a circumstance very generally known at the time. The
events run somewhat thus, or at least should do so, in the piece. At the
close of a brilliant fete at Versailles, where every fascination that an
age of unbounded luxury could procure was assembled, the King retired
to his apartment, followed by that prince of vaudeville characters,
the Marechal Richelieu. His Majesty was wearied and out of spirits; the
pleasures of the evening, so far from having, as usual, elevated his
spirits and awakened his brilliancy, had depressed and fatigued him. He
was tired of the unvarying repetition of what his heart had long ceased
to have any share in; and, in fact, to use the vulgar, but most fitting
phrase, he was bored!

Bored by the courtiers, whose wit was too prompt to have been
unprepared; by the homage, too servile to have any sincerity; by the
smiles of beauty, perverted as they were by jealous rivalry and subtle
intrigue; and, above all, bored by the consciousness that he had no
other identity than such as kingly trappings gave him, and that all the
love and admiration he received were accorded to the monarch and nothing
to the man.

He didn't exactly, as novel writers would say, pour his sufferings
into Richelieu's ear, but in very abrupt and forcible expressions he
manifested his utter weariness of the whole scene, and avowed a very
firm belief that the company was almost as tired of him as he was of the
company.

In vain the Marechal rallies his Majesty upon successes which were wont
to be called triumphs; in vain he assures him, that never at any period
was the domestic peace of the lieges more endangered by his Majesty's
condescensions: in fact, for once--as will happen, even with Kings now
and then--he said truth; and truth, however wholesome, is not always
palatable. Richelieu was too subtle an adversary to be easily worsted;
and after a fruitless effort to obliterate the gloomy impression of
the king, he, with a ready assurance, takes him in flank, and coolly
attributes the royal dissatisfaction to the very natural weariness at
ever seeing the same faces, however beautiful, and hearing the same
voices, however gay and sparkling their wit.

"Your Majesty will not give yourself the credit due of winning
these evidences of devotion from personal causes, rather than from
adventitious ones. Happily, a good opportunity presents itself for
the proof. Your Majesty may have heard of Madame de Vaugirarde, whose
husband was