GALLANTRY UNMASK'D; OR, WOMEN in their Proper Colours.

THOSE Women who were naturally inclin'd to Gallantry, were the more encourag'd to it, during the reign of the Great Alexander, by that splendour they saw those Ladies arrive at who had the good fortune to please him: so that there were none but endea­vour'd to charm him; and it being [Page 2] impossible for him to satisfie all, how bountiful soever Nature had been, ma­ny escap'd him, not so much for want of desire, as ability.

Those who were not of the num­ber of the Elect, did not fall under the despair, especially those who were so generous to expect principally the pleasures of enjoyment, and had hopes of being acceptable elsewhere. Consi­dering, their Ambition excepted, which they could not satisfie, they might per­haps find a better account in another place, and to examin the matter critical­ly, a King might perhaps deserve less E­steem for that, than a Man of a lower Quality: that besides they might have the pleasure to change when the Party was no longer agreeable, which good breeding would not have allow'd, had it been their destinies to be belov'd by that Great Monarch.

Amongst these, none were sooner comforted than the Mareschalless de la Ferte, and Madam de Lionne: they had both Age enough to renounce the Vanities of the World; but as there are some whom Sin never abandons, since they had rais'd their thoughts so high, being resolv'd to convince [Page 3] the World they were still to be va­lu'd, they appear'd in all the gayety of Youth.

De Fiesque had long been Madam de Lionne's belov'd Gallant, and she re­turn'd the pleasures he gave her by as­sisting his wants; so that by her means he made a figure like the rest of the World. He was not angry at her de­sire to please the King, neither would it have troubled him more had she suc­ceeded in it: but finding, that not considering he had serv'd her from her youth, she was purveying for her self else where, he frankly bid her think well of what she was going to do; that it was enough to be contented with the leavings of a fulsome Husband, with­out suffering the refuse of others; that if he had afforded his assistance to her amour with the King, 'twas upon pro­mise that he should only partake the pleasures of the Body, without any interest in her affection; but her dai­ly proceedings sufficiently convinc'd him she was in search of some new Ra­goust; that he was not at all pleas'd at it, and in a word, if she did not reform her Conduct, she might expect from him all the resentment that an [Page 4] injur'd Lover is capable of shewing on the like occasion.

The Lady was not at all pleas'd with these reproaches, and concluding he would nevertheless be happy enough in rendring her his service, being so well paid for his pains. You are very pleasant, said she, to talk thus, this is all a Husband can pretend to: But she very well perceiv'd the reason of this boldness; and it was the favours she had done him, made him presume she had not the power to leave him: But she would soon convince him of the contrary, and she would imme­diately go about it. De Fiesque smil'd at these threats, and the acquaintance he had so long with her, perswading him he lov'd her now no more than a Husband does his Wife, he imagin'd, his Interest excepted, it would not be very difficult to forget the loss. But he found a surprising return of tender­ness, for he was no sooner out of her Lodgings, but he wish'd himself there again; and had not his pride retain'd him, he would have flown that minute to have ask'd her pardon; yet he could not forbear writing to her to this effect.

Whether Madam de Lionne took any new offence at the Letter, or had too good an appetite (as is more likely) to be contented with the Count, who who had the reputation of being more Gentile than Vigorous, she threw the Letter into the fire, and told the Mes­senger, she had no answer to return to it. This encreas'd the passion of the Lover, who with all haste imagina­ble flew to her Appartment, telling her, if she would not pardon him, he came [Page 6] to die at her feet, but hop'd his of­fence was not beyond the reach of mer­cy, that his Notary's Wife, call'd le Vasseur, had forgiv'n her Husband, tho' he had caus'd her to be proclaim'd a publick Whore by arrest of Parlia­ment, and had long consin'd her in the Magdelonnettes or Bridewel; that his Crime was not so notorious as the Husband's, who whatever he perceiv'd, was oblig'd by the Articles and Con­tract of Marriage to be silent; that there was no such Law for the Lovers, but on the contrary, Complaints were always permitted, as the kind effects of Passion, and to deny him, was an infringement on his undoubted Right.

Tho' the only difference between Madam de Lionne and Mademoiselle le Vasseur was, that one was a Notary's, and the other the Wife to a Minister of State; that one was declar'd so by an Arrest of Parliament, and the other by the Voice of the People, which is nevertheless the Voice of God; the Comparison did not please her, and she told Fiesque, he was very impudent in making the parallel. De Fiesque knew enough to answer about her Vir­tue, but coming to her with a design [Page 7] of re-accommodation, to which perhaps his interst had inclin'd him, he continu'd in the same tune he began, tho' to little purpose; for Madam de Lionne, who would not be insulted over, and being bankrupt in Virtue, took not such care of the appearances of it, told him, with a design to enrage him the more, that she would make a Lover to his face; and that the more he should be concern'd at it, the more pleasure it would afford her. De Fiesque was so incens'd at this harsh reply, that tak­ing a Lute that was in her Chamber, and with which he us'd sometimes to divert her, he broke it in a thousand pieces. He told her, that since she took such pains to torment his Heart, he would revenge himself upon that In­strument which had heretofore given her such pleasure; and that as she might perhaps make choice of one that could touch it as well as himself, he should be glad to prevent that from serving another which had been of use to him: But he had scarcely spoke, when she made answer, whom she chose should have no occasion to animate himself with Preludes; that she had often indeed counterfeited a delight [Page 8] to hear him play, knowing nothing could otherwise be expected from him; but she was of the same opinion as him­self, that he had done well in breaking the Lute, since it only serv'd to put her in mind of his weakness, and when that object was away there was nothing to recal so disagreeable an Idea, and he had by it done no more than pre­vented her design.

As one Reproach draws on another, this Conversation, how disagreeable soever, would not have ended so soon, had not the Duke de Saux made a visit. He soon perceiv'd the condition of the poor Lute, and irnagin'd a quarrel be­tween 'em, which he was quickly cer­tain of when he had look'd upon the two Lovers. He took a great freedom in his Speech, and delighted in Rail­lery. Madam, said he, I find there will sometimes be fallings out, and one of you has reveng'd himself upon that innocent Lute; if it was you, Madam, perhaps you had reason for it, and I cannot blame you; but if it was my Friend, he was very much in the wrong, for he has not liv'd to this Age with­out knowing that Women are some­times to be amus'd with so foolish a [Page 9] toy, and it gives us time to prepare to render 'em better service.

This Discourse had been sufficient to have offended, not only a nice Lady, but one that would have appear'd so; yet Madam de Lionne, who lik'd the Duke de Saux, thought only of per­swading him that she was breaking off for ever with Fiesque, that if his heart had thought any thing in favour of her, no time might be lost; and not reslecting that she was going to dishonour her self, and that on the o­ther side, a Lover had rather doubt of his Mistress's intriegue than be con­vinc'd of it, especially by her self. What would you have, Sir, says she, Engagements cannot last for ever, and I cannot deny but I have had some consideration for the Count de Fiesque, yet it is hard enough that we are bound for ever to our Husbands, without running the same sate with our Gal­lants; this would make us more un­happy than we are: we chuse a Lover to serve us whilst he is agrecable, and 'twould be horrid were we oblig'd to keep him when he displeases us. Add, Madam, if you please, says the Duke, when he can render you no further ser­vice; [Page 10] 'tis for this you chuse 'em, and what tyranny would it be to give the World occasion to talk, and not reap the profit of it, for which alone you Women can consent to sacrifice your Reputations? For my part, continued he, I should approve that, according to the custom amongst the Turks, Se­raglios were erected, not truly to en­close, as they do, the invalid Women, since they will permit me, I hope, to believe with all respect to 'em, that at any age they will still have more ap­petite than my self, whom neverthe­less I have no little opinion of: but for poor, decayed Lovers, who are so worn out in their Mistress's embraces, that they are incapable of rendring 'em any further service, if this should happen, and I had any part of the Government, I do assure you, I would first of all give my Vote for an Appart­ment there for our Friend: What say you, Madam, would not this do well? And think you not that there are persons in as good health put every day into the Hospital of the Invalids? How strangely you talk? cry'd Madam de Lionne, and if we did not know that you have no ill meaning in what [Page 11] you say, who would not blush at your discourse. With this she put her Fan before her face, to make him believe she was yet capable of some confusion; but the Duke, who knew how long she had parted with her Modesty, smil'd to himself at her deportment, not caring to drive the Intriegue far­ther.

The Count had heard all this with­out joyning in the Conversation, and he found that a lasting Intriegue was not unlike a Marriage, the tenderness whereof is scarcely to be perceiv'd, till the bonds are breaking; he rav'd, he sigh'd, and the presence of the Duke was not able to make him restrain himself; they were good friends, and Confidents to each other a thousand times; and two days were not pass'd, since the Duke desired him to do him what service he could with the Mar­chioness de Coeuvres, Madam de Lionne's Daughter: For this reason Fiesque re­solv'd to be gone, hoping the Duke would be more serious in his absence; but he, who seldom had this Character with the Women, careless of his Friend's Interest, resolv'd to see how far Madam de Lionne's folly would [Page 12] carry her. No sooner then was the Count gone, but she said a thousand things to discover her passion, not in formal terms, but in words intelligi­ble enough to one of a wit inferiour to the Duke's. And if the Duke had not fear'd that the complying with her might have been an obstacle to his amour with the Marchioness de Coeuvres, neither his cruelty nor scrupulousness would have suffer'd her to langnish any longer; but doubting lest the young Marchioness, whose Soul was not so hardned as her Mothers, might make a difficulty to hear him, pretended to understand nothing; and chose rather to pass for a dull Brute, than occasion a difference with his Mistress.

He found, when he went away, the Count de Fiesque waiting for him at the corner of a Street, who ask'd him if he had done any thing for him? No, my poor Count, answered he, for I did not take you to be Fool enough to be so concern'd for an old Whore; but since I know your weakness, let me tell you in two words, that if you do not serve me with the Marchio­ness de Coeuvres, I will do you such dis-service with her Mother, that [Page 13] there will be no returning for you Do you hear, amongst our selves, I believe that the brawny Calves of my Legs, and my broad Shoulders begin to please her more than your easie Air, and Barbary shape: and if she once have the tryal of it, I leave you to judge what will become of you. The Count desir'd him to be serious: The Duke told him, he might take it as he pleas'd, but he told him nothing but the truth; and the other being oblig'd to believe him, after he had sworn se­veral times to it, he desir'd him not to hunt in his purlues, confessing inge­nuously, that he lov'd her for several reasons, that is, for giving him both Money and Pleasure. This confession of the Count's to any other, would have rather excited than abated their desires; all the Youth at the Court making it their business to be too hard for the Ladies; but the Duke, who was the most generous of all Men, bid him rest satisfi'd upon that point, and that both Madam de Lionne and her Money should be safe for him; and that (excepting the pleasure of Cuck­olding a Minister of State) what re­compence soever was given for it, [Page 14] would be less than he deserv'd; that nevertheless he should not remain so assur'd upon this promise as to neglect the service he expected from him, and that sometimes that was done out of Revenge which was not performed for Love; and that if he did not assist him with the Marchioness, he would place himself so well with the Mother, that it should be very difficult for him, as he said before, to become her Patroon again.

Altho' this was spoke in Raillery, it nevertheless made a violent impres­sion the Count de Fiesque's thoughts; but as it was imposlible for him to live without knowing whether his Mistress was unfaithful, he writ her these words as from the Duke; and for that pur­pose was oblig'd to borrow another hand, his own being so well known to Madam de Lionne.

It is hard to say whether Madam de Lionne had more Grief or Joy at the receipt of this Letter; for, as she was glad at the hopes that were given her, so on the other part, she was griev'd at the accident that ob­lig'd her to wait; so that divided between both extreams, she remain'd some time in doubt whether she should return an answer; but the Messenger pressing her to come to a determi­nation, her Temper carried it, and thinking that she had in earnest an affair with the Duke de Saux, she call'd for Ink and Paper, and writ these words,

Oh, the foolish, silly, lewd Strum­pet, cry'd the Count de Fiesque, when he had read the Letter, and must not I have an heart as vile as hers, if I can love her after this: and imagin­ing these to be his true thoughts, he put the Letter in his pocket, and went to her with a compos'd Coun­tenance, and forc'd Air. As I have been your Friend a long time, Madam, said he, it is impossible for me to re­nounce your Interest for any small of­fence; and as a confirmation of what I say, I recommend to you one that belongs to me, who is incomparable for some things; I mean my Chirur­geon: you ought not to refuse him, for no doubt but you will soon have occasion for him, if you follow the courses you take. Madam de Lionne was in confusion at this discourse; she was in fear of some discovery; but the Count soon confirm'd her; for his face grown red with anger, and not keeping the calmness of temper he intended, Oh, ye infamous Crea­ture, continued he, are these the proofs you give me of your friendship, snew­ing her the Letter, what Woman is there, tho' never such a Prostitute, [Page 18] who would write in these terms: Mr. de Lionne shall know it, 'tis a revenge I owe my self; he shall do me reason, since I have not the power to do it my self, and if he has the baseness to forgive it, I'le take the pleasure to tell it every one, and let all Paris know what you are.

He made other reproaches which were all endured by this Woman, with ex­traordinary patience; for finding her self in his power, she durst not incense him more. She had recourse to tears, but he appear'd unalter'd, departing in great fury. Her Tears which were on­ly artificial, were soon dryed up when he was gone, so she sent immediately for the Duke de Saux, desiring him to draw her out of this affair; and since it had happen'd to her by using his name, he was ingag'd in it further than he imagin'd; and to oblige him not to refuse her his assistance, she pro­mis'd him he should be sure of hers towards her Daughter, and kept her word like a Woman of honour, for when the Duke had acquainted her how the Intrigue stood, she fully pre­vail'd upon her inclinations, which were already very much in favour of the Duke.

But yet she articled with him, that this Intrigue should not be at all to the prejudice of her Rights, and to confirm the Treaty, she demanded some earnest of his promises. The Duke had pass'd the night with Louison d'Ar­quien, a famous Curtesan, and was not in a condition to afford her any; yet thinking that a man of his age could not long be out of stock, he asked her if she would have money in hand, or defer the payment to the following night. Madam de Lionne, who knew Man to be mortal, thought ready mo­ney best, but nevertheless she told him, if he was not provided with the whole Sum, she would give him credit for the remainder for the time he should require.

The Duke quickly understood the meaning of this, and placed the Cushi­ons for a Table whereon to Count the money; but when he pull'd forth his purse, it was quite empty, to the great astonishment of the one, and no less Confusion of the other. She flew from his arms in an anger more easie to be imagin'd, than discrib'd, and as he would have held her, giving her lan­guishing kisses: What would you have, [Page 20] Sir, said she, would you give me great­er tokens of your impotency! I would dye, Madam, answered the Duke, or re­pair my honour, and one of 'em must happen to me this moment. Is it of a violent death Sir, said she, that you pre­tend to dye? rallying him, if so, you must make use of a rope, for who can believe your Sword proper for that purpose, and when you could not find one drop of blood, having such occasi­on for it, it is more reasonable to ima­gin the Source will be less in an Action so contrary to nature. When she had said this, she plac'd her self upon ano­ther Chair, and to hide her anger, took up a Skreen that lay by chance near her; fortune would have it, that upon it was painted the story of the Marquess de Langes, who was divorc'd for his im­potency. The Tryal by the Parliament was describ'd likewise, and Madam de Lionne casting her Eyes upon it, here, says she, you are drawn to the Life, it is impossible to do it better; and if you remember what you told us of your abilities the other day, you will find, that except the demanding a Tryal, you have both performed alike. You have only now to marry, 'tis the way [Page 21] to spread your Reputation. And I do not doubt but to have you as well as that able man, for an Ornament to my Chimney. You have reason to in­sult over me, Madam, answered the Duke, and my offence is of a nature never to be pardon'd; for my part I know not my self, and after I have considered my misfortune, I can only attribute it to one thing. You have heard, con­tinued he, of the Perfume call'd Pulvillio, a Curse upon A famous at­tender of a Bath, now first Valet de Chambre to the King. Vienne for helping me to this Invention, which to give me a good scent, has made me insensible. But Madam, the Charm will only last till I have bath'd, give me sufficient time for that I conjure you, and I oblige my self to pay you Interest for my present defailure. Nevertheless remember, Madam, that I am not the only Man Vienne has ingag'd in these unfortunate accidents, the same thing happen'd to the Count de St. Poll the other day, when he wanted his Compliment to a fine young Lady; I made a jest of it then, but since, to my great regret, I have made tryal of it my self, it would be Heresie not to believe it. These [Page 22] words afforded some consolation to Madam de Lionne, she had heard of the Count de St. Poll's Adventure, so that asking the particulars from the Duke, he gave her what information he could, and to make a greater impression of the truth of it, he repeated a Song made upon that occasion to an air in Psyche.

