There were however some true believers, faithful observers of the Levitican law and the precepts of the primitive church, people on whom fashion has no influence, who courageously preserved their beards ’till towards the middle of the reign of Lewis XIV. A very respectable rector was one of them: when the bishop visited his diocese, he appeared with a venerable beard on his chin. The prelate exclaimed greatly against his thus making himself look like a patriarch, whilst he, his bishop and lord, was shaved; and he formally ordered him to get rid of his long beard. In vain did the poor rector cite the example of the pope then living, that of St. Francis of Sales, &c.; the bishop was inexorable, and the rector did not think fit to obey. Irritated at his obstinacy, the prelate sent him a writ to banish him from his living. By a singular piece of inattention, the place of banishment was left blank; the rector filled it up with _Versailles_, and immediately repaired to the residence of the kings of France. He affected to throw himself continually in the way of Lewis XIV.: his long beard was at length remarked by the king, who had him called, and asked him what was his business at court, and why he had such an extraordinary beard. The parson related his adventure to his majesty, who as pleased with it so much, that he sent back this grave pastor to his flock, and highly blamed the bishop for such a ridiculous whim.[90] Footnote 90: See the 8th vol. of _Causes Célébres, a canon refused for being too little_. This adventure furnished matter for a little burlesque poem, intitled _l’Exilé à Versailles_.