Neither the prince de Conde, whom I knew well, nor the prince de
la Marche, entertained much regard for their relations; and they
had always some spiteful story in store respecting the posterity
of Louis XIII. There is one historical fact which has never been
cleared up.
One day I was conversing with the comte de la Marche upon the
disputes concerning the parliaments, and expressing my fear, that,
if driven to desperate measures, the people would rise in open
rebellion in favor of the magistracy. "They would be still more
clamororous," replied he, "if they knew all I could tell them."
"And what do you know more than myself?'" asked I; "your highness
alarms me by speaking thus."
"Amongst events now passed and gone is one that would materially
affect the public peace, if known."
"You must explain yourself, my lord," said I. He refused; but I
persisted in pressing the matter with so much earnestness, that
at last he said, in a low voice,
"Did you ever hear of the man who wore the iron mask?"
"Yes, certainly," replied I, "who was he?"
"A great prince, and a most unfortunate man."
"But who was he really?"
"In the eyes of the law the crown of France should have been
his; but in the conscientious view of things he certainly had
no claim."
The comte de la Marche stopped here; and, as I was not very
deeply read in history, I did not exactly comprehend the
distinction he had just made.
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