to the Curate, and his indiscretion was follow'd by the same ••ate; for he di••d upon the spot. The noise of his Death, and the manner of it, being spread abroad, the People recall'd to their me|mory, what was said upon the Death of the o|ther. This was the only subject of discourse all ••ver Salon, and for 20 Leagues round it; nay, every body took the liberty to Comment upon it. But in the mean time, the Vision appear'd to a Blacksmith, whose House was not far from those of the two Men, I spoke of but now. 'Tis possible, he was as much afraid, as the other two; but their example being recent, and of too great consequence, to suffer him to be guilty of the same fault; he was very attentive to the Words utter'd by the Ghost; and immediately upon its disappearance, went to the Intendant, pursuant to its orders. That Magistrate gave Au|dience every day, to all that had any business with him; so that, the Smith had no occasion for any one to introduce him: But his Story be|ing such as could not well be told publickly, he beg'd of him, that he would retire with him to his Closet, because he had an Affair of extream Consequence to imp••rt. The Intendant, seeing that the Man made ••ut a sorry appearance, could not conjecture, wh•••• this important Affair might

be. But being oblig'd to hear every one, and to neglect nothing relating to his Post, he desir'd him to stay a little, till he had given Audience to the rest; after which, he would hear him at his leisure. Accordingly, after the general Au|dience was over, he and the Smith retir'd to his Closet.

Then the Blacksmith acquainted him, That the Af|fair he was about to open, would at first view seem to be a pure Whim; and that he knew he would be dismiss'd for a Fool; that to prevent such ap|prehensions, he told him so much before-hand; and in fourteen Days time, he would send to see for him, being then sensible of his error, in treat|ing him as a Man troubled with Maggots. In fine, he set forth the occasion of his coming thi|ther, namely, That a Vision having appear'd a Month ago to two different Persons, (that certain|ly he had heard of, upon the account of the fatal Consequences) had likewise appear'd to him, very lately; That it had order'd him to come to the Intendant, to desire he might be sent to the King; That it had promis'd to appear again to him, at Versailles, or near to it, in order to instruct him in what he was to say to His Majesty; That ac|cordingly, he came to discharge his Commission faithfully; and upon that score, was not afraid of meeting with the same Fate, that befel the other two.

The Intendant had heard something of this odd Adventure; but had always taken it for a fabu|lous Fiction; and, pursuant to that Thought, check'd the Man in a strange manner. He ask'd him, If that was his way to abuse an In|tendant's Time, every minute of which he knew to be precious; and at the same time, gave him to know, that he deserv'd nothing but a Goal. The Man reply'd, That his Threats made no impression upon him, for that the Vision had

sufficiently prepar'd him; That he would return home, since the Intendant order'd him so to do; and that he would only have the trouble of re|turning, when the Intendant should send for him.

Tho' the Intendant us'd him at this rate, yet he had a deep impression of what he said. His talk|ing so sensibly, and so unlike a distemper'd Head, was sufficient to suggest some Reflection to the Intendant; especially, if we joyn to this the for|mer reports of that Apparition. In effect, the Marshal was no sooner gone, but the Intendant wrote to the Lieutenant General of Salon, pray|ing him to acquaint him, Whether the reports of that Apparition were true, or false? But to pre|vent the communication of retractible Things, he order'd him to draw up a formal Information, in case he found any credit due to the reports that were spread abroad. At the same time, he de|sir'd a Character of the Man that had been with him; for he had taken down his Name at first, and wanted to know, whether he was always reckon'd a Man of Sense, such as he appear'd to be. He likewise order'd him, to enquire, whe|ther there ever were any of his Family, either by the Father or Mother-side, that were Rattle brain'd. For if any such had been found out by chance, he had not fail'd to infer from thence, that he imi|tated their example, and by consequence, that no stress was to be laid upon what he said.

The Lieutenant obey'd this Letter punctually. He drew up an Information, and sent it to the Intendant; by which he saw, that all the reports of the Apparition, and its consequences, were true; and that the Marshal was always reputed a Man of good Sense. The Lieutenant likewise g••ve an account of his Family; which contain'd •• thing that could hinder the Intendant to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Court with the Affair. Accordingly,

he Wrote of it to the Marquis of Barbesieux, Se|cretary of State; but he did it in such a way, as signified, that he only look'd upon the Man as a Mad-man. For, he did not only set forth his own incredulity upon the Matter, but the Mea|sures he had taken to prevent his being impos'd upon; and sent him the Information he had caus'd to be taken at Salon. By this he mean'd, and justly indeed, to justifie, That if there was any imposi|tion in the Matter, he was not the first Author of it. His plea was, That the Magistrate of Salon, being upon the place, ought to know the Matter of Fact best; upon which, he concluded, That if he was deceiv'd, the fault ought not to lie up|on him. He thought himself oblig'd, in a par|ticular manner, to season his Letter with a great many Circumstances, to clear himself from too much Credulity in that Minister's Opinion; for that the Marquis being very Young, must be less Credulous than other People. He knew, that at such an Age as he was of, such things are hardly credited; and that even the Apparition of Samuel would meet with no Faith from them, if it were not spoke of in the Books that cannot be call'd in question, without Sacrilege. But the Marquis was more Credulous than one would have thought. He Writ him an Answer, probably, after speaking of it to the King; importing, That he might send him the Man, but so, as not to give any ground for charging either the one or the other with any Weakness.

The Intendant receiving this Order, injoyn'd the Lieutenant-General of Salon to send him the Man, upon the pretence, of answering to the In|formation he had made, pursuant to his Order. Accordingly, the Blacksmith waited upon him, and told him at first meeting, That he had said be|fore, 'twould not be long before he sent for him again. The Intendant made answer, That he did

not send for him upon the design he thought of, but to reprimand him for meaning to impose up|on him. By this Representation, he thought to turn the Tables upon him, in order to satisfie the Marquis's caution. But the Man knowing that he was guilty of nothing that could merit a reprimand, the Conference ended in this, That the Intendant gave him to know, that if he were as much perswaded of the Fact as he would have him believe he would be so far from hindring him to go to V••••sailles, that he would give him Introductory-Letters to the Marquis of Barbesieux, and to facilitate his Journey, would give him a place in the first Recruit-Convoy that was to go that way. The Man did not care which way he went, so he could but satisfie the desire of the Vision; and accordingly, agreed to what was pro|pos'd. There was a Company of Recruits just ready to be gone, which an Officer of the Town of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had rais'd, and which were to pass near Paris. The Intendant recommended the Blacksmith to him, and gave him some Mony to give him when he par••••d from him. That Officer carry'd him to ••erte under J••narre, after having Wrote to the Intendant, in obedience to his Command, That he could 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nothing in the Man, but what bec••me a Wi••e man: For the Intendant had desir'd him to observe him narrowly upon the Road, to the end, that if he discover'd any turn of Thought in him, he might acquaint the Mar|quis o•• Barbesieux with it.

The Blacksmith being thus arriv'd at ••ert•• took leave o•• the Officer, and repair••d to Ver|sailles, where he did not knew what to ••ay, be|cause the Ghost had not yet appear••d to him. But the very Night that he arriv'd, while he was in great perplexity, he heard (as he says) one un|draw his Curtain, while he was full awake. Up|on that, the Ghost appear'd to him, bid him fea••

nothing, and gave him to know, That both the Secretary of State, and the King, would give him a Well-come Reception, notwithstanding the dif|ficulties he met with at first. Being thus instru|cted in what he was to say, both to the Marquis, and the King; he was at the same time, strictly charg'd, never to divulge what was then told him, to any body, excepting His Majesty. The Ghost acquainted him, That the Marquis of Barbesieux, would endeavour, by all means, to pump the Se|cret out of him; but that he was to conceal it from him, as well as from every body else; for if he fail'd in that piece of Obedience, he should infallibly meet with the same Fate as befel the two Men in his Town.

The Ghost disappear'd immediately; and the Blacksmith having no great inclination to Sleep longer, went in the morning to wait upon the Marquis of Barbesieux, and deliver'd him the In|tendant's Letter. The Marquis immediately call'd him to his Closet, where they both continu'd for above an hour. The report of the Blacksmith's ensuing Arrival, had been spread all over the Court before he came. For upon his depar|ture from Provence, Letters were sent to Town; and he was every where stil'd, The Prophet, for|asmuch as no body doubted, but that he was go|ing to Prophesie something to the King, and had undertook that Journey only for that end. In the mean time, every body was mightily desirous to know what the Matter was; and there being al|ways some, that pretend to refine upon Things beyond their Neighbours, a Report was spread a|broad, That he had been put upon at the same rate as James Clement in former Times, tho' not in order to commit such a detestable Action as he did, but to acquaint His Majesty under so fair a covert, a great many things, that could not other|wise reach his Ears. I do not speak this, as if I

believ'd it; for I know very well, that these are only pleasant Whims, familiar to those, who, for want of business, employ their whole time in Com|menting upon whatever happens.

However, according to the Ghost's Prediction, the Marquis of Barbesieux endeavour'd to work the Secret out of the Blacksmith: But the Smith reply'd, That all his efforts upon that score would be fruitless, in regard he had a Lesson prescrib'd to him, which he was oblig'd to observe, under the pain of being punish'd upon the spot; but to shew that his advances were not Chimerical, he might give His Majesty to know, That the last time he Hunted at Fontainbleau, he was sud|denly surpriz'd with an Apparition, which put him into a great astonishment; That the same Ghost which appear'd to him, had at that time appear'd to His Majesty, and that his Horse had seen it, and started aside, as if he would have thrown him; That the Apparition did not con|tinue above a moment, which occasion'd His Ma|jesty's apprehension, of being mistaken, and his speaking of it to no body; and that all this hapned to His Majesty only, in order to procure him ac|cess to the King, by shewing, That he knew what none else in his Dominions was acquainted with. Upon these reasons, he hop'd His Majesty would make no difficulty in giving him Audi|ence.

The Marquis of Barbesieux was much surpriz'd at the hearing of such a Circumstance as that, which would quickly discover, whether there was any thing Supernatural in this Man's Pre|tensions, or whether he was an Impostor. And, in earnest, if the King confirm'd the Matter of Fact, undoubtedly he must have known something beyond a Natural Capacity. The Marquis ac|quainted the King with his Arrival, and with the Story he told; and all he had said, being, as 'tis

alledg'd, found true, the King granted him a pri|vate Audience. What pass'd in this Interview, no-body can tell, because 'twas kept as a profound Secret. All we know, is, That the pretended Prophet having stay'd some days at Court, while few knew that he had the honour to speak with the King; His Majesty agreed, that he should come and take leave of him publickly, when he took Coach to go a Hunting. The Duke of Duas, Captain of the Life-Guard, no sooner saw him, but he told the King, That if he had not order'd him to admit such a Fellow to approach His Per|son, he had been far from doing it, because he was certainly a Fool, or else His Majesty was much put upon. A great many others about Court were of his Mind; for people are not easi|ly convinc'd of such things as these. But the King took his part, and gave the Captain to know, that he was out in his Judgment, and that he had more Sense than he thought for.

This Expression was evidence, that he had told the King some very odd Things; for otherwise, the King would never have given himself the trouble to make such Declaration of his Thoughts. It awak'd the Curiosity of all Mankind; and e|very-body would have given any thing to know the result of his Conference with His Majesty, and Barbesieux. The Marquis's Friends pump'd him upon the matter; but he told 'em frankly, that 'twas in vain, in regard there was something in the matter that challeng'd his Secrecy. The vulgar People, who are naturally very credulous, fancy'd, that his Business with the King, was to Preach up the suppression of the Imposts, that Necessity had oblig'd him to lay upon 'em, in the time of so cruel a War. The Prophet having ta|ken leave of the King, return'd to his own Coun|try; and the Marquis of Barbesieux having given him Mony at his arrival, and order'd him to converse

with no body repeated his Bounty to him when he went. So that the Prophet spoke nothing of the matter to any-body while he was there; and in|deed, he could not well do it, if he would, for he was always kept within view.

Such an extraordinary Adventure as this did not fail to make a great deal of noise all over Paris, and even the whole Kingdom; but notwithstanding that the appearance of Prodigies ought to make People reflect upon their Duty; yet I do not find that this made any Reformation of Manners. De|bauchery continued still to Reign among Men and Women; and the exemplary Piety of the King, and part of the Court, had no effect upon the Libertine Spirits. His Majesty, who, ever since his application to Devotion, has made it his Business to extirpate Vice, not only out of those about his Person, but even those who live at a distance, held at that time a Council of Con|science, at which the Archbishop of Paris, and some other Prelates, with Father de la Cha••se his Confessor, were call'd to assist. In that Assemb|ly, several methods were propos'd for preventing the usual disorders among the Officers and Sol|diers. The Archbishop of Paris being a very z••••|lous Man, cry'd up His Majesty's pious Intention; and gave the rest to understand, that they ought to joyn all their Force in bringing it to bear. For this purpose, 'twas propos'd, That a Missionary should be sent to each Regiment, in order to Preach to 'em, and Catechise 'em every day. But it being answer'd, That Missionaries would scarce be ••ound to undertake the Office, by reason of their neces|sary Residence with the Regiments; another mo|tion was made and agreed to. I know not indeed whether it has yet produc'd the desired effect but what is not yet done, may be done here after; and that Time will discover. The mo+tion was, That none should be imploy'd as Al+moners

of Regiments, but those who are Persons of pious and good Lives, and who have Men of Merit to vouch for 'em: And that at the conclu|sion of every Campagne they should be oblig'd to repair to the Seminaries, and continue there all Winter. To speak the truth, I must say this is an effectual Scheme for having no Almoners but such as are quite different from what they now are. But I question if they'll find any that will submit to that sort of Life. Most people put in for those Places only to divert themselves; and as soon as they find what constraint is mean'd 'em, they'll rather desert than submit to it. Pro|bably that is the reason that the Thing is not yet put in Execution, and perhaps never will.

While measures were concerting for the intro|ducing of such excellent Discipline among the Troops; one of these Almoners being imprison'd by the King's Order, in one of the Hospitals for the Poor, made a strange End after a very odd Life. He was a Recollet by Trade; but being uneasy under the confinement of a Convent, he procur'd a Dismission under the pretence of serv|ing in this Imployment, which by Intrigues, and the Interest of Friends, he had obtain'd. He had continued in that Office some time; and as those who are once in any measure Corrupted, do quick|ly become more Corrupt in an Army; so he form'd a design to render himself so necessary at Court, by a false Accusation, that he might be in a capacity to throw off his Habit which he ••••r•• with as much uneasiness as formerly he did the confinement of the Cloyster. He had his eye upon one, Abbot Agnan, who, of a Fryer, had made himself a Chymist Physician. He had a strong mind to follow his Example, not in practising Physick which he did not understand, but in wearing the Habit of a secular Priest, in|stead of that of a Religious one. His Plea was,

That since they had allow'd that Abbot to dis|pense with his Vows upon the pretence of some Cures, he might obtain the same favour by some signal Service. Upon that view he repair'd to the Marquis of Chateauneuf, Secretary of State, who manag'd the Affairs of Religion, and pri|vately acquainted him, That an Officer of the Re|giment to which he was Almoner, had a design upon the King's Life: He knew that that Officer was oblig'd to go off then, or next morning, to some forreign Country, as well as a great many others who would not change their Religion. Nay, he had counsel'd him so to do, and promis'd to come and see him, tho' he mean'd nothing less.

The Marquis of Chateauneuf, who is, in many things, the least of all the four Secretaries of State, if it be Lawful to call any thing little that's a|bout so great a Prince, sent Orders immediately to Arrest the Officer, and commanded the Recollet to continue at Court. In the mean time, the Of|ficer was gone, which the Recollet knew very well: However the Marquis being inform'd of his Departure, told the Recollet he was come too late, and that the Bird was flown three days be|fore. The Recollet made Answer, That that was none of his fault, and that he could not do the Business sooner; That after all, he be|liev'd he was only gone to Languedoc, his Native Country, where he would be sure to keep close; and that in regard, he told him most of his haunts, he believ'd he could unkennel him, if the Mar|quis would sent him to that Country. The Mar|quis continued still to believe what he said, and accordingly he send him to Languedoc, where the Recollet arriv'd very speedily, with the Mo|ny he had got for the Charge of the Journey. He had a permission upon his going out of Paris to put on a Gentleman's Habit. But, at last, having drill'd on the Affair as long as he could; the

Minister of State not offering to incourage him any longer, he return'd to this City, where he was inform'd, that the Marquis design'd to take him up. The Marquis begun to see thro' his Knavety, and would not suffer himself to be impos'd upon any longer. The Recollet came to know this piece of News very luckily. It fe••l out, by chance, that in the very Inn at which he alighted, there was one of the Cousins of the Person he had accus'd, to whom Mr. de Chateau|neuf had communicated his Thoughts. Now, this Relation had told Mr. deChateauneuf, that his Cousin was, indeed, a true Protestant; but he could be Surety, that he was not capable of the Thought he was charg'd with. At the same time, he had wrote to his Cousin, to know the truth of the thing; upon which, the Officer re|ceiving such information, wrote himself to Mr. de Chateauneuf, setting forth, That he was ready to return to France, to clear himself of the Accusation, if the King would grant him a Pass|port, and Assurance that he should not be troubled upon the score of his retiring to a foreign Counn|try, contrary to his Prohibition.

This Letter was but just receiv'd, and the Re|lation having been at Versailles that day, told all the People about the Inn, the whole Story as a piece of acceptable News: But the Recollet was wiser than to discover what hand he had in the matter. Upon that, he drop'd his Design of go|ing to wait upon Mr. Chateauneuf, and took up at another Inn under a different Name from what he had before: Nay, further, he bought such a Cross as the Knights of Malta wear, and put a white Feather in his Hat, and went by the Title of Mr. le Chevalier. The People of the first Inn 〈◊〉〈◊〉 seeing him next day, were surpriz'd, for that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had told them nothing of his going. But, 〈…〉〈…〉, the Officer's Kinsman had never sus|pected

him, if the Recollet had not said at Ta|ble, that he came from Languedoc; for some|body telling him so much, happen'd, by way of Jest, to say, That, perhaps, he was the Man he had been speaking of, and for that reason had deserted the Inn. Upon this, the Kinsman re|turn'd next day to Versailles, to know what sort of a Man the Recollet was. Mr. Chateauneuf's Description agreeing exactly with what he had seen, he acquainted the Minister with what pass'd at Table, and with the suspicion that he ground|ed thereupon. Immediately the Secretary gave such express Orders for searching all the Inns in Paris, that the Recollet could scarce escape: For the excellent Orders we have in this City, with reference to all strangers, whether in Inns, or private Lodgings, are so admirably well cal|culated, that 'tis no great difficulty to make a narrow Enquiry: All the Landlords being oblig|ed to give an account who are their Lodgers, and when they arriv'd; the Commissary of the Ward where the pretended Knight lodg'd, was inform|ed by the Inn-keeper, that he had got a new Guest. Thereupon the Commissary observing the time of his arrival, to jump with that of the suspected Person's, he inform'd himself of his Features, and so took him up; so that his pre|tended Knight-hood was not sufficient to keep him Incognito. Presently he was convey'd either to the Bastile or Vincennes, where he endeavour|ed to make his escape; but being prevented, and being at the same time guilty of a horrid piece of Sacrilege, he was indited according to his de|merit. The Recollets interceeded for him, to prevent the mortification of its being said in the World, That one of their Society was either Hang'd or Burnt. The King graciously granted their request, and exchang'd the Sentence of Death for that of perpetual Imprisonment. So

he was put into the Hospital I spoke of but now; but he was no sooner got in, than he made a new Conspiracy with the other Russians to make their escape; now, this could scarce be effected without Killing him that brought 'em their Vi|ctuals. But that being not the first Crime they had all been guilty of, they mutually agreed, that they should not stand to do it. In effect, they committed the Murder, and having made their escape, fled to the Palais Royal where they had an acquaintance by whom they expected to be entertain'd. But their Acquaintance abhorring the Crime they had committed, and knowing they had broke the Prison to which they had been com|mitted by the King's Orders, refus'd to receive 'em. Thus they were oblig'd to look out for another hiding Place: But the Goal-Keeper be|ing already at their Heels, they were quickly re|taken and Tried. The poor Recollet, by vertue of the Interest of his Order, was only Condemn|ed to the Galleys; but God not contented with this Punishment which was infinitely short of his demerit, did so order it, that the Gang offering to revolt against their Keepers, about fifteen or twenty Leagues from Paris, these shot upon 'em, and Kill'd the wretched Recollet. Such was his End, and the King having notice of it, was the more forward in reforming the Almo|ners of the Army; for that he knew 'twas in that capacity that he first began to signalize him|self by Debauchery and Corruptness,

In the mean time, we receiv'd the News of the King of Sweden's Death, which gave the Potentates that desir'd a Peace, some occasion to fear some obstacle, or delay. But tho' his Successor was very young; and 'twas to be fear|ed, that a great many Turmoils might fall out in that Kingdom, during his Minority; yet his Father's Will was so well order'd, that it put

all to rights. His Son was declar'd to be Ma|jor, or of Age, before the usual Term in Swe|den, in order to discourage those who mean'd to disturb the State. At the same time, the young King's Grandmother being declar'd his Guardian by her Son's Will, took upon her the Ad|ministration of the Government. The late King had nominated some Counsellors to assist her; among the rest the Count of Bielke, a zealous favourer of the House of Austria, who had been formerly Ambassador at the Court of France, and was disoblig'd there. However, it being fear'd that he might endeavour to disturb our Game, perhaps as much out of private resent|ment, as any intention to serve the Crown of Spain Count; d'Avaux, the most Christian King's Ambassador in that Country, had orders to have a watchful Eye upon his Conduct. I know not whether it was the bad Offices done him by Count d'Avaux, or his being guilty of several unwarrantable Practices when he was Governor of Pomeren, that brought him quickly to be disgrac'd; but, in fine, he perceiving that he was like to sink under the Power of his Enemies, wrote to one of his Nephews in France, to in|treat his Maiesty to forget what was past, and grant him the honour of his Protection. Im|mediately, upon the receipt of the Letter, his Nephew spoke of it to the King: And the Count's hopes were not frustrated; for the King allow|ed him to come to France, pursuant to his re|quest; but the Letter, by which his Nephew gave him this Advice, being intercepted by some of his Enemies, he was taken up.

At that time, Mr. Lasun had only two Oc|cupations, namely, Pleading and Gaming. But as he grew Old, Fortune, which only serves Youth, became as unfavourable to him as it had formerly been kind. 'Twas computed, that in

the space of three or four Months he lost a|bove sixty thousand Pistols. 'Tis certain he lost a great deal; but it being known that sixty thou|sand Pistols, in the Gascogne way of speaking, does not amount to above five or six thousand, others concluded that his loss might terminate there. He was likewise cast in a Law-Suit a|gainst Madam Fremont, and her Son; and was more cast down upon that, than upon his loss at Game; for he still hop'd to regain the lat|ter, but the Judgment against him excluded all hopes of relief. Besides, he was troubled that he had made such a noise about it, both at Court, and in the City, without better success. All his Friends endeavoured to comfort him; and, to speak the truth, they were not much dissatis|fied with the rub he met with, because they hop'd it would facilitate his Accommodation with Marshal de Lorges and his Lady. But stiffness is so natural to old People, that their hopes vanish'd in Smoak. He was a turbulent sort of a Man all his Life-time; insomuch, that he oftentimes thwarted the King: and he would not then disclaim that Quality, tho', indeed, 'twas none of the best. The Judgment pro|nounced against him, related only to the Questi|on, whether he was to plead before the Court of Aydes, or that of Requests. Now, being re|mitted to the last, which was the thing he on|ly wanted to avoid, he resolv'd to plead his Cause there, tho' he should meet with the same success that happen'd to him in Ireland. Tho', after all' I know not what reason he had to fear any such thing; for he shew'd, by his Car|riage before them, that he fear'd K. William ••uch less than them.

However, he was not the only Courtier that lov'd to be litigious. The P. of Epinois fol|low'd his Example very close. He commenc'd a Suit before the Council against the Prince of Bournonville, for the succession to the Vicounty of Gand, to which they were equally related. The case had been already decided by the Par|liament of Rouan, in favour of the Prince of Bournonville. But great Lords are more liable to the pursuit of ill Causes than others, be|cause their Intendants and Agents want only to have 'em ingag'd to a disadvantage, that they may fish in troubled Waters. His true Friends gave him to know, That they fear'd he would he cast before the Council, as well as before the Par|liament. Upon this, he redoubled his Sollici|tations, hoping by his Intrigues and diligence to gain what he was apprehensive of losing in the Court of Justice. The two Princesses, his Wife and his Mother, took care likewise to make use of their Friends. His Wife endea|voured to perswade 'em, that she desired nothing but Justice, hoping to blind 'em by their re|spect for her Quality. But the Mother was less presumptuous, whether 'twas that she thought she was no longer to be consider'd as a Prin|cess, having the Reputation of being married to a Lawyer, or that she was sensible of the weakness of her Son's Cause: Accordingly she confin'd her hopes to the Interest of her pre|tended Husband. The P. of Bournonville, for his part, was not asleep, being sensible that he had to do with a strong party: But 'twould be a great folly in Judges to have more re|gard to Interest than Justice; and all that the Prince D'Epinois, and his whole Family could do, could not prevent his being fin'd, and oblig'd to pay the Costs. Indeed the Debate lasted a|bove

five Hours, because some of the Judges had a mind to oblige 'em.

The Countess of Grignan being then at Paris, went to see the Dutchess of Or|leans at St. Cloud, who had Dislocated her Arm, by a Fall from her Horse at Hunt|ing: But she was so ill receiv'd, that she did not care to go again for a long time. That Princess came to that House, after her Arm had been set by a Country Sur|geon, that perform'd his Office not amiss: But being still much Pain'd, she was so angry at the Countess's saying to her, That she came to Congratulate the dis|pelling of her Illness, that she was very near kicking her out of her Presence. The Princess, who seldom disguises Na|ture, check'd her so severely, that the Countess, upon her return to Paris, made it known to all her Friends, and the Duke of Orleans came to hear of it. His Royal Highness told his Lady, That she was in the wrong; but she was so un|capable of listning to Reason in the case she was in, that there was a necessity of waiting till she was well, before she could be convinced of an Error, in having us'd that Lady at sueh a rate.

The Month of August came on soon af|ter; and the Jesuits, in pursuance of their

usual Custom, had a Tragedy Acted in their College of Louis le Grand; So 'tis now call'd; the Names of the The Col|lege of Clermont, or of Jesus being quite sunk. The Passion that the good Fathers had for insinuating themselves in the King's Favour, made them prefer Flattery to Gratitude. They have forgot, that their Founders oblig'd them to put their Name upon the Gate, and have put up another in its place; which, indeed, is infinitely greater, and more illustrious than Clermont's; but, at the same time, did not want Panegyrists enough besides them, to transmit it with Honour to Posterity: So that the World did not pardon such an Action; for they had no sooner taken down the Name of Jesus from above their great Gate, than two Latin Verses were Published which are well enough known in the World; but there being several that have not seen them, 'twill not be altogether improper to insert them here, and to preserve the Memory of them if it were capable to be lost: They are as followeth.

Sustulit hinc Jesum, Posuit{que} insignia Regis,Impia Genes; alium non habt illa Deum.

