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 h