M. and Madame du Maine had done not a little to bring about these fancies, and they continued in secret to do more.  Madame du Maine, it may be recollected, had said that she would throw the whole country into combustion, in order not to lose her husband’s prerogative.  She was as good as her word.  Encouraged doubtless by the support they received from this precious pair, the Parliament continued on its mad career of impudent presumption, pride, and arrogance.  It assembled on the 22nd of August, and ordered inquiry to be made of the Regent as to what had become of all the state notes that had been passed at the Chamber of justice; those which had been given for the lotteries that were held every month; those which had been given for the Mississippi or Western Company; finally, those which had been taken to the Mint since the change in the specie.

These questions were communicated to the Regent by the King’s officers.  In reply he turned his back upon them, and went away into his cabinet, leaving these people slightly bewildered.  Immediately after this occurrence it was rumoured that a Bed of justice would soon be held.  The Regent had not then thought of summoning such an important assembly, and his weakness and vacillation were such that no one thought he would dare to do so.

The memoirs of Cardinal de Retz, of Joly, of Madame Motteville, had turned all heads.  These books had become so fashionable, that in no class was the man or woman who did not have them continually in hand.  Ambition, the desire for novelty, the skill of those who circulated these books, made the majority of people hope to cut a figure or make a fortune, and persuaded them there was as little lack of personages as in the last minority.  People looked upon Law as the Mazarin of the day—­ (they were both foreign)—­upon M. and Madame du Maine, as the chiefs of the Fronde; the weakness of M. le Duc d’Orleans was compared to that of the Queen-mother, and so on.

To say the truth, all tended towards whatever was extreme—­moderation seemed forgotten—­and it was high time the Regent aroused himself from a supineness which rendered him contemptible, and which emboldened his enemies and those of the State to brave all and undertake all.  This lethargy, too, disheartened his servants, and made all healthy activity on their part impossible.  It had at last led him to the very verge of the precipice, and the realm he governed to within an inch of the greatest confusion.  He had need, indeed, to be up and doing!

The Regent, without having the horrible vice or the favourites of Henry III., had even more than that monarch become notorious for his daily debauches, his indecency, and his impiety.  Like Henry III., too, he was betrayed by his most intimate councillors and domestics.  This treachery pleased him (as it had pleased that King) because it induced him to keep idle, now from fear, now from interest, now from disdain, and now from policy.  This torpor was agreeable to him because it was in conformity with his humour and his tastes, and because he regarded those who counselled it as good, wise, and enlightened people, not blinded by their private interests, but seeing clearly things as they were; while he was importuned with opinions and explanations which would have disclosed the true state of affairs and suggested remedies.