The meaning of these Verses, is, That this So|ciety in which Impiety reigns, took down the Name of Jesus, and put up the King's Arms; and so ne|ver recogniz'd any other God than the Kings of the Earth. I am very far from saying that this is a truth. Nay, I should rather affirm, that Piety reigns among 'em instead of Impiety: but considering that they have many Enemies, we must not be surpris'd if they have recourse to some Imposture or other, when the smallest Faults they can be guilty of, are charg'd upon 'em with Reproach. However, Mon|sieur being invited to the abovemention'd Tragedy, he and the whole Court honour'd it with their Pre|sence; upon which Father Jai, who has a great Genius for that sort of Representation, complimen|ted him on the behalf of the Rector of that Col|lege, setting forth, that if the Performance pleas'd him, all the Honour of it was due to him. The good Father made a long tedious Speech, screwing in several Panegyricks upon the late Duke of S. Ag|nan, who was not only a great lover of Acting, but so good an Actor, that upon occasion he acted all the different Parts one after another. Having spoke all that he had to say, he took leave, and went to cause the Representation to be begun. But when every one was pricking up his Ears, that they might not lose one word of the Performance, this mighty Inventer fell out with his Fidlers, insomuch, that instead of Playing, they put up their Instru|ments, and offer'd to go away. Father Jai being touch'd with the Affront they thus put upon him, preach'd to 'em, and catechiz'd 'em, in order to make 'em alter their Resolution. But after he had thus acted the part of a Preacher, a Trade that in the mean time he knew nothing of, he at last came to threaten 'em with his Arms, where his greater Excellency lay. He gave the Musicians to know, that the least they could expect, was, to have their Instruments broke over their Heads. But all this did

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not soften them: They still insisted on their Reso|lution to be gone; so that the poor Father was forc'd to have recourse to Monsieur to make 'em comply. Accordingly Monsieur interpos'd his Au|thority, and the Musicians did for him what they refus'd to do for the Father: Then the Tragedy was begun, but its end was much of a piece with the Prelude. For several People quarell'd, and were so warm, that they stood in need of Monsieur's Authority to restrain 'em. However, the Matter was accommodated without Monsieur's Intervention; and the King who loves to be inform'd of all that passes in Paris or Versailles, no sooner had an ac|count of the Adventures at this Tragedy, but he said a word of Monsieur that sounded well enough. He turn'd to some Lords that were laughing at this Adventure, and said, The Court had been long a Suf|ferer by the less of the Duke of S. Agnan, but thank God Monsieur was about to repair their loss. In effect, this Duke was all his life-long a Judge among the Musicians of Paris; he was so far from thinking that Office to be beneath his Quality, that on the other hand he thought nothing more proper for him, pleading that the Players on the Violin not only con|tributed to Gallantry, but were in a manner the necessary Instruments to carry it on; and thinking that himself exceeded all other Men in Gallantry, he upon that score laid claim to the Government of them, entitling himself to a preference to all others.

The Bishop of Orleans did not keep his Anger long; whether it was that he was sensible of his Error in being angry, or that he was not apt to continue a Resentment long. He return'd to Paris, whither he brought his Nephew. But his Nephew, who would not sacrifice his Hopes of a Bishoprick to the love he had for his Uncle, renew'd his Addresses to Father de la Chaise, and to the King. At that time several Bishopricks were Vacant, and among others,

the Bishoprick of Mentz, which is none of the most inconsiderable Sees in the Kingdom; for besides that the Bishop of that place is at the same time Prince of the Empire, and has a right to put the Sword as well as the Mitre in his Arms, like the Ecclesiastick Electors, the Bishop of Munster, and several other Princes; his Incomes amount to almost 80000 Livres a Year. The eldest Brother of the late Duke of Feuillade had succeeded to it, when the Duke of Verneuil, who had enjoy'd it from his Youth, married Duke Sulli's Widow. The Abbot of Coaslin scarce made any Pretensions to it, in con|sideration of what had pass'd: But the King, who commonly takes pleasure in granting unexpected Favours, bestow'd that Dignity upon him, to the great astonishment of all France, and even of his own Family. This entirely put an end to what chagrin the Bishop of Orleans retain'd upon the score of the Bank. However, his Majesty, who never does a Favour by halves, observing that neither this new Prelate, nor his Family, were in a Condition to raise the 20000 Crowns that he was oblig'd to send to Rome for his Bulls; his Majesty, I say, ta|king this into Consideration, intreated the Pope by a Letter under his own Hand, to let this Prelate have his Bulls gratis. If the King had gratified him with this rich Benefice five or six Months later than he did, he might have sav'd himself the trouble of writing to Rome, for the Bishop of Orleans was made Cardinal before that time, and the Cardinal's Ne|phews never pay for their Bulls, that being a Privi|lege among many others that is tack'd to the Purple. The Pope did not deny his Majesty so small a Re|quest; so that the new Bishop receiving his Bulls gratis, was suddenly capable to keep his Father's Coach from being seiz••d again. Since our Parents are the first Poor that we ought to relieve, and since his Father wanted his Assistance, 'twas his Duty to begin with him in the Dispensation of his Wealth.

The Tuilleries are the place of Rendezvous for all the Persons of Quality of Fortune in Paris: And at present, 'tis a Custom among the Ladies, as well as the Gentlemen, to keep Footmen from 25 to 30 Years of Age; and commonly at the Gates and Doors there stands such a numerous quantity of Footmen, as upon occasion would make a Recruit of 4 or 5000 Men. Now, these Gentlemen Lac|quies having the daily Opportunity of seeing the Freaks and Intrigues of their Mistrisses, and having no great reason to entertain a very good Opinion of 'em, one may know the History of each Lady by hearing their Conferences. At that time, one of these Comical Fellows said to his Fellow Servants, that if they would give him a Bottle of Wine, he would lift up the Coats of the first Lady that came out. They readily agreed to give that reward for such a nice piece of Diversion. In the mean time, Mademoiselle d' Armagnac, and the Marchioness de Villequier came out together; and the Footman, probably not knowing who they were, offer'd to perform upon them the Insolence he had promis'd. The Ladies surpriz'd with the unaccount|able Brutality, cry'd out for help, and stopp'd the Footman themselves; several Persons of Quality alighting from their Coaches, assisted them to prevent the Fellow's making his Escape; upon this he was imprison'd▪ Some Judges were for putting him to Death, to scare those of his Kidney from such lewd|ness; but others thought the Pillory and the Gallies a sufficient Punishment for what he had done. And thus he was only order'd to go and serve the King in the Gallies; though, to speak the truth, his Inso|lence deserv'd another sort of usage. However, that wretched sort of Cattel entertain'd the Publick very often with Scenes of this nature, which were still worse when they wore Swords. Every day they were guilty of some Insolence or other, and there was a great deal of reason for forbidding 'em

the use of Swords. The occasion of that Prohibi|tion was the Father of Monsieur Tilladet, whom they kill'd, and so stopp'd the Course of his Fortune, which perhaps would have gone further than that of his Children, because he had married the Sister of the late Monsieur le Tellier. 'Tis true, he was not al|ways in good terms with him. That Minister, whose Projects bore a Proportion to his Fortune, pretend|ed to Marry his Sister better than to a little Gentle|man of Gascony. But young Ladies often Marry without their Friends Consent, and she particularly dispos'd of her self without consulting him upon the matter. This was the occasion of their misun|derstanding. But as time sinks all Differences, so his Brother-in-law and he were good Friends when that accident happen'd.

At that time the Dutchess of Feuillade dy'd; and her Death was not much regreated by her Husband, who, if we believe the common Report, liv'd so indifferently with her, that he never injoy'd her. But though he did not lament her loss, all that knew her did, for she was a very amiable Lady, and never gave any occasion to talk of her. Besides, she was very Young, being not above 20 Years of Age. But there are some invincible Antipathies; and 'tis plain, the Duke was not of a Temper suit|able to her, since he did not respect what all the World pronounc'd lovely. It seems he likewise de|spis'd her Alliance; though, to speak the truth, there were a great many of as good Families as his at least, who would willingly have married Ladies that had not so much to boast of as she. For if 'tis true, that a Family is render'd Illustrious by the past or present Possession of great Places; we shall scarce find one in the Kingdom, at least retaining to the Law, that could equal this. It produc'd six or seven Secretaries of State, and at present boasts of three. This Lady was the Daughter of the Mar|quiss of Chateauneuf, who, indeed, is but a little

Secretary of State, in comparison with the other three. But as there are no little Saints in Paradise, because God, who is infinitely Great, communicates somewhat of himself to those who have serv'd him faithfully, so there's no such thing, as a little Secre|tary of State, under the greatest King in Christendom.

Mean while, Marshal Boufflers and my Lord Port|land having remov'd a great many Difficulties by their Conferences; the King in concert with the Emperor, propos'd to keep Strasbourg, and to give up to his Imperial Majesty that Part of Brisack that lies beyond the Rhine. The City of Strasbourg did not belong to the Emperor, and by right it ought to have return'd to the Inhabitants, who were Pro|prietors of it, before the King had it. This Inno|vation did not please the Princes of the Empire, especially those situated on this side the Rhine, or just by the other. But great Princes do not much mind little ones, when their own Interest is in the case; and upon that foot the Consent of the King of England was enough to make it bear. 'Tis al|ledg'd that that Prince consented to it, only upon the hopes that his satisfying the King of France in a thing that he desir'd so passionately, would move his most Christian Majesty to give him ano|ther recompence that he on the other side, was as eager to obtain He did not like King James's con|tinuing at St. Germains, thinking that place to lie too near Versailles. And upon a parallel Case, Crom|well who was not short of him in Politicks, us'd all his Interest in his time to oblige his Majesty to re|move from his Court, not only the late King Charles, who after his Father's Misfortune had fled to Paris, but likewise the Queen his Mother. Accordingly he obtain••d his end with reference to King Charles, and even the Duke of York, his Brother, who had likewise fled thither; but as to the Queen he could never gain his Point there, notwithstanding that he wheedled Cardinal Mazarin with the Proposal of a

Marriage between his own Son and one of the Cardinal's Nieces. For that Princess made a vigo|rous Opposition against this Minister's Proposal of her removal from the Court of France, and would never consent to it, notwithstanding the great Ad|vantages accruing to her upon that Condition, particularly a large Pension from England.

My Lord Portland gave the Marshal some hint of his Master's Design, with a good Address. The Mar|shal, who is not so much a Statesman as a good Ser|vant to the King, had nevertheless Sense enough up|on this Occasion to give him some hopes of succeed|ing without going too far. However, People being always apt to flatter themselves, my Lord was per|swaded, That the King could not refuse what King William desir'd, after the Condescention in the Af|fair of Strasbourg; and nothing was thought of upon both sides, but the Execution of what these two Ministers should agree upon. The Princes of the Empire were still displeas'd; they could not forbear complaining that the Article relating to Strasbourg was contrary to the Preliminaries of the Peace; they knew very well that the first thing de|manded of Monsieur Cailleres before the Commence|ment of the Conferences with him, was the Resti|tution of Lorrain, Strasbourg, and Luxembourg. The Emperor's Ministers answer'd to this, That the King's Conquest of Barcelona had chang'd the Face of Affairs, that he demanded an Equivalent, and that considering how things stood, 'twas well for them that he was contented with so little. They were glad they had this Pretence to cover the Ad|vantage accruing to their Master by that new Pro|posal. In fine, they saw very well, that after all Europe had drain'd it self in carrying on the War, the House of Austria were the only Gainers by it. But the Princes of the Empire, who did not ap|prove of these Reasons, could not comply so easily with the Proposal. They sollicited the Emperor and

the Mediators, to get that Clause alter'd that seem'd to be so disadvantageous to them. His Imperial Ma|jesty did not mind them; for that in granting their Request, he should have acted contrary to his own Interest. The Mediators gave no other excuse, but that all Europe stood equally in need of a Peace, and that the Cession of all on this side of the Rhine, and stipulating a Restitution of all on the other side, was the best Expedient, both to put a speedy end to the present War, and to prevent a future Rup|ture.

Neither their Answer, nor that of the Emperors, gave 'em any Satisfaction. They fansy'd the Medi|ators were influenc'd by France; at least they per|swaded themselves, that if the late King of Sweden had been still alive, he would never have tamely suffer'd things to pass so. Being thus prepossess'd with the apprehension of the great Prejudice accruing to them from the Peace, they did not comply very early. While the respective Parties were busi'd in managing their several Pretensions, the Affairs of Poland were brought to that Confusion, that 'twas thought they would never be adjusted without a Civil War. Th•• Cardinal Primate sent a Courier to France, to know what was the reason that the Prince of Conti did not come to take the Crown upon his Head. He represented, that his Interest suffer'd mightily by his apparent Indifferency in ly|ing quiet at Par••s, or the Court, at a time when Poland was in a Combustion out of Respect and Love to him. That the Duke of Saxony was not wanting in reaping a mighty Advantage by it; that he de|bauch d those of his Party, upon the Plea that 'twould be folly to adhere any longer to a Prince that deserted 'em in that manner; that his Presence in Poland was desir'd beyond Expression; and that on the other hand, the Duke of Saxony was so hated, that upon the Prince's Arrival every body would side with him out of spite to the other.

The Abbot of Polignac gave the Court to know as much by every Courier he sent. At last, the King having call'd a Council upon the matter, re|solv'd that the Prince of Conti should go immediate|ly to that Country. And in regard he could not expect a good Reception without carrying Money with him, his Majesty gave him Bills of Exchange for 2000000, besides 10000 Louis-d'ores, for petty Occasions. The Peace was then not made, and 'twas possible it might fail, by reason of the Interest of the Princes of the Empire, who still oppos'd it with great Warmth and Resolution. Upon this ac|count 'twas question'd by many, how the Prince should get with safety into Poland. To go there in|cognito was at once dishonourable and dangerous, and to do it by open force was impossible, the Ene|mies Fleet being at Sea, which all the Power of France could not cope with. But notwithstanding the Strength of their Fleet, the Kng fitted out Squadrons every Day, which not only got off clear, but were continually annoying them by taking Prizes. And accordingly a Squadron was order'd to Transport the Prince: John Bart having taken upon him to Conduct the Prince, took care to make the Squadron ready by Orders from Court. 'Twas fitted out at Dunkirk, and the Allies having notice of it, sent 14 Ships to that Road, to hinder any thing to go in, or come out. This Obstacle did not amuse John Bart, though another would have been much perplex'd with it. 'Tis not known how the Enemy had such an early Intelligence of the Design, for the King kept it so secret that no body in France knew of it, till within two Days before the time of his Departure. However, it seems, it came by Spies, of which they had a great many every where, especially at the Sea-Ports.

But that Trade was more hazardous than Bart's Expedition, though at the same time it was attend|ed by a great deal of Danger. For one of these Spie

was taken up, not long before, in the same place where this Squadron was fitted out; and considering the risque he run, 'tis not imaginable how little he got by it. One Couture, a Paris-Councellor, a Man of little Practice, and a narrow Fortune, being in|veigled by a Woman, that either had debauch'd him, or had been debauch'd by him, went a strow|ling up and down the Country with her. There he try'd several Trades that did not agree very well with the Bar; but being bred to Harangue and De|claim, he at last listed himself among a Company of strowling Actors, which after a great many turnings and windings brought him to the French Flanders; there he acted his Parts, and coming afterwards to Dunkirk, met there with a Man that having known him at Paris, represented to him the scandalousness of his Imployment. The Counsellor-Actor made answer, That 'twas easy to talk of things, but when a Man had nothing, he was oblig'd to do what he could. Thereupon his Friend gave him to know, that if he would trust him, he would find him a better Trade, in which he might earn his Bread with less La|bour. The Counsellor being not over-satisfied with the Trade he was then in, took him at his word; upon which his Friend said, They behov'd to drink together, before he could speak farther upon the Matter. Having carried him to a Tavern, he acquainted him over a Glass, That he had several Relations in Holland, who were great Traders, and were every day annoy'd with the Prizes made by the French Ships; that they would willingly give 2000 Livers a Year to any Man that would engage to give 'em timely notice what Ships are fitting out from Dun|kirk and St. Maloes; that if he would find a Friend to reside in one of these places, while himself con|tinued in the other, he would see that Sum paid him; and that there was no great Difficulty or La|bour in the performance of what was desir'd. 'Tis possible, he likewise set forth to him, that in under|taking

that Office, he would do a charitable Acti|on, by preserving so many honest Men from Ruin. However the Counsellor accepted the offer, and settled one Martin for his Sub-delegate at St. Maloes, allowing him 500 Livres a Year: Himself con|tinued at Dunkirk, waiting till he could find out another Deputy for the same price, that so he might go to Paris; and there injoy the remaining 1000 Livres of his Pension. Accordingly he found one in a little time. But his other Deputy, Mr. Martin, being a Man of no great Head, and his Office requiring an Infinity of Sense and Precaution, he was soon suspected by the Inhabitants of St. Maloes. Tho' he colour'd his Residence in that place with a pre|tence of some small Commerce and Trade, that he had taken up only for a feint; yet they observing his Diligence and Curiosity in going every Day to the Haven to see what was done there, immediately gave the Court notice of him. The Court sent Orders to have a watchful Eye upon him. At last, their Suspicion being still inflam'd by his Conduct, they stopp'd his Letters at the Post-house, which were address'd to Couture at one Madam Clerc's in Paris. At the same time, Letters were sent to Cou|ture from his other Correspondent at Dunkirk: Both these were open'd, and afterwards seal'd so artifici|ally, that he could not discover it. They observ'd that both the Correspondents made mention of some Naval Preparations at these two places, and were very particular in their Accounts. After that, 'twas found that the use he made of their Intelligence, was to convey the same to Holland. This being sufficient Evidence, they were all three taken up: Poor S. Martin fearing to be broken on the Wheel, or at least hang'd, would not stay till he was exa|min'd; but threw himself headlong over a Rock, upon which he was imprison'd. Couture's Mother having married a Council-Barrister for her second Husband, had so much Interest at Court, as to get

her Son's Punishment converted into perpetual Im|prisonment: By which means the Dunkirk-Deputy got off at the same rate. And so there was an end of the Story.

To return. 'Tis very probable the Enemy disco|ver'd Monsieur Bart's Design by some such means. However, the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Ships coming before Dunkirk, watch'd Night and Day, for fear the Man that had already trick'd 'em so often, should boast once more of playing them a new trick. The day before the Prince's Departure, the King was two Hours with him in private in the Castle of Marli; and there be|ing no Witnesses of what past between 'em, we can only make Conjectures about it. What can we ima|gine it to be? unless we say, That his Majesty, who is so well vers'd in the Art of Government, gave him Lessons how to behave upon his Arrival in the Kindgdom he was call'd to, in case the Sub|jects should prove as affectionate as they were re|presented to be, as well as in case they should prove otherwise, which the Prince was very apprehen|sive of. For all their Intelligence from Poland, by any other Hands than the Cardinal Primate, and the Abbot of Polignac, gave a contrary Account of things to what these two Ministers did. All the Mer|chants Letters from Dantzick, and the other neigh|bouring Places, spoke of nothing but of the great number of Creatures retaining to the Duke of Sax|••ny. The Letters that came to the Marchioness of Bethunes, spoke to the same purpose; but when any body ask'd her what they contain'd, she spoke as dubiously as she could, leaving them to guess more than she had a mind to tell. Those who were quick|sighted knew the cause of her Silence; but they made no use of it, knowing that one is never thank'd for telling disagreeable News.

All this did not hi••der the Prince to set out. He took with him no Persons of Note or Distinction, unless you put the Chevalier's de Lausun and Sill••ri

in that Rank; but the one being as poor as a Rat, let his Family be what it will, and the other being a Cadet as well as he, and one whose Family has nothing but a Chancellor for its greatest Orna|ment, I thought I might dispense with the giving 'em that Title. The latter assum'd the Name of Count Silleri at his Departure, either because he hop'd the Prince of Conti, whose Domestick he was, would raise him to a great Fortune now he was call'd to a Throne; or because having declar'd his Marri|age with the Daughter of an Auditor of the Ac|counts, that brought him some Money, he had a mind to leave her a more honourable Title than that of a Chevalier's Lady. The Eve before the Prince's Departure, he receiv'd the Visits of all the Court, who came to take leave of him. At Night he supp'd with the Prince of Conde his Father-in-Law, and his whole Family; after which, a great many Tears were shed, as if they should never see him again. Perhaps, they knew that he could not set that Crown upon his Head without coming to the Point of the Sword, and consequently that he had many Dangers to go through. And in earnest that consideration is more than sufficient to alarm those who are concern'd for a Person; so that if Tears be allowable upon any occasion, they are upon this. The Princess of Conti appear'd to be less mov'd than the rest; or at least, if she shed any Tears, they were not so bitter as they might have been. Though there was no body that was so nearly concern'd for the Prince as her self; yet she thought it her Duty to behave her self so, as to seem worthy of the great Fortune to which she aspir'd. Not that she did not love the Prince very tenderly; but be|sides this her Ambition, and the Desire of being a Queen, that had so great a place in her Soul, she was not ill pleas d to see the Prince go from Court. She knew too well that he was amorous to a foolish degree; and fed her self with the hopes that the re|moval

of his Mistriss from his Eyes, would unhinge his Affection for her.

The Prince rid Post to Dunkirk, his Equipage being sent before with all possible Expedition. The Coffer which contain'd the 10000 Pistols that the King gave him, happen'd to be broke underneath, and the Purse in which they were being turn'd upside down, a great many of 'em were dropp'd about two are three Leagues from Paris. By chance, 'twas upon a Market-day that they were lost; and the Gonnesse Bakers having found 'em, no sooner understood whose they were, than they deliver'd 'em up; for one of the Prince's Pages had come back to know if any body had found 'em. 'Tis alledg'd, that the Prince had purposely left 3 or 400 Pistols out of the Bag, and put them in that sorry Coffer, in order to leave with those that found 'em an eternal Memorial of his Departure from France. 'Tis true, he is likely enough to do such a thing, for he's as generous a Prince as any about the Court: And for that rea|son, 'twas said of him, that if he shew'd himself to be of the House of Conde by his Bravery, he would not do it by his Generosity. He took nothing to himself; and 'twas such a Prince as he that the Poles wanted, in order, to sink the Memory of the Avarice of their late King, or rather to make 'em sensible how advantageous his earlier Arrival at the Throne had been to them; for he would never have sold a Palatinate, or any other Place; his Hu|mour was too much a stranger to the sordid Mea|sures of their late King, or at least, if ever he should take up with them, he must needs be very much alter'd. Bart had prepar d every thing for putting to Sea, and scarce allow'd the Prince a few hours Sleep, till he weigh'd Anchor with a fair Wind. He pass'd by his Enemies, without being perceiv'd; and steer'd on his Course without any Opposition; for they knew nothing of his passing till 'twas too late to pursue him.

All the Northern Princes were mightily concern'd about the Transactions in Poland, for all of 'em had Affairs to adjust with that Crown. However, the King of Denmark did not act up to the Measures of the rest, who earnestly desir'd that the Duke of Sax|ony should be preferr'd to this Prince; for he would never grant Audience to a Minister that the Duke sent to sollicit him to hinder the Prince to enter the Baltick. He put him off with trifling Amuse|ments, till the Prince had past the Sundt, and then gave Audience to the Envoy; after which, he wait|ed with Patience and Tranquillity, till God should decide an Affair of that consequence as he pleas'd. Some indeed alledge that he offer'd underhand some Ships to the Prince of Conti; and that the Prince only thank'd him for his good will, because he thought he had no occasion for 'em, and that the Success of his Expedition depended rather upon the Affection and good Will of the Poles, than upon any Succours he could receive from any other hand but the King, his Master. After all, the Prince arriv'd before Dantzick, being incourag'd to hope that the Inhabitants of that City would open their Gates to him. This City was to him, as 'twere, the Key of Poland; especially if he should be oblig'd to di|spute his Title to that Crown upon the point of the Sword. 'Twas by that place only that he could expect Succours from France, since these could not come otherwise than by Sea. But instead of an|swering his Expectation, the Citizens sent Deputies to intreat him not to come ashoar in their Territo|ries; by reason that in the present State of Affairs, they could not declare either for him, or the Duke of Saxony, without exposing themselves to great ha|zards. The Prince of Conti did not construe their Words literally, but as he ought to have done. He presently perceiv'd that their Words insinuated all the Enmity to him that could be; and that they had only disguis'd their real Sentiments for fear of

displeasing the King, whose Power they were too well acquainted with, to draw it upon their own Heads. At the same time, some French Merchants that were settled there, came on Board his Ship, to offer him their Service in what their Power could reach, and assur'd him that his Sentiments of the Matter were very just. Nay, they gave him to know that the City had enter'd into a strict Alliance with the Duke of Saxony, by the Mediation of the Elector of Brandenburg, who had set it on foot as soon as he re|ceiv'd Advice of his Election; That if they might freely disclose their Thoughts to him, they would not advise him to go ashoar any where, without a strong French Army to guard his Person: That they knew not what Reports might have been spread abroad to perswade his Highness to come so far, but they were afraid he would only have the trouble of returning without effecting any thing: That the Poles who were formerly Friends to the French, began to take up the same Passion against them that other Nations had: That the Glory of the King had struck them with fear as well as the others: That they were made to believe that the King aspir'd to an Universal Monarchy; and that the fear of becoming his Subjects, scar'd them from preferring a Prince of his Blood to their Throne.

Though these Merchants had not given this Ac|count to the Prince, he had quickly found it out himself. Instead of that croud of new Subjects that the Cardinal Primate had made him to expect be|fore his Departure from France, there came scarce any one to visit him on Board; most of those that came, were only mov••d so to do by their Curiosi|ty; so that excepting a very small number that of|fer'd to pay him the usual Honours of Soveraignty, and treated him as King, there was no body that did any thing like it: But he would never suffer either these, or his own Retinue to do it, for fear

his Reign should be short-liv'd. He gave them to know, that he was not so over-fond of a Crown, as to purchase it at the Expence of his Honour; that he only came thither in compliance with the Car|dinal Primate's Request to Succour their Nation; which, as he alledg'd, the Duke of Saxony mean'd to oppress by a boundless Ambition; that the Car|dinal had promis'd to draw together an Army out of hand to inable him to satisfy his desire; that when he should have done what he pretended to in serving them, he would not then declin•• ••he Title of their Defender; but as for that of King he would never accept of it, till things were upon another foot than what they were at that time; and indeed they could not be upon a worse foot than they were, with Reference to him. The Duke of Saxony, after his being proclaim'd King by his own Party, had not only possess'd himself of the City and Castle of Cracow, but likewise of that of War|saw, where the Kings of Poland us'd to Reside. He had got himself Crown'd in one of these two places, partly by Force, and partly by good Will; while the Cardinal Primate protested equally against his Coronation and his Election.

The Prince of Conti finding that the Duke was thus Master of the Heart of the Country, and that Dantzick was but too partial to him, us'd all his Efforts to gain the Governor of Mariembourg, a place that was not far distant from the place where he was. Could he have master'd that, and been succour'd by his Party, he would have made it a place of Arms. The Governor of that place made as if he listen'd to his Proposal, in order to make him speak French; but the Prince being not in a Humour to do it without seeing further into Affairs, gave him only conditional Promises; upon which the Governor, who had not yet made up Matters with the Duke of Saxony, endeavour'd to do it, tho' without acquainting him that he did it, because he

could have no Security from his Rival. The Ge|nerals of the Army of the Crown, and that of Li|thuania, came likewise to feel the Prince of Conti's Pulse, and to try if they could finger his Bills of Exchange. They had hitherto pretended to enter|tain a Correspondence with the Abbot of Polignac, upon the magnificent Promises he had made 'em. That Ambassador thought he might promise any thing, so as to secure this Crown, without obser|ving that he had to do with People as cunning as himself, and even engag'd under-hand to the Duke of Saxony, from whom they expected to draw more considerable Sums than from him. The Prince of Conti had no mind to bid so high as the Ambassa|dor, because lying is not the Character of a Prince, as it is of those Ministers, who commonly think the direct contrary of what they speak. Accordingly he reply'd, that he was oblig'd to them for the ten|der of their Service, but if they pretended to be paid before-hand, he willingly dispens'd with it; that he was ready to bargain with them about what he should give 'em, provided they made his Election good; but if they mean'd only to take his Money, and afterwards to excuse themselves upon the Plea of the impossibility of making good their promises, he would chuse rather to keep his Money, than expose himself to future Repentance for giving it away to no purpose. These Generals, or rather their Deputies, hearing him speak in this fashion, perceiv'd quickly that he was too long-headed for them; and having drop'd all designs of pulling a Feather from him, did under-hand advise the Duke of Saxony to endeavour by all possible means to seize upon his Person. To bring this about, instead of declaring openly for the Duke, they made their Ad|dress to the Cardinal Primate, as if they had been troubled to quit an Interest that they were joyn'd to by Inclination. The Cardinal suffer'd himself to be amus'd for some time by glittering Hopes, and

even fed the Prince with them. He endeavour'd to persuade him that he would speedily send him an Army capable to reduce the Duke of Saxony; which should oblige the Prince to wait the Execution of his Promises, notwithstanding the Inconveniencies he strugled with upon the Sea.

