The Verse of Berenice.—­Praises of Boileau.—­The King’s Aversion to
Satirical Writers.—­The Painter Le Brun.—­His Bacchus.—­The
Waterbottle.—­The Pyramid of Jean Chatel Injurious to the Jesuits.—­They
Solicit Its Demolition.—­Madame de Maintenon’s Opposition.—­Political
Views of Henri IV. on This Matter.—­The Jesuits of Paris Proclaim the
Dedication of Their College to Louis the Great.—­The Gold Pieces.

Whatever be the issue of a liaison which cannot probably be eternal, I have too much judgment and equity to deny the King the great talents which are his by nature, or to dispute the surname of Great which has been given him in his lifetime, and which the ages to come must surely preserve.  But here I am writing secret Memoirs, where I set down, as in a mirror, the most minute traits of the personages whom I bring on the stage, and I wish to relate in what manner and with what aim this apotheosis affected the mind of those who flattered the prince in their own interest.

The painters and sculptors, most artful of courtiers in their calling, had already represented the King, now with the attributes of Apollo, now in the costume of the god Mars, of Jupiter Tonans, Neptune, lord of the waves; now with the formidable and vigorous appearance of the great Hercules, who strangled serpents even in his cradle.

His Majesty saw all these ingenious allegories, examined them without vanity, with no enthusiasm, and seemed to regard them as accessories inherent to the composition, as conventional ornaments, the good and current small change of art.  The adulations of Racine, in his “Berenice,” having all a foundation of truth, please him, but chiefly for the grace of the poetry; and he sometimes recited them, when he wished to recall and quote some fine verse.

The praises of Boileau, although well versified, had not, however, the fortune to please him.  He found those verses too methodical for poetry; and the poet, moreover, seemed to him somewhat a huckster, and in bad taste.  The satirists might do what they liked, they never had his friendship.  Perhaps he feared them.

When Le Brun started preparing the magnificent cradle of the great gallery, he composed for the ceiling rich designs or cartoons, which in their entirety should represent the victories and great military or legislative achievements of the prince.  His work being finished, he came to present it to his Majesty, who on that day was dining with me.  In one of the compartments the painter had depicted his hero in the guise of Bacchus; the King immediately took up a bottle of clear water and drank a big glass.  I gave a great peal of laughter, and said to M. le Brun, “You see, monsieur, his Majesty’s decision in that libation of pure water.”

M. le Brun changed his design, seeing the King had no love for Bacchus, but he left the Thundering Jove, and all the other mythological flatteries, in regard to which no opinion had been given.