She suffered him to sing one verse without interruption, because she had a mind to know the whole Effect of this damn'd powder, which she thought de­serv'd much more to be condemn'd to the fire, than the works of Petit sentenced to the Flames by Judgment of Parliament. But as he was going to pursue with the other Verse, hold Duke, cry'd she, tho' you have one qua­lity of a Musitian, you want the o­thers, and are in the number of those that one would give one Pistol to sing, and ten to leave off. The Duke told her he had nothing to say against her Reproaches, and she us'd him too fa­vourably, considering his fault. But whilst he thus humbled himself, he found a willingness in a certain part to frame a better Excuse, and think­ing to Establish his Reputation with­out [Page 23] a Bath, he made some approach­es, which gave him hopes of a happy success. Madam de Lionne was much surprised, and greatly overjoy'd at the same time at this sudden alteration: but yet mistrusting her good Fortune, she yielded her hand to be better as­sur'd, and it being difficult to deceive her on that score, she soon perceiv'd 'twas to little purpose to flatter her self with better fortune. The Duke was of the same opinion, when he per­ceiv'd that weeping which he expect­ed in a more manly figure, and de­parting in a vexation not to be equall'd, he could scarcely forbear to give sad tokens of his despair. Madam de Lionne would not let him begon without a new raillery; do not think, says she, that this accident shall be in the least pre­judicial to the friendship I have for you, you shall perceive it by the ma­nagement of my Daughter, for instead of acquainting her of your inclinations for her, I will contrive that you shall never see her; this will be the means to preserve your Reputation, and the good Opinion she has of you: I be­lieve, continued she, that this is the best service I can render you, in the condi­tion [Page 24] you are in, and you will owe me no little Obligation for it.

The Duke thought it not convenient to give her any answer, but going in all haste to Vienne's; you and your cursed Pulvillio have ruined my Repu­tation, cry'd he, and I'le burn your House immediately, if you promise me not to throw away what you have left of it. Vienne found him very angry, but knew not the meaning of it, un­til the Duke had told him his misfor­tune, concealing the name of the per­son. Upon my Faith, says Vienne, this is a pleasant story of you, and your Pulvillio; remain here with me but two or three days from the Company of Loüison d'Arquien, the Count de Tallard, or any of that kind, and you will find if it be my Pulvillio that hinders you from doing your Duty. This was a Banter, cunningly enough invented by the Count de St. Poll to excuse himself to La Mignard, whom he had long courted to a meeting but when he had promised the poor Girl Mountains and Miracles, could never arrive to the third part of my prowess, who am above twice his age. I cannot blame him for making the best Excuse he could for [Page 25] himself, but I should have been oblig'd to him, not to have done it at my ex­pence. I have ten thousand Crowns worth of Pulvillio by me, and do you but as well as he, spread your mad fan­cies about the Town, and I shall be sent to Goal.

Vienne took the freedom of telling all the Gentlemen of their little faults, so that the Count was not angry to hear of his, but on the contrary, told him, he would try who had most rea­son, and to that intent, would not leave his House for four or five days, and he should see he would refrain from the Company of the Count de Tallard, and Loüison, if he would but take care to fetch a piece of Champain Wine, that his Servants had discover'd to be excel­lent, from St. John's Church Yard, at the Sign of the two Torches; and that they might not drink it alone, he should acquaint the Marquess de Sable, and two or three of his Friends, with his design to treat 'em with a dish of meat at his House; and that they might bring Ma­dam du Mesnil with 'em, were they dexterous enough to perswade her from the arms of her old Mareschal, that brags he has a part of his Body as stiff as [Page 26] his Wooden Leg. That he did not de­sire this Woman for any lew'd design, since no body but the Marquess de Sable would be contented with the Mareschal de Grancey's leavings; and that he, for his part, had rather lye with a Woman moderately handsom, who had an en­gaging Gallant, than with the most Charming Woman in the World, that did, like her, prostitute her self to so nasty a Fellow as the Mareschal.

Vienne told him 'twas well he was so nice, and that he daily shewed it sufficiently by his intimacy with Loüi­son the refuse of the Nation. That as it was not his business, he had nothing to say to it, but as for Madam du Mes­nil, he did not truly desire her Com­pany, to bring a Scandal upon his House; that they might eat and drink as much as they pleas'd, but he had no fur­ther accommodation for 'em.

After this, he went as the Duke commanded him, and the Guests brought du Mesnil with 'em, and made such good Entertainment, that the Duke de Saux soon perceiv'd the Witchcraft of the Pulvillio would not last long. About the end of the Feast, a Servant acquaint­ed the Company, there was one to en­quire [Page 27] for the Marquess de Sable, they bid him be call'd in, and were ex­treamly surpris'd to find him a Guard belonging to a Mareschal of France. He told the Marquess he had orders to se­cure him in Bishops-fort, which startled the Company, that knew not the mean­ing of it. The Marquess only laught at it, and as they were going to ask him the meaning; Go, go, return (says he to the Guard) to the old Fool the Mareschal, tell him we are drinking his health, and that afterwards we will kiss his Mistress, and if he has a mind to his share, let him come to us; give him a glass of Wine, says he to a Lacquy, this is all he will get by his Journey. Every one knew by what the Marquess spoke, that the Complement came from the Mareschal de Grancey, and before the Guard had drunk his Glass, so many Ralleys had pass'd at it, that, tho' he was a notable drinker, he was forc'd to break off in the middle of his draught, to desire the Company to for­bear saying any thing disrespectfully concerning he Mareschal; at this every body was ready to laugh out, and the Duke de Saux, who was nearest the Cup­board, got up with a pretence to make [Page 28] him drink the remainder of his Wine, but spilt it all maliciously upon his Clothes, and Linnen. The Guard was almost angry, but the Marquess appeas'd him by presenting another brimmer to him, desiring him to drink it to the Ma­reschal's health. After this they gave him another, and in a little time he was so drunk, that no body rail'd at the Mareschal more than himself. In this good humour they sent him back, and the Mareschal, impatient to know the suc­cess of his Deputy, had conducted him within a hundred paces of the Gate, he no sooner saw him, but he threw him­self out of his Coach to ask him what was the reason he staid so long? He found the Guard was drunk by the first word he spoke, and growing into a great passion, call'd for a Cane, but none being found in the Coach, he bid a Ser­vant of his, call'd Gendarme, (who was both his Valet de Chambre, and Secreta­ry, tho' he could neither write nor read,) to unbrace his Leg, and that should serve him for a stick. Gendarme told him it could not be; and upon this he slew at his Peruque, discharging his anger upon him. When the Ma­reschal was tyred with beating him; he [Page 29] call'd the Guard, who was slunk off, and asking him fresh questions, his anger was much more encreast, when he heard du Mesnil was of the debauchery. For the occasion of his anger hitherto, on­ly was because she had seen the Marquess de Sable privately, and this was the rea­son he would have sent him to Prison.

The Guard had no sooner spoke, but he cry'd out he was undone, and reach­ing his hand to Gendarme, come says he, let us forget what's pass'd, and tell me if I be not very unhappy, what is to be done my Friend? But be sure you say nothing of it to my Wife, for you know she always told me what a Carri­an this was. Gendarme would not for twice as many blows, but this had hap­pen'd; he laugh'd in his sleeve, and would make him no answer. The Ma­reschal desir'd him again to forget all injuries, and to put him in good hu­mour, promis'd to give him the sute he had on that day. Gendarme was a little appeas'd at that promise, but glad of the opportunity to mortify him, Have not I often told you, said he, as well as the Mareschaless, that she was a Whore? were I in your place, as soon as I came home, I would turn that Bastard out of [Page 30] doors, who is none of yours I war­rant you, and yet you Educate him with the greatest Faith in the World, whilst your own Daughters, more per­haps out of necessity than inclination — Ah Traytor, says the Mareschal, inter­rupting him, will you always be reason­ing? What my Boy is not my own; he does not resemble meLarge flat Ears. like two drops of Water? has he not the Ears of the Grancey's? a sure sign he is of the Fa­mily: I'le have you hang'd, and tho' I sav'd you from the halter at Thionville, I'le send you to your former destiny.

Gendarme, altho' he had known he should be worse treated than before, could not forbear answering these in­vectives. This is sine, crys he, to take a Bastards part, and neglect your own Daughters, I thought you might be an­gry at what I was saying of them, but for ought I sind that's your least care. 'Tis true, he has your great Ears, but is that so unquestionable a sign he is your own, as you believe? How many Women bring forth Children with some particular mark, when the Mothers have taken too much notice of some disagree­able Object; your Mother perhaps might [Page 31] look upon — he meant an Ass, but dare­ing not to speak the Word, he mutter'd it to himself. The Mareschal took but little notice of it, and being appeas'd because he yielded him the resemblance of the Ears; well then, says he, what is to be done? shall I suffer a Girl to remain in these Villains hands, whom they have certainly taken away by force. Gendarme who knew they were at a debauch, and being dry with rail­ing, thinking a Glass or two of Wine would fall to his share, could he per­swade the Mareschal to go thither; af­ter he had set his Face to Counterfeit a Man of thought; upon my Faith, said he, if you will take my advice, we will go immediately to 'em; we shall compass two ends in it; one the bringing back of Mesnil, and the other the hindring the accomplishing perhaps of something that may not please you. For how do we know, Wine renders some very brisk; and makes 'em per­form marvels on those occasions: But shall not I venture my self too much, quoth the Mareschal? How critical you are, cry's Gendarme, when you go every day you know where, do you make a scruple of going to Viennes, where all [Page 32] the people of Quality rendezvous.

These reasons were sufficient to per­swade the Mareschal, but desirous to be accompanied with a Guard, he would have had that fellow that had been there before follow him, but he was not to be found; for reposing himself upon a Stall, he was fallen so fast asleep, that when they found him it was impossi­ble to wake him. The Mareschal would have had Gendarme put on his Coat, but he not caring to be oblig'd to make a­ny hazardous complement to those, of whose discretion and respect he was so little assur'd, told him, he was too well known by the Company to take any figure but his own; and the Mareschal yielding to his reasons, suffered the Guard to sleep undisturb'd.

No sooner was he arriv'd at Vienne's, but he made so much haste into the room where the Company was, that they had not time to acquaint 'em of his coming; they were extremely sur­priz'd to see him, but Madam de Mes­nil most of all, who thought after this he would no longer furnish for her E­quipage. The Duke de Saux, as the most considerable, began to speak first, telling the Mareschal, that having a de­sign [Page 33] to be merry, he sent to invite this company, who going to Madam du Mes­nil's, would have engag'd her of the party, but she was so averse to it, that they were forc'd to carry her in their arms to the Coach, and they found their Company was not at all pleasant to her; for she had neither eat nor drunk since she was there, and that they would never hereafter force any body against their inclinations.

The Mareschal easily swallow'd this discourse, and desirous to make Gen­darme take notice of it, whom he thought behind him, but who was at the Cupboard drinking of brimmers of Wine; he gave a Lacquey, who was bringing a Ragoust to make 'em relish the Liquor, such a blow on his arm, that the Dish was thrown down. This broke off the discourse, and he thought himself oblig'd to excuse it: They told him it was no matter, bid him not concern himself, for the entertainment was so good, that there was enough left for him and them too: At the same time, the Duke de Saux took him by the Arm, making him sit down between du Mesnil and himself; and every thing [Page 34] was so well, that they began to eat and drink as before.

Madam du Mesnil, who was full up to the very Throat, affected a great So­briety and Melancholy, and 'tis hard to say in which she was the greatest Hy­pocrite. Every one told her they won­dered she would not eat, now, since she had all she desir'd so near her; but since the Mareschal did not press her to it, as she expected, she refus'd it in a languishing air, which made those smile who knew how she behav'd her self be­fore he came in. The Mareschal, al­most dead with hunger, thought of no­thing but silling his belly; and tho' he spoke some few words to oblige her to the same, yet she had a mind to be more entreated. After he had appeas'd his hunger, being now at leisure to take care of her, grow more gallant. She seem'd to yield to what he desir'd, be­gan to eat a fresh, tho' her health ran no little danger by it.

Hereupon the Company said, 'twas easie to perceive who had the power o­ver her: This made the Mareschal smile in his sleeve, and he was so tickled at it, that he could not forbear tread­ing upon the Ladies toes in sign of [Page 35] friendship. The Debauch was drove on to excess, and when they had rail'd at all the World, they began to speak ill of one another. The Mareschal told the Duke de Saux, that he need not wonder his being so lusty and fat, when his Brother the Marquess de Ragni was so thin and lean; that he was made between two Doors, when his Brother was got in a Bed; that sur­prising joys were greater than those expected in course, and he could let him know, if he did not already, that he owed as much respect to the Duke de Roquelaure as to his own Father. The Duke de Saux, to return it in his own coyn, told him, that he could not speak so precisely of his, since his Mo­ther had had so many Gallants, that it was impossible for him to say to which he ow'd his Birth; that it was pity his Daughter was not educated by so able a Woman; that perhaps they might not have been so high and proud; for the only difference of their Temper and their Grandmother's, was, that they have two Princes for their Gallants, when she always took the first that came: That nevertheless it was reported they held not always [Page 36] their Hearts so high; for if Fame was to be credited, they had no great a­version to one of their Servants, but it was not to be mention'd for fear of injuring them, and he was ready to sign, if he pleas'd, that it was only a story invented by some malicious body.

The Mareschal de Grancey swore it was an untruth; that it was true in­deed, there was one of the Servants more agreeable to 'em than the rest, for his Person, Dressing, and Wit; but seeing the Town talk'd of it, he had turn'd him away, to cut off all colour to these false reports; and to prove what he said to be authentick, he call'd for some Wine, protesting that he would drink four Glasses in each hand, and that they should hear him after that swear the same thing, and what could be a greater proof of the truth of it, since in Vino Veritas, the honest Drunkard always speaks his mind. This was too plain to be deny'd; and they fell into discourse of the a­mour of Monsieur with Mademoiselle de Grancey, and upon the passion of Monsieur the Duke for her Sister the Countess de Maré, which gave an op­portunity [Page 37] to one of the Company to sing some Verses made upon that oc­casion.

The Mareschal was so far in his Cups, that he would by all means learn the Song, and sing it with the rest; this diverted 'em for some time, after which they began to think of retiring home. The Duke de Saux forgetting his promise to Vienne, went into his Coach, with a resolution to pass the night with du Mesnil, if the Mareschal de Grancey, who had taken her into his, should set her down at her Lodg­ings. To this purpose he commanded a Footman to dog her, and to bring him an answer at a place appointed. The Boy soon return'd, and acquaint­ing him that the Mareschal, after he had set her down, was gone home, he drove to her Lodgings, where he pass'd the night. Much Wine had pass'd, and not caring much to force himself, he knew not whether the charm of the Pulvillio was broke, but put all off till the Morrow; and he was fast asleep when Gendarme was knocking at the door; du Mesnil, not daring to refuse him entrance, since he came from the Patroon, had scarce time to wake the [Page 38] Duke, and desire him to slip behind a Curtain. Gendarme, who was very diligent to take notice of any thing that might disquiet his Master, per­ceiv'd, as he was making the comple­ment, that there were two priuts tumbled in the Bed; and impatient to tell it the old Fellow, he ran at an unusual rate, and came to de Grancey quite out of breath.

The Mareschal enquir'd the occasion of his haste; to tell you, answer'd he, that you are the greatest Bubble in the World; and whilst you sleep so peace­ably here, there are sine things doing for you abroad; that all the Children which you fancy your own, have ano­ther Father, for all their fine Ears per­haps; and that in a word, you are a Cuckold, an egregious doating Cuckold. Do but rise, continued he, and you may still find the Hare in the form, or else the print of his steps so plain, that it will not be difficult to trace him. The Mareschal, who knew what pleasure he took to raise his doubts, bid him take care of what he said, that his life was in danger, for he would never more forgive him: but nevertheless he call'd for his Leg and his Cloaths, and was in such haste [Page 39] to be dress'd, and Gendarme so concern'd to make good his promise, that betwixt 'em his Truss was forgot.

The shaking of the Coach soon made the Mareschal perceive what he wanted, they must needs go back to fetch it, and in this time, the Duke de Saux was dress'd and gone. Du Mesnil knew how little kindness Gendarme had for her, and therefore caus'd the Bed to be new made, and afterwards went fairly into the middle of it. It was a farce to see the Truss put on in the Coach; Gendarme swore he forgot it on purpose to let the Bird escape; and the Mareschal said, Gendarme did it pur­posely for an excuse: And in fine, it was very diverting to hear their di­sputes, which made such a noise that drew the Rabble about the Coach: the Footmen, accustom'd to these mat­ters, dispers'd the lookers-on, and the Mareschal drew the Curtains to hide his Infirmity from those that knew it not.