This Affair was so long in dependance, that the Peace after dwindling for some Months, was con|cluded before it came to be determin'd. The Princes of the Empire were forc'd to submit to the plea|sure of stronger Powers. The French recognis'd the Prince of Orange as King of England; and that Prince coming then to the Hague, the Plenipotenti|aries of France began to pay him the Honour and Respect that was due to the Dignity they had ac|knowledg'd to be his. However, it happen'd that Monsieur Harlai being accustom'd to call him by another Name than that of King, us'd his wonted Expression in a Conference where he was present; but being at the same time sensible of his fault, he made the best Reparation he could. Madam Harlai, the Chancellor's Daughter, having gone to meet her Husband in Holland; and having the Curiosity to see that Prince whom all the French have a parti|cular Esteem for, notwithstanding the harm he has done 'em: This Lady, I say, imploy'd some body to desire Audience of him in some place or other. The New King would not give it her at his own Apartments, but sent her word to be at the Princess of Vaudemont's at a certain hour. Madam Harlai had all the reason in the World to be satisfied with his Civility and Courtesy. As for Monsieur Harlai, he to act the part of a good Courtier, acquainted my Lord Albemarle, his British Majesty's new Favou|rite, who began then to have as great an Ascendant in the King's Affection, as ever my Lord Portland had: He acquainted him, I say, That he desir'd his Master's Picture. My Lord Albemarle promis'd to give it him; but withal, intreated him to have pa|tience

for some time, because his Master was upon his Return to England, and he was afraid he could not spare the time to let it be drawn. Whether that Lord forgot his Promise, or whether the King of Britain was so taken up with Affairs of Conse|quence, that my Lord could not have the opportu|nity of making good his Promise; whatever was in it, four or five Months pass'd, and Monsieur Harlai had resolv'd not to think of it farther, when he re|ceiv'd Information at Paris that my Lord's Trum|peter staid in his Hall to speak with him. At first he could not conjecture what should bring him so far from home, for he was far from thinking that his Master should have call'd to mind his Request, after letting so much time slip without sending to him. But after all, he found that his Errand was to bring him the Picture. My Lord had caus'd a magnificent Frame to be made for it at Paris, be|cause that sort of Work is better done there than in England. The Trumpeter took care to let him know so much, to shew what Pains his Master took to content him. Monsieur Harlai thought this an odd way of conveying a Picture; but Foreigners have their peculiar Customs as we have ours; and so he was e••en oblig'd to take the Complement to|gether with the Charges. He gave the Trumpeter a handsome Present; and that being all that this Mes|senger wanted, he return'd forthwith to his own Country.

Of all the King's Plenipotentiaries at Ryswick, Monsieur Harlai, as 'tis alledg'd, bore the least Fi|gure as to Sense, but he bore the greatest on another score, I mean his Quality, and the first places of the Robe, which for a long time have been fill'd by his Ancestors. Upon this account he had had the whole, or at least the greatest part of the Honour of the Treaty, if the People had found any thing in it to their advantage: But 'twas so far from that, that all Persons regreted secretly, and even pub|lickly

all the Restitutions that the King oblig'd himself to in that Treaty, as much as if they had been to part with their own Estates. It must be own'd that this fancy was in some measure foolish; for, besides that his Majesty knew a great deal bet|ter than they what was convenient for him, and his Kingdom; according to all the measures of good Sense, they ought to have desir'd nothing more than an end of the War, in order to prevent their being expos'd to the Evils they must of necessity undergo, as long as it should continue. But, as People do not always act conformably to Reason, so they made with Reluctancy the very Fire-works, that they were commanded to make, pursuant to the usual Custom upon all such Occasions. Inso|much that the Commissaries of the Wards were oblig'd to back their Injunctions with the Penalty of a large Fine; and without that they would never have agreed to it. However, even that did not scare 'em from censuring all that had been conclu|ded upon. To this purpose they handed about a pretty pleasant Story, which shew••d how little they were satisfied with Monsieur Harlai That Magi|strate had a Son that was as Foppish as his Father was Grave; for in earnest, the Father resembled the two Courtiers of whom Monsieur de la Feuillade said, That when his Majesty had a mind to drink his Liquor cool, his Cup-bearers needed only to cool the Bottles by placing 'em between these two. This Son, I say, was so far from resembling his Father, that he had always acted up to the Chara|cter I here give him. He was at Ryswick when the Affairs of that Negotiation were brought to a Con|clusion; but neither the Solemnity of the place, nor his Father's Character could make him wiser than usually. However, Monsieur Harlai having sent him to the King with the News of the signing of the Treaty, he stay••d so long by the way, that the News were known at Court thirty Hours before

his Arrival. This slowness did not become a young Man, especially one of so much Fire, who us'd always to walk like Lightning. Upon which ac|count the World was amus'd with it, but at last they began to say, That they ought not to think it strange, since for certain the Father was con|founded with the Son; that it was the Son that had made the Treaty, as appear'd from his Impati|ence in signing it, notwithstanding the prejudice it did to the King and the State; and that 'twas the Father who brought the News to Court, which was equally manifest from the tediousness he shew'd up|on the Road, for fear of wounding his Gravity. The principal foundation of this Raillery was, that the Spaniards were so mortify'd by the taking of Barcelona, that they sought for a Peace at any rate; and that whatever Proposal the French Plenipoten|tiaries should have made after an Action of that im|portance, the Spaniards would have agreed to it, and consented that the King should retain Luxemburg as an equivalent for that place, if the Plenipotentia|ries had been so wise, as to take the advantage of the Consternation they were in.

Though the People by this Conduct seem'd to controul the King's Actions, yet his Majesty was not ill pleas'd to find 'em of that mind. For as it was a Mark of their Folly, so it shew'd their con|cern for his Majesty's Interest. Whatever was in it, they scarce had the sense to observe that neither Monsieur Harlai, nor any of his Collegues, had done any thing without the King's Orders. But we must not pretend that that sort of Cattle are ever govern'd by Reason; Capricio and Humour is the ordinary Standard and Rule of their Thoughts. In effect, those who but two Months before cry'd out for a Peace with all the Passion imaginable, had no sooner got it, but they wish'd the War had con|tinued. Their Reason was this: Instead of lessening the Prices of things which had been very dear for

some time, by reason of the preceeding bad Sea|sons, they saw the Markets still rising; besides, that the Wrath of God was seen in the Barrenness of the Earth, we may attribute this Affliction to another Cause, occasion'd by the War. The King had been oblig'd to Re-coin the Money twice, that it might serve instead of an Edict. Indeed he had got con|siderably by this Project, for he rais'd the Louis-d'ors to 14 Livres, and the Silver Crowns to 3 Livres 12 Sous, though the one was not commonly worth above 11 Livres, and the other three▪ Now the King for some Politick Considerations keeping up the Denomination of the Money, it came to pass, that what they us'd to have at easy Rates from Fo|reign Countries prov'd very dear, by reason of the loss of the Exchange, which was a full sixth part.

The Prince of Conti did not trouble his Head with these matters. He thought upon nothing, but either seeing the effect of the Cardinal Primate's Promises, or returning to see his Mistress. His Eminence had retir'd to the Castle of Cowits, where his Partisans assembled several times to no purpose. Many of 'em complained that Abbot Polignac had fed 'em with the hopes of things that were not like to be put in Execution. He had gone so far, as to pro|mise that they should not want either the Money, or the Troops of France; for that being the only Affair that he minded, he wish'd that the King, in like manner, might have nothing else to mind. The Duke of Saxony finding that they began to complain of that Minister, caus••d a Body of German Troops to enter the Country. This put those, who were most expos'd, into a Consternation; and some of 'em making some advances towards the making of their Peace with the Duke, the Prince no sooner receiv'd the News, but he resolv'd to return to France; but at the same time, to make the City of Dantzick repent of their giving his Rival the Prefe|rence,

he order'd Bart to seize some of their Ships that lay just by him. They had anchor'd in the Road, with a design to sail up to the Port with their Car|goes; but Bart obliging them to follow him, car|ry'd 'em to Copenhagen, where the Prince was forc'd to put in by stress of Weather. At the same time, the King stopp'd all the Dantzick Ships in his Har|bors, which makes it probable, that the Prince of Conti's Orders to Bart, did not come so much from himself as from the King. The Prince who had been very uneasy in his Voyage, was more so when he came to Copenhagen, notwithstanding that the King of Denmark shew'd a particular Esteem for his Person. He set a part a great num|ber of Houses for the Prince and his Retinue, and the Wind continuing contrary for some Days, that little time seem'd so long to that Prince, that I doubt if the six Years, that according to the Eng|lish Historians, one of their Kings spent in Ireland, before he could find a favourable minute to return to London: I doubt, I say, Whether these six Years were longer to that King, than those few Days were to the Prince? The occasion of his uneasi|ness was, that he was still in Love, and that all the Comfort he had, was to wait for the Post|days, that he might hear from the Party he lov'd.

The Dantzickers made what Reprisals they could; they arrested the French Merchants at Dantzick, and seiz'd their Effects. But after all, they knew very well that 'twas not proper for them to Quarrel with a King, that the greatest part of the Forces of Europe had in vain attempted to bring down; and upon that view they had recourse to the King of Denmark's Mediation to procure the releasing of their Ships. The King made 'em stay some time before he grant|ed their Request; but at last, believing that the Mortification he had given 'em, was sufficient to make 'em remember it, he accommodated the mat|ter

to their Satisfaction. Abbot Polignac was asto|nish'd at the Prince's Return, and the Conduct of a great many, who after siding with his Party, be|gan to Desert him. At the same time notice was given to him from the Duke of Saxony, that he ought to retire with Expedition out of the Country, or if he did not, that he could not answer for the Security of his Person. The Abbot did not think it his Duty to wait for a second Message, but set out incognito without any Retinue, and order'd his Equipage to make towards the Sea, in order to Im|barque there as well as himself; but they were robb'd before they could reach the Ships that stay'd for 'em. The Abbot did not know, whether the Court which had given him no Orders for his Re|treat, would be pleas'd with it; and therefore he stay'd some time at Hamburg to know the Orders of the Court. He wrote to the Marquiss of Torcy, Se|cretary of State for Foreign Affairs, but receiv'd no Answer; and having complain'd of this to his Friends in that Country, their Answer was not ve|ry satisfactory. They told him, That the Court was very Angry with him, and that the Cardinal Prima••e did not cease to do him disservices. In earnest, his Eminence wrote a great many things to France to his prejudice; he even insinuated that he had applied to his own use part of the Money sent him on the Prince of Conti's behalf. 'Tis believ'd that this Accusation was false, and that 'twas only the Cardinal's chagrin upon seeing himself aban|don'd that made him speak in that fashion. 'Tis true, the Abbot was Poor, and that some time before he was reduc'd to such Straits that his Family would have wanted the Necessaries of Life, if he had not found Friends to assist him. The Cardinal who knew his Straits, and likewise knew that some time after he had paid his Debts', probably grounded his Charge upon that Circumstance. But let it be as it will; though a Man be never so Innocent; 'tis a

great Misfortune to lie under an Accusation. The Court sent him Orders to retire to an Abby he had in Normandy; whether it was that they credited the Accusation, or, which is more likely, that they mean'd to make him answerable for the event.

The Duke of Saxony having thus unhing'd his Competitor, thought he wanted nothing to com|pleat his good Fortune, but the Pope's Favour. As soon as he was proclaim'd King, he had sent an Envoy to sollicite his Holiness to favour his Interest. But as that Court moves but slowly, espe|cially when there's any thing of Religion in the case; so his Holiness would not grant Audience to the Envoy, till he was fully assur'd that that Duke had abjur'd Lutheranism. A Certificate of the Abjuration was brought to him, but he suspected it mightily. It came only from the Hands of a Bishop of his Family, who might be suspected to be gain'd by that Prince, because their common Grandeur was concern'd upon that occasion. The Duke having never entertain'd any Correspondence with that Court, was not throughly vers'd in their Politicks, and was so far from seeing through the true Spring of his Holiness's Motions, that he ima|gin'd the Pope to be in the Prince of Conti's Inte|rest. Accordingly, as soon as the Prince return'd to France, he sent a second Envoy to the Pope to re|present to his Holiness, that he needed not to con|tinue any longer in the Interest of a Prince, who by his Retreat had given sufficient evidence, that he had drop'd his Pretensions to the Crown. In the mean time, the Pope was far from being biass'd that way. Had he been oblig'd to side with one or t'other; he had not scrupl'd to fall in with the Duke. He was an Italian, i. e. no great Friend to French-men; besides, he was by Birth, a Subject of the King of Spain, which Quality did not allow him to depart from the Sentiments of the House of

Austria. However, being Head of the Catholick Church, and upon that score oblig'd to observe Measures on all hands, he sent Orders to his Nuncio at Cologn to go for that Country. He or|der'd him, under the pretence of promoting the Interest of Religion, to reconcile the Cardinal Pri|mate and the Duke. The Cardinal shew'd all along a violent Resolution to raise a Civil War, rather than be without Satisfaction for the Affront offer'd him by the Bishop of Cujavia, by Crowning the Duke. He alledg'd, and justly indeed, That the right of Coronation was lodg'd in the Church of Gnesne, of which he was Archbishop. The Pope had another Nuncio already upon the spot, who of his own head did not fail to anticipate the Orders given to this. For he knew very well that whatever he did for the Interest of the House of Austria, would be approv'd by his Holiness; and accordingly had privately embarqu'd in the Duke's Party.

Some time being spent in all these Transactions, the Year came to an end, which was the time al|loted by his Majesty for the Conclusion of the Mar|riage of the Duke of Burgundy to the Princess of Savoy. Every day he lik'd the Proposal better and better; and the young Princess had such a winning way, that he lov'd her as tenderly, as if she had been his own Daughter. The Duke was but weak for one of his Age, insomuch, that though the Ce|remony was to be perform'd out of hand, yet he was not to enjoy her till he pass'd 18 Years, and she 14. In former times, when the Marquiss of Louvois marry'd his eldest Daughter to the Duke of Rocheguyon, the Son of the Duke of Rochefoucaut, the Consummation of the Marriage was not put so long off; but the Relations on both sides made a mutual Compact, that the new-married Couple should not see one another but once a Week, namely on Thursdays, and that they should live in Celibacy

without any mutual Commerce for the rest of the Week. This made 'em always long for the arrival of the appointed Day of meeting, and inspir'd 'em with a mutual Eagerness: And if all marry'd Per|sons were confin'd to the s••me measures, perhaps they would not be so soon weary of one another, as we commonly find 'em. However, the King having regulated the matter as above, Preparations were made for celebrating the Marriage, which were expensive to an unparallel'd degree. Nay, his Majesty intimated that he would take it well if every body would act up to his Abi••ity in honour|ing the Festival. 'Twas not the literal performance of this desire, that would have satisfied his Majesty; if that had only been requir'd, the Nuptial Cere|monies would have been a very mean thing, for the charge of the War, and of the Taxes, that still continued during its whole course, had so impove|rish'd the Subjects, that they could scarce be poorer than they were. So that all the Courtiers, and even the Military Officers that happen'd to be then at Court, put another Construction upon the matter. They knew where the Kings meaning lay; and all of 'em being ready to do any thing to please his Majesty, straiten'd themselves to obtain that end. The charge they were at was altogether extraordi|nary; nay, some of 'em bought Cloaths that were worth more Money than the intrinsick Value of their Estates. I do not speak by way of Amplifica|cation, but deliver a naked Truth; witness a great many Land and Sea-Officers, who laid out 5 or 600 Crowns for one Suit of Cloaths, though at the same time a great part of 'em were not worth 10 Crowrs a Year of Patrimonial Estate. Herein lies the Folly of the French; and though I am a French|man my self, and perhaps as great a Fool as others, yet I cannot abstain from censuring our common Folly.

After the Conclusion of the Peace, there was so great a Confluence of Foreigners at Paris, that in the Suburbs of S Germains only, there was about 15 or ••6000. This Multitude made the Lodgings so excessive dear in that place, that the Houses which were lett at 1200 Livres during the War, were rais'd now to ••00 Crowns. In a short time, the numbe•• of these Foreigners increas'd to above one half; insomuch, that in a little time after, or about the beginning of the succeeding Year, they were computed to 36000 in that very Suburbs. And as they had been inform'd, that, during the War, France had not only been exhausted of Men, but also of Treasure, this being a Report spread abroad on purpose to amuse them, and make them believe that France would be very glad to Truckle to the Will of her Enemies; they were extreamly surpris'd to find (at their Arrival) every thing in a different Dispo|sition to what they were made believe, while at home. They saw that great Town did not only abound in People, as much as ever, but that Luxury and Pleasu••e were arriv'd to such a degree in it, that the meanest Citizen was more splendid than the Per|sons o•• Quality in their Country. In effect, the grea|ter the Mise••ies were in private Families, the more they endeavour••d to blind the World with sumptuous Appearances. However, these Measures serv'd on|ly to augment 'em: besides, it must be own'd, that the most part of the Women us'd this Luxury at the expence o•• their Honour. Few or none of them but had her Gallant; and none of these Gallants was esteem••d, but in proportion to what he lavish••d upon hi•• Mist••ess. As the War had rais••d a vast number of People, who apply••d themselves to business, by which they gam'd a great deal of Money; so ha|ving c••me very easily by it, they as freely lavish'd it. A great many, who had formerly been glad to have got Shoes to their bare Feet, did now bestow Coaches on their Misses. Insomuch, that in 7 or 8

Years time, the number of Coaches was increas'd to above 2000. Gold and Azure were to be seen in every Family, which extreamly surpris'd these Strangers, who, before their Arrival, had heard that all Paris could not afford either Silver-Spoon or Fork, and that the King had pillag'd them of all, to support the Expences of the War. It's cer|tain, that the War had impoverish'd a great many, but such were to be seen rather in the Country, than in Paris. On the contrary, Paris had never been either so Rich, or so Magnificent, there being 160000000 Millions expended in it, only by the Par|ties that were form'd there since the War, without rec|koning what others might have gain'd by a thousand different ways. For while some got infinitely by the Partisans, in lending them Money upon extrava|gant Interest; others applied themselves to the way of Victualling, or to some other thing, so that it might be justly alledg'd, as War had ruin'd some, it had rais'd others so prodigiously, that they were no more to be known for the same Persons: So different were they now, from what they had been formerly. There was such an infinite number of Sharpers, and such like Scoundrels, who had rais'd themselves from the very Scum of the People, to vast Riches, by sucking the Blood of the poor People. This was reckon'd so good a Trade, that even some Marquisses apply'd themselves to it. Thus you might have seen one embrace this Trade, without regarding what was said, either of his own Relations, or his Wifes, who was either Grand-daughter, or Sister, to a High President. As for himself, there was one of his Name, a Lieutenant General in the King's Army; but as there is a difference betwixt Relations, the Lieutenant General behav'd like a Man of Quality and Merit, while he acted like a wretched Miscre|ant, or at least like one, who thought it no Crime to dishonour his Name and Family. If the Strangers abovemention'd were amaz'd to find every thing at

Paris so different from the Relation they had of 'em at home, they were much more astonish'd to see the Solemnity of the Marriage of the Duke of Burgundy and the Princess at Versailles. The Cere|mony was perform'd with all the Splendor imagin|able; they gave a great many Balls, where all the Persons of Quality, retaining to the Court, of both Sexes, were present. All the Ladies were cloath'd in Black Velvet, set out with precious Stones, that cast the brightest Lustre imaginable: The Men were also adorn'd with Diamonds. As on such Occasions the Pick-pockets of Paris are very intentive upon their Business; so they came in whole Swarms to keep Holy-day at Versailles, adorn'd as others were, and, abating for their Countenances, that are hardly well known in that place, one would have thought they were all Persons of the first Rank. The extraordi|nary Crowd, as one may easily imagine, afforded them sufficient opportunity to make up, with consi|derable advantage, the Expence of their Ornaments. A great many, after their return home, found at their leasure that the Diamonds they had carried to the Solemnity were gone. The Rogues had ta|ken from some one, from others two, and so more or less; and they might repute themselves happy, who came off free. Even the Duchess of Burgundy did not escape the common Fate of those, who had suffer'd by these Pick-pockets. They ventur'd to cut away a part of her Gown, where she had a large Buckle of Diamonds. But, what is surprizing, the Chevalier of Sully had the same fate, and what he lost, was by the hand of a Person of the first Quality: He catch'd him in the fact, and took the liberty to tell it to one of his Friends. His Majesty over-heard it, and desir'd to be further inform'd of the matter, but was extreamly astonish'd, when they whisper'd to him the Name of this young Pick-pocket; he forbid to Challenge him upon it, being willing to save his Honour, for the Respect

he had for his Relations; however his Charity serv'd to no purpose, for not only all the Court knew the Secret, but also all Paris.

Upon the Marriage-day, the new married Couple were put to Bed; but the Curtains being undrawn, there were a great many Witnesses of their Actions, only in order to see if they lay close to one another. The King, to give them a sufficient opportunity, caus'd draw the Curtains, while the Duke of Beauvil|liers, and the other Officers of the young Prince, stood just by to over-hear what might pass; but no|thing having pass'd, they soon undrew the Curtains. That young Princess kept Assemblies the same day, and the following days. Her Court was very throng, and the Ladies strove who should shew her most Respect. There happen'd a difference betwixt the Princess of Har••ourt, and the young Duchess of Sully, Daughter to the Duke of Coaislin: She was Niece to the Duchess's Lude, Lady of Honour to the Princess. This Relation came by her Husband, who was the Duchess, or Brother's Son; she want|ed her Assistance in regard of her Youth, not being in Condition to enter the Lists with a Princess, whose only business had been (since she was in the World) to ingratiate her self with all in Power, from the highest to the lowest Minister. But in|stead of the Assistance she expected from her, the Aunt advis'd her to yield to her Adversary. All the Duchesses were highly incensed against the Duchess of Lude; finding she had tarnish'd their Honour by so scandalous an Advice. In effect, though such sort of Disputes had often fallen out, not only betwixt the Princesses and the Duchesses, but even betwixt their Husbands; yet, perhaps such another as this had never fallen out before. The Dukes and Duchesses had always maintain'd their Rank, as if St. Louis had begot them. The late Duke of Mon|tauzier, and the late Duchess of N••••••lles, stretch'd the Affair yet further; the one against Monsieur Le

Grand, a Prince of the House of Lorrain, and the other against the Duchess of Bouillon. Though the Duchess of Noailles, was only the Daughter of a Farmer of the Revenues; yet she was sensible that in France, Nobility came not by the Wives, but by the Husbands; she shelter'd her self from any Indig|nity by the Character of her Husband, whom she took to be beyond Reproach. However it ordina|rily falls out in a Difference betwixt two Parties, that they upbraid one another, even to the five hundreth Generation. The Duchess of Bouillon produc'd Re|cords, by which she made it appear, that Anthony of Noailles had been formerly Master of the Houshold to one of her Husband's Ancestors. In fine, this Affair enrag'd the Parties to that degree, that they call'd one another all the Ill Names they could think on. His Majesty was at last oblig'd to impose Si|lence by his Authority; he forbad them expresly to proceed farther, without deciding any thing in the matter, that caus'd their heats. I do not know, if the Duchess of Lude was afraid of these Ill Names in doing what she had done, or if she thought, be|cause the King had given the Preference to the Dukes before the Princes of the House of Lorrain, the last time he made a Promotion of Knights of the Order, that therefore it ought to be the same in re|gard of the Women, but it pass'd after the manner I have told you.

Though the Peace had been made a pretty while, yet none hitherto reap'd the Fruits of it. The Commerce was as dead as in the time of War; whether it was attributed to the high value of the French Coin, that continued still at the same Rate, or that the King believ'd he could subsist without other Nations, while others must have recourse to him, there was yet no advance made to make it flourish. In the mean time, there came some Ships from England and Holland, to take in Wine and Pa|per at Bourdeaux and Rouen. They bought along

other Merchandize to be sold there. But the Tariff not being yet regulated between all the Parties, and the Treaty of Ryswick having only mention'd, that it should be put upon the same foot as it was in the Years 1665 and 1666, which was not yet done; this together with the loss of twenty in the hundred by the Money, oblig'd these Ships to return with|out either selling or buying any thing in these Ports. About the same time, the States-General sent Deputies to the King, to demand the Execution of that Article. They apply'd themselves to the Mar|quiss of Torcy, Secretary for Foreign Affairs, but Monsieur Ponchartrain having the Charge of that Commerce, they were remitted to him for the Ex|ecution of their Demands. These Deputies were ex|ceedingly well vers'd in Affairs of that nature, and the States having an intire Confidence in them, had given them a Full Power to Act as Commissaries in the Regulation of the Tariff. Monsieur Pontchar|train heard them upon the Matter, but being Judi|cious and Politick, he put them off with fair Words, until he had acquainted the King with the Affair. The Commerce of Holland was of far less advantage to France, than that of England, because they draw a great deal more Money from the one than from the other. In effect, the Hollanders Import more Merchandize into France than they Export; whereas England on the contrary Exports more than they Import. So that the first carries out the Coin, and the other brings it in. This made them resolve to keep up the Tariff as high as possi|ble, in regard of the Holland-Trade, its Imposts or Customs, while they design'd to lower it in re|gard of the English; while they expected the Hollan|ders should come to Paris to terminate that Affair, they resolv'd to send to London to regulate what re|garded that Nation. Ponchartrain pitch'd upon Mon|sieur Phelipe••ux D'Herbeaut, his Relation, for that purpose; he was first Commissary of the Marine,

under Monsieur de Maurepas, who had left him the whole Managment of it. He had the Character of Commissary-General for regulating the Commerce betwixt the two Nations; but though his Commis|sion was presently dispatch'd, yet he stay'd a long time after. In the mean time, the Court nam'd other Commissaries to treat with the Hollanders, but as they had no design to terminate the Affair to their Satisfaction, so it continues to this day at the same pass.

While these matters were a transacting, the King nam'd Ambassadors to go to all the Foreign Courts; and instead of sending Gentlemen of the Law, as had been always practic'd in France, he employ'd Persons of Quality, or Officers of the Army. He thought, if they could joyn the Knowledge of the Cabinet to the Experience they had acquir'd in war|like Affairs, they would be more accomplish'd for his Service upon all occasions. He chose the Mar|quiss of Villars, Lieutenant-General of the Army, for the Court of Vienna; and the Marquiss of Har|court, also a Lieutenant-General, for his Ambassador to Spain, who during the War, had acquir'd a Repu|tation equal to any; and could he perform the same thing in his Embassy, which he had done at the Head of a Flying Army, no more could be expect|ed of him; but that being a hard Task, his Friends could hardly hope for it. He was going to a Court, where the very name of French is suspected, much more at a time, when he seem'd very earnest to create all the Obstacles imaginable to the Emperor's Designs of bringing the Succession of his Catholick Majesty to fall upon the King of the Romans, his eldest Son, or that failing, upon the Arch-Duke, his second Son. Philip IV. his present Majesty's Father, had left it by Testament, to the last, tho' he was not Born at that time; but the Spaniards shew|ing no Inclination to execute it, his Imperi••l Majesty labour'd to engage them to favour the King of the

Romans. He thought, that being his eldest Son, he not only deserv'd better that Dignity, which was much more solid than that of Emperor, though not altogether so splendid; but he expected also to secure the Fortune of his Son the better, if he could unite these two Qualities in one Person. The Queen of Spain being his Sister-in-law, he did not doubt of her favouring his Design; and the Count of Harrach, his Ambassador at that Court, had a Commission to propose it to her. The Queen join'd Issue with the Ambassador in all his Sentiments; and his Imperial Majesty being hitherto so prosperous in his Designs, as to get the Queen's Creatures into his Catholick Majesty's Council, and she being very industrious to gain the other Members, they met often to consi|der how to behave in the Scene they were to Act. The Count of Harrach insinuated to the Queen and them, that the best Method they could fall upon in this Juncture, was, to put the Government of the Frontiers into German-hands, or into the Hands of Persons well-affected to the Emperor. The Prince of Darmstadt, who signaliz'd himself in the Defence of Barcelona, was propos'd to be Vice-Roy of Cata|lonia; Don Francisco de Velasco, having rendred himself unworthy of that Command, by suffering himself to be surpriz'd in his Camp. The Government of Milan seem'd too good to escape one of his Imperial Majesty's Creatures, as did also the Vice-Royalty of Navarre; for the Count of Harrach suppos'd very reasonably that it was by attacking of one of these three places, if not all the three at once, that the King of France meant to make good his Preten|sions to the Spanish Succession, immediately after the Death of that Monarch. The Queen, and those of the King's Council, who were in her Interest, found it difficult to manage that point; for though the Spaniards were too wise to own their Sentiments openly, yet they had not the least Inclination to own either the Emperor's eldest or youngest Son,

for their Soveraign. They were also of the same Opinion in regard of the Dauphin and his Sons; though some of the French Emissaries endeavour'd to insinuate to them secretly, that if they would chuse either the Duke of Anjou, or the Duke of Berry, they could form their tender Years according to their own Model, insomuch that it would be impossible for them to perceive they had ever been born French-men. And by these means they labour'd to extirpate the Antipathy, that was natural to the two Nations; but that being a hard Point to ma|nage, they always rejected it with scorn. They could never conceive why they would deprive the Prince of Bavaria of that Succession, for it was naturally his Right, after the Renunciation his Most Christian Majesty had made of it, when he married the Infanta of Spain. Others wish'd, since the King had no Heirs begot of his own Body, the Crown might fall to some Grandee of Spain. They be|liev'd they should be more happy under such a Person, than under any Foreign Prince. For such a one being train'd up from his Cradle in their Cu|stoms and Manners, they could bear more easily with him than with any other. For, generally, all Men inherit the Genius of the Country, where they are Born, and it is hard for them ever to change their natural Inclination.

