rience? Why cannot I make you comprehend the ennui
which devours the great, and the troubles that fill their days? Do you
not see that I am dying of sadness, in a fortune the vastness of which
could not be easily imagined? I have been young and pretty; I have
enjoyed pleasures; I have spent years in intellectual intercourse;
I have attained favor; and I protest to you, my dear child, that
all such conditions leave a frightful void." She said, also, to her
brother, Count d'Aubigne: "I can hold out no longer; I would like
to be dead." It was she too, who, after her successes, made
her confession thus: "One atones heavily for the pleasures and
intoxications of youth. I find, in looking back at my life, that since
the age of twenty-two--which was the beginning of my fortune--I
have not had a moment free from sufferings which have constantly
increased."

M. Saint-Amand gives a description of the women of Louis XV. which
well applies to those of his predecessor: "These pretended mistresses,
who, in reality, are only slaves, seem to present themselves,
one after the other, like humble penitents who come to make their
apologies to history, and, like the primitive Christians, to reveal
publicly the miseries, vexations, and remorses of their souls. They
tell us to what their doleful successes amounted: even while their
triumphal chariot made its way through a crowd of flatterers, their
consciences hissed cruel accusations into their ears; like actresses
before a whimsical and variable public, they were always afraid that
the applause might change into an uproar, and it was with terror
underlying their apparent coolness that they continued to play their
sorry part.... If among these mistresses of the king there were a
single one who had enjoyed her shameful triumphs in peace, who had
called herself happy in the midst of her dearly bought luxury and
splendor, one might have concluded that, from a merely human point of
view, it is possible to find happiness in vice. But, no--there is not
even one!" Massillon, the great preacher of truth and morality,
said: "The worm of conscience is not dead; it is only benumbed. The
alienated reason presently returns, bringing with it bitter troubles,
gloomy thoughts, and cruel anxieties"--a true picture of every
mistress.

The remarkable power and influence of these women, the love and
adoration accorded them, ceased with their death; the memory of them
did not survive overnight. When, during a