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"Written by Herself"
by Baron Etienne Leon Lamothe-Langon

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Memoirs of the Comtesse du Barry
With Minute Details of Her Entire
Career as Favorite of Louis XV

"Written by Herself"

by Baron Etienne Leon Lamothe-Langon

February, 2000  [Etext #2082]


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This is the 8-bit version containing French accents, version 10.
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Memoirs of the Comtesse du Barry
With Minute Details of Her Entire
Career as Favorite of Louis XV

"Written by Herself"

by Baron Etienne Leon Lamothe-Langon




with a special introduction by
Robert Arnot, M.A.




Gutenberg Editor’s note:
This delightful (piquant, the comtesse would say) pseudonymous
work was in fact written not "by herself" but by Baron Etienne
Leon Lamothe-Langon (1786-1864).  The persona created is that of
a woman who always tells the truth as she sees it, but it is made
clear to the reader that what the narrator sees is very seldom
exactly the objective truth.  The author ends as well as begins
<in medias res> (in the middle of the action), thus creating an
illusion of a slice of a journal but simultaneously giving the
reader the uneasy feeling that the first and last chapters seem
to be missing.

The French-style quotation marks have, for ease in typesetting
and use, been changed to American-style quotation marks, and the
dot after the name of Louis XV has been removed to conform to
American punctuation.  Italics are indicated by placing <> around
the word or phrase italicized.  Captions of illustrations are
omitted because the illustrations themselves cannot be inserted.
A few minor editing errors have been silently corrected.  No
other changes have been made; the irregularity in italicizing or
not italicizing, in translating or not translating French words,
and in punctuating quotations of letters, is in the text itself.

Notes are identified as coming from author, tr.  (translator),
editor, or Gutenberg editor.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

Letter from Lebel--Visit from Lebel--Nothing conclusive--Another
visit from Lebel--Invitation to sup with the king--Instructions
of the comte Jean to the comtesse

CHAPTER II

A slight preface--Arrival at Versailles--<"La toilette">--Portrait
of the king--The duc de Richelieu--The marquis de Chauvelin--The
duc de la Vauguyon-Supper with the king--The first night--The
following day--The curiosity of comte Jean--Presents from the
king--How disposed of

CHAPTER III

The king's message--Letter from the countess--A second supper at
Versailles--The duc d’Ayen--A short account of M. de Fleury--The
duc de Duras -Conversation with the king--The next day--A visit
from the duc de Richelieu--Visit from the duc de la Vauguyon--Visit
from comte Jean--Visit from the king--A third supper--Favor

CHAPTER IV

The duc d'Aiguillon--The duc de Fronsac--The duchesse de
Grammont--The meeting--Sharp words on both sides--The duc de
Choiseul--Mesdames d'Aiguillon--Letter from the duc d'Aiguillon--
Reply of madame du Barry--Mademoiselle Guimard--The prince de
Soubise--Explanation--The Rohans--Madame de Marsan--Court friendships

CHAPTER V

The duc de la Vauguyon and the comtesse du Barry--The marquis
de Chauvelin and the comtesse--M. de Montbarrey and the comtesse--
Intrigues--Lebel--Arrival of the du Barry family--The comte
d'Hargicourt--The demoiselles du Barry--Marriage of the comtesse--
The marquis de Bonrepos--Correspondences--The broken glass

CHAPTER VI

Journey to Choisy--The comtesse du Barry and Louis XV--The king
of Denmark--The czar Peter--Frederick II--The abbé de la Chapelle--
An experiment--New intrigues--Secret agents-The comtesse and
Louis XV--Of the presentation--Letter of the comtesse to the
duc d'Aiguillon--Reply--Prince de Soubise
 
CHAPTER VII

The comtesse and the duc d'Aiguillon--M. de Soubise--Louis XV
and the duc d'Aiguillon--Letter from the comtesse  to the king--
Answer of the king-The "<Nouvelles a la Main>"--The comtesse and
Louis XV--The supper--The court ladies mystified--The comtesse
and M. de Sartines

CHAPTER VIII

The sieur Ledoux--The <lettre de cachet>--The duc de la Vrillière--
Madame de Langeac--M. de Maupeou--Louis XV--The comte Jean

CHAPTER IX

The king of Denmark--The courtesans of Paris--The duc de Choiseul
and the bishop of Orleans--Witty repartees of the king of Denmark--
His visit to madame du Barry--"The court of king Petaud," a satire--
Letter of the duc d'Aiguillon to Voltaire--The duchesse de Grammont
mystified--Unpublished letter of Voltaire's
 
CHAPTER X

When is the presentation to take place?--Conversation on this
subject with the king--M. de Maupeou and M. de la Vauguyon--
Conversation on the same subject with the king and the duc de
Richelieu--M. de la Vrillière--M. Bertin---Louis XV and the
comtesse--The king's promise--The fire-works, an anecdote--The
marquise de Castellane--M. de Maupeou at the duc de Choiseul's--
The duchesse de Grammont

CHAPTER XI

A word concerning the duchesse de Choiseul--The apartment of the
Comte de Noailles--The Noailles--Intrigues for presentation--The
comte de Bearn--M. Morand once more--Visit of the comtesse Bearn
to the comtesse du Barry--Conversation--Interested complaisance--
The king and the comtesse du Barry--Dispute and reconciliation

CHAPTER XII

The comtesse de Bearn--The supper--Louis XV--Intrigues against my
presentation--M. de Roquelaure--The scalded foot--The comtesse
d'Aloigny--The duc d'Aiguillon and madame de Bearn--Anger of the
king's daughters--Madame Adélaïde and the comtesse du Barry--
Dissatisfaction of the king

CHAPTER XIII

Of the presentation--The king and the duc de Richelieu at comtesse
du Barry's--M. de la Vauguyon--Conversation--Letter of the duke to
the comtesse du Barry--Reply--The countess unites herself with the
Jesuit party--Madame Louise--Madame Sophie--M. Bertin--Madame
de Bercheny

CHAPTER XIV

The princesses consent to the presentation of madame du Barry--
Ingenious artifice employed by the king to offer a present to the
duc de la Vauguyon--Madame du Barry's letter respecting it--The
duke's reply--The king's letter--The court in despair--Couplets
concerning madame du Barry--Her presentation--A change in public
opinion--An evening party at the house of the countess--Joy of her
partizans--Conversation with the chancellor respecting the lady of
the maréchal de Mirepoix

CHAPTER XV

The Comte de la Marche, a prince of the blood--Madame de
Beauvoir, his mistress--Madame du Barry complains to the prince
de Soubise of the princess de Guémenée--The king consoles the
countess for this--The duc de Choiseul--The king speaks to him of
madame du Barry--Voltaire writes to her--The opinions of Richelieu
and the king concerning Voltaire

CHAPTER XVI

Unpublished letter of Voltaire to madame du Barry--Reply of the
countess--The maréchale de Mirepoix--Her first interview with
madame du Barry--Anecdote of the diamonds of madame de Mirepoix--
The king pays for them--Singular gratitude of the maréchale--The
portfolio, and an unpublished letter of the marquise de Pompadour

CHAPTER XVII

Conversation of the maréchale de Mirepoix with the comtesse du
Barry on court friendship--Intrigues of madame de Bearn--Preconcerted
meeting with madame de Flaracourt---Rage of madame de Bearn--
Portrait and conversation of madame de Flaracourt with the
comtesse du Barry--Insult from the princesse de Guémenée--Her
banishment--Explanation of the king and the duc de Choiseul
relative to madame du Barry--The comtesse d'Egmont

CHAPTER XVIII

Intrigue of the comtesse d'Egmont with a shopman--His unhappy
fate--The comtesse du Barry protects him--Conduct of Louis XV
upon the occasion--The young man quits France--Madame du Barry's
letter to the comtesse d’Egmont--Quarrel with the maréchal de Richelieu
 
CHAPTER XIX

Madame du Barry separates from madame de Bearn--Letters between
these ladies--Portrait of madame de l’Hôpital--The ladder--The
bell--Conversation with madame de Mirepoix--First visit to Chantilly--
Intrigues to prevent the countess from going thither--The king's
Displeasure towards the princesses--The archbishop de Senlis
 
CHAPTER XX

Unpublished letter of Louis XV--Madame du Barry's cousin, M. de
Maupeou--The comtesse du Barry saves the life of a young girl
seduced by the arts of the curé of her village--She obtains pardon
of the comte and comtesse de Louerne--The king presents her with
Lucienne--A second meeting with the youthful prophet--His further
predictions--He is sought for--His mysterious letter to the countess 

CHAPTER XXI

Extraordinary anecdote of Louis XIV and madame de Maintenon--
The comtesse du Barry at Chantilly--Opinion of king and comte de
la Marche respecting the "Iron Mask"--Madame du Barry visits
madame de Lagarde

CHAPTER XXII

The chevalier de la Morlière--Portrait of the duc de Choiseul--
The duc de Choiseul and the comtesse du Barry--No reconciliation
effected--Madame du Barry and the duc d'Aiguillon--Madame du
Barry and Louis XV

CHAPTER XXIII

Dorine--Mademoiselle Choin and the maréchal d'Uxelles--Zamor--
M. de Maupeou's wig--Henriette--The duc de Villeroi and Sophie--
Letter from the comtesse du Barry to the duc de Villeroi--His
reply--The countess writes again--Madame du Barry and Sophie--
Louis XV and the comtesse du Barry

CHAPTER XXIV

The prince des Deux Ponts--Prince Max--The dauphin and Marie
Antoinette--The comtesse du Barry and Bridget Rupert--The countess
and Geneviève Mathon--Noël--Fresh amours--Nocturnal adventure--
Conclusion of this intrigue

CHAPTER XXV

Madame du Barry succeeds in alienating Louis XV from the due de
Choiseul--Letter from madame de Grammont--Louis XV--The chancellor
and the countess--Louis XV and the abbé de la Ville--The maréchale
de Mirepoix and madame du Barry

CHAPTER XXVI

Baron d'Oigny, general post-master--The king and the countess
read the opened letters--The disgrace of de Choiseul resolved
upon--<Lettre de cachet >--Anecdote--Spectre of Philip II, king
of Spain--The duc de Choiseul banished--Visits to Chanteloup--The
princesses--The dauphin and dauphiness- Candidates for the ministry

CHAPTER XXVII

The comte de la Marche and the comtesse du Barry--The countess
and the prince de Condé--The duc de la Vauguyon and the countess--
Provisional minister--Refusal of the secretaryship of war--Displeasure
of the king--The maréchale de Mirepoix- Unpublished letter from
Voltaire to Madame du Barry--Her reply

CHAPTER XXVIII

A few words respecting Jean Jacques Rousseau--The comtesse du Barry
is desirous of his acquaintance--The countess visits Jean Jacques
Rousseau--His household furniture--His portrait--Thérèse--A second
visit from madame du Barry to Jean Jacques Rousseau--The countess
relates her visit to the king--Billet from J.  J.  Rousseau to madame
du Barry--The two duchesses d'Aiguillon

CHAPTER XXIX

The king's friends--The duc de Fronsac--The duc d'Ayen's remark--
Manner of living at court--The marquis de Dreux--Brézé--Education
of Louis XV--The <Parc-aux-Cerfs>--Its household--Its inmates--
Mère Bompart--Livres expended on the <Parc-aur-Cerfs>-- Good
advice--Madame

CHAPTER XXX
 
Fête given by the comtesse de Valentinois--The comtesse du Barry
feigns an indisposition--Her dress--The duc de Cossé--The comte
and comtesse de Provence--Dramatic entertainment--Favart and
Voisenon--A few observations--A pension--The maréchale de
Luxembourg--Adventure of M. de Bombelles--Copy of a letter
addressed to him--Louis XV--M. de Maupeou and madame du Barry

CHAPTER XXXI
  
Madame du Barry purchases the services of Marin the gazetteer
--Louis XV and madame de Rumas--M. de Rumas and the comtesse du
Barry--An intrigue--<Dénouement>--A present upon the occasion--The
duc de Richelieu in disgrace--100,000 livres
 
CHAPTER XXXII

A prefatory remark--Madame Brillant--The maréchale de Luxembourg's
cat--Despair of the maréchale--The ambassador, Beaumarchais, and
the duc de Chaulnes--the comte d'Aranda--Louis XV and his relics--The
abbé de Beauvais--His sermons--He is appointed bishop

CHAPTER XXXIII

M. D----n and madame de Blessac--Anecdote--The rendezvous and the
Ball--The wife of Gaubert--They wish to give her to the king--
Intrigues--Their results--Letter from the duc de la Vrillière to
the countess--Reply—Reconciliation

CHAPTER XXXIV

Conversation with the king--Marriage of the comte d'Artois--
Intrigues--The place of lady of honor--The maréchale de Mirepoix--
The comtesse de Forcalquier and madame du Barry--The comtesse
de Forcalquier and madame Boncault
 
CHAPTER XXXV

Marriage of madame Boncault--The comte de Bourbon Busset
--Marriage of comte d'Hargicourt--Disgrace of the comte de
Broglie--He is replaced by M. Lemoine--The king complains of
ennui--Conversations on the subject--Entry into Paris

CHAPTER XXXVI

Visit from a stranger--Madame de Pompadour and a Jacobinical
monk--Continuation of this history--Deliverance of a state
prisoner--A meeting with the stranger

CHAPTER XXXVII

A conspiracy--A scheme for poisoning madame du Barry--The four
bottles--Letter to the duc d'Aiguillon--Advice of the ministers--
Opinion of the physicians--The chancellor and lieutenant of
police--Resolution of the council

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Conclusion of this affair--A letter from the <incognita>--Her
examination--Arrest of Cabert the Swiss--He dies in the Bastille
of poison--Madame Lorimer is arrested and poisoned---The
innocence of the Jesuits acknowledged--Madame de Mirepoix and
the 100,000 francs--Forgetfulness on the part of the lieutenant of
police--A visit from comte Jean--Madame de Mirepoix

CHAPTER XXXIX

My  alarms--An <èlève> of the <Pare-aux-Cerfs>--Comte Jean
endeavours to direct the king's ideas--A supper at Trianon--
Table talk--The king is seized with illness--His conversation
with me--The joiner's daughter and the small-pox--My despair--
Conduct of La Martinière the surgeon

CHAPTER XL.

La Martinière causes the king to be removed to Versailles--The
young prophet appears again to madame du Barry--Prediction
respecting cardinal de Richelieu--The joiner's daughter requests
to see madame du Barry--Madame de Mirepoix and the 50,000
francs--A <soirée> in the salon of madame du Barry

CHAPTER XLI

Interview with the joiner's daughter--Consultation of the physicians
respecting the king--The small-pox declares itself--the comte de
Muy--The princesses--Extreme sensibility of madame de Mirepoix--The
king is kept in ignorance of his real condition--The archbishop of
Paris visits Versailles

CHAPTER XLII

First proceedings of the council--The dauphin receives the prelates
with great coolness--Situation of the archbishop of Paris--
Richelieu evades the project for confessing the king--The friends
of madame du Barry come forward--The English physician--The
abbé Terray--Interview with the prince de Soubise--The prince
and the courtiers--La Martinière informs the king of France the
true nature of his complaint--Consequences of this disclosure

CHAPTER XLIII

Terror of the king--A complication--Filial piety of the princesses--
Last interview between madame du Barry and Louis XV--Conversation
with the maréchale de Mirepoix--The chancellor Maupeou--The
fragment--Comte Jean

CHAPTER XLIV

The duc d'Aiguillon brings an order for the immediate departure
of madame du Barry--The king's remarks recapitulated--The countess
holds a privy council--Letter to madame de Mirepoix and the ducs
de Cossé and d'Aiguillon--Night of departure--Ruel--Visit from
madame de Forcalquier

CHAPTER XLV

The duc d'Aiguillon's first letter--The maréchale de Mirepoix
--A second letter from the duc d'Aiguillon--Numerous visitors
 
CHAPTER XLVI

A third letter from the duke--The king receives extreme unction--
Letter from madame Victoire to the dauphin--M. de Machault--A
promenade with the duc de Cossé--Kind attention from the prince
des Deux Pouts--A fourth letter from the duc d'Aiguillon--Comte
Jean bids me farewell--M. d'Aiguillon's fifth letter, containing an
account of the death of Louis XV--The duc de la Vrillière--The <Lettre
de cachet>--Letter to the queen--Departure for the abbey of
<Pont aux Dames>


Special Introduction by Robert Arnot

Up to the time of the Du Barry the court of France had been the
stage where the whole political and human drama of that country
was enacted.  Under Louis XV the drama had been transformed into
parades--parades which were of as much importance to the people
as to those who took part in them.  The spectators, hitherto silent,
now began to hiss and be moved.  The scene of the comedy was
changed, and the play was continued among the spectators.  The old
theatre became an ante-chamber or a dressing-room, and was no
longer important except in connection with the Cardinal de Bernis
and the Duc de Richelieu, or Madame de Pompadour and Madame
du Barry.

The monarchy had still a step to take towards its downfall.  It
had already created the <Pare aux Cerfs> (Louis XV's seraglio),
but had not yet descended to the Parisian house of prostitution.
It made this descent leaning on the arm of Madame du Barry.
Madame du Barry was a moral sister to Manon Lescaut, but instead
of taking herself off to Louisiana to repent, she plunged into the
golden whirlpool at Versailles as a finish to her career.  Could
the coaches of a King mean more than the ordinary carriage of an
abandoned girl?

Jeanne Vaubernier--known in the bagnios by the name of Mademoiselle
Lange--was born at Vaucouleurs, as was Jeanne d'Arc.  Better still,
this later Jeanne said openly at Versailles--dared she say otherwise?--
that she was descended in a straight line from the illustrious,
the venerated, the august, sacred, national maid, Jeanne.*  "Why did
Du Barry come to Paris?'" says Leon Gozlan in that account of the
Château de Lucienne which makes a brilliant and learned chapter in
the history of France.  "Does one ever know precisely why things are
done?  She obeyed the magnet which attracts to Paris all who in
themselves have a title to glory, to celebrity, or to misfortune.
Du Barry had a pretty, provincial face, bright and charming, a face
astonished at everything, hair soft and ash-colored, blue eyes,
veiled and half open, and a skin fair with rose tints.  She was a
child of destiny.  Who could have said, when she crossed the great
town in her basket cart, which rolled lazily along on its massive,
creaking wheels, that some day she would have equipages more
beautiful than any of those which covered her with mud in passing,
and on her arms more laces and diamonds than any of these ladies
attended by footmen in liveries?"

	*A claim which blithely ignored the fact that Jeanne
d'Arc had no children.--Gutenberg editor

When Jeanne left the provinces to come to Paris, she found her
native country.  She was granted the freedom of the city, and
expanded in her joy like a delicate plant transplanted into a
hothouse.  She found herself at home for the first time; and felt
that she could rule as a despot over all frequenters of the
streets.  She learned fashion and love at one and the same time.
Gourdan had a hat made for her, and, as a reward, initiated her
into the customs.  But she was called to other destinies.

One day, when she was walking in the Tuileries, a lunatic--and
lunatics have second sight--asked her favor when she should
become queen.  Du Barry said to herself: "This man is mad."  But
then she thought of the Pompadour, blushed--it was the only time--
and turned her eyes towards Versailles.

But Versailles was an unhoped-for shore to such a girl as this,
a girl known to all Paris.  Would the King care to be the lover of
one who had ruled all his courtesans?  Who could say?  The King
often wearied of what he had.  Had not a poet already been found
who compared her to Venus:

O Jeanne, thy beauty seduces
And charms the whole world;
In vain does the duchess redden
And the princess growl;
They know that Venus rides proudly
The foam of the wave.

The poet, while not Voltaire, was no less a man than Bouffiers.

While the King was seeking a mistress--a nocturnal reverse of
Diogenes, fleeing from the lanterns of  the wise--he found Jeanne
Vaubernier.  He thought he could love her for one evening.  "Not
enough," said she, "you must love me until broad daylight."  So
he loved her for a whole day.  What should one eat in order to be
loved by royalty?  Was it necessary to have a coat of arms?  She
had them in number, because she had been loved by all the great
names in the book of heraldry.  And so she begged the Viscount
Jean du Barry to give her the title of viscountess.  "Better still,"
exclaimed Jean, "I will give you the title of countess.  My brother
will marry you; he is a male scamp, and you are the female.  What
a beautiful marriage!"

So they were united.  The newly made countess was solemnly
presented at court by a countess of an ancient date, namely, the
Countess de Bearn.  King Voltaire protested, in a satire entitled
"<The Court of King Petaud>" (topsy-turvy), afterwards denying
it.  The duc de Choiseul protested, France protested, but all
Versailles threw itself passionately at the feet of the new countess.
Even the daughters of the King paid her court, and allowed her to
call them by their pet names: Loque, Chiffe, and Graille.  The King,
jealous of this gracious familiarity, wished her to call him by some
pet name, and so the Bacchante, who believed that through the
King she held all France in her hand, called him "La France," making
him a wife to his Gray Musketeers.

Oh, that happy time!  Du Barry and Louis XV hid their life--like
the sage--in their little apartments.  She honeyed his chocolate,
and he himself made her coffee.  Royalty consecrated a new verb
for the dictionary of the Academy, and Madame du Barry said to
the King: "At home, I can love you to madness."  The King gave
the castle of Lucienne to his mistress in order to be able to sing
the same song.  Truly the Romeo and Juliet <de la main gauche>.

Du Barry threw out her fish-wifely epithets with ineffable tenderness.
She only opened her eyes half way, even when she took him by the
throat.  The King was enchanted by these humors.  It was a new
world.  But someone said to him: "Ah, Sire, it is easy to see that
your Majesty has never been at the house of Gourdan."  

Yet Du Barry was adored by poets and artists.  She extended both
hands to them.  Jeanne's beauty had a penetrating, singular charm.
At once she was blonde and brunette--black eyebrows and lashes
with blue eyes, rebellious light hair with darker shadows, cheeks
of ideal contour, whose pale rose tints were often heightened by
two or three touches--a lie "formed by the hand of Love," as
anthology puts it--a nose with expressive nostrils, an air of
childlike candour, and a look seductive to intoxication.  A bold
yet shrinking Venus, a Hebe yet a Bacchante.  With much grace
Voltaire says:

"Madame:

"M. de la Borde tells me that you have ordered him
to kiss me on both cheeks for you:

"What!  Two kisses at life's end
What a passport to send me!
Two is one too much, Adorable Nymph;
I should die of pleasure at the first.

"He showed me your portrait, and be not offended,
Madame, when I tell you that I have taken the liberty
of giving that the two kisses."

Perhaps Voltaire would not have written this letter, had he not
read the one written by the King to the Duc de Choiseul, who
refused to pay court to the left-hand queen:

"My Cousin,

"The discontent which your acts cause me forces me to
exile you to Chanteloup, where you will take yourself
within twenty-four hours.  I would have sent you farther
away were it not for the particular esteem in which I
hold Madame de Choiseul.  With this, I pray God, my
cousin, to take you into His safe and holy protection.
 				"Louis."  

This exile was the only crime of the courtesan.  On none of her
enemies did she close the gates of the Bastille.  And more than
once did she place a pen in the hands of Louis XV with which to
sign a pardon.  Sometimes, indeed, she was ironic in her compassion.

"Madame," said M. de Sartines to her one day, "I have discovered
a rogue who is scattering songs about you; what is to be done with him?"  

"Sentence him to sing them for a livelihood."

But she afterwards made the mistake of pensioning Chevalier de
Morande to buy silence.

The pleasures of the King and his favorite were troubled only by
the fortune-tellers.  Neither the King nor the countess believed in
the predictions of the philosophers, but they did believe in
divination.  One day, returning from Choisy, Louis XV found
under a cushion of his coach a slip of paper on which was transcribed
this prediction of the monk Aimonius, the savant who could read
all things from the vast book of the stars:

"As soon as Childeric had returned from
Thuringia, he was crowned King of France
And no sooner was he King than he espoused
Basine, wife of the King of Thuringia.
She came herself to find Childeric.  The
first night of the marriage, and before the King
had retired, the queen begged Childeric to look
from one of the palace windows which opened on a
park, and tell what he saw there.  Childeric
looked out and, much terrified, reported to the
princess that he had seen tigers and lions.
Basine sent him a second time to look out.
This time the prince only saw bears and wolves,
and the third time he perceived only cats and dogs,
fighting and combating each other.  Then Basine
said to him: I will give you an explanation of what
you have seen: The first figure shows you your
successors, who will excel you in courage and power;
the second represents another race which will be
illustrious for their conquests, and which will augment
your kingdom for many centuries; but the third denotes
the end of your kingdom, which will be given over to pleasures
and will lose to you the friendship of your subjects;
and this because the little animals signify a people who,
emancipated from fear of princes, will massacre them and
make war upon each other."  

Louis read the prediction and passed the paper to the Countess:
"After us the end of the world," said she gaily.  The King laughed,
but the abbé de Beauvais celebrated high mass at Versailles after
the carnival of 1774, and dared to say, in righteous anger: "This
carnival is the last; yet forty days and Nineveh shall perish."
Louis turned pale.  "Is it God who speaks thus?"  murmured he,
raising his eyes to the altar.  The next day he went to the hunt
in grand style, but from that evening he was afraid of solitude
and silence: "It is like the tomb; I do not wish to put myself in
such a place," said he to Madame du Barry.  The duc de Richelieu
tried to divert him.  "No," said he suddenly, as if the Trappist's
denunciation had again recurred to him, "I shall be at ease only
when these forty days have passed."  He died on the fortieth day.

Du Barry believed neither in God nor in the devil, but she believed
in the almanac of Liège.  She scarcely read any book but this--
faithful to her earliest habits.  And the almanac of Liège, in its
prediction for April, 1774, said: "A woman, the greatest of
favorites, will play her last role."  So Madame the Countess du
Barry said without ceasing: "I shall not be tranquil until these
forty days have passed."  The thirty-seventh day the King went to
the hunt attended with all the respect due to his rank.  Jeanne
wept in silence and prayed to God as one who has long neglected
her prayers.

Louis XV had not neglected his prayers, and gave two hundred
thousand livres to the poor, besides ordering masses at St.
Geneviève.  Parliament opened the shrine, and knelt gravely
before that miraculous relic.  The least serious of all these good
worshippers was, strange to say, the curate of St. Geneviève:
"Ah, well!"  said he gaily, when Louis was dead, "let us continue
to talk of the miracles of St. Geneviève.  Of what can you
complain?  Is not the King dead?"

At the last moment it was not God who held the heart of Louis--it
was his mistress.  "Ask the Countess to come here again," he said.

"Sire, you know that she has gone away," they answered.

"Ah!  has she gone?  Then I must go!"  So he departed.

His end drew forth some maledictions.  There were insults even
at his funeral services.  "Nevertheless," said one old soldier, "he
was at the battle of Fontenoy."  That was the most eloquent
funeral oration of Louis XV.

"The King is dead, long live the King!"  But before the death of
Louis XVI they cried:  "The king is dead, long live the Republic!"  

Rose-colored mourning was worn in the good city of Paris.  The
funeral oration of the King and a lament for his mistress were
pronounced by Sophie Arnould, of which masterpiece of sacred
eloquence the last words only are preserved: "Behold us orphaned
both of father and mother."  

If Madame du Barry was one of the seven plagues of royalty, she
died faithful to royalty.  After her exile to Pont aux Dames she
returned to Lucienne, where the duc de Cossé Brissac consoled
her for the death of Louis XV.  But what she loved in Louis was
that he was a king; her true country was Versailles; her true
light was the sun of court life.  Like Montespan, also a courtesan
of high order, she often went in these dark days to cast a loving
look upon the solitary park in the maze of the Trianon.  Yet she
was particularly happy at Lucienne.

I have compared her to Manon Lescaut, and I believe her to have
been also a sister to Ganesin.  All three were destroyed by passion.

One day she found herself still young at Lucienne, although her
sun was setting.  She loved the duc de Brissac, and how many
pages of her past romance would she that day have liked to
erase and forget!

"Why do you weep, Countess?"  asked her lover.

"My friend," she responded, "I weep because I love you, shall I
say it?  I weep because I am happy."

She was right; happiness is a festival that should know no
to-morrow.  But on the morrow of her happiness, the Revolution
knocked at the castle gate of Lucienne.

"Who goes there?"  

"I am justice; prepare for destiny."

The Queen, the true queen, had been good to her as to everybody.
Marie Antoinette remembered that the favorite had not been wicked.
The debts of Du Barry were paid and money enough was given to her
so that she could still give with both hands.  Lucienne became an
echo of Versailles.  Foreign kings and Parisian philosophers came
to chat in its portals.  Minerva visited shameless Venus.  But
wisdom took not root at Lucienne.

For the Revolution, alas! had to cut off this charming head,
which was at one time the ideal of beauty--of court beauty.
Madame du Barry gave hospitality to the wounded at the arrest of
the queen.  "These wounded youths have no other regret than that
they have not died for a princess so worthy as your Majesty," she
said.  "What I have done for these brave men is only what they
have merited.  I consoled them, and I respect their wounds when
I think, Madame, that without their devotion, your Majesty would
no longer be alive.  Lucienne is yours, Madame, for was it not
your beneficence which gave it to me?  All I possess has come to
me through the royal family.  I have too much loyalty to forget it."

But negro Zamor became a citizen like Mirabeau.  It was Zamor who
took to Du Barry her lover's head.  It was Zamor who denounced her
at the club of the Jacobins.  "The fealty (faith) of the black man is
white," said the negro.  But he learned how to make it red.  Jeanne
was imprisoned and tried before Dumas.

"Your age?"

"Forty-two years."  She was really forty-seven.  Coquetry even
at the guillotine.

The public accuser, Fouquier Tinville, was not disarmed by the
sweet voluptuousness still possessed by this pale and already
fading beauty.  He accused her of treason against the nation.
Could the defender of Du Barry, who had also defended Marie
Antoinette, find an eloquent word?  No; Fouquier Tinville was
more eloquent than Chauveau-Lagarde.  So the mistress of  Louis
was condemned.  It was eleven o'clock in the evening--the hour
for supper at Versailles when she was queen!

She passed the night in prayer and weeping, or rather in a frenzy
of fright.  In the morning she said it was "too early to die"; she
wished to have a little time in order to make some disclosures.
The Comité sent someone to listen to her.  What did she say?
She revealed all that was hidden away at Lucienne; she gave
word by word an inventory of the treasures she had concealed,
forgetting nothing, for did not each word give her a second of time?

"Have you finished?"  said the inquisitor.  "No," said Jeanne.  "I
have not mentioned a silver syringe concealed under the staircase!"  

Meanwhile the horses of destiny stamped with impatience, and
spectators were knocking at the prison gate.  When they put her,
already half dead, on the little cart, she bent her head and grew
pale.  The Du Barry alone--a sinner without redemption.

She saw the people in the square of Louis XV; she struck her
breast three times and murmured: "It is my fault!"  But this
Christian resignation abandoned her when she mounted the
scaffold--there where the statue of Louis XV had been--and she
implored of the executioner:

"One moment, Mr.  Executioner!  One moment more!"

But the executioner was pitiless Sanson.  It was block and the
knife--without the "one moment!"

Such was the last bed of the Du Barry.  Had the almanac of Liège
only predicted to her that the one who would lead her to her bed
for the last time would not be a King but a citizen executioner, it
might have been--but why moralize?

				Robert Arnot				
<To the Reader

<As the early part of Madame du Barry's career had
little to differentiate it from the life of an ordinary
courtezan, the editor has deemed it best to confine the
memoirs to the years in her life which helped to make
history.

<--Editor*>

	*"Editor here means the author, who is assuming
	the persona of the editor of the Comtesse's memoirs.



CHAPTER I


Letter from Lebel--Visit from Lebel--Nothing conclusive--Another
visit from Lebel--Invitation to sup with the king--Instructions of
the comte Jean to the comtesse

One morning comte Jean entered my apartment, his face beaming
with delight.

‘Read," said he, giving me a letter, "read, Jeannette: victory is
ours.  News from Morand.  Lebel is coming to Paris, and will
dine with us.  Are we alone?"

"No, there are two of your countrymen whom you invited yesterday."

"I will write and put them off.  Morand alone must dine with
Lebel; he ought to have a place at the feast which he furnishes
with such good music.  Come, my dear girl, we touch the moment
of importance, it is in your beauty and power of pleasing that I
place all my hopes.  I think I may rely on you; but, above all, do
not forget that you are my sister-in-law."

"Brother-in-law," said I, laughing, "it is not unnecessary that
I should know decidedly to which of family I am married?  The
custom in France is not that a woman be the undivided property
of three brothers."

"That only happens in Venice," replied the comte; "my brother
Elie is too young, you must be the wife of Guillaume, my second
brother."

"Very well; I am the comtesse Guillaume du Barry; that does
famously well; we like to know whom we are married to."

After this conversation, comte Jean insisted on presiding at my
toilette.  He acquitted himself of the task, with a most laughable
attention.  During two good hours, at least, he tormented first
Henriette, and then the female hairdresser, for I had not yet
followed the mode, which began to be very general, of having
my hair dressed by a man.  Comte Jean passed alternately from
my dressing-room to the kitchen.  He knew Lebel was a gallant
and a gourmand*, and he was anxious to please him in all senses
at once.

	*He seems to mean "gourmet" rather than "gourmand."
	---Gutenberg editor

At one o'clock I was under arms, and prepared to receive him on
whom my destiny depended.  As soon as I reached the drawing-room,
comte Jean compelled me to submit to the test of a rigid examination.

His serious air amused me much as he gazed at me some time in
solemn silence.  At length his forehead relaxed, a smile of
satisfaction played on his lips, and extending his arms
to me, without venturing to touch me, "You are charming, divine,"
he said; "Lebel ought to go and hang himself if he does not fall
down at your knees."

Soon afterwards the folding-doors were hastily opened, and a
servant announced M. Lebel, <premier de sa Majesté>, with M.
Morand.  The comte went to meet the arrivals, and as I now saw
Lebel for the first time, he presented him to me formally.

"Sister, this is M. Lebel, <premier de sa Majesté >, who has done
us the honor to come and dine with us."

"And he confers a real pleasure on us," said I, looking smilingly
on M. Lebel.  My look had its effect, for Lebel remained mute and
motionless from admiration at my person.  At length he stammered
out a few incoherent words, which I imagined to be compliments.
The comte watched Lebel anxiously, and Morand began to rub
his hands, saying:

"Well, sir, what think you of our celestial beauty?"

"She is worthy of a throne," replied Lebel, bending his head
before me, and taking my hand, which he pressed respectfully to
his lips.  This reply was, perhaps, inadvertently made, but I took
it as a good augury.  "Yes," added Lebel, "you are the most lovely
creature I ever met, though no one is more in the habit of seeing
handsome females than myself."

"And of causing them to be seen by others," replied comte Jean.

This was an opening which was not followed up by Lebel.  His
first enthusiasm having passed, he measured me from head to foot,
as if he would take an accurate description of my person.

For my part I began to support the looks of Lebel with more assurance.
He was a man of no particular "mark or likelihood," but had made
his way.  Living at Versailles had given him a certain air of easy
impertinence, but you could not discover anything distinguished
in his manners, nothing which concealed his humble extraction.  The
direction of the <Parc aux Cerfs> gave him much influence with the
king, who found the convenience of such a man, who was willing
to take upon himself all the disagreeable part of his clandestine
amours.  His duties placed him in contact with the ministers, the
lieutenant of police, and the comptroller-general.  The highest
nobility sought his friendship with avidity.  They all had a wife,
a sister, a daughter, whom they wished to make the favorite
sultana; and for this it was necessary to get the ear of Lebel.
Thus, under a libertine prince, the destinies of France were
at the mercy of a <valet de chambre>.

I should tell you, however, that I never had occasion but to
speak well of him, and that I have the utmost gratitude for all
he did for me.  The attachment he testified on our first meeting
has never been altered.  He gave me his protection as far as it
was necessary for me, and when the favor of the king had accorded
to me a station, whence all the court sought to hurl me, Lebel
seconded me with all his power in my efforts to preserve it.  I
will say, that it is to his vigilance that I owe the overthrow of
more than one conspiracy against me.  He was a warm and sincere
friend, and not at all interested in the services he rendered.  He
did a great deal of good, as well as harm, in private.  I know
poor families whom he has assisted with his own purse, when he
could obtain nothing for them from the king, for Louis was only
prodigal in his pleasures.

However, we dined, and Lebel praised me incessantly to the very
skies, and that with so much warmth, that I was fearful at one time
he would fall in love with me himself, and would not resign me to
another.  Thank heaven, Lebel was a faithful servant.

After dinner, when we left the table, Lebel paid me some
compliments; then pulling out his watch, he spoke of an
appointment at the Marais, and left without saying a word of
seeing us again.

At this abrupt departure, comte Jean and I looked at each other
with astonishment.  As for Morand, he was overjoyed.

"Well, comtesse," said he, "behold the number of your slaves
increased by an illustrious adorer.  You have made a conquest of
M. Lebel, and I am certain he has gone away deeply smitten."

"I hope we shall see him again," said comte Jean.

"Do you doubt it?"

"Assure him," said I, "of the pleasure it will afford us to
receive him as he merits."  

Several persons entered, and M. Morand, profiting by the bustle
which their entrance occasioned, approached me, and said, in a
low tone,

"You are in possession of his heart, will you charge me with
any message to him?"

"M. Morand," was my reply, "what are you thinking of?  A
woman of my rank throw herself at any person's head?"

"No, certainly not; but you can send him a kind word, or some
affectionate token."

"I could not think of it; M. Lebel appeared to me a most agreeable
man, and I shall be at all times delighted to see him."  

Morand asked nothing more than this, and there our conversation ended.

Two days elapsed without being marked by any event.  Comte Jean
had spent them with much anxiety.  He was absent, when, on the
third morning, Henriette came hastily into my room.  "Madame," she
said, "the <valet de chambre> of the king is in the drawing-room,
and inquires if you will receive him."

At this news I was surprised and vexed.  M. Lebel took me unawares;
my toilette was not begun.  I gave a hasty glance at my mirror, "Let
M. Lebel come in"; and M. Lebel, who was on the heels of my maid,
entered instantly.  After having saluted me, he said,

"It is only you, Madame, whom one might thus surprise.  Your
beauty needs no ornament, your charms are decoration sufficient."

I replied to this compliment with (of course) much modesty,
according to custom.  We entered into conversation, and I found
that Lebel really thought me the sister-in-law of comte Jean; and
I remarked the involuntary respect that attended even his familiarity.
I left him in his error, which was material to my interests.  He
talked to me some time of my attractions, of the part which a
female like myself might assume in France.  But fearing to
compromise myself, I made no reply, but preserved the reserve
which my character imposed upon me.  I am not clever, my friend,
I never could conduct an intrigue: I feared to speak or do wrong;
and whilst I kept a tranquil appearance, I was internally agitated
at the absence of comte Jean.

Fortune sent him to me.  He was passing the street, when he saw
at our door a carriage with the royal livery.  Lebel always used
it when his affairs did not demand a positive incognito.  This
equipage made him suspect a visit from Lebel, and he came in
opportunely to extricate me from my embarrassment.

"Sir," said Lebel to him, when he entered, "here is the lady
whose extreme modesty refuses to listen to what I dare not
thus explain to her."

"Is it anything I may hear for her?"  said the comte,
with a smiling air.

"Yes, I am the ambassador of a mighty power: you are the
minister plenipotentiary of the lady, and with your leave, we
will go into your private room to discuss the articles of the
secret treaty which I have been charged to propose to you.
What says madame?"

"I consent to anything that may come from such an  ambassador."  

Comte Jean instantly led him into another room, and when they
were alone, Lebel said to him, "Do you know that your sister-in-
law is a most fascinating creature?  She has occupied my thoughts
since I have known her, and in my enthusiasm I could not help
speaking of her in a certain quarter.  So highly have I eulogized
her, that his majesty desires an interview with her, that he may
judge with his own eyes if I am an appreciator of beauty."

At these words comte Jean felt a momentary agitation, but soon
recovering himself, he replied:

"I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir, for the favorable disposition
you have evinced towards the comtesse du Barry.  She and I have
as much respect as love for his majesty; but my sister-in-law has
not been presented, and, consequently, I can scarcely see how
she can be allowed to pay her respects to his majesty."

"Do not let that disturb you; it is not intended that she shall go
and partake of the magnificence of Versailles, but be admitted
to an intimacy much more flattering.  Would you refuse to grant
him that pleasure?"

"It would be a crime of <lèse-majesté >," said the comte Jean,
laughing, "and my family have too much respect for their monarch.
We should not be content with a fugitive favor."

"You may expect everything from the charms of the comtesse; I am
certain they will have the utmost success; but for me, I can give
you no guarantee.  You must run the chance."

"Your protection, however, is the only thing which encourages my
sister-in-law in this affair.  But tell me when is this meeting to
take place?"  

"Instantly.  The king is impatient to see the comtesse and I have
promised that she will sup with him to-morrow evening in my
apartment at Versailles."

"How is she to be introduced to the king?"

"I am to entertain four of my friends."

"Who are they?"

"'First, the baron de Gonesse."

"Who is he?"

"The king himself."

"Well, who next?"

"The duc de Richelieu."  

"Who else?"

"The marquis de Chauvelin."  

"Well?"

"The duc de la Vauguyon."  

"What, the devotee?"  

"The hypocrite.  But never mind: the main point is, that you must
not appear to recognize the king.  Instruct your sister-in-law to
this effect."

"Certainly; if she must sin, she had better do so with some reason."  

While these gentlemen were thus disposing of me, what was I
doing?  Alone, in my room, I waited the result of their conference
with mortal impatience.  The character I had to play was a superb
one, and at the moment was about to enter on the stage, I felt all
the difficulties of my part.  I feared I should not succeed, but fail
amid the insulting hisses of the Versailles party.

My fears at once disappeared, and then I pictured myself sitting
on a throne, magnificently attired; my imagination wandered in
all the enchantments of greatness; --then, as if from remorse, I
recalled my past life.  The former lover of Nicholas blushed
before the future mistress of Louis XV.  A thousand different
reflections crowded upon me, and mingled in my brain.  If to live
is to think, I lived a whole age in one quarter of an hour.  At
length I heard some doors open, a carriage rolled away, and comte
Jean entered my chamber.

"Victory!"  cried he, embracing me with transport.  "Victory! my
dear Jeanne, to-morrow you sup with the king."

On this information I turned pale, my strength forsook me, and I
was compelled to sit down, or rather to fall into a chair; for,
according to Jean Jacques Rousseau, my legs shook under me
(<flageolaient>).  This, however, was the only movement of weakness
which I betrayed.  When I recovered a little, the comte Jean told
me the conversation he had had with Lebel.  I joked about the title
of baron de Gonesse, and I promised to treat the king as if
ignorant of his incognito.  One thing only made me uneasy, and
that was supping with the duc de Richelieu, who had seen me
before at madame de Lagarde's; but the idea that he would not
remember me gave me renewed courage.

On so important an occasion, comte Jean did not forget to repeat
his instructions over again.  These are nearly his words, for I
think I learnt them by heart.

"Remember that it is on your first interview that your safety
depends.  Let him learn, through you, those utter tendernesses
which have been sought for him in vain heretofore.  He is like
the monarch of old, who was willing to pay the half of his crown
for an unknown pleasure.  Lebel is wearied in seeking every week
for new fruit.  He is quite disposed to serve you, and will second
you in the best manner.  You are about to become the centre of
attraction to all courtiers, and noble <courtisanes>.  You must
expect that they will endeavor to cry you down, because you will
have carried off from them a gem to which every family has its
pretensions.  You must at first stand firmly before the storm, but
afterward you will find all enlist themselves under your banner,
who have no wife, sister, nor daughter; that is, all who have no
mistress to offer to the king.  You must attach these to you by
place and favor: they must be first thought of, and then you must
think of yourself and me, my dear girl."

"All this is well enough," I replied, "but as yet I am nothing."

"<Morbleu>!  to-morrow you will be everything," cried comte
Jean, with his determined energy.  "But we must think about
this morrow.  Make haste, noble comtesse; go to all the milliners,
seek what is elegant rather than what is rich.  Be as lovely,
pleasing, and gay as possible; this is the main point, and God
will do all the rest."  

He pronounced this blasphemy in a laughing tone, and I confess I
could not help joining in the laugh, and then hastened to comply
with his directions.



CHAPTER II


A slight preface--Arrival at Versailles--<"La toilette">--Portrait
of the king--The duc de Richelieu--The marquis de Chauvelin--The
duc de la Vauguyon-Supper with the king--The first night--The
following day--The curiosity of comte Jean--Presents from the
king--How disposed of

The chances against our succeeding in our enterprise were at least
a thousand to one.  The sea upon which, trusting to the favorable
influence of my leading star, we were about to venture, was filled
with rocks and shoals which threatened the poor mariner who should
direct his bark near them.  In the first place, I had to dread my
obscure birth, as well as the manner in which my life had been
passed; and still more had I to fear the indifferent reputation of
comte Jean.  There was more than sufficient in all this to disturb
a head far stronger than I could boast.  However, thanks to my
thoughtfulness, no troublesome thoughts interfered to break my
rest on the night preceding a day so important to me, and I slept as
tranquilly as though upon waking I had no other occupation for my
time than a walk on the boulevards, or a drive to the Bois de Boulogne.

Comte Jean, however, had passed a very different night; for once,
the whisperings of ambition had overcome even his natural
indifference and carelessness, and tired of tossing upon a
sleepless pillow, he arose at the first break of day, reproached
me for slumbering so long, and allowed me neither peace nor
rest till I joined him dressed for our journey.  At length, we
set out according to our agreement with Lebel; I was closely
muffled up in my large <calèche>--the carriage rolled along till
we reached Versailles, where we had for the last month engaged a
lodging, which might be useful to us in all events; we alighted,
and after vainly seeking a few moments' repose, proceeded on
foot to Lebel, in whose apartments we were to attire ourselves in
a suitable manner.

"You are welcome," said the comte, "pray consider yourself as
at home."

"I accept your augury," replied I, "it would be amusing enough
to find that my young prophet had predicted rightly."

"Well then," said my conductor, laughing, "I recommend you to
manage a slip on the staircase, it would be taking possession
after the manner of the ancients."

"No, no, I thank you," answered I; "no falls if you please, they
are not propitious in France."

Whilst we were thus speaking, we were crossing a long suite of
chambers, and reached the one at which we were expected.  We
knocked cautiously at a door, which was opened to us with equal
caution.  Scarcely had we entered, than Lebel came eagerly forward
to receive us.

"Ah, madame!"  cried he, "I began to fear you might not come,
you have been looked for with an impatience--"

"Which can hardly equal mine," interrupted I; "for you were
prepared for your visitor, whilst I have yet to learn who is the
friend that so kindly desires to see me."

"It is better it should be so," added Lebel ; "do not seek either
to guess or discover more, than that you will here meet with
some cheerful society, friends of mine, who will sup at my house,
but with whom circumstances prevent my sitting down at table."

"How!" said I, with affected surprise, "not sup with us?"  

"Even so," replied Lebel; and then added with a laugh, "<He> and
I sit down to supper together!  What an idea!  No!  you will find
that just as the guests are about to sit down at table, I shall
suddenly be called out of the room, and shall only return at
the close of the repast."

All this was but of small import to me.  Nevertheless, I affected
to regret the unavoidable absence of Lebel.  In fact, I believe
that the first breath inspired at court is fraught with falsehood
and deceit, entirely destructive to every feeling of natural candor.

Lebel, with the most ceremonious gallantry, conducted me to a
private dressing-room, where I found several females waiting to
assist me at my toilet; I abandoned myself to their cares, which
were, indeed, most skilfully exercised in my behalf.  They wrought
wonders in my appearance, bathing me after the Eastern fashion,
adorning my hair and person, till I issued from their hands blooming
and beauteous as an houri.

When I returned to the room in which Lebel was expecting me, his
surprise was almost overpowering.

"You are, indeed," exclaimed he, "the new sun which is to rise
upon Versailles."

"Excellent!"  cried I, laughing extravagantly, "but like the planet
you are pleased to compare me with, I must reserve my splendid
rising till I have obtained fresh powers from the aid of night."*

*<Mais avant de me lever il faut que je me couche>,
is the witty reply in the original, but which it is
impossible to render fully and piquantly through the
dilution of a translation.---tr.

The comte entered, and joined his congratulations upon the beauty
of my appearance; all at once the hasty, sound of a bell, violently
pulled, was heard.

"The object of your attack approaches," said Lebel to me, "it
would be as well to reconnoitre a little.  Remember, not a word
of his rank, no cast down, timid looks at his sovereign power;
no bending of knees, or faltering of voice."

The advice thus given was useless.  Comte Jean, who bore the
reputation of, at least, a man of much cool impudence, was, I am
certain, more deficient than myself in courage upon the occasion,
and I verily believe, asked himself several times whether he dared
appear before his prince with one whom he was falsely asserting
to be his sister-in-law.  However these thoughts might or might
not have disturbed him, we proceeded onwards till we reached the
apartment where our invited friends were expecting us; and here
I will, with the reader's permission, digress awhile, in order to
say a few introductory words respecting the four personages with
whom I had the honor of supping.

And first, Louis XVth, king of France (or as he was upon the
present occasion styled the baron de Gonesse), was one of those
sentimental egotists who believed he loved the whole world, his
subjects, and his family; while in reality, the sole engrossing
object was <self>.  Gifted with many personal and intellectual
endowments, which might have disputed the palm with the most
lively and engaging personages of the court, he was yet devoured
by ennui, and of this he was well aware, but his mind was made up
to meet this ennui, as one of the necessary accompaniments of
royalty.  Devoid of taste in literary matters, he despised all
connected with the <belles-lettres>, and esteemed men only in
proportion to the number and richness of their armorial bearings.
M. de Voltaire ranked him beneath the lowest country-squire; and
the very mention of a man of letters was terrifying to his
imagination from its disturbing the current of his own ideas; he
revelled in the plenitude of power, yet felt dissatisfied with the
mere title of king.  He ardently desired to signalize himself as
the first general of the age, and prevented from obtaining this (in
his opinion) highest of honors, entertained the utmost jealousy of
Frederick II, and spoke with undisguised spleen and ill-humor of
the exploits of his brother of Prussia.

The habit of commanding, and the prompt obedience he had ever met
with, had palled upon his mind, and impressed him with feelings of
indifference for all things which thus appeared so easily obtained;
and this satiety and consequent listlessness was by many construed
into melancholy of disposition.  He disliked any appearance of
opposition to his will; not that he particularly resented the
opposition itself, but he knew his own weakness, and feared lest
he should be compelled to make a show of a firmness he was
conscious of not possessing.  For the clergy he entertained the
most superstitious veneration; and he feared God because he had a
still greater awe and dread of the devil.  In the hands of his
confessor he confidently believed was lodged the absolute power
to confer on him unlimited license to commit any or every sin.
He greatly dreaded pamphlets, satires, epigrams, and the opinion
of posterity and yet his conduct was that of a man who scoffs at
the world’s judgment.  This hasty sketch may with safety be taken
as the portrait of Louis XV, although much might be added; yet for
the present I will confine myself to the outline of my picture,
which I shall have frequent occasion to retouch in the course of
my journal; it is my intention to present him in all possible lights
before the reader, and I flatter myself I shall produce a perfect
resemblance of the man I seek to depict.  Let us now proceed to
consider the duc de Richelieu.

This nobleman, when in his seventy-second year, had preserved,
even in so advanced an age, all his former pretensions to notice;
his success in so many love affairs, a success which he never
could have merited, had rendered him celebrated; he was now a
superannuated coxcomb, a wearisome and clumsy butterfly; when
however, he could be brought to exercise his sense by remembering
that he was no longer young, he became fascinating beyond idea,
from the finished ease and grace of his manner, and the polished
and piquant style of his discourse; still I speak of him as a mere
man of outward show, for the duke's attainments were certainly
superficial, and he possessed more of the jargon of a man of
letters than the sound reality.  Among other proofs of consummate
ignorance he was deficient even in orthography, and was fool
enough to boast of so disgraceful a fact, as though it conferred
honor on him; perhaps, indeed, he found that the easiest way of
getting over the business.

He possessed a most ignoble turn of mind; all feelings of an
elevated nature were wanting within him.  A bad son, an unkind
husband, and a worse father, he could scarcely be expected to
become a steady friend.  All whom he feared, he hesitated not to
trample under foot; and his favorite maxim, which he has a
hundred times repeated to me, was, that "we should never hesitate
to set our foot upon the necks of all those who might in any way
interfere with our projects--dead men [he would further add] tell
no tales!"  There was one person, nevertheless, whom he detested
and flattered at the same time, and this was Voltaire, who well
repaid him in like coin.  He called the duc de Richelieu, the
tyrant of the tennis-court* (<tripot>), and the duke returned the
compliment by invariably designating him "Scoundrel" and "Poetaster";
the only difference was that the duc de Richelieu only treated the
poet thus in <sotto voce>, whilst M. de Voltaire sought not to
conceal, either in his writings or conversation, his candid opinion
of the illustrious duke and peer; and he might justly accuse the
duke of ingratitude, for he, no doubt, owed a considerable portion
of the reputation he enjoyed as a general, to the brilliant verses
in which Voltaire had celebrated his exploits.

*<La Comedie Francaise>--tr.

The marquis de Chauvelin was equally skilful as a warrior and
diplomatist.  Gentle, graceful, and witty, he joined to the most
extreme versatility of talent the utmost simplicity of character.
Once known, he could not fail of being valued and esteemed, and
the king entertained the most lively regard for him.  The noble
minded marquis was far from taking advantage of his sovereign's
favor, far from it; he neither boasted of it, nor presumed upon
it.  This truly wonderful man died, unhappily, too soon for me,
for the king on whom he bestowed the sagest counsels, and for
foreign courts who knew and appreciated his worth.  I shall have
occasion to speak of him hereafter; he had a brother, a wicked
little hump-backed creature, brave as Caesar, and a bitter enemy
to the Jesuits, whom he did not a little contribute to overturn in
the parliament of Paris, to which he belonged.  The king detested
this man as much as he loved and cherished the brother, and that
is saying not a little.

The fourth guest was the duc de la Vauguyon, the really
<perpetual> tutor to the princes of France, for he had educated
four successively.  He had displayed in the army both bravery and
talent, but he was a confirmed Jesuit, and conducted himself
towards me upon the strictest principles of his order.  He will
appear again on the scene hereafter, but for the present I must
lay him aside, whilst I return to my <entrée> to the saloon, which
I was about to enter.

Immediately after Lebel had conducted me into it, he was called
away, and quitted us.  The king rose and approached me, saluting
me with the most admirable gallantry, and addressing to me the
most encouraging and gratifying words.  His gentle, yet polished
manners, fine countenance, noble air, and the free and unrestrained
glances of admiration which sparkled in his eyes, communicated
to me a feeling of support and confidence which effectually
reassured me, and roused me from the involuntary emotion I had
felt at the moment when I first appeared in his presence.  The
king addressed a few words to comte Jean, and then regarded him
steadily, as tho' he were trying to recall his features; but his
eye quickly turned on me again, upon whom he bestowed the most
intoxicating attention.  Never was first sight more effective, and
never did a flame so rapidly increase as did the passion of my
noble adorer.  Ere we had seated ourselves at the supper-table,
he was ages gone in love.

It would have provoked a smile from any countenance to perceive
how the respect and admiration with which the three courtiers
regarded me increased in proportion as the sentiments of the king
towards me betrayed themselves more and more.  At first I had
been considered as a person of little or no importance.  Soon,
however, as their sagacious eyes discovered the state of their
master’s mind, the air of familiarity with which they had regarded
me gave place to a more studied politeness, which, in its turn, as
matters progressed, was superseded by the most delicate attention;
and ere we rose from table these gentlemen watched my looks with
the most eager anxiety to obtain the honor of my notice, and hopes
of future patronage from one whom they easily foresaw would be
fully qualified to bestow it.  Comte Jean observed all that was
passing in profound silence.  As for me, I talked and laughed with
perfect freedom from restraint, and my frank unaffected mirth
appeared to enchant the king; I knew that he was weary of the
nice formalities of courtly beauty, and desired to refresh his
eyes and ears with something less refined, and I gratified him
to his heart's wish.  The conversation became lively and animated,
the merits of men of letters were discussed, the French and
Italian theatre passed in review before us, and finally, we amused
ourselves with anecdotes relative to the intrigues of court.  The
baron de Gonesse related to us a circumstance which had just
been communicated to him by a county magistrate.  I must here
apprize the reader that these administrators of justice were
directed to collect all the facts, scandalous, horrible, ridiculous,
or piquant, which occurred within their jurisdiction, in order that,
being forwarded to the king, they might aid in distracting his
mind from the heavy cares of government.  Alas! how many strange
and eventful things have I since learned by similar channels.

The supper terminated, the king's friends remained some time
conversing with us.  Whilst these noblemen were busily celebrating
my praises in words sufficiently loud to reach the king's ear, the
baron de Gonesse, standing by my side, was prosecuting his suit
in the most ardent terms.  I received his overtures with becoming
grace and modesty.  As I have before said, the exterior of the king
was very prepossessing, and what he wanted in youth, he made up
by all the mature graces of dignified royalty.  At last Lebel
appeared, and made me a sign to rise from my seat.  Up to this
period nothing had arisen to betray the incognito of the august
monarch, and in order to keep up my pretended ignorance of his
grandeur, I quitted the apartment with little ceremony.  Lebel
conducted me to an adjoining chamber, furnished with the utmost
magnificence.  When we were seated, he turned to the comte Jean,
who had followed us, and said, "It rests with yourself whether you
will return to Paris, or remain at Versailles.  But as for <milady>,
who seems much fatigued, she will, we trust, honor us by accepting
a bed at the castle."  

My self-created brother-in-law understood as well as I did the
significance of these words, and clearly read in their import how
far I had attracted the favor of the king.  In order to have
rendered the impression more lasting, we could have wished that
matters had been less precipitated, but we were under a roof
where everything yielded to the caprices of its master, and
resignation to his will became a matter of course.  And here I
trust I may be pardoned if I pass over certain details which
could not, at this lapse of time, interest or amuse any one;
besides, altho' I have found no difficulty in reciting former
events of my life, I find my pen more prudish and coy than were
my ears or mouth.  All I shall say is, that the following day, as
soon as I was left alone in my chamber, Lebel entered, and
prostrating himself at the side of my bed,--

"Madame la comtesse," said he, "is queen and mistress here.  Not
only has your noble lover failed to communicate to me the usual
signal of disgust or dislike, but he has spoken of you to me in the
most favorable light, declaring, that, for the first time in his life,
he felt the influence of a true and sincere affection; for this
reason he desired I would not convey to you the contents of
this casket, as originally intended."

"And what does it contain?"  asked I, with childish eagerness.

"Oh, a trifle unworthy of her who is now the mistress of his
warmest love; only a purse containing a hundred louis, and a
suit of emeralds worth a similar sum.  He bade me say it might
have served to recompense a mere fleeting fancy, but that it is
unworthy of your charms, nor can he insult you by the offer of it."

"Will he then see me again?" inquired I.

"To-morrow evening, if agreeable to you."

"Only say that his wishes are mine."

"Would you wish to see the comte Jean before you rise?  He has
been waiting with the utmost impatience to see you since seven
o'clock this morning."

"Let him come in."  

The comte entered, and I saw by the triumphant joy painted on
his face, that Lebel had told him of propitious state of things.
He ran up to me with outstretched arms, congratulating me upon
my success, and putting at the same time several questions, to
which, either from mere womanly caprice, or presuming upon
my recent elevation to the character of prime favorite, I refused
to reply.

My folly drew down on me his severe anger, and several oaths
escaped his lips, which, echoed back by walls so unused to similar
violence, struck Lebel with terror.  That faithful ally placed his
hand over his mouth, imploring of him to recollect himself, and
the place he was in.  As for me, dreading some foolish burst of
his impetuosity, I tried some of my sweetest smiles, and inviting
him to sit beside me, related to him and Lebel those particulars
which my pen refuses to retrace.  Amongst other things, I told
them I had said to the king, that I had perfectly known who he
was all the preceding evening when supping with him, and that he
had the simplicity to say, "he was surprised I had not appeared
more embarrassed in his presence."  

Our conversation terminated, I wished to return to Paris, and I
was, without further hindrance, allowed to depart.  Scarcely had
I arrived there an hour, than I received from his majesty a
magnificent diamond agraffe, worth at least 60,000 francs, and
bank notes to the amount of 200,000 livres.

Comte Jean and myself were well nigh stupefied with astonishment
at the sight of such treasures; to us, who had never in our lives
possessed such sums, they appeared inexhaustible.  My brother-in-law
divided them into two equal portions, one of which he put into
his pocket, and the other into my <escritoire>.  With this arrangement
I did not interfere; nothing seemed to me more simple than that he
should satisfy his need out of my superfluity.  I bestowed two
thousand crowns upon Henriette, and expended in the course of
the day at least a quarter of my riches in trifles, as unnecessary
as useless; and all this without once remembering that as I owed
my present abundance to a momentary inclination on the part of
the king, so the turn of an hour, or a fresh fancy on the part of
my munificent adorer, might reduce me to the unprovided state
in which I had been so lately.  That evening was passed
<tête-à-tête> with comte Jean; he thought, as I did, that the
foundation of our treasure was firm as a rock, and he gave me
many counsels for the future which I promised to observe; for
indeed it was to my own interest to do so.  Upon how many follies
did we then debate, which, but a few days afterwards we found
practicable.  The different ministers passed in review before us;
some we determined upon retaining, whilst others were dismissed,
and already I began in idea to act with sovereign power over these
illustrious personages, amongst whom I anticipated shortly playing
so important a part.  "After all," said I, "the world is but an
amusing theatre, and I see no reason why a pretty woman should
not play a principal part in it."