Such was the Disposition of the Affairs of that Nation, when the Queen of Spain made use of all her Interest to have the Prince of Darmstadt made Vice-Roy of Catalonia, Prince Vaudemont Governor of Milan, and Prince Eugene of Savoy Vice-Roy of Navarre. For she not only look'd upon them as well-affected to the Emperor, but also very capable to defend against the French, the Places committed to their care. They had distinguish'd themselves upon a thousand occasions; and Prince Eugene was actually employ'd against the Turks, with whom the Emperor was in continual War. That Barba|rous

Nation ow'd its Preservation only to the Di|version, was made upon the Rhine, when his Impe|rial Majesty was engag'd against France. But now the Peace being concluded betwixt these two Po|tentates, the Emperor thought of no less than swal|lowing up the Turks in a Campaign or two at most, and dislodging 'em of all their Possessions in Europe. But whether that Prince meant to take his ease after so tedious a War, or, what is more likely, that true Policy oblig'd him to desire a Peace, there were already some Proposals made, that had a favourable hearing from both Parties, and per|haps without that Prince Eugene, who about this time saw himself at the Head of the Emperor's Army, would hardly accept of the Office of Vice-Roy of Navarre. But now finding himself oblig'd to put up the Sword, he was glad, that by the Emperor's Influence, the Queen of Spain had that Deference for him. However, her success in that was not so fa|vourable as it was on the behalf of the Princes of Darmstadt and Vaud••mont. For the Services of the first at Barcelona pleading highly in his Favour, she carried it for him without any Opposition; but she met with more difficulty in regard of the Go|vernment of Milan. Some would have it continued to the Marquiss of Leganez, who was there alrea|dy, or conferr'd upon some Grandee of Spain; but that was far from the Queen's mind; she meant rather to strip them of what they possess'd than provide them with new Governments. The Duke of Medina Celi, one of the most considerable Gran|dees of Spain, and most belov'd of the People, was Vice-Roy of Naples. He had pass'd some years in that Employ, and places of that nature are usually triennial in Spain; yet she would gladly have it conferr'd upon one of her Creatures, but her Friends thought it not convenient, and rather ad|vis'd her to the contrary to continue it to him; and gave for their reason, that she ought to be very

cautious in bringing him to Spain in the present Po|sture of Affairs; which would not fail to awake the People's Affection for him, and consequent|ly to make some Obstacles to the Emperor's De|signs.

The Reasons which oblig'd the Emperor to strike up a Peace with the Port, were these. His Power became formidable, not only to the Princes of the Empire, but even to his other Allies. Besides, knowing his Pretensions to the Succession of Spain, they not only oppos'd it privately, but even avow|edly. The Princes who granted him Succors against the Turks, spoke of withdrawing them. The New King of England, before he was own'd by France, offer'd his Mediation for agreeing the Parties. He had sent two Ambassadors to the Port on purpose, to propose it to the Grand Seignior; but they both died upon their way thither. This appearing very extraordinary, because the Sultan's Interest seem'd altogether opposite to his Conduct; and, besides the Death of these two Persons affording matter of Speculation upon a great many things, some be|liev'd assuredly they had been poyson'd. This might have discourag'd his Britannick Majesty from sending any more Ambassadors into that Country; but considering that the Turks their rejecting of the Peace, was only grounded upon the Diversion was made in their favour, and that possibly they would lay aside their Obstinacy, when convinc'd of their Error, he assum'd his first Resolution, nor was he in the least deceiv'd; for the Grand Seignior accepted of his offer now with as much warmth, as he had rejected it before with indifference. He accepted of his Mediation, and the States-General's, which was offer'd to him at the same time. And being satis|fied that in the Peace they had made with France, they had easily surmounted all the Difficulties that commonly attend the Preliminaries of Treaties, they mean'd to follow the same Method in this.

The Emperor understanding, that the Turks had accepted of the Mediation that was offer'd 'em, gave notice of it to the Potentates, who were in|terested with him in the War; namely, the Repub|licks of Venice and Poland, and the Great Duke of Muscovy. They were mutually ingag'd in an Offen|sive and Defensive League; so he being resolv'd to do nothing without their Consent, desir'd them to give in their Pretensions in Writing, while the Parties should have condescended upon the place of assembling. For his own part, he put in his, which he did not expect would be granted, because the Jealousy the Mediators, as well as other Princes had of his Power, oblig'd him to make an end of these Dif|ferences. He pretended that the Turks, by the Teeaty that was on foot, ought to be oblig'd to give him up Belgrade and Temeswaer, with all the Right of Soveraignty, that he possess'd in Transilvania. At the bottom, these People thought themselves very happy, that the Emperor would consent to a Peace upon so reasonable Terms; but how|ever Barbarous they are, they are truly Politick, and no sooner perceiv'd that the Mediators, as well as they, were glad to oblige him to lay down his Arms, but they refus'd to consent to these Terms.

The Republicks of Venice and Poland, and the Great Duke of Mus••••vy, fearing that Prince would have made the Peace without them, sent Ministers to Vienna to pry into the Affairs there. The Czar sent thither his own General, while himself resolv'd to pass into Holland and England, to establish a more solid Commerce in these Countries than had hi|therto been done. He look'd upon himself as one of the most powerful Princes of Christendom, in re|gard of the vast extent of his Dominions; but being ignorant how to improve so great a Power to the best advantage, he was little more esteem'd than the Prince of Courland. He no sooner thought of

his Resolution, then he put it in Execution. He took his Road through the Marquiss of Brandenburg's Dominions, who receiv'd him with all the Respect due to his Person; from thence having pass'd into Holland, he continued there some time, applying himself diligently to the knowledge of their Com|merce and Policy. In effect, seeing their State much more flourishing than could have been thought, in proportion to their Extent, he easily conceiv'd it was only owing to their Prudence and Conduct; and being thereby the more induc'd to imitate them, he entred into a new Treaty of Commerce with them, and bought some Ships of them. After|wards he pass'd into England, and having acquain|ted the King that he had Affairs to propose to him, his Majesty appointed Commissioners to hear them.

While the New King triumph'd after this manner, either upon the account of the advantageous Peace he gave to Europe, or the great Confidence his Al|lies had in him, or the Consideration they had for him, insomuch that nothing could be enterpriz'd without his Approbation; the Pope's Nuncio, whom he had sent into Poland, after he had conferr'd with the Ordinary Nuncio at that Court, and been in|form'd by him of the State of Affairs in that Coun|try, signify'd to his Polish Majesty, that his Holi|ness was not so averse to his Election, as he sup|posed; that the main thing in question was, whether his Conversion had been sincere; and provided that Point was clear'd, the Holy Father would be fully satisfied. God alone was capable to know it: there being none besides, who can search hearts: However, in all outward appearance, this Prince would have the World convinc'd, he was a good Catholick. At least he perform'd all the Duties of a true Catholick, and omitted nothing to confirm the People in the belief of his Sincerity. The Nuncio being sensible of what considerable Advantage the

Pope's Consent would be to him, for gaining to him these Persons that continued still in his Enemy's Party, upon a suspicion that his Conversion was only feigned, and being apprehensive that as soon as he were peaceably establish'd on his Throne, he would return to his Vomit: I say, The Nuncio, who understood how necessary his Holiness was to him, like a cunning Politician, mean'd to make the best use of this opportunity; and therefore, before he would assure him altogether of the Apostolick Fa|vour, he represented to him, that it was impossible for him to perswade all Europe of the Sincerity of his Conversion any other way, than by testifying, as a new Convert, the profound Respect he had for his Holiness; that since all who profess'd that Re|ligion owed an intire Obedience in Holy Matters to the Apostolick See, he wish'd his Majesty would not only renounce certain Privileges that the Kings of Poland pretended to as their Right, but also dismiss all the Lutheran Ministers that fol|lowed him; without using that pretext for retain|ing them, that he had a great many of that Reli|gion along with him. He also proposed many other things of the like nature; a plain evidence, that the Court of Rome never neglects any Ad|vantage they can catch. Upon these Conditions he offer'd to imploy all his Interest with the Car|dinal Regent, to pacify the Commotions of the Kingdom, putting him in hopes that the Respect he had for the Person who sent him, would oblige the Cardinal to accept of the Terms he design••d to pro|pose to him.

The King of Poland being sensible, how capable the Cardinal's Party was to annoy him; besides, that new Commotions were arising in Lithuania, which was all up in Arms to support two Parties that made War against one another, to wit, Prince Sapieha, General of the Troops of that Duchy, and the Sieur Oginski, Great Ensign of it, a Dignity

of a distinguishing Importance in that Country; I say, The King of Poland being afraid that this Quar|rel, which seem'd to proceed from Jealousy, was only a pretence to reverse his Election, promis'd to the Nuncio all he desir'd. However, he desir'd to be excus'd from signing any thing touching the Pri|vileges he would have him to renounce, until he were better inform'd in what they consisted, and had the Advice of the Republick, without whose Approbation he could not handsomely conclude any matter of that importance. The Nuncio could not well disapprove of this Objection that appear'd so reasonable. He went to Lowits to confer with the Cardinal Primate, whom he found so enrag'd against his Polish Majesty, for protecting so avowed|ly the Bishop of Cujavia, his mortal Enemy, that he almost despair'd of ever succeeding in an Affair he had promis'd so confidently to bring about. But as the Italians are cunning Politicians, qualify'd with a deal of Patience, he gain'd by degrees upon his Eminence's Passion. He gave him to know, that the Prince could not have acted other ways than he had done hitherto; for as much as that Bishop had been all along the Soul of his Par|ty; that he agreed with him, in thinking, that he had reason to resent the Actions of that Prelate, who had incroach'd upon his Privileges; that after all, he ought to consider, that it was not in his Power to hinder what was done, nor so much as revenge it by force; that his Party, who fell off daily, was in no Capacity to enterprize any thing against his Enemy, who was supported by his Polish Majesty and his Troops; that France, by whose means he had hoped to triumph over him, never pretended to concern themselves any further in the Quarrel, having formerly declared so much to his Holiness by their Ambassador; so he would find him|self certainly mistaken if he ••aid any stress upon them.

The Cardinal Primate was much surpriz'd to hear the Nuncio speak after that manner; not questioning, in the least, the truth of this Declaration, he sent immediately one of his Creatures to his Most Christian Majesty, to assure him that his Party was not yet re|duc'd so very low, but they were in a condition to foil their Enemies, if his Majesty would give them a very small Assistance. The Prince of Conti, who was no more in the humour to return to that Coun|try, and indeed never was, when left to his choice, gave his Majesty so very bad an Impression of the sordid Avarice of the Poles, that he was little less than enrag'd at the Arrival of this new Envoy. He thought the Cardinal Primate ask'd him Succours, on|ly to make his own Terms the better. So he sent back his Envoy with Letters, signifying what he had already declared to the Pope, namely, That he would concern himself no more in the matter. His Emi|nence was too happy in making use of the Cardinal Nuncio to interceed for him with his Polish Majesty. There was a Treaty made between the Parties, by which the Cardinal Primate promis'd on his own be|half, and in behalf of his Party, to own that Prince for their Soveraign. The King of Poland, for his part, promis'd to give him some Satisfaction upon the Bishop of Cujavia's Account. By this Treaty there was also an Authentick Provision made for the Injury done to the Cardinal Primate's Dignity, by the boldness of that Prelate in Proclaiming and Crowning the King after his Election. It was also agreed upon by this Treaty, That the Nation should never lay down their Arms, until they had oblig'd the Turks to restore Caminieck and Podolia. For it was alledg'd, That if the late King of Poland had been cordial in the War against the Turks, he might have recover'd it; but he who had sav'd Christendom by the seasonable Succours he brought to Vienna, which had he only delay'd three Days longer, all had been lost without Remedy, became so lazy in

what concern'd the Republick, that one would have thought he had lost his Senses. However, by this Treaty they oblig'd the new King to carry on the Siege at his own Expences, and upon these Condi|tions they condescended he should keep his Troops in the Country, though formerly they murmur'd extreamly for that these Troops had enter'd the Kingdom contrary to their Laws and Customs. And even from that Subject took occasion to exclaim highly against him, as if he had entred the Nation by force, and mean'd to secure it by Conquest, ra|ther than by lawful means.

After the Conclusion of this Treaty, the Cardi|nal Primate went from Lowits to pay his Homage to the King at Warsaw. His Majesty sent the prin|cipal Gentlemen of his Court to meet him, and ho|nour his Entry, which had much more the Air of a Triumph, than what was due to the merit of a Cri|minal. He was accompanied into the Palace by a great many Persons of Quality, who were over|joy'd to see this Reconciliation. The King and he had a private Interview for half an hour. It was generally believ'd, that the Troubles of the Kingdom were now at an end; and in effect, the Queen of Poland having lost all hopes of seeing her Son upon the Throne, which till that time she never despair'd of, ask'd his Majesty's Leave to pass some time at Rome. The King refus'd it before he advis'd with his Council, which was compos'd of the principal Senators of the Nation. However, they saw no in|conveniency in granting it, and gave her to know that she should not be hindred to depart when she thought fit. Accordingly she put her self in a readi|ness to be gone against the latter end of the Year. Every Person applauded that Princess's Conduct, for after all she had done to hinder the Election of his Majesty, as well as of the Prince of Conti, she could hardly remain in the Kingdom with any satis|faction, nor could she handsomely pass into France,

where it was impossible for his Most Christian Maje|sty to see her without Indignation; yet it was generally believ'd she would chuse France for her Retreat, it being natural for People to love the place of their Nativity. For it was openly report|ed, That she was treating with the Duchess of Portsmouth, and her Son, the Duke of Richmond, for the Duchy of Aubigny in Berry, which the late King Charles II. bought for that Duchess upon cer|tain Conditions, not very acceptable to her. But the King being sensible, that if he did not tie her up to such Terms, a Woman of her Temper might be reduc'd to end her Days in an Hospital, was therefore glad to do her this kindness against her Inclination. He had already a Mistris of the same Temper, namely, the Duchess of Cleaveland, who had lavish'd away all that the King had given her. However, he bestow'd large Sums upon the Duchess of Portsmouth; and such was his Liberality, that he had laid out above a Million of Money for China to her. But though there be nothing harder than the Substance 'tis made of, she found out a way to melt it all at Paris, without suffering any other inconvenience by it, than what ordinarily attends Misery.

However, it was not altogether impossible to ac|commodate the Difference betwixt the Queen of Poland, and his Most Christian Majesty, if her P••lish Majesty would condescend in some measure to imitate the Count of Bi••lk mention'd before She might have own'd her self in the wrong, and sup|plicated his Majesty for the Honour of his Prote|ction; but she was too haughty to condescend to it, insomuch, that she was now wholly intent upon leaving speedily a place where her Circumstances had suffer'd so sensible an Alteration. For during her Husband's life-time, every one was glad to truckle to her, in regard of the Ascendant, they knew, she had over him. Now the Scene was

chang'd, and so different from the former, that every one was ready to impute to her, what was blam'd in her Husband, as if she had been the only Person who prompted him.

The King of Poland being thus own'd by the Pope, and wanting only now to be recogniz'd by his Most Christian Majesty, in order to enjoy peaceably the Dignity of a Crown that had been so much dispu|ted, sent a Person of Quality to France, to excuse the Robbery committed upon the Abbot of P••lignac's Equipage, and to establish a good Correspondence with his Majesty; for, though in appearance he had no need of him, especially, being so strictly join'd in Alliance with the Emperor, and all the Princes his Neighbours; yet, considering that Kings have long Arms, especially the King who governs France at this time, he would omit nothing that was due to Policy. The King receiv'd his Envoy with all the marks of Respect he could wish for, and all Parties forgeting the occasion of their Differences, a good Intelligence and Union was establish'd be|twixt the two Nations, though hardly to that degree it had been formerly. In the mean time, the King return'd to the Prince of Conti, the Money he had expended in the pursute of that Crown, which in all probability pleas'd him much more, than if he had obtain••d it. Not that he is Covetous in any degree, but continuing still Amorous, the satisfa|ction he enjoy'd in seeing his Mistriss, rendred him insensible of all other pleasures. Besides, he was soon comforted for the loss of that Dignity, by the liberal share he had with the Duke of Vendome in the Dauphin's Favour, and the hopes he had of gaining his Process before the Court of Parliament, as he had done formerly.

However, there happen'd an Accident to the Duke, that was like to deprive him both of that Advantage and his Life. In his return from An••t, a House which King Henry IV. had given to the

Lady Jane Gabriell, of whom he was descended: He was like to be drown'd in a Post-Chaise, for he was up to his Chin in a little River, which he was oblig'd to pass, and it being the middle of Winter, the Cold which he suffer'd, was capable to do him all the mischief that could be expected from so cruel an Accident. But as he is a Noble Prince, who delights to do good, and has no Enemies; and be|sides, had acquir'd a great deal of Glory before Barcelona; so every one was overjoy'd to see their Fears end more happily than they expected. It on|ly cost him a fright; however, this General, who by his Conquest, had gain'd the Reputation of the greatest Hero, being subject to a great many Infir|mities, as well as the Ancient Hero's, found himself so bad, that he was oblig'd to apply himself to Physicians. He had contracted a Disease that gave him more trouble, than the taking of four Barcelona's. And his trouble was so much the greater, that his Malady was of an old standing, and created him every moment insufferable Pains; he enjoy'd no manner of rest, and it was to be fear'd; that if he neglected it any longer, it might be pass'd all cure. He resolv'd to put himself into the hands of a Chy|mist Physician, nam'd Chambon. This Gentleman was nothing different from those of his Kidney, that is to say, neither better nor worse than a Quack, who boast as highly, as if they were many degrees above Aesculapius; but if he cured four Persons, he certainly kill'd a whole Dozen, and the Cures he had perform'd, were rather the Pro|duct of Chance than of Skill. He was much at one with Dr. Carette, who had but one Remedy for all manner of Diseases, and yet would have Mankind believe that he was the ablest Physician in the Uni|verse. Be it as it will, this new Physician set him|self up in form, because he had cured some few Persons in the World, and amongst others, a cer|tain Abbot of Chaulieu, who was a sort of Inten|dant

of the House of Vendome. This Abbot was very desirous that the Duke would make use of Chambon to cure him. However, the Duke withdrew in a short while, and had no great reason to brag of his Physician's Remedies. For Chambon did nothing, and at this time, the Duke finds himself in little bet|ter Circumstances, than when he first made use of him. It may be rather said, That he is still worse, for the more inveterate these Diseases are, they are the more difficult to be cur'd. Yet some will have it, that his Grand-father found the means to be cur'd after Forty Years; but that was scarce done by the Skill of a Chymist, and its probable, that if his Grand-son had copied him, he had apply'd him|self to some other Person, than his Intendant's Fa|vourite.

The Duke of Savoy had no reason to complain of his Daughter's Marriage; but knowing that the King had no mind to have it consummated, he in|treated his Majesty to consummate it, to the end his Daughter's Condition might be more secure. He was afraid that the Duke of Burgundy might come to die by some mischance, and so his Daughter be return'd upon his hand. But that was far from his Majesty's Inclination; on the contrary it was well known, if that had happen'd, he would have mar|ried her to the Duke of Anjou; and in view of that only, he hindred all Commerce betwixt them, to the end, that a Dispensation might be the more easily obtain'd. I can't tell, whether the King made his Design known to him; but it is certain, that after the Marquiss of Ferrette had spoke to him by his Majesty's Command, the Duke was not only out of all hopes, but shew'd no Inclination to it. However, if he could not obtain that Demand, he succeeded (in a short time after) much better in another he made to his Majesty. He intreated him to Banish Madamoselle de Soissons (whose Conduct was offensive to him) out of his Kingdom. He also

desir'd of him to cause shut up Madamoiselle de Ca|rignan in a Convent. The last shew'd a great deal of Complaisance to a married Man, who lived after a very indifferent manner with his own Wife; whether it was that he had inherited that of his Fa|ther, who had never been a good Husband, or that the Affection he had for this Princess, made him peevish at the sight of all others. It was much suspected, that the King himself was the principal Author of these Demands, to the end that these two Persons might no more be seen at Court, nor in Paris. Though they had the Honour to be so nearly related to the Duchess of Burgundy, yet their Behaviour was altogether unworthy of their great Quality; for besides their Conduct, that was not very regular, they were both in extream Necessity, and so far from being in Circumstances to support a Rank suitable to their Birth, that they had hardly wherewith to maintain sufficiently the Condition of very ordinary Persons; besides, the King was fain to supply them by his Royal Bounty, without which they had often wanted the very Necessaries of Life. The eldest was sent to Brussels to keep Company with her Mother, who resided there; the other was shut up amongst the Carmelites in the Suburbs of St. James, with express Order to the Superior of the Convent, that she should be permitted to speak to none, but certain Ladies, whose Names were transmitted to him in Writing. Madamoiselle de Carignan might have easily avoided this Indignity, if she had had a mind; she had been warn'd of it a long time before; and the King himself sent her word, that if she meant to please him, she would take a Maid of Honour of his Recommendation. At that time he offered her Apartments at Versailles, with sufficient Maintainance for that Lady of Honour; but she excus'd her self, under pretence, that she had one already, and that she could not handsomely accept of another, without exposing the first.

However sincere she might have been in her Ex|cuse, yet in a thing capable of a double entendre, People are more ready to take them in an ill Sense; every body believed that her Excuse pro|ceeded only from the great desire she had to conti|nue her Intrigue. But the King having put an end to it, after the manner above related, her Gal|lant was to look for his Comfort where he could find it.

In all appearance he could not be so easily com|forted, whether he thought that his Honour was concern'd, or that he was really afflicted, as he would have the World believe; he display'd his Wrath more than ever against his Wife, and though she was reputed a Lady of intire Virtue, yet (as it was generally believ'd) he us'd often to lay hands upon her. But till that time, she conceal'd very in|dustriously what just Reason she had to exclaim against his Conduct; but after that, and several other Outrages, it was no more in her Power to dissemble her just Resentment of them. She com|plain'd of them to all her Relations, that they might the more readily approve of her Intention to commence a Process of Separation of Bodies against him, for she had been of a long time separated in Goods, without which, she and her two Children had been reduc'd to the greatest Indigence. In effect, this Man's Conduct was so mean, that he went often, not only without one Penny of Money, but with|out Cloaths and Hat. No body could disapprove of her design, which she put in Execution a few days after; and her Husband, who had retir'd from her some days before, told his Wife's Friends, that it was altogether needless for her to plead for a Sepa|ration from him, since for a long time he desir'd no better, and would allow the Sentence to pass whenever she thought convenient. But there be|ing many more People who delight in Debauche|ry, than in vertuous Living; this Gentleman was

nevertheless acceptable in certain Companies, even Princes countenanc'd him as they had usually done; and being one day at the Duke of Chartres's Table, there was by chance some Sauce dropp'd by one of the Attendants upon his Cloaths; and however Plain and Coarse these Cloaths were, he was ex|treamly vex'd at the Accident; no wonder, for he had got no other in his Wardrobe for a change. This he told the young Prince betwixt Jest and Vexation. The Prince seem'd not to re|gard it, but talking with the Company, said, That ordinarily Misfortunes attended them who were least able to support them. He intreated two or three Per|sons of Quality, who were there, to go keep him Company the next day: For in all appearance, said he, you'll find him in Bed while he sends his Cloaths to the Scourers, and at least that will be some Comfort to him. This poor Husband was actually oblig'd to do what the Duke said; but the next day the young Prince sent him four Suits made by his own Taylor, to the end, that if any such misfortune befel him ano|ther time, it should never hinder him to appear as usually.

About that time the King caus'd to Arrest one of the Ushers of his Chamber, one of the most visio|nary Companions in the Universe, whom, not|withstanding his Majesty allow'd to Discourse with very often, in regard he durst not let his Folly ap|pear before the King, which he had not the wit to conceal in other Company. He had of a long time thought to cause Hang all the Seamen, from the Marshal D'Estree and Tourville to the very meanest. He pretended they were all Rogues, upon certain Memoirs which a Commissary of the Marines (who was broke) had given him. He had impor|tun'd his Majesty a thousand times upon it, and re|presented to him, that if he would examine the Abuses which had crept into the several Employ|ments of these Officers; he might find a fair op|portunity

of raising, justly, a Tax upon them to the tune of Sixty Millions. It was about the mid|dle of the War when he spoke after this manner to the King; they had a deal of difficulty to raise Money, and therefore his Majesty thought the Ad|vice was not to be despis'd, and supposing there might be somewhat in it, he sent him to Mon|sieur Pontchartrain: But that highly displeas'd this Extravagant Gentleman, who probably had a mind to regulate this Affair himself with his Majesty, or perhaps design'd to involve that Minister in these pretended Malversations; for a Fool is capable of any Extravagancy. However, he was oblig'd to obey the King; there was hardly a Person to be found, who thought himself more able and fit for business than this Fool. But Monsieur Pontchartrain being as Prudent, as he was rash, knew presently how little ground this Numskul had for what he advanc'd. He acquainted the King with it. His Majesty was much of the same Opinion; yet this Man, who had the opportunity to speak to his Majesty, whenever he pleas'd, could not be per|swaded of his Error, but still presented new Memorials to him, by which he intreated him to appoint some other Commissioners to hear him, who might have more leasure to examine the mat|ter, than Monsieur Pontchartrain; offering upon pain of Death to make out what he advanc'd to be as clear as Day-light. This Confidence of his, together with some secret Springs he set at work, made the King resolve to give him a Hearing. He obtain'd also some Acts of Council, by which he pretended to give a light to some obscure Affairs. From that time forward, this rash Numskul never saw any of the Officers of the Marine enter into the King's Chamber, but he told to such as were by him, that these Gentlemen were to be tax'd in immense Sums; one in two Millions, some in more, some in less; and he though ••t himself already one of the

first Peers of the Kingdom, because he had ask'd of his Majesty a share of what was to be recover'd of these Gentlemen by the Tax; and the King had granted it to him; but himself had promis'd a share of it to such as were capable to ingratiate him with his Majesty. This must needs have been very disa|greeable to the Person concern'd. However, this little Gentleman forgot himself more and more daily, even to that degree of Impudence, as to vaunt, that notwithstanding all what Monsieur Pont|chartrain was able to do, he did not doubt in the least to succeed in his Enterprize. In fine, That Minister being no longer able to bear with his Extra|vagancies, made it his business to represent them to the King. He had slighted them long before, as well as the Person who was guilty of them. He thought him only unworthy to be regarded; but every one told him, That his Interest was concern'd more than he was aware of, in making his Majesty acquainted with the truth of the Affair, for he ha|ving the whole Power of the Sea-Affairs, it seem'd as if he accus'd him under-hand, of conniving at these pretended Abuses, that he suffer'd in others. So he was at last prevail'd upon by these Reasons; and therefore made known to the King, that this Man was only an extravagant mad Fool, fitter to be sent to Bedlam, than countenanc'd by so great a King; that his Impudence, or rather his Madness, appear'd too evidently, in daring to accuse two Mar|shals of France, together with the whole Body of the Sea-Officers, without any regard to so many Per|sons amongst them, equally considerable for their Services, and distinguished by their Quality; and very incapable of doing any thing against their Du|ty; who came daily to him to demand Justice of that Fool for his Insolence, and intreated him ear|nestly to represent it to his Majesty. He added that he hop'd, that his Majesty would cause to examine once for all, the Accusations of that unaccountable

Fool, to the end he might be confounded, when it should be made manifest that the Accusation was ra|ther visionary than real.