The Affair being accomplish'd with much pains, they continued their way, and arriving at du Mesnil's, Gendarme was extremely astonish'd to find but one print in the Bed when he had ob­serv'd [Page 40] two. The Mareschal perceiv'd his surprise, and fearing lest he should get first to the door, run in all haste to prevent it, but his wooden Leg slip­ping, he fell and hurt himself. Gen­darme finding that tho' he was in the right, he must bear all the blame, took that opportunity to escape, which en­raged the Mareschal; he swore he would have him hang'd and damn'd; and this encourag'd du Mesnil, who was in fear lest he should give more credit to him than her self.

She gave him her hand to help him up, and when he had recover'd his breath, he freely confess'd what had pass'd, begging her pardon for his un­just suspicions. When she found it went so well, she thought it proper to give him many harsh reprimands, demanding if this was a recompence for what she did every day for his sake, forgetting nothing that might confirm her innocence, and bring him to a thorow Repentance. He gave all the signs of it that were to be i­magin'd, but nothing pleas'd her so much as a Note he sent to a neigh­bouring Priest, desiring him to return [Page 41] thanks for the discovery he had made of Gendarme's wickedness.

Whilst the Mareschal was thus de­lighted at his good fortune in his good Mistress, the Duke de Saux thought of re-establishing his Reputation with Ma­dam de Lionne; and what assurance soever he might have in his Consti­tution, he nevertheless not only re­frain'd from seeing the Count de Tallard and Louison, but dieted of what he thought would contribute to a vigor­ous health; and thinking himself then in a condition to enter the Lists, went to the Field, but found another Cham­pion already engag'd; for the Count de Fiesque was return'd more amorous than ever, and tho' their proceedings had given just reasons for a perpetual quarrel on both sides, Madam de Li­onne and he no sooner met, but they were reconcil'd, neither had the Duke reason to question it, for being well ac­quainted in the Family, they suffer'd him to go up without notice, and finding no body in the Chamber, he look'd through the Key-hole, and saw an Engagement that would not have surpriz'd him had he not known of the Quarrel: Nevertheless, altho' he [Page 42] came for the same purpose, and had no reason to be contented that the place was already taken, he plac'd himself calmly upon a Stool, know­ing very well that the Count de Fiesque, who was no rude player, would have soon finished the Game; and it was no sooner over but they both came into the Chamber, full of confusion at the surprise to see one there they so little expected, and whom they could scarce­ly have sent for upon this occasion. The Duke de Saux, thinking that si­lence would augment the disorder he perceiv'd they were in, endeavour'd to break it; and as there was nothing but Debauchery in his intentions, he soon recover'd the accident, and found himself in a more free and easie dispo­sition of mind than he could have been, had his heart had the least concern in the adventure. I thought you had been both my Friends, said he to 'em, and therefore imagin'd you would not have rejoyc'd without me You know that a Reconcilement is equal to a Wed­ding, and yet you are partaking the delights of Paradise, and make me no invitation. I was never inquisitive un­til to day, and now I am cur'd of it [Page 43] for all my life: how sottish a thing it is to see the Pleasures and Transports of others through a Key-hole; and I believe had I not left the Colledge it would have cost me a mortal sin: Why do you not leave at least, Madam, says he, addressing himself to Madam de Lionne, one of your Women here? 'twould serve to fool away the time in expecting you; I give you this ad­vice, and you have no reason to de­spise it, this will at least abate their curiosity, and your affairs may chance to fall into the hands of a person who will not use you so well as I.

There will always remain a certain confusion upon the first discovery of our secrets, especialy in a Woman that has the least Modesty left. The Duke might observe this truth in Madam de Lionne, she was more disordered than before, and I know not if she would have made a worse Figure had her Hus­band been present: her Eyes were cast down, and if she ever ventur'd to look up, 'twas on the Count de Fiesque, whom she seem'd to excite to her de­fence; but he was yet in a greater con­fusion, so that finding he had not the sense to draw her out of this accident, [Page 44] This is what your folly has been the oc­casion of, said she to the Count, you shut the door against my will, and the Duke has no doubt seen you busying with some trifle. Excuse me, Madam, answered the Duke, it was truly no tri­fle which I saw, except you call that so which we esteem the greatest happi­ness; but blush not for it, the Count is very well worth your care, and I de­sire you only to acknowledge, that the pleasure is quite another thing after a little falling out.

Whilst this was saying, Madam de Coeuvres came in, and drew her Mother from this disorder; for the Duke de Saux, who, tho' he had not a great pas­sion for her, took pleasure in her conver­sation, went with her to the Ruel, and afforded an opportunity to these Lovers to recover themselves. Madam de Li­onne, who had an ambitious heart, that is to say, whom one Lover could not suffice, was no sooner free from one in­quietude than she fell into another; and tho' she had promis'd to assist the Duke, yet she fancied her Daughter gave too much attention to him; and she listned after every word he spoke, to find if she was not in the right.

The Count de Fiesque observ'd her distraction, and quarrel'd with her a­bout it, but it was impossible for him to interrupt her design; she perceiv'd it was e'en as she imagin'd, and she no longer doubted of her tenderness, when she found she permitted him to kiss her Hand without any violence. The Duke immediatly after it went out, upon which she presum'd the affair was much advanc'd, and that no question it was an earnest of a more acceptable Promise; she resolv'd if it was so, to cross these Lovers with all her power; and having got rid of the Count, sent for a Chair, pretending business, yet would not stir till the Horses were in her Daughter's Coach; when she went out, dispersing her Footmen on sleeveless errands: hav­ing thus far proceeded, she bid the Chair-men stop at the corner of the Street, commanding them to follow the Coach when it came forth. They were not long in ambuscade before they saw it, the Coach went to the Tuilleries near the King's Stables, and she was there almost as soon as her Daughter.

She was so disguis'd, that she hop'd no body would know her; neverthe­less, mistrusting her Shape and Air [Page 46] might be remarkable, she counterfeit­ed her self lame, and follow'd as fast as she could. The Marchioness de Coeu­vres took two turns to lose some Per­sons she found there, and afterwards went by the Gate towards the Ponte Rouge, which oblig'd her Mother to double her pace; and as there was some distance between 'em, it was im­possible for her to arrive there so soon as she desir'd, so that when she came to the Gate, her Daughter was already out of sight; she look'd about on all sides to see if she could perceive which way she went, but all that she could dis­cover was a Coach without a Livery, which in a moment was out of sight: she was vex'd there was none ready to follow it, and resolv'd not to be trap'd so the next time, not doubting, if her suspicions were true, that these Lovers would not be contented with this ou­terview.

It was not easie to deceive her, she was too knowing in this matter, for even in this Coach were the Marchio­ness and the Duke; he was carrying her to Autheuil, a House which the Mareschal de Grancey hir'd for du Mesnil, and she had given him leave to make use of [Page 47] when he pleas'd. No sooner were they arriv'd, but he had a mind to know if he was still enchanted; and he found that two or three days of rest to a Man of his Age, was a wonderful remedy a­gainst such sort of Charms; when he had caress'd her twice he was glad to entertain her with some other diver­sion, and he thought nothing was more pleasant than the relation of what hap­pen'd to him with her Mother. The Marchioness told him there could be nothing of it, for she was too much fix'd to the Count de Fiesque to make an essay of his sorce; but the Story not being very much to his advantage, and he assuring it with many horrid Oaths, she would rather believe it than occasion further Imprecations.

She had nevertheless some other tokens of the truth of it, which she would have contentedly pass'd without, for the Duke she found was again en­chanted; the Marchioness de Coeuvres, who was one of the prettiest Women in Paris, took it for a great affront to her, and began to be concern'd; she not only shew'd it by her Countenance, but resented it in these terms; I was never a Glutton in this point, and if [Page 48] you knew what Monsieur de Coeuvres says of me concerning it, you would find it was not on that occasion that I speak; besides, it is often a great punishment to me to endure it, which makes him often say, that I am not my Mothers Daughter, and that certainly I was chang'd at Nurse. Yet altho' my cold­ness might have discouraged him, he ne­ver gave me such an affront as you have done. I remember that on our Wed­ding Night — but why should I tell you, it will make you dye with shame, and yet he was a Husband, but you a Gallant. But ye Gods what a Gallant? one that has taken that Name to abuse me, and I may judge by this first inter­view, what I must expect from you; but it is well I have not been long de­ceiv'd, there is a remedy, and I know what Course I ought to take. The Duke de Saux, who was not naturally very bashful, was nevertheless asham'd at these reprimands, and beg'd of Madam de Coeuvres to expose all her Beauties to his sight, assuring her it would be a perfect recovery to his Vigour.

Many if they had been in her place, would have granted a request like this, but whether she was mistrustful of her [Page 49] hidden Beauties, or she imagin'd it to little purpose, she would not consent to it, so that from the first they were not very much Charm'd with one another.

Parting in this indifferency, it was some time before they had another meeting, which troubl'd Madam de Lionne, who was in pain to be assur'd of their Intrigue; what she had ob­serv'd made her not question their Cor­respondence, but thought they were too cunning for her, and the vexation at it put her upon the design of adverti­sing the Marquess de Coeuvres to look narrowly after the Conduct of his Wife. The Marquess was so mean spirited, that he resolv'd to call all the Family together upon this affair: Every one was invited, even to the Grandfather the Mareschal, and his quality and age giving him without dispute the first place in the Council, he gave attention to all that was said, without discove­ring his own Sentiments. Most of 'em were for sending the Marchioness to a Nunnery, saying this was what might be expected from so unequal a Match, that if their Relation had marry'd one of equal rank to himself, he had had no occasion to demand Justice now. [Page 50] Some enlarg'd upon it, and said, that an ill Tree seldom brings good Fruit; and when her Mother had always made profession of Gallantry, it was not to be expected, but her Daughter should resemble her. That they had Whores enough in the Family without her, and that it was fit she should not only be sent to the Nunnery, but also be depriv'd of ever bearing the Name of the Fa­mily.

The good Mareschal had a Colour at this Discourse, and they who re­mark'd it, believ'd that it was occa­sion'd by his Resentment of it, or through some new indisposition that had hap­pen'd to him. But when they had done speaking, they soon perceiv'd there was nothing of this in it; neither could they doubt of it, when they heard him say, In troth you make me mad to hear ye talk thus; ye that pretend to be so de­licate, but who had not been here any more than my self, had our Mothers been so nice. We know what we know, but you may be certain that the finest of our Noses was borrowed from our Neighbours, and we have so much rea­son to praise the good Women of our Family, both in the direct and collate­ral [Page 51] Line, that I admire ye are for ba­nishing those who resemble 'em. When I marry'd my Grandson de Coeuvres to Madam de Lionne, do you imagine I did it in consideration, either because she was the Daughter of a Minister of State, or because she was rich, or for her Reputation; these were too nar­row prospects for a man of my age, and experience; no, my drift was, that being so handsom, she might revive the lustre and greatness of our Family, which always drew its considerableness not from the Males, but Females. If I have been deceiv'd, it was not my fault, my Intentions were as well meant in this, as in my marriage with Mademoiselle de Manicamp, in effect my Wife was handsom enough to make all our For­tunes, but her Brothers Reputation has been a great injury to her. I know there was a Proposition made to her, before I marryed her, which she did not think agreeable, being of a disposition con­trary to her Brother; Since that time a thing of the same nature has happen'd to her, but she had rather dye than not be conformable to the Family she is enter'd into. How has she wander'd from the Footsteps of our Ancestors? [Page 52] for if so, I declare my self her greatest Enemy. Has she had any Commerce with the Chevalier de Lorrain? Let her be burnt: Has she had any Con­versation with the Chevalier de Chastillon? Drown her: Has she had any Cor­respondence with the Duke of Luxem­burgh? Let her be hang'd: If you ac­cuse her of this, you need not seek any other Executioner. But if her Crime has been only to seek the Pleasures of Nature, I declare my self her Protector. Let all this be kept secret amongst our selves, that the Court know nothing of it; The shortest Follies are the best, and it will be ill husbandry to let the whole Town laugh at our Expence. The whole Company were offended at the beginning of this Discourse, but they found so much good Sense in the Conclusion, that they resolv'd to con­form to it. There was not time to de­liver their opinion of it, for a Lacquy coming in to acquaint the Mareschal that Lessé du Bail and two or three other famous Gamesters expected him, he took his leave, telling them they ought not by any means to dissent from what he had declar'd.

The Bishop of Laon when his Father [Page 53] was gone, remain'd the President of the Council, and being very Politick, thinking Monsieur de Lionnes favour would do him no disservice in obtain­ing the Cardinal's Cap, which he has since accomplished; he told 'em, he extreamly wonder'd at two things, first that they should proceed thus against his Niece upon a meer suspition; and secondly should so rashly speak ill of his Family; that for the one, it ought to be made out as clear as the Sun at Noon, before they went so far; and for the other, it was very well known that the Family of Lionne was as renown'd as any in Dauphiné. That the Malice of those who denyed a matter so authen­tick sufficiently demonstrated how little Faith was to be given to 'em in other things; that Madam de Coeuvres was in­deed too handsom to be without Admi­rers; but on the other side, she was too wise to make a return to their Passions. That whilst he had been at Paris, he was often enough with her, to take no­tice if there had been any irregularity in her Conduct, but he had never per­ceiv'd her guilty of any thing to the discredit of her Family; that he would look more nicely to it now, and would [Page 54] be so much with her when his affairs would permit, that there should none be more capable of giving a better judg­ment of her than himself. The Mar­quess de Coeuvres thought he was oblig'd to give him thanks for the pains he would take, and making his Comple­ment, told him, there were few Uncles to be found so kind to take the con­cerns of their Relations so much to heart. But he was the only man in the Com­pany who did not penetrate his Design. The good Prelate was fal'n in Love with his Niece, and having not leisure enough to follow the whole Duty of a Lover, he resolv'd to make her esteem this as a great piece of Service, and to demand an immediate recompence for it; in effect, no sooner was the Assembly broke up, when he went to the Marchioness, and looking upon her in an Air that would have discovered his Intentions, had she observ'd it. I know not Madam, says he, if you al­ready perceiv'd the extream Passion I have for you, should I have acquainted you with it the moment I was sensible of it, it would have been divulg'd the first time I saw you; but those kind of Declarations are only proper for Igno­rants, [Page 55] and for my part, I always be­liev'd that before we advanc'd so far, the person was to be prepar'd by some considerable Services. If you have ob­serv'd my proceedings, I have omitted no opportunity, but they have always been so frivolous in Comparison of what I coveted, that hitherto I have not had the boldness to discover my self. But opportunity to day has presented, and I have appeas'd a whole Family incens'd against you, and who talk'd of nothing less than confineing you perpetually to a Nunnery. I knew, Madam, they were doing a great injustice to you, but it had pass'd irrecoverably, had not I engag'd for you; this would deserve a recompence to another, but for my part it will be satisfaction enough to me, will you but only give me leave to see you, and to love you. The Marchioness de Coeuvres was so astonish'd at this De­claration, that she could scarcely believe her Ears, and the surprise of what she heard was so great, that it interrupted her as she was going to shew her Re­sentment to his boldness, so that she fell from the passion she was rais'd to, and calmly demanded what could be the occasion, or what had she ever done to [Page 56] be so basely us'd? I cannot tell you, Madam, answer'd the Bishop, except it proceeds from some suspicions of your Husbands; he mentions no particular Circumstance, and all that I can com­prehend in it, is, that some body who has no good Wishes for you, has oc­casion'd this mischief betwixt you. But fear nothing, he depends now altoge­ther upon the Character I shall give him of your Conduct, and I have un­dertaken to watch you so narrowly, that it is impossible for any thing to scape unknown to me. Hereupon he gave her an account of what was said in the Assembly, except what the good Ma­reschal spoke in her favour, for he would have all the obligation of clearing her from this Affair attributed to himself.

The Marchioness was overjoy'd that nothing of her Intrigue was discover'd, and taking courage upon it, I am very unhappy, Sir, says she, to be so unjustly accus'd; and tho' I cannot disown some Obligation to you in it, yet give me leave to tell you, that such proceedings as yours will quickly lessen the favour: You ought to remember your own Cha­racter, and the Family we are of, if you forget my Virtue, and the Duty [Page 57] I owe my Husband; but I find the un­generous reason of it, the injurious Sto­ries you have heard of me, has encou­rag'd you to this boldness, but I should have more reason to have better thoughts of you, had you not basely concluded, that (tho' I had an incli­nation to Crimes of that nature,) I was of so sear'd a Conscience not to abhor what you propose. 'Tis not any Crimi­nal matter I propose to you, answer'd the Bishop, and you do me wrong to accuse me of it. What is it that you demand of me then? Says Madam de Coeuvres. Only that you permit me to adore you, and to seek all occasions of rendring you service, reply'd the Bishop. What, 'tis a trifle then with you, says Madam de Coeuvres, for a Bishop to make Love to a marryed Woman, and for an Uncle to endeavour to seduce his Niece? Believe me, if I have any Case of Conscience to consult of, you shall never be my Casuist; in the mean time, tho' I cannot forbid you seeing of me, since it is not in my power to hinder you, yet oblige me so far as not to offer any such Discourse to me, for perhaps I shall not have discretion enough to conceal it from Monsieur de Coeuvres.