CHAPTER III


The king's message--Letter from the countess--A second supper at
Versailles--The duc d’Ayen--A short account of M. de Fleury--The
duc de Duras -Conversation with the king--The next day--A visit
from the duc de Richelieu--Visit from the duc de la Vauguyon--Visit
from comte Jean--Visit from the king--A third supper--Favor

Early the following day I received a message from the king,
accompanied with a bouquet of flowers tied round with a string
of diamonds.  A short letter was annexed to this splendid gift,
which I would transcribe here, had it not been taken from me
with many others.  My reply, which I wrote upon the spur of the
moment, was concise, and, as I preserved the rough copy, under
the impression of its being one day useful, I can give the reader
the exact words.

"The billet traced by your noble hands, renders me
the happiest of women.  My joy is beyond description.
Thanks, monsieur le Baron, for your charming flowers.
Alas!  they will be faded and withered by to-morrow,
but not so fleeting and short-lived are the sentiments
with which you have inspired me.  Believe me, the
desire you express to see me again is entirely mutual;
and in the impatience with which you await our next
interview, I read but my own sentiments.  The ardor
with which you long to embrace me, is fully equalled
by the affection which leads me to desire no gratification
greater than that of passing my whole life in your
society.  Adieu, monsieur le baron; you have forbidden
my addressing you as your rank and my respect would
have me, I will therefore content myself with assuring
you of the ardent affection of the

 			"COMTESSE Du Barry."  

The signature I adopted was a bold piece of falsehood, but it
was too late to recede; besides, I was addressing myself in my
letter, not to the king, but to the baron de Gonesse; for Louis,
by I know not what unaccountable caprice, seemed to wish to
preserve his incognito.  I have since learned that Francis I
assumed the same name, altho' upon a very different occasion.
Replying to a letter from Charles V, in which that emperor had
given himself a long string of high sounding titles, he contented
himself with simply signing his letter, "<"François, baron de
Gonesse.>" Louis XV was very fond of borrowed appellations.
Unlike the vanity so common to mankind, of seeking to set off
their pretensions by assumed titles, it is the pleasure of royalty
to descend to a lower grade in society when concealment becomes
desirable, either from policy or pleasure; and Louis sought in the
familiarity in which a plain baron might safely indulge, a relief
from the ennui attendant upon the rigid etiquette of a regal
state.  I had omitted in my letter to the baron, to remind him
that we were to meet that very evening, but that did not prevent
my repairing to Versailles punctually at the appointed hour.  I
was conducted into the same apartment as before, where I found
the same females who had then assisted at my toilet* again prepared
to lend their aid; and from this moment I had a regular
establishment of attendants appointed for my use.

*A word of which the meaning has greatly changed over
the last two centuries.  Here it means putting on her
clothing, makeup, jewelry, and so forth.  Through most
of this book it is spelled "toilette.--Gutenberg ed.

The moment the king was informed of my arrival, unable to restrain
his impatience, he hastened to me to assist at my dressing table,
and he continued standing beside me so long as the operation
lasted; I felt greatly embarrassed, not knowing whether I durst
take the liberty of requesting him to be seated.  However, my
silence on the subject was greatly admired, and ascribed to my
perfect acquaintance with polished life, when in reality it
originated from mere timidity.  My triumph was complete; the
monarch smiled at and admired every word as it fell from my lips,
kissed my hands, and played with the curls of my long hair,
sportively twisting his fingers amidst my flowing ringlets with
all the vivacity of a lover of twenty.  The company upon this
evening was different from that of the former occasion, consisting
of the duc de Duras, first gentleman of the bedchamber, and the
duc d'Ayen, who had the reputation of being a great wit; however,
in my opinion, he was much more deserving the character of a real
fiend; his very breath was poisonous, and his touch venomous as
the bite of an adder.  I well remember what M. de Fleury said of
him to the king in my presence.  "Sire," said he, "the thing I
most dread in the world next to a bite from M. d'Ayen, is the
bite of a mad dog."  For my own part, I did not in the end look
upon him with less terror, and well he paid me for my fears.
Upon one occasion, when the king was speaking of me to him, he
said, "I am well aware that I succeed St. Foix."  

"Yes, sire"; replied the duke, "in the same manner as your majesty
succeeds Pharamond!"  

I never forgave him those words, dictated by a fiendish malice.
However, upon the evening of my first introduction to him, he
behaved to me with the most marked politeness.  I was then an
object of no consequence to his interests, and his vision had not
yet revealed to him the height I was destined to attain.  He looked
upon me but as one of those meteors which sparkled and shone in
the castle at Versailles for twenty-four hours, and sank to rise
no more.

The duc de Duras was not an ill-disposed person, but inconceivably
stupid; indeed, wit was by no means a family inheritance.  Both
father and son, good sort of people in other respects, were for
ever saying or doing some good thing in support of their reputation
for stupidity at court.  One day the king quite jokingly inquired
of the duc de Duras, what was done with the old moons.  "Upon
my word, sire," replied he," I can give you no idea, never having
seen, but with your majesty's permission, I will endeavor to learn
from M. de Cassini*!"  To such a pitch did the poor man's simplicity
extend.  Both father and son were nominated to attend the king of
Denmark, when on his road to visit France.  The king observed to
a person who repeated it to me: "The French are generally styled
a clever, witty nation; I cannot say I should ever have been able
to discover it, had I been tempted to form my opinion from the
specimen they have sent me."

	*The royal astronomer --Gutenberg ed.

As far as I am concerned, after saying so many unfavorable things
of the Messrs.  de Duras, I must do them the justice to say, that
their conduct towards me was everything that could be desired.
I was always glad to see them; it gave my own imagination a sort
of sedative dose to converse with these two simple-minded beings,
whose interests I was always ready to promote by every means in
my power, and I trust the memory of what I have done will be
long remembered by the noble house of Duras.

This supper did not pass off so gaily as the former one.  The duc
de Duras spoke as little as possible, in the dread of making some
unlucky speech, and the duc d'Ayen sat devouring the spleen he
could not give vent to, and meditating fresh objects upon whom
to exercise his malignity; he vainly endeavored to lead me on to
make some ridiculous observation, but without success; happily
for him, the king did not perceive his aim.  My royal lover was
indeed so entirely engrossed by me, that he lost all the duke's
manoeuvres; his transports appeared too much for his senses to
sustain, and he vowed that I should never quit him more, but
remain to be elevated by his power to the first place at court.
At the monarch's sign, the two guests withdrew.

When the duc d'Ayen quitted the room, 'That nobleman is by no
means to my taste," said I to the king, "he has the air of a spy,
who wishes me no good."  

"Do you really think so, my lovely comtesse?"

"I am certain of it; and I already shudder at the bare anticipation
of an enemy having access to your majesty's ear."

"Reassure yourself," said the king, with the utmost tenderness,
"in me you have a sure defender, who will never forsake you; look
upon me from this minute as your natural protector, and woe to
him on whose head your displeasure shall fall."

After this conversation the king and myself retired to rest, and
when he quitted me in the morning, he entreated me not to return
to Paris, but to give him my company for a whole week.  Lebel
made his appearance to beg I would consider myself mistress of
the apartments I occupied, and that he had received orders to
provide me with an establishment upon the most handsome scale.

That very day Henriette, whom I had sent for, and instituted as
my head waiting-woman, informed me, that an old gentleman, attired
as tho' for a grand gala, but who refused to send in his name,
begged to be permitted to pay his respects.  I bade her admit
him; it was the duc de Richelieu.

"Madame la comtesse," said he, bowing low, "I come to complain
of your want of condescension; unless, indeed, your memory has
been at fault.  Was it possible that when I had the honor of
supping with you the other night, you did not recollect your
former old friend?"

"If, indeed, my forgetfulness were a fault, monsieur le maréchal,
it was one in which you bore an equal share; you were not more
forward than myself in displaying marks of recognition."

"That arose only from the dazzling increase of your beauty.
You were but a nymph when last my eyes had beheld you, and now
you are matured into a goddess."

The duke then made some slight allusion to the family of madame
Lagarde, but guessing with his admirable tact, that such
reminiscences could not be particularly agreeable to me, he
dexterously turned the conversation, by requesting permission to
present to me his nephew, the duc d'Aiguillon, that he might leave
a worthy substitute and champion near the king when state affairs
called him into Gascony; he craved my kind offices to obtain the
intimate acquaintance of comte Jean.  They were subsequently at
daggers drawn with each other, but this haughty overbearing lord
conducted himself at first with the most abject servility.  The
third favor he had to solicit was that I would name him to the
king as frequently as opportunities occurred to form one of our
supper parties.  All this I engaged to do, nor indeed could I
refuse after the violent protestations of friendship he made me.

"You will, ere long," said he, "see the whole court at your feet,
but beware of considering them all as your friends; have a care,
above all, of the duchesse de Grammont.  She has been long
endeavoring to obtain the king's affections, and she will see
with hatred and fury another more worthy engrossing the place
she has so vainly contended for; she and her impertinent brother
will call in the aid of the devil himself to dispossess you of your
elevated seat; you are lost if you do not twist both their necks."

"How, monsieur le maréchal, shall I mark my career by a murder?"

"You take me too literally; I only mean that in your place I
would not be at the trouble of keeping any terms with them."  

"Ah, monsieur le duc, I understand you now; yet it seems a bad
augury to have to begin my reign by cabals and intrigues."

"Alas!  my fair comtesse, you are too good, too guileless for a
court life; between ourselves we are all hypocrites more or less;
mistrust every one, even those make the finest protestations."

"In that case the first object of my suspicion would be my old
and esteemed friend the maréchal de Richelieu."  

"Ah, madame!  this is not fair usage, thus to turn my weapons
against myself, and to fight me with my own arms."  

Upon this the duke quitted me, and scarcely had he left the room,
when the duc la Vauguyon entered.  This gentleman offered me no
advice; he contented himself by styling the Jesuits his "very good
friends," and continually turning the conversation upon their
merits.  I allowed him to express his attachment, without
interruption, for these disagreeable men, whom I determined
in my own mind to have nothing to do with, recollecting all I had
heard of their dislike to our sex.  After an hour passed in amusing
talk, the duc de la Vauguyon retired, well pleased with his visit,
and his place was immediately supplied by comte Jean, to whom I
communicated all that had passed between my late visitors and myself.

"For heaven's sake," said he, "let us not be the dupes of these
great lords; before we range ourselves under the banners of either
of them let us secure our own footing; let us wait till you
are presented."

"But, my good friend, I must be a married lady to obtain that honor."

"And so you will be shortly, do not be uneasy about that.  I
have written to my brother William to set out without delay for
Paris.  Your swain will be easily induced to marry you.  What
do you think of that?"

I gave comte Jean to comprehend, by signs, that I left my destiny
in his hands, and he kissed my hands and withdrew.  The king
managed to steal a few minutes to converse with me.

"You did not intrust me, my sweet friend," said he, "with the
circumstance of your having formerly known the duc de Richelieu;
less reserved on the subject than you were, he told me he had seen
you at the house of madame Lagarde, who considered you one of
her dearest friends."

"Sire," replied I, "I was too much occupied with your majesty,
to think of any other person in the world."

My answer delighted him, he looked at me in the most 
gracious manner.

"You would almost persuade me that you love me," said he, smiling.

"Indeed, your majesty," said I, "I only pray that you desire the
continuance of my affection."

"In that case," replied he, kissing my hand with fervor, "you do
but partake of my tenderness for you."

These words flattered my vanity, and here I must declare that if
I never felt for the king that violent attachment which is termed
love, I ever entertained for him the warmest esteem.  He was so
attentive, so kind to me, that I must have been a monster of
ingratitude could I have looked upon him with indifference.

Our supper on this night was again lively as the first had been.
The duc de Richelieu entertained us with several amusing anecdotes;
not that they contained any thing very piquant, but the duke
related them well, and we were all in the humor to be pleased,
and laughed heartily at what he said.  Comte Jean, whose eye
constantly followed me, appeared perfectly satisfied with all I
said or did.  As for the king, he seemed enchanted with me, and
seemed wholly occupied in watching my looks, that he might
anticipate my wants.  After supper, in the < tête-à-tête > which
followed, he explained himself in terms which left me no doubt
how securely my empire over him was established.  Had he been
less explicit on the subject, the flattering marks of favor, and
the adulatory compliments I received from all on the following
day, would well have assured me of it.  I was no longer an obscure
and friendless individual, but the beloved mistress of the king;
I was, to use the expression of Lebel, a new sun which had arisen
to illumine horizon of Versailles.  I could no longer doubt my
power when I saw noble personages present themselves to solicit
the most servile employments about my person.  Amongst others, I
might instance a certain lady de St. Benoit, who continued first
lady of my chamber, during the whole time of my regency;--my
justly-valued Henriette being contented to take the second place
of honor.



CHAPTER IV


The duc d'Aiguillon--The duc de Fronsac--The duchesse de
Grammont--The meeting--Sharp words on both sides--The duc de
Choiseul--Mesdames d'Aiguillon--Letter from the duc d'Aiguillon--
Reply of madame du Barry--Mademoiselle Guimard--The prince de
Soubise--Explanation--The Rohans--Madame de Marsan--Court friendships

The duc de Richelieu, who was in haste to go to Guienne, lost no
time in presenting to me the duc d'Aiguillon.  He was not young,
but handsome and well made, with much amiability and great
courage.  A sincere friend, no consideration could weaken his
regard; an adversary to be dreaded, no obstacle could repress his
boldness.  His enemies--and amongst them he included the whole
magistracy--his enemies, I say, have used him shamefully, but he
treated them too ill for them to be believed in any thing they say
of him.  If he were ambitious, he had the excuse of superior merit,
and if he showed himself too severe in one particular, it proceeded
from an energy of mind which did not allow him to have more
pity for others than they had for him.  Do not, my friend, think
that the attachment I had for him can transport me beyond just
limits.  Since he is in his grave, my illusions, if I had any, have
dissipated.  I only give to my deceased friends the tribute due
to them--truth and tears.  But really, without thinking of it, I
am attributing to myself these virtues without necessity, forgetting
that you are not one of those who would fain render me as black
as possible in the eyes of posterity.

In proportion as the first sight of the uncle had prejudiced me
against him, so much more did it propitiate me towards the nephew.
I saw in him a generous heart, and a genius capable of lofty actions
which you would vainly have sought for in the maréchal de Richelieu.
No doubt at the beginning of our <liaison> the duc d'Aiguillon
only saw in me a woman who could be useful to his projects and
plans; but soon his heart joined the alliance, and a devotion of
calculation was succeeded by a vehement passion, of which I was
justly proud, as it subdued to my chains the most accomplished
of courtiers.

Our first interview was lively.  The maréchal and he supported
the conversation with much gaiety.  M. de Richelieu, as I have
already told you, had neither wit nor information, but possessed
that ease of the first circles, those manners of high breeding,
those courtly graces, which often surpass wit and information.

"My nephew," said he to the duke, "madame can do much for us,
but we must first do something for her.  Without support, without
friends, she will be lost at Versailles; let us be her partisans
if she will allow it, and let her youth have the benefit of
our experience."

The tone in which the duc d'Aiguillon replied delighted me.  He
said he was but too happy to serve me, and begged me to rely on
him as I would on myself.

"But," he continued, "but we have to struggle with a powerful
party.  The duchesse de Grammont and her brother are not the
persons to give up the field without striking a blow.  But, madame,
by the assistance of your happy and lovely star, I will enter the
lists with pleasure, and if a glance of your eyes will recompense
a conqueror, I shall be he."

"Oh," exclaimed the duke, "my nephew's a second Amadis in
gallantry, and of undaunted courage.  You will be satisfied
with him, madame, much more than with my son, who only
resembles the family in his defects."

The duc de Fronsac was justly hated by his father; he was what is
called a decided scamp, without one redeeming point or virtue.
Dissipated without agreeableness, a courtier without address, a
soldier without courage, he thoroughly deserved his bad reputation.
He was not hated, because hatred implies a species of honor, but he
was universally despised.  His father hated him; he hated his father.
The reciprocity was edifying.  I have often seen the duc de Fronsac,
and always with disgust.  He had incurred the extremity of
punishment; when trying to carry off a butcher's daughter, he
rendered himself guilty of the triple crimes of arson, rape, and
robbery.  This was the most splendid deed of his life, at least his
father said so, the only one in which he had shown--guess what
for, my friend, I will not pen the cynical word made use of by his
father.  It must be confessed that we sometimes kept very bad
company at Versailles.  The king, who abhorred degrading actions,
did not like the duc de Fronsac, but was full of kindly feeling
towards the duc d'Aiguillon.  The latter experienced the extent
of his favor in his long and obstinate struggle with the parliament
of Bretagne.  It must be owned, that if he gained the victory at
court, he decidedly lost it in the city, and I was publicly
insulted on this account in the most brutal manner.  However,
the friendship which his first interview inspired me with, I have
always preserved unaltered.

The week glided away, and each day my fortune seemed more fully
assured.  The love of the king increased, he heaped presents on
me perpetually, and seemed to think he never could do enough for
me.  The bounties of Louis XV were known, and instantly aroused
against me the two enemies with whom I had been threatened--the
duc de Choiseul and the duchesse de Grammont, his sister.  I must
say, however, that, at first, the brother contented himself with
despising me, but the duchesse was furious; I had offended her
feminine self-love, and she could not forgive me.  I have told you
that she obtained possession of the king by stratagem.  This is
fact.  She was in a place of concealment during a regal debauch,
and when Louis left the table, with his head heated by wine, she
awaited him in his bed to commit a sort of violence on him.  What
curious ambition!  As soon as this noble lady learned my position,
she was desirous of knowing who I was, and I have been told
since all the measures she took to learn this.  She did not
confine her search to the circle of Versailles, but hastened to
prosecute her inquiries in Paris with M. de Sartines.  The
lieutenant of police not suspecting the favor that awaited me,
as well as that which I already enjoyed, and on the other hand
persuaded of that of the Choiseul family, set all his bloodhounds
on my traces.  They did not fail to bring him back a thousand
horrible tales about me, with which he gratified the duchesse,
who, thinking thereby to do me a severe injury, spread in the
château a multitude of prejudicial tales against me, hoping that
they would reach the ears of the king and disgust him with his
amour.  It was at this juncture that appeared in the "<Nouvelles
a la Main>" those infamous articles, collected in what they call
the Collection of Bachaumont.  From the same source proceeded
the songs <à la Bourbonnaise> which filled Paris, and were sung
about everywhere.  These scandals produced no other effect than
increasing the attachment which the king had for me, and to
diminish that which he felt for the duc de Choiseul.

Passion never reasons; if it had common sense, it would perceive
that it cannot disgust a lover by vilifying his mistress, but, on
the contrary, interests his self-love in supporting her.  Thus
all these intrigues scathed me not; I did not mention to my
counsellor comte Jean an insult which I met with in the park
at Versailles from madame de Grammont.  I did not tell it to the
king, not wishing to create any disturbance at court.  I avenged
myself by myself, and think I conducted myself remarkably well
in this adventure, which was as follows:

I was walking in the garden with Henriette, who had given me her
arm; it was early in the morning, and the walks appeared solitary.
We walked towards towards the side of the Ile d'Amour, when we
heard the steps of two persons who came behind us.  Henriette
turned her head and then said to me, "Here are mesdames de Brionne
and de Grammont."  I knew the latter but very slightly, and the
former not at all.  Certainly she could not have been there by
chance; they knew I should be there, and wished to see me closely.
Not suspecting what was to follow, I was delighted at the rencontre.
They passed us with head erect, haughty air; looked at me with a
disdainful stare, laughed rudely and walked away.  Altho' such
behavior offended me, it did not put me out of humor; I thought
it very natural for madame de Grammont to be irritated against me.
Henriette had less magnanimity.  She repeated so often how
impertinent it was thus to insult a female honored by the bounties
of the king, and so far excited my feelings, that instead of
returning as prudence suggested, I followed the steps of these
ladies.  I did not proceed far before I rejoined them; they were
seated on a bench, awaiting my arrival as it appeared.  I passed
close to them, and at that moment the duchesse de Grammont,
raising her voice, said,

"It must be a profitable business to sleep with every body."  

I was excessively nettled, and instantly retorted, "At least I
cannot be accused of making a forcible entry into any person's
bed."  The arrow went to the mark and penetrated deeply.  The
whole countenance of the duchesse turned pale, except her lips,
which became blue.  She would have said something foolish, but
madame de Brionne, more cool because touched less nearly, placed
her hand over her companion's mouth.  I in my turn walked away
with Henriette, laughing till tears came into my eyes at this
pleasing victory.

The duchesse de Grammont, who had no further inclination to laugh,
told the whole to her brother.  He, who loved her excessively, too
much so perhaps, reprimanded her, nevertheless, and pointed out
to her the disadvantage in an open struggle with me.  Madame de 
Brionne was enjoined to secrecy, but that did not prevent her from
confiding the affair to the dowager duchesse d'Aiguillon.

This latter was a lady of most superior merit, uniting to much
wit more solid acquirements.  She spoke English like a native.
Her death, which happened in 1772, was a great misfortune to her
son, to whom she gave the most excellent counsel.  She told my
adventure to her daughter-in-law, who, excessively ambitious, saw,
without any pain, the increasing attachment of her husband for
me.  I must tell you, in a parenthesis, that I always lived on the
best terms with her, and that, in my disgrace, her friendship did
not weaken.  I must do her this justice.  All my <faithful friends>
have not been equally faithful towards me.

These two ladies knowing this occurrence, the duc d'Aiguillon was
not long kept in ignorance that something had happened.  He came
in haste to see me, and inquired what it was.  But he asked in vain,
I would not tell him.  My secrecy hurt him, and on his return home
he wrote to me.  As I have great pleasure in telling you all that
recalls this amiable gentleman to my mind, I will transcribe his
letter, which will give you an opportunity of judging of the turn
of his mind.

<I am very unhappy, madame.  I had flattered
myself with having obtained your confidence, but
the obstinate silence which you have kept with me
has cruelly informed me of my mistake.  Allow the
deep interest with which you have inspired me to
offer a suggestion.  You know nothing of forms, you
are unacquainted with our usages: you require a friend
who shall direct and counsel you.  Why should you not
select a man entirely devoted to you, and as equally
so to the king, the king whose affections you possess--and
who could refuse them to you?  I pause.  Nothing is more
dangerous than to use a pen where we have a heart
overflowing like mine.  Be more gracious towards
me, I ask it of you in charity, and take no pleasure
in driving me to twofold desperation.  Adieu,
madame, etc.

 				"Signed, the Duc D'A."

I read and read again this epistle: it delighted me from beginning
to end.  I found in it a depth of passion which did not displease
me: I perfectly comprehended the obscurity of the latter phrase.
I needed a sort of mentor superior to comte Jean, and I preferred
the duc d'Aiguillon to any other, because he pleased me.  This
feeling decided me, and I replied to him in these terms:--

"You are wrong, monsieur, to be annoyed, and to think
that I am not disposed to grant you my confidence.  It
seems to me that I cannot place myself in better hands.
However, we do not know each other well enough for
me to repose in you at once: see me frequently, and
then, with the habit of being in your company, I will
allow myself to glide quietly into that state of
confidence which you desire.  Yes, I am indeed a
stranger to all that passes around me; my only support
is the protection with which the king honors me.  That
is all-powerful, but I will not employ it unseasonably
or improperly.  I know that I need the counsels of
an honorable, prudent, and well-informed man.  I accept,
therefore, of yours; I even ask them from you, if your
friendship go along with them.  Adieu, monsieur.  My
regards are due to your uncle, the maréchal, the
first time you write to him."  

This letter filled the duc d'Aiguillon with joy.  Some days
afterwards, the prince de Soubise, who also wished to give me
his advice, did not attain the same success.  It must be owned,
that, for a man of the world, he went about it in a very clumsy
way.  He committed the extreme error of selecting mademoiselle
Guimard as mediatrix between himself and me.  This lady came to
me on the strength of our former acquaintance; she had so little
sense as not to perceive the immense distance between us which a
few days had caused, and that the opera-dancer kept by the prince
de Soubise could have no relation with the favorite of the king
of France.  I endeavored, in vain, to make her perceive it, without
mortifying her too much.  She always called me her dear friend,
and fairly slaughtered me with saying that <her> prince would
protect me.  It was singular for her to speak thus to me; to me
from whom <her> prince solicited protection.  She did not confine
herself to this, she even insinuated to me that I should be a
gainer in some way.  I laughed outright at this, and said to the
<valet de chambre>, who was stationed at the door, "Call
mademoiselle's servants."  This annoyed her excessively; all the
muscles of her face were contracted with rage; but she restrained
her wrath, saluted me with an assumed respect, and went away,
after having so worthily acquitted herself of her foolish embassy.

She had quitted me for an hour, when I received a letter from
him who had sent her.  The prince de Soubise begged me to grant
him an interview, in which he could enter into an explanation.  I
replied that I would receive him, and he came the same day.

"I am much pained, madame," said he, on entering, "that
mademoiselle Guimard has communicated with so little address
what I wished to say to you."

"Prince, I think you would have done better to have been the bearer
of your own message.  You know my station here, and would not
have ridiculed me as she has done."  

M. de Soubise, much puzzled to know what she had said, asked me
the question.

"Why," I replied, "she said, that if I would follow your counsels,
you would pay me for my condescension."

"Ah!  madame," he exclaimed, "she has completely murdered me.
I only charged her to offer my services to you, and throw myself
at your feet, as I do now."

"Rise, prince, I do not accuse you of such folly, and promise
not to mention it: it is necessary, however, that you should know
I have but one part to play here, that of pleasing the king.  Any
other character will not suit me.  Honor me with your friendship,
and accept mine in return.  I cannot, must not, have any other union
with you."  

Thus terminated this interview; it did not suit me to give the
prince de Soubise any hopes.  He and all the Rohans would have
lived on it; they would have turned my confidence to their gain,
and as they were for the most part sharpers, or something akin to
it, my name would soon have been mixed up with some dirty transaction.
His family was a hydra of avarice, and would alone have swallowed
up all the wealth of France.  If the king had taken one of the Rohan
family for his mistress, I believe that the finance department
would not have sufficed for one year's expenditure of this prodigal
family.  I had no objection to the prince de Soubise coming to
supper with me, but I did not feel myself disposed to give him
any control over my mind.  I should have been ill-guided by a
man who had no government of himself.

If M, de Soubise did not depart satisfied, madame de Marsan, his
relative, to whom he related the bad success of his attempt, was
not more so.  She was a woman to have governed a kingdom, had she
been allowed to do so.  There was in her woman's head a capacity
superior to that of all the men of her family.  She had a great deal
of ambition, and all her actions were the results of a premeditated
plan.  She would have ruled the king, the princes, the princesses,
favorites, mistresses, the court, the city, the parliaments, and the
army!  Nothing would have been impossible to her; she was adequate
to any thing.  Circumstances did not give her the opportunity of
displaying her genius.  With great talents and keen perception,
she was reduced to the government of her own family alone; that
was but a trifling matter!  In spite of her discontent, madame de
Marsan preserved a sort of neutrality towards me.  She allowed
all sorts of ill to be spoken of me without ever repressing a word.
She was then mute and motionless.  She saw me torn to pieces
without any emotion.  However, when we were together she tried to
cajole me in a thousand ways, all the time detesting me in her
heart; and I, who could scarcely endure the sight of her, paid her
a like number of little attentions.  Thus surrounded by hypocrites, I
became one myself.  We learn to howl in the society of wolves.



CHAPTER V


The duc de la Vauguyon and the comtesse du Barry--The marquis
de Chauvelin and the comtesse--M. de Montbarrey and the comtesse--
Intrigues--Lebel--Arrival of the du Barry family--The comte
d'Hargicourt--The demoiselles du Barry--Marriage of the comtesse--
The marquis de Bonrepos--Correspondences--The broken glass

The prince de Soubise was not the only person who wished to act
in the capacity of mentor to me.  M. the duc de la Vauguyon
attempted also to be the guide of my youth.  This nobleman was
too much of a Jesuit not to have a nose of prodigiously fine scent.
He perceived that the wind was in my favor, and approached me in
consequence.  I have mentioned to you his first visit, and he made
me a second a few days afterwards.  He appeared very affable,
very conciliating, and insisted particularly several times, and
that without any apparent motive, that the king, not being now
engaged in the ties of wedlock, he should choose some agreeable
companion, and assuredly could not do better than select me.  The
day after this visit, early in the morning, the duke sent me a
splendid bouquet, a homage which he afterwards repeated, and
then called on me a third time.

During this visit after a conversation on the embarrassments of an
introduction at Versailles, he proposed that I should avoid them.

"You cannot conceal from yourself," he said, "how powerful will
be the cabal against you; and, without including the Choiseuls,
you will have especially to fear the pious party, who will only
see in your intimacy with the king, allow me to say, a crying
scandal, and one not profitable for religion."

"If the pious party unite with those who are not so to destroy
me," I rejoined, laughing, "I shall have all France against me."

"No; but perhaps all the château.  But there is a way of averting
the storm.  Attach yourself to the party of honest men who have
been so greatly calumniated--the Jesuits.  Philosophy, supported
by the duc de Choiseul, has repressed them; but the high clergy and
the <mesdames royales> are attached strongly to them, and you would
interest them in your fortune by favoring these worthy fathers."

"What!  monsieur le duc," cried I, "will <messeigneurs> the clergy
of France, and <mesdames royales> and their suite be favorable to
me, if I use my influence with the king in espousing the cause of
the society of Jesus?"  

"Certainly, madame, and I am authorized to promise you.  I give
you my word for this.  Endeavor to re-establish the order, and
there will not be one of us but will be zealous in supporting you."

"I certainly am desirous of pleasing your friends; but I can see
that, from the first moment of my appearance at court, I shall
be at open war with the Choiseuls and the parliaments."

"What matters it?  I confess that the victory will not be easy at
first, but there is no need to exaggerate the difficulties.  It is
true that the king has esteem for the duc de Choiseul, but he has
much affection for you, which avails much more.

"As for the parliaments, he hates them, and for many years has
been desirous of ridding himself of them entirely, and he will
effect this by the help of God and your interference."  

"This will be hard work for one so weak as I am."

"Oh, you are sufficiently powerful, I assure you.  Only confide
in me, the intermediary between you and my friends, let me guide
you, and I will steer to the right port.  What do you think of
this, madame?"  

"Oh!  monsieur le duc, it is not at a moment that we can give a
positive reply to such grave matters.  I content myself in assuring
you, that I have for you as much confidence as respect, and should
be very happy to obtain your protection."  

"My protection!  Oh, heaven, madame, you are jesting.  It is I who
should be honored by your friendship."

"It is yours; but as yet I am nothing at court, and can do nothing
there until I have been presented.  It is for my speedy presentation
that my friends should labor now."  

"We will not fail, madame; and if you will allow me to come from
time to time to converse with you, we can take our measures."  

"Your visits will always be agreeable."

Such was the conversation which I had with the duc de la Vauguyon.
I have given it somewhat at length, because it was the preface to a
deep intrigue which made a vast noise.  I think I extricated myself
very well from the net in which the duke sought to catch me.  I knew
that his situation at Versailles compelled me to act with caution
towards him.  He was in good odor with <mesdames>, had the ear of
the young dauphin and the princes his brothers.  He deceived me
like a true Jesuit as he was, in telling me that the <mesdames>
were well disposed towards me ; and on my side I cheated him with
a promise of confidence and, friendship which I never bestowed.
Ah! my friend, again and again must I exclaim, what a villainous
place is a court!

Whilst the duc de la Vauguyon was seeking to enlist me under
the banners of heaven or the Jesuits, the marquis of Chauvelin
also essayed to make me his pupil; but as frank as he was amiable,
this nobleman did not go to work in a roundabout manner.  He
came to me loyally, requesting me to consider his interests and mine.

"The king likes me," said he, "and I am attached to him body and
soul.  He tenderly loves you, and I should have no difficulty in
doing the same thing; but as I am no longer of an age to inspire
you with the passion which I should feel towards you, I content
myself with your friendship.  I have no enemy here, and no wish
to hurt any person.  Thus you need not fear that I shall urge you
to any measures that might compromise you.  It is the hatred of
the kingdom that you will have to fear.  France is about to march
in a better track, and the best plan is to follow its lead.  It
pains me, madame, to use language which may appear severe to you;
we ought only to talk to you of your beauty and the love which it
inspires.  But in your situation, even that beauty may serve the
interests of France, and it is for that motive that I come to
solicit you."  

I replied to M. de Chauvelin with equal frankness.  I told him
that my sole intentions were to confine myself to the circle of
my duties; that I had none but to please the king, and no intention
of mixing myself up with state affairs.  This was my plan I can
assure you.  I flattered myself that I could follow it, not
dreaming of those political nuisances into which I was precipitated
in spite of myself.  I added, nevertheless, that in my situation,
which was delicate, I would not refuse the counsels of a faithful
servant of the king, and that under this title M. de Chauvelin
should be consulted on important occasions.

The marquis de Chauvelin had too much good sense, too much
knowledge of the world, not to perceive a refusal concealed under
this politeness.  The secret inclination of my heart had already
led me to select the duc d'Aiguillon for my director, and I could
not reconcile myself to any other.  He contented himself with
asking me again for my friendship, which I willingly accorded
him, and I have always found myself fortunate in his.  Thus did I
accept the offers of service from the prince de Soubise, the duc
de la Vauguyon, and the marquis de Chauvelin.

A fourth sought to swell the ranks; the comte, afterwards prince,
de Montbarrey.  This gentleman made up in pretensions for what he
lacked in talent.  He was weak, self-important, selfish, fond of
women, and endeavored to preserve all the airs of a man of good
breeding in the midst of the grossest debauchery.  He was full of
respect for himself and his house, of which in time of need he
could cite the whole genealogy.  His nomination was a real scandal;
no one dreamt of his ever being minister of war.  It was one of the
thousand follies of old Maurepas, whom the late king knew well, and
called the ballad-maker of the council.

The comte de Montbarrey, whom I had known at Paris, came to me
one fine day, fully powdered, performed, and apparelled.  He had a
smile on his lip, a loud tone, and an insolent look.  He came not
to ask my friendship, but my obedience.  He told me that he loved
me to distraction, and of course my head must be equally towards
him.  He amused me.  I let him run out the full length of his line;
and when he had spun it all out, I said to him, "Monsieur, be so
good as to call me to the recollection of madame de Merfort."  

She was one of the gambling ladies, and at her house I had
formerly met the chevalier de Montbarrey.  My reply confounded
him: he saw that he had gone the wrong way to work with me;
and, raising the siege, he left me excessively embarrassed.

Figure to yourself, my friend, what confidence a man, lost in the
crowd of lower courtiers, could inspire me with; for to judge of
the proceedings of the comte de Montbarrey, it would have been
necessary to have seen him as he then was, and not what he became
since the imbecility of M. de Maurepas.  When I told comte Jean
of his visit, he would not believe such insolence.  You must know
that my brother-in-law also wished to direct me, but I did not
consider him sufficiently clever.  His marvellous genius was
eclipsed in politics.  He swore at my ingratitude, and I could
only appease him by an offering of plenty of money.

In the midst of this cross-fire of intrigues, one was devised
against me which might have terminated in my ruin; but, thanks
to the indefatigable activity of comte Jean, only served to fix
me more firmly in my situation.  Lebel, of whom I have said
nothing for this age, came to me one day: his face was sad, and
his look serious.  By his manner I augured that my reign had
passed, and that I must quit my post.  I awaited what he should
say with mortal impatience.  At length he began thus:

"Madame, you have many bitter enemies, who are laboring to
effect your ruin with a blood-thirstiness which nothing can assuage.
They have now spread a report that you are not married.  This
infamous calumny--"  

"Ah, is that all?' said I with joy; "no, my dear Lebel, this time
they do not calumniate me.  The worthy creatures for once are right."

"What," said Lebel, in a tone of alarm almost comic, "what, are
you really not married?"

"No."

"Are you not the wife of the comte Guillaume du Barry?"

"No."

"Then you have deceived the king, and played with me."  

"Lebel, my friend, take another tone.  No one has any right to
complain.  You have given me to the king as a person to please
him; I do so.  The rest can be no matter of yours."  

"Pardon me, madame; it is a matter of the greatest consequence to
me.  I am terribly compromised in this affair, and you with me."

Lebel told me that the duchesse de Grammont had begged him to call
upon her, and had bitterly reproached him about the mistress he had
procured for the king; the duchesse affirmed that I was a nameless
and unmarried creature; and added, that it was his duty to make
the king acquainted with these particulars, unless I, the pretended
wife of du Barry, would consent to go to England when a large
pension should be assured to me.

"No, my dear Lebel, I will not go to England; I will remain in
France, at Versailles, at the château.  If I am not married I will
be; the thing is easily managed."  

Lebel.  somewhat assured, begged me to send for comte Jean, and
when he came he (Lebel) recommenced his tale of grief.

"You are drowning yourself in a glass of water," said my future
brother-in-law to him, beginning to treat him with less ceremony;
"go back to the duchesse de Grammont, and tell her that madame
was married at Toulouse.  She will have an inquiry set on foot; in
the mean while my brother will arrive, and the marriage will take
place.  Then we will show the rebels a real comtesse du Barry;
and whether my sister-in-law be a lady of six months' standing or
only of yesterday, that is of no consequence to the king of France."

After this conversation Lebel delivered the message to the duchesse
de Grammont, who told him that she should write to Toulouse to the
attorney-general.  This was what the comte Jean wished and he was
prepared for her.

But, you will say to me, was it certain that your asserted husband
would marry you?  Were there no difficulties to fear?  None.
Comte Guillaume was poor, talented, and ambitious; he liked high
living, and would have sold himself to the devil for riches.  He
was happy in marrying me.  Comte Jean would not have ventured
such a proposal to his other brother, the comte d'Hargicourt, who
had much good sense and great notions of propriety, and who at
Versailles was called the <honnéte homme>; a distinction not over
flattering to his two brothers.

The same evening the whole family arrived, and was presented to me
the next day.  My two future sisters-in-law frightened me at first
with their provincial manners and southern accent; but, after a
few minutes, I found that this Gascon pronunciation had many charms
with it.  Mesdemoiselles du Barry were not handsome but very
agreeable.  One was called Isabelle, whom they had nicknamed
<Bischi>, the other's name was Fanchon, and her name had been
abbreviated to "<Chon>."  The latter had much talent, and even
brought to Versailles with her, an instinctive spirit of diplomacy
which would have done honor to a practised courtier.  She would
have been thought simple, unsophisticated, and yet was full
of plot and cunning.

I was soon much pleased with her, and the king became equally
so.  He was always very much amused at hearing her talk <patois>
(provincially), or recite the verses of one Gondouli, a poet of
Languedoc.  He used to make her jump upon his knees; and altho'
she had passed the first bloom of youth, he played with her like
a child.  But what most particularly diverted the king, was calling
my sister-in-law by her nickname; "<Petite Chon, grande Chon>,"
he was always saying, "do this, go there, come here."  Louis XV
did the same with his own daughters: he had amongst them a <Loque>,
a <Graille>, a <Chiffe>, and they were the ladies Victoire,
Adélaïde, and Sophie, whom he thus elegantly designated.  I so
soon saw the taste of the king for nicknames that I gave him
one, it was Lafrance.  So far from being angry with me, he laughed
to tears every time that I called him so.  I must confess, <en
passant>, that the anecdote about the coffee is true.* I will only
justify myself by saying, that if I expressed myself coarsely it
was not in consequence of my vulgar education, but because the
king liked such modes of expression.

*Louis XV had a habit of making his own coffee after
dinner.  One day the coffee boiled over the sides of the
pot, and madame du Barry cried out, " Eh, Lafrance,
ton cafe f --- le camp."  (author)

Let me revert to my marriage, which was performed secretly at the
parish of Saint Laurent.  I believe the king knew of it, altho' he
never alluded to it any more than myself.  Thus the malice of my
enemies was completely balked in this affair.  Some days afterwards
comte Jean received a letter from the attorney-general of the
parliament of Toulouse, M. the marquis de Bonrepos-Riquet.  This
gentleman informed my brother-in-law that he had been applied to,
to institute an inquiry at all the notaries, and amongst all the
registers of the parishes for the proof of my marriage; that he
warned us to be on our guard, and that whatever diligence he
might be desired to employ, he should do nothing without informing
us.  We felt the obligation of this proceeding, and my brother-in-law
thanked the attorney-general in my name as well as in his own.  He
told him that it was not at Toulouse that the parties interested
should make their researches for my marriage certificate, but at
Paris, either at the parish church of Saint Laurent, or at the
notary's, Lepot d'Auteuil.  M. de Bonrepos gave part of this reply
to the duchesse de Grammont.  Great was the bustle amongst the
Choiseuls!  I leave you to judge of the fury of the lady or ladies,
for the contesse de Grammont was no less irritated than the other,
always prepossessed with the idea, that to please the king was
to wrong their family.  The comtesse de Grammont had not half the
talent of the duchesse, she had only her faults.  She showed herself
so rude and impertinent towards me, that I was at length compelled,
not to exile her of my own accord, but to allow that she should
be so served.  But I anticipate, for this did not occur until the
following year.

The king by all his kindnesses endeavored to recompense me for
these attacks: he appeared charmed to see me surrounded by my
husband's family.  He placed amongst the pages the vicomte Adolphe
du Barry, son of comte Jean, a young man of great promise, but
whose destiny was so brief and so unfortunate.  My husband's family
testified much affection for me, as did the duc d'Aiguillon, to whom
I daily attached myself.  He carefully kept from me all that could
give me pain, and took a thousand precautions that no unpleasant
reports should reach me.  If we passed a short time without meeting
he wrote to me, and I confess I was delighted with a correspondence
which formed my own style.  Mademoiselle Chon, my sister-in-law,
and I also wrote to each other, and that from one room to another.
I remember that one day, having broken a glass of rock crystal which
she had given me, I announced my misfortune in such solemn style,
and with so well feigned a tone of chagrin, that the letter amused
the whole family.  The king saw it, and was so much pleased that
he kept it, and next day sent me a golden goblet enriched with
stones, which I gave to Chon, to whom it rightfully belonged.



CHAPTER VI


Journey to Choisy--The comtesse du Barry and Louis XV--The king
of Denmark--The czar Peter--Frederick II--The abbé de la Chapelle--
An experiment--New intrigues--Secret agents-The comtesse and
Louis XV--Of the presentation--Letter of the comtesse to the
duc d'Aiguillon--Reply--Prince de Soubise

Up to this period I had resided constantly at Versailles or Paris,
according to the pleasure of the king, but had never followed his
majesty in any of his journeys.  He wished to pass some days at
his delightful château at Choisy, situated on the banks of the
Seine.  It was decided that I should be of the party, taking the
name of the baroness de Pamklek, a German lady, as that would
save me from the embarrassment in which I should be placed with
the king in consequence of my non-presentation.  The prince de
Soubise, the ducs de la Trimoulle, d'Ayen, d'Aiguillon, and the
marquis de Chauvelin, were also to attend the king.  The king
remained nearly the whole time with me, and the < entrée > to my
apartment became a favor not accorded to every body.  A small
committee met there, and talked of every thing except what is
rational; and I can assure you that with such conversation time
passes very quickly.

One day the king entered my apartment holding in his hand a letter.

"I am about to receive," said he, "a visit that will not give me
much pleasure.  My brother of Denmark is traversing Europe, and
is about to come to France.  <Mon Dieu>!  what inconvenient
persons are your travelling kings!  Why do they leave their
kingdoms?  I think they are very well at home."

"Yes, sire, but there is an excuse for them: they are weary of
admiring your majesty at a distance, and wish for the happiness
of knowing you."

At this compliment the king rubbed his hands with a smile, which
he always did when he was satisfied, and then said,

"There is not in the hearts of foreign potentates the same
affection towards my person as you feel.  It is not me but France
they wish to see.  I remember that when very young I received a
visit from the czar Peter the Great, Peter the First I mean to
say.  He was not deficient in sense, but yet behaved like a boor:
he passed his time in running over the academies, libraries, and
manufactories: I never saw such an ill-bred man.  Imagine him
embracing me at our first interview, and carrying me in his arms
as one of my valets would have done.  He was dirty, coarse, and
ill-dressed.  Well, all the Frenchmen ran after him; one would
have supposed by their eagerness that they had never seen a
regal countenance."  

"Yet there was no occasion to run very far to see the handsome
face of a king."  

"Hold your tongue, madame la baronne de Pamklek, you are a flatterer.
There is a crowned head which for thirty years has desired to visit
France, but I have always turned a deaf ear, and will resist it as
long as possible."  

"Who, sire, is the king so unfortunate as to banished by you from
your majesty's presence?"  

"Who?  The king of philosophers, the rival of Voltaire, my brother
of Prussia.  Ah, my dear baronne, he is a bad fellow; he detests me,
and I have no love for him.  A king does wisely, certainly, to submit
his works to the judgment of a Freron!  It would be outrageous
scandal if he came here.  Great and small would crowd around him,
and there would not be twenty persons in my train."  

"Ah!  sire , do you think so?"

"I am sure of it.  The French now-a-days do not care for their
kings, and <la Fronde> will be renewed at an early day.  After
all, philosophers believe that Frederick II protects them: the
honest man laughs both at them and me."  

"At you, sire?  Impossible."

"No, no; I know the impertinences he is guilty of towards me:
but let him.  I prefer making my court to the pretty women of my
kingdom instead of to my pages.  You may depend upon it that if
he came to Versailles he would debauch some of them."

The king, charmed at having said this malicious speech, rubbed
his hands again.

"Really, sire," I replied, "I am astonished that this prince,
having such disgusting inclinations, can have much <éclat>
attached to his name."

"Ah, that is because he has great qualities: he will not allow
himself to be cheated.  Do you know that he is acquainted with
the disposal of his finances to the last farthing?"  

"Sire, he must be a miser."

"No, madame, he is a man of method.  But enough of him.  As to his
majesty of Denmark, altho' he would have been as welcome to stay
at home, I shall receive him with as much attention as possible.  The
kings of Denmark and Sweden are my natural allies."

The king changed the subject, and said, "There is an abbé, named
la Chapelle, whom I think half cracked.  He flatters himself that
he can, thro' the medium of some apparatus, remain on the water
without sinking.  He begs my permission to exhibit his experiment
before me; and if it would amuse you, we will have the exhibition
to-morrow."  I accepted the king's proposal with pleasure.

On the next day we went in a body to the terrace of the château.
The king was near me with his hat in his hand; the duc de Duras
gave me his arm.  M. l' abbé waited us in a boat: he flung himself
bodily into the water, dressed in a sort of cork-jacket, moved in
any direction in the water, drank, ate, and fired off a gun.  So far
all went off well, but the poor abbé, to close the affair, wrote a
letter to the king.  The letter was carried in great pomp to his
majesty.  It contained two verses of Racine, which had some
double allusion to the experiment.  This, you may be sure, was
interpreted in the worst manner.  The duc d'Ayen gave the finishing
stroke to the whole, on his opinion being asked by the king.

"Sire," said he, "such men ought to be thrown into the water; but
all we can wish for them is, that they should remain there."

The abbé was not more fortunate in the evening.  He presented
himself at supper, but the king did not address a word to him, and
he was compelled to bear the malicious jokes of the courtiers.  But
let us leave Choisy and the experimentalist, and return to Versailles
and myself.

My friends were excessively desirous for my presentation, which
would decide my position at the château.  As yet I only had an
equivocal existence, having rank neither at play, theatre, or public
festival; so that if the king should be capricious I could be
dismissed as one of the demoiselles of the <Parc-aux-Cerfs>.  The
duc d'Aiguillon, whose attachment to me increased, calculated
accurately all the advantages of this presentation.  It would place
me on the same footing with madame de Pompadour, and compel
the ministers to come and work with me.  The duke did not doubt
but that M. de Choiseul would refuse to pay his <devoirs> to me,
and that his resistance would lead to his fall.  But for my
presentation, it was necessary not only that the king should
consent, for of that I was certain, but that he should desire it,
and his desire could not be depended on.

Louis XV was excessively timid: with an air which appeared of a
dreadnaught quality, he was fearful at heart.  The clamors of
Versailles kept him in alarm; and he kept at his own court and
at foreign courts secret agents, whose only care was to report
to him the complaints of the people and the sarcasms and satires
of society.  The king was attached to them; and when the force of
circumstances compelled him to abandon them, he still supported
them clandestinely with all his power.  A proof of what I advance
may be known as regards the chevalier or chevalière d'Eon, I know
not which.  But these secret agents were, unknown to the king, all
devoted to the parliaments, and consequently inimical to courtiers,
favorites, and especially mistresses.  God knows  how they disposed
of us!  By these unpropitious channels the king had learnt all the
hatred which was borne to madame de Pompadour.  He was afraid of
exciting the discontent of the people by announcing another mistress,
and was no less intimidated at the severity of madame Louise, and
the ill-humor of his other children.  He loved his pleasure much,
but his ease more.

Comte Jean, who was restrained by no considerations, advised me
to overleap all difficulty, by asking the king myself for the favor
which I coveted.  His advice seemed rational, and I was besides
urged on to do so.  Each day brought to me impertinences said of
me by the noble ladies of the château.  I learnt that they boasted
that I should never set foot in the great apartments, but should
remain the obscure mistress of the king.  This made me impatient,
and by degrees deprived me of my natural gaiety.

One day when the king was with me, he perceived my want of spirits.

"What ails you?"  said be, with the greatest solicitude.

"What ails me!"  replied I, "I wish I were dead, rather than see
myself the butt of all the scandal of the foul-mouthed gossips
of your court."

The king, suspecting the confidence I was about to repose in him,
was sorry he had asked for it, and was silent.  He began to play
a tattoo with his fingers on the chimney-piece.  At this moment
mademoiselle Chon came in.  The king, delighted at seeing her,
instantly inquired into her state of health.  She, after a profound
reverence, said,

"Sire, how can I be well when there is trouble in my family?"

"Ah, <bon Dieu>!  what is this?"  said he, turning to me.

"I am insulted, hooted: they say that I have the misfortune to be
no longer in the good graces of your majesty."

"Ah, tell them they lie in their throats," replied the king,
kissing me on the forehead; "you are the woman of my heart, and
she whom I would fain load with honors.  " 

"Your majesty speaks to me," I answered, "with great condescension
[my sister-in-law left the room that she might not spoil the
explanation], but yet you are the cause of the insolences which
I am subjected to from the vile crew."

"What is the matter with you to-day?  In truth you are a perfect
little devil."

"I wish I were, that I might punish evil tongues, since there is
no king of France to avenge me."

"You are severe, madame," replied Louis XV, turning his imposing
and handsome face towards me, and to which he vainly endeavored
to give an air of anger.  I saw my success, and added,

"Yes, sire, it is insupportable for me to think that I am supposed
not to possess your friendship, and that I only play the part of a
temporary friend.  It makes me wretched: you must not be angry if
I complain of you to your royal self."

"Well, well, you madcap, what must I do?  Whom must I banish?"

"Oh, sire, no one: with your august support I fear no person;
nothing but appearances."

"You are an excellent creature; in your place madame de Pompadour
would have imprisoned half France."

"That was because she loved revenge better than she loved your
majesty.  As for me, I should be miserable if I were the cause of
one single family complaining against you."  

The king, delighted at these words, which really came from my
heart, embraced me tenderly two or three times, and said,

"I wish your enemies could understand you, for they would soon
be at your knees.  But if we imprison or exile no person, how
shall we strike terror into them?"

"It is not terror but envy that I would excite.  Let me be
presented at court, and all my wishes will be satisfied."  

"I cannot for the life of me divine why you should lay so much
stress on coming to weary yourself with the ceremonies of myself
and daughters.  Heaven preserve you from all the irksomeness of
court ceremony!"  And Louis XV sighed.  "Did you ever think," he
added, "of all the vanities, all the interests I have to manage;
all the intrigues that are perpetually agitating, and all the opposition
made to me?  The court, the city, the people, will rise against
me: they will clamor, groan, complain; verse, prose, epigram, and
pamphlet will appear in uninterrupted succession.  You would be
first attacked, and hatred will perhaps extend to me.  I shall see
again the times when the Damiens, in the name of the parliaments,
as one party says, in the name of the Jesuits, as the other party
says, and, what is more true, in the name--"  

The king suddenly paused; a deep shade of melancholy settled on
his features, his noble head dropped on his bosom.  Louis XV
remained for some time motionless; at length,

"Well," he exclaimed, attempting to force a smile, "well!  I will
write to the ladies de Grammont, to inform them that they need
not give themselves the trouble to remain near me at the château."  

On his saying these words I darted towards the door, and went
into my chamber.  The king followed, and finding there mademoiselle
Chon, who was working at some tapestry, said to her,

"Mademoiselle, I confide to your care, and by oral <lettre de
cachet>, the most amiable little devil in France.  And now,
mademoiselle du Barry, having nothing further to add, I pray
God to take you to His powerful and holy keeping."

After this pleasantry the king, delighted at the gay termination
of a somewhat serious scene, went, or rather vanished; for to
use a proverbial expression, he ran like a thief.

As soon as I was alone with my sister-in-law, I told her all that
had passed.

"I see," said she, "that the king is fearful of offending the duc
de Choiseul, and giving annoyance to his daughters.  But a step
must be determined on which will place you out of the reach of
complete disgrace.  Would it not be best to get some nobleman,
who can do so with influence, to speak to him on the subject?  If
the duc de Richelieu were here--"  

"But," I instantly exclaimed, "have we not his nephew, the duc d'
Aiguillon?  He is well with the king, and I am certain will take
the most lively interest in all that concerns me."  

"I have no doubt of it," said Chon, with a sly look.  "Write to
him to come, and you can arrange your ulterior proceedings."

On this advice, which was quite to my taste, I went instantly to
my writing-table, the last present which the king had made me.
It was made of silver gilt, and china slabs beautifully painted.
When I opened it, a glass was lifted which reflected my countenance.
I sat down and wrote the following note to the duc d'Aiguillon:--

"You must be content.  I want your assistance, I
really want it.  The moment has come for deserving
all my confidence.  Will you have it at all risks and
perils?  Reflect well before you undertake this: if
you accept, come to-day at five o'clock precisely,
neither later nor sooner."

A little while afterwards the following reply was brought.

"One thing displeases me in your letter which else
enchants me.  You appear to doubt my obedience.
Am I not your slave?  And when you say to me <go>,
will I not <go>?  Rely on me as on yourself; even
more: for your vivacity may lead you into error,
and I shall preserve my reason.  Yes, madame, I
will, when near you, preserve my reason when your
interests are at stake.  At the fixed hour I shall
have the honor to lay at your feet my respectful
homage and boundless devotion."

It was impossible to express a real sentiment with more delicacy.
I was charmed at it, no longer doubting that the duke would
consider my interests as his own.  I awaited the hour of five
with impatience, when my good fortune brought the prince de
Soubise.  After the first compliments,

"Well, madame la comtesse, when is your presentation to take place?"

"I do not know, monsieur le maréchal; there are obstacles in the
way.  I fear that they who wish to injure me abuse their influence
with the king."

"I see that his majesty hesitates, altho' he is desirous of giving
you station.  He must be stimulated to know that he is master;
and that if he shows any wavering in this particular, it will be
made use of to govern him hereafter."  

Heartily did I applaud the language of M. de Soubise: I did not
suspect that the dear prince had another motive behind.  At the
end of the interview he said,

"Madame, you would not have been as you now are had you been
more conciliatory towards me.  I know the king, and know how to
manage him.  I flatter myself that you would have been now presented
had you deigned to hear my advice."

"Did I reject it?  Was I wrong in declining to have mademoiselle
Guimard as ambassadress?  Were you assured of her silence?
Might she not have compromised us?"

"You are right; I did as one would have done at your age, and you
have done as I should do at mine; but there is always time to amend."

"Certainly, prince."

"You accept my advice, then."

"Yes," I replied, seeing the defile in which he wished to entrap
me, "yes, if I am presented thro' your influence, from that
moment you become my guide and mentor.  But it is important
that the presentation be not delayed; I rely on you to speak to
the king this day about it; and I know that he will give me every
particular of the immense service you will render me."

For once the madcap girl got the better of the practised courtier.
M. de Soubise, taken in his own snare, politely excused himself,
and left me with an assurance that he would speak to the king.
He did speak, but obtained nothing more than any other.  You
will see in my next letter that I did not arrive at the
accomplishment of my wishes without much trouble.  There were
in this affair more intrigues for and against me than were afterwards
set on foot to decide war with America.



CHAPTER VII


The comtesse and the duc d'Aiguillon--M. de Soubise--Louis XV
and the duc d'Aiguillon--Letter from the comtesse  to the king--
Answer of the king-The "<Nouvelles a la Main>"--The comtesse and
Louis XV--The supper--The court ladies mystified--The comtesse and
M. de Sartines

I was still triumphing at the skill which I had displayed
in my conference with the prince de Soubise when the
duc d'Aiguillon entered.

"Good heaven," said he, kissing my hand very tenderly, "into
what inquietude did you throw me by your dear and cruel letter.
The ambiguity of your style has caused me inexpressible sorrow;
and you have added to it by not allowing me to come to you at
the first moment."  

"I could not: I thought it would be dangerous for you to appear
before the king previously to having seen me."

"Would the king have thought my visit strange?"  asked the duke,
not without some emotion.

"That is not the point.  The black spite of my enemies has not
yet deprived me of the counsels of a friend.  But as it is necessary
to speak to the king in my favor, I wish that he should not know
that you do so at my request."

After this I related to the duke my conversation with the king.

"Your situation is delicate," said he to me, "but it should not
trouble you.  The king is weak, we must give him courage.  It is
his pliancy of disposition rather than his resistance that we must
contend with, and I go to act upon it.  " 

I then instructed the duke with what had passed between me and
the prince de Soubise.  When I had done, the duke replied :

"Expect nothing from the prince de Soubise: he will speak, no
doubt; but how?  In a jesting, laughing way.  If, however, you
think he can at all serve you, give him all your confidence."

"No, no, never," I replied with quickness; "it is not a thing to be
done lightly; we do not select a confidant, counsellor, or friend,
at random.  Do you not know this, M. le duc?  It is requisite that
the heart of the one who speaks should repose itself on the heart
of the friend who listens.  I repeat to you that I have no feeling of
confidence towards M. de Soubise.  In fact," I added with visible
and troubled emotion, "my choice is made, and you have too much
heroism to wish to combat it."

At these flattering words the duke precipitated himself at my feet,
and swore to support my cause with all his power and interest.  I
replied that I fully relied on his devotion and prudence.  Comte
Jean entered, and it was agreed between us three that I should say
no more to the king of my presentation before the duc d'Aiguillon
had spoken to him of it; that I should content myself with
complaining without peevishness, and that we should leave the
opening measure to the prince de Soubise, and let him break the
ice to his majesty.

The prince de Soubise behaved exactly as the duke had told me: he
came to me the next morning with a mysterious air, which already
informed me of all he had to say.  He said that he had vainly
tormented the king; that his majesty wished things to remain just
as they were, and desired that until a new order of things nothing
should be altered.

"I am sorry for it, monsieur le maréchal," I replied.  "Whilst I am
in this precarious situation, whilst I remain in a corner of the
stage as a confidante of tragedy, I can do nothing for my friends,
particularly for you, monsieur le maréchal."  

"On the contrary, madame," he replied, "the king will be more
disposed to listen to you whilst he will suppose that your
influence is unknown."

"Oh," cried I with a feeling of anger, "you gentlemen courtiers
think of nothing but politics.  As for me, who am a woman, I have
other matters for consideration: I must have honors, title, rank.
My self-love suffers cruelly when I see myself immolated by the
fear which the ladies de Grammont and three or four other intriguers
of their party are able to excite."  

The prince was somewhat startled at the freedom of language
which I used towards ladies in such credit at court: he begged me
to moderate my feelings, and be less moved and excited.  By this
the prince de Soubise lost the esteem which I might have accorded
him, and the second place in my counsels, which I might have
given him.

I told the duke, who came to see me the moment afterwards, of the
failure of the prince's attempt.  He told me that he had not hoped
for a better result.  He went to the king, flattering himself with
hopes of better success, but did not find him.

The daughters of Louis XV had united against me with a fury
which nothing could justify.  They were incessantly talking
scandal of my past life, as if there were only saints at court, as
if they had no pranks of their own to reproach themselves with.
All the château knew of their lovers, and there was <living>
evidence of the tenderness of madame Adélaïde: as for madame
Louise she was an angel upon earth, and was the only one who
did not join in the cry against me.  On the other hand, the king,
whilst he had but little love for his dear daughters, preserved
towards them a complaisance and external appearance of kindness
which was a substitute for parental love.  When <mesdames royales>
cried out, he stopped his ears with his two hands, and seemed,
whilst looking proudly at France, to say, "Am not I a good father,
and are not my daughters very happy, for I let them cry out with
all their might?"

The next day the duc d'Aiguillon went again to the king, and found
him bewildered with family scenes and the murmurings of the
Choiseuls.  When my ambassador had delivered his message, the
king asked him if he, as well as the prince de Soubise, had been
set upon his haunches by me.

The duke, nothing intimidated at this, told the king that far from
having wished that he should be my interpreter, I had requested
him not to allude to the matter.

"Why, then," said Louis XV laughing, "do you not follow the
advice of the comtesse?"