The King having heard this Minister very atten|tively, promis'd to do all he demanded, without loosing any time. Accordingly he commanded the Commissioners whom he had ordain'd to exa|mine that Affair, to search narrowly into it. The Commissioners apply'd themselves presently to it, and having discover'd that all what he advanc'd, was in effect nothing else but the Imagination of his empty Brain, they gave his Majesty a full account of it. The King immediately forbid that Man ever to trouble him any more with that Affair; but he not being wise enough to take the advantage of this Advice, would still insist as formerly, and had al|most said, that all of them had conspir'd to save the guilty. The King told him a second time, that he commanded him absolutely never to speak to him of that Affair, though he was so good as to conceal what he had reason to believe of him. This Man thought at last his best way was to dis|semble, and obey his Majesty in appearance. But while he seem'd to be silent, he left no Stone un|turn'd to return to his former Trade. He brought over the Knight of Lorrain to his side, in order to engage the Duke of Orleans in the Affair; and tho' such eternal Protens's as this Knight, are little to be credited, yet he made use of his Interest with that Prince to succeed in his design. The Duke spoke of it to his Majesty, who was exceedingly sur|prized, that this little Gentleman dar'd to fall upon these Methods, after he had expresly forbid him. He told freely his Sentiments of it to the Duke, and forbid him ever to concern himself with such Affairs. From that time the King resolv'd to get rid of him, though it is always against his Inclina|tion, when he falls upon such extream Measures with any, who had the Honour to be his Dome|stick;

for no Prince ever shew'd greater kindness to his Servants. However he suspended his Resolution until he saw that it was impossible to make him Prudent. This little Gentleman being severely check'd by the Knight of Lorrain, because he brought him into bad terms with the Duke of Or|leans, was still so Impudent, as to put up a Petition in the Duke of Rochefoucaut's Name, without ever acquainting him with it beforehand. It's true, he had been twice at the Duke's Lodgings after he had done it, without having the opportunity of meeting with him. He hop'd that the Duke, who was in very good Terms with his Majesty, would regard his Vi|sions as real Truths, and espouse his Interest as his own. This Petition was presented to his Majesty before the Duke had time to return home, and the King made mention of it to the Duke. He made him also the same Compliment he had made for|merly to his Brother, the Duke of Orleans, to wit, that he would not take it kindly if he harken'd to that impertinent Fool, or ever spoke of his Affairs to him. The Duke extreamly surpriz'd at this Check, which he had by no means deserv'd, be|cause the Petition had been given in without his knowledge, protested to the King that he was igno|rant of what he meant, and was so far from excu|sing his Fault, that he desir'd Justice for what he had done. The King promis'd to give him full Satisfa|ction, and resolv'd now more than ever to get rid of such a dangerous and medling Fool. However, as if this Numskul had not already done enough towards his own Ruin, he wrote a Letter, in which he com|plain'd, that the King himself oppos'd the Service he intended to do him: This Letter was intercepted and brought to his Majesty. He found it too Inso|lent to confine his Punishment only to a Banish|ment from his Presence. He caus'd him to be sent to the Bastile, where he was commanded in the King's Name to lay down his Charge. He shifted

the matter for a while; but in the end, it being insinuated to him, that he must expect to continue Prisoner there for life, if he would not comply; he chus'd to do the last.

The Sea-Officers were not the only Persons who were accus'd unjustly. There came about that time a certain Abbot of Quality from a Foreign Country, of whom they took the liberty to say no better things. For they accus'd him of having desir'd to speak with King William, before the Peace was sign'd, and to perswade him, that he ought not to think of making a Peace with France, for that France could not fail to be absolutely destroy'd, if the War was con|tinued two Years longer. His Family being one of the most considerable of all Britain, was extreamly afflicted when they heard him talk'd of after that manner, especially his eldest Brother, who was in the Service, and pretty well advanc'd. He durst not shew himself any more to the King, fearing his Majesty would make him answerable for the Crime alledg••d against his Brother. Nevertheless, his Ma|jesty, after the Example of the Almighty, had long before explain'd himself upon that Head, saying in presence of all the Court, That every one should bear his own Crime, and that Relations were not to be answer|able for the Iniquities of their Relations: And in effect, one of the Musqueteers having committed a horrid Murder in the Year 1676. His Majesty knew no sooner that his Brother, who was a Captain of Horse, was so extreamly afflicted at it, that he design'd to make his escape into the Low-Countries, than he ad|vanc'd him in the Life-Guards. He could give no more evident Proof to all the World, that he ne|ver meant to make one answerable for another's Crime. However, this Abbot's Brother being a Man of singular Honour, though he was sensible of the King's Justice, yet he could not avoid g••ieving extreamly at it; and what added much to his Grief, was, that he distrusted his Brother altogether. He

knew very well, that his little Band never hindred him from doing many things, which reflected migh|tily upon that Habit. He had occasion'd a Divorce betwixt a Husband and a Wife. He carried on an amorous Intrigue with a President's Wife, which occasion'd great wrangling betwixt them; nor had the Husband stopt his Resentment there, if his Re|lations and Friends had not convinc'd him, that a great many Chances attend our Lives, which it were better to conceal than declare. These things he partly believ'd, but it was not in his Power to hinder himself from Murmuring, which did the Abbot a great deal of injury, who both by his Quali|ty and his Brother's Service, pretended to have alrea|dy a good Abbey, but now saw himself a thousand Miles distant from it. The King, who desires that every one should mind his Duty, that is to say, that a Soldier be a Man of Courage, that a Judge be Just, and a Church-man Honest and Pious; no sooner knew that he made it his practice to De|bauch other Men's Wives, instead of confirming them in Virtue, than he absolutely forbid Father de la Chaise, (who had put him down in his Pocket-Book, in order to have a good Benefice) ever to propose him any more as a Subject worthy of any Dignity.

The poor Abbot, who had more Quality than Riches, was extreamly vext to see his hopes so frustrated by his own faults. However, knowing that there was Mercy for all Sins, he put himself into a Seminary, Whether he truly repented of what he had done, or would make the World believe he did so; by these means he meant to free his Majesty of the bad Impression he might have of his Conduct, and insinuate himself into his Favour. The King, who is a very Judicious Prince, and is seldom or never mistaken in his Opinion of Persons, did not allow himself to be impos'd upon by that Change, so very different from his former Life. For he Preach'd,

Fasted, and Catechiz'd; and in a word, there was not one Church-man, not only in the Seminaries, but even within twenty Leagues round it, whose Conduct was more Exemplary than his. Father de la Chaise was very desirous to oblige him, but could never comprehend whence arose the King's Aver|sion for him; being naturally good, and more in|clin'd to judge well than ill of any Person, he took occasion to speak to his Majesty of him, and represented to him, that the Austerity of his Life, and his regular Conduct, did not only deserve an Abbey, but even a Bishoprick; that the greatest Sin|ners become ordinarily the greatest Saints; and if God Almighty were like him, they must blot out of the Calendar a great many Saints; who after ha|ving committed very great Crimes, had shew'd the Abbot the way he follow'd at present. The King was nothing mov'd at his Confessor's Discourse. On the contrary he answer'd him, that he might blot him out of the List of Bishops, as he had done a while ago out of the List of Abbots, for he never would honour him with that Dignity.

I do not know, if ever this Answer was made known to the Abbot, or if he was already weary of passing his Days in a Seminary, and waiting so long time for a Benefice, of which he saw no ap|pearance; whatever was the matter, he chang'd his Residence very soon. It's true, it did not renew his Intrigue with the President's Wife, or with any other. On the contrary, he avoided all for a long time, as if he meant to continue the Life that he made so great a shew of in the Eyes of all France. But whether he saw that they would eye him nar|rowly, or that he intended to continue his Course, he pass'd into Flanders, where he apply'd himself to Catechizing every day: He also began to assist dy|ing Persons; and the Marquiss of Blanch••ford, se|cond Son to the Duke of Crequi, falling Sick about that time, it was he that exhorted him to prepare

himself for the Passage that appears so terrible, espe|cially to those of such a youthful Age as he was of. Father de la Chaise took occasion upon this also, to speak to the King in favour of this Abbot. He told him, that the Abbot did not require his Presence to oblige him to good Actions, and so he could not be reproach'd (as a great many others might justly be) with Hypocrisy. But the King nothing mov'd by this new Attack, answer'd, That he could never perswade him but that the Abbot was no good Man; that time would discover very soon which of them was most deceived, but he did not believe it was himself. Father de la Chaise reply'd, That he was afraid his Majesty of|fended God Almighty, in judging so badly of his Neigh|bour. But his Majesty return'd it smartly home, in saying, That he was afraid, that he offended him more, in desiring him to give a Bishoprick to a Man, whom he thought altogether unworthy of it. I know not whe|ther this Answer came to the Abbot's Ears, but all of a sudden he left the great desire he had shown (while in Flanders) to Catechize Men; and without acquainting any Person with his design, went into Holland to caress the Women there; at least he was seen doing it soon after his arrival. However, his going often to the House of one of the Plenipoten|tiaries, gave occasion to some People to say, That this Preacher was not only debauch'd, but also a very dangerous M••n. In a word, he was suspected to have given not only Memoirs to that Ambassador, but also to have had a private Interview with King William, and reveal'd to him a great many Secrets. However, all that was false, nor had he any other design to go so often to that Ambassador's, than to pay his Respects to a Person who fill'd the Presi|dent's Lady's Room in his Heart. She was also somewhat more deserving than the other, without doing her any injustice. However, as one Lye ge|neral••y begets a great many amongst those who vent them; the next Day all Paris would have it,

that the King had wrote to King William to entreat him, to send him the Abbot bound Hand and Foot; they made it also known to the pretended Crimi|nal by a Letter unsign'd, and the Hand-writing was altogether unknown to him; but advised him, if it came seasonably to his Hand, he would make it his Business to save himself by flying to Turky, rather than suffer himself to be taken.

The poor Abbot was much astonished at this Ac|cusation; if they had accus'd him of being Amorous, he had been oblig'd to own it, because it was true. Neither the Seminary where he had been, nor the Mortifications which Pere de la Chaise had advanc'd so much in his Favour to the King, were capable to wean him from that unhappy Passion to which (to his great Misfortune) he was very subject. In fine, knowing himself not only Innocent, but also unca|pable of the crime laid to his Charge, he went to wait upon Monsieur Harlai, in order to ask him, if he had receiv'd the Order, of which they had given him Advice secretly; if so, he came to put himself into his Hands, so that it would not be necessary to Arrest him; and if it was sent to any other Person, he came however to deliver himself Prisoner to him, that they might not be at the trouble to search for him; he intreated him to acquaint the King with it, that his Majesty might be satisfied of his In|nocence, until he could make it evident before any Commissioners his Majesty should be pleas'd to ap|point. Monsieur Harlai had heard somewhat of the Matter before. This oblig'd him to examine his Conduct, and to set some Spies upon him, in order to watch whither he went at some certain hours; for he judg'd that it must needs be about that time that he was most busied about his Treason, if Fame was to be believ'd; but at last, these Spies reported to Monsieur Harlai, that he was altogether took up about his Mistriss, which justified him so

much in his Opinion, that he gave him to know, he wish'd with all his heart, the Prison he was en|gag'd in, might not prove more troublesome to him, than what he came to look for at his House; that it would not prove very hard for him to break his Chains, because he not only declar'd him free, but also Innocent of what was laid to his Charge, as far as consisted with his Power. However he believ'd, that his Heart was not so much upon the French, as it had formerly been; but as it's impo|ssible to be always in Love, he was perswaded it might return to its former Inclination when he thought least of it; and by these means he might be at ease, for he would secure him, none would impute to him this as a great Crime. In effect, this was the Abbot's Crime: And though he was shelter'd in it from all he was threaten'd with; nevertheless he was not so happy as to continue always in the good Esteem of Father de la Chaise. He durst not speak any more in his Favour to his Majesty, considering he had set up a Holland Lady in the place of the President's: His Majesty ask'd also that good Father, if he was now con|vinc'd, and if he intended still to demand a Bisho|prick for that Abbot. The Jesuit was somewhat humbled at that Reproach, and all he could say for his Justification, was that he could not hin|der himself from being impos'd upon, by the Tricks of an Hypocrite, no more than any body else.

But if his Majesty was proof against the Recom|mendations of his Father Confessor, whose Opi|nion in Matters of that Nature gains generally the King's Consent, the Case was quite different with regard to another Abbot, whom this good Father protected also. I mean the Abbot of Coadlet, whose sad Adventure has no Parallel in any Ancient or Modern History, nor perhaps ever will have in those to come. Not but that they afford us Examples

enough of depos'd Bishops; but as that is seldom done but by the Authority of the Church, or upon the account of manifest Heresy, or for some other Capital Crime, If I be not mistaken, I may confi|dently say, that the History I mean to insert here, ex|ceeds what can be said of these Examples. But be it as it will, the Abbot of Coadlet, a Gentleman of Bri|tany, though he had already a Dignity in the Chap|ter of Vannes; yet he thought it not amiss to ask some other little Benefice, by which means he might subsist the more conveniently, and confin'd the utmost extent of his Ambition to the having four or five thousand Livres a Year. And to that end, by the means of very good Friends, apply'd himself to Father de la Chaise, upon whom he believ'd all these Matters depended. This good Father told him, That he did himself an injustice in restricting himself to so narrow Bounds, and that he ought to ask some better thing, for he could hope to obtain it. The Abbot was over-joy'd to hear him speak after that manner; and as generally a good Appetite increases by eating; so this Gentleman of a little Abbot, was now very desirous to become a fat Bishop. However, he durst not mention it suddenly to Pere de la Chaise, but the good Father gave him to know, that the Dig|nity he enjoy'd already in the Cathedral, render'd him worthy of the other, especially when it was joyn'd to all the other Qualities requisite for a Bi|shop; so he got himself to be listed in the Catalogue of the Candidates for the Episcopal Dignity. How|ever, he continued at Paris until the King had fill'd up some vacant Bishopricks, which had Pretenders enough. For now the Scene is alter'd from what it was formerly, amongst those, upon whom they conferr'd that Dignity, who said ingenuously, Nolo Episcopari: I will not be a Bishop. For now-a-days, they think at least, if they do not say, Volo Episcopari, (i. e.) I will be a Bishop, and no doubt they think it from their very Heart, because it is

impossible to give an account of all the Friends they employ, or of all the Springs they set at Work, in order to obtain the Mitre.

The Abbot of Coadlet, who knew pretty well the Secret how to come by it, was not sufficiently sa|tisfied to hear only Father de la Chaise for him, tho' he was the best Friend he could employ, but he apply'd himself to others also, who were capable to do him as considerable Service as the former. For he thought as in legal Processes, abundance of the Law breaks not the Law; so in offers of this nature, he could never make use of too many on his behalf. However, as there are many, who Ruin themselves in making use of the Methods that others save themselves by; so he found that what he took to be of greatest advantage, prov'd most destructive, and that to such a degree, that it's impossible for him ever to retrieve it. Being in|form'd, That in the Age we live in, Women are as serviceable as any thing else; he made his Ad|dress with his utmost Application to Marshal Crequi's Lady, who was his Country-woman. That Lady promis'd him her Favour, and was as good as her Word. But he having likewise heard that old Wo|men have not so much Interest as young ones, quickly abandon'd her, and took up with her Daughter-in-law, whom he took to be more capa|ble to serve him. He waited upon her punctually every day; and in the Holy-week, he happening to be at her House, had not the power to refuse to accept of a match at Ombre that she propos'd to him; some say it was Bassette; but either of 'em is equally criminal before God, unless it be that the one is a greater Instrument of Passion than the other. However, he consider'd that 'twas not a proper Imployment for one that pretended to a Bishoprick, especially at such an unseasonable time; and for that reason he carefully requested the Lady, and all her Company, that the Doors might be kept

very close lest any body should see him ingag'd in an Exercise so inconsistent with his Profession. 'Tis such a common thing at Paris to see the Gentlemen with the little Band playing at all sorts of Game, that the very Foot-men, who over-heard his Dis|course, look'd upon him as a Hypocrite; but they were strangers to his Pretensions, and consider'd very little of what consequence it was to him, to have it conceal'd from the King, nor how necessary it was for him to have it kept secret, least it might blow up his design.

However, that Week having pass'd before the King heard any thing of these Transactions, he fil|led up the vacant Benefices, according to his usual Custom, upon Easter-day, for he never names any body but at that time, whether it be, because it's a Formality of a long standing, or that the King's Confessors have introduc'd it in order to have them|selves courted the more during the Interval; but passing over that, as a thing I have no mind to search into, we must believe, that this Abbot was only known to the King upon the account of his Bro|ther, who was Lieuterant of the Guards; however seeing him first in the List of the Candidates for Bi|shopricks, he ask'd his Father Confessor who this Man was. The Good Father meaning to do him a kind|ness, had no mind to say any thing to his disad|vantage, but extoll'd him to the Heavens for the best of Men; insomuch, that his Majesty believing him one of the best Men, and of the most exem|plary Life in his Kingdom, nam'd him for the Bi|shoprick of Poictiers. This news was no sooner known at Paris, than every body was amaz'd, for his name was never heard of out of his own Pro|v••nce before, though by what happn'd to him in a short time after, it was in every one's Mouth. Every body, who heard he was to have that Bi|shoprick, believ'd he must be a Person of extraordi|nary

Virtue, in regard the King had chosen him to so good a Benefice, to the prejudice of a great many considerable Persons who expected it. But those who had play'd with him at the Marchioness of Crequi's, made no Secret to tell others, that he was not so wonderfully Godly, for he had employ'd one day in the Holy Week at Game. This News came the same Day to the King's Ears, which made his Majesty pass that Night in a mortal Anxiety, fearing that God Almighty would call him to an Account for having nam'd a Person to a Bi|shoprick, that was capable of so black an A|ction.

The next Morning, Father de la Chaise coming to him to have the List of those, who were named to the Benefices, Signed, as soon as the King saw this Abbot's Name underneath, instead of signing, he blotted it out: The Good Father ask'd him what he did, not understanding what he meant. The King answer'd, That there was a Man in that List, who did not merit to be there; that he knew nothing of him, when he had given him a Bishoprick, nor he himself could not have known him, when he propos d him as a fit Person; but, that he had been since justly represented to him, and that the over-sight he had committed, had al|most thrown him into Despair. This reflected in some measure upon the Good Father, who had told him Wonders of this Man, the more to oblige those who had recommended him; and perhaps he himself believ'd all was told him to the advantage of that Person. However, the Jesuit altogether amaz'd at these Expressions, made use of the Au|thority he had over his Conscience, to oblige him to change his Resolution. Though it was easy for him to judge, by what the King had said, that of necessity some People had given him a strange Character of that poor Abbot; yet he said, That

we must not believe upon light grounds, all that we hear of our Neighbour, that he had often re|commended to him the reading of the little Book of the Imitation of Jesus, and there he might see a Chapter done purposely upon that Subject; that Lying abounded in a great measure amongst Men, as well as Jealousy; insomuch, that his Majesty's Bounty was sufficient to move all the Malice of Hell against him.

The King having hearken'd attentively to what he said, reply'd, That it was no Lye they told him, as he imagin'd; that it was a thing happen'd lately in the presence of a great many, that he also knew the Witnesses; insomuch, that he had not the least ground to doubt of it. The Good Father desir'd to know what the matter was; the King made no Secret of it, adding moreover, That if Fame was to be cre|dited, that Abbot was no less a Lover of the Sex than of Game. And in effect, this was told the King with a great deal of assurance; but whether he lov'd them or no, for I know no body hates them; it was certain that he gave no Scandal to the World that way, as his Enemies alledg'd; so the King was soon perswaded that he was impos'd upon in that Affair. However, Father de la Chaise seeing that the other was a weighty Accusation, and that the King kept close to it, he thought of throwing some scruple into his Mind. He told him then, That there was more of Infirmity than of Crime in what the Abbot had done; that it was certain, it was rather out of Complaisance than Inclination, or want of due Respect to these Holy-Days, that he had handled the Cards at that time; that very few People knew of this his fault, but now all France would begin to pry into it, and even suspect an infinity of things, as soon as his Majesty should deprive him of what he had once conferr'd upon him; that his Majesty ought

to be very cautions in giving that Scandal to his People, that certainly he must be answerable for it before God: That a small Reproof given in secret to that Abbot, would prevail more with him, and oblige him to ask God pardon for what he had done, and by this means all would be buried in Oblivion; that after all, it ought not to be re|garded as a heinous fault, but in respect to the time it was committed, for he was not the only Ecclesiastick who a had Passion for Game; since there were many Bishops and Abbots, who made it their principal Exercise; though after all, they were not depriv'd of their Bishoprick and Abbots upon that ac|count. He own'd freely to his Majesty, it were more decent for them not to do it, and was of Opinion, that these things ought to be none of their Diversions. But in fine, the Spirit of Man|kind is weak, and there being four and twenty Hours in the Day, it is impossible to employ them all in Exercises of Piety, and therefore they are allow'd to refresh themselves with innocent Recre|ations.

The King had no great opinion of this Morali|ty, he thought it too loose, especially with regard to those Men who were the Subject of the Dis|course. For he put a vast difference betwixt them and a Courtier, or a Man of the Sword, whom he thought might be allow••d such things; but to believe that Ecclesiasticks ought to have the same extent of freedom, was a thing, with all due Re|spect to his Father Confessor, he could never be per|swaded off. So it being impossible to convince his Majesty by this Objection, he was fain to have recourse to some other Argument. He insisted upon the Scandal he was like to give, but that gaining nothing upon him, he pray••d him to advise with Heaven before he would determine absolutely the matter. His Majesty consented willingly. For in

that he demanded only what became a good Chri|stian, and was conformable to the Inclination of this Prince. So the King kneeling that very mi|nute upon a Cushion, Father de la Chaise kneel'd by him, to make him say the Prayers which he de|sir'd. Prayers being ended, the Good Father ask'd him what return the Lord made. His Majesty re|ply'd, Nothing of what you wish'd for, and that he was as resolute as formerly to execute his design. He added, That he saw it very inconvenient not to do it; for if he should make that Abbot a Bishop, and if he should neglect his Duty in his Diocess, God Almighty would one day call him to an Account for it; that he had faults enough of his own to answer for, without taking upon him those of other People; and he believ'd him too Good, and too Pious, to advise him otherwise. The Good Father was not yet put off with that Answer. He ask'd of the King as the last Favour, to suspend his Resolution until he should return from Mass, whither he was just agoing. He conjur'd him to invoke earnestly the Holy Ghost, that he might en|lighten him. The King condescended very wil|lingly; but not having receiv'd the Inspiration which the Good Father pretended, he declar'd, That he had blotted that Abbot out of the List, be|cause he did not believe him so proper for a Bishoprick as he at first imagin'd. The poor Abbot of Coadles heard of these News with all the Surprisal and Grief imaginable. He retir'd into a Seminary, there to bury his Vexation However, the King calling to mind what Father de la Chaise had said to him, and being desirous that he should be suspected of nothing but the Truth, declar'd at the same time, before all the Court, That what that Abbot had done in the Holy Week, was the only cause of his Misfor|tune; that whatever else was said of him was false, and that he was oblig'd to give that Testimony in his Favour.

The King having show'd himself so full of the fear of God in an Affair of so great Consequence, shew'd himself equally full of Justice in another Affair that concern'd a Man of the same Coun|try. Which was as follows: a Counsellor of the Parliament of Britany, call'd Montchamp, having cudgell'd the Nephew of Moreau, the famous Actress in the Opera; and who gave some ground to speak of her upon an account different from what she acted upon the Theatre; the young Man carried his Complaint to his Majesty. The Coun|sellor expected that his Interest in the Parliament, in whose Assembly that Affair was done, would shelter him from all Accidents. He treated alrea|dy that Man very slightingly and meanly. But the Lady of that Opera, whom Persons of the first Quality ador'd, having espous'd her Nephew's Quarrel, obtain'd a private Letter in his favour. This Letter enjoyn'd the Parliament expresly to do the Plantiff so good, and so ready Justice, that he should have no reason to complain of it. Montchamp understanding by these means, that he had to do with a more powerful Party than he thought of; had recourse to such Tricks as are usual among the People of his Trade. He made a diligent Inquiry into the Life, not of the Aunt, (for it had been no difficulty in the least to prove a great many things of her) but of the Nephew. For he thought that if he could d••s••over any un|warrantable Action in it, as he hop'd he might, he could at least retard the Process, which his Adver|sary had commenc'd against him. However, not trusting very much to these hopes, he was fain to fall upon other Measures to get rid of this unlucky hit; and therefore intreated the Marshal of Cr••••••'s Lady, who was his Relation, to cause an Accom|modation to be propos'd to M••r••••••.

This Actress was no sooner apply'd to, than she stood aloof. The Marshal's Lady threaten'd her with the discovery the Counsellor made in her Ne|phew's Life, on purpose to fright her. But whe|ther she was afraid of nothing from that Facti|on, or that she thought she had Friends enough to protect her, she carried her Pretensions so high as to demand Ten thousand Crowns of the Marshal's Lady for her Nephew's Interest and Damages. As soon as the Lady had acquainted her Relations that there was no hopes of an Ac|commodation for him, he spoke very scornfully of such an exorbitant Demand; so applying him|self altogether to a vigorous Defence, he would certainly have confounded the opposite Party, if the Parliament had condescended to it. He gave in a Petition against the Plaintiff, shewing that he had two Wives. He desir'd to have a Decret pass'd against him; but bringing no valid proof for his Accusation, the Parliament durst not declare in his Favour, for fear of a Reprimand from the Court. For the secret Letter which they had re|ceiv'd, together with a Letter from the Attourney-General of the Parliament of Paris, gave them to know, that they must proceed justly, if they meant not to have their Sentence liable to a Revi|sal. Above all, they were afraid of the Aunt's Friends, suspecting very much, that if they gave them the least ground of Complaint, they should have them, more than her, for their Adversaries. In fine, Montchamp failing in his Expectation, and not being able to produce any Proof for what he alledg'd; though he had employ'd some consider|able Persons in it, Sentence was pronounc'd upon the Affair. He was suspended for six Months, and having receiv'd a Reprimand behind the Bench, he was condemn'd to pay the costs. He had made an offer before of Four thousand Livres to

his Adversary; but by the Calculation made of the Charges, they did not amount to so much, which was no small Mortification for our Actress M••r••au. For had it depended upon her, she had protested against the Sentence. But the Gentlemen of the Robe assur'd her she would fail in the attempt, so that she was fain to condescend against her In|clination.

As Britany furnishes us thus with an instance of Violence committed upon the Person of one of her Publick Magistrates, so Paris produc'd somewhat like it in the Son of one of her's; but what is something more, it was executed upon a Person of Quality. The Marquis of Novion, Son to the late Monsieur Novion, Master of the Rolls, and Brother to the present Monsieur Novion, President of the Soveraign Court, falling in Love with a cer|tain Chanoinesse, whose Mother was of the same Family with Monsieur de Caumartin, he humour••d her to that degree, that he promis'd, as is alledg'd, to revenge her Quarrel upon a Gentleman, of whom she complain'd heavily. She was extream|ly vex'd that this Gentleman, who call'd himself the Knight of St. Geniers, should have pressed her somewhat too hard to pay him some Money, that he alledg'd he had lent her. He had been for|merly her Lover; but whether she pretended, that when once a Man is in Love with a Woman, he ought to give and not lend, or that he had de|manded his Money after a rude manner; she had told the Marquiss so often, that this Gentleman was troublesome to her; that he was charg'd with what I am now to recount. The Knight of St. Geniers passing one Day along a Street that was pretty near his former Mistriss's Lodgings, was at|tack'd by five or six Bravado's of Paris, who are always at a short distance from one another, when they design any thing. And their Valour consists

only in that, which has some Relation to what Monsieur de Turenne was us'd to say, namely, That God Almighty was always of the strongest side. In effect, their Train obliges those, who would have no regard for them, upon the lay of Man for Man, to shew them some Respect. But whether it was upon that account, or that the Knight, being one of Maltha, own'd no Enemy but a Turk, he had no Inclination to meddle with this Man. But this pretended Hero, who had serv'd his Apprenticeship to Slaughtering, being the Son of a Butcher, see|ing the Knight took no notice of some small In|dignities he had given him, had a mind to know, whether or no he had forgot his first Trade, though some time ago he had exchang'd it for the Rapier. He meant therefore to slit his Nose, and perform'd it so dexterously, that all the Nose was left the poor Knight, hung by one small Ten|don, and he had certainly cut it off quite, had he not been hinder••d by some People who interpos'd, but he made his escape while the Knight's Wound was a dressing. The whole Town was immedi|ately alarm'd at the boldness of this Action. It was no great difficulty for the Knight to judge who had hatch'd this Mischief; and therefore as soon as the Chyrurgion had dress'd him, he went im|mediately and made his Complaint to the Commis|s••••y. The Lieu••enant Criminal gave out a Warrant against the Bravado, and some other certain Gen|tlemen who accompanied him in the Exploit. But as to the Marquiss, the Chanoinesse and her Mother, whom the Knight had likewise accus'd, he had some more Consideration for them; for the Re|spect he had for their Relations, oblig'd him to proceed very nicely against them. He thought it sufficient to Issue out a personal Summons against the three: The Mother and the Daughter made their Compearance, and were interrogated. But the

Marquiss of Novion durst not show his Counte|nance, in regard his Bully had been so foolish as to suffer himself to be apprehended. But he retir'd to a Friend's House, hoping that by his Reputation in the Robe, he might save the Guilty from a just Punishment. But his Majesty being in|form'd of the whole Affair by one of the Knight's Friends, commanded the Matter to be examin'd very strictly, so that the Marquiss was fain to leave Paris, and save himself by flying to Swisser|land

It 〈◊〉〈◊〉 happy for these Women, that they never had either seen or heard of this Bully; insomuch, that he not being able to accuse them, they were without any farther difficulty absolv'd from their personal Summons. However, the Bully was sen|tenc'd by the Lieutenant-Criminal to be hang'd, nor could he avoid giving of that Sentence. However desirous he was to oblige the Marquiss's Family. The Marquiss's Friends advis'd the Criminal to fear nothing, for the Parliament, to whom he had appeal'd, would infallibly clear him. But the Knight suspecting the matter, prevented their threatnings, and petition'd the King, to give him other Judges, which he obtain'd. The Appeal, instead of being brought before the Parliament, according to the usual Custom, was brought be|fore the Great Council. The Measures of the Marquiss's Friends and Relations being by this means quite defeated, they advis'd him to keep himself close where he was, for seeing his Affairs had taken so fatal a turn, it was by no means safe for him to return into the Kingdom. But being Colonel of the Regiment of Britany, and all the World believing him guilty, a great many People made Interest to have his Regiment. Mon|sieur de Boveron, the Marquiss of Harcourt s Father, ask'd it for the Marquiss of Sesane, his eldest Son

of a second Marriage. For he had married for his second Wife, the Marquis of Genles's Widow, who was the late Marshal de Fabert's youngest Daughter.