These words were Thunderbolts to [Page 58] the Bishop, and for all his Wit he was so dash'd, that he had not a word to say. A poor unfortunate Priest, that came a Moment after to solicit some small business with him, found the Effects of his anger, and all his people found him in so ill temper, that they could not imagin the reason of so great an alte­ration. They suffer'd for it as well as himself. At Table every thing was so ill dress'd, that he ask'd if they design'd to poison him; and if he durst, he would have beaten the whole World. His Pas­sion was not nevertheless extinguish'd, the difficulty had rather increas'd it; but not daring to mention it any more to the Marchioness, discourag'd by his reception, he resolv'd to be so diligent a spy upon her Conduct, that fear might force her to that, which he could not obtain from her Love.

This Argus, with all his care, could not discover any thing for some time, and tho' the Duke de Saux came con­tinually to the House, there being an intimacy imagin'd between him and Madam de Lionne, and he asking most commonly for her, it pass'd so well, that this was the man he least suspected, but it being difficult to deceive a Lo­ver long, the Bishop after a while fan­cv'd [Page 59] that Madam de Lionne was only the pretence, but that the Sacrifice was de­sign'd for the Marchioness. The Duke de Saux, who had not yet found an op­portunity to reconcile himself to Ma­dem de Lionne, was seeking all occasi­ons for it, which was the reason he so often visited her, and at the first that presented, knowing her temper and in­clinations, Madam, says he, behold a Criminal, who comes to do himself Justice, and tho' I have some reason to accuse you, yet I being the first of­fender, am oblig'd to make the first Submission, to authorise my following resentment. What do you complain of, Sir, answer'd she, is it because you found me with Monsieur de Fiesque, how did it concern you, and after what I have seen, would you again abuse me? The Duke thinking she reproach'd him with his Impotency, I have nothing to say to it, Madam, answered he, and I have already acknowledg'd my self the most Criminal of Manking, but there is for­giveness for all Crimes, and here I am ready to repair the Injury. At these words he was making ready to perform his promise, and altho' Madam de Lionne, was not accustom'd to refuse any body, she told him in a despising air, that he was [Page 60] mistaken, and she was not Madam de Coeu­vres. What do you mean, Madam, answe­red the Duke, and why do you mention one who thinks not of us, and we have no rea­son to think of? Do you take me for a Fool, cry'd Madam de Lionne, did not I see her with you the other day? I follow'd you to the Tuilleries, and tho' the Foot­men and Coach was disguis'd, it hinder'd not me from discovering the whole In­trigue. You saw it, Madam, demanded the Duke de Saux with a serious Countenance? Yes, Sir, answered Madam de Lionne, with my own Eyes. Since it is so, then Madam, says he very seriously, give me your hand, we have nothing to reproach one the other withal, and I have seen as well as you those things; it will be to little purpose to remention, remember not the Coach, and I'le indeavour to forget the Closet; what say you, is it not very reasonable? this was too Ca­valier an Entertainment, to win any savours from the Lady, so that continu­ing this Discourse, they parted so Me­lancholy, that each imagin'd there was nothing after this to be demanded. The Duke de Saux returned home, and was there hardly a quarter of an Hour be­fore he receiv'd this Note from the Marchioness de Coeuvres.

This quarrel did not at all surprise the Duke, and the Count de Tallard be­ing in the Country for some time, and Loiiison d' Arquien sick through too much Devotion, he sinding himself in a humour not to be pleas'd any longer without Company, return'd her this Answer.

Madam de Coeuvres was not so angry, but a proposition of this nature had power to appease her, she therefore bid the Messenger tell him she expected him. The Mercury returning to the Duke's Appartment overjoy'd, observ'd not that the Bishop de Laon was writing a Letter in the Duke's Closet, but be­fore he came to the door, cry'd, good News, good News; the Duke de Saux made him Signs to hold his tongue, but this was enough for the smoaky Bishop, [Page 63] and his suspicions were doubled when he found him to be the Dukes Agent in Love Affairs. He could make no certain Judgment of it, but suspecting it might be some appointment for night, he resolv'd to watch so strictly that he should be sure to know if his Niece was concern'd in it. And the Duke who was very indiscreet, had often let fall some Words, which convinc'd him he had not so much esteem for Madam de Lionnes, as to render her such frequent Visits. After he left the Duke, he was impatient till Night came, that he might place himself in Ambuscade; and altho' there could be no greater dissa­tisfaction to him, than to find what he was in search of, yet his whole hopes were engag'd upon the discovery of the Mystery. The hour he wish'd for being arriv'd, he play'd the spy round the Hostel de Lionne, and that he might be sure not to be deceiv'd, he look'd in every ones face that passed by: This was a fine Employment for a Bishop, and especially so serious a one as he seem'd; but he took what care he could to avoid the Scandal, having left his Cross at home, and cover'd his bald Crown with a Peruque, with his Sword by his side, he seem'd to be no little Cavalier.

Such was the power of Love: but it was not in his head alone, for the good man Mr. de Lionne, notwithstanding all his business, and his age, was no freer from it than the rest. Whether it be im­possible for a man to live without a Woman, or whether he thought to en­rage his Wife at a Mistress, he had one who was an honest Citizens Wife, and whilst her Husband was busie in an Em­ployment he had given him, to draw him from home, he us'd to refresh him­self with her, from the burdensom af­fairs which the Kings us'd to trust him withal. It happen'd that this Night he had just left her, and as he was return­ing with a Valet that us'd to assist him in his Amour; the Bishop, who thought every body was the Duke de Saux, ap­proach'd to look in his face. The Va­let taking him for a Thief, clapp'd a Pistol he had under his Cloak to his breast. The Bishop, whose trade it was not to be stout, taking likewise the Va­let for a Rogue, desir'd him not to kill him, and if it was only his Purse that he wanted, he was ready to de­liver it. He us'd to be often at M— de Lionne's, so that they both quickly knew him by his Voice, and the Valet [Page 65] surpris'd, told him he need not fear, for that was his Master de Lionne. Mr. de Lionne, who desir'd not to be known, was angry that the imprudence of the Valet had discover'd him, but it being past redress, and knowing the Bishop by his Voice, he ask'd him for what Adventure he was thus disguis'd. The good Prelate was in despair at this rencounter, and tho' he was reported to be of a ready wit, he found him­self in great confusion, he would have deny'd himself if he could, but Mr. de Lionne and his Servant knew his Face and Voice too well for that, in spight of the disguise, and the latter was al­ready asking his pardon for presenting the Pistol to him, saying it was to be excus'd, since it was impossible for any body to know him in that disguise.

These Excuses gave the Prelate time to recover himself, and confessing part of the Truth to Mr. de Lionne, that he was come so accouter'd to see if the Duke de Saux would come there, whom he suspected had an Intrigue with the Marchioness de Coeuvres; he reserv'd the other part, which was nevertheless the true occasion of the trouble he gave him­self Mr. de Lionne, who knew the weak­ness [Page 66] of Humane Nature, and who had no severe opinion of his Daughter, commended his zeal, and proffer'd to watch with him: So that the Valet be­ing sent away, whom the Bishop did not think fit to be privy to this Secret. They agreed to separate in order to make the better discoveries; but their pains would have been to little purpose, had not the natural inquisitiveness of the Valet engag'd him to stay also to see what all this matter meant.

As he was looking attentively about, he perceiv'd a Man scaling the Garden Walls, which the Sentinels could not see, they happening to be on the other side; from thence he discern'd him en­ter a Window open'd for him, which answer'd to the Mount, and this threw him into a profound Meditation. He thought there must be Love in the case, and not knowing how to apply it to any body except his Mistress or her Daugh­ter, he was in dispute whether he should acquaint his Master with it, doubting if the news would be agreeable to him. Whil'st he was thus reasoning upon what he was oblig'd to do, the Duke de Saux, who was the Man that went in, was endea­vouring to get into the Marchioness de [Page 67] Coeuvres Apartment, not far off; but he found himself stop'd by the arm, by Ma­dam de Lionne, who had made an ap­pointment with the Count de Fiesque, and imagin'd it to be him: Is it you, said she at the same time, my dear Count! why did you stay so long?

The Duke de Saux, who very well knew Madem de Lionnes voice, made no reply, which very much surpris'd her, fearing she was in a mistake; to be sa­tisfied, she threw her arms about his neck, and finding him bigger, and fatter than the friend she expected, she shriek'd out loud enough to have wak'd all the House, had they not been in a dead sleep. The Duke de Saux apprehensive lest her im­prudence should occasion mischief on both sides, broke the silence in these terms, which he uttered as softly as possible. What do you do, Madam, said he, have you not the judgment to per­ceive you are going to ruin your self? If it was my own concern alone, I should say nothing, but escape as well as I could, but what will your Husband say, what excuses can you make, to perswade him this appointment came not from you.

These words, and the Voice which was known to Madam de Lionne, made [Page 68] her reflect upon the reasonableness of what was said. What, is it you then, Monsieur le Duke, said she, what do you come here for? I won't deceive you, Madam, answer'd he, I did not look for you, no more than you expect­ed me: And therefore give me leave to continue my Adventure, lest I inter­rupt yours, and 'tis after this fashion, people like us should live in this Age. The proposition was very honest, and reasonable, but whether she had a mind to make tryal of him, or whether the time that she expected the Count being Elapsed, it was insupportable to her to pass the night alone. No, no, Sir, re­plyed she, it shall not go as you imagine, I know it is my Daughter you would be at, but let it displease you both if it will, I shall nevertheless make use of the opportunity, since it has offer'd it self so kindly; in all likelyhood the Charm of the Pulvillio may be broken, and you must give me proofs of it this very instant.

After these words which were spoke in a very low Voice, lest any body should over-hear, she would have led him to her Chamber; but he not able to consent to the change, Ah, Madam, [Page 69] said he, whilst he was dragging along almost by force, I have promis'd Madam de Coeuvres to come to her, I dare not break my word, give me but only leave to go and disengage my self, and I will return immediately upon my word, and give you all manner of satisfaction. The Lady was not so credulous to trust him; and as she had try'd his strength, and found it not sufficient to be divided, she would not by any means part with him; and he on his side continuing obstinate, she propos'd a medium, which was to go her self, and fetch her Daughter. He accepted the proposition, not be­ing able to get out of her hands by any other means; but before she went, she conducted him to her Chamber, ob­liging him to go to bed, and promising to bring her Daughter, bidding him take care how he behaved himself, since he was to pass that night between 'em. If the Duke had been too scrupulous, such a proposition would have startled him, but he being a Courtier fear'd no­thing of this nature; but answer'd, that he should expect 'em with great im­patience, and that it was a long time since he had made use of any Pulvillio. The Lady would have willingly made [Page 70] tryal at that moment if he spoke truth, but he not agreeing to it, she went to fetch her Daughter, who was very de­voutly waiting for the Duke. This made her not at all surpris'd to hear some body walking in her Anti-Cham­ber, but she was very much startled, when, instead of him, she perceiv'd her Mother. Had not Madam de Lionne fear'd the losing of time, she would have ask'd her the occasion of her sitting up so late, and what she was waiting for; but it being very dear to her, she ask'd her no unprofitable questions. In fine, all the Complement was, that she must come into her Chamber, for she had something of great consequence to com­municate to her.

Tho' the Command was positive, Madam de Coeuvres, affraid of losing her appointment, endeavour'd to excuse her self; but her Mother desiring her a­gain, assuring her it was for her good, she at last consented; it was not ne­vertheless without extraordinary fear, for she could not imagin any thing less, than the discovery of the whole affair, and 'twas certainly to give her some ad­vice about her Conduct. These thoughts, and the unseasonable hour of the night, [Page 71] made her follow her Mother in great silence and apprehension into her Cham­ber, where she was very much surpris'd to find the Duke in Bed; she was in­wardly very angry with him, believing that he had sacrific'd her, and was go­ing to discharge her passion, when Ma­dam de Lionne, who found the night ad­vanc'd, and was unwilling to waste the remaining part of it, told her as suc­cinctly as was possible, how she had met with the Duke, and what they had agreed upon. This a little appeas'd the young Lady, and tho' she was sorry to be forc'd to part with a share to her Mother, of what she had all expected to her self, she lik'd it yet much bet­ter than to have found the Duke un­faithful. Yet she made some difficulties before she consented to the proposition; but Madam de Lionne, seeing the time consum'd by 'em, threatning to ruin her if she did not obey, and the Duke Court­ing her on the other side, she underss'd herself, half out of obedience, and half through inclination and desire. Madam de Lionne was doing the same thing on her side, and both, expecting good For­tune that Night, were only in loose Gowns, which were soon taken off, and [Page 72] one would have thought a reward had been promis'd to those who should be first undrest, such haste did they seem to make.

Whilst this was passing within doors, the Bishop and Monsieur de Lionne were still playing the Sentinels without, tho' not with an equal concern, for tho' Mr. de Lionne was a man of Honour, and allarm'd by the Infamy the Bishop had discover'd to him, he suffer'd nothing in comparison of what was occasion'd by the Jealousie of the other. All his thoughts terminated in revenge, and had he been as much a Brother of the Blade as the Church, the Duke de Saux should have dyed by no other hand than his. Monsieur de Lionne being separated from him, for the reason I before told you, he had leasure to entertain him­self with these thoughts, which some­times flatter'd him, and at other times made him despair; and whilst he was in these Meditations, Monsieur de Lionne, who was advertis'd by his Valet of what he had seen, interrupted him, telling him his doubts were but too well groun­ded, for a man went into the House. Gods [...] swore the Bishop at the same time, and do you bear it so [Page 73] patiently, as if the affront concern'd not you, as well as me. After he had given Mr. de Lionne this answer, he ask'd the Valet what he had seen, and he having inform'd him according to what I before mention'd, he again de­manded of Mr. de Lionne if he would suffer an injury of that nature to go unpunish'd. I am of opinion it will be the best way, answer'd Mr. de Lionne, it must either be my Wife or my Daugh­ter, and the least noise that I make of it ruins all our Reputations. It will be more prudent to keep the Secret amongst us three. I know the discretion of my Valet, and answer for his Fidelity. Mr. de Lionne could not in truth take better measures; but the Bishop who was sir'd at every word, Gods [...] said he, swearing again like any Car-man, 'tis what you deserve, since you can bear the Scandal so calmly; but it shall ne­ver be said that I suffer it without re­sentment, and as I am perswaded the matter concerns my Niece, you will not be angry I hope if I have not the like tameness; at these words he bid the Valet who had the Key of a door which was only us'd in his Masters Amorous Intrigues, to open it immediately, and [Page 74] Mr. de Lionnes honour being touch'd, he follow'd him rather out of complaisance, than inclination.

The Valet de Chambre having observ'd after the Duke de Saux went over the wall what became of him, he had taken notice of the Management of the two Ladies, and knowing positively in what Chamber they were, he carry'd his Ma­ster and the Bishop directly thither, when de Lionne had fetch'd a double Key which he had to all the Apartments. The Duke and the two Ladies were so busily employ'd, that they heard not the door open, so that they were taken as Moss caught his Mare. Madam de Lionne threw her self at her Husband's feet, promising she would never do so again whilst she liv'd. The Marchioness de Coeuvres, who was in no less confusion, knew not what to say for her self, but getting near the Bishop, who was for ruining all, Do not ruin my Reputation, said she, appease but my Father, and hide this from my Husband, and I pro­mise you not to be ungrateful. Mr. de Lionne was so surpris'd at the novelty of the Frolick, that he said not one word. He thought himself a Cuckold, but to sind a Spark between the Mo­ther [Page 75] and the Daughter, seem'd so strange a thing to him, that he could not have more wondred, had the horns sprouted out immediately on his fore­head. All that he could say, was, un­happy Wife, unfortunate Daughter, to which they return'd no answer.

The Bishops anger was in the mean time very much abated by those gol­den promises, and eager in pursuit of 'em. I think, says he coldly to Mr. de Lionne, you had a great deal of reason when you advis'd us not to dive fur­ther into our insamy. The less noise the better in these matters, as you say, and if you will take my opinion let us proceed no farther, it is sufficient that we know what we do, without acquaint­ing the Town with it. This advice be­ing conformable to Mr. de Lionne's con­ceptions, was follow'd, so that the Duke had liberty to withdraw, and as brave as he was, he was not a little glad to see himself safe out of their hands. After this the Bishop, under a pretence of cor­recting his Niece, led her to her Cham­ber, where demanding her promise, she durst not refuse him, for fear he should ruin her with her Husband, and the whole Family. And having obtain'd what [Page 76] he desir'd, knowing she did it only out of fear, imagin'd she would quickly re­turn to her first Affections; and to prevent it, he manag'd the affairs af­ter that method with her Husband, that she was sent into the Country to a Seat of his, not far from the Bishops. This produc'd a good effect, for he recided more constantly than usual in his Dio­cess. This little Commerce lasted for a year or two, when affairs of State cal­ling him out of the Kingdom, Ambi­tion took the place of Love, and fi­nish'd an Incest, the Marchioness would never have consented to, but in defence of her Reputation.