"Because I entertain a sincere attachment for her, and that I am
vexed to hear it said that there are persons who lead your majesty."

"Who are the insolents that hold such language?"

"They surround you, sire.  There is not a female here but affirms
that you dare not decide on the presentation of the comtesse."

"I alone am master, and will let them know it when the opportunity
arrives; but the present moment is not fitting.  The comtesse knows
how well I love her; and if she will prove her friendship towards
me, she will remain quiet for some time."

The duke thought it best to be silent, and came to me.  After
relating the conversation, he added, "Do not appear at all dejected;
the king would not then visit you lest he should find you out of
temper.  Were I you I should write to him; a word of peace would
set him at ease."  

I approved this advice, and instantly penned the following letter: --

Sire -They tell me that your majesty has been tormented
on my account.  It is a treason of which I alone could
believe myself capable.  But why should I complain?  You
have done so much for me that I ought to esteem myself
happy: your august friendship consoles me thro' all my
annoyances.  Be assured that henceforth I shall pout no
more; I will be the best sheep in the world, relying on
my shepherd for not having my fleece cut too closely;
for after all I think I am the petted ewe, etc."  

A short time afterwards a page brought me a splendid box of <bonbons>
with a pair of ruby ear-rings surrounded with diamonds, and this
short billet: --

"Yes, assuredly you are my pet ewe, and always shall
be.  The shepherd has a strong crook with which he
will drive away those who would injure you.  Rely on
your shepherd for the care of your tranquillity, and
the peace of your future life."

In the evening the king visited me.  He was embarrassed, but I set
him at ease by showing him a laughing countenance, talking only
of his present, which I had in my ears, and shaking my head about
to keep the drops in motion, which sparkled with great brilliancy.
He was pleased at this, and did not leave me all the evening.  In
the morning we were the best friends in the world.

Some days elapsed, when comte Jean came to me, bringing two
infamous articles which had appeared in the "<Nouvelles a la Main>,"
and were directed against me.  They were atrocious and deeply
chagrined me: I placed them on the mantel-piece, where all who
came in could see them.  The duc de Duras read them, and said,
"Conceal these atrocities from the king."

"No," was my reply, "I wish him to read them, that he may know
how his affections are respected, and how the police of Paris are
employed in doing their duty to the throne."

These last words annoyed M. de Duras, between whom and M. de
Sartines there was a connection: the duke was indebted to the
lieutenant-general of police for the special surveillance which he
kept over a young girl of whom he, the duc de Duras, was foolishly
enamoured.  Trembling for his <dear friend> M. de Sartines, he
wrote to him in haste, but had not courage or talent enough to
undertake the defence of the guilty person.

The king came as usual; his general station was at the chimney-piece,
where he amused himself with looking at the baubles that ornamented
it.  The "<Nouvelles a la Main>" fell in his way.  He read them
once, then again; then, without uttering a word, threw them into
the fire.  I observed him, and saw that he was full of emotion
which he sought to conceal, but the anger burst forth soon.  The
prince de Soubise, who supped with us that evening, asked the duc
de Duras if he had read the "<Gazette de France.>"

"No," was the reply; "I seldom read such nonsense."

"And you are quite right," said the king.  "There is at present a
most inconceivable mania for writing.  What is the use, I ask you,
gentlemen, of this deluge of books and pamphlets with which
France is inundated?  They only contain the spirit of rebellion:
the freedom of writing ought not to be given to every body.
There should be in a well-regulated state seven or eight writers,
not more; and these under the inspection of government.  Authors
are the plague of France; you will see whither they will lead it."

The king spoke this with an animated air, and if at this moment
M. de la Vrillière had come to ask for a <lettre de cachet>
against a writer, the king would not have refused it.

"Besides," added the king, in a tone of less anger, but no less
emphatically, "I see with pain that the police do not do their duty
with regard to all these indignities."

"Yet," said the duc de Duras, "M. de Sartines does wonders."  

"Then why does he tolerate such insults?  I will let him know
my discontent."  

The duc de Duras was alarmed, and kept his mouth closed.  The king
then, resuming his gaiety, joked the two gentlemen on their secret
intrigues: then changing the conversation suddenly, he talked of
the expected arrival of the king of Denmark.

"Duc de Duras," said he, "you and your son must do the office of
master of ceremonies to his <Polar> majesty.  I hope you will
endeavor to amuse him."

"Yes, sire."

"Mind, what you undertake is no joke.  It is no easy matter to
amuse a king."  

This was a truth which I perceived at every moment, and our monarch
was not the one to be amused with trifling exertion.  Frequently
when he entered my apartment he threw himself on an ottoman, and
yawned most excessively, yes, yawned in my company.  I had but one
mode of rousing him from this apathy, but it was a sure one.  I
spoke of the high magistracy and its perpetual resistance to the
throne.  Then the king aroused, instantly sprung from his seat,
traversed the room with rapid strides, and declaimed vigorously
against the <black gowns>; thus he styled the parliaments.  I
confess, however, that I only had recourse to the "black gowns"
at the last extremity.  Little did I think that at a later period
I should league myself against them.  On the one hand, the duc
d'Aiguillon hated them mortally, and on the other, the comte Jean,
like a real Toulousian, would have carried them in his slippers;
so that wavering between the admiration of the one and the hatred
of the other, I knew not which to listen to, or which party to side
with.  But to return to present matters.

The king was always thinking of the "< Nouvelles a la Main,>" and
determined to avenge me as openly as I had been attacked.  Two
or three days afterwards he gave a supper, to which he invited the
duchesse and comtesse de Grammont, madame de Forcalquier, the
princess de Marsan, the maréchale de Mirepoix, and the comtesses
de Coigny and de Montbarrey.  They were seated at table laughing
and amusing themselves; they talked of the pleasure of being to
<themselves>, of having no <strangers>; they pierced me with a
hundred thrusts; they triumphed!  And yet the king was laughing in
his sleeve.  At a premeditated signal the duc d'Aiguillon, one of
the guests, asked his majesty if he had seen the comtesse du Barry
that day.  This terrible name, thrown suddenly into the midst of
my enemies, had the effect of a thunder-clap.  All the ladies looked
at each other first and then at the king, and the duc d'Aiguillon,
reserving profound silence.  His majesty then replied, that he had
not had the happiness of visiting me that day, not having had one
moment's leisure; then eulogized me at great length, and ended by
saying to the duke,  "If you see the comtesse before I do, be sure
to say that I drank this glass of wine to her health."

The ladies did not anticipate this.  The duchesse de Grammont
particularly, in spite of long residence at court, turned pale to
her very ears, and I believe but for etiquette she would have
fallen into a swoon.  I learnt afterwards from the maréchale de
Mirepoix, that the duchesse, on going home, gave herself up to a
fit of rage, which did not terminate even on the following day.
When the king related this occurrence to me, he was as proud
of it as if he had done a most courageous deed.

But I have omitted a day which was of great importance to me in its
consequences.  I mean the day which followed that on which I had
complained to the duc de Duras of M. the lieutenant of police.  In
the morning early my sister-in-law came into my room.

"Sister," said she, "comte Jean is here with M. de Sartines, who
begs to pay his respects to you.  Will you receive him?"

"M. de Sartines!  Yes, let him come in; I will treat him as
he deserves."  

Comte Jean then came in, preceded by the lieutenant of police: he
wore a large peruke with white powder, and curled with the utmost
care.  Wigs were his mania, and he had a room filled from floor
to ceiling with these ornaments.  The duc d'Ayen said, that he
never should be in trouble about the council of state, for in case
of need, it might be found and replenished from the house of the
lieutenant of police.  Let us leave wigs and revert to M. de Sartines.

He appeared before me with the air of Tartuffe, and, forgive the
phrase, <en vrai capon>.

"Madame," said he to me, "I have been informed that I am in
disgrace with you, and have come to inquire how I may extricate
myself from this misfortune."

"You ought to know, sir.  Twice in one month have I been shamefully
insulted; and yet the first intimation of such a thing ought to have
put you on your guard."

M. de Sartines, whom my tone had much surprised, endeavored to
justify himself, when comte Jean said to him,

"My dear lieutenant of police, all you have said goes for nothing.
One thing is certain, and that is, that there is a deficiency of
respect towards my sister-in-law.  You say that it is not your
fault: what proof do you give us of this?  What inquiries have
you made?  What measures have you taken?  Any?  Why do you come
to us if you aid our enemies?"

M. de Sartines would fain have ensconced himself in his own dignity.

"M. du Barry," was his reply, "I shall render an account of my
conduct to the king."

"Very well, sir," I replied, "but do not suppose that either you
or the Choiseuls can give me any cause of fear."  

M. de Sartines was thunderstruck; my boldness astonished him.  At
length he said,

"Madame, you are angry with me causelessly; I am more negligent
than culpable.  It is useless to say this to the king."

"I will not conceal from you, sir, that he knows it all, and is
greatly discontented with you.  " 

"I am lost then," said M. de Sartines.

"Lost!  not precisely," replied comte Jean; "but you must decide
at once and for ever what party you will join.  If you are with us
they will use you harshly; if you take the opposite party look to
yourself.  Choose."

After some turnings and twistings, accompanied with compliments,
M. de Sartines declared that he would range himself under our
banner.  Then I extended to him my hand in token of reconciliation;
he took it with respect, and kissed it with gallantry.  Up to this
time we had conversed with feelings of restraint and standing; but
now we seated ourselves, and begun a conference in form, as to the
manner of preventing a recurrence of the offensive outrages against
me.  As a proof of good intention M. de Sartines told me the author
of the two articles of which I complained.  He was a wretch, named
Ledoux, who for twelve hundred livres per annum wrote down all
those who displeased the duchesse de Grammont.  This lady had no
fear of doing all that was necessary to remove every obstacle to the
publication of such infamies.

After M. de Sartines had given us all the details which we desired,
and after I had promised to reconcile him to his master, he went
away delighted with having seen me.  Believe me, my friend, it is
necessary to be as handsome as I am, that is to say, as I was, to
seduce a lieutenant of police.



CHAPTER VIII


The sieur Ledoux--The <lettre de cachet>--The duc de la Vrillière--
Madame de Langeac--M. de Maupeou--Louis XV--The comte Jean

On that very evening, the king having come to me, I said to him,

"Sire, I have made acquaintance with M. de Sartines."  

"What!  has he been to make friends with you?"

"Something like it: but he has appeared to me less culpable than I
thought.  He had only yielded to the solicitation of my personal enemy."  

"You cannot have one at my court, madame; the lieutenant of police
would have done well not to have named her to you."  

"Thanks to him, however, I shall now know whom I ought to mistrust.
I know also who is the author of the two scurrilous paragraphs."

"Some scamp, no doubt; some beggarly scoundrel."

"A monsieur Ledoux."  

"Ah, I know the fellow.  His bad reputation has reached me.  It
must be stopped at last."  

So saying, Louis XV went to the chimney, and pulled the bell-rope
with so much vehemence that ten persons answered it at once.

"Send for the duc de la Vrillière; if he be not suitably attired let
him come in his night-gown, no matter so that he appear quickly."

On hearing an order given in this manner a stranger might have
supposed the king crazy, and not intent on imprisoning a miserable
libeller.  I interceded in his favor, but Louis XV, delighted at an
opportunity of playing the king at a small cost, told me that it
was no person's business, and he would be dictated to by no one.
I was silent, reserving myself until another opportunity when I
could undertake the defence of the poor devil.

The duc de la Vrillière arrived, not in a dressing-gown, as the
king had authorized, but in magnificent costume.  He piqued himself
on his expenditure, and always appeared superbly attired, altho'
the splendor of his apparel could not conceal the meanness of his
look.  He was the oldest secretary of state, and certainly was the
least skilful, least esteemed, least considered.  Some time after
his death some one said of him in the presence of the duc d'Ayen,
that he had been an unfortunate man, for he had been all his life
the butt of public hatred and universal contempt.  "Rather say,"
replied the duke, "that he has been a fortunate man; for if justice
had been rendered to him according to his deserts, he would have
been hanged at least a dozen times."

The duc d'Ayen was right: M. de la Vrillière was a brazen-faced
rogue; a complete thief, without dignity, character, or heart.  His
cupidity was boundless: the <lettres de cachet> emanated from his
office, and he carried on an execrable trade in them.  If any person
wished to get rid of a father, brother, or husband, they only had
to apply to M. de la Vrillière.  He sold the king's signature to
all who paid ready money for it.  This man inspired me with an
invincible horror and repugnance.  For his part, as I was not
disgusting, he contented himself with hating me; he was animated
against me by his old and avaricious mistress, madame de Langeac,
alias Subutin.  Langeac could not endure me.  She felt that it was
better to be the mistress of Louis XV than that of the <petit la
Vrillière >, for so her lover was called at court.  I knew that she
was no friend of mine, and that her lover sided with the Choiseuls
against me; and was consequently the more delighted to see the
little scoundrel come to receive the order for avenging me.  He
entered with an air of embarrassment; and whilst he made me a
salute as low as to the king, this latter, in a brief severe tone,
ordered him to send the sieur Ledoux to Saint Lazare forthwith.
He departed without reply, and half an hour afterwards returned,
to say that it was done.  The king then said to him,

"Do you know this lady?"

"No, sire."

"Well, I desire you henceforward to have the greatest consideration
for her as my best friend, and whoever wishes to prove his zeal for
me, will honor and cherish her."  

The king then invited him to sup with us, and I am sure that during
the whole repast I was the hardest morsel he had to digest.

Some days afterwards I made acquaintance with a person much more
important than the little duke, and destined to play a great part
in the history of France.  I mean M. de Maupeou, the late chancellor,
who, in his disgrace, would not resign his charge.  M. de Maupeou
possessed one of those firm and superior minds, which, in spite
of all obstacles, change the face of empires.  Ardent, yet cool;
bold, but reflective; the clamors of the populace did not astonish,
nor did any obstacles arrest him.  He went on in the direct path
which his will chalked out.  Quitting the magistracy, he became its
most implacable enemy, and after a deadly combat he came off
conqueror.  He felt that the moment had arrived for freeing royalty
from the chains which it had imposed on itself.  It was necessary,
he has said to me a hundred times, for the kings of France in past
ages to have a popular power on which they could rely for the
overturning of the feudal power.  This power they found in the
high magistracy; but since the reign of Louis XIII the mission
of the parliaments had finished, the nobility was reduced, and
they became no less formidable than the enemy whom they had
aided in subduing.

"Before fifty years," pursued M. de Maupeou, "kings will be
nothing in France, and parliaments will be everything."

Talented, a good speaker, even eloquent, M. de Maupeou possessed
qualities which made the greatest enterprises successful.  He was
convinced that all men have their price, and that it is only to
find out the sum at which they are purchasable.* As brave personally
as a maréchal of France, his enemies (and he had many) called him
a coarse and quarrelsome man.  Hated by all, he despised men in
a body, and jeered at them individually; but little sensible to the
charms of our sex, he only thought of us by freaks, and as a means
of relaxation.  This is M. de Maupeou, painted to the life.  As
for his person, you know it as well as I do.  I have no need to
tell you, that he was little, ugly, and his complexion was yellow,
bordering upon green.  It must be owned, however, that his face,
full of thought and intelligence, fully compensated for all the rest.

*This gentleman would have been an able coadjutor for
Sir Robert Walpole.  -Trans.

You know how, as first president of the parliament of Paris, he
succeeded his father as vice-chancellor.  At the resignation of the
titular M. de Lamoignon*, the elder Maupeou received his letters
of nomination, and as soon as they were registered, he resigned
in favor of his son.  The Choiseuls had allowed the latter to be
nominated, relying on finding him a creature.  I soon saw that the
Choiseuls were mistaken.

*In September, 1768.  (au.)

It was in the month of October, that Henriette, always my favorite,
came to me with an air of unusual mystery, to say, that a black*
and ugly gentleman wished to see me; that on the usual reply
that I was not visible, he had insisted, and sent, at the same
time, a cautiously sealed note.  I took it, opened, and read
these words: --

	*i.e., black-haired and/or dressed in black (Gutenberg ed.)

"The chancellor of France wishes to have the honor
of presenting his respectful homage to madame la
comtesse du Barry."

"Let him come in," I said to Henriette.

"I will lay a wager, madame, that he comes to ask some favor."  

"I believe," replied I, "that he is more frequently the solicited
than the solicitor."

Henriette went out, and in a few minutes led in, thro' the private
corridors which communicated with my apartment, his highness
monseigneur Rene Nicolas Charles Augustin de Maupeou, chevalier
and chancellor of France.  As soon as he entered I conceived a
good opinion of him, altho' I had only seen him walk.  His step
was firm and assured, like that of a man confident in the resources
of his own talents.

"Madame la comtesse du Barry," he said, "would have a right to
complain of me, if I did not come and lay my person at her feet.
I had the more impatience to express to her my devotion, as I
feared she had been prejudiced against me."

"How, monseigneur?"

"The gate by which I entered the ministry--"

"Is not agreeable to me, as being that of my enemies, but I feel
assured that you will not side with them against me."  

"Certainly not, madame; it is my wish to give you pleasure in
every thing, and I flatter myself I may merit your friendship."  

After many other compliments, the Chancellor asked me, with much
familiarity, when my presentation was to take place, and why it had
not yet occurred.  I replied, that the delay arose from the intrigues
of Choiseul, and the king shrunk from the discontent of a handful
of courtiers.

"I am sorry for it," said M. de Maupeou; "in the first place,
madame, because of the interest I take in you, and also because
for his majesty, it would be a means of striking terror into the
opposing party.  You know, madame, how annoying parliaments are
to all your friends, and with what bitterness those of Bretagne and
Paris, at this moment, are pursuing the duc d'Aiguillon."  

"Do you think," I replied with emotion, "that matters are
unfavorable towards him?"  

"I hope not, but he must be warmly supported."  

"Ah!  I will aid him with all my influence.  He is no doubt
innocent of the crimes imputed to him."  

"Yes, certainly.  He has done no other wrong than to defend the
authority of the crown against the enmity of the parliaments."  

We continued some time to talk of parliaments and parliament men:
then we agreed that M. de Maupeou should see me again, accompanied
by the duc d'Aiguillon, who should have the credit of presenting him,
and he left me with as much mystery as he had entered.

When the king came to see me, I said to him, "I have made acquaintance
with your chancellor: he is a very amiable man, and I hope that he
will not conduct himself improperly towards me."

"Where did you see him?"

"Here, sire, and but a short time since."

"He came then to visit you?"

"Yes, in person, that he might obtain the favor of being permitted
to pay his court to me."

"Really what you tell me seems perfectly unaccountable.  He has
then burst from the hands of the Choiseuls?  It is amusing.  Poor
Choiseul, when soliciting for Maupeou, he most tremendously
deceived himself."

"At least, sire, you must own that he has given you no fool."  

"True.  The chancellor is a man full of talents, and I do not
doubt but that he will restore to my crown that power which
circumstances have deprived it of.  However, if you see him
familiarly, advise him not to persuade me to extreme measures.
I wish all should work for the best, without violent courses and
without painful struggles."  

These last words proved to me the natural timidity of the king.

"I knew very well," added the king, "that Maupeou would not prove
a man for the Choiseuls.  The main point is, that he should be mine,
and I am content."

Louis XV was then satisfied with the chancellor, but he was not
equally so with the comte Jean.

"I do not like," said he to me, "your Du Barry monkey.  He is a
treacherous fellow, who has betrayed his party, and I hope some
of these mornings we shall hear that the devil has wrung his neck."



CHAPTER IX


The king of Denmark--The courtesans of Paris--The duc de Choiseul and the bishop of 
Orleans--Witty repartees of the king of Denmark--
His visit to madame du Barry--"The court of king Petaud," a satire--
Letter of the duc d'Aiguillon to Voltaire--The duchesse de Grammont
mystified--Unpublished letter of Voltaire's

>From this moment, and in spite of all that comte Jean could say
against it, a new counsellor was admitted to my confidence.  He
was the chancellor.  The duc d'Aiguillon and he were on very good
terms, and these two, with the abbé Teray, of whom I shall speak
to you presently, formed a triumvirate, which governed France from
the disgrace of M. de Choiseul to the death of the king.  But
before I enter upon a detail of those politics, of which you will
find that I understand something, allow me to continue the history
of my presentation, and also to give some account of Christian VII.

You know that his Danish majesty was expected with anything but
pleasure by the king of France, and with curiosity by the rest of
the nation.  Men and women were impatient to see a king, under
twenty years of age, who was traversing Europe with a design of
attaining instruction.  Married to a lovely woman, Caroline Mathilde,
he had left her on the instant, without suspecting that this separation
would prove fatal to both.  At Paris, the real character of this
prince was not known, but a confused report of his gallantry was
spread abroad, on which all the courtesans of note in the city
began to try all arts to please him, each hoping to attract him to
herself, and dip into his strong box.  M. de Sartines amused us one
evening, the king and myself, by telling us of the plans of these
ladies.  Some were going to meet his Danish majesty, others were
to await him at the barrier, and two of the most renowned,
mesdemoiselles Gradi and Laprairie, had their portraits painted,
to send to the young monarch as soon as he should arrive.

Christian VII entered Paris the latter end of the month of October,
1768. MM. de Duras complimented him in the king's name, and
informed him that they were charged with the office of receiving
his commands during his residence in Paris.  The interview of the
king and the illustrious stranger took place at Versailles.  Christian
VII came thither in the state-carriage, and was conducted by the
duc de Duras into the apartment of the dauphin, where he remained
until Louis XV was prepared to receive him.  I had heard much
discussion about this reception.  It was said, that to make a
distinction between sovereign of a petty state and that of the
superb kingdom of France, it was requisite that the former should
await for some time the audience which the latter accorded.  I am
sure that when the peace with Frederick was agitated, the face of
Louis XV was not more grave and serious than during this puerile
debate about etiquette.

The duc de Choiseul, who had the control of foreign affairs,
was in the apartment to receive his Danish majesty, with his
colleagues, the duc de Praslin, the comte de Saint-Florentin
(whom I have called by anticipation duc de la Vrillière), M.
Bertin, M. Mainon d'Invau, controller of the finances, and M. de
Jarente, bishop of Orleans and one of the ministry.  He kept
himself somewhat in the background, as tho' from humility.  The
duc de Choiseul came up to him, and said, with a smile,

"Monseigneur, what brings you in contact with a heretic?"

"To watch for the moment of penitence."

"But what will you do if it become necessary to teach him his <credo>?"

M. de Jarente understood the joke, and was the first to jest upon
his own unepiscopal conduct, replying to the duc de Choiseul,

"There is a person present who knows it; he will whisper it to
me, and, if necessary, the <Veni Creator> also."

The king of Denmark was congratulated by the duc de Choiseul,
who discharged this duty with as much grace as wit.  Afterwards M.
Desgranges, master of the ceremonies, having announced that
Louis XV was visible, the king of Denmark, preceded by his
gentlemen and the French ministers and lords, went to the king's
cabinet, in which two arm-chairs precisely alike were prepared,
but his majesty of Denmark positively refused to be seated.  He
entered into conversation, and felicitated himself on seeing a
monarch, whose renown filled Europe, and whom he should take as
his model.  During this conversation Christian VII displayed the
greatest amiability.  Our king, speaking to him, said, "I am old
enough to be your father" ; to which he replied, "All my conduct
towards you shall be that of a son."  This was thought admirable;
and at the termination of the interview Louis XV appeared charmed
with his brother of Denmark.  "He is a complete Frenchman," said he
to me, "and I should be sorry if he left me dissatisfied."  

That same evening Christian VII visited monseigneur the dauphin,
in whom he did not find the urbanity of his grandfather.  The
conversation was short and abridged out of regard to our prince,
who only stammered, without being able to find one polished
phrase.  Never was there in his youth a more timid and awkwardly
conducted prince than the present king.  I shall mention him and
his brothers hereafter, but will now direct my immediate attention
to the king of Denmark.  He supped the same evening with Louis XV
at a table with four and twenty ladies of the court, selected from
amongst those most celebrated for the charms of their persons or
their wit.  As his Danish majesty was greatly struck with madame
de Flaracourt, the king asked him how old the lady might be in
his opinion.

"Thirty, perhaps," was the reply.

"Thirty, brother!  she is fifty."

"Then age has no influence at your court."
I shall not copy the "<Gazette de France>" to tell you of the
sojourn of Christian VII at Paris.  I am not  writing the journal
of this prince but of myself.  The king one day said to me,

"My brother of Denmark has expressed to the duc de Duras a
great desire to pay his respects to you, if you will accede to his
wishes.  I leave you entirely sovereign mistress of yourself, not
without some fear however that the young king will steal away
your heart from me."

"Ah, sire," I replied, "that is an unjust suspicion; I should be
angry about it if it were not a joke, and would refuse to see the
king of Denmark did I not know how fully you are assured of my
attachment to you."  

"I should not be so jealous, madame, if I did not set so much value
on it," was the reply of the king, as he kissed my hand.

The duc de Duras came the next day to inform me of the request of
his new king.  It was agreed, in order to keep the interview secret,
that I should receive him at my own mansion in the Rue de la
Jussienne, and that he should come there without suite, and with
the strictest incognito.  At the day and hour agreed he entered my
house, escorting two strangers of admirable presence.  One was the
king of Denmark, under the name of comte de ------, and the other
a nobleman of his suite.  Christian VII appeared to me a very
handsome man.  He had large and singularly expressive eyes; too
much so, perhaps, for their brilliancy was not of good augury;
and I was not surprised at hearing subsequently that his reason
had abandoned him, altho' he possessed and exerted his wit most
perfectly during our conversation, in which he displayed the
greatest gallantry.  I could not reproach him with one single
expression that was objectionable, altho' the subject of conversation
was delicate.  He discoursed of the feelings of the king towards
me, and yet said not a word that was unsuited or out of place,
nothing but what was in the best taste, and expressed with the
utmost delicacy.  I asked him if the ladies of Denmark were
handsome.  "I thought, madame," was his reply, "until now, that
the ladies of my kingdom were the most lovely in Europe."

We did not talk of myself only: Christian VII spoke of Paris with
enthusiasm.  "It is the capital of the world," he remarked, "and
our states are but the provinces."  He sought out our most celebrated
<savants> and <literati>, and was particularly delighted with
d'Alembert, Diderot, la Harpe, and M. the comte de Buffon.  He
greatly regretted that Voltaire was not in Paris, and expressed
his great desire to see at Ferney the great genius (as he termed
him) who instructed and amused the world.  He appeared weary of
the fêtes which were given, and especially with the deadly-lively
company of the two Duras.  It was enough to kill you to have only
one of them, and you may imagine the torture of being bored with
both.  The duke had promised Louis XV to be as amusing as possible
too!  After a conversation of three hours, which his majesty (of
course) said had appeared but of a moment, he left me delighted
with his person, wit, and manners.

When Louis XV saw me, he inquired my opinion of his Danish majesty.

"He is," I replied, "a well-educated king, and that they say is a rarity."

"True," said Louis XV, "there are so many persons who are
interested in our ignorance, that it is a miracle if we escape out
of their hands as reasonable beings."

I went on to tell the king our conversation.

"Ah," cried he, "here is one who will increase the vanity of the
literary tribe: they want it, certainly.  All these wits are our
natural born enemies; and think themselves above us; and the
more we honor them, the greater right do they assume to censure
and despise us."

This was the usual burden of his song: he hated men of learning.
Voltaire especially was his detestation, on account of the numerous
epigrams which this great man had written against him; and Voltaire
had just given fresh subject of offence by publishing "<La Cour du
Roi Petaud" ("The Court of the King Petaud,"  ) a satire evidently
directed as strongly against the king as your humble servant.  M.
de Voltaire had doubtless been encouraged to write this libel by
the Choiseul party.  He was at a distance, judged unfavorably of
me, and thought he could scourge me without compromising himself.

It was comte Jean who brought me these verses, in which there was
less poetry than malevolence.  I read them, was indignant, and
wept.  The duc d'Aiguillon came, and finding me in tears, inquired
the cause.

"Here," said I, giving him the poem, "see if you can bear so gross
an insult."  He took the paper, cast his eyes over it, and having
folded it up, put it into his pocket.

 "It was ill done," said he, "to show this to you.  I knew of it
yesterday, and came now to talk with you of it."  

"I rely on you to do me justice."

"<Miséricorde!>" cried the duke, "would you lose yourself in the
eyes of all France?  You would place yourself in a fine situation
by declaring yourself the persecutrix of Voltaire.  Only an enemy
could have thus advised you."

"That enemy was comte Jean."

"Then your imprudence equals your zeal.  Do you not perceive the
advantage it would give to your adversaries were we to act in
this manner?  To the hatred of the court would be united that of
the <literati>, women, and young persons.  Voltaire is a god, who
is not to be smitten without sacrilege."

"Must I then tamely submit to be beaten?"

"Yes, for the moment.  But it will not last long; I have just
written this letter to M. de Voltaire, that peace may be made
between you:--

"SIR,--The superiority of your genius places you
amongst the number of the potentates of Europe.
Every one desires, not only to be at peace with you,
but even, if it be possible, to obtain your esteem.
I flatter myself with being included in the ranks of
your admirers; my uncle has spoken to you many times
of my attachment to your person, and I embrace the
opportunity of proving this by a means that now
presents itself.

"Persons in whom you place too much confidence have
spread abroad, under your name, copies of a poem,
entitled '<La Cour du Roi Petaud.>' In this, wherein
insult is cast on a personage who should be exempt
from such offence, is also outraged, in a most indecent
way, a lovely female, whom you would adore as we do,
if you had the happiness to know her.  Is it for the
poet of the lover of Gabrielle to carry desolation into
the kingdom of the Graces?

"Your correspondents use you ill by leaving you in
ignorance, that this young person has immense favor
here; that we are all at her feet; that she is all
powerful, and her anger is to be particularly avoided.
She is the more to be propitiated, as yesterday, in
Presence of a certain person whom your verses had
greatly irritated, she took up your defence with as
much grace as generosity.  You see, sir, that you
ought not to be on bad terms with her.

"My uncle allows me to see, as one of the initiated,
what you call your scraps, which are delicious feasts
to us.  I read them to the lady in question, who takes
great delight in reciting, or hearing others recite,
your verses, and she begs you will send her some as a
proof of your repentance.  Under these circumstances,
if your bellicose disposition urges you on to war, we
hope, before you continue it, that you will loyally and
frankly declare it.

"In conclusion, be assured that I shall defend you to
my utmost, and am for life,

"Yours, etc."  

Whilst we were awaiting Voltaire's reply, I determined to avenge
myself on the duchesse de Grammont, who had encouraged him in
his attack; and thus did I serve this lady.  Persuaded that she did
not know the writing of his Danish majesty, I wrote the following
letter to her:--

"MADAME LA DUCHESSE,--I have struggled to this time
to avoid confessing to you how I am subdued.  Happy
should I be could I throw myself at your feet.  My
rank alone must excuse my boldness.  Nothing would
equal my joy if this evening, at the theatre at madame
de Villeroi's, you would appear with blue feathers in
your head-dress.  I do not add my name; it is one of
those which should not be found at the bottom of a
declaration of love."

In spite of all her penetration, the duchesse de Grammont did not
perceive, in the emphatic tone of this letter, that it was a trick.
Her self-love made her believe that a woman of more than forty
could be pleasing to a king not yet twenty.  She actually went
in the evening to madame de Villeroi's dressed in blue, with a
blue plumed head-dress.  She was placed next to his Danish majesty.
Christian VII addressed her in most courteous terms, but not one
word of love.

The duchesse imagining that the prince was timid, looked at him
with eyes of tenderness, and endeavored to attract and encourage
him by all means she could devise, but the monarch did not
understand her.  The duchesse then addressed a few words, which
she hoped would lead to an explanation, but, to her dismay, his
majesty did not appear to understand her.  Madame de Grammont
was furious at this affair.  The duc d'Aiguillon, who was close to
her, had seen all, heard all, and related particulars to me.  The
same day I told the king of my trick and its success.  He laughed
excessively, and then scolded me for at all compromising his
Danish majesty.

"How, sire?"  was my reply.  "I did not sign his name; I have not
forged his signature.  The vanity of the duchesse has alone caused
all the ridiculous portion of this joke.  So much the worse for
her if she did not succeed."  

I did not, however, limit my revenge to this.  A second letter,
in the same hand, was addressed to my luckless enemy.  This time
she was informed that she been made a butt of, and mystified.  I
learned from M. de Sartines, who, after our compact, gave me
details of all, the methods she had pursued to detect the author of
these two epistles, and put a termination to all these inquiries,
by denouncing myself to M. de Sartines; who then gave such a
turn to the whole matter, that the duchesse could never arrive
at the truth.

Voltaire, in the meantime, was not slow in reply; and as I imagine
that you will not be sorry to read his letter, I transcribe it for you:--

"MONSIEUR LE DUC,-- I am a lost, destroyed man.  If I
had strength enough to fly, I do not know where I
should find courage to take refuge.  I!  Good God!  I
am suspected of having attacked that which, in common
with all France, I respect!  When there only remains to
me the smallest power of utterance, but enough to chant
a <De profundis,> that I should employ it in howling at
the most lovely and amiable of females!  Believe me,
monsieur le duc, that it is not at the moment when a
man is about to render up his soul, that a man of my
good feeling would outrage the divinity whom he adores.
"No, I am not the author of the '<Cour du Roi Petaud.>'
The verses of this rhapsody are not worth much, it is
true; but indeed they are not mine: they are too
miserable, and of too bad a style.  All this vile trash
spread abroad in my name, all those pamphlets without
talent, make me lose my senses, and now I have scarcely
enough left to defend myself with.  It is on you,
monsieur le duc, that I rely; do not refuse to be the
advocate of an unfortunate man unjustly accused.
Condescend to say to this young lady, that I have
been before embroiled with madame de Pompadour,
for whom I professed the highest esteem; tell her, that
at the present day especially, the favorite of Caesar is
sacred for me; that my heart and pen are  hers, and
that I only aspire to live and die under her banner.

"As to the scraps you ask for, I have not at this moment
any suitable.  Only the best viands are served up at the
table of the goddesses.  If I had any I would present them
to the person of whom you speak to me.  Assure her, that
one day the greatest merit of my verse will be to have them
recited by her lips; and entreat her, until she bestows
immortality on me, to permit me to prostrate myself at
her beautiful feet.

"I will not conclude my letter, monsieur le duc,
without thanking you a thousand times for the advice
you have given me.  This proof of your kindness will,
if possible augment the sincere  attachment I bear to
you.  I salute you with profound respect."  

As it is bold to hold the pen after having transcribed anything
of M. de Voltaire's, I leave off here for to-day.



CHAPTER X


When is the presentation to take place?--Conversation on this
subject with the king--M. de Maupeou and M. de la Vauguyon--
Conversation on the same subject with the king and the duc de
Richelieu--M. de la Vrillière--M. Bertin---Louis XV and the
comtesse--The king's promise--The fire-works, an anecdote--The
marquise de Castellane--M. de Maupeou at the duc de Choiseul's--
The duchesse de Grammont

In spite of the love of the duchesse de Grammont, the king of
Denmark departed at last.  Louis XV having resumed his former
habits, I began to meditate seriously on my presentation; and my
friends employed themselves to the utmost in furthering my desires
and insuring my triumph.

The chancellor, who each day became more attached to my interests,
opened the campaign.  One day, when the king was in a rage with
the parliaments, the chancellor seized the opportunity to tell him
that the cabal, who were opposed to my presentation, testified so
much resistance, under the idea, and in the hope, that they would
be supported by the parliaments of Paris.

"If your majesty," added the chancellor, "had less condescension
towards these malcontents, they would fear your authority more."

"You will see," replied the king, "that it will be their audacity
which will urge me on to a step, which otherwise I should wish
to avoid."

Whilst the hatred which M. de Maupeou bore towards the parliaments
served me in this way, the love of M. de la Vauguyon for the
Jesuits turned to even more advantage.  The good duke incessantly
talked to me of his dear Jesuits; and I as constantly replied, that
my influence would not be salutary until after my presentation, M.
de la Vauguyon had sense enough to perceive the embarrassment of my
situation, and saw that before I could think of others I must think
of myself.  Having taken "sweet counsel" with the powerful heads of
his company, he freely gave me all his influence with the king.

Fortune sent me an auxiliary not less influential than these two
gentlemen; I mean the maréchal duc de Richelieu.  In the month of
January, 1769, he returned from his government of Guienne to enter
on service.  He had much credit with the king, and this (would you
believe it?) resulted from his reputation as a man of intrigue.  He
told the king every thing that came into his head: he told him one
day, that the Choiseuls boasted that he, the king of France, never
dared introduce his mistress into the state apartments at Versailles.

"Yes," added the duke, "they boast so loudly, that nothing else is
talked of in the province; and at Bordeaux, for instance, there is
one merchant who, on the strength of the enemies of the comtesse,
has made a bet that she will never be presented."

"And why do you not imprison these persons?"  inquired the
king, angrily.

"Because, sire, it appears to me injustice to punish the echo of
the fooleries of Paris."

"I will conduct myself as regards the presentation of madame du
Barry in the manner which I think best.  But is it not an
inconceivable contrariety, that one party should wish it with the
utmost desire, and another place every obstacle in the way?  In
truth, I am very unfortunate, and a cruel tyranny is exercised
over me."

The duc de Richelieu, not wishing to appear as one of the tyrants
of the king, gave a different turn to the conversation.

My presentation was, however, a matter of first-rate importance to
me and to my partizans, and the duc de la Vrillière was gained
over to my side, by making him believe that the king would yield
to my desires, and that then I should remember all those who
opposed my elevation.  The duc d'Aiguillon also drew over to my
party M. Bertin, who bore no love to the Choiseuls, and who saw
that the preponderance of interest was on my side of the scale.
When I was assured of a considerable number of defenders, I
thought I might venture on the master stroke, and thus I went
to work.

One evening the king was with me, and the MM. de Maupeou and de
Richelieu were there also.  We were discoursing of different things,
and the king was perfectly tranquillized, little anticipating the
scene that was in store for him.  I rose suddenly from my arm-chair,
and going up to his majesty, after a profound courtesy cast myself
at his feet.  Louis XV would have raised me, but I said,

"No, I will remain where I am until you have accorded me the
favor I ask."  

"If you remain in this posture I shall place myself in a similar one."

"Well, then, since you will not have me at your knees I will place
myself on them"; and I seated myself in his lap without ceremony.

"Listen to me, sire," I said, "and repeat what I say to the king of
France word for word.  He must authorize my presentation; for else,
some fine day, in the presence of the whole court, I will go to the
state apartments, and try whether I shall be repulsed at the door."

"Will she have the boldness?"  inquired the king to the chancellor.

"I have no doubt of it, sire.  A female, young, beautiful, honored
with your kindness, may venture to do anything."

"Is it not distressing to me," I added, "that, graced with your
majesty's favors, I remain thus concealed, whilst women whom
you detest annoy you with their presence."

"Madame is right," replied the duc de Richelieu, "and I see that
you look for her every evening where she is not, and where she
ought to be."  

"What!  you too, duc de Richelieu, do you join the cry of
the chancellor?"

"I would tear out the eyes of these gentlemen," I added, "if
they thought differently from me."  

"Oh," said the king, laughing, "this punishment would not be one
for M. Maupeou: justice ought to be blind: and as for you, M. de
Richelieu, you have your <baton> left."  

"Which he has nobly gained," I replied, "by fighting against your
majesty's enemies, and of which he still continues worthy, by now
defending me from my foes."  

"This rebellion," said the king, "cannot last, and I see myself
compelled to hold a <lit de justice> (a judicial sitting or bed)."

"And I swear to you, that I will receive nobody into mine until I
have been presented."

This sally amused the king, who said, "Well, since it must be so,
you shall be presented."

At this I leaped on the king's neck, giving a cry which might have
been heard by my rivals.  After that, I advanced to the two
gentlemen who had advocated my cause so well, extending a hand to
each, which they took and kissed with great gallantry.

Louis XV became thoughtful, and continued to mutter between his
teeth, "I wash my hands of it--they will cry out, they will clamor,
but it must be so."  I saw the feelings of the king, and took care
not to allow him to go away in this state.  Whilst I sought to
compose him by my caresses, the duc de Richelieu told us one of
his thousand and one adventures, which he told so well.  I know
not if it will please you, but such as it is I shall give you an
abridgment of it.

"I was, you know," he began, "a very good-looking, a very wild
fellow: women have no objection to this.  I was travelling, and
in my way thro' D----, M., the intendant of the city, insisted on
my taking up my abode at his house.  His lady added her entreaties,
and I consented.  I must tell you that the lady was handsome.  I
had passed the night with her; but when, on the next morning, as
I sought to go out of her apartment, I found the outer door double
locked and bolted.  I looked round me on all sides, but found no
egress.  Whilst I was lamenting this with the lady's <femme-de-
chambre>, who was nearly as much distressed as her mistress, I
saw in a detached closet a great many machines covered with paper,
and all of different shapes.  On inquiry, I was informed that the
following Monday was the lady's birthday, which they were to
celebrate with fireworks.  I looked at the beautiful fusees and
brilliant suns with much admiration.  Suddenly, thinking of the
lady's honor which might be compromised, I took a light and set
fire to a Roman candle; in a moment the whole was in flames, and
everybody took alarm.  Great was the consternation in the house,
which was turned out of windows; and in the uproar, the house-door
being broken open, a crowd of persons rushed in; I ran this way
and that way; everybody admired and praised my exertions.  I was
compelled to quit the house at last, and ordered my carriage, whilst
M. the intendant was thanking me for the vast service I had rendered
him.  I assure you, sire, that I never laughed more heartily."*

*The duc de Richelieu preserved his coolness and
talent at repartee in the most trivial circumstances.
The story is well known of the man who came to
ask for his aid, saying they were related.  "How?"
asked the duke.  "Sir, by Adam."  "Give this man a
penny," said the duke, turning to a gentleman of his
train; "and if all of his relations give him as much
he will soon be a richer man than I am."  

If our readers will turn to "Joe Miller," Page 45,
they will find this jest attributed to the witty
duke of Buckingham.  It is a very good joke for a
duke, but savors more of a desire to be witty than
to be charitable.

(translator)

This tale amused the king, and M. de Richelieu assured him that he
had never told it before.  A thousand considerations had induced
him to keep it to himself until the present time.  "But now," said
he, "the third generation of madame l'intendante is no longer
young, and I have no fear of being called out to fight a duel."

Next day there was a general rumor of my presentation.  My friends
asserted that I had the king's promise.  This was imprudent on
their part, and they injured my interest whilst they flattered my
vanity.  They put the Choiseul cabal to work, who intrigued so
well that not a person could be found who would perform the
office of introductress.  You know the custom: the presentation
is effected by the intermediation of another lady, who conducts
the person to be presented to the princesses, and introduces her.
This custom had passed into a law, and it would have been too
humiliating to me to have dispensed with it.

This was a dire blow for me: it distressed me sadly, and I wept
over it with my friends.  The duc de Richelien said to me,

"With money and promises everything can be managed at court.  There
is no place where they know better how to value complaisance, and
the price at which it is sold.  Do not give yourself any uneasiness;
we shall find the lady we want."  

And we did find her, but her compliance was dearly bought.  Two
ladies who were applied to stipulated for most outrageous
conditions.  One, the marquise de Castellane, consented to present
me, but demanded that she should be created a duchess, and have
a gift of five hundred thousand livres: the other, whose name I
forget, asked for her husband the order of the Holy Ghost and
a government, a regiment for her son, and for herself I forget
what.  These ladies seemed to think, like Don Quixote and Sancho
Panza, that governments and five hundred thousand livres were to
be picked up on the highway.  In truth, they spoke out
without disguise.

At this juncture the chancellor had a singular conversation
concerning me with the Choiseuls.  He had been one morning to
call on the duke, and whilst they were discoursing, the duchesse
de Grammont came into her brother's apartment, and entered at
once into conversation.

"Ah, my lord, I am glad to see you.  Your new friends carry you
off from your old ones.  You are wrong to adore the rising sun."

'That was the idolatry of a great number of persons: but I beg of
you to be so very kind as not to speak to me in figures, if you
would wish me to understand you."

"Oh, you play off the ignorant.  You know as well as I do what I
mean, and your daily visits to this <fille>."

"Which, madame?  There are so many at court!"  

This sarcastic reply made the brother and sister smile; both of
them being fully competent to understand the merit of an epigram.
The duke fearing lest the duchess should go too far, judging by
what she had already said, thus addressed him:

"You are, then, one of the adorers of the comtesse du Barry?"

"Yes, monsieur le due; and would to God that, for your own
interest, you would be so too!"  

"My brother set foot in the house of this creature!"

"Why not, madame?  We see good company there; the prince de
Soubise, the ducs de la Trimouille, de la Vauguyon, Duras,
Richelieu, d'Aiguillon, and many others, not to mention the king
of France.  A gentleman may be seen in such company without
any disgrace."

"Monsieur le chevalier," replied the duke, "to speak candidly to
you, allow me to ask, if any one who would have the friendship of
our house would be seen in that of the lady in question?"

"Pardon me, duke; that is not the question.  Allow me, in turn,
to ask you, why those of your house should not go there?  This,
I think, is the real question."

"You offer us a splendid alliance!"  said the duchess with anger.

"I offer nothing, madame: I only inquire.  For my part, I see no
legitimate motive for this proscription of madame du Barry."

"A woman without character!"

"Character!  Why, madame, who has any in these days?  M. de Crebillon
the younger would be at a loss to tell us where to find it."

This reply made the duke and his sister smile again.  The chancellor
went on thus:

"It appears to me that persons were less difficult in the times
of madame de Pompadour."

"But a creature who has been so low in society!"

"Have you seen her so, madame?  And supposing it has been the
case, do we interdict all ladies of conduct not less blamable from
an introduction at court.  How many can you enumerate, madame,
who have led a life much more scandalous?  Let us count them on
our fingers.  First, the maréchale de Luxembourg, one; then--"

"Then the comtesse de Choiseul, my sister-in-law," added the
duke; "we know it as well as you, sir.  But this is not the matter
in question.  You are not ignorant that our enemies surround this
madame du Barry; and it is of your alliance with them that
I complain."

"You see everything with a jaundiced eye, monsieur le duc.  But
if you fear the influence of this lady with the king, why do you
not present yourself at her apartments?  She would be delighted
to receive you."

"No, no!"  cried the duchess, "my brother will never present
himself to such a creature.  If he would degrade himself so low,
I would never forgive him as long as I live.  Since you show
your gratitude for what has been done for you by leaguing yourself
with this woman, tell her from me that I detest her, and that I will
never rest until I have sent her back again to her dunghill."

"Madame," replied the chancellor, "I will evince my gratitude to
the duke by not delivering such a message"; and the chancellor
went out.

M.  de Maupeou came to tell me the whole of this conversation,
which <Chon> wrote down under his dictation, that I might show
it to the king.  You will see in my next letter what resulted from
all this, and how the ill-timed enmity of the Choiseuls served my
interests most materially.



CHAPTER XI


A word concerning the duchesse de Choiseul--The apartment of the
Comte de Noailles--The Noailles--Intrigues for presentation--The
comte de Bearn--M. Morand once more--Visit of the comtesse Bearn
to the comtesse du Barry--Conversation--Interested complaisance
The king and the comtesse du Barry--Dispute and reconciliation

I showed the king this conversation, in which I had so shamefully
vilified by the duchesse de Grammont.  Louis XV was very much
inclined to testify his disapprobation to this lady, but was withheld
by the consideration he felt for the duke and (particularly) the
duchesse de Choiseul.  This latter lady was not beloved by her
husband, but her noble qualities, her good heart, made her an
object of adoration to the whole court.  You could not speak to
any person of madame de Choiseul  without hearing an eulogium in
reply.  The king himself was full of respect towards her; so much
so, that, on the disgrace of the duke, he in some sort asked her
pardon for the chagrin which he had caused her.  Good conduct is
no claim to advancement at court, but it procures the esteem of
the courtiers.  Remember, my friend, this moral maxim: there is
not one of greater truth in my whole journal.

The king, unable to interpose his authority in a woman's quarrel,
was yet determined on giving a striking proof of the attachment
he bore to me.  I had up to this period occupied Lebel's apartments
in the château: it was not befitting my station, and the king
thought he would give me those of madame de Pompadour, to which
I had some claim.  This apartment was now occupied by the comte
de Noailles, governor of the château, who, as great fool as the
rest of his family, began to exclaim most lustily when the king's
will was communicated to him.  He came to his majesty complaining
and lamenting.  The king listened very quietly to his list of
grievances; and when he had moaned and groaned out his dolorous
tale, his majesty said to him,

"My dear count, who built the château of Versailles?"

"Why, sire, your illustrious grandfather."

"Well, then, as I am at home, I mean to be master.  You may
establish the seat of your government where you will; but in two
hours the place must be free.  I am in earnest."  

The comte de Noailles departed much disconcerted, took away his
furniture, and the same evening I installed myself in the apartments.
You must think that this was a fresh cause of chagrin, and created
me more enemies.  There are certain families who look upon the
court as their hereditary domain: the Noailles was one of them.
However, there is no grounds of pretension to such a right.
Their family took its rise from a certain Adhemar de Noailles,
<capitoul> of Toulouse, ennobled, according to all appearance,
by the exercise of his charge in 1459.  The grandfather of these
Noailles was a domestic of M. de Turenne's, and his family was
patronized at court by madame de Maintenon.  Everybody knows
this.  But to return to my presentation.

M. de Maupeou, whose good services I can never sufficiently
vaunt, came to me one day, and said, "I think that I have found
a lady <presenteuse>.  I have a dame of quality who will do
what we want."

"Who is it?"  said I, with joy.

"A comtesse d'Escarbagnas, a litigious lady, with much ambition
and avarice.  You must see her, talk with her, and understand
each other."

"But where can we see her?"

"That is easy enough.  She claims from the house of Saluces a
property of three hundred thousand livres: she is very greedy for
money.  Send some one to her, who shall whisper in her ear that
I see you often, and that your protection can serve her greatly in
her lawsuit: she will come to you post haste."

I approved the counsel of the chancellor; and, in concert with
comte Jean, I once again made use of the ministry of the good M.
Morand, whom I had recompensed largely for his good and loyal
services.  This was, however, the last he ever rendered me; for I
learned some months after my presentation that he had died of
indigestion: a death worthy of such a life and such a man.

M. Morand, after having found out the attorney of madame the
comtesse de Bearn, went to him under some pretext, and then
boasted of my vast influence with the chancellor.  The lawyer, to
whom madame de Bearn was to pay a visit on that very day, did
not fail to repeat what M. Morand had told him.  The next day the
comtesse, like a true litigant, called upon him: she related her
affair to him, and begged him to use his interest with me.

"I would do it with pleasure," said the worthy, "if I did not
think it better that you should see the comtesse du Barry yourself.
I can assure you that she will be delighted to aid you."

Madame de Bearn then came to me with M. Morand.  Gracious heavens!
how simple we were to take so much pains with this lady: had we
known her better we should not have been so long in coming to the
point.  Scarcely any thing was said at this first visit: I contented
myself with assuring her of my good will.  On the same day the
vicomte Adolphe du Barry told his father that that the young de
Bearn had asked him the evening before, if I had found a <stepmother>
to present me; that in case I had not, his mother would not refuse
such a service, should it be desired by the king.  Comte Jean and
I perfectly understood the lady.  She came again, and I renewed
the expression of my desire to be useful to her.  She replied in
a hackneyed phrase, that she should be charmed to prove her
gratitude to me.  I took her word.

"Madame," said I to her, "you cannot be ignorant that I ardently
desire to be presented.  My husband has sent in his proofs of
nobility, which have been received; I now only want a <marraine>
(godmother); if you will officiate in that capacity, I shall owe
you a debt of gratitude all my life."

"Madame, I am at the king's orders."

"But, madame, the king has nothing to do with this.  I wish to
be presented; will you be my introductress?"

"Madame, the first wish of my heart is to be agreeable to you; I
only desire that the king indicate in some way, no matter how
trifling, his will on this point."

"Well, then," I exclaimed, with impatience, "I see you will not
give me a direct reply.  Why should you wish the king to interfere
in what does not concern him?  Is it your intention to oblige me;
yes or no?"

"Yes, madame, certainly; but you must be aware of the tremendous
cabal which is raised against you.  Can I contend against it alone,
and who will sustain me thro' it?"

"I will to the full extent of my power as long as I am here, and
the king will always do so.  I can assure you, that he will be
grateful for your exertions in my behalf."  

"I should like to have half a line from his majesty as a protection
and assurance."

"And that you will not get.  The king's signature must not be
compromised in this affair, and I do not think I ought to ask
for it; let us therefore, madame, cease this discourse, since
you ask such terms for your complaisance."  

The comtesse de Bearn rose; I did the same; and we parted mutually
dissatisfied with each other.

My friends, my brother-in-law, and his sisters, impatiently
awaited the result of my conversation with madame de Bearn.  I
told them all that had passed; giving my opinion of this lady as
I thought her--a malicious provoking creature.

"How soon you torment yourself," said the chancellor to me.  "Do
you not see that this woman wants a price to be bidden for her?
She is yours, body and soul, but first of all she must be paid."

"Let that be no obstacle," said comte Jean, "we will give her
money, but present us she must."  

On this it was decided, that, on the following morning, my
brother-in-law should go to Paris to find M. Morand, and get
him to undertake the arrangement.

The next day my brother-in-law went to M. Morand's, and when he
had disclosed his message concerning the comtesse, the good
Morand began to laugh.  He told the count, that the previous
evening this lady had sent for him; and, on going to her house,
madame de Bearn, as a set-off against the inconveniences which
might result to her from being the instrument of my presentation,
had stipulated for certain compensations; such, for instance, as
a sum of two hundred thousand livres, a written promise of a
regiment for her son, and for herself an appointment in the
establishment of the future <dauphine>.  This was the point aimed
at by all the ambitious courtiers.  Comte Jean thought these
conditions preposterous.  He had a <carte blanche> from me, and
desired M. Morand to offer the lady one hundred thousand livres,
and to add an assurance that the king should be importuned to place
young Bearn advantageously, and to station the mother to her
wishes; and thereupon my brother-in-law returned to Versailles.

The comte Jean had scarcely returned an hour, when we received a
letter from M. Morand, stating, that he had gone, in consequence
of the instructions of comte Jean, to the comtesse de Bearn; that
he had found the lady pliant enough on the first point, and disposed
to content herself with the half of the sum originally demanded;
that on point the second, I mean the appointments of herself and
son, she would come to no compromise, and stuck hard and fast to
the written promise of the king; that he, Morand, thought this an
obstacle not to be overcome unless we subscribed to her wishes.
This letter put me in an excessively ill-humor.  I saw my presentation
deferred till doom's day, or, at least, adjourned <sine die>.  I
questioned my friends: the unanimous advice was that I ought to
mention it to the king at one of his evening visits; and I determined
to do so without loss of time.

When his majesty came I received him very graciously, and then
said to him,

"Congratulate me, sire; I have found my godmother."

"Ah, so much the better."  (I know that, at the bottom of his
heart, he said "so much the <worse>.")

"And who," asked the king, with impatience, "may the lady be?"  

"Madame de Bearn, a lady of quality in her own right, and of high
nobility on her husband's side."  

"Yes, he was a <garde du corps>, and the son has just left the
pages.  Ah!  she will present you then.  That's well; I shall
feel favored by her."  

"Would it not be best, sire, to tell her so yourself?"  

"Yes, yes, certainly; but after the ceremony."  

"And why not previously?"  

"Why?  because I do not wish to appear to have forced
your presentation."

"Well, then," I replied, striking the floor with my foot, "you will
not do for me what you would do for a woman who is a complete
stranger to you.  Many thanks for your excessive kindness."  

"Well, well, do not scold.  Anger does not become you."  

"No more than this indifference suits you; it is cruel.  If you
recede from saying a word, what will you do when I tell you of
the conditions of madame de Bearn?"

"What does the good comtesse ask for?"

"Things past conception."

"What?"

"She has stipulations unlimited."

"But what are they then?"

"A hundred thousand livres for herself."  

"What, only that?  We will grant so much."

"Then a regiment for her son."  

"Oh, he is the wood they make colonels of, and if he behave well--"  

"But then!  She wishes to be annexed in some station or other to
the household of the future <dauphine>."  

"Oh, that is impossible: all the selections have been made: but
we will make an equivalent by placing one of her family about the
person of one of the princes, my grandson.  Is this all?"  

"Yes, sire, that is all, with one small formality excepted.  This
lady, who is one of much punctilio, only considers <written>
engagements as binding.  She wishes for one word in your
majesty's hand-writing--"

"A most impertinent woman!"  cried the king, walking with rapid
strides up and down my room.--  "She has dared not to believe me
on my word!  Writing!--signature!  She mistrusts me as she would
the lowest scribbler of France.  A writing!  My signature!  My
grandfather, Louis XIV, repented having given his to Charost.  I
will not commit a similar error."  

"But, sire, when a prince has a real desire to keep his word, it
is of little import whether he gives it in writing."  

At these words, Louis XV frowned sternly, but as he had the best
sense in the world, he saw that he was wrong; and having no reply
to make, he determined to flee away.  I ran after him, and taking
him by the arm, he said, with assumed anger, which did not
deceive me:--

 "Leave me, madame, you have offended my honor."

"Well, then, monsieur la France," replied I, assuming also a
scolding tone, "I will give you satisfaction.  Choose your time,
weapons, and place; I will meet you, and we shall see whether
you have courage to kill a woman who lives for you only, and
whom you render the most miserable creature in existence."

Louis XV gave me a kiss, and laughingly said, "I ought to make
you sleep in the Bastille to-night."

"I am then more merciful than you, for I think I shall make you
sleep in the couch you love best."

This reply amused the king excessively, and he himself proposed
to send for madame de Bearn.  I should speak of my presentation
before him, and then without making any positive concession, he
would see what could be done to satisfy her.

For want of any other, I accepted this <mezzo termine>.



CHAPTER XII


The comtesse de Bearn--The supper--Louis XV--Intrigues against my
presentation--M. de Roquelaure--The scalded foot--The comtesse
d'Aloigny--The duc d'Aiguillon and madame de Bearn--Anger of the
king's daughters--Madame Adélaïde and the comtesse du Barry--
Dissatisfaction of the king

M. Morand was again put in requisition, and went from me to ask
madame de Bearn to come and sup at my apartments.  We were in
committee--my sisters-in-law, myself, and comte Jean.  The comtesse
made some difficulties at first, under pretence that she was afraid
to refuse me a second time.  Our messenger assured her by saying,
that a supper would not bind her to any thing, and that she should
still be at liberty to give any reply she pleased.  Madame de Bearn
allowed herself to be persuaded, and sent me word that she would
accept my invitation.  She would have reflected twice before she
so far committed herself, had she at all suspected the turn we
meant to serve her.  But I saw by the wording of her note, that
she still hoped that the king would be induced to grant me the
written promise which I asked for her.

She came.  I received her with all possible courtesy, and yet not
with much heartiness.  I could not help remembering the vexatious
terms she set upon her complaisance.  However, the supper was
gay enough, comte Jean and my sisters-in-law, who knew very well
how to dissemble, did the honors in a most agreeable way.  On
leaving table we went into the drawing-room, and then began to
discuss the serious question which had brought us together.  At
the first words which comte Jean uttered, madame de Bearn, taking
my hands with a respectful familiarity, said to me:--
"I hope, madame, that you will not have a bad opinion of me, if I
put such conditions to my desire of obliging you.  The situation
of my family requires it, but it is only a trifle for the king to grant."

"Much more than you imagine, madame," I replied.  "The king does
not care to involve himself in such engagements.  He does not
like, moreover, that his sacred word should be doubted."

"Ah?"  replied the cunning creature, "heaven forbid that I should
not blindly trust to the king's word, but his memory may fail, or
he, like other men, may forget."  

"Madame," replied comte Jean, with the utmost gravity, "madame
is a lady as full of prudence as of kindness, but yet a little too
exacting.  Madame wishes to have a promise signed for herself
and son: that is too much.  Why does she not content herself in
dividing the difficulty, by satisfying herself with a verbal
promise for what concerns herself, and with a written engagement
for what relates to her son?"

"<Mon Dieu, monsieur>," replied the countess, "I am anxious to
arrange all to our mutual satisfaction.  But his majesty would not
surely refuse the entreaties of madame for what I ask."  

"I will speak to him of it the first time I see him."

"Oh, you are a charming woman.  You will obtain all from the
king, and make a sure friend--"

"Whose friendship is very difficult to acquire," said I, interrupting her.

The countess would have replied to this, when my first
<valet-de-chambre>, opening the two folding-doors of the
room, announced the king.

At this unexpected name my guest trembled, and in spite of the
thick rouge which covered her cheeks, I perceived she turned pale.
She then saw the scene we had prepared for her: she wished herself
a hundred leagues off: but she could do nothing, but remain where
she was.  I took her by the hand, all trembling as she was, and
presented her to the king, saying,

"Sire, I now do for this lady, in my own drawing-room, what she
will have the kindness to do for me at the state-chamber."

"Ah," replied the king, "is it madame de Bearn that you present
to me?  I am indeed delighted.  Her husband was one of my faithful
servants: I was much pleased with her son when he was one of
pages, and I perceive that she herself is desirous of testifying
to me her attachment to my person.  I thank you, madame; you
cannot confer a greater favor on me, and I shall embrace every
opportunity of proving to you how much satisfaction your conduct
affords me."

