rshal who in
the Thirty Years' War had slashed and sacked and pillaged and plundered
to his heart's content. From him Aurora von Konigsmarck seemed to have
inherited a high spirit and a sort of lawlessness which charmed the
stalwart Augustus of Poland.

Their son, Maurice de Saxe, inherited everything that was good in his
parents, and a great deal that was less commendable. As a mere child of
twelve he had insisted on joining the army of Prince Eugene, and had
seen rough service in a very strenuous campaign. Two years later he
showed such daring on the battle-field that Prince Eugene summoned him
and paid him a compliment under the form of a rebuke.

"Young man," he said, "you must not mistake mere recklessness for
valor."

Before he was twenty he had attained the stature and strength of his
royal father; and, to prove it, he in his turn called for a horseshoe,
which he twisted and broke in his fingers. He fought on the side of the
Russians and Poles, and again against the Turks, everywhere displaying
high courage and also genius as a commander; for he never lost his
self-possession amid the very blackest danger, but possessed, as
Carlyle says, "vigilance, foresight, and sagacious precaution."

Exceedingly handsome, Maurice was a master of all the arts that
pleased, with just a touch of roughness, which seemed not unfitting in
so gallant a soldier. His troops adored him and would follow wherever
he might choose to lead them; for he exercised over these rude men a
magnetic power resembling that of Napoleon in after years. In private
life he was a hard drinker and fond of every form of pleasure. Having
no fortune of his own, a marriage was arranged for him with the
Countess von Loben, who was immensely wealthy; but in three years he
had squandered all her money upon his pleasures, and had, moreover, got
himself heavily in debt.

It was at this time that he first came to Paris to study military
tactics. He had fought hard against the French in the wars that were
now ended; but his chivalrous bearing, his handsome person, and his
reckless joviality made him at once a universal favorite in Paris. To
the perfumed courtiers, with their laces and lovelocks and mincing
ways, Maurice de Saxe came as a sort of knight of old--jovial, daring,
pleasure-loving. Even his broken French was held to be quite charming;
and to see him break a horseshoe with his fingers threw every one into
raptures.

No wonder, then, that he was wel