As for Madam de Lionne, her Hus­band not enduring the sight of her, con­fin'd her to a Religious house, which made the Publick censure, tho' no one doubted but it was for some Love In­trigue; For the Lady had the Reputa­tion of being frail, in which the World was not deceiv'd; yet every one desi­ring to be assur'd of the report, the Duke de Saux took care to let them know it. He publish'd himself his own Adventure, chusing rather to be tax'd with indiscretion, than be depriv'd of the pleasure of talking. The noise of [Page 77] it being spread about Paris, the Ad­venture was found so new, that it was the subject of all Conversation for some time, which gave occasion to one of the Court to make a Lampoon upon it.

And thus ends the Intrigue of the Duke de Saux, with Madam de Lionne and her Daughter. The first remaining in Religion whilst her Husband liv'd, is become so old, that she is forced to be contented with the Count de Fiesque, who out of necessity is oblig'd to pass by many things which would not be a­greeable to a more Critical Lover. As for the Daughter whether he has had some secret advice of her Intrigue, or whether she be naturally unconstant, she seems not to be much concern'd at it, passing most of her time in the Country.

THE HISTORY OF THE Mareschalless de la Ferté.

WHat I have told you of Ma­dam de Lionne, shews a great condescention in one who had aspired to Charm even the King; yet it is nothing in Compa­rison of what I am going to relate con­cerning the Mareschalless de la Ferté, who is my other Heroess; but one so Illustrious, that it would be difficult to find her fellow, should you seek through­out Paris, which is nevertheless a Mar­vellous place for such kind of Disco­veries. However, she was no sooner thrown from the aspiring hopes I have before mention'd, but she began to en­deavour [Page 82] to comfort her self: And it seem'd not difficult, since he who made her forget so Charming an Idea, was not one of extraordinary merit. She was of a good Family, and the Mare­schal prov'd himself more couragious when he marry'd her, than he had be­fore done by all the Warlike enterpri­ses he had ever attempted. For she must either have been chang'd at nurse, or resemble the rest of her Relations who were so inclin'd: a fair Example whereof was to be seen in her Sister the Countess d'Olonne, whom Bussy has en­deavoured to render famous to his A­bilities, tho' he has very much fail'd in it. The Copy falling so short of the Original. This Lady, tho' of an indif­ferent Beauty, and far beneath her Sisters, had nevertheless so good an O­pinion of her self, that she thought it her right to Charm all the World. Her Husband the most brutal Man that ever was, not doubting but he had run a great risque in marrying her, made her a Souldierly Compliment the day after the Wedding, by Heaven, Ma­dam, said he, now you are my Wife, and you do esteem it I am confident no little fortune for you, but let me [Page 83] advise you in good time, that if you intend to resemble your Sister, and some other of your Relations of the same value, you will find it your ruin. The Lady who had taken his brutality during the Night for an excess of Love, was undeceiv'd at these Words, and as he pass'd in the esteem of the World, for one that would not suffer any rail­lery, she for some time consin'd her self, tho' not without offering great violence to her temper and inclinati­ons.

The Employments he had in the war, occasioning his absence a great part of the year, afforded her many opportu­nities to deceive him. But he had taken such care by placing those near her who were carefully to observe her, that it was impossible for her to make one false step without his knowledge. At his departure, he charg'd her not to see the Countess d'Olonne, fearing such ill Company, together with her own constitution, of which he was now particularly acquainted, might assist to corrupt her. The Countess who knew of this Countermand, was concern'd to death at it, pretending that it injur'd her Reputation in the Opinion of the [Page 84] World, more than her own Conduct. And as Revenge is commonly the dar­ling sin of Women; she could not rest till she had plac'd him in the same rank with her own Husband, that is, till she had contriv'd a pair of Horns for him. Having discover'd her intentions in this to the Marquess of Beuvron who lov'd her, she desir'd him to render her that service, in hopes, that being both handsom and witty, it would not be difficult for him to supplant a Jealous Coxcomb, who could never have pleas'd her Sister any other way than by making her For­tune.

De Beuvron in this, was like the Duke de Saux, he had not been so nice to have scrupl'd the Incest, had the Lady pleas'd him; but imagining the pro­position was made to him only to get rid of him, and give a better oppor­tunity to the Duke de Candalle, of whom he began to be jealous, he re­ceiv'd it so ill, that the Countess soon perceiv'd, she must address her self to another, if she intended to prosper, in her design. To rely upon one she knew not in so critical an Affair, and was not assur'd of, was to run a great dan­ger, and occasion Discourses which [Page 85] might not have been very agreeable; and as she had not then abandon'd her self to such an infinite number as she has since done, she was very much troub­led on whom to make choice; and in sine, after she had very much thought of it, she fixt upon her own Husband, in whom she fancy'd, she had heretofore observ'd some kind looks towards her Sister, by which she concluded her not indifferent to him; and besides she thought it not ill Policy to amuse him with some en­gagement, that he might not pry so narrowly after her affairs. She was not at all deceiv'd in his inclinations, he would have willingly chang'd her for the Mareschalless, tho' the gains had been but little by the bargain. But as he was neither witty nor handsom enough for the Conquest, 'twas in vain she encouraged him to it, for he scarcely attempted it, tho' the Mareschal who had forbid her the sight of his Wife, had not laid the same injunction upon the Husband, which afforded him an opportunity of seeing her continually. The Countess (who knew what her Husband did, by the means of Beuvron, who had found the secret to be as well receiv'd by him as by his Wife) find­ing [Page 86] how little the affair was advanc'd, saw she was forc'd once more to change the battery, and after she had contem­plated upon several ways and designs, she at last had the good Fortune to fall upon one which she concluded would answer the intent. She had observ'd whilst she visited her Sister, that there was a Valet de Chambre, who belong'd to her, perfectly well made, and who was not insensible of it, so that believing if she could inspire him with a design to make love to his Mistress, to which his Age, and the opportunity would soon make him condescend, it might prove a successful Expedient to signalize her revenge.

Ruminating upon this Affair, one morning she sent for the Valet de Chambre, and was very much pleas'd with his Wit, which was a necessary instrument in the forwarding this design. But what de­lighted her more, was, that the Boy, born of an honest Family, and forc'd by necessity to this Employment, would give her no account of his Birth; upon which she grounded a cunning Strata­gem, that serv'd her not a little upon this occasion. For she insinuated into her Sister, by the means of the Marquess [Page 87] de Beuvron, that he was certainly some person of Quality, who being very much in love with her, had sor that reason condescended to this disguise. The Ma­reschalless, who had not yet perhaps ta­ken notice of his good Meen, look'd upon him after this with more attention; and sinding him perfectly handsom, she ea­sily believing what she desir'd, soon re­ceiv'd this Fable for truth. To be more assur'd of it, she often ask'd him about his Country and Birth, but the same reasons which oblig'd him to conceal 'em from Madam d'Olonne continuing still, he was as reserv'd to her, and she ex­plain'd his silence to his advantage.

The Marquess de Beuvron, who visited her for no other reason but to discover her mind, found her very reserv'd upon that point, for she had consider'd she was oblig'd to put him off, should she seem to be perswaded that he was a man of Quality; So she turn'd it into raillery, but she had to deal with a cunning Normand, who saw through the Vail notwithstanding all her Ar­tisice, and return'd to tell the Countess she had knock'd the nail on the head. This discovery made the Countess send for the Boy a second time, acquaint­ing [Page 88] him, that she had perceiv'd her Sister did not hate him, but bid him for his Lifes sake, take such care of his Con­duct, that no body might observe it; telling him, that she did not desire him to desist, since (if his Mistress's temper inclin'd her to Love) she might as well bestow the favour upon him, as on a­nother, whereby the Intrigue might make a greater noise in the World. That he should be sure to carry him­self with all respect to her, and above all things take care not to undeceive her Sister, in the opinion she had con­ceiv'd of his being of a much better condition than he appear'd.

Tho' the Boy was astonish'd at the beginning of this Discourse, he grew more assur'd at the end, and the Que­stions the Mareschalless often ask'd him, making him presume what he heard was true, he gave himself over to thoughts of Vanity, which were not inexcusable in him. What they had told him seem'd no little happiness to him. For not considering the Quality of his Mistress, she was extreamly Charming, tho' in­differently handsom; so that there were a thousand siner Women, who yet were nothing so agreeable. To make him­self [Page 89] more amiable, he dress'd himself as clean and decently as he could; which together with the diligence he shew'd towards her, made the Mares hal­les soon believe that all she thought of him was true. In sine, the oppor­tunity he had to see her dress and un­dress her self, in which she more wil­lingly employ'd him than others, made him fall so deeply in love with her, that it was easie to perceive, that Love is not always the Effect of Destiny.

The Mareschalless was sensible those assiduous Services he render'd her, pro­ceeded from a more noble cause than that which generally influences Ser­vants. And as she confirm'd her self more every day in the Opinion she had conceiv'd that he was not of an obscure Birth, she was not ungrateful to the secret testimonies he gave her of his Passion. But yet that she might have nothing to reproach her self withal, forc'd him almost to tell her that he was a man of Quality; so that he see­ing there was no other Obstacle but this to his good Fortune, assum'd the name of a good Family in his Country, which the Mareschalless, since she so much desir'd it, easily believ'd. He was not [Page 90] at all deceiv'd in the thoughts he had, that this would advance his Assairs. The Lady who thought it no disgrace to love so handsom a Youth, made such returns to his Passion, that it was diffi­cult to determine on which part were the most violent inclinations, never­theless for want of Confidence, he made her languish yet two Months in expe­ctation of what she most desir'd; when that she might no longer be tortur'd with desire, she resolv'd to make him such advances, that it should be impos­sible for him to doubt any longer of the Joys he was invited to.

She had observ'd that he had a pas­sionate Love for Hair, and desirous to raise his passion to the highest pitch, she had often suffer'd him to comb her head, tho' much to her cost, he being not very dextrous at it; the fire she perceiv'd sparkling in his Eyes, made her not complain of the inconvenience she endur'd by it, thinking that this would still encourage him. One morn­ing when she was at her Toillette, she sent for him, pretending she had occa­sion for him to write some Letters. When he came, she bid her Servants retire, since she had some secret mat­ter [Page 91] to dictate to him; but presenting the Combs to him instead of a Pen, and saying many obliging things, he was pleas'd, and became as red as fire. This had been enough for one that had known the World, but he, who was afraid of being guilty of any disrespect that might occasion his discharge, had still conti­nued so dull not to have profited by the opportunity, had not the Lady, who kindly interpreted his proceedings, forc'd him into her lap, where she made him so many advances, that he could no longer be in doubt of his good For­tune. At these signs he took Courage, and the Bed being not yet made, the half hour he remain'd with her, was so well employ'd, that she conceiv'd a great esteem of his merit. She wish'd that she might have yet enjoy'd an hour or two's entertainment with him, but being oblig'd to some measures, lest her Servants might suspect her, she made him sold up some sheets of paper as if they had been Letters, and recovering her self from the disorders which are inevitable in these Rencounters, she call'd for a Candle to seal the Letters.

This Intrigue was not suspected by any one, and if the Resentment which [Page 92] the Countess d'Olonne had conceiv'd a­gainst the Mareschal, would have given her leave to have been less mischievous, it might have long remain'd undiscover'd. But her design being to torment him, she had so narrowly observ'd 'em, that she question'd not the success of her con­trivances. She was every day confirm'd in this opinion by the different advice she had from the Spys she had engag'd to that purpose, and believing it now as an Article of Faith, she no sooner understood that the Mareschal was to return from the Army, when she made use of an unknown hand to ac­quaint him with this disagreeable news. He receiv'd the Letter upon his depar­ture, and sinding no name to it, and the Character unknown to him, he at first imagin'd it for a Jest put upon him. Nevertheless being of a jealous nature, he resolv'd to benefit by the Advice, and to observe both their Conducts so exactly, that it should be impossible for any thing to pass undiscern'd.

With these thoughts he arriv'd at Paris, and dissimulation being necessary, he us'd his Wife with so much tender­ness, that it was impossible to divine his intentions, thinking him so far from [Page 93] suspicion, shs us'd no constraint to her Favourite, but treated him with the same freedom, as in the Mareschals ab­sence.

The poor Cuckold soon perceiv'd the Intrigue, and was more politick then could be imagin'd, for tho' he was brutality it self, as I have before said, he took the readiest course to se­cure his revenge by shewing no mistrust of it, which so far deceiv'd his Wife, that there often pass'd those things be­fore him, which made him not question his being of the Brotherhood. His re­sentment was not the less for being con­ceal'd, on the contrary, it disturb'd his quiet both Night and Day; which afforded no little joy to the Countess, d'Olonne, who was so clear sighted to discern through all his false disguises, he suffer'd all the torture she could wish him. For she not only knew that he retain'd people to watch the Mareschal­less, but had also bargain'd with 'em to assassinate the Valet.

This was indeed his first design, but reflecting that such kind of people, sub­ject to many accidents, might one day accuse him, broke it off to follow just­er measures. The Countess d'Olonne [Page 94] who discover'd every day more of his discontent and inqusetude, could not forbear triumphing at it, which shews that a Woman may be at the same time engag'd in two violent Passions, for both the desire of revenge, and the care of making Love, were to be per­ceiv'd in her of an equal degree.

The Marquess of Beuvron, was still her Gallant, but being forc'd to share his good Fortune amongst many of all forts of Conditions, he grew concern'd at it; and to revenge himself, acquaint­ed the Mareschalless with the trick her Sister had play'd her. It is easie to ima­gine, what anger and trouble was in­kindled at this news, and you may judge of it by her resolutions: for tho' her passion for her Favourite was not in­different, as well as her inclinations to debauchery, being more concern'd for her Life, she broke off all Commerce with him, and would have him be gone out of the House. Several hints had preceded so surprising a Declaration, that he might esteem the thing less grievous. And she also told him of the notice she had receiv'd, to shew him that nothing but necessity could oblige her to it; but whether he took all this [Page 95] for pretence, or whether his Destiny drew him to the Precipice from which he soon after fell, he desir'd eight days time to resolve in; which she not be­ing able to refuse, he had in that time discover'd he was to be turn'd away, which coming to the Mareschal's Ears, he receiv'd him from his Wife's, into his own Service, lest his retreat should free him from the revenge he was me­ditating against him.

The hopes that the Valet had that his presence might revive those Flames that had been so agreeable to him, made him accept the offer, without acquaint­ing the Mareschalless; when she knew of it, she was ready to dye with grief, for she thought, when he was gone, she should soon forget what was pass'd, and that her Husband not knowing the depth of the Intrigue, would by degrees be free'd from the jealousie he had conceiv'd. The Mareschal, to as­sure his revenge look'd kinder upon this new Comer than on his ancient Ser­vants, and employing him before the others, incensibly drew him to that Pre­cipice that was his destruction; For taking a Journey not long after this, towards his Government of Lorain, he [Page 96] by the way Assassinated him with his own hand, that no one might know what was become of him, it happen'd after this manner. He pretended to have made a small Love Intrigue, and went thither two or three times, accom­pany'd only with this Valet, which had spread such a Jealousie amongst the rest of the Servants, that they thought he alone had now the benefit of his Ma­sters Ear. But as he was travelling one day, he bid him alight to mend some­thing about his Stirrup, and siring a Pistol at his head, the Fellow dropt down dead upon the place. When he had perform'd this noble Action, he went to Nancy, where counterfeiting a trouble to know what was become of his Ser­vant, whom he pretended to have sent on some business, the Fate of the poor Wretch was at length discover'd to him by some wandring Parties. The Gar­rison of Luxenburgh, having at this time sent Parties abroad, this Murder was attributed to them, and the Mareschal seem'd to be so incens'd at it, that he commanded a Village in that Dutchy to be burnt, tho' it was then under Contribution.

As there was not any person who [Page 97] knew any reason he had to be displeas'd with this Servant, so they could not lay this ill Action to his Charge; and even his Wife believ'd that the re­ports concerning his Death were true; she had almost forgot him since his de­parture, so that she was not very much afflicted to be thus rid of him. Yet her joy for it lasted not long, the Mar­quess de Beuvron, who was as I have said, a cunning Normand, having per­fectly inform'd himself of all the Cir­cumstances in this murder, found out the truth, and told Madam d'Olonne, with whom he was reconcil'd, that her Sister was in no little danger, and they should do well to advertise her of it. When Madam d'Olonne had reflected upon the thing, she made no doubt but he was in the right, charging him to inform her of it immediately; he went and found her dress'd, for imagining she had nothing now to fear, she thought of nothing but engaging a fresh Lover.

