“. . . .  Trust not in kings Their favour is but slippery; worse than that, It costs one dear, and errors such as these Full oft bring shame and scandal in their wake.”

“Long live Moliere!” added his Majesty; “there you have talent without artifice, poetry without rhapsody, satire without bitterness, pleasantry that is always apt, great knowledge of the human heart, and perpetual raillery that yet is not devoid of delicacy and compassion.  Moliere is a most charming man in every respect; I gave him a few hints for his ‘Tartuffe,’ and such is his gratitude that he wants to make out that, without me, he would never have written that masterpiece.”

“You helped him, Sire, to produce it, and above all things, to carry out his main idea; and Moliere is right in thinking that, without a mind free from error, such as is yours, his masterpiece would never have been created.”

“It struck me,” continued the King, “that some such thing was indispensable as a counterbalance in the vast machinery of my government, and I shall ever be the friend and supporter, not of Tartuffes, but of the ‘Tartuffe,’ as long as I live.”

“And Boileau, Sire?” I continued; “what place among your favourites does he fill?”

“I like Boileau,” replied the prince, “as a necessary scourge, which one can pit against the bad taste of second-rate authors.  His satires, of too personal, a nature, and consequently iniquitous, do not please me.  He knows it, and, despite himself, he will amend this.  He is at work upon an ‘Ars Poetica,’ after the manner of Horace.  The little that he has read to me of this poem leads me to expect that it will be an important work.  The French language will continue to perfect itself by the help of literature like this, and Boileau, cruel though he be, is going to confer a great benefit upon all those who have to do with letters.”

CHAPTER XX.

Birth of the Comte de Vegin.—­Madame Scarron as Governess.—­The King’s Continued Dislike of Her.—­Birth of the Duc du Maine.—­Marriage of the Nun.

The King became ever more attached to me personally, as also to the peculiarities of my temperament.  He had witnessed with satisfaction the birth of Madame de la Valliere’s two children, and I thought that he would have the same affection for mine.  But I was wrong.  It was with feelings of trepidation and alarm that he contemplated my approaching confinement.  Had I given birth to a daughter, I am perfectly certain that, in his eyes, I should have been done for.

I gave birth to the first Comte de Vegin, and, grasping my hand affectionately, the King said to me, “Be of good courage, madame; present princes to the Crown, and let those be scandalised who will!” A few moments later he came back, and gave me a million for my expenses.

It was, however, mutually arranged that the newborn Infant should be recognised later on, and that, for the time being, I was to have him brought up in secrecy and mystery.