Each word that the king uttered went to the heart of the countess.
However, making a virtue of necessity, she replied, that she was
proud and happy at what the king had said to her, and that it
would be her constant aim to please his majesty, flattering
herself that the king would remember the services of the Bearn
family, and would think of her in the dispensation of his bounties.

"You may rely on it, madame," replied Louis XV, "especially if
the comtesse du Barry applies to me in your behalf."

Then, turning towards me, "When, then, is this redoubtable
presentation to take place?"

"On the day, sire, when your majesty shall think proper," I replied.

"Well!  I will send the duc de Richelieu to you, who will arrange
the whole."

This settled, the subject was turned, but madame de Bearn lost
her tongue entirely.  In spite of all her endeavors, her forehead
became contracted every moment, and I am sure she went away
vexed and disappointed.

The following morning, the comte Jean and my sister-in-law went
to her house.  They testified their regret for what had occurred
the previous evening; they assured her that we would not take
any advantage of the conditionless engagement which she had made
to present me, and that altho' it was impossible to ask the
required guarantees from the king, still we should most undeviatingly
adhere to the clauses of the treaty: they added, that they came
to enquire when she should choose to receive the hundred thousand
livres.  The countess replied, that in spite of the real disadvantage
which she must henceforward labor under in this affair, she felt
great friendship for me, and would not refuse to oblige me, and
she flattered herself that I would espouse her cause with the
king.  The comte Jean assured her of this, and settled with her
the period of the payment of the hundred thousand livres, which
were to be paid at sight on her drawing on M. de la Borde, the
court-banker.

Thus then my presentation was an assured matter: nothing now
could prevent it, at least I fancied so to myself.  I reckoned
without my host; I did not know yet all the malice of a courtier
lady or gentleman.  As it was, however, M. de Choiseul and his
vile sister had gained over one of my servants, for they knew all
that had passed.  They soon learned that madame de Bearn had come
to supper with me, and that after supper a visit of the king's had
decided this lady on my presentation: this they determined to prevent.

For this end, they despatched as ambassador the chevalier de
Coigny to the house of madame de Bearn.  He, following the
instruction, sought by turns to seduce and intimidate the countess,
but all went for nothing.  Madame de Bearn told the chevalier de
Coigny, that she had been with me to ask my influence with the
chancellor.  The chevalier left her without being able to obtain
any other information.

This bad success did not dishearten the Choiseuls.  They sent
this time to madame de Bearn, M. de Roquelaure, bishop of Senlis,
and grand almoner to the king.  This prelate was much liked at
court, and in high favor with mesdames (the king's daughters).  We
were good friends together at last, but in this particular he was
very near doing me great wrong.  M. de Roquelaure having called
on madame de Bearn, told her that he well knew the nature of her
communications with me.

"Do not flatter yourself," said he, "that you will obtain thro'
the influence of the comtesse du Barry, all that has been promised
you.  You will have opposed to you the most powerful adversaries
and most august personages.  It cannot be concealed from you,
that mesdames contemplate the presentation of this creature with
the utmost displeasure.  They will not fail to obtain great influence
over the future dauphin, and will do you mischief with him; so
that, whether in the actual state of things, or in that which the
age and health of the king must lead us to anticipate, you will
be in a most unfortunate situation at court."

The old bishop, with his mischievous frankness, catechised madame
de Bearn so closely, that at length she replied, that so much
respect and deference did she entertain towards the princesses,
that she would not present me until they should accord their
permission for me to appear.  M. de Roquelaure took this reply
to the Choiseuls.  Madame de Grammont, enchanted, thinking the
point already gained, sent madame de Bearn an invitation to supper
the next day, but this was not the countess's game.  She was
compelled to decide promptly, and she thought to preserve a strict
neutrality until fresh orders should issue.  What do you suppose
she did?  She wrote to us, madame de Grammont and myself, that
she had scalded her foot, and that it was impossible for her to go
from home.

On receiving her note I believed myself betrayed, forsaken.  Comte
Jean and I suspected that this was a feint, and went with all
speed to call on the comtesse de Bearn.  She received us with her
usual courtesy, complained that we had arrived at the very moment
of the dressing of her wound, and told us she would defer it; but
I would not agree to this.  My brother-in-law went into another
room, and madame de Bearn began to unswathe her foot in my
presence with the utmost caution and tenderness.  I awaited the
evidence of her falsehood, when, to my astonishment, I saw a
horrible burn!  I did not for a moment doubt, what was afterwards
confirmed, namely, that madame de Bearn had actually perpetrated
this, and maimed herself with her own free will.  I mentally cursed
her Roman courage, and would have sent my heroic godmother to the
devil with all my heart.

Thus then was my presentation stopped by the foot of madame de
Bearn.  This mischance did not dampen the zeal of my friends.  On
the one hand, comte Jean, after having stirred heaven and earth,
met with the comtesse d'Aloigny.  She consented to become my
godmother immediately after her own presentation, for eighty
thousand livres and the expenses of the ceremony.  But mesdames
received her so unsatisfactorily, that my own feelings told me, I
ought not to be presented at court under her auspices.

We thanked the comtesse d'Aloigny therefore, and sent her, as a
remuneration, twenty thousand livres from the king.

Whilst comte Jean failed on one side, the duc d'Aiguillon
succeeded on another.  He was someway related to madame de Bearn.
He went to visit her, and made her understand that, as the Choiseuls
neither gave nor promised her anything, she would be wrong in
declaring for them: that, on the other hand, if she declared for
me, I could procure for her the favor of the king.  Madame de
Bearn yielded to his persuasions, and charged the duc d'Aiguillon
to say to me, and even herself wrote, that she put herself
entirely into my hands; and that, as soon as she was well, I
might rely on her.  What, I believe, finally decided this lady
was, the fear that if she did not comply with what I required,
I should content myself with the comtesse d'Aloigny.

Now assured of my introductress, I only directed my attention to
the final obstacle of my presentation; I mean the displeasure of
mesdames.  I do not speak of madame Louise, of whom I can only
write in terms of commendation; but I had opposed to me mesdames
Victoire and Sophie, and especially madame Adélaïde, who, as the
eldest, gave them their plan of conduct.  This latter, who had
given too much cause to be spoken of herself to have any right to
talk of others, never ceased haranguing about the scandal of my
life; and I had recently, unknown to myself, fallen into complete
disgrace with her.  This is the case.

The apartment from which I had dislodged M. de Noailles had
been requested of the king by madame  Adélaïde.  Ignorant of this
I had installed myself there.  I soon learned that I had offended
the princess, and instantly hastened to offer her the apartments
she wished to have.  She came into them; but as it was necessary
for me to be accommodated somewhere, the king gave me the former
apartments of his daughter.  This was what madame Adélaïde called
an act of tyranny; she made the château echo with her complaints:
she said I had driven her out, that I wished to separate her from
her sisters; that I should wean her father's affection entirely
from her.  Such injustice distressed me excessively.  I sent to
request the king to come to me; and when he entered I threw
myself at his feet, entreating him to appease his daughter on any
terms, and to let me go away, since I brought such trouble into
his family.

The king, irritated at madame Adélaïde 's conduct, went to her,
and told her, in a private interview, that he would make certain
matters public if she did not hold her tongue; and she, alarmed,
ceased her clamor, or rather, contented herself in complaining
in a lower key.



CHAPTER XIII


Of the presentation--The king and the duc de Richelieu at comtesse
du Barry's--M. de la Vauguyon--Conversation--Letter of the duke to
the comtesse du Barry--Reply--The countess unites herself with the
Jesuit party--Madame Louise--Madame Sophie--M. Bertin--Madame
de Bercheny

This fit of anger of madame Adélaïde had given additional courage
to the cabal.  It began to exclaim  and plot against me with
redoubled force; hoping thus to intimidate the king, and
effectually bar my presentation; but it only tended to hasten it.
One evening, when the king and the maréchal de Richelieu were
with me, he said to me,

"A stop must be put to these clamors.  I see that until you are
presented, there will be doubts perpetually arising and tormenting
us on the subject; and until it takes place I shall have no ease.
<Parbleu>!  Let us take the best means in our power of reducing
these malcontents to silence."  

" Sire," replied the maréchal, "make your will palpable, and you
will see all the court submit."  

"Yes, but my daughters?"

"Mesdames know better than any persons the deference due to
your orders."

"I assure you," replied the king, "that it will be an unpleasant
quarter of an hour for me to pass."

"Well, sire, then charge one of us with the mission: the bishop
of Senlis, for instance, or M. de la Vauguyon.  I feel assured
that either of them will acquit himself admirably in the business,
with the previous understanding that your majesty will support
him with your authority."

"I will do so most assuredly; but it will be best not to use it
but at the last extremity.  I have no wish to be made a bugbear
to my family."

"As to the selection of an ambassador," I interrupted, "I beg it
may not fall on M. de Roquelaure; he has been working against
me for some time."  

"Why not send M. de Jarente?"  inquired the king.

"Ah, sire," replied the duke, "because we cannot trust him; he
is a gay* fellow.  Madame Sophie might tell him, that he only
took the part of madame du Barry, because he passes his life
amongst petticoats."

Flippant, light-minded, unreliable.  At the time this book
was written "gay" did not carry its present connotation of
homosexuality, nor did it always carry the connotation of
cheerful and happy that preceded the present connotation.
--Gutenberg ed.

"True enough," said the king, "I prefer the duc de la Vauguyon:
he has a good reputation--"

"And well deserved," said the old maréchal, sneering.  "Yes, sire,
he is a pious man; at least, he plays his part well.  " 

"Peace, viper; you spare nobody."

"Sire, I am only taking my revenge."

"Why do you not like the governor of my grandsons?"

"In truth, sire, I must confess to you, that except yourself and
the ladies, I have not many likings at Versailles."  

Louis XV smiled, and I pulled the bell; when a valet appeared,
I said,

"Go and find M. de la Vauguyon for his majesty."

When we were alone, "What, already?  "said Louis XV.

"Madame is right," replied the duke, "we must strike while the
iron is hot."

The king began to pace up and down the room, which was his
invariable custom when anything disturbed him: then suddenly stopping,

"I should not be astonished at a point blank refusal from M. de
la Vauguyon."  

"Oh, sire, make yourself easy; the governor has no inclination to
follow the steps of Montausier or Beauvilliers.  In truth you are
very candid; and I must tell you, that you have too good an
opinion of us."

At this moment M. de la Vauguyon entered.  He saluted the king
with humility; and asked him, in a mild tone of voice, what his
pleasure was with him.

"A real mark of your zeal," was the king's reply.

"And of your gallantry," added the maréchal, who saw the hesitation
of the king.  Louis XV was enchanted that another should speak
for him.  M. de Richelieu continued:

"His majesty, monsieur le duc, wishes that you should prepare
mesdames to receive our dear countess here, when she shall appear
before them to pay the homage of her respect and devotion."

The king, emboldened by these words, said, "Yes, my dear duke,
I can only find you in the château who have any influence over
the princesses, my daughters.  They have much respect, and no
less friendship, for you.  You will easily bring them to reason."

As M. de la Vauguyon seemed in no hurry to undertake the charge,
the maréchal added,

"Yes, sir, to manage this business properly, you and M. de Senlis
are the only men in the kingdom."

The maréchal had his reasons for saying this, for a secret jealousy
existed between the governor and the grand almoner.  M. de la
Vauguyon made haste to say, that he could not resist his majesty's
orders, and his desire to be agreeable to me.

"Ah!  you will then do something for me?"  I replied.  "I am
delighted and proud."

"Madame," replied the duke with much gravity, "friends are proved
on occasion."

"The present one proves your attachment to me," said I in my
turn; "and his majesty will not think it wrong of me, if, as a
recompense, I embrace you in his presence": and, on saying this,
I went up to the duc de la Vauguyon, and gave him two kisses,
which the poor man took as quietly as possible.

"That's well," said the king.  "You are, la Vauguyon, a man of a
thousand.  Listen attentively to me.  I wish much that the
comtesse du Barry should be presented; I wish it, and that, too,
in defiance of all that can be said and done.  My indignation is
excited beforehand against all those who shall raise any obstacle
to it.  Do not fail to let my daughters know, that if they do not
comply with my wishes, I will let my anger fall heavily on all
persons by whose counsels they may be persuaded; for I only am
master, and I will prove it to the last.  These are your credentials,
my dear duke, add to them what you may think fitting; I will
bear you out in any thing--"  

"Mercy!"  said the duc de Richelieu to me in an undertone, "the
king has poured forth all his energy in words; he will have none
left to act upon if he meets with any resistance."  The maréchal
knew the king well.

"I doubt not, sire," replied the duc de la Vauguyon, "that the
respectful duty of mesdames will be ready to comply with
your desires."

"I trust and believe it will prove so," replied the king hastily.
"I am a good father, and would not that my daughters should give
me cause to be angry with them.  Let madame Adélaïde understand,
that she has lately had a mistaken opinion of me, and that she
has an opportunity of repairing her error in the present instance.
The princesses are not ignorant that I have often shut my eyes
upon certain affairs--.  Enough; they must now testify their
attachment for me.  Why should they oppose the presentation of
the comtesse?  <Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!> they were not so squeamish
in the days of madame de Pompadour."  

At these latter words I could not forbear laughing.  La Vauguyon
and de Richelieu left us and here the conversation terminated.

The next morning they brought me a note from the duc de la Vauguyon.
Thus it ran:--

MADAME,--Ready to serve you, I wish to have a
few minutes' conversation with you.  Be persuaded
that I will not tell you anything but what will be
agreeable and useful to you."  

I instantly answered:--

"You are too good a friend for me to refuse to see
you willingly under any circumstances, and
particularly the present.  Your conduct yesterday
assures you my eternal regard.  Come instantly;
my grateful heart expects you with impatience."

My sister-in-law, to whom I showed this correspondence, said to
me, "This gentleman does not come to see you for your bright
eyes; and yet his visit is not disinterested."  

"What interest can he have to serve?"

"None of his own, perhaps; but those villainous Jesuits."

"Don't you like them, sister of mine?"

"I hate nobody."

M. de la Vauguyon arrived; and as soon as we were alone, he said
to me,

"Well, madame, I am now on the point of going to fight your
battles.  I have to deal with a redoubtable foe."  

"Do you fear?"  

"Why, I am not over confident; my position is a delicate one.
Mesdames will perforce obey the orders of the king, but they
will not find much pleasure in seeing me the ambassador sent to
them: all the Choiseul party will vociferate loudly.  Nevertheless,
to prove my devotion to you, I brave it all."

"You may rely on it that I will never forget the service you are
about to render me."  

"I have only one favor to ask of you.  Authorize me to say to
mesdames, that if the pleasures of life distract your attention
from religious duties, your soul is in truth fully devoted to our
holy religion; and that far from supporting the philosophers, you
will aid, by your influence with the king, every measure advantageous
to the society of Jesuits."

The hypocritical tone in which this was uttered, almost compelled
me to burst out into a fit of laughter; but the serious posture of
my affairs induced me to preserve my gravity, and I answered in
a serious tone,

"Not only, monsieur le duc, do I authorize you to say so much, but
I beg you to declare to mesdames that I am already filled with
love and respect for the Jesuits, and that it will not be my fault
if they do not return amongst us."

"Ah, you are a treasure of wisdom," replied the duke, kissing my
hand with fervor; "and I am disgusted at the way you are calumniated."  

"I know no reason for it, for I have never done harm to any
person.  Assure mesdames that I am sincerely grieved that I am
not agreeable to them, and would give half my life to obtain, not
their friendship, of which I do not feel myself worthy, but their
indifference.  Deign also to tell them, that at all times I am at
their disposal, and beseech them to consider me as their
humble servant."  

"It is impossible to behave more correctly than you do; and I am
confident that mesdames will soon discard their unjust prejudices.
Thus, it is well understood that our friends will be yours."

"Yes, yes, provided they are really mine."

"Certainly.  I answer for them as I answer for you."

And thus, my friend, did I find myself allied to the Jesuitical party.

The duke commenced the attack with madame Louise, the most
reasonable of the king's daughters.  This angelic princess, already
occupied with the pious resolution which she afterwards put into
execution in the following year, contented herself with saying
some words on the commotion occasioned by my presence at Versailles,
and then, as if her delicacy had feared to touch on such a subject,
she asked the duc de la Vauguyon, if the king ordered her to
receive the comtesse du Barry.

"Yes, madame," replied the duke; "it is the express will of
his majesty."

"I submit to his wish: the lady may come when she will."  

The duke, contented with his success so far, went next to madame
Sophie.  This princess was not unkind, but subject to attacks of
the nerves, which from time to time soured her natural disposition:
she had her caprices of hatred, her fits of love.  The day when
the duke talked to her of my presentation she was very much
provoked against me; and after the opening speech of the ambassador,
flung in his teeth the report of the apartments, which I have
already told you.  The duke explained to her, and that too without
saying anything unfavorable of madame Adélaïde, and concluded by
begging her to concede the favor I besought.  Madame eluded this,
by saying, that before she gave a definite reply she wished to
confer with her sisters.

Madame Victoire was not more easily persuaded.  This princess had
amiable qualities, solid virtues which made her loved and respected
by the whole court; but she had but little will of her own, and
allowed herself to be led by the Choiseuls; who, to flatter her,
told her that she alone had inherited the energy of her grandfather,
Louis XIV.  She was advised to display it in this instance, and,
she would willingly have done so.  The comtesse de Bercheny, one
of her ladies in waiting, was the person who urged her on to the
greatest resistance.  This lady did not cease to exclaim against
me, and to fan the flame of displeasure which, but for her,
would never have appeared.  I was informed of the mode adopted by
madame de Bercheny to injure me.  I sent for M. Bertin, who was
devoted to my service, and begged him to go and speak to the lady;
he went, and made her understand that the king, enraged against
her, would expel her from Versailles, if she were not silent.
The comtesse de Bercheny was alarmed; and under pretence of taking
a tour, left the court for a month.  You will see anon the result
of all these conferences.



CHAPTER XIV


The princesses consent to the presentation of madame du Barry--
Ingenious artifice employed by the king to offer a present to the
duc de la Vauguyon--Madame du Barry's letter respecting it--The
duke's reply--The king's letter--The court in despair--Couplets
concerning madame du Barry--Her presentation--A change in public
opinion--An evening party at the house of the countess--Joy of her
partizans--Conversation with the chancellor respecting the lady of
the maréchal de Mirepoix

The departure of the comtesse de Bercheny was announced to the
princesses in the manner least likely to provoke their regrets.
Nevertheless, a rumor never slept at Versailles, a whisper was
quickly circulated thro'-out the castle, that this sudden and
unexpected journey had originated in the king's weariness of her
continual philippics against me; and it was clearly comprehended
by all, that a similar disgrace would be the portion of those who
should offend the monarch whilst seeking to procure my humiliation.
This show of firmness was sufficient to repress the daring flights
of those self-constituted heroines, whose courage lasted only
whilst the king was silent, and who trembled like a leaf before
the slightest manifestation of his will.  Still the cabal against
me, tho' weakened, was not destroyed; it was too strong for the
present shock to dissolve it; and altho' none was sufficiently
hardy to declare open war, plots were constantly going on to
ensnare me.

Meanwhile madame Victoire, left to herself, could not long support
such excessive animosity; and the duc de la Vauguyon profiting by
the species of lassitude into which she appeared to have fallen,
led her without difficulty to act in conformity to the king's wishes.

There remained now therefore but madame Adélaïde to overcome,
and the task became more difficult in proportion to the elevated
rank she occupied at court.  By priority of birth she held the
first place there; and hitherto this superiority had been ceded
to her without dispute, more particularly since the hand of death
had removed both the queen her mother, and the dauphiness her
sister-in-law.  She therefore could only view with uneasiness the
prospect of another appearing on the stage whose influence would
be greater than hers; and who (until the young dauphiness should
attain to years of maturity) might deprive her of all honors but
those due to her birth.  Madame Adélaïde was gifted with good
sense, affability of manners, and a kind and compassionating
heart towards all who needed her aid; her disposition was good,
but she loved dominion, and the least show of resistance to her
wishes was painful and offensive to her.  She was determined to
uphold the duc de Choiseul; and my decided manner towards that
minister plainly evinced how little I should feel inclined to
support her view of things.  There were therefore several reasons
for my presence at court being unpleasant to madame Adélaïde.

Against her therefore did the duc de la Vauguyon direct his
batteries.  She received his attack with the most determined
obstinacy; all was in vain, she was unconquerable, and the most
skilfully devised plans were insufficient to surmount her resistance;
it was therefore necessary to have recourse to the clergy, who
were at that time completely led by the Jesuits; each member of
the church, up to the archbishop of Paris, was called upon to
interfere, or their names were employed in default of their
presence.  It was pointed out to madame Adélaïde that I possessed
good intentions with feelings of religion, which, however stifled
by the freedom of the age, only required careful management to
produce a rich development.  The success of this last mode of
attack astonished the duke himself; and madam, dazzled by the
hopes of my conversion, as well as weary of hostilities, yielded
her consent to my being presented.  After these private negotiations
the four sisters met at the house of the elder one; and there they
decided that since the king had so expressly manifested his
pleasure relative to my presentation, they should conform to the
desire of their father, by receiving me with every possible mark
of courtesy.

The duc de la Vauguyon hastened to communicate to me this happy
state of things; and my joy was so great, that I embraced him
with the sincerest warmth, assuring him that I should always look
upon him as my best friend, and seek to testify my regard at every
opportunity that fell in my way of forwarding his interests.

Some days afterwards the king brought me a splendid ring, worth
thirty-six thousand livres.

"You must send this jewel to your good friend the duke," said he.

"I dare not," replied I.  "I fear lest it should draw forth
his displeasure."

"No, no," cried the king, "'tis not the fashion at court to construe
gifts like this into insults, but I should wish this trifle to be
presented in an indirect manner" ; and, after having considered a
moment, "I have it," exclaimed he, "I have thought of a clever
expedient; let us put this ring upon the finger of that Chinese
mandarin before us, and give the figure with the ring, considering
it merely an appendage to it.  Assuredly the most disinterested
man cannot refuse to accept a china figure."  

I extolled the king's idea as being a most happy one; and he
immediately fitted the ring upon the little finger of the mandarin,
which I caused to be carried to the duc de la Vauguyon with the
following billet:--

"MONSIEUR LE DUC,--You have been my best friend;
'tis to your kind offices that I owe the confirmation
of my happiness; but I would secure the continuance
of your valuable friendship, and for that purpose I
send you a little magical figure, which, placed in
your cabinet, will compel your thoughts to occupy
themselves with me in spite of yourself.  I am
superstitious enough to rely greatly upon the
talismanic virtue of the charmed porcelain; and further,
I must tell you, that I was not its purchaser in the
first instance, neither did I adorn it for your
acceptance.  I should not have ventured to offer more
than the assurance of my everlasting esteem and regard
for your acceptance.  The trifle sent comes from a
higher source; and the august hand so dear to both of
us, deigned to preside over the arrangement.  Should
there be in it anything at all repugnant to your
feelings, I beseech you bear me no ill will for it;
for truly, I may say, I should never have summoned
courage to do that which has just been done by him
whom all unite in loving and esteeming."

The duke replied,-

"Your talisman is welcome; yet its magic power, far
from augmenting the warmth of my feelings towards
you, would have diminished it on account of a certain
accessory with which my friendship could have well
dispensed: however, what you say on the subject closes
my lips.  I gratefully acknowledge the daily favors
bestowed upon me from the august hand of whom you
speak; and I receive with the deepest respect (mingled
with regret) the gracious present he deigns to convey
to me by you.  I own that I should have preferred,
to the splendid jewel which bedecked the finger of
your deity, a Chinese counterpart, which might indeed
have enabled all admiring gazers to say, 'these two
are truly a pair.' As for yourself, who would fain
pass for nobody in the munificent gift, I thank you at
least for the flattering place you assign me in your
recollection.  Be assured I feel its full value, and
you may confidently reckon upon the disposal of my
poor credit as well as command the little influence I
may be said to possess in the castle.  Adieu, madame,
I entreat your acceptance of the expression of my
most sincere and respectful devotion."

The king, having read M. de la Vauguyon's letter, sent immediately
to the china manufactory to purchase the fellow mandarin so much
coveted by the duke, and caused it to be conveyed to him with the
following words:--

"MY DEAR GOVERNOR--You are a kind-hearted creature
I know, and a great promoter of domestic harmony; to
fain unite the wife with the husband.  Heaven grant
that such a measure may indeed bring about your
proposed felicity!  However, by way of furthering your
schemes, I send the Chinese lady, whose beauty I trust
will not disturb your repose, for in spite of your
sanctity, I know you can be as gallant as the rest of
us, and possibly this beautiful mandarin may prove to
be more lovely in your eyes, than in those of the
husband for whom she is destined; but, in sober
earnestness, I would wish you to be convinced that
my intention is not to attempt payment for the
services rendered me, but simply to evince my sense of
their value.  There is one beside me at this moment
who has given me a kiss to transmit to you--You will
easily guess who has had the audacity to enlist me
into her service upon such an occasion."

This was one of the recompenses offered to the duc de la Vauguyon,
as a compensation for the public clamor and dislike which sprung
up against him in consequence of his zeal for my service.  At
Versailles, the general ferment was at its height, when it became
generally known that I had triumphed over all obstacles, and that
my presentation was certainly to take place.  In the midst of all
this the desperate odium fell upon the duc de la Vauguyon, and
a general attack was made upon him: his virtues, reputation,
talents, qualities, were made the subject of blame and scandal--
in a word, he was run down by public opinion.  But the leaders
of the cabal were not the less struck by the news of my success,
which sounded in their ears like the falling of a thunder-bolt.

The silly princess de Gueméné, who, with her husband, has since
become a bankrupt to so enormous and scandalous an amount, flew
without delay to convey the tidings of my victory to the duchesse
de Grammont, to whom it was a death-blow.  All her courage forsook
her; she shed bitter tears, and displayed a weakness so much the
more ridiculous, as it seemed to arise from the utmost despair.
She repaired to madame Adélaïde, before whom she conducted herself
in the most absurd and extravagant manner.  The poor princess,
intimidated by the weakness she herself evinced, in drawing back
after she had in a manner espoused the opposite party, durst not
irritate her, but, on the contrary, strove to justify her own
change of conduct towards me, by urging the impossibility of
refusing obedience to the express command of the king.

The other princesses did not evince greater firmness when overwhelmed
by the complaints of the cabal, and in a manner bent their knee
before the wives of the French nobility, asking their pardon for
their father's error in selecting a mistress from any rank but
theirs.  About this period a song, which I admired greatly, was
circulated abroad.  My enemies interpreted it to my disadvantage,
but I was far from being of the same opinion.  It was successively
attributed to the most clever men in Paris, and I have myself met
with four who each asserted himself to be the author; in justice
it should be ascribed to him who appeared the most calculated
to have written it, and who indeed claimed it for his own--the
chevalier de Boufflers.  I do not know whether you recollect the
lines in question.  I will transcribe them from memory, adding
another couplet, which was only known amongst our own particular
circle, but which proves most incontestably the spirit of kindness
with which the stanzas were composed.

Lise, ta beauté séduit,
  Et charme tout le monde.
En vain la duchesse en rougit,
  Et la princesse en gronde,
Chacun sait que Vénus naquit
  De l'ecume de l'onde.

En rit-elle moins tous les dieux.
  Lui rendre un juste hommage!
Et Paris, le berger fameux,
  Lui donner l'avantage
Même sur la reine des cieux
  Et Minerve la sage?

Dans le sérail du grand seigneur.
  Quelle est la favorite?
C'est la plus belle au gré de coeur
  Du maitre qui l'habite.
C'est le seul titre en sa faveur
  Et c'est le vrai mérite.

Que Grammont tonne contre toi,
  La chose est naturelle.
Elle voudrait donner la loi
  Et n'est qu' une mortelle;
Il faut, pour plaire au plus grand roi,
  Sans orgueil etre belle.*

*From those readers who may understand this chanson
in the original, and look somewhat contemptuously on
the following version, the translator begs to shelter
himself under the well-known observation of Lord
Chesterfield, "that everything suffers by translation,
but a a bishop!"  Those to whom such a dilution is
necessary will perhaps be contented with the
skim-milk as they cannot get the cream.- TRANS.

Thy beauty, seductress, leads mortals astray,
Over hearts, Lise, how vast and resistless thy sway.
Cease, duchess, to blush!  cease, princess, to rave--
Venus sprang from the foam of the ocean wave.
All the gods pay their homage at her beauteous shrine,
And adore her as potent, resistless, divine!
To her Paris, the shepherd, awarded the prize,
Sought by Juno the regal, and Pallas the wise.

Who rules o'er her lord in the Turkish <serail>,
Reigns queen of his heart, and e'er basks in his smile?
'Tis she, who resplendent, shines loveliest of all,
And beauty holds power in her magic thrall.
Then heed not the clamors that Grammont may raise,
How natural her anger!  how vain her dispraise!
'Tis not a mere mortal our monarch can charm,
Free from pride is the beauty that bears off the palm.

This song was to be found in almost every part of France.  Altho'
the last couplet was generally suppressed, so evident was its
partial tone towards me, in the midst of it all I could not help
being highly amused with the simplicity evinced by the good
people of France, who, in censuring the king's conduct, found
nothing reprehensible but his having omitted to select his mistress
from elevated rank.

The citizens resented this falling off in royalty with as much
warmth and indignation as the grandees of the court; and I could
enjoy a laugh on the subject of their angry displeasure as soon
as my presentation was decided upon.

The intrigues carried on by those about the princesses, and the
necessity of awaiting the perfect recovery of madame de Bearn,
delayed this (to me) important day till the end of the month of
April, 1770.  On the evening of the 21st the king, according to
custom, announced a presentation for the following day; but he
durst not explain himself more frankly; he hesitated, appeared
embarrassed, and only pronounced my name in a low and uncertain
voice; it seemed as tho' he feared his own authority was insufficient
to support him in such a measure.  This I did not learn till some
time afterwards; and when I did hear it, I took the liberty of
speaking my opinion upon it freely to his majesty.

On the next day, the 22d, I was solely engrossed with my dress:
it was the most important era of my life, and I would not have
appeared on it to any disadvantage.  A few days previously, the
king had sent me, by the crown jeweller, Boemer, a set of diamonds,
valued at 150,000 livres, of which he begged my acceptance.
Delighted with so munificent a present I set about the duties of
the toilette with a zeal and desire of pleasing which the importance
of the occasion well excused.  I will spare you the description of
my dress; were I writing to a woman I would go into all these
details; but as I know they would not be to your taste, I will
pass all these uninteresting particulars over in silence, and
proceed to more important matter.

Paris and Versailles were filled with various reports.  Thro'out
the city, within, without the castle, all manner of questions
were asked, as tho' the monarchy itself was in danger.  Couriers
were dispatched every instant with fresh tidings of the great
event which was going on.  A stranger who had observed the general
agitation would easily have remarked the contrast between the rage
and consternation of my enemies and the joy of my partizans, who
crowded in numbers to the different avenues of the palace, in
order to feast their eyes upon the pageantry of my triumphal
visit to court.

Nothing could surpass the impatience with which I was expected;
hundreds were counting the minutes, whilst I, under the care of
my hairdresser and robemaker, was insensible to the rapid flight
of time, which had already carried us beyond the hour appointed
for my appearance.  The king himself was a prey to an unusual
uneasiness; the day appeared to him interminable; and the eagerness
with which he awaited me made my delay still more apparent.  A
thousand conjectures were afloat as to the cause of it.  Some
asserted that my presentation had been deferred for the present,
and, in all probability, would never take place; that the princesses
had opposed it in the most decided manner, and had refused upon
any pretense whatever to admit me to their presence.  All these
suppositions charmed my enemies, and filled them with hopes
which their leaders, better informed, did not partake.

Meanwhile the king's restlessness increased; he kept continually
approaching the window to observe what was going on in the
court-yard of the castle, and seeing there no symptoms of my
equipage being in attendance, began to lose both temper and
patience.  It has been asserted, that he gave orders to have the
presentation put off till a future period, and that the duc de
Richelieu procured my <entrée> by force; this is partly true and
partly false.  Whilst in ignorance of the real cause of my being
so late, the king said to the first gentleman of the chamber,

"You will see that this poor countess has met with some accident,
or else that her joy has been too much for her, and made her too
ill to attend our court to-day; if that be the case, it is my pleasure
that her presentation should not be delayed beyond to-morrow."

"Sire," replied the duke, "your majesty's commands are absolute."  

These words, but half understood, were eagerly caught up, and
interpreted their own way by those who were eager to seize anything
that might tell to my prejudice.

At length I appeared; and never had I been more successful in
appearance.  I was conducted by my godmother, who, decked like
an altar, was all joy and satisfaction to see herself a sharer in
such pomp and splendor.  The princesses received me most courteously;
the affability, either real or feigned, which shone in their eyes
as they regarded me, and the flattering words with which they
welcomed my arrival, was a mortal blow to many of the spectators,
especially to the ladies of honor.  The princesses would not suffer
me to bend my knee before them, but at the first movement I
made to perform this act of homage, they hastened to raise me,
speaking to me at the same time in the most gracious manner.

But my greatest triumph was with the king.  I appeared before him
in all my glory, and his eyes declared in a manner not to be
misunderstood by all around him the impetuous love which he felt
for me.  He had threatened the previous evening to let me fall
at his feet without the least effort on his part to prevent it.
I told him that I was sure his gallantry would not allow him to
act in this manner; and we had laid a bet on the matter.  As soon
as I approached him, and he took my hand to prevent me, as I
began to stoop before him, "You have lost, sire," said I to him.

"How is it possible to preserve my dignity in the presence of so
many graces?"  was his reply.

These gracious words of his majesty were heard by all around
him.  My enemies were wofully chagrined; but what perfected their
annihilation was the palpable lie which my appearance gave to
their false assertions.  They had blazoned forth everywhere that
my manners were those of a housemaid; that I was absurd and
unladylike in my conduct; and that it was only requisite to have
a glimpse of me to recognize both the baseness of my extraction,
and the class of society in which my life had been hitherto spent.

But I showed manners so easy and so elegant that the people soon
shook off their preconceived prejudice against me.  I heard my
demeanor lauded as greatly as my charms and the splendor of my
attire.  Nothing could be more agreeable to me.  In a word, I
obtained complete success, and thenceforward learnt experimentally
how much the exterior and a noble carriage add to the consideration
in which a person is held.  I have seen individuals of high rank
and proud behavior who carried no influence in their looks,
because their features were plain and common place; whilst persons
of low station, whose face was gifted with natural dignity, had
only to show themselves to attract the respect of the multitude.

Nothing about me bespoke that I was sprung from a vulgar stock,
and thus scandal of that kind ceased from the day of my presentation;
and public opinion having done me justice in this particular, slander
was compelled to seek for food elsewhere.

That evening I had a large circle at my house.  The chancellor,
the bishop of Orleans, M. de Saint-Florentin, M. Bertin, the
prince de Soubise, the ducs de Richelieu, de la Trimouille, de
Duras, d'Aiguillon, and d'Ayen.  This last did not hesitate to
come to spy out all that passed in my apartments, that he might
go and spread it abroad, augmented by a thousand malicious
commentaries.  I had also M. de Sartines, my brother-in-law,
etc.  The duc de la Vauguyon alone was absent.  I knew beforehand
that he would not come, and that it was a sacrifice which he thought
himself compelled to make to the cabal.  The ladies were mesdames
de Bearn and d'Aloigny, with my sisters-in-law.  Amongst the
ladies presented they were the only ones with whom I had formed
any intimacy; as for the rest I was always the "horrible creature,"
of whom they would not hear on any account.

The king, on entering, embraced me before the whole party.  "You
are a charming creature," said he to me, "and the brilliancy of
your beauty has to-day reminded me of the device of my
glorious ancestor."

This was a flattering commencement; the rest of the company
chimed in with their master, and each tried to take the first
part in the chorus.  The duc d'Ayen even talked of my grace of
manner.  "Ah, sir," said I to him, "I have had time to learn it
from Pharamond to the reigning king."

This allusion was bitter, and did not escape the duke, who turned
pale in spite of his presence of mind, on finding that I was aware
of the malicious repartee which he had made to the king when
talking of me, and which I have already mentioned to you.  The
chancellor said to me,

"You have produced a great effect, but especially have you
triumphed over the cabal by the nobility of your manners and the
dignity of your mien; and thus you have deprived it of one of its
greatest engines of mischief, that of calumniating your person."

"They imagined then," said I to him, "that I could neither speak
nor be silent, neither walk nor sit still."

"As they wished to find you ignorant and awkward they have set
you down as such.  This is human nature: when we hate any one, we
say they are capable of any thing; then, that they have become
guilty of every thing; and, to wind up all, they adopt for truth
to-day what they invented last night."

"Were you not fearful?"  inquired the king.

"Forgive me, sire," I answered, "when I say that I feared lest I
should not please your majesty; and I was excessively desirous of
convincing mesdames of my respectful attachment."  

This reply was pronounced to be fitting and elegant, altho' I had
not in any way prepared it.  The fact is, that I was in great
apprehension lest I should displease the king's daughters; and I
dreaded lest they should manifest too openly the little friendship
which they had towards me.  Fortunately all passed off to a miracle,
and my good star did not burn dimly in this decisive circumstance.

Amongst those who rejoiced at my triumph I cannot forget the duc
d'Aiguillon.  During the whole of the day he was in the greatest
agitation.  His future destiny was, in a measure, attached to my
fortune; he knew that his whole existence depended on mine; and
he expected from me powerful support to defend him against the
pack of his enemies, who were yelping open-mouthed against him.
He stood in need of all his strength of mind and equanimity to
conceal the disquietude and perplexity by which he was internally agitated.

The comte Jean also participated in this great joy.  His situation
at court was not less doubtful; he had no longer reason to blush
for his alliance with me, and could now form, without excess of
presumption, the most brilliant hopes of the splendor of his
house.  His son, the vicomte Adolphe, was destined to high fortune;
and I assure you that I deeply regretted when a violent and
premature death took him away from his family.  My presentation
permitted his father to realize the chimera which he had pursued
with so much perseverance.  He flattered himself in taking part
with me.  I did not forget him in the distribution of my rewards;
and the king's purse was to him a source into which he frequently
dipped with both hands.

The next day I had a visit from the chancellor.

"Now," said he, "you are at the height of your wishes, and we
must arrange matters, that the king shall find perpetual and varied
amusements, with you.  He does not like large parties; a small
circle is enough for him; then he is at his ease, and likes to see
the same faces about him.  If you follow my advice you will have
but few females about you, and select that few with discernment."

"How can I choose them at all when I see so very few?"  was my
reply.  "I have no positive intimacy with any court lady; and
amongst the number I should be at a loss to select any one whom
I would wish to associate with in preference to another."  

"Oh, do not let that disturb you," he replied: "they leave you
alone now, because each is intent on observing what others may
do; but as soon as any one shall pay you a visit, the others will
run as fast after you as did the sheep of Panurge.  I am greatly
deceived if they are not very desirous that one of them shall
devote herself, and make the first dash, that they may profit
by her pretended fault.  I know who will not be the last to come
and station herself amongst the furniture of your apartment.  The
maréchale de Mirepoix was too long the complaisant friend of
madame de Pompadour not to become, and that very soon, the friend
of the comtesse du Barry."

"Good heaven," I exclaimed, "how delighted I should be to have
the friendship of this lady, whose wit and amiable manners are so
greatly talked of."  

"Yes," said de Maupeou, laughing, "she is a type of court ladies,
a mixture of dignity and suppleness, majesty and condescension,
which is worth its weight in gold.  She was destined from all
eternity to be the companion of the king's female friends."  

We both laughed; and the chancellor went on to say: "There are
others whom I will point out to you by and by; as for this one, I
undertake to find out whether she will come first of the party.
She has sent to ask an audience of me concerning a suit she has
in hand.  I will profit by the circumstances to come to an explanation
with her, about you.  She is not over fond of the Choiseul party;
and I augur this, because I see that she puts on a more agreeable
air towards them."  



CHAPTER XV


The Comte de la Marche, a prince of the blood--Madame de Beauvoir,
his mistress--Madame du Barry complains to the prince de Soubise
of the princess de Guémenée--The king consoles the countess for
this--The duc de Choiseul--The king speaks to him of madame du
Barry--Voltaire writes to her--The opinions of Richelieu and the
king concerning Voltaire

Amongst those personages who came to compliment me on the evening
of my presentation was M. the comte de la Marche, son of the prince
du Conti, and consequently prince of the blood.  He had long been
devoted to the will of Louis XV.  As soon as his most serene
highness had wind of my favor he hastened to add to the number of
my court; and I leave you to imagine how greatly I was flattered
at seeing it augmented by so august a personage.

This conquest was most valuable in my eyes, for I thus proved to
the world, that by attracting the king to me I did not isolate him
from the whole of his family.  It is very true that for some time
the comte de la Marche had been out of favor with the public, by
reason of his over complaisance towards the ministers of the king's
pleasure; but he was not the less a prince of the blood, and at
Versailles this rank compensated for almost every fault.  He was
a lively man, moreover, his society was agreeable, and the title
he bore reflected his distinction amongst a crowd of courtiers.
I felt, therefore, that I ought to consider myself as very fortunate
that he deigned to visit me, and accordingly received him with
all the civility I could display; and the welcome reception which
he always experienced drew him frequently to my abode.

The friendship with which he honored me was not agreeable to my
enemies; and they tried by every possible means to seduce him
from me.  They got his near relations to talk to him about it; his
intimate friends to reason with him; the females whom he most
admired to dissuade him from it.  There was not one of these
latter who did not essay to injure me in his estimation, by saying
that he dishonored himself by an acquaintance with me.  There was
amongst others a marquise de Beauvoir, the issue of a petty
nobility, whom he paid with sums of gold, altho' she was not his
mistress by title.  Gained over by the Choiseuls, she made proposals
concerning me to the prince of so ridiculous a nature, that he said
to her impatiently: "I' faith, my dear, as in the eyes of the world
every woman who lives with a man who is not her husband is a ------,
so I think a man is wise to choose the loveliest he can find; and
in this way the king is at this moment much better off than any
of his subjects."

Only imagine what a rage this put the marquise de Beauvoir in: she
stormed, wept, had a nervous attack.  The comte de la Marche
contemplated her with a desperate tranquillity; but this scene
continuing beyond the limits of tolerable patience, he was so tired
of it that he left her.  This was not what the marquise wished; and
she hastened to write a submissive letter to him, in which, to justify
herself, she confessed to the prince, that in acting against me she
had only yielded to the instigations of the cabal, and particularly
alluded to mesdames de Grammont and de Guémenée.

The comte de la Marche showed me this letter, which I retained
in spite of his resistance and all the efforts he made to obtain
possession of it again.  My intention was to show it to the king;
and I did not fail to give it to him at the next visit he paid me:
he read it, and shrugging up his shoulders, as was his usual custom,
he said to me,

"They are devils incarnate, and the worst of the kind.  They try
to injure you in every way, but they shall not succeed.  I receive
also anonymous letters against you, they are tossed into the
post-box in large packets with feigned names, in the hope that
they will reach me.  Such slanders ought not to annoy you: in the
days of madame de Pompadour, the same thing was done.  The same
schemes were tried to ruin madame de Chateauroux.  Whenever I
have been suspected of any tenderness towards a particular female,
every species of intrigue has been instantly put in requisition.
Moreover," he continued, "madame de Grammont attacks you with too
much obstinacy not to make me believe but that she would employ all
possible means to attain her end."  

"Ah," I exclaimed, "because she has participated in your friendship
you are ready to support her."  

"Do not say so in a loud tone," he replied laughingly; "her joy
would know no bounds if she could believe it was in her power
to inspire you with jealousy."

"But," I said, "that insolent Guémenée; has she also to plume
herself on your favors as an excuse for overpowering me with her
hatred, and for tearing me to pieces in the way she does?"

"No," was the king's answer; "she is wrong, and I will desire her
father-in-law to say so."

"And I will come to an explanation with the prince de Soubise on
this point; and we will see whether or not I will allow myself to
have my throat cut like an unresisting sheep."

I did not fail to keep my word.  The prince de Soubise came the
next morning; chance on that day induced him to be extraordinarily
gallant towards me; never had he praised me so openly, or with so
much exaggeration.  I allowed him to go on; but when at length he
had finished his panegyric, "Monsieur le maréchal," said I to him,
"you are overflowing with kindness towards me, and I wish that all
the members of your family would treat me with the same indulgence."

Like a real courtier he pretended not to understand me, and made
no reply, hoping, no doubt, that the warmth of conversation would
lead me to some other subject; but this one occupied me too fully
to allow me to divert my attention from it; and, seeing that he
 continued silent, I continued: "Far from treating me as well as you
do, madame your daughter-in-law behaves towards me like a declared
enemy; she assails me by all sorts of provocation, and at last will
so act, that I shall find myself compelled to struggle against her
with open force."  

You must be a courtier, you must have been in the presence of a
king who is flattered from morning to night in all his caprices, to
appreciate the frightful state in which my direct attack placed the
prince de Soubise.  Neither his political instinct, nor the tone of
pleasantry which he essayed to assume, nor the more dangerous
resource of offended dignity, could extricate him from the
embarrassment in which he was thrown by my words.  He could do
nothing but stammer out a few unintelligible phrases; and his
confusion was so great and so visible, that the marquis de Chauvelin,
his not over sincere friend, came to his assistance.  The king, equally
surprised at what I had just said, hastily turned and spoke to Chon,
who told me afterwards, that the astonishment of Louis XV had
been equal to that of the prince de Soubise, and that he had evinced
it by the absence of mind which he had manifested in his discourse
and manners.

M. de Chauvelin then turning towards me, said, "Well, madame, on
what evil herb have you walked to-day?  Can it be possible that
you would make the prince, who is your friend, responsible for the
hatred which ought to be flattering rather than painful to you, since
it is a homage exacted towards your brilliant loveliness?"

"In the first place," I replied, "I have no intention to cast on
monsieur le maréchal, whom I love with all my heart, the least
responsibility relative to the object of which I complain.  I only
wished to evince to him the regret I experienced at not seeing all
the members of his family like him: this is all.  I should be in
despair if I thought I had said anything that would wound him;
and if I have done so, I most sincerely ask his pardon."  

On saying these words I presented my hand to the prince, who
instantly kissed it.

"You are," said he, "at the same time cruel and yet most amiable:
but if you have the painful advantage of growing old at court, you
will learn that my children have not all the deference and respect
towards me which they owe to their father; and I often am pained
to see them act in a manner entirely opposite to my desires,
however openly manifested.  If my daughter does not love you, it
is to me, most probably, that you must look for the <why> and
<wherefore>: it is because I love you so much that she is against
you.  I have committed an error in praising you before her, and
her jealousy was not proof against it."

"That is very amiable in you," said I; "and now whatever may be
my feelings against the princesse de Guémenée, I will endeavor to
dissemble it out of regard for you; and, I assure you, that however
little consideration your daughter-in-law may testify towards me, I
will show her a fair side: endeavor to make peace between us.  I
only ask to be let alone, for I do not seek to become the enemy
of any person."

Altho' M. de Soubise said that he had no influence over the
princesse de Guémenée, I learned, subsequently, that the day after
this scene he testified to the Guémenée some fears as to his future
destiny at court.  He begged her not to oppose herself to me; to
be silent with respect to me, and to keep herself somewhat in the
shade if she would not make some advances towards me.  His daughter-
in-law, whose arrogance equalled her dissipation and dissolute
manners, replied, that she was too much above a woman of my sort
to fear or care for me; that my reign at the château would be but
brief, whilst hers would only terminate with her life: that she
would never consent to an act of weakness that would be derogatory
to her character and rank.  In vain did the prince try to soften
her, and make her consider that my influence over the king was
immense: he preached to the desert, and was compelled to abandon
his purpose without getting any thing by his endeavors.

I now return to my conversation with him.  During the time it lasted
the king did not cease talking to Chon, all the time listening with
attention to what the prince and I were saying; and he did not
approach us until the intervention of M. de Chauvelin had terminated
this kind of a quarrel.  He returned to his seat in front of the
fire; and when we were alone, said to me,

"You have been very spiteful to the poor maréchal, and I suffered
for him."  

"You are an excellent friend; and, no doubt, it is the affection
you bear to M. de Soubise which makes you behave so harshly to me.
Can I not, without displeasing you, defend myself when I am attacked?"

"I did not say so; but is it necessary that he must be responsible
for the follies of his relations?"

"In truth, sire, so much the worse for the father who cannot make
his children respect him.  If the maréchal was respected by the
public, believe me he would be so by his family."  

This retort was perhaps too severe.  I found this by the silence
of the king; but as, in fact, it imported little, and, by God's
help, I was never under much constraint with him, I saw him blush,
and then he said to me,

"Now, I undertake to bring madame de Guémenée into proper order.
The favor I ask is, that you would not meddle.  I have power
enough to satisfy you, but, for heaven's sake, do not enter into
more quarrels than you have already.  It seems to me that you
ought to avoid them instead of creating such disturbances."

He had assumed a grave tone in reading me this lecture: but as we
were in a place in which majesty could not be committed, I began
to laugh heartily, and to startle him, I said that henceforward I
would pilot my bark myself, and defend myself by openly assailing
all persons who testified an aversion to me.  How laughable it
was to see the comic despair in which this determination threw the
king.  It seemed to him that the whole court would be at loggerheads;
and he could not restrain himself from exclaiming, that he would a
hundred times rather struggle against the king of Prussia and the
emperor of Germany united, than against three or four females of
the château.  In a word, I frightened him so completely, that he
decided on the greatest act of courage he had ever essayed in my
favor: it was, to desire the intervention of the duc de Choiseul
in all these quarrels.

The credit of this minister was immense, and this credit was based
on four powerful auxiliaries; namely the parliament, the philosophers,
the <literati>, and the women.  The high magistracy found in him
a public and private protector.  The parliaments had themselves a
great many clients, and their voices, given to the duc de Choiseul,
gave him great power in the different provinces.  The philosophers,
ranged under the banner of Voltaire, who was their god, and of
d'Alembert, their patriarch, knew all his inclinations for them, and
knew how far they might rely on his support in all attempts which
they made to weaken the power of the clergy, and to diminish the
gigantic riches which had been amassed by prelates and monasteries.
The writers were equally devoted to him: they progressed with the
age, and as on all sides they essayed to effect important reforms,
it was natural that they should rally about him in whose hands
was the power of their operations.

The ladies admired his gallantry: in fact, the duc de Choiseul was
a man who understood marvellously well how to combine serious
labors with pleasure.  I was, perhaps, the only woman of the court
whom he would not love, and yet I was not the least agreeable nor
the most ugly.  It was very natural for them to exalt his merit
and take him under their especial protection.  Thus was he
supported in every quarter by them; they boasted of his measures,
and by dint of repeating in the ears of every body that M. de
Choiseul was a minister <par excellence>, and the support of
monarchy, they had contrived to persuade themselves of the truth
of their assertion.  In fact, if France found herself freed from
the Jesuits, it was to the duc de Choiseul that this was owing, and
this paramount benefit assured to him universal gratitude.

The king was fully aware of this unanimity of public opinion in
favor of his minister.  He was, besides, persuaded, that in
arranging the <pacte de famille>, and concluding the alliance
with the imperial house, the duc de Choiseul had evinced admirable
diplomatic talents, and rendered France real, and important, service.
His attachment to him was incumbent, and rested on solid
foundations.  If, at a subsequent period, he dismissed him, it was
because he was deceived by a shameful intrigue which it will cost
me pain to develop to you, because I took by far too much a leading
part in it, which now causes me the deepest regret.

Now, by the act of my presentation, the duc de Choiseul would be
compelled to meet me often, which would render our mutual situation
very disagreeable.  On this account the king sought to reconcile
us, and would have had no difficulty in effecting his wishes had
he only had the resistance of the minister and his wife to
encounter.  The lady had not much influence over her husband, and
besides she had too much good sense to struggle against the wishes
of the king: but the duchesse de Grammont was there, and this
haughty and imperious dame had so great an ascendancy with her
brother, and behaved with so little caution, that the most odious
reports were in circulation about their intimacy.

It could scarcely be hoped that we could tame this towering spirit,
which saw in me an odious rival.  Louis XV did not flatter himself
that he could effect this prodigy, but he hoped to have a greater
ascendancy over his minister.  It was to the duc de Choiseul,
therefore, that he first addressed himself, desirous of securing
the husband and wife before he attacked the redoubtable sister.
The next morning, after my warm assault on the prince de Soubise,
he profited by an audience which the duke requested at an unusual
hour to introduce this negotiation of a new kind, and the details
I give you of this scene are the more faithful, as the king gave
them to me still warm immediately after the conversation
had terminated.

The state affairs having been concluded, the king, seeking to
disguise his voluntary embarrassment, said to the duke, smiling,

"Duc de Choiseul, I have formed for my private hours a most
delightful society: the most attached of my subjects consider
themselves highly favored when I invite them to these evening
parties so necessary for my amusement.  I see with pain that you
have never yet asked me to admit you there."  

"Sire," replied the duke, "the multiplicity of the labors with
which your majesty has charged me, scarcely allows me time
for my pleasures."

"Oh, you are not so fully occupied but that you have still some
time to spend with the ladies, and I think that I used to meet you
frequently at the marquise de Pompadour's."

"Sire, she was my friend."  

"Well, and why, is not the comtesse du Barry?  Who has put it into
your head that she was opposed to you?  You do not know her: she
is an excellent woman: not only has she no dislike to you, but even
desires nothing more than to be on good terms with you."

"I must believe so since your majesty assures me of it; but, sire,
the vast business with which I am overwhelmed--"

"Is not a sufficing plea; I do not allow that without a special
motive, you should declare yourself against a person whom I honor
with my protection.  As you do not know her, and cannot have any
thing to urge against her but prejudices founded on false rumors
and scandalous fabrications, I engage you to sup with me at her
apartments this evening, and I flatter myself that when I wish it
you will not coin a parcel of reasons in opposition to my desire."

"I know the obedience that is due to your majesty," said
de Choiseul, bowing low.

"Well, then, do first from duty what I flatter myself you will
afterwards do from inclination.  Duc de Choiseul, do not allow
yourself to be influenced by advice that will prove injurious to
you.  What I ask cannot compromise you; but I should wish that
with you all should be quiet, that no one should struggle against
me, and that too with the air of contending against a person's
station.  Do not reply, you know perfectly what I would say, and
I know what belongs to myself."

Here the conversation terminated.  The duc de Choiseul did not
become my friend any the more, but behaved towards me with all
due consideration.  He used grace and <finesse> in his proceedings,
without mingling with it anything approaching to nonsense.  He never
allowed himself, whatever has been said, to dart out in my face any
of those epigrams which public malignity has attributed to him.
Perhaps like many other persons in the world, he has said many
pleasantries of me which have been reported as said in my presence,
but I repeat that he never uttered in my society a single word with
which I had cause to be offended.

At this juncture I received a letter of which I had the folly to be
proud, altho' a little reflection should have made me think that
my situation alone inspired it: it was from M. de Voltaire.  This
great genius was born a courtier.  Whether he loved the protection
of the great, or whether he thought it necessary to him, he was
constantly aiming, from his youth upwards, at obtaining the
countenance of persons belonging to a high rank, which made him
servile and adulatory whilst they were in power, and full of
grimace towards them when the wind favor ceased to swell their
sails.  It was in this way that mesdames de Chateauroux and de
Pompadour had had his homage.  He had sung their praises, and,
of course, he could not forget me.  You will recall to mind the
letter which he wrote to the duc d'Aiguillon, on occasion of the
piece of poetry entitled "<La Cour du Roi Petaud>."  He had denied
having composed it, but this denial had not been addressed directly
to me.  Having learnt, no doubt, that my credit was increasing, he
thought himself obliged to write to me, that he might rank me with
his party.  He might have availed himself of the intermediation of
the duc d'Aiguillon, but preferred putting the duc de Richelieu into
his confidence, and begged him to fulfil the delicate function of
literary Mercury.  I was alone when the maréchal came to me with
an assumed air of mystery.  His first care was to look around him
without saying a word; and it was not until after he had shaken
the curtains, and peeped into every corner of the apartment, that
he approached me, who was somewhat surprised at his monkey tricks.

"I am the bearer," he said, in a low voice, "of a secret and
important communication, which I have been entreated to deliver
after five or six hundred cautions at least: it is a, defection
from the enemy's camp, and not the least in value."  

Fully occupied by my quarrel with the ladies of the court, I
imagined that he had brought me a message of peace from some
great lady; and, full of this idea, I asked him in haste the name
of her whose friendship I had acquired.

"Good," said he, "it is about a lady, is it?  It is from a personage
fully as important, a giant in power, whose words resound from
one extremity of Europe to another, and whom the Choiseuls
believe their own entirely."

 "It is M. de Voltaire," I said.

"Exactly so: your perspicacity has made you guess it."

 "But what does he want with me?"

"To be at peace with you; to range himself under your banner,
secretly at first, but afterwards openly."

"Is he then afraid openly to evince himself my friend?"  I replied,
in a tone of some pique.

"Rather so, and yet you must not feel offended at that.  The
situation of this sarcastic and talented old man is very peculiar;
his unquiet petulance incessantly gives birth to fresh perils.  He,
of necessity, must make friends in every quarter, left and right,
in France and foreign countries.  The necessary consequence is,
that he cannot follow a straight path.  The Choiseuls have served
him with perfect zeal: do not be astonished if he abandon them
when they can no longer serve him.  If they fall, he will bid them
good evening, and will sport your cockade openly."  

"But," I replied, "this is a villainous character."

"Ah, I do not pretend to introduce to you an Aristides or an
Epaminondas, or any other soul of similar stamp.  He is a man of
letters, full of wit, a deep thinker, a superior genius, and our
reputations are in his hands.  If he flatters us, posterity will
know it; if he laugh at us, it will know it also.  I counsel you
therefore to use him well, if you would have him behave so
towards you."

"I will act conformably to your advice," said I to the  maréchal;
"at the same time I own to you that I fear him like a firebrand."  

"I, like you, think that there is in him something of the infernal
stone: he burns you on the slightest touch.  But now, to this
letter; you will see what he says to you.  He begs me most
particularly to conceal from every body the step he has taken
with you.  What he most dreads is, lest you should proclaim from
the housetops that he is in correspondence with you.  I conjure
you, on his behalf, to exercise the greatest discretion, and I
think that you are interested in doing so; for, if what he has done
should be made public, he will not fail to exercise upon you the
virulence of his biting wit."

Our conversation was interrupted by a stir which we heard in the
château, and which announced to us the king.  The maréchal hastily
desired me not to show Voltaire's letter to the king until I had
read it previously to myself.  "He does not like this extraordinary
man," he added, "and accuses him of having failed in respect,
and perhaps you will find in this paper some expression which
may displease him."

Scarcely had I put the epistle in my pocket, when the king entered.

"What are you talking about," said he, "you seem agitated?"  

"Of M. de Voltaire, sire," I replied, with so much presence of
mind as to please the duc de Richelieu.  

"What, is he at his tricks again?  Have you any cause of complaint
against him?"

"Quite the reverse; he has charged M. d'Argental to say to M. de
Richelieu, that he was sorry that he could not come and prostrate
himself at my feet."

"Ah," said the king, remembering the letter to the duc d'Aiguillon,
"he persists in his coquetries towards you: that is better than
being lampooned by him.  But do not place too much confidence in
this gentleman of the chamber: he weighs every thing in two scales;
and I doubt much whether he will spare you when he evinces but
little consideration for me."

Certainly Richelieu had a good opportunity of undertaking the
defence of his illustrious friend.  He did no such thing; and I
have always thought that Voltaire was the person whom the duke
detested more heartily than any other person in the world.  He did,
in fact, dread him too much to esteem him as a real friend.

"M. d'Argental," said the king, "unites then at my court the double
function of minister of Parma and steward of Ferney.* Are these
two offices compatible?"

*The name of Voltaire's residence- TRANS

"Yes, sire," replied the duke, laughing, "since he has not
presented officially to your majesty the letters of his creation as
comte de Tournay."  

The king began to laugh.  This was the name of an estate which
Voltaire had, and which he sometimes assumed.



CHAPTER XVI


Unpublished letter of Voltaire to madame du Barry--Reply of the
countess--The maréchale de Mirepoix--Her first interview with
madame du Barry--Anecdote of the diamonds of madame de Mirepoix--
The king pays for them--Singular gratitude of the maréchale--The
portfolio, and an unpublished letter of the marquise de Pompadour

By the way in which the king continued to speak to me of M. de
Voltaire, I clearly saw how right the duke was in advising me to
read the letter myself before I showed it to my august protector.  I
could not read it until the next day, and found it conceived in the
following terms:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE:--I feel myself urged by an extreme desire
to have an explanation with you, after the receipt of a letter
which M. the duc d'Aiguillon wrote to me last year.  This nobleman,
nephew of a gentleman, as celebrated for the name he bears as by
his own reputation, and who has been my friend for more than
sixty years, has communicated to me the pain which had been caused
you by a certain piece of poetry, of my writing as was stated,
and in which my style was recognised.  Alas!  madame, ever since
the most foolish desire in the world has excited me to commit a
great deal of idle trash to paper, not a month, a week, nay, even a
day passes in which I am not accused and convicted of some great
enormity; that is to say, the malicious author of all sorts of
turpitudes and extravagancies.  Eh!  <mon Dieu>, the entire
life-time of ten men would not be sufficient to write all with
which I am charged, to my unutterable despair in this world, and
to my eternal damnation in that which is to come.