The Marquess, fraught with this ill news, had set his face in the form he thought most suitable to this melancholy tale, which the Mareschalless observing, told him with a gay air, now indeed [Page 98] she found he was in Love, for it per­fectly appear'd in his face. That may be, Madam, replyed Beuvron, and who can defend themselves from it; but let me assure you that what appears there now, proceeds not from that cause, but is rather an effect of Friendship, for altho' it is not very Courtly for me to tell you I am not in Love with you, yet nevertheless upon my Word, I am not less disquieted for what con­cerns you. Hereupon he told her what had pass'd in the Army; which the Mareschalless contradicting, boy'd up by her thoughts that things were in a better srame, he quickly so unde­ceiv'd her, that she was thrown into a very uneasie concern, had she known that all this mischief proceeded from her Sister, she would never have for­given her, but far from the thoughts of it, she told Beuvron that she knew not what to do in this extremity, de­siring his advice, whom she imagin'd, since he had some interest in the Fami­ly, would be glad to oblige her.

'Twas easier to make these Compli­ments upon this occasion, than to give sound advice, yet Bevron, to shew him­self a Man of Parts, propos'd several [Page 99] things to her, and she six'd upon one which was to be of so reserv'd a Con­duct in her Husbands absence, that what opinion soever he had of her, he could not but believe she had now a design to change her course of life; this oblig'd her to disperse a company of young people drawn thither and increas'd by a gay freedom which cost her much pains to be rid off. Some few of the lest dangerous only continued, and a­mongst 'em the Count d'Olonne, who encouraged by his Wife, as I have said before, was grown so much in love, that he rested neither day nor night.

The private Conversations that the Marquess de Beuvron had with her, dis­covering some Beauties to him, which he had not observ'd whilst he was in love with her Sister; he began now to see her rather out of Inclination than necessity, and as his experience in the World had taught him that so much time was lost, as was spent with a La­dy without acquainting her with his Sentiments. Madam, says he one day, I have hitherto endeavoured to render you service without hopes of a return, and the reason of it was, that not ha­ving the honour to see you often, I [Page 100] had only a slight knowledge of your merit, but since I have had the happi­ness to converse with you frequently, it had given me an opportunity to di­scern some Excellencies, that are rare­ly to be met withal, and I must con­fess to you, I should be guilty of a fal­sity, should I say I did not love you: I know, Madam, you will tell me that I love Madam d'Olonne, that is true, or to speak more properly, was true heretofore, but the time is now pass'd, neither am I to be branded with in­constancy; she has given me reason enough to disengage my self by her unfaithfulness, not to mention how lawful an Excuse, a person like you is, for any alteration of Passion.

This Compliment was not displea­sing to the Lady, tho' the maker of it had but some few days before, given her advice very contrary to it. For be­sides the pleasure a Woman always takes to hear you are in love with her, she had a secret envy to her Sister, who had mean thoughts of her beauty; so that she could not more convince her, how much she was mistaken in her opinion, than by robbing her of one who had long lov'd her, and serv'd her as a second Husband.

These Reasons, with some others which I shall not mention, made her return as soft an answer to Beuvron as he could wish, for, without so much as seeming not to believe what he said, she only mention'd the difficulty he would have to forget her Sister, and the fear she stood in of her Husband. To one part he answered her, that the Mareschal would be less jealous of him than any, since, believing him (with the rest of the World) so extreamly inamour'd with Madam d'Olonne, if the report of it should come to his Ears, he would be the last that could believe it; and for the other, she must take him either for a Man of a very low Spirit, or a blind dotard, that after so remarkable a Conduct as the Coun­tess's, his Passion should continue for her; that he was by Nature Constant, but not insensible; that to confess the truth, 'twas indignation began the disengage­ment, but the Passion he had for her that perfected it; that truly her fea­tures were not so regular as her Sisters, but the least of her Charms and good Qualities gave her much the advantage of her.

This was a great deal to be believ'd; for the Countess was without dispute one of the finest Women in France. But Beuvron accompanying his Dis­course with some Actions which prov'd he was truely concern'd, it was suffici­ent to perswade the Lady, who, as I have already said, had a good opinion of her self, that he was very much in love, so that not wanting desire, and he seeming to her handsom enough to take the Valet de Chambre's place, she made no other pretenses to shew she doubted of his Discourse: But on the contrary, told him what obligati­ons she had to him for his good ad­vice, that if she should happen to con­descend too easily, he might attribute it to her acknowledgement. The Mar­quess de Beuvron, who knew how to live, very well understood the meaning of this, and not suffering the Discourse to range any farther, with fury ar­riv'd at the greatest Bliss.

The Lady found him a good actor in the Comedy they had been playing together, which his Barbary shape and loose air, could not make her believe. But his Hair which was black, suppl'y'd the defects, and the Lady appear'd to [Page 103] him so engageing, that he could not but perform something extraordinary for her service. She ask'd him which (meaning she or her Sister,) afforded him the most ravishing transports, and and the Intrigue being so publick, that every body knew of it, he thought it would be disobliging to deny it, and laying aside his discretion, freely con­fessed, her self without Comparison: She seem'd not to believe him, pretend­ing his Raptures did not appear to her violent enough, but this was only to give him the opportunity to begin again; which he perceiving, acquitted himself so well of his Duty, that she was forc'd to confess that if he did not love her, his treatment to her had very much the appearances of it.

This enterview being pass'd in this manner, we may easily imagine they parted good Friends, and with an in­tention to see each other at the first opportunity; in fine, they had several Meetings without the least suspicion of harm, so unalterably fix'd to her Sister was he generally imagin'd, but yet the Count d'Olonne was not deceiv'd, which was a wonder, since he was reputed no great Conjurer. This poor Cuckold [Page 104] not to be the only one without a Mi­stress, had endeavoured to gain the Ma­reschalless's favour, and as the Jealous have Eyes that see through all things. he, who did not so much as mistrust his Wife's deportment, was so assur'd of the falseness of his Mistress, that he was resolv'd to quarrel with Beuvron about it. Who could have believ'd him of such dangerous Resolutions, who us'd to entertain as a maxim, that he who drew his Sword, should pe­rish by the Sword? neither would he ever engage in the perillous trade of War; and tho' his Father had bought him a considerable Employment, he being oblig'd by it on some occasions to get on Horseback for the King's Service, he soon thought fit to part with it. Neither was his Rival much un­like him in his temper, for which rea­son he had procur'd an Employment, that was not more dangerous in War than peace, each being of the best Fami­lies in France, which had heretofore produc'd considerable Hero's.

D'Olonne therefore knowing that he had to do with one that was not more mischievous than himself, was the more willing to quarrel with him, and in [Page 105] so furious a manner, that nothing less than cutting of throats was expected, in effect there was enough pass'd be­tween 'em, to have occasion'd unpar­donable feuds in others; but the noise of their quarrel being spread all over Paris, their Friends endeavoured to re­concile 'em, but could never succeed; they still grew the more violent, which the peace-makers perceiving, left them at liberty, not apprehending any great danger was likely to ensue. Neither were they deceiv'd, for when they found the Bridle was on their necks, they began to think they were in the wrong, not to take their Friends advice, which made it not difficult for Madam d'Olonne, who was afraid of losing Beu­vron, to Counsel her Husband not to venture himself so rashly; so that without entring into particulars, she made 'em promise to be Friends. To this purpose, she said, she would treat 'em both with a Supper in her Apart­ment, and d'Olonne consented to it, ho­ping in her presence he might cast some reflections upon Beuvron, whom he thought was too assiduous with her, and he must have been stark blind not to perceive there was a great inti­macy betwixt 'em.

Those who knew of their quarrel, imagin'd she was the occasion of it, but when they found her the Mareschal of France, that is the reconciler, they knew not what to think. Beuvron be­ing at the Rendezvous, d'Olonne told his Wife the whole truth of the Quarrel, pretending he could not see him at­tempt the dishonour of his Sister and not resent it; this I'll assure you was no swall Stratagem for him, who was reported to be guilty of but few in his own affairs; but yet it availed nothing with her, for she imagin'd, as it was true, that he was in Love himself with her Sister, and that Jealousie only had the power to draw him to this violence. This answer'd not the intent of the Husband, who would have had her quarrell'd with Beuvron for his insideli­ty, and for that reason had consented to the accommodation; she was as jea­lous as another, but she believ'd her Husband had taken a false allarm; and what confirm'd her in this Opinion was, that she had her self commanded Beuvron to see her Sister privately, which she thought the occasion of all this disorder.

This happen'd whilst the King was young, and but little of his adroitness either in War or Love had yet ap­pear'd; but as he had the inclinations of a great Prince, of all the Women about Court these two Sisters were the least in his esteem, and he could not forbear to say one day, speaking of the Countess d'Olonne, that she was a shame to her Sex, and that her Sister was going the way to be little better. In effect finding her Husband more tra­ctable at his return that she could hope, she stopped not at the Marquess de Beu­vron, but associated with him many Comrades of all sorts. The Church, the Law, and the Sword, was equally well receiv'd by her, and not content­ed with these three States, she made a Favourite of a fourth. Those who were concern'd in the Revenue pleas'd her extreamly, and having a great in­clination for Play, many believ'd her Interest engag'd her to it.

The Marquess de Beuvron believing himself handsom enough to be happy, was not contented with the leavings of so many; and Madam d'Olonne being not more faithful to him, he not only resolved to see neither of 'em, but [Page 108] also to ruin their Reputations in the World. As he durst not brag pub­lickly to have lain with two Sisters, he gave 'cm to understand he had en­joy'd that happiness with one, and that it was only his own fault that he had not arriv'd to it with the other. Those who knew 'em both, had no hardship to believe it, but many believing it was malice that occasion'd his railing, the injury he thought to do their Re­putations, excited only in them a cu­riosity to see such remarkable Ladies.

It was no wonder that the Count d'Olonne should be so accustom'd to his Wifes receiving Visits, since his House had never since his marriage been free from people of all conditi­ons. But that the Mareschal de la Ferté should suffer it, was not to be compre­hended; especially when he had made her so Cavalier a Complement the day after his Wedding, and upon a bare suspicion had himself assassinated his Valet de Chambre. 'Tis strange that af­ter these actions he should ever pardon her, but it was for a Reason not gene­rally known, and which I am going to relate. The Mareschal, as brutal as he was, fell sometimes in Love, and the [Page 109] Marquess de Beuvron, whose Intrigue then continu'd, had, to put him in good Humour at his return from Nor­mandy, taken as pretty a Girl as any in Paris, out of a publick House, and plac'd her here, that she might pun­ctually perform what he desired. The Mareschal was no sooner returned, but he began to be taken with her, she was so handsom, and of so good a shape, that it was not strange he should fall into her Nets. He look'd very much upon her, and believing her as vertuous as she affected to appear, it was not long before he made her an offer of his Heart. She at first refu­sed it, and his passion was so enslam'd by the denyal, that he openly Court­ed her. his Wife to push on the de­sign, pretended to be offended at it, but he desisted not for this, neither car'd she much, for what she did, was only to make him believe he was not indifferent to her.

When the Vestal had perform'd all the little tricks she thought necessary to force him into the better opinion of her Person, she yielded to his desires; and tho' the Mareschal's fortune in it was not extraordinary, he was ne­vertheless [Page 110] so charm'd with it, that he could no longer live without her. She performed her duty towards him very well, by following the orders were given her: And she took great care to entertain him with the Ver­tue of the Mareschalless, under the pretext that having a Wife so com­mendable in all things, the Passion he had for her would no doubt be quickly expir'd. It was not the Ma­reschalless or Beuvron's design that she should proceed as far, for they had a­bove all things, recommended to her to be prudent; but they found they were mistaken, when they relyed up­on such a one as she was, and were a­fraid lest, instead of the Service they thought to reap by it, (she having gone beyond their Commands) their affairs might be rendered worse, by discoveting the secret, to prevent the worst, he caus'd her one day to be taken away by stealth, and carry'd her to Rouen, from whence he sent her to America.

The Mareschal made a great noise about it, and attributed it to his Wife's Jealousie, which she did not at all de­ny. This occasion'd a breach for some [Page 111] time, but the Mareschal's love fit being over, he was reconcil'd to her, and the Friendship he shew'd her, was so much the more sincere, as he believ'd a Woman capable of so much jealousie, could by no means be un­faithful to him. By this means she regain'd his Confidence in her, which made the Town, not so easie to be a­bus'd as the Mareschal, conclude that it is in a Womans power to tame the most savage Beast. In fine, he suffer'd her not only to see all sorts of Company under the pretence of Play, which she introduc'd at home; but also furnish'd her with all the mo­ney he could procure, whilst his Cre­ditors at Paris were clamouring after him for the money he ow'd 'em.

At this permission to see Company her heart was overjoy'd. All the youth of the Court pass'd through her hands, whilst the Countess d'Olonne, old, and despis'd, was forc'd to retrench her self to Feruaques, who had no other good qualities but that of being rich, and of the same name with one who had been a Mareschal of France. He was of a good Family on his Mothers side, but very mean on his Fathers; [Page 112] so that she us'd him so scurvily, as if the refuse of the whole World had been too good for him; and seeming to be ashamed of the Amour, she who had never taken any measures in debauchery, made it be publickly reported that she saw him for no other reason, but to endeavour to marry him to her Niece, Mademoiselle de la Ferté, who was not very rich, and would by this means have her necessity supply'd, and to blind the people more, she made him buy the Government of the Province du Main, declaring it was for no other rea­son than that her Niece might have a Husband of some rank. But being quickly tir'd with these Contrivances, they took lodgings together, and his Relations were afraid, lest he should be guilty of the Folly to marry her, in case her Husband should dye. Ma­dam de Bonelle, his Mother, was most allarm'd at it, protesting, that she should never be at quiet if this should happen. This was told again to Madam d'O­lonne, who not considering Feruaques's innocence, let her resentment fall upon him. She ask'd him if he was the occa­sion of these false reports, and if he was vain enough to believe that she [Page 113] would marry him, should she be a Wi­dow. Feruaques was concern'd at this slight, and returning an answer which did not please her, she took the Tongs and pinch'd him by the face; he pay'd her so much respect, that he only ask'd her what she was doing, and whether she had well considered of it? So Sottish a question deserv'd a fresh pu­nishment, so that believing him a great­er Fool than before, she continu'd to use him so ill, that he was much dis­figur'd, and durst not stir out for eight days.

Madam de Bonnelle being acquainted (by what means I know not) with this Adventure, was ready to run mad; and had she brought the Estate, she would have certainly given it all to her other Son Bullion. But nevertheless she thought it necessary to remind Fe­ruaques of his Honour, and having not seem him since he lodg'd with her, she sent her Woman to speak with him. Madam d'Olonne was by chance going forth as she came in, and Madam de Bonelle bidding her Servant take no notice of her, in case she should meet her, she fairly pass'd on without ma­king any obeysance. The Countess [Page 114] d'Olonne knew her, and not questioning but what she did was by Command; 'tis thus says she aloud, that ill bred people instruct their Sevants, and if I did my self Justice, I should have you corrected for it. The Woman heard plainly what she said, and being not assur'd but she might be as good as her Word, she was sorry she had so punctually executed her Mistresses com­mand. But the Lady going on after these Words, she continu'd her way al­so, and acquitted her self of her Message. She found Feruaques with his head bound his face black and blue, and one of his Eyes almost put out; and being an antient Servant, who us'd to speak freely to him, are you not asham'd? says she, and can you think of the condition you are in, without blush­ing? He would have dissembled the oc­casion, but when the Woman said the whole story was sufficiently known, he was very much confus'd at it, but yet he would not consent to what she de­sired, which was to leave Madam d'O­lonne, and oblige his Mother who was dying with grief at it.

'Twas not ill Fortune to an Elder­ly Lady, as the Countess was, to have the enjoyment of a Lover young and rich, but yet she fell far short of her Sister, who after she had tasted of all the Court, and even her Brother in Law, was so lucky to engage a young Prince of great Merit, the Duke of Longueville, Nephew to the Prince of Condée. He was not yet twenty, but being very handsom, and of a shape that promised great pleasures; there was no Woman about Court, who had not made some attempt upon his Heart. The Mareschalless, who if I may say so, was continually beating up Volunteers for Love, questioning her Reputation, and therefore doubt­ful of her happiness, was secretly sigh­ing to see so noble a Conquest scape her. De Fiesque was her Friend, tho' not of that kind that had aspir'd to enjoy her, so that she imagin'd she might freely open her heart to him, and not occasion Jealousie. 'Tis a strange thing, said she, that I hear such Com­mendations of the Duke of Longueville, and that I have no acquaintance with him. He visits every body but me, and some Women are much happier then [Page 116] others; I know a thousand that he goes to see, who without vanity, are no better than my self, and to tell you the truth, my dear Count, it torments me to see him in their Company, either at the Thuilleries, or other publick di­vertisements, whilst I have only the civility of a Hat. de Fiesque, who was complaisance it self, told her she had reason and ought to be much concern'd at it, and when he had told her seve­ral things in advantage of her Beauty, and Wit, to perswade her she had a right to pretend to this Conquest. What would you have me say, continued he, sometimes your conduct is irregular, and if I may speak sincerely, every one is not of your humour. The Duke re­ceives me as his Friend, and as one of his most intimate, so that he has been so free as to discover his Heart to me, and was I not afraid that it would be disagreeable to you, I would tell you what he says of you. At these words the Mareschalless blush'd, but being de­sirous that this Intrigue should be dri­ven to a happy conclusion; she would bear with some ungrateful truths, in hopes they might be useful to her. She therefore conjur'd him to conceal [Page 117] nothing from her, saying, she would be so far from taking it ill, that she was angry with him for not discove­ring it to her sooner, and that that reserve was an Argument he was not so good a Friend as she had always esteem'd him, but if he did not in­stantly repair the Fault, she would never forgive him.

