At the commencement of this year (1702) it seemed as though the flatterers of the King foresaw that the prosperity of his reign was at an end, and that henceforth they would only have to praise him for his constancy.  The great number of medals that had been struck on all occasions—­the most ordinary not having been forgotten—­were collected, engraved, and destined for a medallic history.  The Abbes Tallemant, Toureil, and Dacier, three learned members of the Academy, were charged with the explanation to be placed opposite each of these medals, in a large volume of the most magnificent impression of the Louvre.  As the history commenced at the death of Louis XIII., his medal was placed at the head of the book, and thus it became necessary to say something of him in the preface.

As it was known that I had a correct knowledge of Louis XIII., I was asked to write that portion of the preface which related to him.  I consented to this, but on condition that I should be spared the ridicule of it in society, and that the matter should be faithfully kept secret.  I wrote my theme then, which cost me little more than a morning, being of small extent.  I had the fate of authors:  my writing was praised, and appeared to answer all expectations.  I congratulated myself, delighted at having devoted two or three hours to a grateful duty—­for so I considered it.

But when my essay was examined, the three gentlemen above-named were affrighted.  There are truths the unstudied simplicity of which emits a lustre which obscures all the results of an eloquence which exaggerates or extenuates; Louis XIII. furnished such proofs in abundance.  I had contented myself by showing them forth; but this picture tarnished those which followed—­so at least it appeared to those who had gilded the latter.  They applied themselves, therefore, to cut out, or weaken, everything that might, by comparison, obscure their hero.  But as they found at last that it was not me they had to correct, but the thing itself, they gave up the task altogether, threw aside my writing, and printed the history without any notice whatever of Louis XIII. under his portrait—­except to note that his death caused his son to ascend the throne.

Reflections upon this kind of iniquity would carry me too far.

In the early part of this year (1702), King William (of England), worn out before his time with labours and business, in which he had been engaged all his life, and which he had carried on with a capacity, an address, a superiority of genius that acquired for him supreme authority in Holland, the crown of England, the confidence, and, to speak the truth, the complete dictatorship of all Europe—­except France;—­King William, I say, had fallen into a wasting of strength and of health which, without attacking or diminishing his intellect, or causing him to relax the infinite labours of his cabinet, was accompanied by a deficiency of breath, which aggravated