The Marquis's Relations were sensible of what importance it was for them to weather this Storm; for if once the King dispos'd of his Regiment, it would not only prove a mortal Stroke to his For|tune, that was already pretty low, but the World would also look upon it as a sort of Conviction against him. They therefore supplicated his Ma|jesty that he would be pleas'd to delay that Affair for some small time, promising to oblige their Kinsman to return quickly in order to clear him|self of the Crime laid to his charge; and alledg|ing he was reduc'd to mean Circumstances, upon which account it would be equally acceptable to take away his Life, as his Regiment. The King, in consideration of their Services, granted their Request. And the Marquis of Sesane was oblig'd to provide for himself somewhere else, if he meant to have a Regiment. However, this made no stop in the Appeal of the Condemn'd Criminal, for the Sentence being confirm'd; when he perceiv'd that all their fine Promises were not sufficient to save him from a Rope, he charg'd the Marquis of Novion with the Crime at his Death. This Sen|tence satisfied in some measure the Knight's Re|venge, who always saw the Marks of his Affront when he look'd into his Glass. For tho' his Nose was stitch'd up, yet the Seam appearing, was no small Mortification to him; so that he could never be at ease until he had the same Satisfaction of others, that he had already of the Bully. He pro|secuted them very eagerly before the same Tribu|nal. However, he could never have his Revenge of them, as he pretended; for though he prevail'd so far, as to have the Cause remov'd from before

the Parliament, where the Marquis had a great many Friends and Relations, and generally all Judges stick close by one another; yet to this mi|nute the Affair remains undecided. For they start|ed so many difficulties, that it is impossible for one of a more considerable Interest than his, to re|move them; besides, to plead in Criminal Matters, requires a more weighty Purse than his, and yet could easily exhaust it. In the mean time, another Adventure happen••d to President Novion▪s Nephew, and however extraordinary the first appear'd, yet it bears no proportion with this I am about to men|tion now.

This President's Wife was a Gentleman's Daugh|ter, whose Office it was to give out the Powder, by which he had got immense Sums of Money. She had a Sister by her first Marriage, who was the Widow of a certain Man, call••d Ombreval, Advocate-General of the Court of Aides, by whom she had some Children, and amongst the rest, a Son of one or two and twenty Years old: He stu|died the Law, that he might succeed his Father in his Profession. This young Gentleman coming from the Law-School, saw two Jesuits passing along, and at the same time a Cart loaded with Bundles of Rods, then he told his Companions, that these Dis••••ples of St. Ignatius had often whipp••d him in the College, and he had a good mind to be reveng'd of them now that he found his opportunity; he mean'd to bang them like Bridewel-Birds, and to that in|tent each of them might take a Bundle of these Rods from the Cart, and oblige these good Fathe's to ask them Pardon for all the Cruelty they had made them suffer before. In all appearance he had only said this to divert himself But his Companions understanding him literally, the most foolish, and most bold of 'em, leap'd upon the Ca••t, and in spite of the Carman, unty'd the Bundles, took up hand|fulls

of the Rods, and like so many Furies fell upon the poor Jesuits, who never dreamt of the like Adventure. There was no great matter of Ceremony in the Compliment they made them. They told them only, they had often oblig'd them to pull down their Breeches against their Incli|nation, and now they meant to do the like to them; that common Justice requir'd they should pay them presently for all the Evil they had suf|fer'd by them, and they would make them sensible, by which means they intended to perform it. This Folly appear'd so extravagant, that the two Jesuits could never understand what they meant. But these Furies made them to know very quickly by falling suddenly upon them; that its altogether as dangerous to fall into the Hands of Scholars, as into the Hands of the most barbarous Hangman upon Earth. Some pull'd off their Cloaks, others their Gowns, while another Party unty'd their Breeches, another pull'd up their Shirts, the young Ombreval serv••d for Executioner, together with another of the same Family, who had consign'd his Money in order to be a Councellor of Parlia|ment.

All the People got to the Windows upon the noise these poor Jesuits made, to call to the Neigh|bours for Assistance; and among others, a pretty young Girl, who was more zealous than the rest, to hinder them from receiving any greater Affront, cry'd aloud, that it deserv'd a severe Punishment, as in effect it did; but perceiving she was not heard, she went down Stairs to see if her Presence could have a greater Influence than her Words; but alas! her Charity cost her very dear. For these Scho|lars, who were far from having so much good na|ture as she, seeing her espouse so earnestly the part of these good Fathers, that she reproach'd them for their Injustice; seiz'd her also, pull'd up her

Peticoats behind, and whipp'd her as they had done the Jesuits. After that, she pleaded no more for them, but as soon as she got out of their Hands, she run in and shut the Doors, and got up to her Chamber in great Confusion and Vexation at her Adventure. The Jesuits had reason to be no less vex'd. However, though the same fate hap|pen'd to them all, they having been all three whipp'd in the open Streets; there was still this difference in the Sequel, that the Adventure prov'd more fatal to the Girl than to them. The Fraternity receiv'd them always with the same kindness into the Convent. They vow'd also to revenge it in a little time, or dye in the Attempt; whereas the Girl was abandon'd by her Lover, and swore he would not have her; they had agreed upon their Marriage, and the Articles had been already sign'd, but he fearing that if he proceeded further, he might be call'd all over the Town, The Husband of the whipp'd Girl, could not endure to hear it spoken of. They threaten'd to prosecute him, if he did not make good his Promise. He answer'd, He valu'd it not, and that he would defend himself the best way he could; and its probable his Reasons might have prevail••d, for every one condemn'd the Indis|cretion of the Girl, to meddle where she was so lit|tle concern'd.

This Action was too publick, and too bold, not to spread in an instant over all Paris. Monsieur D' Argenson had soon advice of it, and it being his Duty to find out Criminals, he sent so many of his Spies abroad, that he soon discover'd young Ombreval to be one of them. He also knew, that this Gentleman began the Fray, and was one of the Executioners, through whose Hands those Je|suits had pass'd. He likewise found out the other's Name, who had executed the same Office, and caus'd them both to be taken up. President Novion

was extreamly offended at him, as if he ought to have that deference for him, as not to treat after that manner a Person that concern'd him so nearly. But this Vanity and Haughtiness were very familiar to that Family, though it was of a far later stand|ing than Monsieur D' Argenson's. Before St. Innocent's Shrine was alter'd, which was but lately, we had an Epitaph extant, that shows sufficiently, they have neither so much Nobility nor Grandeur in their Race, as they would make the World believe. It is far different from what we see at this time in the Celestines, where the Duke of Gevres, one of that Family would have us believe, that he is lineally descended from St. Louis. Though the Family be only come from a Merchand, one Fourner, who made his Son an Advocate, and that Son laid the Foundation of the vast Grandeur. However it be, President Novion minding that less than the Post he possess'd, thought himself far above Monsieur D' Ar|genson, and wrote to him very disrespectfully upon what he had done. Monsieur D' Argenson regarding his Letter very little, went on in his ordinary Course, so that the President was fain to take his Nephew out of Prison, and his Companion came out after the same manner: Both of them had a good many Friends, and the Accusation they were charg'd with, being destitute of Proof sufficient to bring them to a Tryal, they were very happily clear'd of it. This was all the Jesuits had for their Satisfaction, and the poor whipp'd Girl for her's; besides the Mortification of having miss'd of a Hus|band, together with the Grief and Indignity she re|ceiv'd.

In the mean time, the New King of England sent a New Ambassador to Court, namely, the Earl of Portland, his old Favourite. For the Earl of Albe|marle only succeeded to him, if I may say so; for though he was his Britannick Majesty's Darling,

yet Portland was in as good Terms with his Master as ever. Moreover he had this advantage over the other, that besides the Favour which was common to them both, he was confided in. This Earl renew'd that Grandeur at our Court, which was to be seen in the time of the Duke of Bucking|ham, when he came to demand in Marriage for the King his Master, Mary Henrietta of France, Si|ster to Louis XIII. of glorious Memory. I mean by this, that he came with such a stately and magnificent Equipage, that the like had not been seen, of a long time, with an Ambassador. He had a permission to bring over with him some French-men, who had gone into England after the Revocation of the Edict of Nants, and who never durst have ventur'd to return afterwards without a Pass-port. However, Degrez, whom the Court had employ'd to take up Ministers, and other Per|sons of that Religion, look'd upon this as a fa|vourable opportunity for him, and did not fail to make his advantage of it. It being his ordi|nary Custom to render every Person suspected, in order to make the best of his Trade, he upon a certain Day took up one of the Ambassador's Ministers, while he thought of going to see one of his Friends, who was an Advocate. It was very happy for this Advocate, that he had been all along a Catholick, for that Quality, and his wise Conduct shelter'd him from the evil Designs of this Kidnapper, whose Gain it was to cast every one in Prison. He told him freely his Sentiments of such proceedings; for he had no Orders to do what he did then, but it was his ordinary pra|ctice, that he might be thought the more Zealous, though all his Zeal consisted only in his Interest. The Minister ask'd him, what it was he accus••d him of; and why he made his Prisoner after that manner, he being the Ambassador of England▪s

Domestick, to whom only he was oblig'd to give an account of his Conduct. It was upon that score that the Advocate exclaim'd against Degrez, making him to know, that the Court would never approve of such Proceedings. Degrez found himself oblig'd to answer all those Demands, which the Advocate back'd with all the Arguments he could invent, telling him, That he engag'd himself, as well as the King, in an unwarrant|able Action. The Wound that the War had gi|ven to France was still bleeding, and Degrez know|ing that all this Mischief was brought upon them by the Ambassador's Master, he thought he was oblig'd to give him some Reason for what he had done. He told him that the Minister had administred the Sacrament to one of his Religion, and had sent for him to that end to the Ambas|sador's House, and that being forbid, it was very warrantable for him to take him up, as he did. And thus he was not afraid to declare himself Sacrilegious, the better to colour his Design. In effect 'tis true, that was prohibited; but 'tis as true that the Minister was never guilty of it, and therefore desired to see the Person who ac|cus'd him. Now Degrez had brought a Fellow along with him to the Advocate's Door, who had indeavour'd to impose upon the Clergy-man. For this Rascal had pretended to be a Protestant, and apply'd himself to the Minister to procure him a Pass-port for England. The Minister was in effect impos'd upon. He believ'd him in good earnest to be some poor Man, whom the Zeal for his Religion oblig'd to quit his Country and Friends; but knowing that was not permitted, he endeavour'd to comfort him, without giving him any other relief. But the Rascally Fellow had no mind to tell his Master that answer, or if he had, Degrez pleaded ignorance. However,

the Minister was so exceedingly vex'd at this Calumny, that if his Character had allow'd him to meddle with any of them, he had doubtless bang'd the Villain to some purpose. But that being impracticable, he desir'd Degrez to cause ar|rest him, and told him if he refus'd it, he must be answerable for it to my Lord Portland, and that the King their Master was capable to do him|self Justice, and he might come to hear of it in a short time. The Advocate added, That he might find it to his disadvantage. These Expressions put the little Gentleman into a fright; he went to Mon|sieur D'Argenson, to know of him how to be|have in the matter. His Officers had always an eye upon the Minister after that; but Monsieur D'Argenson found that the Advocate had advis'd him well, and commanded him to put his advice in Execution. In fine, he was forc'd to send his Man to Prison, and set the Minister at liberty, according to the Order that Monsieur D'Argenson had given him. It's certain, this false Witness de|serv'd to be hang'd, or at least to be sent to the Gallies, to teach all those of the like Kidney pru|dence upon their own expences. But as the wick'd find favour rather than honest Men, whose mis|fortune brings them into any inconveniency, they delay'd to proceed against him, until my Lord Portland was gone, and then they set him at li|berty.

All the Court show'd this Ambassador singular Marks of Honour. The Daup••ine, the Duke of Orleans, and all the great Lords of the Court, invited him to Dinner, while he for his part kept a very splendid Table. The Count of Auvergne youngest Son to the Duke of Bouillon, gave him the use of his Lodgings while he stay'd at Paris; and himself went in the mean time to Holland to

his Wife's Estate, who died there about that time. This Ambassador had at his Entry a hun|dred Livery-men, and six Coaches, three with eight Horses, and three with six; and continued the same Grandeur all the time he stay'd at Court. He always made his Visits with all that Atten|dance, to let the World see how little he resem|bled a great many of that Quality, who discharge three parts of their Equipage the next day after their Entry; so that he spent almost a hundred thousand Crowns in the two Months that his Em|bassy lasted.

King James pass'd his time very indifferently all that while. He heard from all hands the Ho|nour done to my Lord Portland, which was such as perhaps was never shown before to any Am|bassador. This made some People believe that there were some Alliances on foot betwixt the two Kings, and the more, because my Lord Port|land had three or four Private Audiences of his Majesty. However, while some French People suspected, that they thought of dividing Flanders between them two, after the Death of the King of Spain, whose Health was very infirm, it came to be known that these private Audiences were upon a very different Subject. My Lord Portland insisted upon the removing of King James at a farther distance from the King's Presence, promi|sing in his Master's Name to give him and the Queen a Pension sufficient to excuse his Majesty from the Expence he had been at upon that Prince, since he had made a Sanctuary of his Dominions. But the King would never give ear to it, which ex|ceeded King James's Expectation, who, in case the King had abandon'd him, was resolv'd to retire to Avignion, for he began already to inform him|self,

if he could live conveniently there. For as the King was oblig'd in Policy to make Peace with his Enemy, though he had promis'd ne|ver to make it, until he had restor'd him to his Crown, he was afraid that the same Policy might also induce him to grant what was de|manded.

The King of Spain's Malady increasing every Moment, insomuch, that it was generally thought he had few days to live, did not only move all the Powers of Europe to delay the Reform of their Troops after the Peace, but likewise retarded the Evacuation of some Places, which his Majesty was oblig'd to Surrender. However, the Marquis of Harcourt receiv'd Orders to go with all di••i|gence to the Court of Madrid with this Instruction, that if he saw no probability, as in effect there was none, to bring the Succession of his Catho|lick Majesty to fall upon one of the Dauphine's Sons; he should endeavour, at least, to hinder its coming to any of his Imperial Majesty's Chil|dren. For it was to the Emperor and his Descen|dants, that Philip IV. the present King of Spain's Father had left it by his Will. And the Emper••r becoming already very powerful by his Conquests in Hungary, he was thereby become so suspected to his Majesty, that he was resolv'd to have re|course to his Arms, rather than suffer it to fall into his Hands. And, accordingly, to fright the Spaniards, he caus'd to file off Sixty thousand Men to the Frontiers of Italy, Catalonia, and Na|varre. He was sensible that would add some weight to his Ambassador's Discourses, and might also awaken the Ambition of some Grandee of the Country.

The Marquiss was no sooner arriv'd in Spain than he apply'd himself to business. He told those, who were capable to act in concert with him in an Affair of such importance, that Phi|lip IV. had gone beyond his Power, when he pretended to dispose of his Crown at pleasure, against the Laws of Nature. That it belong'd lawfully to his Daughter's Children, and not to his Relations in the fourth Degree, who could pretend to no Right of themselves. That the Dau|phine had three Sons, and the Duke of Burgun|dy's second Brother was still as pliable as wax, whom they could Mould into any Form they pleas'd, and if they would fix their Eye upon him, they might easily breed him to their own Cu|stoms; that if this fail'd, the Prince of Bavaria being Grand son to a Daughter of Spain, the King, his Master, would rather approve of his Election, than of the Emperor's, or of any of his Children, unless they had a mind to follow the Example of the Poles, who to oblige Strangers to agree among themselves, had twice chosen a So|vereign of their own Country. And this was all the King pretended to, considering he could not expect to bring the Crown of Spain into his own Family. But the Queen of Spain having a watchful Eye upon the Conduct of this Ambassa|dor, who made it his business to renverse her Designs, pry'd narrowly into his Intrigues, and remov'd the King, her Husband, some distance from Madrid, under pretence that the Air was prejudicial to his Health. She carried him to To|ledo, and pretending it was only upon the account of his Health; would allow no body to follow him thither. Nay, she left some Ministers that she confided in at Madrid, in order to receive whatever any of the Ambassadors had a mind to

offer. The Marquis de Harcourt saw clearly with what view the Queen made this Journey, and that she intended to be so fully Mistriss of the King, her Husband's Inclinations, that she could obtain of him whatever she had a mind to. He fear'd she might prevail with him to confirm Philip IV's Will; and at the same time observ'd, that the Count de H••rrach was no more to be seen at Ma|drid, and in all probability was gone to Toledo; upon this, he went immediately thither also, under pretence of having receiv'd a Memorial (which he forg'd) from the King his Master, with positive Orders to communicate it to his Catholick Ma|jesty.

The Queen of Spain, who did not in the least expect it, was extreamly surpriz'd to see him there; and caus'd the King, her Husband, to whom he presented his Memorial, to acquaint him, That he had left the Cardinal of Corduba at Madrid on purpose, to whom he might have communicated his Memo|rials, as well as to him; that his principal Inten|tion for coming thither, was to recover his Health, and not to trouble himsel•• with Business; and therefore he might apply himself to the Cardinal in all Affairs of State. However, considering that the Memorial was not very long, and that in all appearance it tended to his own advantage, he thought he was oblig'd to answer it himself. One thing to be consider'd, is, that the King of Morocco had for a long time besieg'd the Fortress of Ceuta in Barbary, which belong'd to his Catholick Ma|jesty, but could never take it. Nor was the King of Spain in circumstances to raise the Siege, though he had attempted it several times. In all appea|rance these 〈◊〉〈◊〉 did not carry it on very vigorously; whether they were ignorant how to

carry it on, or that they thought the Conquest the more Glorious after a Siege of so many Years. His most Christian Majesty, by this Memorial, of|fer'd to the King of Spain, if he pleas'd, to send Men of War and Gallies to succour that place. His Catholick Majesty had enough of his own for such an Enterprize, without being oblig'd to bor|row of any other Prince. But he was so treache|rously serv'd by him, whom he had entrusted with his Orders, that instead of executing them, he deserted to the Enemies. Nay, he did much worse, for not being satisfied to Renounce his Master only, he renounc'd also Jesus Christ, which was esteem'd so great an encouragement for these Infidels, that, after that, they thought they had gain'd all. Such an accident, in effect, con|founded all the Governors his Catholick Majesty had upon that Coast; and this was the Subject, or ra|ther the Pretence of the French Ambassador's Me|morial. But whether his Catholick Majesty had no mind to accept of such suspected Succours, or that he thought he could do without them, he thank'd the Ambassador for the proffer, observing with him, at the same time, all the measures of Civility, that were proper for the occasion. However, he who had renounc'd his King and his Faith, beginning to be sensible of his fault, and to repent of it, confess'd that he was a Christian, and abhorr'd his Apostacy. But the Infidels, who had made a great deal of noise of his change, expecting to oblige him to return to them by the force of Presents and Promises, indeavour'd to regain him; but seeing him continue in his Re|pentance, and that there was no possibility of bringing him over again to them, they threaten'd to treat him as they usually do Apostates from their Religion, I mean, they threaten'd to Empale

him after torturing. But he expected no less, and was fully resolv'd to undergo all, being extream glad to expiate by these Torments, the heinous Crime he had committed against his God and his King. So being no ways frighten'd by their Me|naces, he submitted himself very freely to all the Torments they could invent. In ••ine, in the mid|dle of these dismal Torments, he joyfully confess'd him whom he had denied: upon which they put him at last to Death, least by his Constancy some amongst them might be mov'd to acknow|ledge, that he suffer'd for a good Cause, in regard he seem'd so insensible of Pain in his Tor|ments.

After this Answer, the Marquis of Harcourt was obliged to return to Madrid, and endea|vour'd by all means possible to gain the People by a very agreeable Conduct; his Wife, the Mar|chioness, came also from France to second him. For having an infinite deal of Wit, she thought to infinuate her self by degrees into the Queen's Affection, and gain her Confidence by the means of some Proposals she believ'd would prove mightily to her Advantage, with regard to her Person. It was highly presumptuous in her to entertain that thought. To be sure, her Majesty would be much upon her guard against her; for besides her being the Wife of a M••narch, who is a capital Enemy to France, there was not the least appearance she would hearken to any thing that came from that Nation. The Queen of Spain, notwithstanding her being a German, began to conform her self to a Court, where Trick and Policy are in Vogue as much as in any in the Universe, and therefore se••gn'd presently to be exceedingly charm'd with the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, to the

end she might the more easily know her Secrets. The Marchioness told it to her Husband, meaning to perswade him to rejoyce at it with her: But the Ambassador, though he had always been a Man more inclin'd to the Sword than the Court, was yet cunning, and advis'd her always to suspect so excessive Civility. He told her, it was not natural for the King of Spain's Wife, to be so early in a good Correspondence with the Am|bassador of France's Lady, that it look'd like a Trick among those who knew better than to judge of things by appearance. And therefore all he re|commended to her, was to be prudent, that she ought to hear the Queen speak, rather than speak her self, and by these means she would cer|tainly advance her Affairs much better than by endeavouring to be the Head of the Conversa|tion.

While these Intrigues proceeded after this manner, the Princess of Conti, the King's Daughter, had some thoughts of marrying Mademoiselle de Me|lan, eldest Daughter to the Princess of Epinoi, to the Marquiss of La Valiere, her Cousin-German; she had a great Respect for her, and went very often to Paris to see her; and as for the Marquis, he was in very good terms with the Dauphine. She had it in her view, at the same time, to get him made Duke and Peer, by obtaining from the King the Title of his Dutchy of Vaujour to her self, in expectation of his succeeding to the Propriety of it after her Death. This Land pertain'd for a long time to the House of Bueil, and while it continu'd in that Family, had only the Title of Marquisate, but was erected into a Dutchy in ••avour of Madam de la Valiere, who since made her self a Ca•••••• ••••••ess. Monsieur Colb••rt, who had

the Secret to get her into his Interest, while she was a Favourite, bought this Land for her, by which means he ingratiated himself both in the King's Favour and her's. It cost him only a hundred thousand Crowns, though there was as much Wood upon it as would answer that Mo|ney, which he sold in a short time after the Purchase. However, Mademoiselle de Melan flat|ter'd her self already with being a Dutchess very soon, which was somewhat better than the ima|ginary Principality her Family flatter'd themselves with, when the Princess of Conti came to know that his Majesty had no Inclination for that Marriage. This made her shift sides, and seeing the Duke of Noailles was in great Favour with the King, she cast her Eyes upon one of his Daughters. There was a whole Regiment of them; and though there had been three of them already married, yet there remain'd still such a number of them, that he was the Per|son in all the Court, the best provided with Means to make Sons-in-law; besides, they strove who should have them. For his Majesty had lately conferr'd a Favour upon him, that evinced sufficiently the Esteem he had for him. Madam de M••i••••••n••n had a Nicce, who was the only Daughter of the Count of Aubig••••, her Brother, Governor of Berry, and Knight of the King's Order. This young Creature, who was very lovely in her Person, was much more such by the Favour and Merit of her Aunt, who took particular care of her Education. For she thought that her Father, who lov'd his Game and Pleasures, and by these means had ruin'd his Affairs, so that he was oblig••d to retire, in order, either to pick up what might pay his Debts, or to learn that he must die. I say, she

thought that her Father was in no Capacity to do any thing for her, and therefore by her care she made her a very well-accomplish'd young Lady, and this Quality, with all the others, which she possess'd in an eminent de|gree, made her the desirable Object of all the Great Men of the Court, who had any Sons to Marry; but there were particularly two, who had a great design upon her, namely, the Duke of Rochefoucaut, who would have given her the Prince of Marsillac, his Grand-Son; the other, the Duke of Noailles, who had his eldest Son, the Count of Ayen, to Marry. Either of these seem'd very advantageous for her, though the first appear'd to be much more such than the last. For in effect, though the House of Noailles be very good and ancient, yet the Family of Rochefoucaut exceeds it; at least in the Opinion of a great many, for all who pretend to know any thing of the Grandeur of Families, make a great difference between them; besides, though the Duke of Noailles was Captain of the Life-Guards, a very considerable Post, the Duke of Rochefoucaut had two others, which were fully as considerable, and both of them carry great Titles, which distinguish them from many others; though in effect, that of Great Marshal of the Lodgings is small enough for its Grandeur. On the other hand, there are a great many larger Estates in his Family, than the Duke of Noailles can pretend to. The Estate of Noailles that lies just by Turenne, is nothing in comparison of Wertheux, and of Ro|cheg••yon, that must, of necessity, fall one day to the Prince of Marsillac, without reckoning a great many other Lands, which the Duke of Rochefoucaut, and the Duke of Rocheguyon, his

Father, have; so that every one believ'd, that the Prince of Marsillac would carry the young Lady, when the King declar'd himself in fa|vour of the Count of Ayen. The King himself gave her a Portion; and not thinking it suffi|cient to give her eight hundred thousand Livers, he also conferr'd so many Favours upon her Husband, that a great many Princes, and even Princes of the Blood, would have been very glad to receive 'em. He gave him the Survivance of the Government of Roussillon, which the Duke of Noailles had; that of the Government of Berry, which the Count of Aubignie had; a hundred thousand Livres in Jewels to the young Lady; and in fine, a great many other things, that show'd no less the Magnificence of the King, than the particular Friendship he had for their Relations. And this demonstrated how much they were in the Right, who courted the Alli|ance of the Duke of Noailles. But the King, as an additional Super-abounding Favour, gave the young Count his Shirt when he was ready to go to Bed, while the Duchess of Burgundy perform'd the same Office to the young Lady. One would have thought that there remain'd no|thing to be done after so many Favours▪ But his Majesty, who is an inexhaustible Fountain of Goodness, gave each of them a Pension of eight thousand Livres a Years, and to compleat the Work, said, That provided the Count were a good Man, he might assure himself, he should never want for any thing.