De Fiesque finding by her concern, that it would oblige her to speak free­ly, told her that the Duke thought it not well that she receiv'd so much Com­pany: That he had several times con­fess'd to him, that he found her hand­some, neither could she be more agree­able in his Eye, but so great a resort to her was intollerable; neither could he believe she lov'd the Count d'Olonne as was reported, without extreamly lessening the esteem he had for her; saying amongst other things, that to love so ridiculous a Man as the Count, must be a Sign of perfect debauchery. That if she had any design upon the Duke, she must begin it with the re­formation of her Conduct. That to do her service, he would be sure to let him know it was for his sake, so that the ill Impressions he had of her wear­ing [Page 118] off by degrees, his Esteem for her would encrease, which would cer­tainly produce all she could wish or hope.

The Duke had taken such possessi­on of her heart, that she could not re­fuse the offer. She thank'd de Fiesque for his good advice, and, not endea­vouring to find how much of what he said was Complement, she seem'd perswaded of the truth, and was on­ly uneasie to know, if in case she should refuse all Company, it would give a satisfaction to his Friend. The Count told her she had no reason to doubt of it, and that he for his part would take care to perswade him, that a Woman who was capable of doing, without an acquaintance, so much for his sake, would perform any thing when he should return an acknowledg­ment.

'Twas thus that the Mareschalless, by the necessities of her temper, over­turn'd the Laws of Nature; for, not considering that 'twas the Woman's part to expect the Courtship from the Man, it is evident, that she first made Love to the Duke of Longueville. The Count de Fiesque, who believ'd she [Page 119] would find it very difficult to discharge so many favourites for the sake and en­joyment of one, mention'd nothing at first, of this Conversation to the Duke; but when he found she began in ear­nest to effect her Promise, and had parted with the Count d'Olonne, the Marquess Deffiat, and many more too tedious to name; he thought himself oblig'd to perform his promise. The Duke de Longueville, when he had known what pass'd, was glad she had taken this Course, for it would have otherwise been impossible for him to love her; that now since all obstacles were remov'd, he consented to visit her, desiring him to acquaint her he would come to see her in the After­noon, and that he should be a witness of their first Conversation. The Count did what he could to excuse himself, telling him that a third person made but an ill figure at such interviews, but the Duke desiring it for several reasons; first, because he would have one who was a Friend to both present, to witness upon what conditions they lo­ved; and in the second place, not be­ing in a condition to perform the pro­mises he might make, he should be sure [Page 120] of an Excuse to defer the Payment to a more favourable opportunity.

In sine, too much health had occa­sioned his sickness, for frequenting too often some brisk Ladies about Court, he was forc'd to retire from theirs, to put himself into the Chirurgeons hands. De Fiesque seeing he would have it so, was oblig'd to condescend, and having acquainted the Lady of the visit, she dress'd her self extraordinary fine to receive him. But the Duke on the contrary, was in a course Suit of gray Cloth, tho' he did not appear the less Charming to the Lady for his negli­gence. So that eager to content her desires, she was sorry he had brought the Count de Fiesque with him, fear­ing by it lest his expectations were not so passionate as hers. The Duke after the first Compliments, told her that having heard from his Friend how much he was oblig'd to her, he came not only to return her thanks, but to Vow an eternal Friendship for her. That it should be her fault, if they did not love as long as they liv'd, and 'twas for that reason he had brought the Count, that he might reproach him with his falseness, if he should [Page 121] ever be worse than his engagement. That he would never see Mademoiselle de Fienne any more, to whom he was thought a Friend, but would leave her to the Chevalier de Lorain, her rightful Patron, and would perform the same to all the rest of the Ladies that were suspected, and she had only to advertise him if there was any one she would not have him see. But he requir'd, that she should for her part, promise the same thing concerning those he should be jealous of; adding that he was so critical, that it was impossible for him to perceive any thing of that nature, and not have a quarrel with her for ever about it.

The Count de Fiesque, who was a mediator on this occasion, said, that it was too reasonable, and the Mareschal­less too just to oppose it. And in effect, she was so far from contradict­ing it, that with the greatest satisfa­ction she seem'd to wish all mischief might happen unto her, if she would not do any thing for the possession of so illustrious a heart. The bargain thus concluded, without more Ceremony, he kiss'd her hand, in token of the Friendship he had vow'd to her; when [Page 122] she, who thought those earnests not suf­ficient, threw her arms about his neck, and gave him a thousand amorous kisses: Had not the Prince been indis­pos'd, his temper had been too acknow­ledging to have omitted a suitable an­swer. But knowing that it was not in this Distemper, that a hair of the same Dog was to be taken for a Re­medy; he broke off the entertainment as soon as he could, upon promise to return alone the next day. But as it was impossible for him to make his Court in the right method, without occasioning both their Repentance, he pretended to be sick, which afforded him time to prepare for the Combat she expected.

The Visit he made her allarm'd the discarded Lovers, and not any of 'em doubted but it was to him they were sacrific'd. Yet no other following of some time, it a little amus'd 'em, I mean upon his account, for having the same ill treatment continued to them, they were not the less unhappy; for their jealousie, changing only the Ob­ject, furnish'd 'em with reason enough to be discontented. D'Olonne, who had bestow'd much money in purchasing her [Page 123] good favour, whether he regretted it, or was sorry to be depriv'd of the pleasure, accus'd the Marquess de Deffiat as the reason; and reported about, that he would be even with him; and to prove that he intended to be a man of his word, he hir'd some Bravo's to accompany him, and well arm'd, march­ed round the Hotel de la Ferté, swear­ing that if they found him there, he should not return as he came. Deffiat, altho' the younger, shew'd himself the wiser in this matter, telling those who acquainted him with these extravagan­cies, that he would have nothing to do with an old Cuckold: That he seem'd to be angry, suspecting he had robb'd him of his Mistresses heart, but he had a better opinion of the Lady, than to imagin she would continue a League with such a sort of a Man, when there were a thousand more de­serving at her devotion.

I know not whether this discourse was carryed to the Count d'Olonne, but his resentment terminated in rail­ing at the Mareschalless: And meet­ing her one day at a Lady's House of her acquaintance, he reproach'd her with it, and told her she had not al­ways [Page 124] treated him with such indiffe­rency. The Mareschalless, willing that her Friend should be deceiv'd in the fault imputed to her, with a great presence of mind, answer'd, There is no great reason to wonder, Sir, I us'd you as my Brother-in-Law, whilst you gave good usage to my Sister, but since she has such ill treatment from you, I know no obligation that claims a greater acknowledgment from my self. These words would bear an interpre­tation, that her disrespect proceeded from his separation from his Wife, and was the first who spoke ill of her, and this was the explication the Mareschal­less hop'd the Lady would give 'em; but d'Olonne was too much concern'd to suffer it, and that the Lady might not be deceiv'd, No no, Madam, said he, leave your Banters, they are too gross to pass upon the Lady. I speak not of your Sister, but your self, to whom I have given ten thousand Pi­stols, in hopes you would be faithful to me, but I sind I am not happier ei­ther as a Husband, or a Gallant, which I owe to my cursed Fate that drew me to address my self to your Family.

These words, follow'd with some other reproaches, put the Mareschal­less into a great Confusion, who think­ing her Tears would perswade her Friend of her innocence, having the command of them when she pleas'd, so plentiful a Shower fell, that would have mov'd pity in any one who had not known she had been so admirable a Comedian when she pleas'd; in the mean time her friend, seeming to be perswaded of the untruth, extreamly blam'd the Count d'Olonne, who on his side thinking her in earnest, swore a thousand Oaths to justifie the truth of what he affirm'd: She answer'd, she could never believe it; but if it was so, the baser Man was he to boast of things of that nature.

When d'Olonne had vented his anger, he withdrew, and the Mareschalless swore after he was gone, that she would acquaint her Husband with it; but she never intended it. A severe fit of the Gout had long confin'd him to his Bed, and he was ignorant of the life she had led for a time.

His indisposition was the reason that he could not perceive the Intrigue between his Wife and the Duke of [Page 126] Longueville, who was recovered, which would not otherwise have been diffi­cult. For she not only banish'd all Company for the Love of him, but denyed her self to play, tho' it was her second inclination. She fear'd lest that affording a general liberty of coming to all who pleas'd, might oc­casion his jealousie. Their next inter­view was at the Hotel de la Ferté, where the Duke giving her demon­stration of a perfect health, he became so dear to her, that she could have no quiet till they had pass'd a whole night together; to oblige him to it, she told him that her Husband being ill of the Gout, it was the same thing as if he was abroad, since he was incapable to stir, and the security being without suspicion, he incurr'd no danger in it. The Duke of Longueville's violent Flames, being a little appeas'd by en­joyment, he told her she was in the right, but it was not reasonable to run so great a risque, when necessity did not compel it; that he agree'd with her, the Mareschal could not stir out from his Bed, but yet seeing him come into the House, it would be easie to observe he went not out again, which [Page 127] would ruin all their Affairs; that it was much better to meet abroad, and turn day into Night, where there would be no fears to interrupt their Joys, which seem'd to be what she de­sir'd. They were too well acquainted to continue reserv'd, 'twas an Enjoy­ment as free as Nature she desired, and Caress'd him till he agreed to yield her that contentment. He promis'd it should speedily be, and to keep his word, he desired Fiesque to hire a House in his name. He took one near St. An­thony's Gate, where the Mareschalless, pretending to go walk, sometimes to the Arsenal, sometimes to Vincenne, oft­en came through a back Gate. The Petticoats began to rise with these In­terviews, and finding her self with Child, she was in some concern. Yet seeming to be careless of the resentment of her Husband, to shew the greater violence of Passion for her Gallant, she contriv'd ways to hide her great Belly, and was brought to Bed in her own Appartment.

The Duke of Longueville would not be there, but sent de Fiesque in his place, who brought the Child away under a great Cloak. Whilst he was [Page 128] crossing a Court to come to his Coach, the Boy cry'd, and fearing to be dis­cover'd, he clapt his hand upon its mouth, and had like to have killed it. He carry'd it to the Duke, who was ex­pecting of it at a House in the Sub­urbs St. Germain, where a Nurse was provided. The delivery being hap­pily over, she wanted not an excuse to keep her Bed, which made no bo­dy suspect the Affair, not even the Mareschal, who was swearing in ano­ther Bed at every one that came near him, for he vented the vexation he had at his indisposition, upon those who had any business with him, tho' they were more deserving than himself; for he had committed a thousand Cruel­ties, and Exactions, not to reckon the Estates of others that he had gain'd half by force, and half by address.

It is not without reason that I say this, since it tends more to my Sub­ject, than you may imagine, as you may judge by what follows. His Wife had some Lands near Orleans, and he, being desirous to build, and to en­large it, he bought a great deal of the Lands adjoyning, not valuing at what rate, since he did not design to [Page 129] pay. One Gentleman amongst the rest, knowing how dangerous it is to have to do with a greater person than ones self, had forbore as long as he could to part with some of his Lands, but being overpowered by force, he had parted with 'em twenty years with­out receiving one penny for principal or interest; at last by this means re­duc'd to great Wants, he threw him­self at the Kings feet, who stopt, and demanding of him the reason, he present­ed him a Petition, where his Case was stated in a few words. The King, who lov'd justice, sent immediately to command the Mareschal to give the Gentleman satisfaction, within eight days at farthest.

This Command was sent him du­ring the lying in before mention'd, and you may imagine if his ill humour af­forded much quiet to those about him. In fine, it happen'd that a Gentleman whom he had us'd ill, being an inti­mate Friend to the Count de Fiesque, was the next day after this Adven­ture, complaining of his treatment to him, and the Count answered him, that he was an old Cuckold, and he had no reason to think it strange, since such [Page 130] was his usage to all the World, but his Wife was sufficiently reveng'd of him, for not only her own but their quarrels to him. Whether we are delighted to hear ill of those that have done us injuries, or whether out of a natural inclination to mischief, he was so pleas'd at these words, that he desir'd the Count, whom he found fully instructed, to tell him some par­ticularities; and he being so impru­dent to content him, and at the same time to tell him that the Mareschal­less was now lying in, he departed ve­ry well satisfied. His design was not to let this story be forgot, so he call'd for Pen and Ink, and his hand being not known to the Mareschal, he com­municated this advice to him, which he thought would not be very agree­ably receiv'd.

This Letter came to the Mareschal by the Post, for the Gentleman for that end had carry'd it himself to E­stampes. The Mareschal when he o­pen'd it, was very much surpris'd at the News, which he thought seem'd very probable, his Wife having for some time, pretended to be sick, and the distemper neither increas'd nor [Page 131] diminish'd, and he was inform'd in Case he should be incredulous, he might still have an opportunity to clear his doubts. It is not easie to imagin what effect such advice should produce in so violent a Man: had the Mare­schalless been in a condition to rise, she might easily have carried it off, but her good Fortune was, that his Gout confin'd him to his Bed, and he was incapable of any thing but ma­king Reflections: So that, besides the opinion that he was of, that the least noise would be best for his Reputati­on, he could not tell but he might be engaged for her upon the Gentleman's account, above mentioned, since it is not the custom at Paris to lend Money to Ladies without something under their hands, which would fall upon him.

These two Circumstances having not appeas'd his resentment, but ob­structed those several Consequences he was meditating upon, he demanded not to be satisfied as he was counsel'd, knowing that after it he was oblig'd to keep no measures. Nevertheless he thought not the less, for the time of lying in being pass'd, the Lady's di­stemper [Page 132] vanish'd, and she came into his Chamber in as good health as if she had ailed nothing. As soon as he saw her, he began to cry out as if he had a fit of his Pain, and the Mares­challess demanding the reason. Ah Madam, said he, when you cry'd out louder than I do, not long ago, I did not ask you what was the matter, and therefore pray let me alone. These words, which express'd much without any positive meaning, gave the Lady occasion to think; and that she might not make any discoveries in her Coun­tenance, she immediately retir'd; and the Duke of Longueville making her a visit, she told him what had happen'd to her, which did not at all hinder their accustom'd Entertainments. The Child's name was incerted in the Let­ter which the Mareschal receiv'd, so that he suspected the Duke's Visit, and after it he constantly, when a Coach came, enquir'd whose it was. He sound every day the Duke was of the throng that visited his Wife, and this assiduousness confirm'd him in the truth of what he was inform'd of.

The King at this time having War with Holland, every body of Quality accompany'd him, and the Duke of Longueville amongst the rest, then a Collonel of Horse. The Mareschalless parted with him less concern'd than might easily be imagin'd, it being oc­casion'd by a little quarrel there hap­pen'd betwixt them, upon the account of the Countess of Nogent whom he admir'd as she had heard. There was but little likelihood of it; for this Countess, who was sister to the Count de Lausun, had neither his shape, air, nor Beauty; but it being difficult to cure a mind seis'd with Jealousie, the doubt was so imprinted, that it pass'd with her for a truth; and 'tis true, tho' all of it was not, yet a part of it at least was certain, for undoubted­ly this Lady had a violent Passion for the young Prince, as she manifested upon several occasions.

However the King had fix'd the day of his departure, and the Duke took no great care to undeceive the Mare­schalless, and he left her without clear­ing the feuds between 'em; for he be­gan to be jealous of Bechameil, one of the dregs of the People, but richer [Page 134] then many of higher condition, which was a quality very Charming to her, espe­cially if it was accompanied with libera­lity: But tho' the Citizen was very pas­sionate, she had made no returns to his Amour, for fear of angring the Duke, who had so declar'd against a sharer, that she durst not shew the Complaisance she had for his Riches.