"It is no doubt, much to die in final impenitence; altho' hell may
contain all the honest men of antiquity and a great portion of those
of our times; and paradise would not be much to hope for if we
must find ourselves face to face with messieurs Fréron, Nonatte,
Patouillet, Abraham Chauneix, and other saints cut out of the same
cloth.  But how much more severe would it be to sustain your
anger!  The hatred of the Graces brings down misfortune on men
of letters; and when he embroils himself with Venus and the Muses
he is a lost being; as, for instance, M. Dorat, who incessantly
slanders his mistresses, and writes nothing but puerilities.

"I have been very cautious, in my long career, how I committed
such a fault.  If perchance I have lightly assailed the common cry
of scribblers or pendants who were worthless, I have never ceased
to burn incense on the altars of the ladies; them I have always sung
when I--could not do otherwise.  Independently, madame, of the
profound respect I bear all your sex I profess a particular regard
towards all those who approach our sovereign, and whom he
invests with his confidence: in this I prove myself no less a
faithful subject than a gallant Frenchman; and I venerate the God
I serve in his constant friendships as I would do in his caprices.
Thus I was far from outraging and insulting you still more
grievously by composing a hateful work which I detest with my
whole heart, and which makes me shed tears of blood when I think
that people did not blush to attribute it to me.

"Believe in my respectful attachment, madame, no less than in
my cruel destiny, which renders me odious to those by whom I
would be loved.  My enemies, a portion of whom are amongst yours,
certainly succeed each other with frightful eagerness to try my wind.
Now they have just published under my name some attacks on the
poor president Henault, whom I love with sincere affection.  What
have they not attributed to me to inculpate me with my friends,
with my illustrious protectors, M. le maréchal duc de Richelieu and
their majesties the king of Prussia and the czarina of Russia!

"I could excuse them for making war upon strangers in my name,
altho' that would be a pirate's method; but to attack, under my
banner, my master, my sovereign lord, this I can never pardon, and
I will raise against them even a dying voice; particularly when they
strike you with the same blows; you, who love literature; you, who
do me the honor to charge your memory with my feeble productions.
It is an infamy to pretend that I fire on my own troops.

"Under any circumstances, madame, I am before you in a very
delicate situation.  There is in Versailles a family which overwhelms
me with marks of their friendship.  Mine ought to appertain to it to
perpetuity; yet I learn that it is so unfortunate as to have no
conception of your merit, and that envious talebearers place
themselves between you and it.  I am told that there is a kind of
declared war; it is added, that I have furnished supplies to this
camp, the chiefs of which I love and esteem.  More wise, more
submissive, I keep myself out of the way of blows; and my reverence
for the supreme master is such, that I turn away my very eyes that
they may not be spectators of the fight.

"Do not then, madame, think that any sentiment of affection has
compelled, or can compel me to take arms against you.  I would
refuse any proposition which should rank me as hostile to you, if
the natural generosity of your enemies could so far forget it.  In
reality they are as incapable of ordering a bad action as I am of
listening to those who should show themselves so devoid of sense
as to propose such a thing to me.

"I am persuaded that you have understood me, and I am fully
cleared in your eyes.  It would be delightful to me to ascertain
this with certainty.  I charge M. le maréchal duc de Richelieu
to explain to you my disquietude on this head, and the favor I
seek at your hands, from you who command France, whilst I, I
ought to die in peace, not to displease any person, and live
wisely with all.  I conclude, madame la comtesse, this long and
stupid epistle, which is, in fact, less a letter than a real case
for consideration, by begging you to believe me, etc.,
		"VOLTAIRE

"<Ferney>, April 28, 1769.  Gentleman in ordinary to the king.

"P.  S.  My enemies say everywhere that I am not a Christian.  I
have just given them the lie direct, by performing my Easter
devotions (<mes paques>) publicly; thus proving to all my lively
desire to terminate my long career in the religion in which I was
born; and I have fulfilled this important act after a dozen
consecutive attacks of fever, which made me fear I should die
before I could assure you of my respect and my devotion."

This apology gave me real pleasure.  I pretended to believe the
sincerity of him who addressed me, altho' he had not convinced
me of his innocence; and I wrote the following reply to M. de
Voltaire, which a silly pride dictates to me to communicate to
you, in conjunction with the letter of the philosopher:

"MONSIEUR:--Even were you culpable from too much friendship
towards those you cherish, I would pardon you as a recompense for
the letter you address to me.  This ought the more to charm me, as
it gives me the certainty that you had been unworthily calumniated.
Could you have said, under the veil of secrecy, things disagreeable
to a great king, for whom, in common with all France, you profess
sincere love?  It is impossible.  Could you, with gaiety of heart,
wound a female who never did you harm, and who admires your
splendid genius?  In fact, could those you call your friends have
stooped so low as not to have feared to compromise you, by making
you play a part unworthy of your elevated reputation?  All these
suppositions were unreasonable: I could not for a moment admit them,
and your two letters have entirely justified you.  I can now give
myself up without regret to my enthusiasm for you and your works.
It would have been too cruel for me to have learnt with certainty
that he whom I regarded as the first writer of the age had become
my detractor without motive, without provocation.  That it is not so
I give thanks to Providence.

"M. the duc d'Aiguillon did not deceive you when he told you
that I fed on your sublime poetry.  I am in literature a perfect
novice, and yet am sensible of the true beauties which abound
in your works.  I am to be included amongst the stones which
were animated by Amphion: this is one of your triumphs; but to
this you must be accustomed.

"Believe also that all your friends are not in the enemy's camp.
There are those about me who love you sincerely, M. de Chauvelin,
for instance, MM. de Richelieu and d'Aiguillon: this latter eulogizes
you incessantly; and if all the world thought as he does, you would
be here in your place.  But there are terrible prejudices which my
candor will not allow me to dissemble, which you have to overcome.
There is <one> who complains of you, and this one must be won over
to your interests.  He wishes you to testify more veneration for
what he venerates himself; that your attacks should not be so
vehement nor so constant.  Is it then impossible for you to comply
his wishes in this particular?  Be sure that you only, in setting no
bounds in your attacks on religion, do yourself a vast mischief with
the person in question.

"It will appear strange that I should hold such language to you:
I only do it to serve you: do not take my statements unkindly.  I
have now a favor to ask of you; which is, to include me in the list
of those to whom you send the first fruits of the brilliant
productions of your pen.  There is none who is more devoted to
you, and who has a more ardent desire to convince you of this.

"I am, <monsieur le gentilhomme ordinaire>, with real
attachment, etc."  

I showed this letter to M. de Richelieu.

"Why," he inquired, 'have you not assured him as to your indiscretion,
which he fears?"

"Because his fear seemed to me unjust, and I leave you to represent
me to him as I am; and now," I added, "it does not appear to me
necessary for the king to know anything of this."

"You think wisely, madame; what most displeased him was to see
madame de Pompadour in regular correspondence with M. de Voltaire."

I have related to you this episode of my history, that it may
recompense you for the tiresome details of my presentation.  I
resume my recital.  I told you that M. de Maupeou had told me
that he would endeavor to bring madame la maréchale de Mirepoix,
and introduce her to me, trusting to the friendship she had evinced
for madame de Pompadour during, the whole time of the favor and
life of her who preceded me in the affections of Louis XV.  I
found, to my surprise, that he said nothing to me concerning it
for several days, when suddenly madame la maréchale de Mirepoix
was announced.

At this name and this title I rose quite in a fluster, without
clearly knowing what could be the object of this visit, for which
I was unprepared.  The maréchale, who followed closely on the
valet's heels, did not give me time for much reflection.  She took
me really <a l'improviste>, and I had not time to go and meet her.

"Madame la maréchale," said I, accosting her, "what lucky chance
 brings you to a place where the desire to have your society is so great?"

"It is the feeling of real sympathy," she replied, with a gracious
smile; "for I also have longed for a considerable time to visit
you, and have yielded to my wishes as soon as I was certain that
my advances would not be repulsed."

"Ah, madame.," said I, "had you seriously any such fear?  That
tells me much less of the mistrust you had of yourself than of the
bad opinion you had conceived of me.  The honor of your visits--"

"The honor of my visits!  That's admirable!  I wish to obtain a
portion of your friendship, and to testify to the king that I am
sincerely attached to him."  

"You overwhelm me, madame," cried I, much delighted, "and I beg
you to give me your confidence."  

"Well, now, all is arranged between us: I suit you and you please
me.  It is long since I was desirous of coming to you, but we are
all under the yoke of the must absurd tyranny: soon we shall have
no permission to go, to come, to speak, to hold our tongues, without
first obtaining the consent of a certain family.  This yoke has
wearied me; and on the first word of the chancellor of France I
hastened to you."  

"I had begged him, madame, to express to you how much I should be
charmed to have you when the king graced me with his presence.  He
likes you, he is accustomed to the delights of your society; and I
should have been deeply chagrined had I come here only to deprive
him of that pleasure."  

"He is a good master," said the maréchale, "he is worthy of all
our love.  I have had opportunities of knowing him thoroughly,
for I was most intimate with madame de Pompadour; and I believe
that my advice will not be useless to you."  

"I ask it of you, madame la maréchale, for it will be precious to me."  

"Since we are friends, madame," said she, seating herself in a
chair, "do not think ill of me if I establish myself at my ease,
and take my station as in the days of yore.  The king loves you:
so much the better.  You will have a double empire over him.  He
did not love the marquise, and allowed himself to be governed by
her; for with him--I ask pardon of your excessive beauty--custom
does all.  It is necessary, my dear countess, to use the double lever
you have, of your own charms and his constant custom to do
to-morrow what he does to-day because he did it yesterday, and
for this you lack neither grace nor wit."

I had heard a great deal concerning madame de Mirepoix; but I
own to you, that before I heard her speak I had no idea what sort
of a person she would prove.  She had an air of so much frankness
and truth, that it was impossible not to be charmed by it.  The greater
part of the time I did not know how to defend myself from her--at
once so natural and so perfidious; and occasionally I allowed myself
to love her with all my heart, so much did she seem to cherish me
with all enthusiasm.  She had depth of wit, a piquancy of expression,
and knew how to disguise those interested adulations with turns
so noble and beautiful that I have never met, neither before nor
since, any woman worthy of being compared with her.  She was,
in her single self, a whole society; and certainly there was no
possibility of being wearied when she was there.  Her temper was
most equable, a qualification rarely obtained without a loss of
warmth of feeling.  She always pleased because her business was
to please and not to love; and it always sufficed her to render others
enthusiastic and ardent.  Except this tendency to egotism, she was
the charm of society, the life of the party whom she enlivened by
her presence.  She knew precisely when to mourn with the afflicted,
and joke with the merry-hearted.  The king had much pleasure in
her company: he knew that she only thought how to amuse him; and,
moreover, as he had seen her from morning till evening with the
marquise de Pompadour, her absence from my parties was insupportable
to him, and almost contrary to the rules of etiquette at the château.

I cannot tell you how great was his satisfaction, when, at the
first supper which followed our intimacy, he saw her enter.  He
ran to meet her like a child, and gave a cry of joy, which must
have been very pleasing to the maréchale.

"You are a dear woman," he said to her, with an air which accorded
with his words, "I always find you when I want you; and you can
nowhere be more in place than here.  I ask your friendship for our
dear countess."

"She has it already, sire, from the moment I saw her; and I
consider my intimacy with her as one of the happiest chances
of my life."  

The king showed the utmost good humor in the world during the
rest of the evening.  He scolded me, however, for the mystery I
had made in concealing from him the agreeable visit of the
maréchale.  I justified myself easily by the pleasure which this
surprise caused him; and, on my side, gave my sincere thanks
to the chancellor.

"You owe me none," said he; "the good maréchale felt herself
somewhat ill at ease not to be on close terms with her who
possesses the affections of the king.  It is an indispensable
necessity that she should play a part in the lesser apartments;
and as the principal character no longer suits her, she is
contented to perform that of confidante, and ran here on my
first intimation."

"Never mind the motive that brought her," I said; "she is a
companion for me much more desirable than madame de Bearn."  

"First from her rank," said the chancellor, smiling maliciously,
"and then by virtue of her cousinship with the Holy Virgin."

I confess that I was ignorant of this incident in the house of
Levi; and I laughed heartily at the description of the picture,
in which one of the lords of this house is represented on his
knees before the mother of God, who says to him, "<Rise, cousin";
to which he replies, "<I know my duty too well, cousin.>"  I took
care, however, how I joked on this point with the maréchale, who
listened to nothing that touched on the nobility of the ancestors of
her husband or on those of her own family.

Great had been the outcry in the palace against the duc de la
Vauguyon and madame de Bearn, but how much louder did it become
on the defection of the marquise de Mirepoix.  The cabal was
destroyed; for a woman of rank and birth like the maréchale was
to me a conquest of the utmost importance.  The princesse de
Guémenée and the duchesse de Grammont were wofully enraged.
This they manifested by satirical sneers, epigrams, and verses,
which were put forth in abundance.  All these inffictions disturbed
her but little; the main point in her eyes was to possess the
favor of the master; and she had it, for he felt that he was
bound to her by her complaisance.

He was not long in giving her an unequivocal proof of his regard.
The duc de Duras asked her, in presence of the king and myself,
why she did not wear her diamonds as usual.

"They are my representatives," was her reply.

"What do you mean by representatives?"  said I.

"Why, my dear countess, they are with a Jew instead of my
sign-manual.  The rogue had no respect for the word of a relation
of the Holy Virgin and the daughter of the Beauvau.  I was in
want of thirty thousand francs; and to procure it I have given
up my ornaments, not wishing to send to the Jew the old plate of
my family, altho' the hunks wanted it."

We all laughed at her frankness, and the gaiety with which she
gave this statement, but we went no further;  to her great regret,
no doubt, for I believe that the scene had been prepared between
her and M. de Duras, either to let her profit in time of need, or
else that she wished to pluck a feather from our wing.  When I
was alone with the king, he said,

"The poor maréchale pains me; I should like to oblige her and
think I will give her five hundred louis."  

"What will such a petty sum avail her?  You know what she wants;
either send her the whole or none.  A king should do nothing by halves."

Louis XV answered me nothing; he only made a face, and began to
walk up and down the room.  "Ah," said I, "this excellent woman
loves your majesty so much, that you ought to show your gratitude
to her, were it only to recompense her for her intimacy with me."

"Well, you shall carry her the sum yourself, which Lebel shall
bring you from me.  But thirty thousand francs, that makes a
large pile of crown-pieces."

"Then I must take it in gold."

"No, but in good notes.  We must not, even by a look, intimate
that she has <sold> her visits to us.  There are such creatures in
the world!"

The next morning Lebel brought me a very handsome rose-colored
portfolio, embroidered with silver and auburn hair: it contained
the thirty thousand francs in notes.  I hastened to the maréchale.
We were then at Marly.

"What good wind blows you hither?"  said madame de Mirepoix.

"A royal gallantry," I replied; "you appeared unhappy, and our
excellent prince sends you the money necessary to redeem
your jewels."

The eyes of the lady became animated, and she embraced me heartily.
"It is to you that I owe this bounty of the king."  

"Yes, partly, to make the present entire; he would only have
given you half the sum."  

"I recognize him well in that he does not like to empty his casket.
He would draw on the public treasury without hesitation for
double the revenue of France, and would not make a division of a
single crown of his own private <peculium>."  

I give this speech <verbatim>; and this was all the gratitude
which madame de Mirepoix manifested towards Louis XV.  I was
pained at it, but made no remark.  She took up the portfolio,
examined it carefully, and, bursting into a fit of laughter, said,
while she flung herself into an arm-chair,

"Ah!  ah!  ah!  this is an unexpected rencontre!  Look at this
portfolio, my dear friend: do you see the locks with which it is
decorated?  Well, they once adorned the head of madame de
Pompadour.  She herself used them to embroider this garland of
silver thread; she gave it to the king on his birthday.  Louis XV
swore never to separate from it, and here it is in my hands."  

Then, opening the portfolio, and rummaging it over, she found in
a secret pocket a paper, which she opened, saying, "I knew he
had left it."

It was a letter of madame de Pompadour, which I wished to have,
and the maréchale gave me it instantly; the notes remained with
her.  I copy the note, to give you an idea of the sensibility of
the king.

"SIRE,--I am ill; dangerously so, perhaps.  In the melancholy
feeling which preys upon me, I have formed a desire to leave
you a souvenir, which will always make me present to your memory.
I have embroidered this portfolio with my own hair; accept it;
never part with it.  Enclose in it your most important papers,
and let its contents prove your estimation of it.  Will you not
accord my prayer?  Sign it, I beseech you; it is the caprice, the
wish of a dying woman."  

Beneath it was written,

"This token of love shall never quit me.  Louis."  



CHAPTER XVII


Conversation of the maréchale de Mirepoix with the comtesse du
Barry on court friendship--Intrigues of madame de Bearn--Preconcerted
meeting with madame de Flaracourt---Rage of madame de Bearn--
Portrait and conversation of madame de Flaracourt with the
comtesse du Barry--Insult from the princesse de Guémenée--Her
banishment--Explanation of the king and the duc de Choiseul
relative to madame du Barry--The comtesse d'Egmont

However giddy I was I did not partake in the excessive gaiety of
madame de Mirepoix.  I was pained to see how little reliance
could be placed on the sensibility of the king, as well as how
far I could esteem the consideration of the maréchale for madame
de Pompadour, from whom she had experienced so many marks of
friendship.  This courtier baseness appeared to me so villainous,
that I could not entirely conceal how I was affected with displeasure.
Madame de Mirepoix saw it, and, looking at me attentively, said,

"Do you feel any desire to become pathetical in the country we
live in?  I warn you that it will be at your own expense.  We must
learn to content ourselves here with appearances, and examine
nothing thoroughly."

"'There is then no reality?"  said I to her.

"Yes," she answered me, "but only two things, power and money:
the rest is 'leather and prunella'  (<contes bleus>): no person
has time to love sincerely; it is hatred only that takes deep root
and never dies.  To hope to give birth to a real passion, an
Orestean and Pyladean friendship, is a dream from which you must
be awakened."

'Then you do not love me?"  

"You ask me a very awkward question, my darling, I can tell you.
I do love you, and very much, too: I have proved it by ranging
myself on your side, and by declaring, with the utmost frankness,
that I would rather see you in the situation in which you are,
than any other woman of the court.  But there is a long space
between this and heroical friendship: I should deceive you if I
were to affirm the contrary, and there would be no common sense
in giving faith to my words.  Every one has too much business,
too much intrigue, too many quarrels on hand, to have any leisure
to think of others: every one lives for himself alone.  Mesdames
de Guémenée and de Grammont appear very intimate: that is easily
explained, they unite against a common enemy.  But were your
station left vacant, no sooner would the king have thrown the apple
to one of them, but the other would detest her instantly."

Contrary to custom I made no reply: I was absorbed in painful
reflections to which this conversation had given rise.  The
maréchale perceived it, and said, 

"We should fall into philosophy if we probed this subject too
deeply.  Let us think no more of this: besides, I have a new
defection to tell you of.  Madame de Flaracourt told me yesterday
that she much regretted having misunderstood you, and that you
were worth more than all those who persecute you.  She appeared
to me disposed to ally herself to you for the least encouragement
which you might be induced to hold out to her."  

"You know very well," I replied, "that I am willing to adopt
your advice.  The house of Flaracourt is not to be despised, and
I ask no better than to be on amicable terms with the lady."

"Well, then, come this morning and walk in the grove nearest the
pavilion, I shall be there with madame de Flaracourt: we will
meet by chance, compliments will follow, and the alliance will
be formed."  

The maréchale and I had scarcely separated when madame de Bearn
was announced.  This lady besieged me night and day.  Gifted
with a subtle and penetrating spirit--that talent which procures
advancement at court, she saw, with pain, that I sought to attract
other females about me: she would fain have remained my only
friend, that she might, unopposed, influence me in all I did.  She
saw, therefore, the appearance of madame de Mirepoix in my
drawing-room with uneasiness: her bad humor was sufficiently
apparent to attract the notice of the maréchale, who laughed at it:
her social position as a titled woman, and the king's friendship,
giving her confidence that her credit would always exceed that of
my godmother.

Madame de Bearn was compelled to submit to the ascendancy of the
maréchale, but yet did not the less relax in her efforts to keep
from me all other female society, she hoped that at last the king
would distinguish her, and call her into his intimacy as my friend;
she was not more fond of the comtesse d'Aloigny, altho' the nullity
of this lady need not have alarmed her much.  For me, I began to
resent the irksomeness of having incessantly at my side a person
who manifested too openly her desire to compel me to submit to
her wishes, and I waited, to secure my freedom, only until the
circle of females I could admit to my society should be extended.

Such were our reciprocal feelings during our stay at Marly.  The
madame de Bearn watched me with more care than at Versailles,
fearing, no doubt, that the freedom of the country might facilitate
connections prejudicial to her interests.  Little did she anticipate
on this day the stroke which was in preparation for her.  I asked
her spitefully to take a turn with me into the park, and I took
care not to announce the meeting which we had arranged.

Behold us then walking this way and that, quite by chance, without
however going any distance from the pavilion.  Madame de Bearn,
not liking the vicinity of the château, was desirous to go into the
wood.  I declined this under vain excuses, when suddenly madame
de Mirepoix and madame de Flaracourt appeared at the end of
a very short walk.

"Let us turn this way," said the countess to me, "here comes one
of our enemies, whom it would be as well to avoid."  

"Why turn away?"  I replied; "she is alone, we are two, and then
the maréchale de Mirepoix is not opposed to us."

Saying this, I advanced towards them.  Madame de Flaracourt appeared
very gracious: I replied to her advances with due politeness, and
instead of separating, we continued to walk about together.  Madame
de Bearn saw clearly that chance was not the sole cause of this
meeting: she dissembled as well as she could.  I afterwards learnt
that she owed me a spite, particularly for the mystery which I had
made of this occurrence.  The marked silence, and the sullen air
she assumed during this interview, and which her sense and
knowledge of the world should have prevented her from manifesting,
proved to me, on this occasion, as on many other others, that
temper cannot always be conquered, and that at times it will burst
forth in spite of the experience and caution of the courtier.

I did not give myself much trouble on this subject: I had well
recompensed the good offices of the countess: I had ample proof
that in serving me she had acted on the impulse of self-interest:
we were quits, I thought, and I saw no reason why I should
remain isolated just to serve her pleasure.

When we returned to my apartments I saw plainly, by her mutterings,
her sighs, and the shrugging of her shoulders, that she was deeply
irritated at what had just taken place.  She was desirous of
provoking an explanation, but as that could only tend to her
disadvantage, she contented herself with leaving me earlier than
her usual want, without saying anything disagreeable.  Her custom
was not to leave me alone, and her abrupt departure confirmed me
in the idea I had imbibed, that this sort of comedy had much
thwarted her.

In the course of the same day I received a visit from the comtesse
de Flaracourt.  This lady, whose sparkling eyes shone with an air
of mischief, presented herself to me with an appearance of
openness and confidence which completely cloaked the malignity
and treachery of her character.  She threw her arms round my neck
with as much grace as tenderness, and taking my hand, as if to
arrest my attention, said:

"I ought, madame, to explain to you the delay that I have made
before I introduce myself to you, as well as the promptitude of
this my first visit.  I was prejudiced against you, and had formed
a false estimate of you.  My <liaison> with mesdames d'Egmont,
de Brionne, and de Grammont naturally placed me in the rank
opposed to you: so much for what has passed.  But I have seen
you: I have studied you at a distance, as well as close, and I
have recognised, without difficulty, the injustice of your enemies.
I have been enraged with myself for having been deceived regarding
you: I wish to repair my wrongs.  Enlightened by the opinion of
the maréchale de Mirepoix, I have not hesitated to approach you
under her auspices, and our first meeting has so happily furnished
me with an opportunity of appreciating you, that I would not delay
any longer the pleasure of making you a personal avowal of my
past sentiments, and of those with which you now inspire me."

The tone in which madame de Flaracourt uttered these words was so
gracious and so persuasive, that I could not resist the pleasure of
embracing her.  She returned my kiss with the same eagerness,
and would not listen to my thanks.

"All is explained between us," she continued, "let us forget the
past, and let us do as if meeting for the first time to-day; we
henceforward date this as the first of our acquaintance."  

"The affability with which you have presented yourself to me," I
replied, "does not permit me to believe that I have only known
you from this morning; I am in an illusion which will only allow
me to look on our recent alliance as an ancient friendship."

After having exchanged some conversation of the same tenor, we
talked of my situation as regarded the other females of the court.

"They hate you for two reasons," said the countess: "in the first
place, because you have made a conquest which all the world envies
you; secondly because you are not one of us.  There is not one
family who can lean on you in virtue of the rights of blood, or
alliances which stand instead of it.  You have superseded a woman
who more than any other could have a claim to your good fortune:
she is sister to the prime minister, who has in her train, like
Lucifer, more than a third part of heaven, for all the courtiers
hang on her brother.

"On the other hand, we are not accustomed to remain so long in
opposition to the will of the king.  Such a resistance is not natural
to us; it weighs upon us, it harms us, the favor of our master
being our chief good.  We are only something thro' him, and when
combatting against him we have neither the courage nor the
perseverance.  Thus you may be very certain that the majority
of women who oppose you do it against the grain: and if you add
to this that they are incessantly exposed to the murmurs and
complaints of their husbands, sons, brothers, and lovers, you
will easily be convinced that they only aspire to finding a means
of reconciling the regard they owe to the Choiseuls and the terror
which they inspire, with the desire they have to seek your
protection and the friendship of the king.  The cabal only flies
on one wing, and I cannot divine its situation at the commencement
of the next winter.  Do not disquiet yourself any more with what
it can do: keep yourself quiet; continue to please the 'master,'
and you will triumph over the multitude as easily as you have
conquered the resistance of mesdames."

Such was the language of the comtesse de Flaracourt: it agreed,
as you will perceive, with that of madame de Mirepoix, and I
ought the more to believe it, as it was the fruit of their
experience and profound knowledge of court manners.  Their
example proved to me, as well as their words, that all those who
approached the king could not bear for a long time the position in
which he placed those whom he did not look upon with pleasure.
However, Louis XV evinced more plainly from day to day the
ascendancy I had over his mind.  He assisted publicly at my toilet*,
he walked out with me, left me as little as possible, and sought
by every attention to console me for the impertinences with which
my enemies bespattered me.  The following anecdote will prove to
you how little consideration he had for those persons who dared to
insult me openly.

One day at Marly, I entered the drawing-room; there was a vacant
seat near the princesse de Guémenée, I went to it, and scarcely
was seated when my neighbor got up, saying, "What horror!"  and
betook herself to the further end of the room.  I was much confused:
the offence was too public for me to restrain my resentment, and
even when I wished to do so the thing was scarcely possible.  The
comte Jean, who had witnessed it, and my sisters-in-law, who
learnt it from him, were enraged.  I was compelled to complain to
the king, who instantly sent the princesse de Guémenée an order
to quit Marly forthwith, and betake herself to the princesse de
Marsan, <gouvernante> of the children of the royal family of France,
of whose post she had the reversion.

Never did a just chastisement produce a greater effect.  The
outcry against me was louder than ever, it seemed as tho' the
whole nobility of France was immolated at "one fell swoop."
To have heard the universal clamor, it would have been thought
that the princess had been sent to the most obscure prison in the
kingdom.  This proof of the king's regard for me did much mischief,
no doubt, as it furnished my enemies with a pretext to accuse me
of a vindictive spirit.  Could I do otherwise?  Ought I to have
allowed myself to be overwhelmed with impunity, and was it
consistent with the dignity of my august protector, that I should
be insulted thus openly by his subjects, his courtiers, his guests,
even in the private apartments of his palace?

However, this wrath of the nobility did not prevent the Choiseul
family from experiencing a feeling of fright.  They had just
received a signal favor.  The government of Strasbourg, considered
as the key of France and Alsace, had been given in reversion to
the comte de Stainville, brother of the duc de Choiseul.  Certainly
this choice was a very great proof of the indulgence of the king,
and the moment was badly chosen to pay with ingratitude a benefit
so important.  This did not hinder the duchesse de Grammont, and
all the women of her house, or who were her allies, from continuing
to intrigue against me.  It was natural to believe that the king
would not permit such doing for a long time, and that should he
become enraged at them, that I should attempt to soothe his anger.

Matters were in this state, when one morning, after his accustomed
routine, the duc de Choiseul requested a private audience of the
king.  "I grant it this moment," said the prince, "what have you
to say to me?"

"I wish to explain to your majesty how excessively painful is the
situation in which I am placed with regard to some of the members
of my family.  All the females, and my sister at their head, attack
me about a quarrel which is strange to me, and with which I have
declared I would not meddle."

"You do well, monsieur le duc," said the king, with cool gravity,
"I am much vexed at all that is going on, and have resolved not
to suffer it any longer."  

The decision of this discourse made a deep impression M. de
Choiseul: he sought to conceal it whilst he replied:

"It is difficult, sire, to make women listen to reason."

"All are not unreasonable," rejoined the king: "your wife, for
instance, is a model of reason and wisdom: she has perfect control
of herself.  She is the wise woman of scripture."

This flattery and justly merited eulogium, which the king made of
the duchess whenever he found an opportunity, was the more painful
to M. de Choiseul, as his conduct was not irreproachable towards
a woman whose virtues he alone did not justly appreciate.  It was
a direct satire against his sister's conduct, whose ascendancy over
him, her brother, the king well knew.  He replied that the good
behavior of his wife was the safeguard of his family, and he
greatly regretted that the duchesse de Grammont had not a right to
the same eulogium.

"I beg you," said the prince, "to engage her to change her language,
and to conduct herself with less boldness, if she would not have
me force her to repent."  

"That, sire, is a mission painful to fulfil, and words very hard
to convey to her."  

"So much the worse for her," replied the king, elevating his
voice, "if she bear any friendship for you, let her prove it in
this particular: your interests should keep her mouth shut."

The duke had no difficulty to comprehend the indirect menace
implied: he instantly renewed his regrets for the <disagreeable>
disturbances that had occurred.

"Add <insulting>," said Louis XV.  "I am content with you and
your services, duke.  I have just proved this to you, by giving
your brother more than he could expect from me; but have not I
the right to have my intimacies respected?  It appears to me that
if you spoke more decidedly in your family you would command
more attention."

"This makes me fear, sire, that your majesty does not believe me
sincere in my expression of the regret which I just took the
liberty to utter to your majesty."  

"<Mon Dieu>, monsieur le duc, you certainly do not like
madame du Barry."

"I neither like nor hate her, sire; but I see with trouble that
she receives at her house all my enemies."

"Whose fault is that if it be so?  Your own; you, who would never
visit her; she would have received you with pleasure, and I have
not concealed from you the satisfaction I should have experienced."  

These last words made the duke start, his eyes became animated.
After a moment's reflection he said to the king,

"Sire, is it indispensably necessary for the service of  the state
that I endeavor to attain the good-will of madame la comtesse
du Barry?"

"No."  

"Well, then, sire, allow matters to remain as they are.  It would
cost me much to quarrel with my whole family, the more so as
this sacrifice is not useful to you, and would in no wise alter
my position with your majesty."

However painful to the king such a determination might be, he
did not allow the duke to perceive it; he dissembled the resentment
he felt, and contented himself with saying,

"Duc de Choiseul, I do not pretend to impose chains on you; I
have spoken to you as a friend rather than as a sovereign.  Now
I return to what was said at first, and accept with confidence the
promise you make me not to torment a lady whom I love most sincerely."

Thus ended a conversation from which the duke, with a less haughty
disposition, might have extracted greater advantages and played
a surer game.  It was the last plank of safety offered in the
shipwreck which menaced him.  He disdained it: the opportunity of
seizing it did not present itself again.  I doubt not but that if
he would have united himself freely and sincerely with me I
should not have played him false.  Louis XV, satisfied with his
condescension in my behalf, would have kept him at the head of
his ministry: but his pride ruined him, he could not throw off
the yoke which the duchesse de Grammont had imposed on him: he
recoiled from the idea of telling her that he had made a treaty
of peace with me, and that was not one of the least causes of
his disgrace.

The journey to Marly gave birth to a multitude of intrigues of
persons who thought to wrap themselves up in profound mystery,
and all whose actions we knew.  The police were very active
about the royal abodes, especially since the fatal deed of the
regicide Damiens.  To keep them perpetually on the watch, they
were ordered to watch attentively the amours of the lords and
ladies of the court.

The daughter of the duc de Richelieu, the comtesse d'Egmont, whose
age was no pretext for her follies, dearly liked low love adventures.
She used to seek them out in Paris, when she could find none at
Versailles.  She was not, however, the more indulgent towards me.
This lady was not always content with noble lovers, but sought
them in all classes, and more than once, simple mortals, men of
low order, obtained preference over demi-gods.  Her conduct in
this respect was the result of long experience.  She used to go out
alone, and traverse the streets of Paris.  She entered the shops,
and when her eye rested on a good figure, having wide shoulders,
sinewy limbs, and a good looking face, she then called up all the
resources of her mind to form and carry on an intrigue, of which
the consequences, at first agreeable to him who was the object
of it, terminated most frequently fatally.  The following adventure
will give you an idea of the talent of madame d'Egmont in this way,
and how she got rid of her adorers when she had exhausted with
them the cup of pleasure.



CHAPTER XVIII


Intrigue of the comtesse d'Egmont with a shopman--His unhappy
fate--The comtesse du Barry protects him--Conduct of Louis XV
upon the occasion--The young man quits France--Madame du Barry's
letter to the comtesse d’Egmont--Quarrel with the maréchal
de Richelieu

The comtesse d'Egmont was one day observed to quit her house
attired with the most parsimonious simplicity; her head being
covered by an enormously deep bonnet, which wholly concealed her
countenance, and the rest of her person enveloped in a pelisse,
whose many rents betrayed its long service.  In this strange
dress she traversed the streets of Paris in search of adventures.
She was going, she said, wittily enough, "to return to the cits
what her father and brother had so frequently robbed them of."
Chance having led her steps to the rue St. Martin, she was
stopped there by a confusion of carriages, which compelled her
first to shelter herself against the wall, and afterwards to take
refuge in an opposite shop, which was one occupied by a  linen-draper.

She looked around her with the eye of a connoisseur, and perceived
beneath the modest garb of a shopman one of those broad-shouldered
youths, whose open smiling countenance and gently tinged complexion
bespoke a person whose simplicity of character differed greatly from
the vast energy of his physical powers: he resembled the Farnese
Hercules upon a reduced scale.  The princess approached him, and
requested to see some muslins, from which she selected two gowns,
and after having paid for them, requested the master of the shop
to send his shopman with them, in the course of half an hour, to
an address she gave as her usual abode.

The comtesse d'Egmont had engaged an apartment on the third floor
of a house in the rue Tiquetonne, which was in the heart of Paris.
The porteress of the dwelling knew her only as madame Rossin: her
household consisted of a housekeeper and an old man, both devoted
to a mistress whose character they well understood, and to whom
they had every motive to be faithful.

Here it was, then, that the lady hastened to await the arrival
of the new object of her plebeian inclinations.  Young Moireau
(for such was the shopman's name) was not long ere he arrived
with his parcel.  Madame d'Egmont was ready to receive him: she
had had sufficient time to exchange her shabby walking dress for
one which bespoke both coquetry and voluptuousness; the softness
of her smile, and the turn of her features announced one whose
warmth of passions would hold out the most flattering hopes of
success to him who should seek her love.

Madame Rossin and the young shopman were soon engaged in
conversation, further animated by the bright glances sent direct
from the eyes of madame to the unguarded heart of her admiring
visitor.  Emboldened by the graciousness of her manner, he
presumed to touch her fair hand: the lady, in affected anger,
rose, and commanded him to quit the house.  The terrified youth
fell at her feet, imploring pardon for his boldness, and then
hastily quitted the room ere the feigned madame Rossin could
pronounce the forgiveness he demanded.  'The fool," was (doubtless)
the princess's exclamation, "had he been brought up at court he
would have conducted himself very differently."

This silliness of proceeding was, however, far from being
displeasing to the princess: on the contrary, it seemed to increase
her determination to prosecute the adventure.  Accordingly, on
the following day she hastened to resume her former walking dress,
and in it to take the road which led to the rue St. Martin, and
again to present herself as a customer at the linen-draper's shop.
This time she purchased cloth for chemises.  Indescribable and
unspeakable was the joy of young Moireau, when, after having
served the mistress of his thoughts, he heard her request of his
master to allow the goods she had selected to be sent to her
residence; and equally was he surprised that she omitted to name
him as the person she wished should convey them.  Nevertheless,
as may be imagined, Moireau obtained possession of the parcel,
and was soon on his way to the rue Tiquetonne, where he found
the lady more languishing and attractive than before; and soon
they were deep in the most earnest and interesting conversation.
Moireau, who now saw that his boldness was not displeasing to the
lady, became more and more presuming: true, his overtures were
refused, but so gently, that it only fanned his flame; nor was it
till after reiterated prayers that be succeeded in obtaining her
promise to meet him on the following Sunday.  The princess, like
a skilful manoeuvrer, reckoned upon the additional violence his
ardor would receive from this delay.  The affection with which
she had inspired him would only gain strength by thus deferring
the day for their next meeting, whilst he would have time to
meditate upon the virtue as well as the charms of her he had won.

The long looked for Sunday at length arrived, and Moireau was
first at the place of rendezvous.  His simple dress augmented his
natural good looks, whilst the countess had spared no pains to
render her appearance calculated to captivate and seduce.  All
reserve was thrown aside; and to satisfy the eager curiosity of
her lover, she stated herself to be the widow of a country lawyer,
who had come to Paris to carry on a lawsuit.  It would be useless
to follow the princess during the further course of this meeting.
Suffice it to say, that Moirreau and madame d'Egmont separated
mutually happy and satisfied with each other.

The youth, who was now ages gone in love, had only reached his
twenty-second year, and madame Rossin was his first attachment.
So ardent and impetuous did his passion hourly grow, that it
became a species of insanity.  On the other hand, the high-born
dame, who had thus captivated him, felt all the attractions of
his simple and untutored love, further set off by the fine manly
figure of the young shopman.  Indeed, so much novelty and interest
did she experience in her new amour, that, far from finding
herself, as she had expected, disposed to relinquish the affair
(as she had anticipated) at the end of two or three interviews,
which she had imagined would have satisfied her capricious fancy,
she put off, to an indefinite period, her original project of ending
the affair by feigning a return to the country.

This resolution, however, she did not feel courage to carry into
effect; and two or three months rolled rapidly away without any
diminution of their reciprocal flame, when one fine Sunday
evening Moireau, whose time hung heavily on his hands, took it
into his head to visit the opera.  This species of amusement
constitutes the <ne plus ultra> of the delights of a French cit.
Moireau seated himself in the pit, just opposite the box of the
gentlemen in waiting.  The performance was "Castor and Pollux."
At the commencement of the second act a sudden noise and bustle
drew Moireau from the contemplative admiration into which the
splendor of the piece had thrown him.  The disturbance arose from
a general move, which was taking place in the box belonging to
the gentlemen in waiting.  Madame d'Egmont had just arrived,
attended by four or five grand lords of the court covered with
gold, and decorated with the order of the Holy Ghost, and two
ladies richly dressed, from whom she was distinguished as much by
the superior magnificence of her attire as by her striking beauty.

Moireau could not believe his eyes; he felt assured he beheld
madame Rossin, yet he fancied he must be under the influence of
some fantastic dream; but every look, every gesture of the
princess, a thousand trifles, which would have escaped the
notice of a common observer, but which were engraved in indelible
characters on the heart of her admirer, all concurred to assure
him that he recognised in this lovely and dazzling female, so
splendidly attired and so regally attended, the cherished mistress
of his affections; she whom that very morning he had held in his
embrace.  He addressed a thousand questions to those about him,
from whom he learnt his own good fortune and the exalted rank of
her he had won.  Scarcely could he restrain the burst of joy, when
informed that the fair object, glittering with jewels and radiant
in beauty, was the daughter of Richelieu, and the wife of one of
the princes of the noble houses of Egmont.

A thousand tumultuous and flattering ideas rushed in crowds to
the brain of young Moireau, and he saw in anticipation a long
and brilliant vista opening before him.  Poor inexperienced
youth!  He mistook the wisest and safest path, which would have
been to have appeared ignorant of the high rank of his mistress,
and to have induced her, from motives of affection, to preside
over his fortunes, and to rise by her means without allowing her
to suspect he guessed her ability to bestow riches and preferment.
He, on the contrary, hastened to her with the account of his
having discovered her real rank and station.  Madame d'Egmont,
whose self-possession enabled her to conceal the terror and
uneasiness his recital inspired her with, listened calmly and
silently till he had ceased speaking, and then asked him, with a
playful smile, if he was quite sure of being in his right senses?
"For how otherwise could you," said she, "confuse a poor obscure
widow like myself with the rich and powerful princess you speak
of?  My friend, you are under the influence of a dream; believe
me, I am neither more nor less than poor widow Rossin, and can
boast of no claim to the illustrious name of Egmont or Richelieu."

But the more she spoke the less she persuaded, and young Moireau
was not to be reasoned out of his conviction.  of her identity
with the high-born princess of Egmont, and he alternately employed
threats and promises to induce her to confess the fact; but the
lady was firm and immovable.  Resolved at all risk to preserve
her incognito, she found herself compelled to bring the affair
to a conclusion, by feigning extreme anger at the pertinacity
with which Moireau importuned her upon a subject which she
protested she knew nothing: her lover retaliated, and a desperate
quarrel ensued.  Moireau rushed angrily from her presence, vowing
that he would publish his adventure thro'out Paris; an empty
threat, which his devotion to the princess would never have
permitted him to carry into execution.

Madame d'Egmont, however, was not so sure that her secret was
safe, and she lost not an instant in repairing to the house of M.
de Sartines, to obtain from him a <lettre de cachet> against the
aspiring shopman, who, seized in the street, was conveyed away,
and confined as a maniac in a madhouse, where, but for a
circumstance you shall hear, he would doubtless be still.

I happened to be with the king when the lieutenant of police
arrived upon matters connected with his employment.  According
to custom, Louis inquired whether he had anything very amusing
to communicate to him?  "Many things, sire," replied he, "and
amongst others an anecdote of madame d'Egmont"; and he began to
relate to us, word for word, what I have written you.  The king
laughed till he cried; as for me, altho' I could not help finding
the tale sufficiently comic to induce risibility, I listened with
more coolness; and when it was completed, I exclaimed,

"Can it be, sire, that you will permit this unfortunate young man
to be the eternal victim of so unprincipled a woman?"

"What would you have me do?"  said Louis; "how can I interfere
without compromising the reputation of madame d'Egmont?"

"Allow me to say," replied I, "that this fear ought not to prevent
your majesty's interference.  You are father of your subjects;
and the respect you entertain for madame d'Egmont should not
outweigh your duty, which imperatively calls upon you to command
the release of this wretched young man."

"But," argued the king, "by such a step I shall for ever disoblige
the duc de Richelieu and his family."  

"Fear it not," cried I, "if your majesty will trust to me, I will
undertake to bring the maréchal and his nephew to approve of
your proceedings; and as for the rest of his family, let them go
where they will; for the empire of the world I should be sorry
to bear them company."

This manner of speaking pleased the king; and, turning to M. de
Sartines, "Lieutenant of police," said he, "you have heard my
fair chancellor; you will act in strict conformity with the orders
she will transmit you from me."  

"Then take these orders now, sir," said I: "in the first place,
this ill-treated young Moireau must immediately be set at liberty,
and my own police (for I must tell you I had them) will give me
the faithful account of all your proceedings in this affair."  

The king comprehended my meaning.  "You will keep a careful watch,"
added he to M. de Sartines, "that no harm befalls this unfortunate
youth, whom, I beg, you will discreetly recommend to quit France
ere the malice of those who have reason to fear his reappearance
works him some evil."  

"And who, sire," asked I, "shall dare injure one whom your
majesty deigns to honor with your protection?"

"Madame," replied M. de Sartines, "even his majesty's high patronage
cannot prevent a secret blow from some daring hand; a quarrel
purposely got up; a beverage previously drugged; a fall from any
of the bridges into the river; or, even the supposition of one
found dead, having destroyed himself."  

"You make me shudder," said I, "in thus unveiling the extent of
human depravity.  So, then, this young man, whose only fault
appears to have been that captivating the eyes of a noble lady,
should perish in a dungeon, or save his life at the sacrifice of
country, friends, connections; and all this for having listened to
the passion of a woman, as licentious in manners as illustrious
by birth: this frightful injustice rouses all my indignation.
Well, then, since the power of the monarch of France is insufficient
to protect his oppressed subject in his own realms, let him
shield him from want in a foreign land, by allowing him a pension
of one hundred louis.  I will take upon myself to defray the
expenses of his journey."  

Thus saying, I was hastening to the adjoining room, where stood
my <secretaire>, to take from it a thousand crowns I wished to
give for the purpose.  The king held me back by my arm, saying
to me,

"You are the most excellent creature I know of, but you see I am
always master.  I will undertake to provide for this young man.
M. de Sartines," pursued he, "I wish to secure to him a thousand
crowns yearly; and, further, you will supply him with six thousand
francs ready money, which M. de la Borde will repay to your order.
<Now are you satisfied, Couci?>" said the king, turning to me.

My only reply was to throw my arms around his neck without ceremony,
spite of the presence of a witness, who might blush at my familiarity.
"You are indeed," said I, "a really good prince; it is only a pity
you will not assert your right to rule alone."

"You are a little rebel," cried he, "to doubt my absolute power."
This tone of playful gaiety was kept up some time after the
departure of the lieutenant of police.

M. de Sartines returned next day to tell me that everything had
been accomplished to my desire.  "M. Moireau," said he, "has left
prison, and departs for Spain to-morrow morning: his intention
is to join some friends of his at Madrid.  He is informed of all
he owes you, and entreats your acceptance of his most grateful
and respectful acknowledgments.  Will you see him?"  

"That would be useless," answered I; "say to him only, that I
request he will write to me upon his arrival at Madrid, and give
me the history of his late adventure in its fullest details."

Moireau did not disappoint me; and so soon as his letter reached
me I hastened to copy it, merely suppressing the date of the place
from which it was written, and forwarded it immediately to the
comtesse d'Egmont, with the following note:--

"The many proofs of tender attachment with which the widow
Rossin honored young Moireau make me believe that she will learn
with pleasure of my having the good fortune to rescue the ill-fated
youth from the cruelty of the comtesse d'Egmont.  This interesting
young man no longer groans a wretched prisoner in the gloomy
abode that haughty lady had selected for him, but is at this minute
safe in a neighboring kingdom, under the powerful patronage of
king of France, who is in possession of every circumstance relative
to the affair.  I likewise know the whole of the matter, and have in
my keeping the most irrefragable proofs of all that took place and
should I henceforward have any reason to complain of the comtesse
d'Egmont, I shall publish these documents with permission of those
concerned.

"The public will then be enabled to judge of the virtue and
humanity of one who affects to treat me with a ridiculous disdain.
There exists no law against a fair lady having lovers and admirers,
but a stern one forbids her to command or procure their destruction.
I KNOW ALL; and madame d'Egmont's future conduct will decide my
silence and discretion.  The affair with Moireau is not the only one,
others of even a graver sin preceded it.  I can publish the whole
together; and, I repeat, my determination on this head depends
wholly and entirely upon the manner in which madame d'Egmont shall
henceforward conduct herself towards me.  I beg madame de Rossin
will allow me to subscribe myself, with every feeling she so well,
merits,

"Her very humble and most obedient servant,

"THE COMTESSE DU BARRY"

I had communicated to no one the secret of this vengeance; I wished
to keep the delight of thus exciting the rage of the princesse
d'Egmont all to myself.  I was certain, that whatever might
henceforward be her line of conduct towards me, that whenever
she found herself in my presence, she would bitterly feel the
stings of an accusing conscience, and the gnawings of that worm
which dieth not in the heart of hypocritical and wicked persons,
more especially when compelled to meet the eye of those who
could unmask them in a minute.

On the following day I received a visit from the duc de Richelieu.
Spite of the many endeavors he made to appear smiling and good
humored, a deep rage kept its station round his mouth, and
contracted his lips even in the midst of the artificial smile with
which he sought to dissimulate his wrath.

"Madame, good morning," said he to me, "I come to offer my
congratulations, you really are become quite one of us; upon my
word, the most experienced courtier has nothing more to teach you."

"I am as yet in ignorance of the cause to which I may ascribe
these compliments, M. le maréchal, which I greatly fear surpass
my poor merits; and which even you will be compelled to retract
them when I am better known to you."  

"Fear it not, madame," said he, "your commencement is a master-stroke;
and the letter you yesterday addressed to the comtesse d'Egmont--"  

"Ah, sir," exclaimed I, with unfeigned astonishment, "in her place
I certainly should not have selected you as my confidant in
the affair."  

"And who could she better have selected than her father?  But
that is not the matter in hand.  My daughter is filled with anger
against you; and if I must speak the truth, I do not think your
behavior towards her quite what it should have been."  

"Really, monsieur, I was not prepared for a reproach of this kind;
and what can madame d'Egmont allege against me?  'Tis she who
has pursued me with the most bitter sarcasms, the most determined
malice; and, I may add, the most impertinent behavior.  I entreat
your pardon for using such strong expressions, but her behavior
allows of none milder.  And what have I done in my turn?  snatched
from a lingering death an unfortunate young man, whose only
crime consisted in having pleased this unreasonable madame
d'Egmont.  I procured the king's protection for the miserable
object of the princess's affection; I obtained his safe removal
to another country; and, having done all this, I communicated my
knowledge of the transaction to the comtesse d'Egmont.  Does this
bear any comparison with her line of conduct towards me?"

"But your letter, madame; your letter--"  

"Would bear alterations and amendments, sir, I am aware: I admit I
did not sufficiently insist upon the atrocity of such an abuse
of power."  

"You are then resolved, madame, to make us your enemies."  

"I should be very sorry, monsieur le duc, to be compelled to such
extremities; but if your friendship can only be purchased at the
price of my submitting to continually receive the insults of your
family, I should be the first to cease to aspire to it.  If
Madame d'Egmont holds herself aggrieved by me, let her carry her
complaint before the parliament; we shall then see what redress
she will get.  She has compromised the king's name by an arbitrary
act; and since you thus attack me, you must not take it amiss if
I make the king acquainted with the whole business."

The maréchal, surprised at so severe a reply, could no longer
restrain the rage which filled him.  "I should have thought,
madame," said he, "that my daughter, in whose veins flows royal
blood, might have merited some little consideration from the
comtesse du Barry."

"It is well, then, monsieur le duc," replied I, "to point out to
you your error.  I see in my enemies their works and actions
alone, without any reference to their birth, be it high or low;
and the conduct of madame d'Egmont has been so violent and
unceasing towards me, that it leaves me without the smallest
regret for that I have pursued towards her."

I had imagined that this reply would still further irritate the
angry feelings of the duc de Richelieu, but it did not: he easily
guessed that nothing but the king's support could have inspired
me to express myself with so much energy; and, if paternal
vanity strove in his heart, personal interests spoke there with
even a louder voice.  He therefore sought to lay aside his anger,
and, like a skilful courtier, changing his angry look and tone
for one of cheerfulness:

"Madame," said he, "I yield; I see it will not do to enter the
lists against you.  I confess I came this morning but to sound
your courage, and already you have driven me off the field
vanquished.  There is one favor I would implore of your generosity,
and that is, to be silent as to all that has transpired."

"I shall not speak of it, monsieur le duc," replied I, much moved,
"unless you or madame d'Egmont set me the example."  

"In that case the affair will for ever remain buried in oblivion;
but, madame, I will not conceal from you, that my daughter has
become your most bitter and irreconcilable enemy.  " 

"The motives which have actuated me, monsieur le  maréchal, are
such as to leave me very little concern upon that subject.  I
flatter myself this affair will not keep you away from me, who
would fain reckon as firmly on your friendship as yon may do on mine."  

The maréchal kissed my hand in token of amity, and from that
moment the matter was never mentioned.

A similar scene had already occurred with the prince de Soubise,
relative to the exile of his daughter.  Was it not somewhat
strange, as well as unjust, that all the noblemen of the day wished
to preserve to their relations the right of offending me with
impunity, without permitting me even the right of defending myself.



CHAPTER XIX


Madame du Barry separates from madame de Bearn--Letters between
these ladies--Portrait of madame de l’Hôpital--The ladder--The
bell--Conversation with madame de Mirepoix--First visit to Chantilly--
Intrigues to prevent the countess from going thither--The king's
Displeasure towards the princesses--The archbishop de Senlis
The spoiled child of fortune, I had now attained the height of my
wishes.  The king's passion augmented daily, and my empire became
such as to defy the utmost endeavors of my enemies to undermine
it.  Another woman in my place would have employed her power in
striking terror amongst all who were opposed to her,  but for my
own part I contented myself with repulsing their attempts to injure
me, and in proceeding to severity only when my personal interests
were too deeply concerned to admit of my passing the matter
over in silence.

There was no accusation too infamous to be laid to my charge;
amongst other enormities they scrupled not to allege that I had
been the murderess of Lebel, the king's <valet-de-chambre>, who
died by poison!  Was it likely, was it probable that I should seek
the destruction of him to whom I owed my elevation, the most
devoted of friends, and for whom my heart cherished the most
lively sense of gratitude?  What interest could I possibly derive
from the perpetration of such a crime?  The imputation was too
absurd for belief, but slander cares little for the seeming
improbability of such an event.  The simple fact remained that
Lebel was dead, of course the cruel and unjust consequence
became in the hands of my enemies, that I had been the principal
accessory to it.

My most trifling actions were misrepresented with the same black
malignity.  They even made it a crime in me to have written to
madame de Bearn, thanking her for her past kindnesses, and thus
setting her at liberty to retire from the mercenary services she
pretended to have afforded me.  And who could blame me for seeking
to render myself independent of her control, or for becoming weary
of the tyrannical guidance of one who had taken it into her head
that I had become her sole property, and who, in pursuance of
this idea, bored and tormented me to death with her follies and
exactions, and even took upon herself to be out of humor at the
least indication of my attaching myself to any other lady of the
court.  According to her view of things, gratitude imposed on me
the rigorous law of forming an intimacy with her alone; in a word,
she exercised over me the most galling dominion, which my family
had long counselled me to shake off; in truth, I was perfectly
tired of bearing the yoke her capricious and overbearing temper
imposed upon me, but I determined, if possible, to do nothing
hastily, and to endure it with patience as long as I could.  But
now that the number of my female friends was augmented by the
addition of the marquise de Montmorency and the comtesse de
l'Hôpital I determined no longer to bear the constant display of
madame de Bearn's despotic sway, and finding no chance of accommodating
our tastes and humors, I resolved to free myself from her thraldom.
Another powerful reason for this measure was the dislike with
which the king regarded her; not that she was deficient in birth or
good breeding, but amidst the polish of high life she occasionally i
ntroduced the most vulgar and provincial manners, a fault of all
others most offensive to the king, whose disgust was further
excited by the undisguised avidity with which, at every opportunity,
she sought to turn her admission to the king's private society to
account, by preferring some request or soliciting some particular
favor.  Instead of giving herself up to the joy and hilarity that
reigned around, she seemed always on the watch to seize every
possible advantage to herself.  Immediately that the king was
apprized of my intention of dismissing her from any further cares
for me, "You are quite right," said he, "to get rid of this
troublesome woman, who never visits us without calculating the
degree of interest she can derive from it, and seems to me,
whenever she approaches me, as tho' she were devising some fresh
petition to obtain from me.  And now, too, that the first ladies
of the court fill your drawing-rooms, why should you endure her
importunate presence?"

Strengthened by these sentiments on the king's part, I lost no
time in writing to madame de Bearn a letter, of which many false
copies were circulated; however, I subjoin the following as the
veritable epistle addressed by me to the countess:--

"MADAME,--It would be the height of selfishness on my part to
tax further the kindness and attention you have been pleased to
show me.  I am well aware how many public and private duties claim
your care, and I therefore (with much regret) beg to restore to you
that liberty you have so generously sacrificed to my interests.
Conscious of the ennui which oppresses you in this part of the
country, I write to entreat that you will allow no consideration
connected with me to detain you longer in a place so irksome, but,
since our visit to Marly is concluded, fly upon the wings of
impatience to the gay scenes of Paris and Luxembourg.  Be assured
that it will at all times afford me much pleasure to evince the
gratitude with which I shall ever remain,

"Madame, yours sincerely, 

"THE COMTESSE Du Barry."

"P.  S.  I am commissioned to entreat your acceptance of the 
accompanying casket; it is the gift of one whose favors are never
refused; you will easily guess, to whom I allude, and I doubt not
bring yourself to conform to the usual custom."  

The jewels sent were a pair of ear-rings and an <agrafe> of emeralds
encircled with diamonds.  The king was desirous of bestowing upon
madame de Bearn this particular mark of his recollection of her
services towards me, but it did not allay the indignation with
which she expressed her sense of my bitter ingratitude, as she
termed it, as tho' her interested cooperation had not been
sufficiently repaid .  Nevertheless, she forbore to come to a
decided quarrel with me, but satisfied herself with loading me
with every reproach in private, whilst she wrote to thank me for
all the favors I had bestowed upon her, and entreated I would keep
her remembrance alive in the mind of my royal protector.
As there was nothing offensive in the style of the letter I
showed it to the king; when he came to the part where madame de
Bearn recommended herself to his kind recollection, and expressed
her desire to be permitted to throw herself once more at his feet,
"Heaven preserve me," cried he, "from receiving this mark of the
lady's respect.  No, no, she is bad enough at a distance; I should
be bored to death were she so near to me as she prays for.  Thank
God we have got rid of her, and now trust to your own guidance;
try the powers of your own wings to bear you in safety, I feel
persuaded you will never be at a loss."

About this time the prince de Soubise, anxious to evince that he
no longer retained any feelings of coolness towards me, requested
his mistress, madame de l'Hôpital, to call upon me.  This lady,
without being a regular beauty, was yet very attractive.  She was
past the meridian of her charms, but what she wanted in youth
she amply compensated for by the vivacity and brilliancy of her
conversation, as well as the freedom of her ideas, which made 
her the idol of all the old libertines of the court.  The prince
de Soubise was greatly attached to her, and preferred her in
reality, to mademoiselle Guimard, whom he only retained for form's
sake, and because he thought it suitable to his dignity to have
an opera dancer in his pay; this nobleman (as you will find) had
rather singular ideas of the duties attached to his station.

Madame de l'Hôpital had had a vast number of gallant adventures,
which she was very fond of relating.  I shall mention two of the
most amusing, which will serve to convey an idea of the skilfulness
and ready wit with which she extricated herself from the most
embarrassing circumstances.

A young man, whose love she permitted, whose name was the chevalier
de Cressy, was obliged, in order to visit her, to scale a terrace
upon which a window opened, which conducted to the sleeping-room
of his mistress.  He was generally accompanied by his valet, a
good-looking youth, who, disliking a state of idleness, had
contrived to insinuate himself into the good graces of the lady's
maid.  The valet, during his master's stay with madame, had
likewise ascended the terrace, and penetrated, by the aid of another
window, into the chamber where reposed the object of his tender
love.  All this was accomplished with as little noise as possible,
in order to prevent the mischance of awakening the marquis de
l'Hôpital, who was quietly asleep in an adjoining room.

One clear moonlight night, at the very instant when M. de Cressy
was about to step out of the window, in order to return to his own
apartment, a terrible crash of broken glass was heard.  The
terrified chevalier sought the aid of his ladder, but it had
disappeared.  Not knowing what to do, the chevalier returned to
madame de l'Hôpital, who, seized with terror, had only just time
to conceal him in her chamber, when the marquis opened his window
to ascertain the cause of all this confusion.  In an instant the
alarm spread, and heads were popped out of the different windows
of the castle, each vieing with the other in vociferating "Thieves!
thieves!  murder!  fire!"

The unfortunate author of all this disturbance was the unlucky
valet; who, in his overeagerness to reach his Dulcinea, had
attempted to climb his ladder so nimbly, that it fell down, and,
striking against the windows of a room near which he had fixed
it, had broken several panes of glass.  The poor valet never
stopped to replace the ladder; but, terrified as well as hurt by
his rapid descent, scrambled off as well as he could, abandoning
his master in his present critical situation.

The ladder thrown down in the courtyard was abundant proof that
some audacious attempt had been made upon the lives and safety
of the inhabitants of the castle; and the general determination
was to catch the thieves: for, it was presumed, as no outlet for
their escape was discernible, that they must be concealed within
its walls.  The servants, with their master at their head, were
speedily assembled for the purpose, when the absence of the
chevalier de Cressy was observed.  Where could he be?  was the
general wonder.  Was it possible that, amidst the universal
uproar with which the castle had resounded, he had slept so
soundly as to be yet unconscious of all this bustle?  An
over-officious friend was upon the point of going to his chamber,
to ascertain the cause of his absenting himself at such a moment,
when madame de l'Hôpital sent to request her husband would come
to her immediately.  "Sir," said she, when they were alone, "the
disturbance which has thus broken our rest is not the work of
thieves, but originates in the shameless licentiousness of a man
unworthy of his name and the rank he occupies.  The chevalier de
Cressy, forgetful of his being your guest, and of respecting the
honor of all beneath your roof, has dared to carry on a base
intrigue with my woman, in whose apartment you will find him at
this very minute.  A conduct so profligate and insulting fills me
with an indignation which I think that you, sir, after what you
have heard, cannot but partake."  

