Harlay, formerly chief-president, of whom I have so often had occasion to speak, died a short time after M. de Vendome.  I have already made him known.  I will simply add an account of the humiliation to which this haughty cynic was reduced.  He hired a house in the Rue de l’Universite with a partition wall between his garden and that of the Jacobins of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.  The house did not belong to the Jacobins, like the houses of the Rue Saint-Dominique, and the Rue du Bac, which, in order that they might command higher rents, were put in connection with the convent garden.  These mendicant Jacobins thus derive fifty thousand livres a-year.  Harlay, accustomed to exercise authority, asked them for a door into their garden.  He was refused.  He insisted, had them spoken to, and succeeded no better.  Nevertheless the Jacobins comprehended that although this magistrate, recently so powerful, was now nothing by himself, he had a son and a cousin, Councillors of State, whom they might some day have to do with, and who for pride’s sake might make themselves very disagreeable.  The argument of interest is the best of all with monks.  The Jacobins changed their mind.  The Prior, accompanied by some of the notabilities of the convent, went to Harlay with excuses, and said he was at liberty, if he liked, to make the door.  Harlay, true to his character, looked at them askance, and replied, that he had changed his mind and would do without it.  The monks, much troubled by his refusal, insisted; he interrupted them and said, “Look you, my fathers, I am grandson of Achille du Harlay, Chief-President of the Parliament, who so well served the State and the Kingdom, and who for his support of the public cause was dragged to the Bastille, where he expected to be hanged by those rascally Leaguers; it would ill become me, therefore, to enter the house, or pray to God there, of folks of the same stamp as that Jacques Clement.”  And he immediately turned his back upon them, leaving them confounded.  This was his last act of vigour.  He took it into his head afterwards to go out visiting a good deal, and as he preserved all his old unpleasant manners, he afflicted all he visited; he went even to persons who had often cooled their heels in his antechambers.  By degrees, slight but frequent attacks of apoplexy troubled his speech, so that people had great difficulty in understanding him, and he in speaking.  In this state he did not cease his visits and could not perceive that many doors were closed to him.  He died in this misery, and this neglect, to the great relief of the few who by relationship were obliged to see him, above all of his son and his domestic.

On the 17th July, a truce between France and England was published in Flanders, at the head of the troops of the two crowns.  The Emperor, however, was not yet inclined for peace and his forces under Prince Eugene continued to oppose us in Flanders, where, however, the tide at last turned in our favour.  The King was so flattered by the overflow of joy that took place at Fontainebleau on account of our successes, that he thanked the country for it, for the first time in his life.  Prince Eugene, in want of bread and of everything, raised the siege of Landrecies, which he had been conducting, and terrible desertion took place among his troops.