Having parted after this manner, few Letters pass'd between 'em, which was to Bechameil's advantage, for he found the means to make himself agree­able to the Mareschalless, by offering at the same time to her Devotion, both his Purse and his Heart. At first she re­fus'd both, apprehending lest the Duke of Longueville might have left some bo­dy at Paris, to observe her Conduct; but this Prince having the ill fortune to be kill'd about six weeks after his departure, upon a Pass on the River Rhine, she was very sorry she had refus'd a Man that might be of advantage to her more than one way, after the loss she had receiv'd. All who knew this Princess's Intrigue, wonder'd she should receive so indifferently the news of his death, for she was at the Thuilleries the next day, as merry as ever. It was not [Page 135] so with the Countess of Nogent, she was ready to dye with Grief; but losing her Husband on the same occasion, it was a very good Colour for her extra­ordinary grief, and improv'd her Re­putation in the Opinion of the World.

Bechameil being rid of so dangerous a Rival, found a greater easiness in his designs than he could have hoped for; for the Mareschalless, dreading lest he should be quite discourag'd by her re­fusal, writ him a very obliging Let­ter to this purpose.

Bechameil was too understanding to miss of the right interpretation of this Letter, so that arming himself with a Purse charg'd with four hundred Pistols, his time being dear to him, and unwil­ling to waste it in fruitless words, with this good Succour, he march'd to the Hotel de la Ferté; where, To be short Madam, says he, I heard that you lost upon honour yesterday four hundred Pistols, and since persons of Quality may sometimes happen to be without ready Money, I have brought you that same to free you from the trouble of pro­curing it else-where. The Mareschalless understood his meaning but thinking it too low a rate to dispose of her self to a little Citizen. Sir, says she, I cannot imagine who could tell you this, but he has only acquainted you with half my misfortune: I was so unlucky truly to lose eight hundred, and if you could lend 'em me, I should take [Page 137] it for a very great Obligation. Eight hundred Pistols, Madam, reply'd he, that's a considerable Sum in this Age; but no matter, 'tis a Tryal I must make for your sake; take nevertheless what I have brought, and I will give you my Note for the rest, if you will not take my Word.

He said this with so good a grace, that she thought fit to trust him till the next day, and telling him that all was at his Service, he began to return her thanks in kissing her hand. She after that offer'd him her face, where he ma­king too long a stay, What, Sir, said she, dare you do no more till you have paid? let not that hinder you, your word, as I told you before, is ready money to me, and I wish withal my heart you were farther indebted to me.

She might say this perhaps for fear the man should begin to consider, and not taking his Merchandise, should not think himself oblig'd to pay her; for she could not be so covetous of his per­son, as out of desire to enjoy it, thus to hasten the Conclusion. Bechameil, nevertheless, not at all surpris'd at the Discourse (which would perhaps have [Page 138] startled any other) Patience, Madam, crys he, every thing in due season, Pa­ris was not built in a day. I am past five and fifty, and persons of my age cannot ride post when they please. These reasons were too good and solid to be denyed, so that giving what time he required, he in fortus at last arriv'd where he desir'd. The Lady, who would not have him depart discontent­ed, told him persons of his age were to be admir'd, that there was nothing but Brutality in youth, desiring him to afford her an hour or two of his Company as often as he could. The good man, who lov'd pleasure when it did not endanger his health, imagi­ning she demanded a meeting for the next day, excus'd himself upon some business he had at Council, but sent her the remaining four hundred Pi­stols, and she thought it covenient to return him thanks for 'em in this fol­lowing Letter.

What! goodness! cry'd Bechameil, when he had read the Letter, has she a mind to ruin me? and must I pay her so plentifully because I am old? This Reflection, join'd with the little pres­sing occasions of his temper, made the business at Council last three days long­er than it would have otherwise done; but that being expir'd, he resolv'd to go see if the money he had parted with, would be worth to him at least another Visit. The first word the Mareschalless spoke to him, was, Ah Sir, I think I [Page 140] was born to be ever unfortunate, I lost again yesterday five hundred Pistols. To her good fortune she was so handsom that day, that tho' the Compliment did not please him, he return'd her this an­swer, Well, Madam, since it is so, don't despair, for you have some Friends left still, who will not forsake you for so small a matter. The Mareschalless not at all doubting but his meaning was ei­ther to give 'em her down, or send 'em within an hour, gave him all the signs of acknowledgment she could think of; but Company coming in, the mea­sures of assuring the payment were broke, so that going before the others about some business, or rather with pre­meditated design, he forgot his pro­mise. There was a little malice in what he did, and he began to be weary of buying her good favour at so dear a rate; but that not answering her pur­pose, she writ him a new Billet to re­mind him of his Promise. He sent her the Money accompanied with this an­swer.

This Letter did not at all please the Mareschalless, who expected the benefit of his Purse as often as she desir'd; and as if the Merchandise had been worth his money, she could hardly forbear returning him reproaches; yet she stay'd some days to see if he would mollifie of himself, when fearing to lose him, she writ him these words.

Pretend an occasion, crys Bechameil, when he had red the Letter, and is four­teen thousand three hundred Livres in eight days time nothing, according to her reckoning; if this should last, I must of necessity break, and it would be to little purpose to oppress the People, the Recompence would be but little, after so great a loss. When he had said a great many things to the same tune, he took his Cloak and Gloves, and went to her in great anger. The time that was requir'd to get thither had a little appeas'd him, so that when he arriv'd, Madam, says he, I come to see if we can agree about the price, I will tell you in a word the most I will give, if ten [Page 143] thousand Crowns a year will do, 'tis at your service, and pray let me know if you are contented. That's but a little for me, answered the Mareschalless, I often play off as much in a day, and what must I do the rest of the time? What, Madam, replyed Bechameil, cannot you live without Play? No, Sir, answered she, 'tis impossible. She might have al­so added, any more than without Love, but she judg'd it properer to let him imagine it, than to mention it her self.

Bechameil, as much in Love as he was, had more concern for his Interest, so that being not pleas'd at the Answer, he threw up his head, which the Mareschal­less perceiving, endeavour'd with all her Art to sooth him. She said then, that every body might live, he should make it twenty thousand Crowns; but he storm'd at the proposition, and swore he would not go one farthing beyond the ten thousand he had offer'd, and waited only for her resolution. The Ma­reschalless finding him so obstinate, was oblig'd to be contented; yet she would have a Bottle of Wine, because, as she said, no bargains of consequence were e­ver made without it. Bechameil had no­thing to say against it, and the Bargain [Page 144] being concluded, he was oblig'd to pay her twelve thousand five hundred Livres the next day. For she would have a quar­ter before hand. Since he had acknow­ledg'd it in his Letter to be the Cu­stom in those Cases. It was hard for him to part with the Sum intire, having not long before paid two such consi­derable ones; but considering she could not after that demand any thing of him for three Months, he overcame his in­clinations, which was not the least sign he could give her of his Affections.

For these three Sums he enjoy'd the body of the Lady, for her heart was then in the possession of the Count de Tallard, tho' he kept it not long, his ta­lent being rather to please the Men than the Women. I cannot say who took his place, for she had treated so many as if she had lov'd 'em, that I might very well be mistaken, should I pretend to say who was her favourite.

The old Mareschal still kept his Bed with the Gout. He thank'd Heaven for ridding him of the Duke of Longueville, hoping according to the Italian Proverb, that says, The Beast being dead, the Venom dyes, the world would forget what was pass'd; and one would have thought that [Page 145] he had forgot it himself, for when she came into his Chamber, he call'd her no­thing but my Love and my Heart, which were not the words he us'd to give her before. But to afford him a new morti­fication, it was told him, that the Duke of Longueville had left a Bastard, which the King intended to legitimate, he durst not ask who was the Mother of it, but the Messenger of this news sav'd him that Trouble, or rather threw him into a greater, by acquainting him that the Mother was conceal'd, and it might for that reason very probably be some mar­ryed Woman.

The Mareschalless, coming into his Chamber some time after, he no longer continu'd his sweet words, but enter­tain'd her with Curses, the common Or­nament of his Discourse. To be even with him, she left him alone with his dogged humour, and went to comfort her self with Bechameil who brought her a quarter of her pension. 'Tis strange this man who was as proud as common­ly those are who come from nothing, should suffer her to play a thousand tricks before his face; but the pleasure to hear it said, that he had the wife of a Mare­schal of France to his Mistress, made him [Page 146] pass over many things; and besides she had taken care to perswade him that tho' there might be some appearances to the contrary, she was nevertheless reserv'd to him alone. But tho' he had often re­ly'd upon these excuses, when he per­ceiv'd she parted with what he gave her, to make her self valu'd by others, it so incensed him, that he writ her this Let­ter.

The Lady was much troubled at this Letter, so considerable a Sum was of use to her, besides the otehr presents she [Page 147] often wheedled from him. And truly she had reason to be concern'd at it, for her husbands affairs went at this time so ill, that he who was once esteem'd the rich­est man in Paris, subsisted wholly now upon the favour of the Court. For this reason she did what she could to recall him, but whether he knew there was no relying upon her word, which promis'd a better Conduct for the future, or whe­ther he began to be tir'd with her, he would never hear any thing of it.

There being now not any of her ac­quaintance Cully enough to furnish for this Equipage, she was oblig'd to re­trench her Expences, which was not a little trouble to her heart. Her Husband dying not long after, it grew worse, and the Pensions ceasing, she was reduc'd to a lower state. To better her Fortune, she then resolv'd not to play her self, since she had not wherewithal, but to afford an opportunity of playing at Lan­squenet at her House, that the advan­tage would accrue to her by it, might in a little measure comfort her for the ex­traordinary losses had happen'd to her in so short a time. Every one being wel­come for their Money, the sharpers came thither, as well as people of Con­dition, [Page 148] and one of the greatest Note a­mongst'em, call'd du Pré, having insi­nuated to her, that there were some ways to recompence her ill fortune in the World. Play was no securer there than amongst the other Cutthroat Hou­ses in Paris. This being discover'd by those who were not of du Pré's profession, the Company lessen'd, and the advan­tage by consequence ceased, so that to make amends, she drew a number of choice Women to her House, in hopes that the report of their Beauty and Wit would invite the young people thither, and such a meeting was establish'd where all sorts of tricks were practis'd to af­ford her a subsistence. Her chief designs were aim'd against the strangers of qua­lity, who having not yet heard of it, thought themselves extreamly happy, to come and be ruin'd by her. One of her greatest Confidents among the Ladies, was the Marchioness de Royan, and 'tis not to be imagin'd what they pass'd upon every body. At last a Suiz Officer ha­ving lost very much, and making some observations, made a a great noise of it as he had occasion; but having to do with people of Quality, and being ad­vis'd by his Friends to take heed of the [Page 149] Bastille, if he should continue these sto­ries, he took another course, and ha­ving printed papers which advis'd all strangers that came to town to take heed of that House, he fix'd it on all the gates of Paris.

That the Marchioness de Royan may be known to those who have not had the happiness to be acquainted with her, she was the daughter of the late Duke of Noirmoutier, who having spent his E­state, lest his Family in a condition to be pitied. This Lady then having no for­tune to marry her, was forc'd to go into a Nunnery, very much against her incli­nations, when the Count d'Olonne, who was of the same Family, fell in Love with her. He had for some time endea­vour'd to make himself be belov'd by her, but being not agreeable enough to succeed in it, to make her the more com­passionate towards him, he thought of proposing her a marriage with the Che­valier de Royan his own Brother. There was nothing in nature more horrible than this Chevalier, both for his Per­son and Sense: For tho' he was nei­ther crook'd nor maim'd, he had rather the air of a Cow than a Man, and was so plung'd in all sorts of debauchery, that [Page 150] no people of Reputation would be seen in his Company. But how disagreeable soever he might be, a Convent was yet more, in the opinion of this Lady, for she not only resolv'd to marry him, but also to pay her acknowledgments for it to the Count d'Olonne; 'twas by this means the Count arriv'd at his desires, but before he would sign some Writings whereby he setled his Estate upon his Brother in favour of this marriage, he would have her by all means grant him what she had promis'd him, which she faithfully perform'd like a Woman of Honour.

Thus it was, that the Count d'Olonne fearing there should be no Cuckolds in the Family, took himself care of that Subject. In the mean time this Lady be­ing so well set out in the Paths of Ver­tue, grew perfecter every day in all its methods, so that for Play and Gallantry she was a second to none, altho' she had been educated under the Wing of a Mo­ther, who had taught her other Lessons. The Count d'Olonne who had a falling out with his Lady about this marriage, was reconcil'd to her and her Family, and this had occasion'd that particular intimacy between the Marchioness de [Page 151] Royan and the Mareschalless de la Ferte, who could not live without one another. du Pré, as I have said before, finding 'em so well inclin'd, was their Master in teaching them to pack the Cards, and all the other slights in which they be­came very expert, but this Trade being not the best in the World, too many dri­ving that sort of Commerce, and every one growing suspicious, the Mareschal­less (no one being now left to forbid her the sight of her Sister,) took those Op­portunities to rob her of Feruaques.

It is impossible to mention the Stra­tagems she us'd for that purpose, not out of covetousness of his person which was not too engaging, but in hopes of sha­ring in his Fortune. For she was vex'd at the very heart, that her Sister, who was older than her self by several years, and had not a better Reputation, should have a purse like his at her command, whilst she was in want of every thing. He had truly, either out of an excess of pas­sion or folly, made her several conside­rable presents, and amongst the rest, a fine House he had in Coqueron street. He was scarcely believ'd fool enough for this, tho' it was a general report about Paris; but the Countess, who was proud [Page 152] of the gift, which was nevertheless a sign of the continuation of her ill life, would suffer 'em no longer to doubt of it, wherefore the House being to be let, she caus'd it to be incerted in the Bill, that they were to come to her to agree about the price.

Madam de Bonelle, who already lov'd her not much, being acquainted with this, sent to pall down the Bill in the middle of the day, and the Coun­tess commanded another to be put up, and this was all the noise she made at it. She was not so moderate with her Sister, who, as I have already said, would have rob'd her of Ferua­ques, for they scolded so much at each other, that all the truth came out; this was not very commendable in two Wo­men of Quality, and especially between two Sisters. Yet it was not very ex­traordinary, for the same accident hap­pen'd to two others whom I could name, were it to my subject, however the Ma­reschalless had it return'd to her, not long after from other hands, and the Duke de la Ferté her Son, who was the most debauch'd in the World; was of those who took no great care of her Reputation. They had fal'n out about [Page 153] some concerns, so that he who had not Estate enough to furnish her extrava­gancies, could not suffer her demands of a Dower, and began by asking of her, if she who had ruin'd his Father, had, notwithstanding that, a design to rob him of al? The Mareschalless, not mild enough to bear these reproach­es, told him that he truly had great reason to complain, who was not on­ly despis'd by the Court but the Town. This was nothing but the truth, but as all truths are not to be spoke; he could not bear it, but reply'd, if there was no reason on his side, there was yet less on hers, who was an old Wh—e, and hereupon he reckon'd up all that had to do with her, and the sum amounted to threescore and twelve; a thing not to be credited, was not Paris sufficiently satisfied of the truth of what I say.

The Mareschalless bid him not forget his own Wife, who was as much to blame as any body; but the Duke stopt her mouth by telling her, he ve­ry well knew he was a Cuckold, but that did not hinder his Father from being one beforehand, in marriage, and after his death.

These reproaches had so discompos'd the Mareschalless that she began to cry, but she had to deal with so tender hearted a man, that instead of being concern'd, he only laugh'd at her. The Comedy thus finish'd, she made her Complaints to the Count d'Olonne, where he often went. You have no­thing but what you deserve, answered the Count, and when your curiosity had led you from the Scepter to the Spade, how is it possible your affairs should be less publick. Some former resentments had occasion'd this reproach, but when he had pleas'd himself with this, he promis'd her it should not hinder him from correcting her Son; and meeting him about an hour after, he told him he was extreamly to blame in giving his Mother such Language. That one of his years could not be ignorant, that nothing could excuse the respect he ow'd her, and that if he did not be­lieve him drunk when these words happen'd, he could not tell what to say to it. The Duke in all likelihood would be meditating some excuses to colour so great a fault, or being very much asham'd of it, would deny it; but without rising or stirring, it is true, [Page 155] says he, I was drunk, and 'twas very well for her I was so; I should other­wise have told her some other truths, for I have so faithful a list of all her famous Exploits, that I know of so much as the Necklace of Pearl she made the Chevalier de Lignerac cheat Mr. de Dreux the Counsellor of, there is nothing I am ignorant of. The Count ask'd him if he was not asham'd to talk thus of his Mother, but all the Reprimands were too insignificant to reduce him to reason.

As there were few actions pass'd in the Kingdom unknown to the king, he was soon entertain'd with the diversi­on of this Comedy, which made him have so ill thoughts of this Family, that he could not forbear discovering 'em. But the Duke de la Ferté, who knew his Reputation was already lost with him, concern'd himself for it no more than the Mareschalless, who con­tinu'd this way of living; so that perhaps I may some other time acquaint you of the rest of her life, as well as the Story of Madam de Lionne, if they are still so lucky to meet with those who will accept of 'em, and Age as well as Shame does not bring 'em to Conversion.