It being no mean thing to become a Brother-in-law to such a Gentleman as this, Madam, the Princess of Conti, manag'd the Match betwixt her Cosin and his Sister; she secur'd to her his

Dutchy by the Contract of Marriage, and the Affair being thus concluded, the Dauphine con|ceiv'd so great a Friendship for the new marri|ed Gentleman, that he could go no where with|out him. He had him always by his side in his Coach, as if they had but one Coach betwixt them both, and lean'd his Head always to his, as if he had been his Mistriss, and in a sporting way call'd him Violet, a Name that formerly was not much coveted, being only proper for Foot|men, or that sort of Cattel, but now became very fashionable amongst the Courtiers. The Dauphine is naturally of a sweet Temper, and an Enemy to all manner of Constraint. He is not capable of having any great Inclination for Women; and though he may have lov'd one or two of them, knowing that the fair Sex requires complaisance, he did not regard them so much upon the account of their easi|ness as of their Virtue. Dumont, one of his Masters of the Horse, who was much in his Favour, brought them always to him by Private Stairs when he wanted them, and sent them immediately back when he had done. This Prince chus'd them ordinarily amongst the Actresses of the Opera or Comedy, upon which there happen'd to him a very pleasant Rencounter, that deserves some place in this Work. Having caus'd Dumont to speak to one of the Actresses of the Opera, he agreed with her that she should come to Meudon, to the end he might introduce her to the Dauphin's Closet by the private Stairs; they condescended upon the Day and Hour. The Actress, though a Person void of Ceremony, thought it not very decent to go thither alone, and so brought one of her Sisters along with her. The Dau|phine

had some Person with him in his Closet when they arriv'd, which oblig'd Dumont to tell them to wait in a place where he posted them near the Closet; at the same time he made it known to the Dauphine by a sign, that his fair Lady was come, to the end he might discharge his Company. The Dauphine order'd him to go some where or other, and in the mean time the Dauphine's Company judg|ing they where somewhat inconvenient to him, took there leave. Dumont having left the private Door half open, the Actress's Sister hearing no noise in the Room, had the Curiosity to look into it. The Dauphine, who only waited for Dumont's return to have her Sister introduc'd, having his Eyes fixt, by chance, that way, where the other was looking, no sooner saw a Wo|man's Coiffe at the Door, but taking her to be the Person he had a mind to, he desir'd her to come in. She thought it good manners to obey, though it was none of her he meant. But whether his Eyes were somewhat Dim that Day, or that he was in such haste, that he had no time to consider her aright, he gave her the same usage he design'd for her Sister. After which, having no further Inclination for the Lady's Conversation, he sent her away imme|diately. She told her Sister nothing of this Ad|venture. The Actress still waited for Dumont, and long'd much for his coming. In fine, he return'd by the Private Stairs, and told her he was a going to speak to the Dauphin, in order to bring her in. The Dauphine told him, The he had had all the Conversation with her he intended, and de|sir'd him to give her five hundred Louis d'ores, and send her home. Dumont, who had seen her very impatient to enter, knew nothing of what he

meant by that, and intreated the Dauphine to ex|plain himself. In fine, he came to know what pass'd, but not knowing with whom, he went and told the Actress, that if her Appetite was so very good, it was not the same with the Dauphine's. She was extreamly surpriz'd at his Complement; but understood by it, that her Sister had deceiv'd her, and was so extreamly vext at it, that she would never be reconcil'd with her, till she condescended to divide the five hundred Louis d'ores with her, which the Dauphine had sent to her.

The furious War which the King had main|tain'd against so many Potentates, had encou|rag'd some of the new Converts to profess their former Religion, notwithstanding the Pro|hibition to the contrary. His Majesty caus'd to take up a great many of them in the Neighbour|hood of Orange, as they were returning thence from Sermon. Some of them were treated very severely, while others got off for a Month or two's Imprisonment. The King set also Guards upon all the Avenues of that Town, to hinder them from returning thither any more. But not being intirely satisfied with this Precaution, he made very strict Edicts against all such, who should dare, in prejudice of the Prohibition, to venture to go thither again. But this was not the only disobedience that appear'd in a short space of time, for not one of them went to Mass. And his Majesty being inform'd of it from all Parts, and finding it a matter that ought to be remedied, if he meant to prevent some danger|ous Accidents, deliberated with his Council, how he ought to proceed against these obstinate Peo|ple. They were all at a loss how to advise him

upon that occasion, insomuch, that the Affair re|mained undecided, and the King wrote to the most part of the Bishops and Intendants, to have their Judgment in writing: These differ'd in their Sentiments from one another. Some advis'd him to make use only of Exhortations, in order to make them Obedient; others were for a severe usage. Those, who were of this last Sentiment, were so much the more warm in it, because they imagin'd (though unjustly) that the King of England had us'd these means with regard to the Catholicks of Ireland, who not willing to submit to the present Government, were fain to look for a Sanctuary in France, to shelter themselves from the Punishment that was due to their Rebellion. These People of all Ages and Conditions, coming over in whole Troops to France, never fail'd to spread abroad, that they had been oblig'd to quit their Country in order to avoid the Vio|lence that was done to their Consciences. The King gave them five hundred Pistols in Charity, which was thought but a small mite for so great a King. However he appointed some Ladies of the Court to raise an Offering for them amongst the Persons of Quality. The Curats of Paris fol|low'd that Example, and caus'd also an Offer|ing to be made in their Parishes to supply their Necessity. But their being a great many Monks and Priests amongst these Refugees, the Arch|bishop of Paris would have them to say their Masses in Nô••re Dame, by way of Preference to all the French Priests, who us'd to Celebrate 'em there. He did them also particular Acts of Cha|rity, for being extraordinary Pious, he omit|ted nothing that was in his Power for their Re|lief.

In the mean time the Earl of Jersey, Brother in Law to the Earl of Portland, was Named by the King of England, to succeed this last in France: The King had no mind to speak to my Lord Portland, of any thing that passed in Ireland, least he might thence take occasion to speak to him of the Protestants in France. He made him a present of his Picture, richly set with Diamonds, according to the ordinary Practice of this Court, with a regard to all Embassadours.

But there was this difference made betwixt him and others; that the Diamonds upon the Present made to him, were Three times more rich than they upon any others: The King probably meant, that his present should bear some proportion to the expences he had been at; or perhaps knowing he was in good terms with his Master, he was glad to have his favour upon occasion. Some few Days before his departure, the King made a review of his Hou|shold; and King James was there, as was also this Lord, who perhaps had forborn coming, if he had known that the other was to be there. The Prince of Wales came thither also, and had particular Or|ders from the King his Father, to joyn Conversa|tion with that Lord's Son, to whom he had caused to insinuate before, that he never pretended to make him answerable for what his Master had done a|gainst him. This young Prince being only a Child, was hardly capable of such an Entertainment, but he had placed such Persons about him, as were able to inform him, and even continue the Discourse if necessary: I do not know what he meant by it: However my Lord Portland knowing the young Princes design, sent to tell his Son to avoid him, and himself shun'd all those of King James's Court. The review being over, he left France in a few Days after, leaving a great esteem for him amongst all the Courtiers. However before he went, he was to see all the King's Houses in the Neighbourhood

of Paris, and found them of a far different magnifi|cence from his Majesty's Houses in Holland and Eng|land. He went to Chantilly in his roade, whither the Prince of Conde went a purpose to entertain him; and thus here turned home, extreamly satisfied with the Honour done him every where, and gave an Account to his Master of all that passed in his Em|bassie. This Prince was not ill pleas'd, at the News of the King of Spain's sickness; for it being upon that account that France continued still Arm'd, he likewise kept up his Troops, so as that the English could not find fault with it: He knew his Greatness and Safety, consisted in the Number of his Troops; and having Enemies both within and without his Kingdom, there was nothing more capable to gain him respect, than to have always a good Army at his Command.

This Prince having made it to appear upon all occasions, that he had an infinite deal of Sense, was not in the least mistaken upon this occasion: For finding it his interest upon two Accounts, to keep France continually in Arms; both as it was a means to exhaust his Forces; and as it wou'd prove always a good pretence for him to keep up his own Army: He advis'd to have it ratified at the Dyet of Ratisbon, that the Princes of the Empire, should always keep up a Hundred and Twenty Thousand Men in Arms, in the time of Peace; for he was sensible, the more they had, the more France wou'd be obliged to have on that side. And there being but a small distance betwixt England and France; he wou'd by those means be always upon his Guard. It was also believed, that in Po|licy he asked of the King, to remove King James and his Wife at a distance from him, though he doubted the King would never consent to it. But it would be such a pretence for him to show the Parliament, that having a considerable Enemy so nigh him; prudence would oblige him to keep

himself always in a condition to resist him in case of necessity.

But whether he meant to enlarge upon that, or that in effect, King James who had attempted se|veral times to remount his Throne, by fomenting insurrections in England, began to attempt the same again, or whatever else was in it, he caus'd a great many Persons to be taken up; and a|mong others the Earl of Clancarty, as if he had meant to raise new troubles. The Earl had been Captain of the Guards to King James, and had passed once more before into that Country, in Order to do him Service. But he had no such design at this time; He had only went thither under the benefit of the Peace, though the New King had excluded him from it, as he had done a great many others, who had continued after a cer|tain time in the Service of his Enemy. However this Earl being a Person of quality; his Imprison|ment made no little noise, for instead of sending him to the Tower, they put him up in Newgate. This was by no means disagreeable to the King, for the more the Prisoner was a Man of quality; the greater Impression his return into the Coun|try, made upon the minds of the People, for they knew he was guilty the last time he came into the Kingdom; because he had made his Escape out of the Tower. For at that time he proposed to a Lady of quality, who came to see him, to allow him to make his escape under her Petticoats. This Lady being as large as he was little, con|descended very willingly at the Peril of whatever could happen: For besides the apprehension she was under, of being catch'd in the Commission of a flaming Crime, and being kept Prisoner her self, she allowed his approaches to a place, with which the Ladies hardly suffer such near commu|nication, at least without some scruple; what|ever was in it he played his Game so well, that

he made his escape without being discovered, and from that time kept always about King James, till the time of his being retaken, that I mentioned but now.

It was a long time before the English could be sen|sible of any pretence their King had, to keep any Troops on Foot, in the present posture of the Af|fairs of Europe in General, or of their own in Parti|cular. On the other Hard, it was given out a pretty while before that His Christian Majesty was to have a Camp near Campiegne, where the Duke of Burgundy was to Command. And though it was said publickly, it was designed only to let him see something in warlike affairs, and to accustom him by degrees to such great things as were due to his Birth, yet it bred some Jealousie, so that the Eng|lish continued still quiet. But the Natural restless|ness of that Nation, never allows them to be long at ease: In fine, they complained that being exhausted by the War, it was impossible for them to continue the same expences in the time of Peace. The King of England thinking to satisfie them in some degree, made a reform of some Regiments, and of o|thers, he sent some into Holland, and some into Ireland, believing that these being once out of their sight, they would be apt to forget them; but they still insisted upon their former complaints. And to speak the truth, they had good politick Rea|sons to do what they did, not only with regard to themselves, but also with regard to all Europe.

In the mean time the Encampment which the King intended, was put off to September, to the end that the People in the Neighbourhood, might have opportunity to make their Harvest, and gather in all their Corn; so in this interval of time, there fell out some remarkable things at Court. One of the most considerable, which per|haps has no parallel in this Age, was as follows.

Monsieur de Pelletier, who had been Controler Ge|neral of the Finances, and whom the King had made an Officer of State, quitted a Hundred Thou|sand Livers a Year, which he possessed by the King's liberality, to be freed from all manner of business, and have time to mind his Salvation. His Majesty had a mind to allow him some Pension, and was so much the more earnest to do it, be|cause he cou'd never sufficiently admire such a resolution; but after all his remonstrances, he on|ly prevailed so far, as to oblige him to accept of Twenty Thousand Livers a Year, to maintain a Table for his Family. His place in the Post-house, which was valued at Two and Thirty Thousand Livers a Year, was given to Monsieur Pomponne: Who, however Pious he was thought to be, thought such a Post not inconsistent with his Devotion. Monsieur Pelletier retir'd immediately to his Castle of V••lle Neuf, within Three or Four Leagues of Paris; and discarded the most part of his Domesticks. His Brother who was Intendant of the Finances, being angry that he had not Named him to his Ma|jesty for Comptrouler General of the Finances, when he quited it, was exceedingly vexed, because he had not acquainted him with his Intention, in order to fall upon measures, to make some advantage of his spoil.

Moreover he went the next Day to Versailles, and told the King (without waiting in the least for what his Majesty had a mind to say upon the Sub|ject,) that though it was generally said in the World, that the Younger ought to follow the exam|ple of the Elder; yet he would take care not to imitate his Brother; that in effect he was so far from believing, that his Majestie's Service cou'd in the ••••ast hurt his Salvation, that on the contrary there was nothing more useful either for this World, or the World to come: So that his Majesty might, when he thought fit, load him with more business, with|out

giving him the least disturbance; that he would always continue in his ordinary road, without ever thinking of shuting himself up, either in a Cloyster, or a Country House.

He was easily believed without swearing, for every Body was sensible, how little inclination he had to quit the World. Besides, the World knew that he was not a Man, who troubled himself very much with business; he never lov'd to overcharge himself, for of whatever Consequence the Affair was, his Buildings and Garden were first look'd af|ter: Not but that he had a great deal of Sense, and in that even exceeded his Eldest Brother; but be|ing of their Judgment who believe, that Charitie begins as home, he never car'd to bely a Maxim, which time and custom had so well established in the World.

While both the Court and King admired Mon|sieur Pelletiers Conduct: There fell out an accident betwixt two Courtiers at Marli, that had proved of a more troublesom consequence, if it had not been moderated by the Bystanders The matter was this, the Count of Auvergne was playing at Omber, with some other Lords, and Monsieur de Lausun looki••g over them, began to utter a great many silly expressions which vex'd the Count, insomuch that he threw down his Cards. The Gam|sters asked him what he meant; the Count an|swered, that it was impossible to play while he heard Monsieur Lausun's ••edious Discourse, and as for him he could not have the complaisance to relish it. Monsieur Lausun being always sensible of the honour he had in marrying Henry IV. his Grandchild, and upon that Account respecting very little such digrities, which had no better Foundation, than the Count's, was something mov'd at these words, and m••de him a harsh answer. The Gentlemen who were present, asked them what they meant

by quarrelling in that Place, and being Friends to both Parties, presently put a stop to the Quarrel.

About the same time, Two more Considerable Per|sons happened to quarrel; I mean the Prince of Conti and the Chevalier of Vendome, Grand Prior of France. They were also playing at Omher, and the Grand Prior having call'd Gano, at the third Lift, and gain|ing Codille; the Prince of Conti, told the Person who had made him Gano, that he was too simple to believe him, he being a Man that took his Advantage, where he could find it; and that he had never seen him play, after any other manner. The Grand Prior took notice of that Word, and said it was very re|proachful, under a dubious sense. The Prince of Conti, took no notice of what he had answered, whe|ther he meant to shew himself somewhat wiser than the other, or that he thought the Terms he made use of, obliged him to make that Answer. But after the Game was ended, the Chevalier of Vendome went to Paris, and returned the next day to Versailles, with a long Rapier by his Side. The Courtiers ask'd one another, whom he had a Design upon, in carrying that Rapier. No body dreamt of what had passed the Night before, betwixt him and the Prince of Conti; and the rather, because there were hardly Two Per|sons, less capable of counteracting the King's Orders. However, the Grand Prior having posted himself, where the Prince was to pass along, no sooner saw him, than he drew upon him, telling him, he must needs remember, what he had said the Night before, and as these things were not to be suffered, by Peo|ple of their Circumstances, so he had a mind to see him with Sword in hand. The Grand Prior meant by these Words, to put himself in Competition with him, which displeased the Prince exceedingly, insomuch, that he told him, he had forgot himself, to speak to him after that manner. The Duke of Bourbon, was coming along in the mean time, and the Prince of Conti calling him, told him that he was equally con|cerned

with him in the Affair, the Chevalier having said, that there was no difference, betwixt him and the Princes of the Blood, so he desired to know his O|pinion of it, and if he thought fit to suffer it. The Duke acquainted the Dauphin with it, and the Dau|phin immediately informed the King. Upon which his Majesty gave Orders to Mr. Pontchartrain, to send the Grand Prior to the Bastille The Grand Prior de|sired to be admitted to the King, to acquaint him, with his Reasons, but his Majesty had no mind to hear him; and ordered his Ʋshers to shut the Cham|ber Door against him, insomuch that this Prince, was at last obliged to obey, and went of his own ac|cord to Prison.

At that time, there was no Governour of the Ba|stille; for Mr. de Besma••x, who had been Governour Forty Years at least, was dead Six or Seven Months; and his Majesty had not yet nam'd any for that Go|vernment: Not but that there were Persons enough who sollicited for it, for the vast Riches which the late Governour had made by it, was a sufficient Motive for a great many. The Governour of Pigner••l, be|ing at that time without Employ, that Place being given up by the Peace, sollicited earnestly for it. He had also a great many Competitors; for even the Duke of M••ine had a mind to it: For that Castle, being joined to the Arsenal, he would have been ve|ry glad to unite the Ch••rge of it, to that of Great Master of the Artillery, as it was in the time of the Duke of S••liy. The Marquis of Sanveri, Ʋnder Go|vernour of the young Princes and the late Governour s Son in Law, had also an Eye upon it, but upon Con|dition that he should not be obliged to reside there, and might have a fixt Sallary, as other Governments had. But this was quite contrary to his Father in law his Practice, who always thought the Advantage he made by the Prisoners, more preferable a Thousand times, than what the King had given other Gover|nours. But whether his Son in Law considered that

these Profits were much sunk by the Peace, or that 〈…〉〈…〉 to keep also the Post he was in, he insisted 〈…〉〈…〉 the same thing. The King had a great In|clination 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him, but was desirous to have the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 reside ther••: So the Gentleman dropt his Pretensions, as soon as he knew his Majesty's Inten|tion. M••. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Captain of the Guards, put also in fo•• 〈…〉〈…〉 without doubt had carried it, had it de|pended 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Prisoners to chuse a Governour for themselves. He was in effect, of a more generous Family 〈…〉〈…〉 the Gentleman who possessed it last; nor did 〈…〉〈…〉 degenerate from the Virtue of his 〈…〉〈…〉, he was Nephew to Mr. de Pontchar•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 in sufficient Circumstances to relieve th•••• 〈…〉〈…〉 ••ffect, was very charitable, ever since 〈…〉〈…〉 ••ed into the Ministry. This Mi|nister 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that it was very proper for his Ne|phew, ••ho was very sickly, and upon that account ready to lay down his Charge, not being capable to serve the Two ••ast Campaigns, and therefore he sup|ported his Pretentions. But Mr. Barbesieux, propo|sed to the King, Mr. de Cinqmars, Governour of the Islands of St. Honorat and St. Marguerite, and his Majesty seeming to have some inclination for him, desired Barbesieux to write to him, that he might have that Government instead of his own, if he inclined to change.

St. Mars was very old, and having passed his younger Days, in the Service of the Prince of Conde, he had made a prodigious Fortune; for he was cho|sen by the King, to guard Mr. Fonq••et and Mr. Lan|sun; so that by these means, he was become extream|ly rich, and besides he was far from being covetous, as Mr. Besmaux was: Upon that account, he return'd an|swer to the Marquis of Barbesieux, that he had no In|clination to change, if his Majesty pleased to conti|nue him where he was. But this Minister being very desirous to have that Government in the Hands of a Person devoted to his Family, as Mr. St. Mars ought

to be, because he was obliged to his Father for his Fortune, had no mind to be satisfied with this Answer, but wrote again to him upon the same Subject, setting forth that he neglected his own good Fortune; and besides, might have the Advantage to be near his Family, which he ought to regard as a singular Hap|piness, having been absent from it for many Years. Mr. St. Mars was born in the Neighbourhood of Paris, moreover, he was married to Madam Frenoy's Sister, which had contributed above all to his Establishment. This was therefore the way to attack him, upon his weak side. However it be, he took this Letter to be a kind of Command; and therefore made Answer, that he would obey it. As soon as Mr. Saumery knew this, he ask'd that Government of the King, which his Majesty granted to him; but in a few days after, he broke a Company that had been raised on purpose, for Mr. Cinqmars, when he guarded Mr. Fouquet; and which he had ever since along with him in the Islands of St. Honorat and St. Marguerite. The Cap|tain had a Sallary of Two Thousand Crowns, besides his Profits; so that Mr. Saumery lost all on a sudden, the half of the Gratification he thought to receive. In the mean time the Chevalier of Vendome was come to the Bastille, whither very few Lords went to see him, for fear of displeasing his Majesty, who had so resented his Conduct. Some were also unwilling to go, fearing the Prince of Conti's Displeasure, and in effect, the Prince checked Mr. d' Alegre, for having gone thither. Mr. d' Alegre answered, that he did not believe that his Highnes would have took it ill, but since he knew his mind, he would for the future avoid displeasing him. The Prince accepted of his Excuse, and the Marshals of Catinat and Tourville, having also gone thither, they thought to make the same Apology, but the Prince saying nothing to them, it passed over in silence.

The Duke of Vendome was at Anet, when his Bro|ther was commanded to Prison, but as soon as he

heard it, he took Post to be inform'd by him of the Af|fair, and after he had learn'd it, he thought the best way to obtain his Freedom was, by the Interest of the same Person, who had got him confin'd: he there|fore went immediately to wait upon the Prince of Conti to that purpose. And this being all the Satisfa|ction the Prince demanded, he went himself to the King, to ask the Grand Prior's Liberty. The King made him answer, that if he was satisfied, yet him|self was not; so that Eight or Ten Days were gone, before his Majesty would pardon that Prince. At last, his Majesty was prevailed upon, by the Solici|tations of the Prince of Conti, and the Duke of Ven|dome. The Duke himself carried the Order for his Liberty, and brought him along with him to a cer|tain Place, where Four or Five Persons were drunk, in solemnizing their Joy for the Grand Prior's Liberty.

In the mean time, the Marquis and Marchionesse of Mont••hevreuil, sent also one of their Sons into that Prison, not because he intended to fight, like the Grand Prior, but rather upon the account of a Re|port was spread abroad of his being married at Ro|chelle, whither they had sent to apprehend him. They resolved to send him to the American Islands, in or|der to make him forget his Amours. The King was preparing a Fleet to be sent into these Countries: and de Gennes Captain of a Man of War, a man very well known amongst the Sea Officers, was to com|mand it. It was thought, the Court designed to seize an Island in those Parts, the Inhabitants of which had driven the Spaniards from the greatest Part of it, insomuch that they were forced to retire to a small Corner of it. It was thither that the Father and Mo|ther intended to send their Son, in order to do Pen|nance for his too warm Amours, as if Love had been a Capital Crime. But this Fleet giving some Occa|sion of Jealousie to the English and Hollanders, his Ma|jesty was fain to desist; though it was already pret|ty well advanced. And that excused the Ch••valier

of Moutcheuruil from the Voyage, who was made Lieu|tenant of a Ship, and doubtless had quickly been made Captain, if his Prudence had been equal to his Cou|rage. But he made a very insolent Answer to Mon|sieur de Maurepas, when he ask'd him concerning some things he was accus'd of having taken out of one of the Ships, which the Marquis of Nesmond, had taken. So that his Relations did not judge it convenient to continue him any longer in the Sea Service, for ha|ving once failed in his Respect to Mr. de Maurepas, there was no Probability, that he would ever pardon him.

The Duke of Rochefoucaut, after the Marriage of the Count of Ayen, had not only reformed his Table and Reti••ue, that were both very magnificent, but under some special Pretext, retired to Liancourt, a Place belonging to one of his Sons, at Ten or Twelve Leagues distance from Paris. However having staid 6weeks there, he return'd to Court. The King suspected that he was somewhat out of humour at the Match. He had Experience enough to know, that his Favours conferred to the Pre••udice of another, gave as much Jealousie, as a Mistriss's Favour to the Prejudice of a Rival, yet he took no notice of it to him, but he lo|ved his Person, and received him as affectionately, as he had used to do. In the mean time, the Duke of Lerraine sent Monsieur de Couvonges to Versailles, to demand in his Name, Mademoi••elle in Marriage. The King expected always, both before the Peace, and since it was made, that this Princess, should have no other Husband but the King of the Romans. Nor was there any Princess in Europe, had more Preten|tions to that Happiness, than She. But the Empress had so very little Inclination for France, that tho' Madamoiselle had been the King's own Daughter, instead of being the Duke of Orleans's, she would have preferred the meanest Princess in Germany to her. But the Queen of Poland, the Duke of Lorrain's Mother, when she perceived the Design of the French, was

extreamly vexed at it, in regard of her Son's Interest. For being a Princess of extraordinary wit, she knew that the situation of that young Prince's Estate would oblige him to prefer an Alli|ance with France to any other, and therefore she thought of making Mademoiselle her Daughter in Law. However she was willing to have the Empe|rour's consent to it, who insinuated often to her that he would gladly bestow the Archduchesse his eldest Daughter upon the Duke; but the Emperour was prevail'd upon by her Reasons; and the King accep|ted of Monsieur de Couvonges's offer in the Name of his Master, having named Mr. P••ntchartrain and some other considerable Persons of his Council todraw up the Articles of Marriage; which both Parties soon agreed upon. However there arose a difficulty that retarded the Affair for some time, for the Duke of Orleans had no other male Children, than the Duke of Chartres, and that Duke had only Daugh|ters: This they had not foreseen in the beginning, but the Court thought fit to find some expedient for it, before they wou'd proceed any further. The difficulty consisted mainly in this point; that if the Duke of Chartres came to die without Male Issue, then Mademoiselle might have right to divide the succession of the Dutchess her Mother, with her Brothers Daughters. Moreover, that succession was very considerable; for besides ready Mony, Plate and Jewels, and a vast quantity of Furniture, which she had already inherited by the Death of her Bro|ther, the Elector Palatin, they had also adjudg'd to her Two Hundred Thousand Livers of Rent, until they had regulated the share she ought to have in the Succession of that Elector. But they would have Mademoiselle renounce her Succession, in case her Brother came to die without Male Issue; which Monsieur de Couvonges had no mind to do without ex|press Orders. The Duke of Lorraine's Council found that Clause too severe. However this Prince being

still very young, and of a very exemplary piety, in which he resembled his Mother very much, who died soon after the Marriage had been resolved upon; he thought that upon all Accounts it was his advan|tage (as indeed it was) to have a Princess of France for a Wife, and therefore Sacrificed all other consi|derations to that policy; and consented to renounce all he could pretend to by the Dutchesses Suc|cession, in case the Duke of Chartres dyed without Heirs, upon condition of having Four Hundred Thousand Livers pay'd to him.

In this manner the marriage of the Duke with Ma|demoiselle was agreed upon, and they delay'd only the final conclusion of it, till the end of the Camp, that was to be made in Honour of the Duke of Bur|gundy. They brought thither a great many more Troops, than they had at first thought upon, which created some mistrust in the Neighbouring Potentates: They were sensible, that the King had filed off a great many Troops to the Frontiers of Spain, nor were they ignorant of what was commonly repor|ted of his Catholick Majestie's health, and therefore were affraid that this Camp and all these Troops were designed to make a sudden irruption into his Territories, if by chance he came to die, which in effect appeared very probable by all the accounts we ••ad of him. However the King had at last evacu••ted all the places he was to give up by the Yreaty of Ryswick: And as it must needs take up a great deal of time to retake them; the Spaniards and their Allies had always this comfort, that they could dispute every Inch of Ground, if they came to be attack'd. The King named Mareshal de Bou|fflers, to command this Camp under the Duke of Burgund. And as the King was very sensible, that he was a Person very apt to ruin himself, in order to maintain the Dignity which the King confer'd upon him, as preferable to all others; his Majesty made him a present of Fifty Thousand Crowns, before he

marched, though the Camp was to continue only Th••e•• W••••ks, so that this Sum appeared pretty rea••onable for so short a time: But this Mareshal, who affected always to be expensive, and even in his first employments, would fain appear some|what like Turenne, in regarding nothing but his Glory, and having no manner of value for Mony, made such a prodigious expence in that Camp, that twice so large a Sum hardly excused him. He had Five Tables Morning and Evening, all equally served; the most rare and nice things in the King|dom were there in abundance, nor was there ever seen better or more delicate Chear. He had above a Hundred head Cooks, besides those who serv'd under them, and those who wrought in the Morn|ing, took their Rest in the Afternoon; he had an infinite Number of Carriages in the Field, to bring his Provisions: He had two Carriages for Ice on|ly, which was brought from Paris every Day, and had fresh Horses laid always half way for them, because it was impossible for the same Horses to bring it all the way, without bursting, and all his other Carriages he had in the Field, were served after the same manner; He had ••ourveyors not only at Paris, but also in all the great Towns with|in Twenty, or Five and Twenty Leagues of the Camp, every Table had two Stewar••s, and the chief Overseer of his Officers, was a Person who had served formerly the Archbishop of Paris; for he was perhaps the only Man in the Nation, who un|derstood these Affairs best, being always obeyed at first Word, so that all was done with such an extra|ordinary sumptuous splendour, that it is impossible to describe it right.