The marquis de l'Hôpital, who did not see the thing in the same
serious light, sought to appease the virtuous indignation of his
lady, and went himself to release the chevalier from his place of
concealment; leading him thro' his own apartment to join the
crowd of armed servants, who, as may be supposed, were unable to
detect the supposed invaders of their repose.

On the following morning the chevalier as agreed upon, wrote a
penitential letter to madame, entreating her pardon for his
improper attentions to her servant, whom she affected to dismiss
with every mark of gravest displeasure.  The weeping Abigail
threw herself at the feet of her mistress: and the compassionate
marquis (before whom the scene was enacted), touched with pity,
implored his lady to receive the afflicted and penitent Javotte
once more into her service.  This was at length granted to his
solicitations; and Javotte received a hundred louis as the price
of her silence, and found it sufficient compensation for the bad
opinion the marquis entertained of her virtue.

The second trick the marchioness played her husband was not
less amusing.

The chevalier de Cressy and herself could not meet so frequently
as both desired; and whilst suffering under the void occasioned
by his absence, chance threw in her way a young relative of her
husband's, a youth of about eighteen, as beautiful as Love, and
as daring as that god.  They were then in the country during the
fine days of summer, and both time and place were favorable to
the prosecution of their growing passion.  One day madame de
l'Hôpital and her cousin were sauntering about the park heedless
of the approaching dinner-hour, and equally deaf to the sound of
the dinner-bell, which rung its accustomed peal in vain for them
whose ears were occupied in listening to sweeter sounds.  At
length the master of the house, alarmed at the protracted absence
of his wife and friend, went himself, attended by many guests
assembled at his house, in search of the stray ones; the servants
likewise received orders to disperse themselves over the grounds
in different directions; and madame de l'Hôpital and her companion
were only aroused to a recollection of the flight of time by
hearing their names loudly shouted by a dozen different voices.
Fortunately they were just in time to separate in opposite paths,
and thus to enter the castle without any suspicion being excited
of their having been so recently in each other's company.  The
marquis angrily remonstrated with his lady for having obliged
him to send in search of her, and she excused herself by protesting
that she had not heard the dinner-bell.  The marquis replied, that
the thing was impossible; and after some angry discussion the
matter rested there.

A few days after this the marchioness, with her husband and
cousin, were rambling over the grounds, when they found themselves
at the entrance of a hermitage, where madame de l'Hôpital had
told the marquis she had sat down to rest herself on the day of
her failing to attend the dinner-hour.  M. de l'Hôpital resumed
the dispute, by protesting that from this situation the dinner-bell
might easily be heard: the lady continued firm in protesting it
could not, till, at last, feigning extreme anger, she exclaimed.
"Well then, sir, since you refuse to believe <my> assertion, go
yourself and ring the bell as loudly as you please, your cousin
will remain here with me, and determine if it be possible to
distinguish the sound from here."

The fool of a marquis set off in the height of his zeal to convince
his wife, and, arriving at the turret where the bell was placed,
began ringing it with all his might and main, leaving the lovers
 the undisturbed opportunity they were not slow in taking advantage
of.  When the marquis had ceased his chimes, the loving pair went
to meet him.  

"Well, my good cousin," inquired he, as they approached, "which
of us was right?  Could you hear it or not?"

"Yourself, most assuredly," replied the young man, not without a
slight blush.  "I can assure you that both madame and myself
heard the bell the whole time you were ringing it."

"There, I told you so; I told you so"; cried the delighted husband,
triumphantly rubbing his hands.

I thought when this lively and piquant adventure was related to
me, that it was well worthy of being immortalized by the pen of
a La Fontaine.  The marchioness gave these anecdotes with a grace
and talent peculiarly her own; and I sometimes imagined that
some of the many she favored us with had perhaps taken place in
a more recent period than that she assigned to them; and that,
in order to divert our suspicions as to who were the real actors,
she frequently substituted the <past> for what should have been
with more correctness the <present> time.  With manners so
calculated to win, she could not fail being a delightful companion,
altho' in my heart I could not help giving the preference to the
society of the maréchale de Mirepoix.

Besides, the preference evinced by this lady in so generously
separating herself from all her family, in order to attach herself
to me, was not without its full value in my eyes.  I knew myself
to be generally disliked by her brother and sister-in-law, the
prince and princesse de Beauvau, the latter of whom was secretly
the mistress of the duc de Choiseul, over whom she exercised an
equal empire with the duchesse de Grammont, and I was every day
the object of some fresh attack on their part.  I used sometimes
to complain of this to the maréchale.  "My dear friend," she would
reply, "I am sorry, but cannot help it; in the midst of times such
as we live in, and in such a court too, the prince de Beauvau
aspires to be a noble Roman, and would fain be the Cato of his
country at least.  When I recommend to him a greater degree of
prudence, he talks to me of virtue, as tho' at Versailles duty
did not consist in implicit obedience to the wishes of our royal
master; either obedience or absence from court is the golden rule
laid down, from which none dare deviate.  As to my sister-in-law
she aims at the heroic likewise, altho her models are formed from
another school; in fact, she has pored over the romances of Cyrus.
Cassander, and Clelia, till she is half bewildered, and holds forth
upon the virtues of these famous heroines, till I am frequently
upon the point of exclaiming, "Ah, my dear, it is all very fine;
but Clelia and Mandane would not have shared their bed with
the duc de Choiseul."

By these lively sallies the maréchale succeeded in diverting my
anger from her relations, and I generally forgot my resentment
in a hearty fit of laughter, brought on by her sprightly
conversation.  I found myself becoming daily more attached to
her, and her presence helped to console me for the many vexations
I continually encountered.

The greatest disagreeableness I encountered was occasioned by the
capricious behavior of the princesses, who sometimes received me
with pleasure and at others evinced a disposition to annoy me in
every possible way, according as it suited the whims and wishes
of those about them.  The following may serve as an instance of
their versatility.

The prince de Condé having announced his intention of giving a
grand Fête at Chantilly, the princesses declared they would not
be present if I were there.  The prince de Condé, spite of his
claims to the character of a great man, was nevertheless one of
the most subtle courtiers; and as soon as he was informed of the
princesses' intention, he came, without ceremony, to explain the
matter to me.  This was the first visit he had honored me with.
"Madame," said he, "I had flattered myself you would have embellished
Chantilly with your presence; but the beauties of the court, too
justly alarmed at the idea of being eclipsed by your dazzling
charms, have so successfully manoeuvred, that they have wrought
upon the royal daughters of our august monarch to declare, that
the beauty of their attending nymphs shall not be effaced by yours.
You have too much good sense to see the affair in any but its true
light; and the disappointment your absence will inflict on me would
be too cruelly felt for endurance, did I not seek to pacify my
anxious wishes on the subject, by obtaining your promise to pay
me a visit when the king next honors Chantilly with his presence."  

I felt deeply flattered by the invitation.  The prince continued
to pay me several elegant and gallant compliments; and I was,
upon the whole, charmed with our interview.  However, the king
was highly displeased with his daughters' proceedings.  "I have
a great inclination," said he, "to forbid their going to Chantilly at
all.  Upon my word, if I were to listen to them, they would fain
make of me the same puppet they allow themselves to become in
the hands of the greatest simpleton who will take the trouble of
leading them."

I endeavored to appease his anger, by reminding him, that he could
not expect perfection from his daughters; and that, forced as they
were to hear me continually spoken ill of by my enemies, it was
next to impossible they should be able to prevent themselves from
adopting the opinion of those around them.  "And that," said he,
"is what I principally find fault with.  What have they to do with
aping the tone of those about them; and what point of their duty
teaches them to detest those whom I love?  I will take care to let
them know my displeasure."  

All my endeavors were in vain; I could obtain no change of his
purpose; and, summoning the archbishop de Senlis, he spoke to
him in a manner that plainly evinced his intention of making him
responsible for the actions of the princesses.  Poor M. de
Roquelaure called all the saints in paradise to witness his innocence.

"Silence, sir," exclaimed the king, "I am perfectly certain this
affair has not gone on without your knowledge and probable
participation.  I know you well for a person devoted to the
ladies, as a gay, gallant gentleman need be: I know likewise
that you expend the revenues of your bishopric and livings upon
the prettiest girls of Paris; thus I can hardly suppose you would
have counselled my daughters' conduct.  No, I blame those wicked
and vindictive scandal-mongers, whose age is their only protection,
and those intriguing men who beset my daughters' ears."  

"Sire," protested the trembling bishop, "I entreat you to believe
I am innocent of the whole affair."  

"Sir," interrupted the king, "I know well that you are as good a
courtier as a prelate, but still I believe you merely ape your
betters; and far from entertaining any personal dislike to the
comtesse du Barry, you would not object to receive either the
archbishopric of d'Albi or Sens from her hands, were they in her
power to bestow."

The conversation went on in this style for more than half an
hour.  The king, who had amused himself highly at the terror of
the bishop, left off in excellent humor.

This interview had not been productive of equal amusement to M.
de Roquelaure, whose self-love had been deeply humbled by the
way in which the king had spoken.  No sooner did he feel himself
at liberty, than he hastened to communicate to the princesses the
violent displeasure they had excited; and these ladies, so brave
and daring whilst their father appeared to offer no show of
authority or anger, durst proceed no further when they heard of
his seriously disapproving of it; and they felt the full
inconsistency of their conduct, in first admitting me into their
presence, and then refusing to meet me at any other place.  The
consequence of their deliberation upon the subject was to depute
the bishop de Senlis to call upon me.  This accommodating prelate
discharged his mission with the utmost amenity, presenting me
with the united compliments of the royal sisters, who all joined
in requesting the pleasure of meeting me at Chantilly.  Had not
the prince de Condé held out the flattering prospect of giving
me a Fête wholly to myself, in all probability I should have
profited by their invitation; but knowing of the secret intention
of the prince, I returned for answer, "that it was sufficiently
flattering and gratifying to me, to find that I still preserved 
any portion of the princesses' kind favor, but that I was
abundantly honored by the intimation of my presence
being agreeable.  Nevertheless, as I had good authority for
conjecturing that it might not be equally so to many of the
ladies of their court, I should abstain from giving offence to
any one by my presence."

"Ah, madame,,, cried M. de Roquelaure, "I entreat of you not to
insist upon my carrying the latter part of this message to the
princesses, they would be so much grieved."  

"Well, then, sir," said I, "tell them that I am indisposed, and
that the state of my health will detain me at Versailles."  

'That indeed," said he, " is a more respectful message; and
further I would venture to ask of your goodness, that since it
is not your pleasure to honor Chantilly with your presence, that
you will have the kindness to mention in the proper quarter, that
far from my royal ladies opposing any obstacle to your going,
they would have been much delighted with your presence there."  

"Be assured, sir," answered I, " that I shall ever feel proud and
honored by the princesses' notice; and I will take care that the
faithful account of all their gracious condescension shall be
faithfully and loudly reported."  

The bishop departed much pleased with the success of
his negotiation; and, above all, with the agreeable turn
the affair had taken.

When I next saw the king, I said to him, "Your daughters, sire,
are as amiable as you would have them; they have been informed
that some evil disposed persons have asserted, that they had
prohibited my being of the party to Chantilly; and in order to
testify how differently they  were disposed towards me, they
despatched the bishop de Senlis."  

"A most fit person to be intrusted with such a commission,"
replied the king; "for I have, in every instance, endeavored to
justify the wishes of this holy pillar of the church, this worthy
prelate with his double-faced politeness, towards those whom
he openly compliments, and reviles in private, just as his interest
may require it.  Well!  and what did you say to him?"

"That I most humbly thanked the princesses, but that the state
of my health did not permit of my visiting Chantilly for the present."

"That is all very well," answered Louis XV; "you have framed
your excuse with much generosity, which I greatly fear will meet
with a very different turn; for if you do not accompany me to
Chantilly, the report circulated will be, that the princesses have
forbidden you their presence; which my dearly beloved daughters,
whose characters I fully understand, will neither affirm nor deny
before the public, whilst in private they will vow that they
prohibited you from following them.  Always excepting madame
Louise, who is an angel upon earth, as she will most assuredly be
one day in heaven, where I trust her prayers for me and mine
will be heard."

I did not at the time pay any particular attention to the latter
part of the king's discourse, for, indeed, the beginning was far
more interesting to me; but when I afterwards learnt that madame
Louise had quitted the grandeurs of Versailles for the gloom and
austerity of a convent I recollected it, and easily comprehended
that it was spoken in allusion to an event which took place some
time afterwards, and of which I shall speak in its proper place.
However, the king's prediction was exactly verified; and the
report in general circulation was, that the princesses had
declared their intention of not going to Chantilly; it was
further rumored, that I was there, but in a private and concealed
manner.  This is wholly untrue; the king would never have permitted
such a humiliation; nor do I believe I should have submitted to it
had he even desired it.  However all this may be, he sought to
recompense me for his absence by writing a most delightful letter,
which I will subjoin for your gratification.  To me it was of so
much the greater value, that having its royal writer's permission
to show it, it became the first death-blow I aimed at the cabal
against me.  The king possessed a much greater portion of wit and
talent than the weakness and timidity of his character permitted
to appear.



CHAPTER XX


Unpublished letter of Louis XV--Madame du Barry's cousin, M. de
Maupeou--The comtesse du Barry saves the life of a young girl
seduced by the arts of the curé of her village--She obtains pardon
of the comte and comtesse de Louerne--The king presents her with
Lucienne--A second meeting with the youthful prophet--His further
predictions--He is sought for--His mysterious letter to the countess

"How does my sweet friend contrive to bear our tedious
separation?  is she happy and amused?  In that case I can
say, she has greatly the advantage over him who now
addresses her.  No, my lovely countess, I am dragging
on a tedious and uninteresting existence, spite of the
great and earnest endeavors of my good cousin and host
to provide for my enjoying the gaiety by which I am
surrounded; but, alas!  amidst the many faces with
which his mansion is thronged, that one which is
dearest to me is wanting, and all becomes a blank
in my eyes; and I yawn with irrepressible weariness
in the midst of the glittering pageants given to
honor my arrival; and you may rest assured that I
shall hail with delight the termination of a visit,
which seems already to have swelled the period of
our separation into ages.  I will not attempt to
conceal from you, that those who have good cause
to envy your supreme dominion over my heart, have
set every scheme in action to lead me even into a
temporary oblivion of you, but their attempts are
as vain as their impotent rivalry, and need cause
no uneasiness to you, my beloved friend.  I
frequently smile at the vast pains and precautions of
which my '<sacred person>' is the object; and I am
<continually> encountering '<by chance>' some of
those fair ladies who would fain usurp your place,
sometimes bedecked with jewels rare, and sometimes,
as Racine says,

"<------ dans le simple appareil
D'une beaute, qu'on vient d'arracher au sommeil.>'

"Madame de Grammont, for instance, takes an infinity of
trouble respecting my choice of your successor, which
she is resolved shall be either herself or one of her
choosing.  I protest to you that I find all these plots
and counterplots very amusing; and can only say, that
my daughters, who are completely duped by those
practising them, must be more completely deceived
than I had imagined possible.  Nor can I quite deny
that I feel a half mischievous delight in reducing to
despair,

"'<-------ce peuple de rivales
Qui toutes, disputant, d'un si grand interet,
Des yeux d'Assuérus attendent leur arret.>'

"<Assuérus> (which, of course, means me) keeps one
perpetual reply to all their high-sounding praises and
eulogiums of such or such a lady.  'She is well enough,
 certainly; but the comtesse du Barry excels her a
hundredfold': then follow such shrugs, such contortions
of countenance, and such vain efforts to repress the
rage of disappointed vanity and ambition, that I am
nearly ready to die with laughter.

"Apropos of dying; I inquired the number of deaths
which took place at Chantilly last week; only four,
they say!  Now I think that number quite sufficient
for the size of the place.  I walked as far as the
village cemetery, which is large and judiciously
placed.  I must tell you, that one of my footmen has
gone to that last journey from which none return:
he was a tall, presuming sort of fellow, remarkable
for nothing but his impertinence, and the continual
scrapes he was forever getting into amongst the
soubrettes.  However, he met with his death in some
sudden brawl.  My people sought to conceal this
piece of intelligence from me; but having once heard
of it, I despatched Flamarens to ascertain in what
corner of the cemetery he has been interred.

"The duc de Tresmes talks much of you, and boasts
greatly to the honor of your friendship; he has dubbed
himself your '<sapajou>'; this is not amiss for a peer
of France, and what is still more gratifying, he has
assumed a title which, I believe, no one in the kingdom
will attempt to dispute his incontestable claim to call
his own.  Villeroi is all impatience to return to
Versailles.  The dukes of Richelieu and d'Aiguillon,
both uncle and nephew, recommend themselves to your
kind recollection.  Thus you see you may reckon upon
a few devoted and attached friends, even without
him, whose hand is busily tracing these lines, and he,
I can promise you, is inferior to none in the truest
love and affection for you.

"The ladies of whom I would have you be most on your
guard are mesdames de C., de B., de P., de G.  They
really throw themselves in my way till I can call them
nothing but fools for their pains; but I must do them
the justice to say that they are less ambitious than
you, and so that they could rob you of your place
would care very little whether I could offer them my
heart with the other honors to which they aspire; in
fact, 'tis time we were together again, for the people
here seem determined to profit by my stay amongst
them.  My cousin entertains us magnificently, and
pleasure succeeds pleasure in a continual round of
enchantment: he tells me he has others still more
charming in store against the time when you will
honor him with your presence.  Am I right in
promising this will be ere very long?  Adieu, what a
long letter have I written you.  I will now conclude
by bestowing an imaginary kiss on that lovely face,
which must satisfy me till I have the felicity of
seeing you again.

"And now, my dear friend and fairest countess, I will
end my lengthened epistle by praying God to have you
ever in His holy care and keeping."  

The receipt of this letter afforded me the liveliest pleasure, and
I wrote to the king regularly every night and morning.  I might
here introduce a specimen of my own epistolary style, but I will
not; for altho' the whimsical and extravagant things my pen gave
utterance to were exactly to the king's taste, they might surprise
you; but my royal correspondent loved the wild and bizarre turn
of my expressions, and I fulfilled his wishes; perhaps it was not
the only instance in which I gratified his inclination.

My <cousin>, the chancellor of France, had remained to keep me
company instead of joining the party at Chantilly.  <My cousin>,
say you, and by what right or title could M. de Maupeou become
such?  I will tell you.  First of all he only aspired to the honor
of relationship, but afterwards, turning over the archives of his
family, he found the most incontestable proofs of his belonging
to the ancient families of the du Barry; and full of joy, he
hurried to me, unrolling at my feet his genealogical tree, to the
great amusement of comte Jean and my sisters-in-law, who, after
a long examination, declared that he was justly entitled to the
appellation of first cousin; from that period he always addressed
me <cousin>, which I flattered him by returning whenever I was
in the humor.

About this period I was the happy instrument in saving from death
a young girl whose judges (as will be seen) were about to sentence
her to be hanged without fully understanding whether she were
innocent or guilty.  This unfortunate creature was a young and
pretty country girl, whose worthy pastor, the curé de Liancourt,
had availed himself of the influence he possessed, and of the
advantages of his authority over the poor creature's mind, to
seduce her from the paths of virtue.  Unfortunately, just at the
time when she expected to produce a living witness of their amour,
and when she trusted to the cares of the curé to procure for her
those comforts her unfortunate situation required, the author of
her shame was suddenly carried off by a violent death, and the
wretched girl, either thro' ignorance or the shame of having
listened to the illicit passion of a priest, neglected to make any
of those formal declarations required by the law, and gave birth
to a dead infant.  The justice of the village, informed of her
fault, caused her to be arrested, and recorded against her sentence
of death, a decision which was afterwards approved by parliament.

The poor girl was in this extremity when, happily for her, M. de
Mandeville, a worthy man from either Normandy or Picardy, who
had served in the black musketeers, resolved upon attempting
the revocation of the severe sentence which had been passed upon
her, by addressing the king thro' my mediation; he accordingly
followed me to Marly, where I then was, and lost no time in
forwarding to me the following billet:--

"MADAME,-- Beauty has ever been found the
inseparable companion of goodness; to yours I
would appeal to obtain the favor of an immediate
audience.  My reasons for requesting it are not
to solicit either place or pension, but to save the
life of an erring creature whose crime has been
that of ignorance.  I await your reply with the
most lively impatience, and have the honor to
remain, etc., etc."

This note puzzled me excessively, however I gave orders for the
immediate introduction of M. de Mandeville, whose appearance
was even more prepossessing than his note; he looked and spoke
like an honorable man endowed with that sensibility so precious
and so rare; he put into my hands the petition, whilst he explained
to me the particulars relative to it, and I instantly wrote to the
chancellor the following note, of which a thousand copies were
taken in the course of the day.  Altho' it has been many times in
 print, I shall offer no apologies for again submitting it to
your perusal.

"MONSIEUR LE CHANCELLOR,--I do not profess
to understand your laws, but they seem to me as
unjust as barbarous.  They are contrary to both
reason and humanity, if they put to death an
unfortunate female for giving birth to a
still-born child without having previously disclosed
her situation to any one; and yet, according to
the memorial annexed to this, the petitioner is
so circumstanced.  Here is an unhappy girl
about to pay with the forfeit of her life for
her ignorance of such a law, or because the
modesty and even shame attendant upon her
disgraced condition prevented her conforming
to it.  I appeal to your sense of justice; the
wretched girl, concerning whom I write, is a
fit object for the exercise of your lenity, and I
venture to assure myself that you will at least
effect the commutation of her punishment.
Your own kind feelings will dictate all I would
ask further for her.

"I am, etc., etc."

I felt very certain that, from the manner in which I had expressed
myself, the consent of M. de Maupeou was quite certain; I therefore
said to my visitor, the handsome musketeer,

"And now, sir, the noble work of charity, in which you have
associated me must be completed: go yourself and see the chancellor,
tell him you come from me, and do not quit him till you obtain
the reply I have solicited."

M.  de Mandeville loaded me with thanks and praises which I did
not really merit, because in the present instance I acted as much
from the wish to gratify my own feelings as his.  My name and my
letter were talismans before which all doors flew open, and he
reached, without difficulty, the presence of the chief administrator
of justice, who, having read the memorial and the note I had
affixed to it, said, "That is sufficient, sir; have the goodness to
assure madame la comtesse du Barry, my cousin, that the reprieve
she desires is already granted; and as my fair relation appears to
fear trusting implicitly to my personal friendship and humanity,
I will set her mind at rest by putting you in possession of the
legal forms requisite for the prisoner."

He immediately issued the necessary orders for suspending the
execution of the sentence, which M. de Mandeville lost no time
in communicating to the poor girl, who, a very few days afterwards,
received a full pardon, and was thus, in a manner, snatched from
an unmerited and ignominious death.  The musketeer requested
permission to present my <protegee> to my notice.  She really
was a very pretty girl, her feelings overpowered her, and she
fainted in her attempt to throw herself at my feet; I soon revived
her by the aid of those restoratives which my staring people
stupidly did not try to offer, and then to send her away perfectly
happy and cheerful, I slipped into the pocket of her apron a
<rouleau> of fifty louis which the king had given me for her use.
And here I must remark, that this prince, avaricious as he naturally
was, was yet always ready to perform a good action, and, indeed,
in this respect, he possessed many excellent qualities to which no
one has ever yet done justice.
When I next saw the chancellor--"Do you know, my fair cousin,"
said he, "that if I wished to set you and the parliament quarreling
together I need only just whisper in what manner you treat our laws?"

"Your laws," exclaimed I, "are barbarous edicts, made rather for
tigers than for men.  Your punishments are atrocious, nor do I
see their application to correct a single malefactor; particularly
in the case of this young girl it is abominable, and if the king
would listen to me such savage edicts should not long remain unrepealed."

"That may do very well," replied M. de Maupeou, "some time hence,
but not just now; ere our penal code can be revised we must have
magistrates more supple than those who now dispute our slightest
innovation; and if, by the grace of God, we can manage to make a clear
house of them, why we may confidently anticipate the noblest results."

By these and similar insinuations the chancellor bespoke that aid
and assistance which I afterwards so largely rendered him when he
commenced the ruin of parliaments.

Upon another occasion my credit and influence were employed with
equal success.  The objects of my present exertions were the
comte and comtesse de Louerne.  Both husband and wife were deeply
loaded with debts, a thing common enough with the nobility of the
time; these debts they never paid, another thing by no means unusual;
their creditors, whose flinty hearts were but little moved by the
considerations of their rank and high blood, sent officers to
enforce payment, when the Louernes opposed them with positive
force and violence, and the laws, thus outraged, condemned them
to suffer death.  In vain did persons of the highest rank in the
kingdom intercede in their behalf, imploring of the chancellor to
interpose with the king; altho' deaf to every other entreaty he
instantly granted a reprieve at my solicitation, declaring I was
the only person who could have effected so much in behalf of the
distressed culprits, as well as being the only source thro' which
the king's mercy could be obtained.

Immediately upon this notification, I was waited upon by the
comtesse de Moyau, their daughter, and the baronne d'Heldorf,
their daughter-in-law; both these ladies came to me in the deepest
sorrow, and I mingled my sighs and tears with those they so
plentifully shed; but this was rendering poor service, and if I
desired to aid their cause it was requisite I should speak to the
king, who was little disposed to show any indulgence in such
cases, and was never known to pass over any attempts on the part
of the nobility to resist the laws; he looked with horror on
every prospect of the return of those times which he hoped and
believed were passed and gone never to return.  I well knew his
sentiments on the subject, and yet, trusting to my great influence
over his mind, I did not despair of success; besides Chon, my
sister-in-law, was constantly reminding me that people of a
certain rank should support one another, and that now was the
time or never.  I therefore resolved upon befriending the daughters
of comte de Louerne to the utmost of my power, and for that
purpose I placed them both in a corner of the drawing-room so as
to catch the king's eye as he entered; he observed them, and
inquired who those two ladies were.  "Sire," replied I, "they
are the heart-broken daughters of the comte and comtesse de
Louerne, who implore clemency of your majesty to save the lives
of the authors of their being."

"Ah!"  returned he, "madame, you know I can do nothing against
the law which they have offended."

At these cruel words the two young ladies threw themselves at his
feet, exclaiming, "Pardon, pardon, sire; in the name of heaven and
your illustrious ancestors."  

"Rise, ladies," said the king; "I would willingly serve you,
but I have not the power."  

"No, sire," cried I, "you must not, you cannot refuse our united
prayers; and I here vow to remain kneeling at your feet till your
lips shall pronounce the word which shall restore life and happiness
to so many afflicted hearts."

"Madame," said the king, altho' in a tone less firm, "you force
me to do what my principles condemn; but since it must be so, I
yield; and only rejoice that the first personal favor you request
of me is to perform an act of beneficence.  Ladies," added he,
turning towards the comtesse de Moyau and her sister-in-law,
"you owe the lives of your parents to the generous mediation
of the comtesse du Barry."

The joy of the Louernes was only equalled by the base calumny of
my enemies, who accused me of having prepared this scene, which
was got up by the king and myself to produce effect and excite
popularity.  Could such disgusting falsehoods have entered the
minds of any but the most depraved?  Yet those who continually
watched and misrepresented my least action appeared anxious to
deprive me of even the taste for, as well as the power of, doing
good.  This took place at Choisy, which we very shortly after
quitted for Compiègne, where I passed my time very agreeably.
The king would not suffer either the duchesse de Grammont or the
comtesses d'Egmont and de Brienne to accompany us upon this
excursion.  It has likewise been asserted, that neither the duchesse
de Grammont nor the princesse de Beauvau was present during the
king's first visit to Chantilly: that is not correct; it was at
the second that they were forbidden by Louis to join the party.
Those who fabricated such accounts, in all probability derived
their information from either the stable or the kitchen, which
was all they knew of the court of Louis XV.

During my abode at Compiègne I dined several times at the house
of my brother-in-law, Cleon du Barry, then a captain in the
regiment de Beauce, who was, with a detachment, quartered in
the neighborhood of the castle; and he, with the rest of his brother
officers, vied in endeavors to please and amuse me.  They gave
fêtes in my honor, were perpetually devising fresh schemes to
render the place agreeable to me; and in that they perfectly
 succeeded, for I quitted Compiègne with no other regret than
that my stay there was at an end.

The king appeared each day more and more solicitous to render me
happy, and even anticipated any wishes I might form.  Amongst
other marks of his favor, he bestowed upon me the splendid pavilion
de Lucienne, sold by the duc de Penthièvre after the death of his
son, the prince de Lamballe.  You know this charming spot, which
both nature and art have so liberally contributed to adorn: I have
converted it into the most perfect and delightful habitation in
which a mortal could desire to end her days.  Nevertheless, this
hope of passing my life tranquilly and happily within its sheltering
bosom will prove but fallacious, if I may credit a prediction
which has been verified already in part.  You doubtlessly remember
the young man who so obstinately pursued me to announce the high
destiny to which I should attain, ere I had for one moment
contemplated such an elevation.  Well!  You will scarcely credit
me when I declare, that all recollection of him had entirely
escaped me; but, in truth, the constant vortex of a court life
leaves no time for the recollection of the past, and fills our
minds with no other ideas but to provide for the present, and
occasionally to glance at the future.

However, I thought no more of my young prophet, when one Sunday,
after my return to Versailles from Compiègne, I attended mass at
the castle; all at once I caught a glimpse of my mysterious
acquaintance, leaning his back against the wall behind the altar.
He was examining my countenance with a deep and fixed attention.
You may picture to yourself my astonishment and surprise at
recognising in this place the person who had so long ago foretold
my brilliant destiny.  The color rushed to my cheeks, and he could
distinctly observe how much I was agitated by his presence, and
his beautiful countenance was lit up with a pleasant smile; after
which he gracefully waved his hand round his head as tho' he
would say, "Are you not queen of France?"  This gesture excited
my astonishment still further; however, I returned his mute inquiry
by a slight inclination of the head, intended to say, "You are
right."  In a moment a sort of cloud seemed to cover my eyes.  So
soon as I could recover from the sudden dimness which obscured
my vision, I endeavored to bend my looks in an opposite direction;
for so greatly was I the point of general observation, that I
feared to awaken suspicion by an indiscreet attention to one
particular person or place: and when after some little time had
elapsed, and I ventured to turn my eyes again to the spot where
the young man had been standing, he had disappeared.

I was unable to recover my astonishment at the whole affair, and
the suddenness of his departure inspired me with a lively desire to
know more of him, whether he were man or demon.  I mentioned it
to Chon the same day, who, having listened to me with extreme
attention, "Upon my word," said she, "this is a most marvellous
event in your history.  Why do you not mention the fact to M.
de Sartines?  " 

"Because it appears to me folly to disturb or annoy a person who
has given me no offence; and were I to put him into the hands of
the police, I might possibly find reason to repent having acted
so.  On the other hand, I would give any sum of money for one
more interview with this wonderful person."

There the conversation ended; but my sister-in-law, by an unpardonable
curiosity she ought not to have indulged in, wrote, unknown to
me, to the lieutenant of the police, entreating of him to use the
most active measures to trace out the object of my curiosity.  M.
de Sartines delighted at having an opportunity of proving to me and
mine his skill and zeal, turned all his bloodhounds loose upon the
track of this unfortunate being.  During these proceedings I
received a letter, sealed with five black seals, bearing the
impress of a death's head.  I thought at first that it was to
notify the decease of some friend, and I looked upon the style as
gloomy as it was strange; but, upon opening it, I found it to
contain the following words:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE,--I am perfectly aware
that the strict pursuit made after me in your name
is without your knowledge or sanction: those sent
in search of me have spared no pains nor trouble
 to ascertain my name and abode.  My abode!
Let all as they value themselves avoid meeting
me there; for, when they enter it, it will be never
to quit it more.  Who am I?  That can only be known
when this life has been exchanged for another.  I
charge you, madame, to command the lieutenant,
M. de Sartines., to cease his researches after me;
they would be fruitless, and might only compromise
your safety.  Remember, I predicted your good
fortune; was I not correct in it?  I have also
foretold reverses: I am equally correct in them also.
You will see me twice more; and should I
unfortunately cross your path a third time, prepare
to bid adieu to the light of heaven and the pleasures
of this world."  

It is impossible to convey an idea of the excessive terror with
which I was filled upon the perusal of this billet.  I summoned
my sister-in-law, and complained of the harshness of conduct
thus adopted against my pleasure.  Chon was equally alarmed,
and confessed to me what she had done in asking the aid of M.
de Sartines; at the same time that she was the first to declare that
it was requisite to put an end to all further search, which, in
one shape or other, might bring on the most fatal consequences.
I therefore wrote myself to M. de Sartines, thanking him for his
exertions; but saying, that my sister-in-law and myself had
learned from the lips of the mysterious stranger all we were
desirous of knowing, and that any future researches being
unpleasant to him would be equally disagreeable to me.  M. de
Sartines obeyed my request; and from that period till the death
of the king I heard no more of this singular personage.



CHAPTER XXI


Extraordinary anecdote of Louis XIV and madame de Maintenon--
The comtesse du Barry at Chantilly--Opinion of king and comte de
la Marche respecting the "Iron Mask"--Madame du Barry visits
madame de Lagarde

My acquaintance with the singular being I was speaking of in the
last chapter did not end here, as you will find in the sequel.  I
will now give you an account of an equally strange affair, in
nearly the same words as Louis XV himself related it to me.
Altho' strongly recommended by my sister-in-law and M. de Sartines
to conceal the whole story of my mysterious friend from the
king, yet, unaccustomed to the prudential observation of court
reserve, I, one fine evening, in order to fill up a long blank in
the conversation, related the story from beginning to end.  His
majesty listened with attention until I had concluded.

"This is indeed," said he, "a most singular history; and I think
you have acted very wisely in putting an end to all such interference
on the part of the police; for in such cases you frequently run
great risks to procure a trifling gratification.  We have seen
something of the same sort in our family."

This discourse excited my curiosity; and I entreated of him to
explain himself more fully.  "I ought not to do so," replied he;
"such transactions should be kept for ever concealed; but as more
than half a century has elapsed since the event I allude to took
place, I think I may venture to break the silence I have religiously
observed until now.  You are the only person I have ever mentioned
it to, and I must bind you to the strictest secrecy."

This I faithfully promised; and so long as Louis XV lived I kept
my word.

"At the conclusion of the last century, during the month of
September," resumed the king, "it happened that Louis XIV, and
madame de Maintenon formed the wish of consulting together some
learned astrologer, in order to ascertain whether the coming age
would be productive of good or ill to them.  As neither of them
knew to whom to apply, in order to attain their object, madame de
Maintenon was compelled to confide her wishes to her friend,
madame de Montchevreuil, who readily engaged to find for her the
person she required; for, spite of the severity with which the law
visited such practices, there was no scarcity of dealers in augury,
who promised good or bad fortune accordingly as they were paid for it.

"Whilst this lady was making diligent search after one perfectly
competent to satisfy madame de Maintenon, this latter, in
conjunction with the king, despite the superiority of their minds,
was greatly disturbed at the probable consequences of the step
they meditated.  Their desire to penetrate into futurity appeared
to them as ridiculous as it was criminal, but their weaker feelings
triumphed; and the result of their deliberations was that far
from relinquishing their intention of searching the book of fate,
they should lose neither pains nor trouble to attain their object;
and to encourage each other, they reckoned upon their fingers
the names of every person of their acquaintance, or even belonging
to the court, who had derived profit and advantage from the
predictions of fortune-tellers.

"The minds of all at this period were still imbued with those
superstitious feelings, of which many of the most illustrious
persons had given ample proof even in the preceding reign.  We
have become either more wicked or more sceptical, whichever
you please to term it; but this is certain, that many of the
things predicted were accomplished with an exact punctuality,
which might serve to overthrow the finest arguments of the
greatest philosophers, and which has indeed destroyed many
ingenious theories.  Doubtless the hidden laws of nature have
reference to other beings than ourselves; and, beyond dispute,
may be said to govern the creatures of an unknown world as well
as exercising control over poor mortals like us."  After this short
digression, of which I give you the precise wording, the king
continued as follows:

"On the following day madame de Montchevreuil paid a visit to
madame de Maintenon, in which she declared, that upon mature
reflection, she could not proceed with the commission she had
undertaken: that it was tempting Providence, and had better be
abandoned.  This remonstrance had no effect upon madame de
Maintenon, who shielded herself from any necessity of retracting,
by repeating to herself, that she had pledged herself to join
Louis XIV in the undertaking, and it would never do for her to
forfeit her character for firmness and good sense by now appearing
trifling and capricious.  However, she feigned a seeming
compliance with the advice of madame de Montchevreuil, whilst,
in reality, her mind was resolved upon executing her project.

"There was in her household a female who was not immediately one
of her establishment, altho' generally ranking as such; one of
those active, stirring persons, who thrust themselves into a
noble family under the equivocal title of half servant, half lady.
This one had charge of all the necessary purchases of linen,
Engaged the servants, kept watch over their conduct, procured
for the marchioness whatever particulars she might require upon
any subject; and took upon herself, in a word, any piece of service
by which she could more firmly plant herself in the family of her
employers.  She received no fixed wages, but their absence was
abundantly compensated in the numerous rich presents that were
continually made her.  Her sleeping apartment was always
immediately adjoining that of madame de Maintenon in the castle.
A person of this description (as may be readily supposed) knew
the world too well to find any difficulty in procuring a mere
fortune-teller; and as her discretion might be confidently relied
on, it was resolved by her mistress to intrust her with the design.

"Two days after, she had removed all difficulties by discovering
an Italian priest, famed as the most skilful necromancer of his
day, one who undertook to reveal the decrees of fate to all
those who should consult him, as clearly and readily as tho' its
leaves lay open, as a book before his eyes.  But this gifted
person lived in the utmost dread of attracting the notice of
parliament, and exercised his art only under the strictest
assurances of secrecy, in the most retired and secluded manner,
with every precaution to prevent the possibility of a surprise.

"These conditions were too gratifying to madame de Maintenon to
cause much delay in subscribing to them; and it was finally
arranged, that the prophet and his new applicants should meet at a
house in Sévres belonging to the royal family, then in the
occupation of madame Cerfol (the lady of whom mention has been
already made).  The marchioness was to repair thither at one
o'clock in the morning with a single friend.  To have taken such a
measure in open daylight would have been to proclaim their
secret to all Paris.  One person besides madame de Cerfol was
necessarily admitted into their confidence, and that was the
duc de Noailles, who was charged, by the king's express orders,
to take every possible precaution to ensure their safety, as far
as it could be done without attracting public attention to so
extraordinary an affair.

"At the hour appointed madame de Maintenon and the duc de Noailles
ascended a carriage which awaited them at one of the park gates,
and soon conveyed them to Sévres, whither the Italian priest had
gone the preceding  night.  This wretched man had celebrated alone
the sacrifice of the mass, and had consecrated several wafers.

"Everything confirmed the opinion, that the conjuror, up to the
present moment, merely supposed himself sent for to satisfy the
curiosity of some country nobleman and his lady, who were both
anxious and eager to read their future fortune thro' his assistance.
I can only suppose, if he had been in ignorance of the real rank
of those who addressed him, the sight of the king must have
quickly undeceived him, as the conclusion of the story proves he
well knew to whom he spoke when he delivered his prediction.
However this may have been, he was no sooner alone with the
marchioness, than he commenced the necessary preparations for
the performance of his sorceriesand enchantments; he burned
perfumes, offered prayers,and with loud invocations adjured the
powers of hell to answer him; and in the midst of a wild and
agitating sound which pervaded the whole building, during the
heavy swell of noises too dreadful to have arisen from mortal
sources, and whilst a thousand visions were flitting to and fro,
he drew the horoscope of the king and madame de Maintenon.  He
promised Louis XIV that he should succeed in all his undertakings;
and that, on the very day on which he spoke the words (the 2nd
of October) one of his children had been called to the inheritance
of an immense fortune.  Then giving him a small packet, wrapped
in new parchment, 'The day in which you form the fatal resolution
of acquainting yourself with the contents of this packet,' said
he, 'will be the last of your prosperity; but if you desire to
carry your good fortune to the highest pitch, be careful upon
every great festival, that is to say, Easter, Whit-Sunday, the
Assumption, and Christmas, to plunge a pin in this talisman, so
that the point shall pass directly thro' it; observe to do this,
and you will live perfectly happy.'

"The king accepted this fatal present, and swore upon the Gospel
never to open the packet; he richly rewarded the priest, who from
 that period lived in a retreat so well concealed as to evade the
most diligent researches of those who sought to discover it.

"Some time after news was received, that on the very 2nd of
October, 1700, named by the priest, Charles II, king of Spain,
had appointed in his will Philip of France, son of the dauphin,
his successor and heir, an inheritance truly immense, as the
astrologer had foretold.  You may well think how highly this
realization of the prediction inspired the king with confidence
as to the fulfilment of the remainder: and, on his part, he never
failed upon any saint's day or other solemn festival to stick the
mysterious pin in the talisman upon which so much depended.

"Nevertheless, spite of all these observances, his undertakings d
id not invariably succeed, which astonished him greatly; when one
day the great Bossuet, happening to be at madame de Maintenon's,
the conversation turned upon magic and sorcery, necromancy and
their horrible profanations; and he expressed himself with so much 
force and energy, that the king and madame de Maintenon looked
at each other without knowing what to say, and began, for the
first time, to feel compunction for what they had done, and to
regret their imprudence.  They talked of it much together, and at
length resolved to reveal their crime to their confessors.  The
punishment imposed on the king by his spiritual adviser was, that
he should evince his contempt for the talismanic properties of
the parchment packet, by immediately opening it.

"Louis XIV did not by any means admire this method of expiating
his fault; and a sort of involuntary dread took possession of him,
as, in obedience to the command of his confessor, he went to
procure the magic parcel, which he tore open in the presence of
madame de Maintenon and father la Chaise.  The packet contained
nothing but a consecrated wafer, pierced thro' with as many pins
as there had been saints' days since the king had received it.  At
the sight of this horrible sacrilege my grandfather was filled
with deep remorse and consternation, from which it was a long
time ere he recovered; and it was not until he had undergone
many severe penances, fastings, and caused numberless masses to
be said, that he felt himself at all relieved from the weight of
his crime.

"But all this was only the commencement of the divine vengeance:
and those in the secret of this unfortunate affair remarked, that
this great monarch lost from that time as many male descendants
in a direct line as he had stuck pins into the holy wafer."

Louis XV here terminated his singular history, which struck my
mind with a sort of religious terror.  I strove by every possible
effort to dissimulate, concealing from the king the emotions to
which his narration had given rise.  I contented myself with
observing, "that after hearing his marvelous recital, I should
only be more confirmed in my determination to leave my young
prophet to the tranquillity he desired."

"It will be far best so," added Louis; "I know so many
fatal results which have followed any indiscreet curiosity,
that I am persuaded you had much better leave such
mysterious affairs to work their own solution."

I promised to follow his advice, and we then conversed
upon other subjects.  Since then this anecdote has recurred to
my memory; and without wishing to impeach the sincerity of
Louis XV, I have asked myself, whether, by the opportune relation
of this adventure, probably invented by himself, he did not seek
to destroy the confidence I appeared to entertain in the predictions
of my prophet.  I say invented, because the king had a peculiar
readiness and facility in composing these sort of wonderful tales,
carefully noting down every circumstance which fell under his
knowledge deviating from the ordinary course of things.  He had
a large collection of these legends, which he delighted in narrating;
and this he did with an ease and grace of manner I have never
seen equalled.

About this period the prince de Condé, whose gallantry never
failed, entreated the king to pay a second visit to Chantilly: and
it was upon this occasion that Louis erased from the list of court
ladies all those whose presence would be disagreeable to me
during our stay at Chantilly.  One scene of pleasure followed
another, and one fête succeeded another.  I accompanied his
majesty without ever quitting him; and if hitherto there had
existed any doubts as to the sincerity of the king's attachment,
the most sceptical person would now have been convinced of the
fact.  Louis XV was never from my side, and appeared solely
occupied in gratifying my slightest wish; the princes of the
court carefully followed his example; and such a life as I then
led was abundant compensation for all the pains and anxieties
I had endured from the malice and jealousy of certain females,
as well as the sarcastic bitterness of men, who feared lest my
influence should destroy theirs.

I may, with truth, affirm that I received the honors and attention
of a queen; verses, plays, all written to convey some praise or
compliment to me; and the king testified the lively gratification
it afforded him to see me thus an object of general solicitude,
as well as of the most flattering distinction.  His conduct
towards the prince de Condé became more gracious than it had
ever been observed to be to the princes of the blood; for there
existed a singular coolness in the royal family towards all the
princes of this branch.  The king looked upon it as vastly inferior
to his own, because it had been separated from the throne before
the accession of Henry IV to the crown; he even asserted, that
there was much to be said upon this subject, and prudence compels
me to pass over the many histories and circumstances related by
him to me of this brilliant portion of his noble race.

Neither the prince de Condé, 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.  I had frequently heard talk of the
"Iron Mask," whom people reported to be either allied to, or
sprung from, the royal family; but all these particulars were
confused in my memory.  However, I was much struck with the
conversation I had had with the comte de la Marche; and when
next the conversation fell on this mysterious personage, I asked
the duc de Richelieu what he thought of him.

"Upon my honor," replied he, "I never could find out who he really
was; not that I did not try," added he, assuming an air of modest
vanity, which well became his green old age.  "I had a mistress
of tolerably high birth, mademoiselle d'Orleans, as indeed I had
the honor of having the princesses, her august sisters.  However,
the former, known under the name of mademoiselle de Charollais,
was dying to do some act of kindness that should be agreeable to
me.  Well, I requested she would obtain from the regent, her
father, the solution of the secret relative to the 'Iron Mask.'
She used every possible device, but nothing could she obtain
from her father, who protested that the mystery should never
escape his lips; and he kept his word, he never did divulge it.
I even imagine that the king himself is ignorant of it, unless
indeed the cardinal de Fleury informed him of it."  The maréchal
told me afterwards that he thought the opinion adopted by Voltaire
the most probable, viz: that this unknown person was the son of
the queen Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV.  These last words
helped, in a measure, to resolve the enigma which comte de la
Marche had left me to unravel; and, with a view to satisfy myself
more positively on the subject, I availed myself of the first
time I was alone with the king, to lead the conversation to
this story.

At the mention of the "Iron Mask," Louis XV started.  "And do
you really credit such a fable?"  asked he.

"Is it then entirely untrue?"  inquired I.

"Certainly not," he replied; "all that has been said on the matter
is destitute of even common sense."

"Well," cried I, "what your majesty says only confirms what I
heard from the maréchal de Richelieu."

"And what has he been telling you?"  

"Very little, sire;  he told me only, that the secret of who the
'Iron Mask' really was had not been communicated to you."  

‘The maréchal is a simpleton if he tells you so.  I know the
whole affair, and was well acquainted with the unhappy business."

"Ah!"  exclaimed I, clapping my hands in triumph, "just now you
affected perfect ignorance; you knew nothing at all about it,
and now--"

"You are a very dangerous woman," cried the king, interrupting
me by loud fits of laughter, "and you are cunning enough even
to surprise the secrets of the state."  

"'Tis you, rather, who could not resist the inclination to let me
see that you knew what the maréchal had declared you ignorant of.
Which of us two is the more to blame, I wonder?"

"Myself, I think," answered the king; "for after all, you did but
act with the candor and curiosity of your sex: it was for me to
have employed more of the prudence of a king in my replies to
your interrogatories."

"Well, but," said I, "since you really do know all about this man
with the iron mask, you will tell it to me, will you not?"

"I should be very careful how I gratified your curiosity," said
he; "this is a point of history which must never be cleared up;
state reasons require that it should for ever remain a matter of doubt."

"And <I> must have you tell me," returned I; "do pray tell, and I
will love you with all my heart."

"It cannot be."  

"And why not?  This unfortunate person has been long dead without
leaving any posterity."  

"Are you quite sure of that?"  inquired the king, in a serious tone.

"But what signifies," said I, "whether he be dead or alive?  I
entreat of you to bestow upon me this proof of your confidence.
Who of all those who have spoken of him have told the truth?"  

"Nobody; but Voltaire has approached it more nearly than any
one else."

After this partial confession the king implored of me to change
the conversation, which I could easily perceive was extremely
disagreeable to him.  Nevertheless, it seemed to me quite clear,
that this celebrated person belonged to the royal family, but by
what title I could not devise.  It was in vain that I afterwards
revived the subject; not even during the most tender confidences
could I obtain the information I desired.  Possibly had I lived
with him some years more I might have succeeded in drawing from
him all he knew respecting the object of my curiosity.  Old men,
like children, can conceal nothing from those they love, and who
have obtained over them an influence they willingly submit to.

Before I proceed to more important events, I would fain speak of
persons with whom I lived before my elevation.  My godfather,
M. Billard du Monceau, was still living, as well as madame Lagarde,
with whom I had resided as companion.  My interview with the
former is well known; and the authors of "Anecdotes of My Life,"
published thirteen years since, have strictly adhered to the truth,
with the exception of some vulgarisms they have put into the
mouth of that excellent man which he never uttered.

As to madame Lagarde, she was strangely surprised to see me arrive
at her house; and the evident embarrassment my presence occasioned
her was a sufficient revenge on my part for the many unkind things
she had said and done respecting me.  I would not prolong her
uncomfortable situation, but studied to conduct myself with the
same unaffected simplicity of former days.  I talked over the
past, inquired after her family, and offered my best services and
protection without malice for what was gone by, and with perfect
sincerity for the future.  But spite of all my endeavors to spare
her feelings, it was evident that rage and humiliation at the
advantage my altered fortunes gave me over her, struggled within
her, and the conflict of her mind was but too plainly depicted in
her countenance.  However, that was the least of my troubles; I
soon restored her to comparative calmness; and before I quitted
her, made her promise she would come and see me.

She would gladly have evaded this request; but her son, the master
of requests, who sufficiently misjudged me to fear my resentment,
and who possessed great influence over her, induced her to present
herself at my house.  She accordingly came to call upon me, with a
mind bursting with spite and jealousy; yet she choked down her
angry passions, and so far humbled herself, as to entreat my
pardon for her own sake and that of her family, for all her
unkindness towards me.  I would not allow her to finish; "Madame,"
said I, "I only allow agreeable recollections to find a place in
my memory; had I entertained the slightest resentment against
either you or yours, you may be quite certain I should not have
again entered your dwelling; and I again repeat the offer I
made the other day, of gladly seizing the first opportunity
of being useful to you."

Each of these words expressive of the kindest feelings towards
her was like the stab of a poniard.  She, however, extolled them
with the most exaggerated praise, imploring me to believe how
deeply she regretted her behavior, and talked so long and so much
about it, that when she quitted me, it was with the most certain
impression on my mind, that in her I possessed a most violent and
implacable enemy, and in this conclusion I was quite correct.  M.
Dudelay, her son, had the effrontery to request to be presented to
me, and charged the excellent M. de Laborde to make known his
wishes to me.  I begged he would inform M. Dudelay, that I admitted
into the circle of my acquaintance only such as were known to the
king; and that if he thought proper to apply to his majesty, I
should obey his royal will on the subject, whatever it might be.
He justly considered this repulse as a biting raillery, for which
he never forgave me.  I entertained no ill will against him for his
past perfidy, but I considered it strange that he should presume to
approach me with familiarity.  I should not have adopted the same
line of conduct towards the farmer-general, his brother, who,
less assuming, contented himself with assuring me of his devotion,
and the sincere regret with which he contemplated the past, without
ever seeking to introduce himself into my presence.



CHAPTER XXII


The chevalier de la Morlière--Portrait of the duc de Choiseul--
The duc de Choiseul and the comtesse du Barry--No
reconciliation effected--Madame du Barry and the duc
d'Aiguillon--Madame du Barry and Louis XV

About this period I received a piece of attention, any thing but
gratifying if considered in a strictly honourable sense.  The
contemptible chevalier de la Morlière, who detested me, and
subsequently pursued me with rage, presumed to dedicate to me
some wretched collection of his compositions, and I had the
weakness to accept the dedication; I had even the still greater
folly to receive its author at my house; this piece of condescension
injured me greatly.  Until that period I had not, like madame de
Pompadour, shown myself the protectress and patroness of men of
letters; and even my warmest friends could not deny, that in
stepping forwards as the encourager of literature, I had made a
very unfortunate choice in selecting the chevalier de la Morlière
as the first object of my patronage.  But how could I have done
otherwise?  The prince de Soubise, who found this man serviceable
upon many occasions, would have sacrificed any thing to promote
his advancement; and I have been assured, that had the maréchal
taken half the pains on the day previous to the battle of Rasbach,
we should not have left it so disgracefully.

The king well knew the unfortunate chevalier for a man as destitute
of modesty as merit; when therefore he saw his book upon the
mantel-piece of my drawing-room, he said,

'So!  you are the inspiring muse of the chevalier de la Morlière;
I only warn you, when the day comes for him to be hanged,
not to ask me to pardon him."

"Be assured," replied I, "that I will never deprive the Place de
Grêve of one so formed to do honour to it."  

In fact, the chevalier was within an ace of reaching it before
his friends anticipated; for, very shortly after this conversation,
he was guilty of the most detestable piece of knavery I ever
heard of.  He learned that an unfortunate young man from the
country, into whose confidence he had wormed himself, was to
receive 15,000 livres on his father's account; he invited him to
supper, and, by the aid of two villains like himself, stripped him
of his last sous.  Not satisfied with this, he wrote the father
such an exaggerated account of his son's loss and general bad
habits, that the enraged and irritated parent procured an order
to confine his son at Saint Lazare!  Did you ever hear of a more
infamous and accomplished rogue than my honourable <protégé>?
However, I shall give him up to his fate, be it good or bad, and
proceed with the relation of my affair with duc de Choiseul.

I had named to madame de l'Hôpital the hour at which I could
receive the duke.  She had requested, in pursuance of her directions,
no doubt, that the conversation between us should take place
either amidst the groves of Versailles or in the labyrinth of
Marly;--the self-love of M. de Choiseul inducing him to desire
that this interview should be so contrived, as to wear the air of
a mere chance rencontre.  To this I would not consent; saying,
that it did not suit my pleasure to quit the house; and that when
a gentleman solicited the favour of speaking to a lady, it became
his business to wait upon her, without expecting she should come
in search of him; and, spite of all the arguments of madame de
l'Hôpital, I persisted in my determination: she had no alternative
but to submit, and I awaited the coming of M. de Choiseul on the
following day.

The duc de Choiseul possessed a greater reputation than his
talents were entitled to; and his advancement was more attributable
 to his good fortune than his merit.  He had found warm and
powerful assistants in both philosophers and women; he was a
confirmed egotist, yet passed for a man who cared little for self.
He was quick at matters of business, and he obtained the character
of a deep and profound politician.  It must, however, be admitted,
that he was witty, gallant, and gifted with manners so elegant and
fascinating, that they never failed to remove the first unfavourable
impression caused by his excessive plainness.  The tide of public
favour was with him; and, in order to contest it, it required all
the influence of a woman, and that woman to be no less than the
beloved mistress of the king of France.

He presented himself before me tastefully and magnificently dressed,
both look and voice wearing the stamp of high-born pride and
haughtiness.  Nevertheless, amidst all this pomp, it was evident
that he did not entirely feel the ease he assumed, and that a
species of remorse rankled at his heart, spite of the courtier-like
gallantry with which he had invested himself.

"Madam," said he, bowing twice most profoundly, "the moment has
arrived which I have long most ardently desired."

"The fault has not been mine, my lord," said I, "that it has been
delayed until now.  My door has never been shut against any
visit you might have honoured me with."

"Ah, madam!  why have I not known this sooner?  Some evil planet
ruled my thoughts when it occurred to me that I might not be so
happy as to meet with a favourable reception."  

"There, my lord, you were indeed in error; for though I might not
feel a very tender friendship towards you whilst supposing I had
many causes for complaint, I could not refuse you those marks of
respect your rank and station entitle you to receive."

"Then, madam, I may flatter myself that I should have been
kindly received?"  

"Yes, sir, you would ever have been welcome, but not those
belonging to you, for I will be perfectly candid; always excepting
the duchesse de Choiseul, for whom I entertain the greatest
veneration and respect."  

"She is indeed well worthy the exalted opinion you express of her;
and had I followed her advice, I should not have been found
amongst the ranks of your enemies."

"You confess the fact then, monsieur le duc?"  said I.

"I trust, madam, you will not take advantage of an inadvertent
expression to turn it against myself.  What I fear is, that without
ever having been your enemy, I may have passed for such in your
estimation; and such indeed is the cruel position in which I
am placed."

"Stay, my lord duke," cried I; "be candid, and acknowledge that
you are my enemy as you have ever been; and that it is only
because there has been war between us that you are now come to
conclude a treaty of peace--"  

"Peace or war, madam," replied he, "as you please to will it; all
I will admit is, that things have turned out most unfavourably for
my wishes.  Your arrival at Versailles, your grace, beauty, and
wit, excited universal jealousy; and, amidst the general panic
caused by your all-excelling merit, was it not necessary I too
should keep myself on my guard?  For the first time in my life
a beautiful woman became an object of alarm to me; you may
further believe me, when I protest that, at the outset, I warmly
defended you; but how could I wage war against so many--how
oppose the general torrent?  It bore me down."

"And you fear lest it should carry you beyond your depth, and
would fain return to <terra firma>; is it not so, my lord duke?"  

At this ironical speech an expression of heavy displeasure rose
to the countenance of M. de Choiseul, and he remained for several
minutes like a man who fears to trust himself to reply.  Then
he added,

"Madam, when I solicited the favour of this conversation, it was
with the sincerest desire of adjusting all differences between
us, and it would but ill advance that purpose were I now to reply
to you with warmth and petulance; condescend, on your part, to
lay aside sarcasm and raillery.  You have already too many advantages
over me, and it would ill accord with your wonted generosity to
insult a half-conquered foe."

"You are right, my lord," answered I; "jests and recrimination
will effect nothing; let us rather proceed at once to consider
what is best for the interest of both."

"Willingly," replied he.  'Now you speak to the purpose; and as I
was prepared to hear you--are you inclined for a serious discussion
of our business?"  

"Pray begin, my lord, I am all attention."  

"Well, madam, I deeply regret all that has passed, and deplore
that my friends and part of my family should be disagreeable to
you; I take upon myself to engage that their hostility shall end,
and am willing to afford you the most perfect satisfaction upon
this point.  Impressed with highest respect for his majesty, and
the most lively desire to serve him, I ask for nothing more than
to be on good terms with those he loves; and as for the future,
my unshrinking loyalty may be relied on."

"I am well assured of it, my lord duke; and likewise you have
never taken any part in the calumnies which have been aimed at
me.  Let us then forgive the and since we are agreed as to the
future, let us speak but of the present.  I have friends fitted
to serve the king, whose ambition leads them to aspire to that
honour.  What will you do to assist them?"

"Ere I promise that, madam, it is necessary I should be acquainted
with them."  

"What would it avail to name them to you?  You perfectly well
comprehend to whom I allude.  I am resolutely decided to support
them, and to employ for this purpose the friendship with which
his majesty deigns to honour me."

The duke coloured deeply at these words.

"Then, madam," said he, " you would fain strip me to enrich others?"

"No, my lord, I ask but a division of your possessions.  You cannot
have every thing; and it would not be fair that our reconciliation
should be profitable to you only."
"I did not anticipate, madam, in coming hither, that you would
command me to offer up myself as a sacrifice upon an altar raised
by you to the interests of your friends."  

"Meaning to say, my lord duke, that you will keep every thing to
yourself.  I cannot compliment you upon your liberality, however
I may for your candour."

"Madam, I have never since my entry into the ministry sought to
live at the expense of my country, and let me resign office when
I may, I shall retire loaded only with debts, whilst you and your
friends draw large revenues from the nation."

The conversation became warm and angry, the duke and myself, with
crimson cheeks and inflamed countenances, surveyed each other
with haughty defiance.  At length he added,

"I had hoped that I should have quitted you more kindly disposed
towards me."

"And I, my lord, fancied that you were coming with an ardent
desire for peace; but no, the spirit of your sister leads you
astray, and you would fain punish me for her absence from court."

"Madam, I beseech you to leave my sister in peace; she has gone,
that ought to satisfy you.  We will not, if you please, speak of her."

"I only wish that she would likewise do me the honour to be silent
respecting me.  I am not ignorant that she continues to aim her
slanders at me from afar as she did when near me.  One might
suppose that the sole object of her journeyings was but to excite
all France against me."

"Madam, you are mistaken.  My sister--"

"Continues to play the same part in the country she did in Paris.
She detests me because I happen to have youth and beauty on my
side.  May her hatred last forever."

"Ah, madam, say not so; for with your charms you are indeed too
formidable an antagonist; and the more so, as I clearly perceive
you are not inclined for peace."  

"At least," said I, "the war on my side shall be fair and open,
and those belonging to you have not always waged it with me upon
those terms."

The duke merely warded off this last assertion by some unmeaning
compliment, and we separated greater enemies than ever.

The first person to whom I could communicate what had passed was
the duc d'Aiguillon.  He listened to my recital without any decided
expression of his opinion; but no sooner had I concluded, than he
took me by the hand, and pressing it with a friendly grasp,

"How I congratulate you," said he, "upon the good fortune which
has extricated you from this affair.  Do you know that a reconciliation
with the duc de Choiseul would have involved your inevitable
disgrace?  What evil genius counselled you to act in such a manner?"

"I fancied I was doing right," said I, "in thus proving to the
king that I was not an unreasonable woman."

