ppery; worse than
that, It costs one dear, and errors such as these Full oft bring shame
and scandal in their wake."

"Long live Moliere!" added his Majesty; "there you have talent without
artifice, poetry without rhapsody, satire without bitterness, pleasantry
that is always apt, great knowledge of the human heart, and perpetual
raillery that yet is not devoid of delicacy and compassion. Moliere is a
most charming man in every respect; I gave him a few hints for his
'Tartuffe,' and such is his gratitude that he wants to make out that,
without me, he would never have written that masterpiece."

"You helped him, Sire, to produce it, and above all things, to carry out
his main idea; and Moliere is right in thinking that, without a mind free
from error, such as is yours, his masterpiece would never have been
created."

"It struck me," continued the King, "that some such thing was
indispensable as a counterbalance in the vast machinery of my government,
and I shall ever be the friend and supporter, not of Tartuffes, but of
the 'Tartuffe,' as long as I live."

"And Boileau, Sire?" I continued; "what place among your favourites does
he fill?"

"I like Boileau," replied the prince, "as a necessary scourge, which one
can pit against the bad taste of second-rate authors. His satires, of
too personal, a nature, and consequently iniquitous, do not please me. He
knows it, and, despite himself, he will amend this. He is at work upon
an 'Ars Poetica,' after the manner of Horace. The little that he has
read to me of this poem leads me to expect that it will be an important
work. The French language will continue to perfect itself by the help of
literature like this, and Boileau, cruel though he be, is going to confer
a great benefit upon all those who have to do with letters."

CHAPTER XX.

Birth of the Comte de Vegin.--Madame Scarron as Governess.--The King's
Continued Dislike of Her.--Birth of the Duc du Maine.--Marriage of the
Nun.

The King became ever more attached to me personally, as also to the
peculiarities of my temperament. He had witnessed with satisfaction the
birth of Madame de la Valliere's two children, and I thought that he
would have the same affection for mine. But I was wrong. It was with
feelings of trepidation and alarm that he contemplated my approaching
confinement. Had I given birth to a daughter, I am perfectly certain
that, in his eyes, I should have been done for.

I gave birth