This Camp ruin'd the Officers intirely, who had suffered extreamly before, by the expences they were oblieged to be at, during the War. However, not one of them minded any thing, but how to

please the King, neither more nor less, than if he had been a Deity; there was never any thing to be seen so splendid and magnificent, as all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Offi|cers, from the highest to the lowest. All the Troops and Foot Souldiers were new Cloathed, and that cost some Regiments above Five and Twenty Thousand Crowns. But while they impoverished themselves, Paris was enrich'd by it, for 〈…〉〈…〉 Twenty Days before the Camp was form'd, there was nothing to be seen at the Merchants Doors, but large Bales, which were carried away every moment. It is altogether impossible to tell how much Provisions were carried from that 〈…〉〈…〉 to that Camp, and in all probability it had been sufficient to have starved the City, if the Merchants had not been very provident before Hand; and as Strangers are always curious, there was not hardly one of them who went not to see the Camp, oppor|tunities of that Nature falling out but very sel|dom; so that prope••ly speaking, it was only one continued Procession from Paris to Compiegne, where it was impossible to find Lodging for Mony, and all Inn-keepers were expresly forbid to receive any body, whether they meant to save their Lodgings for the People of the Court, or that they had no mind to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that Town with a number of unknown People, and by that means prevent all dangerous accidents. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Camp was to continue, being quite 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the King returned to Versailles with all the Court, having first bestowed considerable Largesses upon all the Troops. The great Magnifi|cence that appeared here, undeceived the Stran|gers of the Opinion, they had brought with them from their own Country; to wit, that France had been exhausted both of Men and Mony. They had already seen the contrary at the Duke of Burgun|dy's Marriage, by the great confluence of People they found at Paris. But what they had seen upon this occasion, having quite disabused them, they

began to look upon the King as another Croesus, whose Riches were inexhaustible.

But, if this Prince was so Rich, as there was no reason to doubt of it, his People were in extream Poverty, insomuch, that they wanted a great many things to supply their Necessities. But as soon as the King had made the Peace, he thought of contributing to their ease. He made divers Edicts in favour of the Country People, whose Lands were altogether waste for want of means to cultivate 'em. He also provided, by an Act of Council, that there shou'd be no order to sell the Lands of those who carried Arms the pre|ceeding Years. He allow'd them some time for the payment of their Debts: But all this being only Paper, 'twas impossible for any body to re|lieve their Necessity without Money. And a great many People thought, that it had been of far greater advantage to the Kingdom, if His Majesty, instead of spending his Money so lavishly upon that Camp, had delt it amongst his People, in order to buy them Cattle: All the Country was quite out of Cattel, and by lending the People some Money, whereby they might furnish them|selves with some, he had restor'd a great many to Life, who were ready to Perish upon the want they had suffer'd for a long time. Not but that the King had reliev'd his People in some manner, in taking off the Capitation. He had also sunk a great many other Taxes which were rais'd during the War. But the Subsidies were agumented by a third; besides, the Corn that had continued dear for a long time, became daily dearer, which oc|casioned new Desolation in a great many Families. And the poor Gentry was most of all to be pitied, especially those who had Children; for after the Peace they knew not how to bestow them because by the reform which was made of the Troops, they sent home all the Lieutenants as useless Mem|bers.

Nor did they continue the Pay of a reform to any, but to Captains and Lieutenants, who had serv'd at least Ten Years; insomuch, that those, who serv'd under that Time, were in the most deplorable Condition imaginable.

The Marquis of Dangeau, great Master of the Order of St. Lazarus, made, at that time, an E|stablishment, that evinc'd sufficiently how much Good he would have done, if it had been in his Power. He had establish'd Companies of Cadets, that had been very useful for poor Gentlemen, as well as for those they received amongst them: For tho' these Companies had been instituted, in all appearance, only in consideration of them, yet, of late, they have received all sorts of People, even such p••rsons as cou'd have no other Communica|tion with them, but with regard to the Liveries they had carried formerly. In effect, you might have seen Foot-Boys amongst them, and many o|thers, who were so far from being the Children of Fathers who liv'd Nobly, who only ought to be admitted there, that they were only of the ••••um of the People: But it was not with regard to that alone, that Affairs took another turn some while ago in the Kingdom. The World was asto|••••••h'd to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that the same Nobility, who were for|merly reputed the support of the State, was now 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in••o so great Contempt under the Ministry of the Ma••quis of Louvois, that very odious Li|••••••s were p••sted up against them. They were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with the greatest indignity imaginable, 〈…〉〈…〉, forsooth, that one Man who had 〈…〉〈…〉 Nobility of Anjou (tho' he was rather 〈…〉〈…〉 up his Liquor than to command them) 〈…〉〈…〉 himself to be surprized. And thus made them answerable for his Fault, insomuch, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there was nothing to be seen but Libels post|ed up in every Corner against them, as if the Ig|••••r••n•••• of one Commander was sufficent to

make as many Criminals as there were Gentle|men; and ever since they were oblig'd to mix-themselves amongst the Burgesses to go upon the Arier Ban: And, besides serving upon their own Expences, according to the ordinary Custom, they had the additional mortification to serve amongst a Scum that was unworthy to have any room in their Company. However, the Marquis of Dan|geau who had not always been very rich, and con|sequently knew what satisfaction 'twas for a Man of Quality, who was not in circumstances to edu|cate his Children according to their ranks, to have them otherwise provided for, resolv'd to establish a fond out of a certain share of the Revenues of the Grand-Mastership, for the Education of some Children of Quality. He propos'd the Thing to the King, and His Majesty left the disposal of it to his own choice; upon which, he took eight Children out of the principal Families of the King|dom, viz. of the House of Montmorency, of the House of Crequi, of the House of Ailly, of Maille, &c. He hir'd a House for them near Charonne, and gave them Masters of all sorts with Boys to serve them. The Abbot of Dangeau, his Brother, being willing to contribute to so excellent an Institution, took upon himself the charge of overseeing them. There was non more capable of the Employ, he being very learned; and it was long of himself that the King had not conferr'd a Bishoprick, and considerable Abbeys upon him; but His Majesty knowing he lov'd his pleasure too much, he thought it sufficient to secure him from Starv|ing.

About that time the Duke of Chaulnes fell Sick, and languish'd some time before he Died. He possess'd a great many considerable Employments both within and without the Kingdom; and by these means, made himself both Friends and E|nemies.

A certain Gentleman who had always appear|ed to be of the number of the last, thought it now his Duty to endeavour a reconciliation with him before he expir'd. I mean the Cardinal D'Estrees, who was at Rome while the Duke was Ambassador Extraordinary, at that Court, from the King. The Cardinal was reputed a Man of Parts, and, upon that account, was ambitious to have the pre|ference over all, which was the cause of their dif|ference. But the Respect shown to the Duke, at the Court of Rome, gave him some Ombrage: So that their misunderstanding was no secret any any where; and no consideration oblig'd the Car|dinal to observe any measures in it. However, whether he thought himself in the wrong, or that he had a mind to appear a good Christian, he came at that time to ask his Pardon. The Duke was extreamly surpriz'd when they told him the Cardinal was come to wait on him; it was no more seasonable for him to think upon any Re|sentment, tho', perhaps, he had been very capable of it at another time; therefore he desir'd he might come in, and there they were reconcil'd to one another. In a few days after the Duke Died, and left the Chancellor his Testamentary Executor. The D••ceas'd had Married the Widow of the Marquis of St. Maigrin, Lieutenant of the Light-Horse. They had been Married a long time with|out having any Issue; so that in order to make his ••••urt the better to Monsieur Colbert, when he Married his Eldest Daughter to the Duke of Che|〈◊〉〈◊〉, his Cousin German, he instituted the 〈…〉〈…〉 shou'd be begotten of that Marriage, for ••••s Her. He only reserv'd for himself the 〈…〉〈…〉 ••undred thousand Livers, of which he l••••t twenty thousand Crowns to the Chan|cell••••, and the rest to some of his Domesticks. At the time o•• his Death he was Governor of 〈◊〉〈◊〉: He had formerly been Governor of Brit|tany;

But this last government was thought very proper for the Count of Thoulouse, the King's Na|tural Son; therefore His Majesty got him to resign it in his favour; and the King gave him that of Guyenne in exchange.

The Government of Guyenne was not long va|cant after his Death, which fell out very conve|niently for the Duke of Chartres, to whom the King had promis'd it, when that Duke Married the Count of Thoulouse's Sister. The King had given the survivance of it to the Duke of Chevre|use; but that Duke had already a hundred Thou|sand Livers in Rent; and, besides, the Duke of Chaulnes his Lands produc'd no less; so, that all of a sudden two hundred Thousand Livers a Year fell into the Family. So that he was already be|come so Rich, that that Government wou'd prove rather superfluous than useful to him. But Quietist as he was, he lov'd Riches nothing the less. However, I believe, they did wrong him in Re|puting him a Sect••rian. At last he made so much Interest to have the Survivance of that Government, that it was easie to perceive Molinos's suspected Disciples are not indifferent of Matters. Yet, be how it will, the Archbishop of Cambray was no|thing like him: He suffer'd his Exile very peace|ably; and, without making the least noise, bore the Imprisonment of his good Friend Madam Guy|on. She was brought from the Convent about Easter time, in order to be sent to the Bastille, where she was left for four or five Months to ex|amine her Conscience, and then she was interrogat|ed, tho' 'tis impossible to know upon what; for that sort of things are always very secret: But, according to what one can judge, it was upon some things contain'd in a Book Publish'd by the Arch|bishop of Meaux against the Archbishop of Cam|bray, in which she was made mention of. That Book contain'd very extraodinary matters against

her. It charg'd her with a great many Revela|tions and Miracles; in a word, it endeavour'd, by rendring her ridiculous, to make the Blow fall up|on the Archbishop of Cambray, her good Friend. However, the Bishop of Meaux his principal Ad|versary, could not obtain his being declar'd a He|retick, pursuant to his Allegations. The Court of Rome, whose business 'tis to give Sentence upon that Head, was very reserv'd upon the Point; whether it was that they saw no occasion for such a Declaration, or that by drilling on the Affair, they thought to appear more mysterious. The Court espous'd the Bishop of Meaux's Interest very much; and after having remov'd the Arch|bishop of Cambray from the Duke of Burgundy's Presence, did likewise remove his Nephew, that Prince's Sub-preceptor, together with some other Persons who were suspected of adhering to his Sentiments. Two of his waiting Gentlemen were among the number of those who were disgraced, tho' the occasion of it might seem foreign enough to their Profession. In fine, to cut off all hopes of ever returning to be about his Person, others were put in their places, who, perhaps, are no better Men than they: For we must know, that those who were remov'd, were Persons of exemplary Piety; insomuch, that all the Kingdom over there were none to be found that liv'd a more Christian Life. However, their Enemies employ'd all their art to ruin them, whether it was that they really thought them tainted with that Doctrine, or that they only cover'd their private views with that Pretence: So it was; that new Faces started up all of a sudden about the Young Prince. This was not at all agreeable to the Prince, at least it seem|ed so. The Bishop of Cambray, who wrote from time to time to the Pope, according as the divers Charges were laid against him, having, at that time, sent His Holiness a Letter which was mightily cried up; the young Prince declar'd open|ly,

that he would be glad to see it. But, besides that there were but very few Copies of it to be seen in the Kingdom, grievous Punishments being in|flicted upon those who dispersed them, no-body durst offer to satisfie his Desire for fear of dis|pleasing the King. From thence the A. B. of Cam|bray's Friends took occasion to censure his Enemies. They Publish'd that it was always allowable for any Man to make his Defences, and their of|fering in this manner to hinder them, spoke their unjustice. The vulgar People, who commonly take upon them to decide every thing, tho' without form|ing any Judgment of the Affair, presently applauded these Complaints, without considering that in Religi|ous Matters, there are some things better conceal'd than known, that Heresies are sooner propagated by Reading than by Conversation; so that all Writings tho' never so little suspected, cannot be too cautiously prohibited. But notwithstanding all the prohibitions against the bringing in of these Letters, two Bags were brought, not only into the Kingdom, but even into the Gates of Paris. Mon|sieur D'Argenson smelt the Matter, and under|stood that they were brought into Town in Coa|ches: And, in effect, two Hackney-Coaches were sent to take them up at the Houses where they were Lodg'd, without knowing what they were. But before they enter'd the Town, care was taken to examin them; and as soon as Monsieur D'Ar|genson found what they were, he Burnt them one after another in his Closet. But, after all, such was the Curiosity of some, That, tho' every one detested Quietism, as it was represented by the Bishop of Cambray's Enemies; yet, all that cou'd escape that Marshal's View, were sold at four Louis d'Ors the Piece.

The Duke D'Estrees, Governor of the Isle of France, follow'd Monsieur D'Chaulnes very speedi|ly, tho' there was a great deal of difference be|tween their Ages; the one being but fifty Years

Old, and the other Seventy. The D. of D' Estrees Died after being cut of the Stone; and the fault was not so much laid upon the Chirurgeon, as upon an Accident that he cou'd not fore-see. He had de|lay'd the performing of the Operation till the great heat was over: But the heat returning un|expectedly with much Thunder, his Wound, which had formerly been in a good Condition, gave over Suppurating, and so he tip'd off in a minute. He left the Affairs of his Family in great Disorder. His Son had Married, for his first Wife, the Daughter of Monsieur de Lionne, Secretary of State, by whom he had a Son, and some Daugh|ters; and for his second, a Daughter of the Mar|quis de Vaubrun, Lieutenant of the King's Armies. This last did not know where to recover her Dow|ry, and, by consequence, had been at a loss where to secure her Joynture, if the Bishop of Laon her Husband's Brother, had not engag'd in the Con|tract of Marriage, for two hundred thousand Li|vers to the Children that he shou'd have by her. The King, to whom the Duke had recommended his Family before he was cut, gave his Govern|ment to his Eldest Son; the other depended sole|ly upon his Succession to his Mother, who cou'd not but be very Rich, tho she had lost something by her Husband: For her Mother was still alive as well as her Mother's Father, who was worth two Millions of Money. Now, he having only two Heiresses, namely, the Marchioness of Ma••|levrier and her self; the half of it was one day to be he••s. It is true, the Dutchess had a Brother, who pursuant to the preference of Males, was intitled to the better half of the Succession; but ••e being set apart for the Church, by reason of his D••cripitness and being already possess'd of Benefices, s•••• reckon'd that he ought never to Marry. And i•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉, there was no great appear|ance or it, tho' we every day meet with things more extraordinary than that. But the Thing that

troubled her most was, That he lov'd Mony; so that tho he did not Marry, it was to be fear'd he might not grant her his share of his Grandfather's Estate. He had but lately given a signal instance of his Love for Money, by maintaining a Law-Suit for a small Living, that he had procur'd from him, whose natural right it was to grant it. The Dean of Nants possess'd it formerly; and he having resign'd it to one of his Friends, Abbot Vaubrun pretended, that his Resignation cou'd not be vali'd; for that he had not liv'd upon it a competent space of time, for being admitted in the Court of Rome. However, the contrary seem'd to appear, by the Will of the Deceased; but he af|firm'd that to be a Fraud, and said, that the Cura••e was Cheated. In the mean time he had a Permission to raise monitory Letters, in order to find a Discovery by those that had assisted to keep the Body a long time after his Death, that they might favour his Party. However, fearing lest those who were concern'd might be pretty nimble, he obtain'd a Decree in Justice, that the Body should be uninterr'd, pretending, that by viewing it, it were easie to discover the Cheat. The Judges granted him his Demand, and so the poor Body was pull'd out of the Coffin half Rotten: In fine, tho' it cast a very nauseous Smell, so that it was impossible to approach it by a hundred paces, yet he caus'd it to be view'd by the Physicians and Chirurgeons, in order to have their Opinion of it. He put 'em upon an odd sort of Business; but think|ing they were very well accustom'd to these sort of Perfumes, he did not regard it so much. The Physicians and Chirurgeons turn'd over and over the Dead Body, and having given a doubtful ac|count of it, it was inter'd again in a more stinking Condition than it had been when it was taken up. The Abbot Vaubrun, seeing, that by their Judg|ment he was like to be Cast, and condemned to pay the Charges, obtain'd another Judgment that

the same Body might be view'd by other more skilful Persons: And thus it was taken up a se|cond time; and these skilful Gentlemen having been more favourable to him than the former, he, in the end, gain'd the Suit.

In the mean time the Abbot of Rochefoucaut coming to die, the Abbot Verthuel his Brother, ask'd two good Abbies which he had possessed; but His Majesty refus'd him. However, having al|ways a great esteem for the Duke of Rochefoucaut, Brother to the two Abbots, though he had ab|sented from coming to Court for six Weeks af|ter the Count of Ayen's Marriage, he conde|scended to give him a Reason for that refusal; because, as His Majesty alledg'd, He had not found the Abbot Vertheuel's Conduct regular enough to oblige him to bestow upon him Goods of the Church, which, perhaps, he might employ to an other use than they were design'd for. His Ma|jesty added, that to shew that he was very wil|ling to oblige him, when it did not interfere with his Conscience, he restor'd the Abbies possessed by the Deceased, upon the Old Abbot de la Rochefou|caut, his Uncle. The Old Abbot dream'd nothing of such a Wind-fall. He had retir'd into his own Country a long while before, without thinking of ever returning to Court: But Fortune pursuing him as far as his Retreat, his only care then was to return Thanks to His Majesty, and to send to Rome for his Bulls.

The Princess of Epinois, and the Dutchess of Richelieu died soon after, the one three days af|ter the other. The former Died in less than an Hours Sickness, the latter had been long troubled with a tedious Distemper. The Princess d'Epinois was walking out of the Marquis of Barbesieux his House, when she was seiz'd of a sudden with a vi|olent Pain: Presently she stop'd and took hold of a Window-shutter to keep her from falling: But in that minute she lost her Senses, and being car|ried

Home Died in the space of a Quarter of an Hour. She was one of the greatest players at Lansquenette, at Marli, and many imputed this Accident to her considerable losses, which had|made so great an alteration in her Blood, that it had been a Miracle if some troublesome thing or other had not come upon her. Mr. Pelletier, In|tendant of the Finances, to whom, 'tis said, she was Married in the way of Conscience, was mightily afflicted at her Death. However, that did not keep him from going to Versailles to Coun|cil. The first time he appear'd every body con|dol'd his Loss, because all the World knew how far he was concern'd; nay, the King himself knew it, and one time when the Princess had lost a great Summ at Marli, and pay'd it next day, to the great surprizal of a great many who thought she was not in a Condition to raise it so soon; His Majesty did not stand to ask Mr. Pelletier if 'twas not he that had lent it her: Upon that Mr. Pelle|tier own'd that she had had recourse to him to save her Honour. I know not whether His Majesty did not carry his Curiosity further, and ask'd him if he was not Married to her; That being above my Knowledge, I shall know nothing of it for fear of incurring the imputation of a Lye. That Lady had two Sons and two Daughters by her Husband. The Daughters were still Unmarried. 'Twas the Eldest of 'em that the Princess of Conty, the King's Daughter would have married to the Marquis de Valliere. As for the Sons, the Younger Died a Natural Death, and the Elder had mar|ried a Daughter of the Prince de la Isle Bonne, of the House of Lorain.

The Dutchess of Richelieu left behind her a Son, and some Daughters. The Birth of that Son had extinguish'd all the hopes of the Marquis of Rich|lieu, the Duke's Nephew, who was intitled to the Succession, in case of no Male Issue. He being a little upon the fret, and nothing being more capa|ble

to disturb one's Conduct than Poverty, his Wife and he did not agree very well; notwith|standing he had run away with her, and she de|serv'd a more honourable Usage. In fine, whe|ther this misunderstanding increas'd every day, or that his Poverty oblig'd him to avoid the Charges that attend People of their Quality, they parted in the beginning of the Year 1698; and she went to England to her Mother; but it being impossible that so pretty a Creature as she, shou'd not have many Admirers; her Husband was quick|ly sensible, that in striving to be rid of one evil, he had brought another upon himself, that was equal|ly unsupportable. He was seiz'd with a deep jea|lousie, and being, upon that score, restless both Night and Day, he set all Springs at Work to o|blige his Lady to return out of that Country. She thinking she could not be better than with her Mother, would not listen to any Proposal he could make. A Wife seldom gives ear to the Voice of a Hus|band at a distance, especially a Husband that gives her no relief in time of need: So he was oblig'd to fall upon other measures. In the mean time, the Duke of Orleans's Daughter was Married to the Duke of Lorain by way of Proxy. The King sent the Young Princess some Presents, upon which she left the Court immediately, and after staying but 24 hours as Paris, set out immediately to Bar, pursuant to the Duke the Bridegroom's or|ders, who was to meet her there. The Castle of Bar was fitted up for her Reception. When the Duke went to his Estate, he found all his Houses out of order; for the King's Intendants, in that Country, had minded themselves more than any thing else, and had scarce taken care to make the necessary Reparations. The Duke did not go at first to Nancy, because the King's Troops were there demolishing the Fortifications: So he stop'd four or five Leagues on the other side of it; whither he, who Commanded the King's Troops, sent him

a Captain, with some Soldiers for his Guard: But that Prince refus'd 'em, thinking it more con|venient to imploy the Militia of his Country. Ac|cordingly the Inhabitants of Nancy, and the other Towns, provided some Companies of Horse and Foot, till such time as his regular Troops should be in readiness, for which he had given out Com|missions. In fine, the Duke came to his capital City, when the King's Troops march'd out. As soon as the Duke heard the News, that the young Princess was upon her Journey to Lorrain, he came to Bar, and, in the mean time, the Inhabitants of Nancy, made preparations for her Entry, in pro|portion to their Ability. For, besides the oppres|sion they had lain under for the fifty or sixty Years, that their Country was cover'd with forreign Troops, they began to feel the terrible effects of a Famine, which was general, not only over that Country, but all the adjacent States; so that their Neighbours were almost in the same Condition. In some places, indeed, the Season seem'd to pro|mise Plenty; but when they came to thresh the Corn, it did not yield the half of what it us'd to do. Nay, France it self, which us'd to furnish others with Corn, was first sensible of the want of it; and such Disorders happen'd upon the marching of the Troops, that the Judges of the Police were oblig'd to defend the Bakers with the strong hand; for the Poor People were like to fall upon 'em and Rob 'em; so great was their Misery. In the Streets of Paris there was nothing to be seen but Troops of Beggars, which were yet more numerous in the Country. Mr. d' Argenson was so watchful in the City, that they durst not harass the People there, as they did else-where: Tho', after all, some of these hungry wretches pay'd a visit to the Bakers that were coming from Gonnesse, and one of 'em gave a Baker a Wound with his Knife, because he would not sell his Bread at what price he pleas'd.

As every body thinks of nothing but getting, so this Dearth put a great many Usurers upon raising the price of Bread yet higher. It being reported that the Farmers General were the People that laid up Magazines of Corn, in order to make up the Loss they had sustain'd upon the Taxes for that the Wine was quite lost that Year; the first Presi|dent gave 'em to know, that if it was true, they not only run the risque of being pillag'd, but ruin'd to boot; for he was a Man that would not pardon such things; and the Interest of the State and Count|ry was sufficient to draw such Threats from him in good earnest. Tho' this was a sufficient cause of Fear to those who were conscious of their own Guilt; yet some were so covetous, that they would venture all rather than miss such an opportunity of getting Money. There was one Miotte that had Farm'd the Estate of Meudon, from the D. of Or|leans; and, upon that score, thought himself proof against any thing that might happen: This Man bought up Corn every where, and made vast Maga|zines in the Castle of Montereau Fautyonne. Mr. D'Argenson and the chief President being inform'd of it, the former took him up, and the latter pas|sed a Decree against him, insomuch, that if he had not found Friends to disswade the President from seizing upon his Person, he had gone near to have been Hang'd: But the Court it self inspected the matter, and it being try'd before the Council, he was clear'd for a Fine of 1000 Livers, and the con|fiscation of some part of the Corn. Some other Usurers had much the same usage; for the Judges could not deal more severely with them, without making it known that Miotte's Friends were the occasion of the Favour shewn him. However, Mr. d'Argenson concerted measures for preventing the like for the future; and sent Commissaries with Persons that he could confide in, all over the Coun|try, for there was no doing of it without ranging the Country.

The misery of the People fill'd both Paris and the Country with Robbers; and the Inhabitants were scarce safe in their Houses. They durst not stir abroad, nor travel either early or late, because the poor Wretches were so desperate as to be ca|pable of any thing; but Mr. d'Argenson took the Alarm upon this, as well as all other disorders; while Mr. de la Reinie, his Predecessor, minded nothing but the peaceable enjoyment of the Fruit of his Labours. He had but a Son and a Daughter with a vast Estate; for being all a long very cunning he had laid up an infinity of money. He was somewhat dissatisfied with his Son, who had been at Rome a long while, and minded nothing but the Pictures and other Curiosities of the City, without regarding his Father's Example, who had rais'd himself to the highest Post of the Law, tho' he begun with the Lowest. So that Magistrate careing only for his Daughter, resolv'd to marry her as honour|able as he could. There was enough that offer'd to be Suitors; but one Machaut, a Master of Requests, carried his Suit so far, that, after some Dispute, Articles were mutually sign'd. After that, the Lover came to pay his Respects to his Mistress, whom he had never seen. But she being not Handsome, he lik'd her so ill, that he told her Father, That the only way to make him miser|able, was to oblige him to finish what he had begun. Her Father was a little nettled at the Compliment; however he indeavour|ed to get off as honourably as he could. He did not ask him the cause of the Breach; but suspecting what it was, he agreed to what he desir'd, because he would not give his Daughter to a Man that did not Love her.

The D. of Loraine having stay'd some days at Bar with his Spouse, carry'd her to Nancy, where she met with some Magni|ficence, notwithstanding the publick Calamity; but being bred up at the proudest Court in the World, she minded that far less than the Love of that People for their Sovereign. They shew|ed it in all their Actions; and what animated 'em very much was, the exemplary Piety of that Young Prince, who, upon that score, might be call'd the Prodigy of the Age. He would see neither Play nor Opera, nor allow of 'em about his Court: He look'd upon those Diversions, not only as unworthy of a Christian, but contrary to the Duty of so Holy a Profession. He was the Son of a Father and Mother, that, in their time, were patterns of Vertue; and 'twas plain that he indeavour'd to make the best use of the Lessons they had given him. The Bi|shop of Osnabrug, the Duke's Brother, arriv'd, at that time, at the Court of Lorrain; upon his return from his Bishoprick which he had obtain'd about five or six months before, by the recom|mend••t on of the Emperour his Uncle. He is a handsome Prince, and one that knows his Perfections very well. A Brother of the Elector of Hannover's was formerly possess'd of that Bishoprick, which, pursuant to the Treaty of Munster, ought to be fill'd by a Protestant and a Roman Catholick, by turns.

As soon as the D. of Lorrain had taken Possession of his Coun|tries, he gave advice of it to all the Princes of Europe, pur••uant to the usual Custom. He likewise notified his Marriage in the same manner. And in the mean time indeavour'd by his good Conduct to repair the Disorders that the War had oc|casion'd in so long a space of time.

In the mean time the P. of Con••y gain'•• ••••s Suit before the High Court of Parliament as well as before the Court of Requests. This solac'd him entirely upon the loss of the Crown••: ••oland; tho' there was a great deal of difference between the one and the other. The New K. of Poland did not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Crown in Tranquillity. Some of his Subjects charging him with a great many things, were so bold as to send a fresh Message to Versail|les, praying the King to assist 'em with Men and Money for the recovery of their Liberty, which, as they alledg'd, was over|run by his Usurpation. They accus'd him of Sacrificing the Na|tion to his private Interests; But His Majesty would not med|dle in the matter.

The Emperor, as well as the D. of Lo••rain, had form'd a de|sign to procure repose to his People, as soon as possibly he could. This he could not effect without making Peace with the Turks, which at last he consented to, tho' they were sensible they were upon the brink of Ruin. He accepted the Mediation of the K. of England, and the States General; and the Turks having done the same, an Interview was agreed upon at Carlowitz, in or|der to adjust the Difference between the two Emperors. In the mean time, he gave notice of all to his Allies, to the end that they having joyntly carried on so successful a War, might mutu|ally concur in procuring a Peace equally advantageous to the one as well as to the other.

At that time the K. of England went to Germany, in order to come nearer the place where the Conferences were held. He stop|ed at the Court of Hannover, which occasion'd as much uneasi|ness to France, as France occasion'd to the Allies by the Camp they had form'd. In the mean time Ambassadors repair'd from all quarter to Carlowitz. His Britannick Majesty desir'd this Peace very passionately, in order to give some jealousie to France, and to see the Emperor's growing Power at a stand: For he wish'd rather that the Emperor should stand in need of his help, than he of the Emperor's. But the Year was over before that great Work was concluded; as well as before the K. of the Romans his Marriage with the Princess of Hannover was compleated. 'Tis true, that Marriage was concluded upon above two months before; but the young Princess being th••n in Italy along with her Mother, who was gone to see the Dutchess of Modena, her Eldest Daughter, it was put off till the beginning of the Year 1699. To conclude, 'tis not doubted, but these two things will quickly be adjusted; which Time will ••••ew to all who have the happiness to live so ••••ng.

FINIS.