"The Choiseuls," replied he, "would have entangled you in their
nets, and, separated from your real friends, would have made you
the innocent author of your own destruction.  Tell the king just
so much, that the duc de Choiseul has been to see you, that you
conversed together some time, and that he has offended you more
than ever."

"I promise you, my kind friend," said I, "to follow your advice."

When I next saw the king, I apprized him of the visit.

"That does not astonish me," said Louis XV, "the duke is anxious
to be on friendly terms with you."

"He has then taken a very contrary road to arrive at my friendship,"
said I; "if he really desires that we should be on good terms, he
must conduct himself very differently"; and there the conversation
ended.  But several days afterwards, having sent away my <mâitre
d'hôtel>, with whom I had reason to be dissatisfied, and the
king appearing surprised at seeing a fresh countenance amongst
my household, I said to him, "Sir, I have got rid of <my> Choiseul,
when will it please you to get rid of yours?"  The king, without
replying to me, began to laugh; in which, for want of a better
termination to my remark, I was constrained to join.



CHAPTER XXIII


Dorine--Mademoiselle Choin and the maréchal d'Uxelles--Zamor--
M. de Maupeou's wig--Henriette--The duc de Villeroi and Sophie--
Letter from the comtesse du Barry to the duc de Villeroi--His
reply--The countess writes again--Madame du Barry and Sophie--
Louis XV and the comtesse du Barry

Among the number which composed my household were three beings
who played conspicuous parts in my family, and who received the
kindest caresses in honour of their mistress.  These three favoured
objects were Dorine, Zamor, and Henriette.  Following the order or
disorder in which I have written thus far, I will first introduce
my dear Dorine to your notice.

Sweet, beautiful Dorine!  how amiably affectionate and attached
to thy mistress wert thou!  The poor animal still exists; for I
would have you know that I am speaking of a most faithful little
dog; now indeed grown old, asthmatic and snappish; but fifteen
years since, distinguished for her lightness, swiftness, and grace,
for her pretty little countenance, white teeth, large sparkling
eyes, long tufted tail, and above all, for her snow-white coat,
spotted here and there with the most beautiful brown.

Dorine was just three months old when madame de Montmorency
brought her to me in her muff; her throat was adorned with a rich
gold collar, bearing the arms of the du Barrys, and clasped with a
large sapphire surrounded with diamonds.  The moment she saw me
Dorine leaped upon my lap with the most endearing familiarity,
and from that period has never quitted me.  My train of courtiers
hastened to become those of the new favourite likewise; and
pastrycooks and confectioners racked their brains to procure
tempting morsels for the gentle Dorine.  She sipped her coffee
daily from a golden saucer, and Zamor (between whom and Dorine
a mutual dislike existed) was appointed her cupbearer.  The
wonderful instinct of the highly gifted animal soon taught her,
that although she had free permission to bark at all the rest of
the world, there was one person in it to whom it behoved her to
show herself in her most gracious and smiling moods; who this
person was I leave it to your sagacity to divine.  She, however,
indemnified herself for this extra complaisance by barking and
biting at all who approached; and the handsomest, best turned
leg in the court was not secure from the sharp teeth of mademoiselle
Dorine.  Nevertheless, all vied in praising and fondling her, and
I was enchanted with the general admiration she excited, as well
as the attention she received.  One day that I was exultingly
relating to the duc d'Aguillon the cares and praises lavished on
my dog, he replied, "The grand dauphin, son of Louis XIV, after
the death of his wife, Marie Christine of Bavaria, secretly espoused
mademoiselle Choin.  The maréchal d'Uxelles, who was not ignorant
of this marriage, professed himself the most devoted friend of
the lady; he visited her regularly morning and evening, and
even carried his desire to please her so far, as to send a servant
with a dish of grilled hare for the house dog, who had a particular
fancy for game dressed in that manner!  These attentions and
assiduities were faithfully continued for several years, till the
grand dauphin died, and then no more morning and evening visits,
no more presents to either mistress or dog.  Apply the story well,"
added the duke, as he terminated his recital.  Unfortunately the
application of the tale presented itself but too soon, and I have
experienced the sad truth of the history of mademoiselle Choin.
At the death of the king so, did my visitors disappear; and poor
Dorine has partaken of the disgrace of the comtesse du Barry.

The second object of my regard was Zamor, a young African boy,
full of intelligence and mischief; simple and independent in his
nature, yet wild as his country.  Zamor fancied himself the equal
of all he met, scarcely deigning to acknowledge the king himself
as his superior.  This son of Africa was presented to me by the
duc de Richelieu, clad in the picturesque costume of his native
land; his head ornamented with feathers of every colour, a short
petticoat of plaited grass around his waist, while the richest
bracelets adorned his wrists, and chains of gold, pearls, and
rubies, glittered over his neck and hung from his ears.  Never
would any one have suspected the old maréchal, whose parsimony
was almost proverbial, of making such a magnificent present.

In honour of the tragedy of Alzire, I christened my little negro
Zamor, to whom by degrees I became attached with all the tenderness
of a mother.  You ask me why?  Indeed that is more than I can
tell; perhaps at first I looked upon him as a sort of puppet or
plaything, but, imperceptibly to myself, I became passionately
fond of my little page, nor was the young urchin slow in perceiving
the ascendancy he had gained over me, and, in the end, to abuse
his influence, and attained, as I have before said, an almost
incredible degree of insolence and effrontery.  Still I pardoned
all his folly, and amused myself from morning to night with
watching his nimble fingers perform a thousand tricks of jugglery.
Even now that I have lost the gaiety of my happy days, when I
recall his irresistibly comic ways, I catch myself laughing, like
an old simpleton, at the bare recollection of his monkey feats.
I could relate twenty of his mischievous pranks, each more
amusing than the other.  I will, however, excuse you from hearing
nineteen of them, upon condition that you shall listen to the
twentieth, which I select as being the shortest.

One day, upon which I had invited some select friends to dinner, a
superb pie was brought to table as a present which the ungallant
M. de Maupeou had had the politeness to send me in the morning.
One of the company proceeded to cut it, when scarcely had he
pierced the crust, than its perfidious contents proved to be an
immense swarm of cockchafers, which spread humming and buzzing
all over the chamber.  Zamor, who had never before seen these
insects, began to pursue them all over the room, buzzing and
humming as loudly as they did.  The chase lasted a long time; but
at last the poor cockchafers weary of carrying on the war, and
mistaking the peruke of M. de Maupeou for an impregnable fortress,
flew to take refuge there.  What did Zamor do, but run to the
chancellor, snatch off his wig, and carry it in triumph to a
corner of the room with its colony of cockchafers, leaving us all
to admire the bald head of the chief magistrate.  I could willingly
have enjoyed a hearty laugh at this scene, but, out of respect for
M. de Maupeou, I feigned to be much displeased with Zamor, whom
I desired one of the attendants to flog for his rudeness.  However,
the guests and the chancellor uniting in entreaties that I would
pardon him, I was obliged to allow my assumed anger to give way
to their request, and the culprit received a pardon.

There was but one person in the world whom Zamor really feared;
he was however on good terms with all my friends, and did not
disdain the society of the king.  You have heard that the latter,
by way of amusement, bestowed on my little negro the title of
governor of the Pavillon de Lucienne, with a revenue arising
therefrom of a thousand crowns, and that the chancellor caused
the necessary papers to be prepared and delivered to him sealed
with the state seal.

But of all the persons who visited me, the one most beloved by
Zamor was madame de Mirepoix, who never came without bringing
him amusing presents or some sweetmeats.  The sight of her threw
him into ecstasies of delight; and the moment he caught sight of
her, he would clap his hands, leap with joy, dance around her,
and kiss her hand, exclaiming, "<Ah!  mame la chale!>" " ("Ah!
Madame la maréchale ").  The poor maréchale always dreaded
meeting the king when she came to visit me and Zamor; for the great
delight of his majesty was to make my little negro repeat a name
of Israelitish origin, which he did in so ridiculous a manner, that
the modesty of my fair friend was most shockingly put to the blush.

One person alone never vouchsafed to bestow the slightest glance
of encouragement upon my little imp of Africa, and this was comte
Jean, who even went so far as to awe him into silence either by a
frown or a gesture of impatience; his most lively tricks could
not win a smile from the count, who was either thoughtful or
preoccupied with some ambitious scheme of fortune.  Zamor
soon felt a species of instinctive dread of this overpowering and
awe-inspiring genius, whose sudden appearance would chill him
in his wildest fits of mirthful mischief, and send him cowering
to a corner of the room; where he would remain huddled together,
and apparently stupefied and motionless, till the count quitted
the apartment.

At the moment of my writing this, Zamor still resides under my
roof.  During the years he has passed with me he has gained in
height, but in none of the intellectual qualities does he seem to
have made any progress; age has only stripped him of the charms
of infancy without supplying others in their place; nor can I
venture to affirm, that his gratitude and devotion to me are such
as I have reason to expect they should be;* for I can with truth
affirm, that I have never ceased to lavish kindness on him, and
to be, in every sense of the word, a good mistress to him.

*This wretch, whom the comtesse du Barry
loaded with her favours and benefits, conducted
her to the scaffold.- EDITOR (i.e., author)

There was one member of my establishment, however, whom I preferred
to either Dorine or Zamor and this was Henriette, who was sincerely
attached to me, and who, for that very reason, was generally
disliked throughout the castle.  I bad procured a good husband
for her, on whom I bestowed a post which, by keeping both himself
and his wife in the close vicinity of the castle, prevented my kind
friend from quitting me.  However, my poor Henriette was not fated
to enjoy a long connubial felicity, for her husband, being seized
with a violent fever, in a fit of delirium threw himself from a
window into the court below, and was taken up dead.  Slander
availed herself even of this fatal catastrophe to whisper abroad,
that the death of the unhappy man arose from his deep sense of
his wife's misconduct and infidelity.  This I can positively assert
was not the case, for Henriette was warmly and truly attached to
him, and conducted herself as a wife with the most undeviating
propriety.  The fact was, that Henriette had drawn upon herself a
general hatred and ill will, because she steadily refused all
gossiping invitations, where my character would have been pulled
to pieces, and the affairs of my household discussed and commented
upon: there, indeed, she had sinned beyond all hope of pardon.

She it was who pointed out to me the perfidious conduct of the
duc de Villeroi.  This gentleman, from the very beginning of my
rise in the royal favour, had demonstrated the most lively friendship
for me, of which he sought to persuade me by the strongest
protestations, which, weak and credulous as I was, I implicitly
believed, until one day that Henriette, availing herself of my
being quite alone, let me into the secrets of my establishment
and furnished me with a key to the assiduities of M. de Villeroi.

Amongst the females in my service was one named Sophie, young,
beautiful both in face and form, of a sweet disposition, and every
way calculated to inspire the tender passion.  M. de Villeroi felt
the full force of her charms, and became the whining, sighing
lover--her very shadow.  Up to this period I had had no cause of
complaint against M. de Villeroi; and certainly I should not have
interfered with his plebeian flame had he not thought proper,
when questioned by my enemies as to his continual presence at
the castle, and great assiduities there, to protest that his visits
thither were not in honour of my charms, but for those of my
waiting-maid.  However, my vanity had rendered me his constant dupe.

 I felt perfectly astonished as I listened to Henriette's recital;
and when she had ceased, I conjured her to tell me candidly,
whether she had not invented the whole tale either out of spite
to Sophie or with a design to make me break off further friendship
with the duke.This she most solemnly denied, and recommended me
to make inquiries amongst my friends, who would be compelled to
bear testimony to the truth of all she had asserted.  I determined
to do so; and the first person whom I was enabled to interrogate
respecting the affair was the bishop de Senlis.  This prelate
came frequently to see me, and I found his society each day more
pleasing.  He served me as a kind of gazette of all that passed
with the princesses, in whose opinion I had still the misfortune
not to be in the very highest estimation.  When occasion required
it, M. de Roquelaure would venture to take my part, and that
without making a single enemy; for who could be offended with
one so affable, so good, so full of kindness towards all?  In
fact, the worthy bishop was so fortunate as to obtain the love of
every person who knew him; and, in the most select society of
opposing parties, each would reserve a place for good M. de Roquelaure.

When I questioned him as to his knowledge of the affair, his
embarrassment was evident.

"What a world is this!  "cried he.  "Why, let me ask, do you
listen to those who repeat such mortifying tales to you?"

"Because, my lord, my friends will not see me made the sport of a
heartless and perfidious friend; and, if you entertain the slightest
regard for me, I conjure you to tell me all you know upon the subject."  

"And do you, my good madam, conceive that it would become my
sacred calling to speak ill of my neighbour?  besides, surely you
would not attach any belief to the idle reports spread about the
castle by ill-disposed persons?"  

"All this has nothing to do with my question, my lord," resumed I.
"I ask you once again, whether you ever heard the duc de Villeroi
assign his passion for one of my women as the reason for his
visits to me?  Have you, my lord bishop?  I entreat you to answer."  

"Madam, I have not," said the good prelate, colouring deeply.

"Ah, monsieur de Roquelaure," cried I, "you must not say mass
to-morrow, for I greatly fear you have just committed a certain
fault which is styled fibbing."  

The bishop made no reply, and his silence spoke volumes of confirmation.

Scarcely had he quitted me than the duc d'Aiguillon entered, to
whom I put the same question; and he frankly confessed, that the
excuse alleged to have been used by the duc de Villeroi was
strictly the expression of that gentleman.

"I was wrong," said the duke, "not to have mentioned it to you,
but I was silent from a desire to preserve peace between you.
Now that the affair has been revealed to you, I will not sully
my lips with a falsehood for the pleasure of upholding an
unprincipled man."

"I will not ask you to tell me more," replied I.  "I know enough
to make me despise the cowardly spirit of him whom I reject as
unworthy of my friendship."  So saying, I ran to my writing-table,
and wrote to the duc de Villeroi the following note:--

"MONSIEUR LE DUC,--I love my friends with
all their faults, but I cannot pardon their perfidy;
and, since from what I have heard I am left to
conclude, that but for the charms of my attendant
Sophie, I should not have been favoured with so
many of your visits, I now write to warn you,
that I this day dismiss the unfortunate object of
your admiration from my service, and therefore
recommend you to cease all further communication.
Your presence in my house would be any thing
but agreeable to me; and since the fair object which
has hitherto attracted you will no longer dwell
under my roof, I presume your presenting yourself
before me would only be more painful than you have
hitherto found it.  The frankness of my conduct may
offend you, but it cannot surprise or grieve you
more than your duplicity has me.

"I remain with befitting sentiments, monsieur
le duc,

"Your most humble and obedient servant."  

When I had completed my letter, I rang, and a footman attended.
"Go, "said I to him," carry this note immediately to the duc de
Villeroi, and wait, if it be necessary, the whole day, until you
can return with the assurance that you have delivered it into
his own hand."

Whilst I was thus speaking to the man, who had been engaged by
my steward, and very recently entered into my service, I chanced
to look at him inadvertently, when my attention was arrested by
seeing him rapidly change colour.  I could not at the moment
conceive what could thus agitate him, and making a sign for him
to depart immediately upon his commission, he slowly left the
room, regarding me as he went in such a manner, that I could not
fail recognising him: and here, my friend, I must lay aside every
particle of self-love and vanity ere I can make you a complete
confession; the retrospect of my life brings many events, of which
the remembrance is indeed painful to me, and only the solemn
promise I am under to conceal nothing restrains me from consigning
many particulars to oblivion.  I am once more about to incur the
chance of drawing down your contempt by my candour, but before I
enter upon the subject, permit me to conclude my affair with the
duc de Villeroi.

My letter was a thunderbolt to the duke.  He better than any one
knew the extent of my credit, which he dreaded, lest I might
employ it to his injury; he therefore hastened to reply to me in
the following words:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE,--I am a most unhappy,
or rather a vilely calumniated man; and my enemies
have employed the most odious means of making me
appear despicable in your eyes.  I confess, that not
daring to aspire to you, I stopped at the footstool
of your throne, but I wholly deny the words which
have been laid to my charge.  I venture to expect
from your justice that you will grant me the favour
of an opportunity of exculpating myself from so
black a charge.  It would be cruel indeed to condemn
a man without hearing him.

"I am with the most profound respect, &c."  

To this hypocritical epistle I replied by another note as follows:--

"Every bad and unfavourable case may be
denied, monsieur le duc, therefore I am not
astonished at your seeking to repel the charge of
having uttered the disrespectful words laid to
your charge.  As for the explanations you offer
me they would be fruitless; I will have none with
those who have either been my friends or appeared
to be such.  I must therefore beg you will cease
all attempts at a correspondence which can lead
to no good results.

"I have the honour to remain, &c., &c."

After this business was despatched, I caused Sophie to be sent
for to attend me.

"Well, Sophie," said I, " you perceive the confusion you have
occasioned through your folly.  Is it then true that the duc de
Villeroi has spoken of love to you?"  

"Yes, indeed, madam," replied the poor girl, weeping bitterly.

"And you return his passion."

"I believe so, madam."

This <naïf> confession made me smile.  I continued--

"Then you are not quite sure of the fact?"

"No, madam; for when I do not see him I forget all about it; but
when he is before me, so handsome and so generous, so full of
love, I try to make myself equally fond of him; but somehow I
cannot help preferring his courier, M. l'Eclair."  

These last words completely destroyed all attempts at preserving
my gravity, and I burst into the most uncontrollable laughter,
which, however, soon gave place to a painful recollection of how
soon this young and artless creature, as simple as she was beautiful,
was likely to lose this open-heartedness in the hands of her seducer.

"Sophie," said I to her at last, "this unfortunate affair forbids
my retaining you any longer in my service; I am compelled to
send you from me.  I trust this noble lover of yours will never
forsake you; have a care only to conceal from him, should you
persist in encouraging his addresses, that he has a rival in the
person of his courier, l'Eclair."  

Sophie threw herself weeping at my feet.  I raised and encouraged
her by the kindest words to pursue the right path, but I remained
steady in my determination of sending her from me.

I was not mistaken.  The duc de Villeroi became the possessor of
poor Sophie, and publicly boasted of having her under his protection.
He did not, however, proceed to these extreme measures until he
had essayed every possible means of effecting a reconciliation
with me, and he employed more than a hundred persons in the vain
attempt of inducing me to pardon him.  With this view the maréchale
de Mirepoix, whose succour he had implored, observed to me that
it was sometimes necessary to feign to overlook an insult; I
replied, that dissimulation was an art I knew nothing of, nor did
I wish ever to acquire it.

"Really, my dear countess," cried she, "you should not live at
court, you are absolutely unfit for it."  

"It may be so," replied I; "but I would rather quit Versailles
altogether than be surrounded by false and perfidious friends."

All the remonstrances of the good-natured maréchale were fruitless,
I could not bring myself to pardon a man who had so openly
outraged my friendship.

Directly I saw the king, I related the whole affair to him.

"It must be confessed," said he, "that the duke has behaved very
ill towards you, but he has certainly shown his taste as far as
regards Sophie.  She is a sweet creature."  

"Ah!  you are all alike," cried I.  "You gentlemen think a pretty
face an excuse for every fault; and he only deserves blame who
can attach himself where beauty is wanting."  

"Because he is a simpleton for so doing," said Louis XV with the
utmost gravity, giving me at the same time an affectionate embrace.



CHAPTER XXIV


The prince des Deux Ponts--Prince Max--The dauphin and Marie
Antoinette--The comtesse du Barry and Bridget Rupert--The countess
and Geneviève Mathon--Noël--Fresh amours--Nocturnal adventure--
Conclusion of this intrigue

All my friends were not treacherous as the duc de Villeroi; and I
may gratefully assert I have possessed many true and sincere ones
who have ever faithfully adhered to my fortunes.  One in particular
I shall mention here, that I may recommend him to your warmest
esteem; for, although of high and distinguished rank, he did not
despise the good opinion of the meanest citizen.  I speak of the
prince de Deux Ponts, Charles Auguste Christian.  This prince, who
chanced to visit France during the zenith of my court favour, was
very desirous of seeing me, and both he and his brother were
presented to me by the comte de la Marche, their friend, and
they quickly requested the honor of my friendship.  Auguste
Christian pleased me most by his gentle and amiable manners,
although most persons gave the preference to his brother, Maximilian
Joseph, better known by the name of prince Max.  Auguste Christian,
in the fervour of his attachment, speaking openly to me of the
delicacy of the situation, proposed to me, in case of any reverse,
that I should seek an asylum in his dominions; and I must do him
the justice to say, that at the death of the king, far from
forgetting his proffer, he lost no time in reminding me of it.
Fidelity and attachment such as his, is sufficiently rare to
merit a place in my journal.  The prince des Deux Pouts was
presumptive heir to an immense inheritance, that of the electorate
of Bavaria, and the electorate Palatine, to the latter of which
he was direct heir after the decease of his cousin, the present
elector.  I could almost wish that he had already succeeded to
these possessions: he can never reign too soon for the happiness
of his subjects.

Prince Max had served in France; he was extremely well looked
upon at court both by the king and the princesses.  As for the
dauphiness, prejudiced against him as she was by her mother,
she naturally regarded him with an eye of cool mistrust, and
manifested her open dislike by never inviting him to any of her
parties.  Prince Max spoke of this pointed neglect to the king,
who immediately summoned the dauphin.  "My son," said he to
him, "I see with regret that prince Max is never an invited guest
at any of your balls and fêtes.  Remember, he belongs to a family
which has been our most ancient ally, and do not take up the
quarrels of a house which, until your marriage, has ever been
disposed in deadly hatred to us."

If the dauphin was not gifted with a very extensive capacity, he
was possessed of sufficient plain sense to comprehend, and to
enter into the views of his grandfather, to whom he pledged his
word, that henceforward prince Max should be treated with more
respect; and he kept his word, for the instant he returned to his
apartments, he commanded the duc de la Vauguyon to add the name
of prince Max to the list of invited persons.  When the paper was
drawn out it was carried to the dauphiness, who was with her
husband.  She read on till she came to the name of prince Max,
which she desired might be erased; but the dauphin interfered.
"Oblige me," cried he, "by suffering this name to remain; his
ancestors have for ages been the friends of our family, and his
alliance may one day be useful to us in Germany."

The dauphiness comprehended the signification of these words,
and her fine eyes were filled with tears.  However, she no longer
insisted upon the erasure, when her husband, who most tenderly
loved her, further declared it to be the king's desire that
nothing should be done which could in any way displease the
prince des Deux Ponts.  He was, therefore, from that period
invited to the house of Marie Antoinette, who indemnified herself
for this compulsory civility, by refusing to bestow upon him one
single smile or gracious word.  It must indeed be agreed that the
dauphiness had brought with her into France too many Austrian
notions, which she was long in losing for those of a wife and
mother; but now at the moment of my writing this, she is much
changed, and is as true a French woman as though she had been
born and bred in Paris.  Unfortunately, the people appear slow in
giving her credit for her altered opinions, and to this mistake
will she owe the loss of that general love and popularity to
which she has such just claims.

Prince Auguste Christian entertained for me a sincere regard,
which I returned with the truest friendship.  My feelings were
as pure and simple as his own, spite of the odious calumnies
with which my enemies have attacked this harmless acquaintance;
but their slander in this matter was no worse than the manner in
which they spoke of every person who visited me.  According to
their report, I was the mistress of all who presented themselves.
'Tis well for you, ye courtly dames, that you may convert friends
into lovers with impunity; be the number ever so large none dares
arraign your conduct; but for those of more humble pretensions it
is indeed considered atrocious to number more than two admirers;
should we ask to swell the list to a third--what comments, what
scandal, what vilifying reports are in circulation!  In this
letter, my friend, I shall speak to you exclusively of myself.
You will find little in my conduct to praise, and I fear,  much
to blame.  You will easily perceive my heart was better than my
head; and dear as your opinion is to me, I write on in the hope,
that should my candid avowal lose me any portion of your esteem,
it will yet obtain me a larger share of your friendship.  The
dismissal of Sophie from my service occasioned a vacancy in my
household.  Immediately her departure was known, I received
numberless solicitations from all who heard of it.  Three days
afterwards, Henriette came to inform me that the wife of an
attorney of Chatelet solicited the task of serving me in Sophie's
stead; that she was a well-looking and respectable person, and
might very probably suit me.

"Will you see her, madam?"  continued Henriette.  "She is
recommended by the marchioness de Montmorency."  

"Willingly," answered I; "desire her to come in."  Henriette left
me and quickly returned, introducing the new candidate.

At the first glimpse I recognised Brigitta Rupert, that haughty
girl, who had been my early friend and companion at Saint Aure,
but who found it impossible to continue her friendship and favour
to a humble milliner's girl.  The sight of her occasioned me a
surprise by no means of a pleasing nature; and the involuntary
start I gave, evidently recalled me to her recollection.  In a
moment her cheeks assumed the paleness of death, and her self-love
seemed to suffer the most horrible torments at the light in which
our rencontre mutually placed us.  As soon as she could command
herself sufficiently to speak, she cried,

"Ah!  madam, do I then appear in your presence?"  

"Yes," replied I, "before the poor and humble milliner to whom you
so harshly refused your friendship,"

"Fortune has well avenged you, madam," said Brigitta, in a
melancholy tone; "and as I can easily imagine how unpleasant the
sight of me must be, I will hasten to relieve you from it."

These last words touched me, and restored me in a degree to my
natural good temper.

"Brigitta," said I to her, "after the little affection you have
ever manifested for me, it would be impossible as well as unwise
to take you into my service; but let me know in what way I can
best promote the interest of yourself and husband, and I pledge
myself to accomplish it for you."  

"I thank you, madam," answered she, resuming her accustomed
haughtiness, "I came to solicit a situation near the person of the
comtesse du Barry.  Since that is refused me, I have nothing more
to request."  

"Be it as you please," replied I.  Brigitta made a low courtesy,
and quitted the room.

Henriette, who had been the witness of this scene, expressed her
apprehensions that I should be displeased with her for introducing
an unwelcome visitor to me.  "No," cried I, "'tis not with you I
am vexed., but myself."

"And why so, dear madam?"  

"Because I reproach myself with having in my own prosperity
forgotten one of my earliest and dearest friends, who loved me
with the tenderest affection.  Possibly she may now be in trouble
or difficulties, from which I might have a thousand ways of
relieving her; but it is never too late to do good.  To-morrow,
early, you shall set out for Paris; when there, go to the rue Saint
Martin, inquire for the sign of la Bonne Foi; it is kept by a
pastrycook, named M. Mathon, of whom I wish you to learn every
particular relative to his daughter Geneviève."

My wishes were laws to Henriette, who instantly retired to prepare
for her journey.  I had not ventured to desire her to glean any
information concerning the brother of Geneviève, and yet at the
recollection of the handsome Nicolas my heart beat impetuously.
With what impatience did I await the return of Henriette!  at
length she came.

"Well!"  said I.

"I have found out M. Mathon," answered Henriette.

"Which, the father?"

"Yes, madam."  

"And what is his present occupation?"

"As usual, madam, superintending his kitchen and shop."

"Is he alone in his business?"  

"Oh, no!  madam; he is assisted by his son, a fine dark handsome
young man."  

"His son then lives with him?"

"Yes, madam, and he is married."  

"Married!--but it is not of this young man I wish to speak, but
of his sister, of Geneviève; tell me of her."  

"I only learned, madam, that she had married a tailor, named
Guérard--who, after having been very unsuccessful in business,
died suddenly, leaving her wholly destitute with two young children."

I immediately wrote the following note to my early friend:--

"The comtesse du Barry having heard of the misfortunes of madame
Guérard, and knowing how much she is deserving of a better fate,
is desirous of being useful to her.  She therefore requests madame
Guérard will call next Monday, at two o'clock, on her at her
hotel, rue de la Pussienne."

Poor Geneviève nearly fainted when she received this note, which
was conveyed to her by a footman wearing my livery.  She could
not imagine to whom she was indebted for procuring her such exalted
patronage, and she and her family spent the intervening hours
before her appointed interview in a thousand conjectures on the
subject.  On Monday, punctually at two o'clock, she was at the
hotel dressed in her best, her lovely countenance setting off the
humble style of even her holiday garb.  She knew me the instant
she saw me; and, in the frank simplicity of her own heart imagining
she could judge of mine, she ran to me, and threw herself into
my arms, exclaiming,

"Oh, my dear Jeannette, what pleasure does it afford me to meet
you again.  Oh!  I see how it is; you are the friend of the comtesse
du Barry, and it is to you I shall owe my future good fortune, as
I do this present mark of her favor."

"No, my good Geneviève," cried I, weeping for joy, "she who now
embraces you is the comtesse du Barry."

After we had a little recovered ourselves, I took my friend by the
hand, and led her to a sofa, where we seated ourselves side by
side.  Returning to the scenes of our early youth, I related to
Geneviève all that had occurred since--my adventures, faults,
and favour.  When I had concluded my recital, Geneviève commenced
hers, but it was soon told.  There is little to relate in the life
of a woman who has passed her days in the virtuous discharge of
her duties.

Our mutual confidences being over, and having again exchanged a
most affectionate embrace, I put into the hands of my companion
a portfolio, containing 30,000 livres in bank bills.  I promised
her likewise to obtain for her some lucrative situation.  "Do
more than this for me!"  cried Geneviève.  "Since you will still
grant me your friendship, secure for me the happiness of occasionally
meeting you.  I can with truth declare, that of all your proofs of
kindness and regard, that which I prefer is the pleasure of seeing you."  

This ingenuous request touched my heart, and I replied to it by
fondly caressing the warm-hearted Geneviève, and assuring her that
my purse and my house should be ever open to her.  We then resumed
our interesting reminiscences, and Geneviève was the first to
speak of her brother.  At the name of Nicolas I felt the blood
mount to my very forehead, and an indefinable sensation passed
over me at the mention of him who had possessed my virgin love.
I strove, however, to conceal from my friend the powerful emotion
which agitated me, and  I replied, with apparent tranquillity,
that I should be happy to assist her brother with the best of my
credit and influence; and I kept my word by obtaining for him,
at the solicitation, of his sister, some lucrative situation, the
exact nature of which I do not now recollect, where they resided
together in ease and comfort.  I had only to recommend them to
the notice of M. de Boulogne, who felt himself much flattered at
being selected by me to make the fortunes of my two friends.

>From this time Geneviève visited me as frequently as she could,
and her society delighted me; whilst, in her conversation I found
 a frankness and sincerity which I had vainly sought for at court.
She had loved me when a simple milliner, and she cherished the
same fond regard for me in my improved situation.  Her friendship
has not forsaken me in my reverses; and I feel quite assured that
death only will dissolve the tender friendship which still subsists
between us.  As for her brother, he spared me much shame and
confusion by never seeking my presence; a meeting with him would
indeed have overwhelmed me with painful recollections.

And now, my friend, I am about to relate to you an adventure, the
bare mention of which covers my cheek with guilty blushes; fain
would I conceal it from you, but my promise is given to lay my
whole heart before you, and it shall be done, cost what it may.

I know not why it should ever have been permitted you gentlemen
to frame laws, which, while they permit you, in the gratification
of your passions, to descend ever so low in the scale of society
without any disgrace attaching itself to you from the obscure
condition of the object of your search, to us females it is
prohibited, under penalty of incurring the utmost degradation,
to gratify the inclination of our hearts when awakened by one of
more humble rank than our own.  A great lord may love a kitchen
maid, a noble duke, like M. de Villeroi, may indulge his fancy
for a waiting-woman, and yet lose no portion of his dignity, or
of the esteem in which the world holds him; but, on the other
hand, woe to the high-born dame who should receive the homage
of an obscure citizen, or the noble countess who should lend a
favourable ear to the sighs of her <valet de chambre>; the public
voice would loud and angrily inveigh against so flagrant a breach
of decorum.  And why should this be?  But, my friend, do you not
see in my seeking to defend so weak a cause sufficient intimation
that such a justification involves a consciousness of requiring
it?  Alas!  I plead guilty, and will no longer delay the painful
confession I have to make.

Do you remember a singularly handsome young man, who, during my
abode with madame Lagarde, fascinated me till my very senses seemed
bewildered by my passion.  You know how he betrayed me, and how,
through him, I was expelled the house, as well as the termination
of this foolish adventure.  You are now to pass over seven or
eight years, and take your place with me in the drawing-room, in
which I stood when I rang to summon a servant to convey a letter
to the duc de Villeroi.  You may remember what I told you in the
last chapter of the person who entered, of his agitation and his
blushes, and of his fixing his eyes with deep meaning upon me till
he quitted the room-this servant was Noël!

Had I listened to the dictates of prudence, I should, without
loss of time, have obtained against him a <lettre de cachet>,
which would have freed me from all chance of discovery through
his means; but I could not listen to such cool-blooded, though
cautious, suggestions.  One idea only took possession of my
mind--the absurd desire to know what had become of Noël since we
separated, and by what accident I now found him wearing my livery
in the castle.  With this intent I availed myself of the first
moment I was secure from interruption, to summon him to my presence.
He threw himself at my feet, imploring of me to pardon his audacity.
"Alas, madam!"  said he, "I am more unfortunate than guilty.  I saw
you walking some time since, and I could obtain no rest or peace
till I was fortunate enough to obtain admission to your establishment.
Punish me for my temerity if you will; expel me from the castle,
have me confined in a prison, I deserve it all; but, voluntarily,
I cannot leave this house; and if you will only permit my stay, I
solemnly vow you shall see nothing in my conduct but the zeal
of an attached and respectful servant."

I was weak enough to pardon Noël and shortly after to raise him
to the rank of <valet de chambre>, which brought him infinitely
too much about me.

Yes, my friend, the woman is, after all attempts to excuse it,
blamable for bestowing her affection on one below herself in the
scale of society.  Nature herself appears to have planted in our
bosoms a kind of instinct, which warns us from it, and a prejudice
against all those who so degrade themselves.  It is different
with men; they can confer rank and elevation on the beloved object.
A woman should always have reason to look up to and feel proud
of the man to whom she consigns her heart; this species of vanity
is mixed with the noblest love, and the woman who can overlook
it, acts from passion of the lowest, basest kind.  How easy is it
to reason!  Alas!  Why have I not always acted as well as I speak.

I was thus again a second time enthralled by Noël, and much more
so, too, than I will now tell you.  My faithful Henriette, whose
devoted attachment for me kept her ever watchful of my safety and
reputation, was thunderstruck at perceiving what I vainly strove
to conceal from her; and, as she has since told me, was long in
deciding whether to speak to me of the affair, when an unexpected
incident arose, which determined her, at every risk of my
displeasure, to use her endeavors to put an end to so disgraceful
a connexion, which must infallibly have ended in my disgrace.

One night, or rather midnight, all was at rest in the castle, and
I was sleeping peacefully in the arms of Noël, when all at once
I was awakened by the sudden opening of an outer door, which
announced to me the approach of the king, who had merely one
more door to open ere he would be in my apartment.  Noël, terrified,
leaped quickly out of bed, and ran to seek refuge in a small
chamber adjoining where Henriette slept.  Happily she was yet
awake; and, by the light of a night-lamp or <veilleuse> recognized
Noël, who, with clasped hands, conjured her to take pity upon him.
Henriette saw the danger, and putting out her hand, seized him,
and drawing him rapidly towards her, made him lie down beside
her.  Noël, struck with her goodness, was preparing to offer her
the same marks of his gratitude he had shown me of his respect;
but repulsing him, she said in a low voice, "Wretch, think not it
is on your account I thus expose my reputation; 'tis to save that
of my beloved mistress; either conduct yourself with silent respect
or you are lost."  At this threat Noël 's courage melted away
and he lay still as a frightened child.  "Listen," said Henriette,
"if you do not quit this place to-morrow at break of day, without
seeking to see madame again, I will denounce you to the king,
who will inflict upon you the most dreadful punishment."

Whilst these things were passing in the chamber of Henriette, I
did not feel perfectly at ease on my side, and many were the wise
reflections I made upon my folly, as well as the promises I gave
never again to expose myself to such imminent danger.  Nor did my
terrors abate till after the king had quitted me.  At the sound of
my bell Henriette hastened to my bed-side.

"My good Henriette," said I to her, trembling from head to foot,
"what a night of anxiety have I passed, I must indeed confess--"

"Fear not, my beloved mistress," replied she; "I will watch over
your safety, and trust to be enabled fully to provide for it."  

I durst not then ask for any further explanation of her words, for
such was the ascendancy her good and steady conduct had given her
over me, that she would certainly have blamed me for my glaring
imprudence.  I pressed her hand in mute thankfulness; she
comprehended my silence and left me to myself.

At the end of some days, seeing nothing of Noël, I ventured to
question her as to his fate: she then related to me all you have
been told, and added, that the day following this shameful and
unfortunate night she had lost no time in apprizing the comte
Jean of all that had occurred, who had quickly despatched Noël
out of the kingdom, furnishing him with a purse of ten thousand
livres to defray his travelling expenses.  Such was the fortunate
termination of this disgraceful affair; and now, having completed
my painful confession, I will change the subject to others doubtless
more calculated to interest you than the recital of such lapses.



CHAPTER XXV


Madame du Barry succeeds in alienating Louis XV from the due de
Choiseul--Letter from madame de Grammont--Louis XV--The chancellor
and the countess--Louis XV and the abbé de la Ville--The maréchale
de Mirepoix and madame du Barry

Matters now assumed an air of importance.  My struggle with the
des Choiseuls had become a deadly war, which could only be
terminated either by his downfall or my dismissal from court;
this latter measure was not very probable; an old man is not
easily detached from a woman whom he loves, and each day only
added to my ascendancy over the mind of the king.  It is true,
that the same force of habit which enchained Louis XV to me
bound him likewise to M. de Choiseul.  The idea of change terrified him;
and so great was his dread of fresh faces, that he would have
preferred dying with his old minister, to creating a younger one
who might witness his end.  Happily the duke himself brought on
the crisis of his fate; his power was cramped on all sides, yet,
resolved not to lay it down till the last extremity, he sought
to stay his failing credit with the rising influence of the dauphiness.
His enemies were not slow in pointing out to the king his minister's
frequent visits and great assiduities to a foreign princess, and
enlarged upon the fatal effects this new alliance might produce
to the monarchy.

Meanwhile the chancellor, threatened by the parliaments, saw
only one way of averting the storm which was about to burst on
his head.  This was to introduce into the cabinet persons entirely
devoted to himself; but to accomplish his purpose, it was necessary
to exclude the duc de Choiseul and his party.  M. de Maupeou came
to me in December, and after having gently scolded me for what
he termed my carelessness, he showed me a letter from the duchesse
de Grammont, which, he said, would wonderfully aid our plans.
This letter was written to one of the presidents of the parliament
of Toulous, M. de ----.  I cannot give you his name; for, although
I have preserved the original of the letter, I have mislaid the
envelope on which the address was written.  I here give you a
copy of this curious and important production:--

"MONSIEUR LE PRESIDENT,-- I promised to give
you the exact details of all that passed in this gay
metropolis, and 'tis with much pleasure I sit down
to fulfill my engagement.  Things go on much
as usual, or, perhaps, I should be speaking more
correctly, were I to say they are rapidly
progressing from bad to worse.  We have
no longer a king in France; all power is lodged
in the hands of one sprung from the most infamous
origin; who, in conjunction with others as
intriguing as herself, seeks only to ruin the
kingdom, and to degrade it in the eyes of
other nations.

"The noble firmness of sovereign courts is
odious to people of this class; thus you may
imagine the detestation in which they regard
the candid and loyal conduct of the duke.  I
n the hopes of procuring the dismissal of my
brother, they have chosen for his successor
wretch loaded with crimes, a coward, an
extortioner, a murderer--the duc d'Aiguillon.
As for you gentlemen, who now constitute our
parliament, your places will soon be filled by a
magistracy drawn from the dregs of society; a
troop of slaves, deaf and blind, except
as he who pays them best will have them
exercise those powers.

"This is no time for indolent repose; we must
at once courageously and unanimously defeat
the guilty schemes of our enemies.  So long as
my brother retains his present post he will
support you with his best interest; but, should
he be dismissed, your business will soon be finished.

"I beg my best remembrances, first, to your
excellent lady, and after her, to madame B.
and madame L., not forgetting the marquise de
Chalret, whose wit is truly Attic; nor the marquise
de P--s, who conceals beneath the graceful exterior
of a Languedocian the soul of one of Corneille's
Roman matrons.  For yourself rely upon my warmest
friendship and endeavours to serve you.  My brother
is most anxious to know you, after the flattering
manner in which I have mentioned you to him.
When will you gratify us both by visiting Paris?

"Ever yours,"  

Nothing could have arrived more <à propos> for our purpose than
this letter.  I was still engaged in its perusal when the king was
announced; I wished to hurry it back into the hands of M. de
Maupeou; but he, more crafty than I, requested I would keep it.

"It is fitting," said he, "that it should be seen by the right person."

Louis XV, astonished at the strange scene, inquired what it meant.

"A most shameful piece of scandal, sire," replied I.

"An infamous epistle," added the chancellor, "which one of my
friends managed to abstract from the post-office, and forwarded
to me: I brought it to madame la comtesse, that she might admire
the determined malice of our enemies."

"You excite my curiosity," cried Louis XV.  "Madame, have the
kindness to allow me to see this paper."  

"Indeed, sire," exclaimed I, "I know not whether I ought to obey
your majesty, so entirely has the writer of the letter forgotten
the respect duc to your sacred person."  

"Oh," said the king, "I do not fear that; I am but too well used
to the offence to feel astonishment at its occurrence."  

I placed the paper in the hand of Louis XV, whose eye easily
recognised the handwriting of madame de Grammont.  "Ah, ah!"
cried he, "is it so?  let us see what this restless lady has to
say of us all."  I watched the countenance of the king as he read,
and saw the frown that covered it grow darker and darker;
nevertheless he continued to read on without comment till he
had reached the end; then sitting down and looking full at the
chancellor, he exclaimed,

"Well, M. de Maupeou, and what do you think of this business?"  

"I am overwhelmed with consternation, sire," replied he, "when I
think that one of your majesty's ministers should be able to
conspire thus openly against you."  

"Stay," cried Louis hastily, "that fact is by no means proved.
The duchesse de Grammont is a mad woman, who involves the safety
of her brother; if I only believed him capable of such treachery,
he should sleep this night in the Bastille, and to-morrow the
necessary proceedings should be commenced against him: as for his
sister, I will take care of her within four good walls, and avenge
myself for her past misconduct, by putting it out of her power to
injure me further."

"Sire," said I, in my turn, "remember she is a woman; I beseech
you to pardon her, and let the weight of your just indignation
fall upon her brother."

"Chancellor," cried the king, "this business must not be lightly
passed over."

"Nor without due consideration," replied M. de Maupeou, "your
majesty may look upon this letter as the basis of a secret plot:
as for the duchess, I am of my cousin's opinion; despise her
audacious attempts, but spare not her brother; he alone is the
guilty as well as dangerous person."  

The king made no answer, but rose, and crushing the letter in
his hand, threw it from him.

"Would," exclaimed he at last, "that the fiends had those who
take such delight in disgusting me with my very existence.  Heavens!
how justly may I say I despise all men; nor have I a much better
opinion of your sex, madame la comtesse, I must warn you."

"Much obliged, sire," cried I; " really I was not prepared for
such gallantry.  It is rather hard that you should quarrel with
me because this disagreeable duchess behaves ill!  Upon my word
it is very unpleasant!"  

"Come, come," said Louis XV, kissing my cheek, "don't you be a
naughty child; if I had not you, where should I turn for consolation
amidst the torments by which I am surrounded?  Shall I tell you?
In the midst of all these perplexing affairs, there are moments
in which I fear I may not be promoting the happiness of my people."

"Your majesty is greatly mistaken," replied the chancellor; "the
nation in general must esteem themselves most happy under your
reign; but it will always happen that ill-disposed persons seek to
pervert the public opinion, and to lead men's minds astray.  The
duchess, when travelling, was the faithful and active agent of
her brother.  The duke, to secure his stay in the ministry, will
eagerly avail himself of every adventitious aid; within your
kingdom he seeks the support of the parliaments and philosophers;
without, he claims the succour of Germany and Spain.  Your
majesty is certainly master of your own will, and it would ill
become me to point out the path you should tread; but my duty
compels me to say, that the duc de Choiseul is the greatest enemy
of the royal house: of this he gave me a convincing proof in the
case of your august son; and now, if he fancied he should find it
more advantageous to have the dauphin for his master--"  

"Chancellor of France," cried Louis, much agitated, "do you
know what you are asserting?"

"The truth, sire," I exclaimed.  "The public voice accuses the
duc de Choiseul of the death of your son; they declare--"

"How!  you, too, madam!"  exclaimed the king looking at
me fixedly.

"And why not, sire?  I am merely repeating what is in every
one's mouth."

"I have heard this horrible charge before," added the king; "the
Jesuits informed me of it, but I could not give credit to such
a monstrosity."  

"So much the worse," replied I;  "in the world in which we live
we should always be on our guard."  

"Sire," added the chancellor, with the most diabolical address, "I
am persuaded that M. de Choiseul is the most honourable man in
the world, and that he would shudder at the bare idea of any
attempt upon the life of your majesty; but his relations, friends,
and creatures believe, that, supported by the dauphiness, he
would continue in office under your successor.  Who can answer
for their honour?  Who can assure you, that some one among them
may not do that for the duke which he would never venture to
attempt himself?

"This is the personal danger your majesty runs so long as M. de
Choiseul continues in office; were he dismissed, the world would
soon abandon the disgraced minister, and the dauphiness be
amongst the first to forget him."

The king was pale with agitation, and for some minutes continued
traversing the apartment with hasty strides; then he suddenly stopped.

"You are then convinced, M. de Maupeou," cried he, "that the duke
 is leagued with the parliaments to weaken my authority?"  

"There are palpable proofs to that effect," replied the chancellor;
"your majesty may recollect the skilful manner in which, on the
3d of last September, he avoided attending you to parliament;
most assuredly, had he not been the friend of rebels, he would
not have shrunk from evincing by his presence how fully he shared
your just indignation."

"That is but too true," cried Louis XV; "and I felt much annoyed
at the time, that he preferred going to amuse himself at the house
of M. de Laborde, when his duty summoned him to my side."

"Your majesty cannot fail to perceive how everything condemns
him; his personal conduct, equally with that of his sister, proves
how little he regards his royal master's interest; and should your
clemency resolve upon sparing him now, you may find your mercy
produce fatal effects to yourself."

"His dismissal," resumed the king, "would disorganize all my
political measures.  Who could I put in his place?  I know no
one capable of filling it."

"Your majesty's wisdom must decide the point," replied the
chancellor.  "My duty is to lay before you the true state of
things; this I have done, and I know myself well enough not to
intrude my counsel further.  Nevertheless, I cannot help remarking,
that in your majesty's court there are many as capable as M. de
Choiseul of directing affairs--M. d'Aiguillon, for example."  

"Ah!"  answered Louis XV; "this is not the moment, when M.
d'Aiguillon is smarting from his severe contest with the long robes,
to elevate him over the head of my hitherto-esteemed minister."  

M. de Maupeou and myself perceived that we should best serve
my friend's cause by refraining from pressing the matter further,
and we therefore changed the conversation.  Nevertheless, as what
had already passed had taken its full effect upon the king's mind,
he suggested an idea which I should never have dreamed of recommending;
and that was to consult the abbé de la Ville on the subject.

The abbé de la Ville, head clerk of foreign affairs, was a man
who, at the advanced period of fourscore, preserved all the fire
and vivacity of youth; he was acquainted with ministerial affairs
even better than M. de Choiseul himself.  Having formerly belonged
to the Jesuits, to whom he was entirely devoted, he had appeared
to accelerate the period of their destruction; never had he been
able to pardon his patron the frightful part he had compelled
him to enact in the business.  Years had not weakened his ancient
rancour, and it might be said, that he had clung to life with more
than natural pertinacity, as unwilling to lay it down till he had
avenged himself on de Choiseul.  Louis XV wrote to him, desiring
he would avail himself of the first pretext that occurred to
request an audience.  This note was forwarded by a footman,
the good abbé easily divined that this mystery concealed some
great design; he therefore hastened to solicit an audience as
desired.  When introduced into the cabinet of the king, his
majesty inquired at once,

"Monsieur l' abbé, can I depend upon your discretion?"

"Sire," replied the abbé, with a blunt frankness, "I am sorry
your majesty can doubt it."

"Be satisfied, sir," replied the king, "I had no intention to
offend you; but I wish to consult you upon a point, the importance
of which you will fully appreciate; answer me without disguise.
Do you believe that the services of the duc de Choiseul are
useful to my kingdom, and that my interests would suffer were I
to dismiss him?"  

"Sire," replied M. de la Ville, without hesitation, "I protest to
you, as a man of honour, that the presence of the duc de Choiseul
is by no means essential to the ministry, and that your majesty's
interests would sustain not the slightest injury by his absence."

After this the abbé de la Ville entered into particulars unnecessary
to repeat here; it is sufficient to say, that all
he advanced materially aided our wishes.  He afterwards reaped
the reward of his friendly services, for when the duc d'Aiguillon
had displaced the duc de Choiseul, he bestowed on M. de la Ville
the title of <director of foreign affairs>, an office created for
him, and the bishopric <in partibus> of Tricomie.  The good abbé
did not, however, long enjoy his honours, but ended his career in 1774.

This conversation had been repeated to me; and, on my side, I
left no means untried of preventing Louis XV from placing further
confidence in his minister; but, feeble and timid, he knew not on
what to determine, contenting himself with treating the duke
coolly; he sought, by continual rebuffs and denials to his slightest
request, to compel him to demand that dismissal he had not the
courage to give.

Whilst these things were in agitation, madame de Mirepoix, who
had been for some days absent from Versailles, came to call upon
me.  This lady possessed a considerable share of wit; and, although
on the most intimate terms with me, had not altogether broken off
with the des Choiseuls, to whom she was further bound on account
of the prince de Beauvau, her brother.  It therefore excited in
me no surprise, when I heard that the des Choiseuls had called
on her to ascertain, whether it would not be possible, through her
mediation, to come to some terms with me.

"And you must not be angry with me," continued she, "for
undertaking the <negotiation>; I well foresaw all the difficulties,
and entertained no hopes of its success, but upon second thoughts,
I considered it better I should accept the mission; for, in case
of a negative being returned, it will be safe in my keeping, and
I will not add to the chagrin of a failure the shame of a defeat."  

"It is my opinion," replied I, "that all propositions coming from
these people should be rejected; they have compelled me to raise
between them and myself an immense wall of hatred, not less
difficult to surmount than the grand wall of China."  

"Yet," replied the maréchale, smiling, "they are disposed to pay
any price for so doing."

"I have friends," said I, "from whom I can never separate myself."

"They are willing that your friends shall be theirs likewise,"
cried she, "for they see that M. de Maupeou, the duc de la
Vrillière, and the abbé Terray, are provided for, and that the
duc d'Aiguillon alone remains to be suitably established; M. de
Choiseul would be happy to aid him in obtaining the post of
minister of naval affairs."

"Well, and the duchesse de Grammont," inquired I, "would she
visit me?"  

"Oh, as to that, I know nothing about it, and can venture no
opinion; my commission does not extend so far."

"I understand you," said I; "she seeks for peace only as it
would enable her the better to carry on her hostilities against
me.  I am sorry, madame la maréchale, that I cannot accept
your terms for a reconciliation."

"Remember, I pray of you, that I have been an ambassadress, and
nothing more," said madame de Mirepoix; "recollect I have spoken
to you in the words of others, not my own.  I must beg of you to
be secret; if you divulge the particulars of this morning's
conversation, it is I who will suffer by it: your friends will be
displeased with me for my interference; and I have no inclination
to provoke the anger of a party so powerful as yours."

I promised the maréchale to observe an inviolable secrecy; and,
so well have I kept my promise, that you are the first person to
whom I ever breathed one syllable of the affair.  I must own,
that it struck me as strange, that the duc de Choiseul should
abandon his cousin, and consent to take his seat beside the duc
d'Aiguillon, whom he detested: perhaps he only sought to deceive
us all by gaining time, till the death of the king.  But what
avails speculation upon the words and actions of a courtier,
whose heart is an abyss too deep for gleam of light to penetrate?



CHAPTER XXVI


Baron d'Oigny, general post-master--The king and the countess
read the opened letters--The disgrace of de Choiseul resolved
upon--<Lettre de cachet >--Anecdote--Spectre of Philip II, king
of Spain--The duc de Choiseul banished--Visits to Chanteloup--The
princesses--The dauphin and dauphiness--Candidates for the ministry

The interference of madame de Mirepoix, originating, as it did,
in the duc de Choiseul, let me at once into the secret of his
fears and the extent of my own power.  The knowledge of the
weakness of my adversary redoubled my energy; and from this
moment, I allowed no day to pass without forwarding the great
work, till I succeeded in effecting the duke's ruin and securing my
own triumph.  The pamphleteers in the pay of my enemies, and
those who merely copied these hirelings, assert that one evening
after supper, when Louis was intoxicated with wine and my seductions,
I prevailed upon him to sign a <lettre de cachet> against his
minister, which he immediately revoked when the break of day had
restored to him his senses.  This was a malicious falsehood.
You shall hear the exact manner in which the <lettres de cachet>
were signed.

On the evening of the 23d of December, his majesty having engaged
to sup with me, I had invited M. de Maupeou, the duc de la Vrillière,
and the prince de Soubise.  It appears, that the king, previously
to coming, had gone to visit the dauphiness; he had not mentioned
whither he was going, so that his attendants believed him to be
in my apartments, and directed M. d'Oigny, post-master general,
to seek him there.  The baron brought with him a packet of opened
letters; when he saw me alone he wished to retire, for the servants,
believing him to be one of the expected guests, had ushered him in.
However, I would not permit him to go until the king's arrival;
and, half sportively, half seriously, I took from him his letters,
protesting I would detain them as hostages for his obedience to
my desires.  At this moment Louis XV entered the room; and
M. d'Oigny, having briefly stated his business, bowed and departed.
The baron was a very excellent man, possessing an extensive and
intelligent mind; he wrote very pleasing poetry, and had not his
attention been occupied by the post he filled, he might have made
a conspicuous figure in literature.

When we were left to ourselves, I said to the king,

"Now, then, for this interesting and amusing budget; for such,
I doubt not, it will prove."  

"Not so fast, madam, if you please," replied Louis XV; "perhaps
these papers may contain state secrets unfit for your eye."

"Great secrets they must be," said I, laughing, "confided thus to
the carelessness of the post."  So saying, I broke the seal of
the envelope so hastily, that the greater part of the letters and
notes were scattered over the carpet.

 "Well done," cried the king.

"I entreat your majesty's pardon," said I, "but I will repair
the mischief as far as I can."

I stooped to collect the fallen papers, and the king had the
gallantry to assist me: we soon piled the various letters upon a
tray, and began eagerly to glance over their contents.  My good
fortune made me select from the mass those epistles addressed to
the members of the country parliaments; they were filled with
invectives against me, insulting mention of the king, and praises
of the duc de Choiseul.  I took especial care to read them in a
loud and distinct voice.

"This really is not to be endured," cried Louis XV; "that the
mistaken zeal of these long-robed gentlemen should make them
thus compliment my minister at my expense."  

"So much the worse for you, sire," replied I, "considering that
you continue to prefer your minister to every other consideration."  

As I continued searching through the letters, I found and read
the following phrase:--"Spite of the reports in circulation, I do
not believe it possible that M. de Choiseul will be dismissed; he
is too necessary to the  king, who, without him would be as
incapable as a child of managing his affairs: his majesty must
preserve our friend in office in spite of himself."

When I had finished, the king exclaimed, in an angry tone, "We
shall see how far the prophecy of these sapient gentlemen is
correct, and whether their 'friend' is so important to me that
I dare not dismiss him.  Upon my word, my minister has placed
himself so advantageously before his master, as to exclude him
entirely from the eyes of his subjects."

Whilst these words were speaking, M. de Maupeou and M. de la
Vrillière were announced; the king, still warm, let fall some words
expressive of his displeasure at what had happened.  The gauntlet
was thrown; and so well did we work upon the irritated mind of
Louis XV, that it was determined M. de Choiseul should be dismissed
the following day, December 24, 1770.  Chanteloup was chosen
for the place of his retreat, and M. de la Vrillière, by the
dictation of the king, wrote the following letter to the duke:--

"Cousin,-, The dissatisfaction caused me by
your conduct compels me to request you will
confine yourself to your estate at Chanteloup,
whither you will remove in four and twenty
hours from the date hereof.  I should have chosen
a more remote spot for your place of exile, were it
not for the great esteem I entertain for the duchesse
de Choiseul, in whose delicate health I feel much
interest.  Have a care that you do not, by your
own conduct, oblige me to adopt harsher
measures; and hereupon I pray God to have you
in his keeping."  

(Signed) "Louis,

(and lower down) "PHILIPPEAUX"

When this letter was completed, I said to the king,

"Surely, sire, you do not mean to forget the duke's faithful ally,
M. de Praslin?  It would ill become us to detain him when the
head of the family has taken leave of us."  

"You are right," replied the king, smiling; "besides, an old broom
taken from a masthead would be as useful to us as he would."  

Then, turning to M. de la Vrillière, the king dictated the
following laconic notice:--

"COUSIN,--I have no further occasion for
your services; I exile you to Praslin, and
expect you will repair thither within four and
twenty hours after the receipt of this."  

"Short and sweet," cried I.

"Now let us drop the subject," said Louis;  "let madame de Choiseul
repose in peace to-night, and to-morrow morning, at eleven
o'clock, go yourself, M. de la Vrillière, and carry my orders to
the duke, and bring back his staff of office."  

"To whom will you give it, sire?"  inquired the chancellor.

"I have not yet considered the subject," replied the king.

At this instant M. de Soubise was announced.  "<Motus!>" exclaimed
the king, as M. de Soubise, little suspecting the nature of our
conversation, entered the room.  I profited by his coming to slip
out of the room into my boudoir, from which I despatched the
following note to M. d'Aiguillon:

"MY DEAR DUKF,--Victoria!  We are conquerors;
master and man quit Paris to-morrow.  We shall
replace them by our friends; and you best know
whether you are amongst the number of them."  

 When I returned to the drawing-room, the king exclaimed,

"Come, madam., you are waited for; the prince de Soubise has a
very curious anecdote to relate, which befell a lady of his
acquaintance; I begged of him to defer telling it till you
rejoined us."

"Are you afraid of ghosts?"  inquired the maréchal of me.

"Not this evening," replied I; "to-morrow, perhaps, or the next
day, I may be."  

This jest amused the king and the duc de la Vrillière, whilst M.
de Maupeou, who seemed to fear lest I should by any indiscretion,
reveal our secret, made a signal of impatience; to which I
replied, by shrugging up my shoulders.  Poor M. de Soubise,
although he did not comprehend my joke, laughed at it as heartily
as heartily as the rest who saw its application.  "Oh!  you
courtier," thought I We then entreated of him to commence the
recital of his tale, which he did in the following words--

"There is in Lower Brittany a family gifted with a most singular
endowment: each member of the family, male or female, is warned
exactly one month previous to his or her decease of the precise
hour and day in which it will take place.  A lady belonging to
this peculiar race was visiting me rather more than a month since;
we were conversing quietly together, when, all at once, she
uttered a loud cry, arose from her seat, endeavored to walk
across the room, but fell senseless upon the floor.  Much grieved
and surprised at this scene, I hastily summoned my servants, who
bestowed upon the unfortunate lady the utmost attention, but it
was long ere she revived.  I then wished to persuade her to take
some rest.  'No,' cried she, rising and giving me orders for her
immediate departure, "I have not sufficient time for rest; scarcely
will the short period between me and eternity allow me to set my
affairs in order.' Surprised at this language, I begged of her to
explain herself.  'You are aware,' said she, 'of the fatal power
possessed by my family; well, at the moment in which I was sitting
beside you on this sofa, happening to cast my eyes on the mirror
opposite, I saw myself as a corpse wrapped in the habiliments of
death, and partly covered with a black and white drapery; beside
me was an open coffin.  This is sufficient; I have no time to lose:
farewell, my friend, we shall meet no more' Thunderstruck at these
words, I suffered the lady to depart without attempting to combat
her opinion.  This morning I received intelligence from her son that
the prophecy had been fulfilled--she was no more."

When the maréchal had finished, I exclaimed,

"You have told us a sad dismal tale; I really fear I shall not
be able to close my eyes at all to-night for thinking of it."  

"We must think of some means of keeping up your spirits," answered
Louis XV.  " As for your story, maréchal, it does not surprise me;
things equally inexplicable are continually taking place.  I read
in a letter addressed by Philip V, of Spain, to Louis XIV, "that
the spirit of Philip II, founder of the Escurial, wanders at
certain intervals around that building.  Philip V affirms that
he himself witnessed the apparition of the spectre of the king."  

At this moment supper was announced.  "Come, gentlemen," said I,
"let us seek to banish these gloomy ideas around our festive
board."  Upon which the king conducted me to the supper-room,
the rest of the company following us.  Spite of all my efforts
to be gay, and induce others to be so likewise, the conversation
still lingered upon this dismal subject.

"Heaven grant," exclaimed the chancellor, "that I may not soon
have to dread a visit from the ghost of the deceased parliament;
however, if such were the case, it would not prevent my sleeping."  

"Oh!"  cried the king, "these long-robed gentlemen have often
more effectually robbed me of sleep than all the spectres in the
world could do; yet one night--"  

"Well, sire," said I, seeing that Louis was silent, "and what
happened to you that night?"  

"Nothing that I can repeat," answered Louis XV, glancing around
with a mournful look.

A dead silence followed, which lasted several minutes; and this
evening, which was to usher my day of triumph, passed away in the
most inconceivable dullness.  What most contributed to render me
uneasy was the reflection, that, at the very moment when we had
freed ourselves of our enemies, we were ignorant who would fill
their vacant places.  This was an error, and a great one.  My
friends would not listen to the nomination of the Comte de Broglie,
the Comte de Maillebois, the duc de la Vauguyon, any more than
either M. de Soubise or M. de Castries.  The abbé Terray, having
upon one occasion proposed the  maréchal duc de Richelieu, he
very narrowly escaped having his face scratched by M. d'Aiguillon,
who cared very little for his dear uncle; but I have unintentionally
wandered from the thread of my narrative; I will therefore
resume it at once.

I had hoped that the king would this night have retired to his
own apartment, and that I should have been enabled to hold a
secret council with M. de Maupeou, and the ducs de la Vrillière
and d'Aiguillon; but no such thing.  Imagining, no doubt, that I
should be kept awake by my fear of ghosts, his majesty insisted
upon remaining with me, and I was compelled to acquiesce.  He
passed a very agitated night, much more occupied with the des
Choiseuls than me; he could think of nothing, speak of nothing,
but the sensation which their disgrace would produce; he seemed
to dread his family, the nobility, the nation, Europe, and the
whole world.  I strove to re-assure him, and to inspire him with
fresh courage; and, when he quitted me in the morning, I felt
convinced that he would not again alter his determination.

As soon as Louis XV had left me, Comte Jean entered.  Although
concealed behind the curtain, and apparently not on the best terms
with me, my brother-in-law nevertheless directed my actions, and
gave me most excellent advice.  It was not long ere the duc
d'Aiguillon arrived; he had seen M. de Maupeou during the night,
and learned from him the exile of the late minister, but beyond
that fact he knew nothing.  He inquired of me, with much uneasiness,
whether anything had been decided in his behalf.  I replied, that
the king was as yet undecided in his choice of ministers, but
that, if the duc d'Aiguillon came into office, he would, in all
probability, be nominated to the administration of foreign affairs:
the direction of the war-office had been my noble friend's
ardent desire.

Whilst we were thus conversing together on the 24th of December,
1770, eleven o'clock struck; and we could, from the windows,
perceive M. de la Vrillière taking his way towards that part of
the building occupied by M. de Choiseul when at the castle.  This
latter was in conversation with M. Conzié, bishop of Arras, when
the arrival of the duc de la Vrillière, bearing the king's commands,
was signified to him.  The prelate, not doubting but the mission
related to affairs of importance, took his leave; de la Vrillière
then presented the <lettre de cachet>, accompanying it with some
remarks of his own upon the talents of the minister, and his regret
at being selected for so unpleasant an office.  "A truce to your
feigned regrets, my lord duke," replied the disgraced minister,
sarcastically, "I am well assured my dismissal could not have been
brought me by hands more ready to discharge the trust than yours."
Saying this, M. de Choiseul placed his credentials in the hands
of the duke, and slightly bowing, turned his back upon him, as
though he had forgotten his presence.  M. de Choiseul then retired
to summon his sister, to communicate to her and his wife the
misfortune which had befallen him: he then set out for Paris, to
make the necessary preparations for removing to Chanteloup.
There an officer from the king, charged to accompany him to his
place of exile, gave him his majesty's orders that he should see
no person, and receive no visits.

This order did not proceed from me, but was the work of the duc
de la Vrillière, who sought, by this paltry action, to avenge himself
upon M. de Choiseul for the reception he had given him.  It was
wholly useless, however, for in the exile of the duke was seen a
thing unheard of, perhaps, before, and, in all probability, unlikely
ever to occur again--the sight of a whole court espousing the part
of an exiled minister, and openly censuring the monarch who could
thus reward his services.  You, no doubt, remember equally well
as myself the long file of carriages that for two days blocked up
the road to Chanteloup.  In vain did Louis XV express his dissatisfaction;
his court flocked in crowds to visit M. de Choiseul.

On the other hand, the castle was not in a more tranquil state.
At the news of the dismissal and banishment of M. de Choiseul, a
general hue and cry was raised against me and my friends: one
might have supposed, by the clamours it occasioned, that the
ex-minister had been the atlas of the monarchy; and that, deprived
of his succour, the state must fall into ruins.  The princesses
were loud in their anger, and accused me publicly of having
conspired against virtue itself!  The virtue of such a sister and
brother!  I ask you, my friend, is not the idea truly ludicrous?

The dauphiness bewailed his fall with many tears; at least, so I
was informed by a lady of her suite, madame de Campan.  This
lady was a most loquacious person; she frequently visited my
sister-in-law; and, thanks to her love of talking, we were always
well-informed of all that was passing in the household of Marie
Antoinette.  However, the dauphin was far from sharing the grief
Of his illustrious spouse.  When informed of the dismissal of the
duke, he cried out, "Well, madame du Barry has saved me an infinity
of trouble--that of getting rid of so dangerous a man, in the event
of my ever ascending the throne."  The prince did not usually
speak of me in the most flattering terms, but I forgave him on
the present occasion, so much was I charmed with his expression
relative to the late minister; it afforded me the certainty that
I should not have to dread the possibility of his recalling de Choiseul.

Whilst many were bewailing the downfall of the des Choiseuls,
others, who had an eye more to self-interest, presented themselves
to share in the spoils of his fortune.  There were the princes
de Soubise and de Condé, the duc de la Vauguyon, the comtes de
Broglie, de Maillebois, and de Castries, the marquis de Monteynard
and many others, equally anxious for a tempting slice of the
ministry, and who would have made but one mouthful of the finest
and best.

The marquise de 1' Hôpital came to solicit my interest for the
prince de Soubise, her lover.  I replied, that his majesty would
rather have the maréchal for his friend than his minister; that,
in fact, the different appointments had taken place; and that, if
the names of the parties were not immediately divulged, it was
to spare the feelings of certain aspirants to the ministry: madame
de 1' Hôpital withdrew, evidently much disconcerted at my reply.
Certainly M. de Soubise must have lost his reason, when he supposed
that the successor of M. de Choiseul would be himself, the most
insignificant prince of France; he only could suppose that he was
equal to such an elevation.  However this may be, he took upon
himself to behave very much like an offended person for some days;
but, finding such a line of conduct produced no good, he came
round again, and presented himself as usual at my parties, whilst
I received him as though nothing had occurred.

I had more difficulty in freeing myself from the importunities
of Messieurs de Broglie and de Maillebois.  I had given to each
of them a sort of promise; I had allowed them to hope, and yet,
when the time came to realize these hopes, I told them, that I
possessed much less influence than was generally imagined; to
which they replied, that they knew my power to serve them was
much greater than I appeared to believe.  After a while, I
succeeded in deadening the expectations of M. de Broglie, but
M. de Maillebois was long ere he would abandon his pursuit.  When
every chance of success had left him, he gave way to so much
violence and bitterness against M. d'Aiguillon, that the duke was
compelled to punish him for his impudent rage.  I will mention
the other candidates for the ministry at another opportunity.



CHAPTER XXVII


The comte de la Marche and the comtesse du Barry--The countess and
the prince de Condé--The duc de la Vauguyon and the countess--
Provisional minister--Refusal of the secretaryship of war--Displeasure
of the king--The maréchale de Mirepoix--Unpublished letter from
Voltaire to Madame du Barry--Her reply

The comte de la Marche had always evinced the warmest regard for
me, and he sought, on the present occasion, to be repaid for his
attachment.  Both he and the prince de Condé had their ambitious
speculations in the present change of ministers; and both fancied,
that because their relation, the duke, had governed during the
king's minority, the right to the several appointments now vacant,
belonged as a matter of course to their family.  The count had
already sent to solicit my interest, through the mediation of
madame de Monaco, mistress to the prince de Condé; and, as I
shrewdly suspect, the occasional <chère amie> of himself.  Finding
this measure did not produce all the good he expected, he came,
without further preface, to speak to me himself about it.  Unwilling
to come to an open rupture with him, I endeavoured to make him
comprehend, that the policy of the sovereign would never permit
his placing any of the administrative power in the hands of the
princes of his family; that he had consented, most reluctantly, to
investing them with military command, and that it would be fruitless
to urge more.

The comte de la Marche appeared struck by the justness of my
arguments; he replied,

"Well, madam, since I cannot be a minister, I must e'en give up
my wishes; but, for the love of heaven intreat of the king to
bestow his favours in the shape of a little pecuniary aid.  Things
look ill at present; they may take a worse turn, but he may
confidently rely on my loyalty and devotion: the supreme courts,
driven to the last extremity, will make a stand, and princes and
peers will range themselves under the banners.  We well know
how much this resistance will displease his majesty; I pledge
myself never to forsake your cause, but to defend it with my life;
that is, if my present pressing necessity for money be satisfied.
How say you, madam; can you procure it for me?"  

"Very probably I may be enabled to assist you," replied I; "but
you must first inform me how much will satisfy you."

"Oh," answered he, carelessly, "something less than the mines of
Peru will suffice; I am not extravagant, and  merely ask for so
much as is absolutely necessary.  In the first place 60,000
livres paid down, and secondly, a yearly payment of 200,000 more."  

This demand did not appear to me unreasonable, and I undertook
to arrange the matter to the prince's satisfaction, well pleased
on my own side to secure so illustrious an ally at so cheap a
rate, I procured the assent of the king and the comptroller-general;
the 60,000 livres were bestowed on the comte de la Marche in two
separate payments, the pension settled on him, and, still further,
an annuity of 30,000 livres was secured to madame de Monaco; and
I must do the count the justice to say, that he remained faithful
to our cause amidst every danger and difficulty; braving alike
insults, opprobrium, and the torrent of pamphlets and epigrams
of which he was the object; in fact, we had good reason for
congratulating ourselves upon securing such devotion and zeal at
so poor a price.

The prince de Condé, surrounded by a greater degree of worldly
state and consideration, was equally important to us, although
in another way.  He had in some degree compromised popularity
by attaching himself to me from the commencement of my court
favour, and the reception he bestowed on me at Chantilly had
completed his disgrace in the eyes of nobility.  He visited at my
house upon the most friendly footing; and whenever he found me,
he would turn the conversation upon politics, the state of affairs,
and the great desire he felt to undertake the direction of them
in concert with me; he would add, "You might play the part of
madame de Pompadour, and yet you content yourself with merely
attempting to do so; you are satisfied with possessing influence
when you might exercise power and command.  Your alliance with a
prince of the blood would render you sole mistress in this kingdom;
and should I ever arrive, through your means, to the rank of
prime minister, it would be my pleasure and pride to submit all
things to you, and from this accord would spring an authority
which nothing could weaken."

I listened in silence, and, for once, my natural frankness received
a check; for I durst not tell him all I knew of the king's sentiments
towards him.  The fact was, Louis XV was far from feeling any
regard for the prince de Condé; and, not to mince the matter, had
unequivocally expressed his contempt for him.  He often said to
me, when speaking of him, "He is a conceited fellow, who would
fain induce persons to believe him somebody of vast importance."
Louis XV had prejudices, from which no power on earth could have
weaned him; and the princes of the house of Condé were amongst
his strongest antipathies: he knew a score of scandalous anecdotes
relating to them, which he took no small pleasure in repeating.

However, all the arguments of the prince de Condé were useless,
and produced him nothing, or, at least, nothing for himself,
although he procured the nomination of another to the ministry,
as you will hear in its proper place; but this was not sufficient
to allay the cravings of his ambition; and, in his rage and
disappointment, when open war was proclaimed between the king
and his parliament, he ranged himself on the side of the latter.
He soon, however, became weary of his new allies; and, once more
abandoning himself to the guidance of interest, he rejoined our
party.  Well did M. de Maupeou know men, when he said they all
had their price; and great as may be the rank and title of princes,
with plenty of money, they too may be had.

But amongst all the candidates for the ministry, the one who
occasioned me the greatest trouble was the duc de la Vauguyon,
who insisted upon it that he had done much for me, and complained
bitterly of his unrequited services, and of my having bestowed
my confidence on others.  Up to the moment of the disgrace of the
des Choiseuls, he had been amongst the most bitter of the
malcontents; but no sooner were they banished from court than
M. de la Vauguyon forgot every thing, and hastened to me with
every mark of the warmest friendship.

"Ah!"  exclaimed he," I have much to scold you for, but I will
forgive you all your past misdeeds, if you will perform your
promise to me."

"My dear father," cried I (for I used jestingly to style him so,
in the same manner as I designated the bishop of Orleans
<gros père>), "are you, indeed displeased with me?  That is very
naughty: for you know I love you with all my heart."

"If it be true that you entertain any regard for me, why have
you evinced so little towards me?  Am I not of the right materials
for making ministers?  Why, then, have you never procured my
appointment to any of the vacant situations?"  

"Stay, stay, my dear father," cried I, "how you run on!  To hear
you talk, any person would suppose that places and appointments
rained down upon me, and that I had only to say to you, my dear
duke, choose which you please; then, indeed, you might complain
with justice; but you know very well, that all these delightful
things are in the hands of the king, who alone has a right to
bestow them as he judges best, whilst I am wholly powerless in
the business."

"Say, rather," replied the duke, quickly, "that you find it suits
your present purpose to put on this want of power.  We all know,
that your veto is absolute with his majesty, and it requires
nothing more to obtain whatsoever you desire."

The duc de la Vauguyon was powerful, and represented the whole
of a party--that of the religionists, which was still further
supported by the <princesses>; but for this very reason the
triumvirate, consisting of messieurs d' Aiguillon, de Maupeou,
and the abbé Terre, would not have accepted his services at
any price.

The good duke returned several times to the charge; sometimes
endeavouring to move me by gentle intreaties and, at others,
holding out threats and menaces; good and bad words flowed from
his lips like a mixture of honey and gall, but when he found that
both were equally thrown away upon me, he retired offended; and
by the expression of his rage and disappointment, succeeded in
incensing both the dauphin and dauphiness against me.  May
heaven preserve you, my friend, from the anger of a bigot!

I think I have detained you long enough with the relation of the
intrigues by which I was surrounded upon the dismissal of the
des Choiseuls, and I will now return to the morning of the 24th
of December.  When the exiles were fairly out of Paris, the king
found himself not a little embarrassed in the choice of a prime
minister.  Those who would have suited our purposes did not meet
with the king's approbation, and he had not yet sufficient courage
to venture upon electing one who should be disagreeable to us; he
therefore hit upon a curious provisional election; the abbé Terray,
for instance, was placed at the head of the war department.  This
measure was excused by the assertion, that it would require the
head of a financier to look into and settle the accounts, which
the late minister had, no doubt, left in a very confused state.
Upon the same principle, M. Bertin was appointed to the direction
of foreign affairs, and M. de Boynes was invested solely with the
management of naval affairs.  This man, who was counsellor of
state, and first president of the parliament of Besancon, knew
not a letter of the office thus bestowed upon him, but then he
was bound body and soul to the chancellor; and it was worth
something to have a person who, it might be relied on, would
offer no opposition to the important reforms which were to be set
on foot immediately.  We required merely automata, and M. de Boynes
answered our purpose perfectly well; for a provisional minister
nothing couldhave been better.

The king had at length (in his own opinion), hit upon a very
excellent minister of war; and the person selected was the
chevalier, afterwards comte de Muy, formerly usher to the late
dauphin: he was a man of the old school, possessing many sterling
virtues and qualities.  We were in the utmost terror when his
majesty communicated to us his election of a minister of war,
and declared his intention of immediately signifying his pleasure
to M. de Muy.  Such a blow would have overthrown all our projects.
Happily chance befriended us; the modern Cato declared that he
should esteem himself most honored to serve his sovereign by every
possible endeavour, but that he could never be induced to enter
my service upon any pretext whatever.  The strangeness of this
refusal puzzled Louis XV not a little.  He said to me.  "Can you
make out the real motive of this silly conduct?  I had a better
opinion of the man; I thought him possessed of sense, but I see
now that he is only fit for the cowl of a monk; he will never be
a minister."  The king was mistaken; M. de Muy became one under
the auspices of his successor.

Immediately that the prince de Condé was informed of what had
passed, he recommenced his attack; and finding he could not be
minister himself, he determined, at least, to be principally
concerned in the appointment of one; he therefore proposed the
marquis de Monteynard, a man of such negative qualities, that the
best that could be said of him was, that he was as incapable of a
bad as of a good action; and, for want of a better, he was elected.
Such were the colleagues given to M. de Maupeou to conduct the
war which was about to be declared against the parliaments.  I
should tell you, <en passant>, that the discontent of the magistracy
had only increased, and that the parliament of Paris had even
finished by refusing to decide the suits which were referred to
them; thus punishing the poor litigants for their quarrel with
the minister.

Meanwhile, the general interest expressed for the duc  de Choiseul
greatly irritated the king.

"Who would have thought," said he to me, "that a disgraced minister
could have been so idolized by a whole court?  Would you believe
that I receive a hundred petitions a day for leave to visit at
Chanteloup?  This is something new indeed!  I cannot understand it."

"Sire," replied I, "that only proves how much danger you incurred
by keeping such a man in your employment."  

"Why, yes," answered Louis XV; "it really seem as though, had he
chosen some fine morning to propose my abdicating the throne in
favour of the dauphin, he would only have needed to utter the
suggestion to have it carried into execution.  Fortunately for me,
my grandson is by no means partial to him, and will most certainly
never recall him after my death.  The dauphin possesses all the
obstinacy of persons of confined understanding: he has but slender
judgment, and will see with no eye but his own."

Louis XV augured ill of his successor's reign, and imagined that
the cabinet of Vienna would direct that of Versailles at pleasure.
His late majesty was mistaken; Louis XVI is endowed with many
rare virtues, but they are unfortunately clouded over by his
timidity and want of self-confidence.

The open and undisguised censure passed by the whole court upon
the conduct of Louis XV was not the only thing which annoyed his
majesty, who perpetually tormented himself with conjectures of
what the rest of Europe would say and think of his late determinations.

"I will engage," said he, "that I am finely pulled to pieces at
Potsdam.  My dear brother Frederick is about as sweet-tempered as
a bear, and I must not dismiss a minister who is displeasing to
me without his passing a hundred comments and sarcastic remarks.
Still, as he is absolute as the Medes and Persians, surely he can
Have no objection to us poor monarchs imitating him; and allow me
the same privilege in mine.  After all, why should I need his or
any other person's opinion; let the whole world applaud or condemn,
I shall still act according to my own best judgment."  

On my side I was far from feeling quite satisfied with the
accounts I continued to receive from Chanteloup; above all I
felt  irritated at the parade of attachment made by the prince
de Beauvau  for the exiles, and I complained bitterly of it to
the maréchale de Mirepoix.

"What can I do to help it," said she; "my sister-in-law is a
simpleton; who, after having ruined her brother, will certainly
cause the downfall of her husband.  I beseech you, my dear, out
of regard for me, to put up with the unthinking conduct of the
prince de Beauvau for a little while; he will soon see his error
and amend it."  He did indeed return to our party, but his
obedience was purchased at a heavy price.

Some days after the disgrace of the duc de Choiseul, I received
a letter from M. de Voltaire.  This writer, who carped at and
attacked all subjects, whether sacred or profane, and from whose
satires neither great nor small were exempt, had continual need
of some powerful friend at court.  When his protector, M. de
Choiseul, was dismissed, he saw clearly enough that the only
person on whom he could henceforward depend to aid and support
him, was she who had been chiefly instrumental in removing his
first patron.  With these ideas he addressed to me the following
letter of condolence or, to speak more correctly, of congratulation.
It was as follows:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE,--Fame, with her hundred
tongues, has announced to, me in my retreat the fall
of M. de Choiseul and your triumph.  This piece of
news has not occasioned me much surprise, I always
believed in the potency of beauty to carry all before
it; but, shall I confess it?  I scarcely know whether
I ought to congratulate myself on the success
you have obtained over your enemies.  M, de
Choiseul was one of my kindest friends, and his
all-powerful protection sufficed to sustain me
against the malice of my numerous enemies.
May a humble creature like me flatter himself
with the hope of finding in you the same generous
support?  for when the god Mars is no longer
to be found, what can be more natural than to
seek the aid of Pallas, the goddess of the line arts?
Will she refuse to protect with her aegis the
most humble of her adorers?

"Permit me, madam, to avail myself of this
opportunity to lay at your feet the assurance
of my most respectful devotion.  I dare not
give utterance to all my prayers in your behalf,
because I am open to a charge of infidelity
from some, yet none shall ever detect me
unfaithful in my present professions; at my
age, 'tis time our choice was made, and our
affections fixed.  Be assured, lovely countess,
that I shall ever remain your attached friend;
and that no day will pass without my teaching
the echoes of the Alps to repeat your
much-esteemed name.

"I have the honour to remain, malady, yours, etc., etc."

You may be quite sure, my friend, that I did not allow so singular
an epistle to remain long unanswered.  I replied to it in the
following words:--

"SIR,--The perusal of your agreeable letter made me
almost grieve for the disgrace of the duc de
Choiseul.  Be assured, that to his own conduct,
and that of his family, may be alone attributed
the misfortune you deplore.

"The regrets you so feelingly express for the
calamity which has befallen your late protector
do honour to your generous heart; but
recollect that your old friends were not the
only persons who could
appreciate and value your fine talents; to
be esteemed worthy the honourable appellation
of your patron is a glory which the proudest
might envy; and, although I cannot boast of
being a Minerva, who, after all, was possibly
no wiser than the rest of us, I shall always
feel proud and happy to serve you with my
utmost credit and influence.

"I return you my best thanks for the wishes
you express, and the attachment you so kindly
profess.  You honour me too much by repeating
my name amidst the bosom of the Alps!  be assured,
that I shall not be behindhand in making the saloons
of Paris and Versailles resound with yours.  Had I
leisure for the undertaking, I would go and
teach it to the only mountain worthy of re-echoing
it--at the foot of Parnassus.

"I am, sir, yours, etc., etc."

You perceive, my friend, that I intended this reply should be
couched in the wittiest style imaginable, yet, upon reading it
over at this lapse of time, it appears to me the silliest thing
ever penned; nevertheless, I flattered myself I had caught the
tone and manner in which M. de Voltaire had addressed me: he
perceived my intention, and was delighted with the flattering
deference it expressed.  You know the vanity of men of letters;
and M. de Voltaire, as the first writer of the age, possessed,
in proportion, the largest portion of conceit.



CHAPTER XXVIII


 A few words respecting Jean Jacques Rousseau--The comtesse du Barry
is desirous of his acquaintance--The countess visits Jean Jacques
Rousseau--His household furniture-- His portrait--Thérèse-- second
visit from madame du Barry to Jean Jacques Rousseau--The countess
relates her visit to the king--Billet from J.  J.  Rousseau to madame
du Barry--The two duchesses d'Aiguillon

Spite of the little estimation in which I held men of letters,
generally speaking, you must not take it for granted that I
entertained an equal indifference for all these gentlemen.  I
have already, I fear, tired your patience when dwelling upon my
ardent admiration of M. de Voltaire; I have now to speak to you
of that with which his illustrious rival, Jean Jacques Rousseau,
inspired me--the man who, after a life so filled with constant
trouble and misfortunes, died a few years since in so deplorable
a manner.  At the period of which I am now speaking this man,
who had filled Europe with his fame, was living at Paris, in a
state bordering upon indigence.  I must here mention, that it was
owing to my solicitation that he had been permitted to return
from his exile, I having successfully interceded for him with
the chancellor and the attorney-general.  M. Seguier made no
difficulty to my request, because he looked upon Jean Jacques
Rousseau as the greatest enemy to a set of men whom he mortally
hated--the philosophers.  Neither did M. de Maupeou, from the
moment he effected the overthrow of the parliament, see any
objection to bestowing his protection upon a man whom the
parliaments had exiled.  In this manner, therefore, without his
being aware of it, Rousseau owed to me the permission to
re-enter Paris.  Spite of the mortifying terms in which this
celebrated writer had spoken of the king's mistresses, I had a
lively curiosity to know him; all that his enemies repeated of
his uncouthness, and even of his malicious nature, far from
weakening the powerful interest with which he inspired me, rather
augmented it, by strengthening the idea I had previously formed
of his having been greatly calumniated.  The generous vengeance
which he had recently taken for the injuries he had received
from Voltaire particularly charmed me.*  I thought only how I
could effect my design of seeing him by one means or another,
and in this resolution I was confirmed by an accident which befell
me one day.

*Jean Jacques Rousseau in his journey through
Lyons in June 1770 subscribed for the statue
of Voltaire.--author

It was the commencement of April, 1771, I was reading for the
fourth time, the "<Nouvelle Heloise>,"and for the tenth, or,
probably, twelfth, the account of the party on the lake, when
the maréchale de Mirepoix entered the room.  I laid my open
volume on the mantel-piece, and the maréchale, glancing her eye
upon the book I had just put down, smilingly begged my pardon  for
disturbing my grave studies, and taking it in her hand, exclaimed,

"Ah!  I see you have been perusing '<La Nouvelle Heloise>'; I
have just been having more than an hour's conversation respecting
its author."  

"What were you saying of him?"  asked I.

"Why, my dear, I happened to be at the house of madame de
Luxembourg, where I met with the comtesse
de Boufflers."

"Yes, I remember," said I, "the former of these ladies was the
particular friend of Jean Jacques Rousseau."

"And the second also," answered she; "and I can promise you, that
neither the one or the other spoke too well of him."

"Is it possible?"  exclaimed I, with a warmth I could  not repress.

"The duchess," resumed madame de Mirepoix, "says he is an ill-bred
and ungrateful man, and the countess insists upon it he is a
downright pedant."

'Shameful, indeed," cried I; "but can you, my dear friend,
account for the ill-nature with which these ladies speak of
poor Rousseau?"  

"Oh!  Yes," replied the maréchale, "their motives are
easily explained, and I will tell you a little secret, for
the truth of which I can vouch.  Madame de Luxembourg had at
one time conceived the most lively passion for Jean Jacques."

"Indeed!"  cried I; "and he--"

"Did not return it.  As for madame de Bouffiers, the case was
exactly reversed; and Rousseau has excited her resentment by
daring long to nurse a hopeless flame, of which she was the
object: this presumption on the part of the poet our dignified
countess could never pardon.  However, I entreat of you not to
repeat this; remember, I tell you in strictest secrecy."  

"Oh, be assured of my discretion," said I; "I promise you not to
publish your secret" (which, by the way, I was very certain was
not communicated for the first time when told to me).

This confidence on the part of the maréchale had, in some
unaccountable  manner, only increased the ardent desire I felt
to see the author  of the "<Nouvelle Heloise>"; and I observed
to madame de Mirepoix, that I had a great curiosity to be
introduced to Rousseau.

"I fear," said she, "you will never be able to persuade him to
visit at the château."

"How then can I accomplish my desire of seeing this celebrated man?"

"By one simple method; if he will not come to you, you must go
to him.  I would willingly accompany you, but he knows me, and
my presence would spoil all.  The best thing you can do is to
dress yourself quite plainly, as a lady from the country, taking
with you one of your female attendants.  You may take as a
pretext for your visit some music you would wish to have copied.
Be sure to treat M. de Rousseau as a mere copyist, and appear
never to have heard of his superior inerit: do this, and you will
receive the best possible reception."  

I greatly approved of the maréchale 's advice, which I assured
her I would delay no longer than till the following day to put
into practice; and, after some further conversation upon
J.  J.  Rousseau, we parted.

Early the next day I set out for Paris accompanied by Henriette;
there, in pursuance of the suggestion of madame de Mirepoix, I
dressed myself as a person recently arrived from the country, and
Henriette, who was to accompany me, disguised herself as a villager.
I assure you, our personal attractions lost nothing by the change
of our attire.  From the rue de la Jussienne to the rue Platriere
is only a few steps; nevertheless, in the fear of being recognised,
I took a hired carriage.  Having reached our place of destination,
we entered, by a shabby door, the habitation of Jean Jacques Rousseau:
his apartments were on the fifth floor.  I can scarcely describe
to you, my friend, the emotions I experienced as I drew nearer
and nearer to the author of "Heloise."  At each flight of stairs
I was compelled to pause to collect my ideas, and my poor heart
beat as though I had been keeping an assignation.  At length,
however, we reached the fifth story; thereafter having rested a
few minutes to recover myself, I was about to knock at a door
which was opposite to me, when, as I approached, I heard a sweet
but tremulous voice singing a melancholy air, which I have never
since heard anywhere; the same voice repeated the romance to
which I was listening several times.  When it had entirely ceased
I profited by the silence to tap with my knuckles against the door,
but so feeble was the signal, that even Henriette, who was close
behind me, could not hear it.  She begged I would permit her to
ring a bell which hung near us; and, having done so, a step was
heard approaching the door, and, in a minute or two, it was
opened by a man of about sixty years of age, who, seeing two
females, took off his cap with a sort of clumsy gallantry, at
which I affected to be much flattered.

"Pray, sir," said I, endeavouring to repress my emotion, "does a
person named Rousseau, a copier of music, live here?"  

"Yes, madam; I am he.  What is your pleasure?"

"I have been told, sir, that you are particularly skilful in
copying music cheaply; I should be glad if you would undertake
to copy these airs I have brought with me."

"Have the goodness to walk in, madam."  

We crossed a small obscure closet, which served as a species of
antechamber, and entered the sitting-room of M. de Rousseau,
who seated me in an arm-chair, and motioning to Henriette to sit
down, once more inquired my wishes respecting the music.

"Sir," said I, "as I live in the country, and but very rarely
visit Paris, I should be obliged to you to get it done as early
as possible."

"Willingly, madam; I have not much upon my hands just now."

I then gave to Jean Jacques Rousseau the roll of music I had
brought.  He begged I would continue seated, requested permission
to keep on his cap, and went to a little table to examine the
music I had brought.

Upon my first entrance I had perceived a close and confined smell
in these miserable apartments, but, by degrees, I became accustomed
to it, and began to examine the chamber in which I sat with as
strict a scrutiny as though I had intended making an inventory
of its contents.  Three old elbow-chairs, some rickety stools, a
writing-table, on which were two or three volumes of music, some
dried plants laid on white-brown paper; beside the table stood an
old spinet, and, close to the latter article of furniture, sat a
fat and well-looking cat.  Over the chimney hung an old silver
watch; the walls of the room were adorned with about half a
dozen views of Switzerland and some inferior engravings, two
only, which occupied the most honourable situations, struck me;
one represented Frederick II, and under the picture were written
some lines (which I cannot now recollect) by Rousseau himself;
the other engraving, which hung opposite, was the likeness of a
very tall, thin, old man, whose dress was nearly concealed by the
dirt which had been allowed to accumulate upon it; I could only
distinguish that it was ornamented with a broad riband.  When I
had sufficiently surveyed this chamber, the simplicity of which,
so closely bordering on want and misery, pained me to the heart,
I directed my attention to the extraordinary man who was the
occasion of my visit.  He was of middle height, slightly bent by
age, with a large and expansive chest; his features were common
in their cast, but possessed of the most perfect regularity.  His
eyes, which he from time to time raised from the music he was
considering, were round and sparkling but small, and the heavy
brows which hung over them, conveyed an idea of gloom and severity;
but his mouth, which was certainly the most beautiful and fascinating
in its expression I ever saw, soon removed this unfavourable
impression.  Altogether there belonged to his countenance a
smile of mixed sweetness and sadness, which bestowed on it an
indescribable charm.

To complete my description, I must not forget to add his dress,
which consisted of a dirty cotton cap, to which were fixed strings
of a riband that had once been scarlet; a pelisse with arm-holes,
a flannel waistcoat, snuff-coloured breeches, gray stockings, and
shoes slipped down at the heel, after the fashion of slippers.
Such was the portrait, and such the abode of the man who believed
himself to be one of the potentates of the earth and who, in fact,
had once owned his little court and train of courtiers; for, in
the century in which he lived, talent had become as arbitrary as
sovereign power--thanks to the stupidity of some of our grandees
and the caprice of Frederick of Prussia.

Meanwhile my host, undisturbed by my reflections, had quietly
gone over his packet of music.  He found amongst it an air from "
<Le Devin du Village>," which I had purposely placed there; he
half turned towards me and looking steadfastly at me, as if he
would force the truth from my lips.

"Madam," said he, "do you know the author of this little composition?"

"Yes," replied I, with an air of as great simplicity as I could
assume, "it is written by a person of the same name as yourself,
who writes books and composes operas.  Is he any relation to you?"

My answer and question disarmed the suspicions of Jean Jacques,
who was about to reply, but stopped himself, as if afraid of
uttering a falsehood, and contented himself with smiling and
casting down his eyes.  Taking courage from his silence, I ventured
to add,--"The M. de Rousseau who composed this pretty air has
written much beautiful music and many very clever works.  Should I
ever know the happiness of becoming a mother I shall owe to him
the proper care and education of my child."  Rousseau made no
reply, but he turned his eyes towards me, and at this moment the
expression of his countenance was perfectly celestial, and I could
readily imagine how easily he might have inspired a warmer sentiment
than that of admiration.

Whilst we were conversing in this manner, a female, between the
age of forty and fifty, entered the room.  She saluted me with
great affectation of politeness, and then, without speaking to
Rousseau, went and seated herself familiarly upon a chair on the
other side of the table: this was Thérèse, a sort of factotum,
who served the master of these apartments both as servant and
mistress.  I could not help regarding this woman with a feeling
of disgust; she had a horrible cough, which she told us was more
than usually troublesome on that day.  I had heard of her avarice;
therefore to prevent the appearance of having called upon an
unprofitable errand, I inquired of Jean Jacques Rousseau how
much the music would cost.

"Six sous a page, madam," replied he, "is the usual price."

"Shall I, sir," asked I, "leave you any cash in hand for the
purchase of what paper you will require?"

"No, I thank you, madam," replied Rousseau, smiling; "thank
God!  I am not yet so far reduced that I cannot purchase it for
you.  I have a trifling annuity--"  

"And you would be a much richer man," screamed Thérèse, "if you
would insist upon those people at the opera paying you what they
owe you."  These words were accompanied with a shrug of the
shoulders, intended to convey a vast idea of her own opinion.

Rousseau made no reply; indeed he appeared to me like a frightened
child in the presence of its nurse; and I could quickly see, that
from the moment of her entering the room he had become restless
and dejected, he fidgeted on his seat, and seemed like a person
in excessive pain.  At length he rose, and requesting my pardon
for absenting himself, he added, "My wife will have the honour
to entertain you whilst I am away."  With these words he opened
a small glass-door, and disappeared in the neighbouring room.

When we were alone with Thérèse, she lost no time in opening
the conversation.

"Madam," cried she, "I trust you will have the goodness to excuse
M. Rousseau; he is very unwell; it is really extremely vexatious."

I replied that M. Rousseau had made his own excuses.  Just then
Thérèse, wishing to give herself the appearance of great utility,
cried out,

"Am I wanted there, M. Rousseau?"  

"No, no, no," replied Jean Jacques, in a faint voice, which died
away as if at a distance.

He soon after re-entered the room.

"Madam," said he, "have the kindness to place your music in other
hands to copy; I am truly concerned that I cannot execute your
wishes, but I feel too ill to set about it directly."  

I replied, that I was in no hurry; that I should be in Paris some
time yet, and that he might copy it at his leisure.  It was then
settled that it should be ready within a week from that time;
upon which I rose, and ceremoniously saluting Thérèse, was
conducted to the door by M. Rousseau, whose politeness led him
to escort me thither, holding his cap in his hand.  I retired,
filled with admiration, respect, and pity.

When next I saw the duc d'Aiguillon, I could not refrain from
relating to him all that had happened.  My recital inspired him
with the most lively curiosity to see Rousseau, whom he had
never met in society.  It was then agreed, that when I went to
fetch my music he should accompany me, disguised in a similar
manner to myself, and that I should pass him off as my uncle.  At
the end of the eight days I repaired early as before to Paris;
the duke was not long in joining me there.  He was so inimitably
well disguised, that no person would ever have detected the most
elegant nobleman of the court of France beneath the garb of a
plain country squire.  We set out laughing.  like simpletons at
the easy air with which he wore his new costume; nevertheless
our gaiety disappeared as we reached the habitation of J.  J.
Rousseau.  Spite of ourselves we were compelled to honour and
respect the man of talent and genius, who preferred independence
of ideas to riches, and before whom rank and power were compelled
to lay aside their unmeaning trappings ere they could reach his
presence.  When we reached the fifth landing-place I rang, and
this time the door was opened by Thérèse, who told us M Rousseau
was out.

"But, madam," answered I, "I am here by the direction of your
husband to fetch away the music he has been engaged in copying
for me."

"Ah, madam," exclaimed she, "is it you?  I did not recollect you
again; pray walk in.  M. Rousseau will be sure to be at home for you."

"So, then," thought I, "even genius has its visiting lists."  We
entered; Jean Jacques formally saluted us, and invited us to be
seated.  He then gave me my music; I inquired what it came to;
he consulted a little memorandum which lay upon the table, and
replied, " So many pages, so much paper, eighteen livres twelve
sous;" which, of course, I instantly paid.  The duc d'Aiguillon,
whom I styled my uncle, was endeavoring to lead Rousseau into
conversation, when the outer bell rang.  Thérèse went to open
the door, and a gentleman entered, of mature age, although still
preserving his good looks.  The duke regarded him in silence and
immediately made signs for me to hasten our departure; I obeyed,
and took leave of Rousseau, with many thanks his punctuality.  He
accompanied us as before to door, and there I quitted him never
to see him more.  As we were descending the staircase, M. d'Aiguillon
told me that the person who had so hastened our departure was
Duclas, and that his hurry to quit Rousseau arose from his dread
of being recognised by him.  Although M. Duclas was a very excellent
man, I must own that I owed no small grudge for a visit which had
thus abridged ours.

In the evening the duc d'Aiguillon and myself related to the king
our morning's pilgrimage.  I likewise recounted my former visit,
which I had concealed until now.  Louis XV seemed greatly interested
with the recital of it; he asked me a thousand questions, and would
fain hear the most trifling particulars.

"I shall never forget," said Louis XV, "the amazing success
obtained by his '<Devin du Village.>' There certainly were some
beautiful airs", and the king began to hum over the song of

"<J'ai perdu tout mon bonheur."  

"Yes, madam," continued his majesty, " I promise you, that had
Rousseau after his success chosen to step forward as a candidate
for public favour, he would soon have overthrown Voltaire."

"Pardon me," replied I; " but I cannot believe that would have
been possible under any circumstances."

"And why not?"  asked the king; "he was a man of great talent."

"Doubtless, sire, but not of the kind to compete with Voltaire."  

The king then changed the conversation to Thérèse, inquiring
whether she possessed any attractions?

"None whatever, sire," replied the duke; "at least none that we
could perceive."  

"In that case," rejoined his majesty, "she must have charmed her
master by some of those unseen perfections which take the deepest
hold of the heart; besides I know not why we should think it
strange that others see with different eyes to ourselves."

I made no secret with the comte Jean of my visit, and he likewise
expressed his desire to know a man so justly celebrated, and, in
its proper place, you, may hear how he managed to effect this,
and what befell him in consequence--but, to finish for the present
with Rousseau, for I will not promise that I shall not again
indulge in speaking of him.  I will just say, that after the lapse
of two or three days from the time of my last visit, the idea
occurred to me of sending him a thousand crowns in an Indian
casket.  This I sent by a servant out of livery, whom I strictly
enjoined not to name me but to say simply that he came from a
lady.  He brought back the casket to me unopened, and the following
billet from Rousseau:--

"MADAM,--I send back the present you would force
upon my acceptance in so concealed a manner; if it
be offered as a testimony of your esteem I may
possibly accept it, when you permit me to know
the hand from which it comes.  Be assured, madam,
that there is much truth in the assertion of its being
more easy to give than to receive.

"I have the honour to remain, madam, yours, etc., etc.,

"J.  J.  ROUSSEAU."

This was rather an uncouth manner of refusing; nevertheless, when
at this distance of time I review the transaction, I cannot help
admitting that I well deserved it.  Perhaps when it first occurred
I might have felt piqued, but since I have quitted the court I
have again read over the works of J.  J.  Rousseau, and I now
speak of him, as you see, without one particle of resentment.

I must now speak to you of a new acquaintance I made about this
Period--that of the two duchesses d'Aiguillon.  From my first
entrance into the château until the close of 1770, madame
d'Aiguillon, the daughter-in-law, observed a sort of armed
neutrality towards me; true, she never visited me, but she always
met me with apparent satisfaction at the houses of others; thus she
managed to steer clear of one dangerous extreme or the other till
the downfall of the des Choiseuls; when the duc d'Aiguillon having
been nominated to the ministry, she perceived that she could not,
without great ingratitude, omit calling to offer me her acknowledgments,
and accordingly she came.  On my side, I left no means untried
of rendering myself agreeable to her; and so well did I succeed,
that from that moment her valuable friendship was bestowed on me
with a sincerity which even my unfortunate reverses have been
unable to shake; and we are to this day the same firm and true f
riends we were in the zenith of my power.  Not that I would seek
to justify the injury she sought to do our queen, but I may and
do congratulate myself, that the same warmth which pervades her
hatreds likewise influences her friendships.

I cannot equally boast of the treatment I received from the duchess
dowager d'Aiguillon, who, as well as her daughter-in-law, came
to see me upon the promotion of her son.  She overloaded me with
caresses, and even exceeded her daughter-in-law in protestations
of devotion and gratitude.  You should have heard her extol my
beauty, wit, and sweetness of disposition; she, in fact, so
overwhelmed me with her surfeiting praises, that at last I
became convinced that, of the thousand flattering things she
continually addressed to me, not one was her candid opinion;
and I was right, for I soon learned, that in her circle of intimates
at the houses of the Beauffremons, the Brionnes, and above all,
the marquise du Deffant, she justified her acquaintance with me,
by saying it was a sacrifice made to the interests of her son, and
amused these ladies by censuring my every word and look.  The
dowager's double-dealing greatly annoyed me; nevertheless, not
wishing to vex her son, or her daughter- in-law, I affected to be
ignorant of her dishonourable conduct.  However, I could not
long repress my indignation, and one day that she was praising
me most extravagantly, I exclaimed, "Ah, madam, how kind it
would be of you to reserve one of these pretty speeches to repeat
at madame du Deffant's."  This blow, so strong yet just, rather
surprised her; but, quickly rallying her courage, she endeavoured
to persuade me that she always spoke of me in the same terms.  "It
may be so," replied I; "but I fear that you say so many flattering
things to me, that you have not one left when out of my sight."

The maréchale de Mirepoix used to say, that a caress from madame
d'Aiguillon was not less to be dreaded than the bite of M. d'Ayen.
Yet the duchess dowager has obtained a first-rate reputation for
goodness; every one styled her <the good duchesse d'Aiguillon>.
And why, do you suppose?  Because she was one of those fat,
fresh, portly-looking dames of whom you would have said, her
very face and figure bespoke the contented goodness of her
disposition; for who would ever suspect malice could lurk in so
much <embonpoint>?  I think I have already told you that this
lady expired whilst bathing, of an attack of apoplexy, in the
month of June, 1772.  Her son shed many tears at her loss, whilst
I experienced but a very moderate share of grief.

Adieu, my friend; if you are not already terrified at the
multiplicity of the letters which compose my journal, I have yet
much to say; and I flatter myself the continuance of my adventures
will be found no less interesting than those you have perused.



CHAPTER XXIX


The king's friends--The duc de Fronsac--The duc d'Ayen's remark--
Manner of living at court--The marquis de Dreux –Brézé--Education
of Louis XV--The <Parc-aux-Cerfs>--Its household--Its inmates--Mère
Bompart--Livres expended on the <Parc-aur-Cerfs>-- Good advice--
Madame

I was now firmly fixed at court, the king, more than ever devoted
to me, seemed unable to dispense with my constant presence.  I
had so successfully studied his habits and peculiarities, that my
empire over him was established on a basis too firm to be shaken,
whilst my power and unbounded influence convinced my enemies,
that, so long as the present monarch sat upon the throne of France,
their attempts at diminishing my credit and influence would only
recoil upon themselves.  Louis XV generally supped in my apartments
every evening, unless indeed, by way of change, I went to sup with
him.  Our guests were of course of the first order, but yet not
of the most exemplary morals.  These persons had tact, and saw
that, to please the king, they must not surpass him; so that, if
by chance he should reflect on himself, he would appear to
advantage amongst them.  Poor courtiers!  It was labour in vain.
The king was in too much fear of knowing himself to understand
that study: he knew the penetration and severity of his own
judgment, and on no account would he exercise it at his own expense.

The duc de Duras, although a man of little wit, was yet gay and
always lively.  He amused me; I liked his buoyant disposition,
and forgave him although he had ranged himself with the protesting
peers.  In fact, I could not be angry with him.  The folly of
opposition had only seized on him because it was epidemic.  The
dear duke had found himself with wolves, and had begun to howl
with them.  I am sure that he was astonished at himself when he
remembered the signature which he had given, and the love he had
testified for the old parliament, for which, in fact, he cared no
more than Jean de Vert.  God knows how he compensated for this
little folly at the château.  It was by redoubling his assiduities
to the king, and by incessant attentions to me.  In general, those
who wished to thrive at court only sought how to make their
courage remembered; M. de Duras was only employed in making
his forgotten.

The prince de Terigny, the comte d'Escars, the duc de Fleury,
were not the least amusing.  They kept up a lively strain of
conversation, and the king laughed outrageously.  But the vilest
of the party was the duc de Fronsac.  Ye gods!  what a wretch!
To speak ill of him is no sin.  A mangled likeness of his father,
he had all his faults with not one of his merits.  He was perpetually
changing his mistresses, but it cannot be said whether it was
inconstancy on his part, or disgust on theirs, but the latter
appears to me most probable.  Though young, he was devoured by
gout or some other infirmity, but it was called gout out of
deference to the house of Richelieu.  They talked of the duchess
de ------, whose husband was said to have poisoned her.

The saints of Versailles--the duc de la Vauguyon, the duc d'Estissac,
and M. de Durfort--did like others.  These persons practised
religion in the face of the world, and abstained from loose
conversation in presence of their own families; but with the king
they laid aside their religion and reserve, so that these hypocrites
had in the city all the honours of devotion, and in the royal
apartments all the advantages of loose conduct.  As for me, I
was at Versailles the same as everywhere else.  To please the
king I had only to be myself.  I relied, for the future, on my
uniformity of conduct.  What charmed him in the evening, would
delight again the next day.  He had an equilibrium of pleasure,
a balance of amusement which can hardly be described; it was
every day the same variety; the same journeys, the same  fêtes,
the balls, the theatres, all came round at fixed periods with the
most monotonous regularity.  In fact, the people knew exactly
when to laugh and when to look grave.

There was in the château a most singular character, the grand
master of the ceremonies of France.  His great-grandfather, his
grandfather, his father, who had fulfilled these functions for a
century, had transmitted to him their understanding and their
duties.  All he thought of was how to regulate the motions and
steps of every person at court.  He adored the dauphin and dauphiness,
because they both diverted and fatigued themselves according to
the rules in such cases made and provided.  He was always preaching
to me and quoted against me the precedents of Diane de Poitiers,
or Gabrielle d'Estreés.  One day he told me that all the misfortunes
of Mademoiselle de la Vallière occurred in consequence of her
neglect of etiquette.  He would have had all matters pass at court
during the old age of Louis XV as at the period of the childhood
of Louis XIV, and would fain have had the administration of the
<Parc-aux-Cerfs>, that he might have arranged all with due ceremonies.

Since this word <Parc-aux-Cerfs> has escaped my pen, I will tell
you something of it.  Do you know, my friend, that but little is
known of this place, of which so much has been said.  I can tell
you, better than any other person, what it really was, for I, like
the marquise de Pompadour, took upon myself the superintendence
of it, and busied myself with what they did there.  It was, <entre
nous>, the black spot in the reign of Louis XV, and will cost me
much pain to describe.

The vices of Louis XV were the result of bad education.  When an
infant, they gave him for governor the vainest, most coxcombical,
stupidest of men--the duc de Villeroi, who had so well served the
king (<si bien servi le roi>),*

* The countess alludes to the <chanson> written, after his
famous defeat, "<Villeroi, Villeroi a fort bien servi le roi>."
(Ed.) i.e., author

Never had courtier so much courtiership as he.  He saw the
young prince from morning till night, and.  from morning till
night he was incessantly repeating in his ears that his future
subjects were born for him, and that they were all dependent on
his good and gracious pleasure.  Such lessons daily repeated,
necessarily destroyed the wise instructions of Massillon.  When
grown up, Louis XV saw the libertinism of cardinal Dubois and
the orgies of the regency: madame de Maillis' shameless conduct
was before his eyes and Richelieu's also.  Louis XV could not
conduct himself differently from his ministers and his family.  His
timid character was formed upon the example of others.  At first
he selected his own mistresses, but afterwards he chose some one
who took that trouble off his hands.  Lebel became purveyor in
chief to his pleasures; and controlled in Versailles the house
known as the <Parc-aux-Cerfs>.

As soon as the courtiers knew of the existence and purposes of
this house, they intrigued for the control of it.  The king laughed
at all their efforts, and left the whole management to Lebel, under
the superintendence of the comte de Saint-Florentin, minister of
the royal household.  They installed there, however, a sort of
military chief, formerly a major of infantry, who was called,
jestingly, M. de Cervieres; his functions consisted in an active
surveillance, and in preventing young men from penetrating the
 seraglio.  The soldiers at the nearest station had orders to
obey his first summons.  His pay was twelve thousand livres a year.

A female styled the <surintendante> had the management of the
domestic affairs; she ruled with despotic sway; controlled the
expenses; preserved good order; and regulated the amusement of
her charges, taking care that they did not mix one with the other.
She was an elderly canoness of a noble order, belonging to one of
the best families in Burgundy.  She was only known at the <Parc> as
<Madame>, and no one ventured to give her any other title.  Shortly
after the decease of Mme.  De Pompadour, she had succeeded in
this employ a woman of low rank, who had a most astonishing mind.
Louis XV thought very highly of her, and said that if she were a
man he would have made her his minister.  She put the harem on
an admirable system, and instructed the <odalisques> in  all the
necessary etiquette.

The Madame of my time was a woman of noble appearance, tall,
ascetic, with a keen eye and imperious manner.  She expressed a
sovereign contempt  for all the low-born beauties confided to her
trust.  However, she did not treat her wards ill, for some one of
them might produce a passion in the heart of the king, and she
was determined to be prepared for whatever might fall out.  As to
the noble ladies, they were her favourites.  Madame did not divide
her flock into fair and dark, which would have been natural, but
into noble and ignoble.  Besides Madame, there were two
under-mistresses, whose duties consisted in keeping company with
the young ladies who were placed there.  They sometimes dined
with new comers, instructed them in polite behaviour, and aided
them in their musical lessons or in dancing, history, and literature
in which these <éléves> were instructed.  Then followed a dozen
women of lower station, creatures for any service, half waiting
women, half companions, who kept watch over the young ladies,
and neglected nothing that could injure each other at every
opportunity.  The work of the house was performed by proper
servants and male domestics, chosen expressly for their age and
ugliness.  They were paid high, but in return for the least
indiscretion on their part, they were sent to linger out their
existence in a state prison.  A severe watch was  kept over every
person of either sex in this mysterious establishment.  It was
requisite, in fact, that an impenetrable veil should be cast over
the frailties of the king; and that the public should know nothing
of what occurred at the <Parc-aux-Cerfs>.

The general term <élèves> was applied to the young persons who
were kept there.  They were of all ages from nine to eighteen
years.  Until fifteen they were kept in total ignorance of the
city which they inhabited.  When they attained that age, no more
mystery was made of it; they only endeavoured to prevent them
from believing that they were destined for the king's service.
Sometimes they were told that they were imprisoned as well as
their family; sometimes, a lover rich and powerful kept them
concealed to satisfy his love.  One thought she belonged to a
German prince, another to an English lord.  There were some,
however, who, better informed, either by their predecessors, or
by chance, knew precisely what was in store for them, and accordingly
built some exceedingly fine castles in the air.  But when they
were suspected to be so knowing, they were sent away, and either
married (if pregnant), or compelled to enter a cloister or chapter.

The noble damsels were served with peculiar etiquette, their
servants wore a green livery.  Those who belonged to the ignobles,
had their valets clothed only in gray.  The king had arranged this,
and applauded it as one of the most admirable decisions of his
life, and contended with me that the families who paid this impost
for his pleasures, were greatly indebted to him for it.  I assure
you, my friend, that there are often very peculiar ideas in the
head of a king.

After <madame>, the <sous-madames>, the young ladies, came a
lady, who had no title in the house, because she "carried on the
war" out of doors, but still was a most useful personage.  In
very truth la Mère Bompart was a wonderful animal.  Paint to
yourself a woman rather small than large, rather fat than lean,
rather old than young, with a good foot, a good eye, as robust as
a trooper, with a decided "call" for intrigue, drinking nothing
but wine, telling nothing but lies, swearing by, or denying God,
as suited her purpose.  Fancy such an one, and you will have before
you <la Mère Bompart, Pourvoyeuse en chef des celludes du
Parc-aux-Cerfs>.

She was in correspondence with all sorts of persons, with the
most celebrated <appareilleuses>, and of course with the most
noted pimps.  She treated Lebel as her equal, went familiarly to
M. de Sartines and occasionally condescended to visit M. de
Saint-Florentin.  Everybody at court received her graciously;
everybody but the king and myself, who held her in equal horror.

The <Parc-aux-Cerfs> cost enormous sums.  The lowest expense
was calculated at 150,000 livres, to pay only the functionaries
and the domestics, the education and the board of the < élèves >,
etc.  This does not include the cost of the <recruiting service>,
the indemnities paid to families, the dowry given with them in
marriage, the presents made to them, and the expenses of the
illegitimate children: this was enormous in cost, at least 2,000,000
livres a year, and yet I make the lowest estimation.  The
<Parc-aux-Cerfs> was kept up for thirty-four years: it cost
annually 4 or 5,000,000 livres, and that will amount to
nearly 150,000,000 (£ 6,250,000).  If you think I mistake, go
through the calculation.

A short time after my sojourn at Versailles, when I was the
acknowledged mistress of the king, the duc de Richelieu asked me
if I had heard of the <Parc-aux-Cerfs>?  I asked him, in my turn,
what he meant, and if I could procure any account of the place.
He then told me of the care which madame de Pompadour bestowed
On the place, the advantage she drew from it, and assured me of
the necessity for following her example.  I spoke of this to comte
Jean, and begged his advice.  My brother-in-law replied:--

"You must do as the marquise de Pompadour did, and as the duc de
Richelieu has advised.  They spend a vast deal of money in this
house, and I undertake to look over their accounts.  Nominate me
your prime minister, and I shall be the happiest of men.  It is
impossible but there must be something to be gleaned from
his majesty."

"In truth, my dear brother-in-law, you would be in your element;
money to handle and young girls to manage.  What more could you
covet?  You will establish a gaming table at the <Parc-aux-Cerfs>,
and never quit it again."  

Comte Jean began to laugh, and then seriously advised me to
follow the plain counsel of the duc de Richelieu.

I decided on doing so.  I sent for Madame.  She came with all the
dignity of an abbess of a regally founded convent.  But in spite
of her pretensions, I only saw in her the rival of Gourdan and
Paris, and treated her as such; that is, with some contempt, for
with that feeling her office inspired me.  She told me all I have
described to you, and many other things which have since escaped
me.  At that time there were only four < élèves > in the house.
When she had given me all the details I wished, I sent her away,
desiring to be informed of all that passed in her establishment.




CHAPTER XXX


Fête given by the comtesse de Valentinois--The comtesse du Barry
feigns an indisposition--Her dress--The duc de  Cossé--The comte
and comtesse de Provence--Dramatic entertainment--Favart and
Voisenon--A few observations--A pension--The maréchale de Luxembourg
--Adventure of M. de Bombelles--Copy of a letter addressed to him--
Louis XV--M. de Maupeou and madame du Barry

My present situation was not a little embarrassing; known and
recognised as the mistress of the king, it but ill accorded with
my feelings to be compelled to add to that title the superintendent
of his pleasures; and I had not yet been sufficiently initiated
into the intrigues of a court life to accept this strange charge
without manifest dislike and hesitation.  Nevertheless, whilst so
many were contending for the honour of that which I condemned,
I was compelled to stifle my feelings and resign myself to the
bad as well as the good afforded by my present situation; at a
future period I shall have occasion again to revert to the
<Parc-aux-Cerfs> during the period of my reign, but for the
present I wish to change the subject by relating to you what
befell me at a fête given me by madame de Valentinois, while she
feigned to give it in the honour of madame de Provence.

The comtesse de Valentinois, flattered by the kindness of the
dauphiness's manner towards her, and wishing still further to
insinuate herself into her favour, imagined she should promote
her object by requesting that princess would do her the honour
to pass an evening at her house; her request was granted, and
that too before the duchesse de la Vauguyon could interfere to
prevent it.  Furious at not having been apprized of the invitation
till too late to cause its rejection, she vowed to make the triumphant
countess pay dearly for her triumph; for my own part I troubled
myself very little with the success of madame de Valentinois,
which, in fact, I perceived would rather assist than interfere
with my projects.  Hitherto I had not made my appearance at any
of the houses of the nobility when the princesses were invited
thither; this clearly proved to the public, in general, how great
was the opposition I experienced from the court party.  I was
now delighted to prove to the Parisians that I was not always to
lead the life of a recluse, but that I could freely present myself
at those parties to which other ladies were invited.  However,
as my friends apprehended that the comtesse de Provence might
prevail upon her lady of honour not to invite me, by the advice
of the chancellor and the minister for foreign affairs, it was
arranged that I should for a week previous to the fête feign a
severe indisposition.  It would be impossible to describe the joy
with which these false tidings were received by my enemies.  We
are all apt to picture things as we would have them, and already
the eager imaginations of the opposing party had converted the
account of my illness into an incurable and mortal disease.

Every hour my friends brought me in fresh anecdotes of the avidity
with which the rumour of my dangerous state had been received,
whilst I lay upon what the credulous hopes of my enemies had
determined to be my death-bed, laughing heartily at their folly,
and preparing fresh schemes to confound and disappoint their
anticipated triumph.

One very important object of consideration was my dress for the
coming occasion.  The king presented me with a new set of jewels,
and himself selected the materials for my robe and train, which
were to be composed of a rich green satin embroidered with gold,
trimmed with wreaths of roses, and looped up with pearls; the lower
part of this magnificent dress was trimmed with a profusion of
the finest Flemish lace.  I wore on my head a garland of full blown
roses, composed of the finest green and gold work; round my
forehead was a string of beautiful pearls, from the centre of
which depended a diamond star; add to this a pair of splendid ear-rings,
valued at 100,000 crowns, with a variety of jewels equally costly,
and you may form some idea of my appearance on that eventful
evening.  The, king, who presided at my toilette, could not
repress his admiration; he even insisted upon clasping my necklace,
in order that he might, as he said, flatter himself with having
completed such a triumph of nature and art.

At the hour fixed upon I set out, conducted by the ducs d'Aiguillon
and de Cossé, and now I remember I have introduced this latter to
you for the first time, however I will promise that it will not
be for the last; he possessed, and still possesses all the virtues
of his noble house, he was impetuous from a deeply feeling heart,
and proud from a consciousness of being properly appreciated.
Young, handsome, and daring, he was pre-eminently calculated both
to inspire love, and to feel it; it was quite impossible for him
to fail in winning the affections of any female he exerted himself
to please, and even at the present time that he has lost some of
his earlier graces, he is still irresistible as ever; his naturally
gay disposition was but ill suited to nourishing grave or philosophic
reasoning, but then he was the soul of company, and possessed a
fine and delicate wit which ever vented itself in the most brilliant
sallies.  M. de Cossé, like the knights of old, was wholly devoted
to his king and his mistress, and would, I am sure, had the
occasion required it, have nobly died in defence of either; I only
pray he may never be put to the proof.  I saw much of him at the
 beginning of our acquaintance, but as his many amiable qualities
became better known, I found myself almost continually in his
society, indeed as I have something to confess in the business, I
could hardly choose a better opportunity than the present, did I
not recollect that the good duc d'Aiguillon is waiting all this
while for me to announce the < entrée > of our party into the
ante-room of Madame de Valentinois.

My entrance was a complete <coupe-de-théâtre>.  I had been
imagined languishing on the bed of sickness, yet there I stood
in all the fulness of health and freshness of beauty.  I could
very easily read upon each countenance the vexation and rage my
appearance of entire freedom from all ailment excited; however,
I proceeded without any delay to the mistress of the house, whom
I found busily engaged in seating her visitors, and playing the
amiable to the dauphiness.  This princess seemed equally astonished
at my unexpected apparition; nevertheless, taken off her guard,
she could not prevent herself from courteously returning the
profound salutation I made her.  As for the duchesse de la
Vauguyon, when she saw me, she turned alternately from red to
white, and was even weak enough to give public vent to her fury.
The comte de Provence, who had been told that I was not expected,
began to laugh when he perceived me, and taking the first
opportunity of approaching me, he said, "Ah, madame!  so you too
can mystify your friends, I see!  Have a care; the sight of charms
like yours is sufficient to strike terror into any adversaries,
without having recourse to any expedient to heighten their effect."
Saying this he passed on without giving me the opportunity of
replying, as I could have wished to have done.

The maréchale de Mirepoix, to whom I had confided my secret, and
of whose fidelity I was assured, was present at the fête.  I availed
myself of the offer of a seat near her and directly we were seated,
"You are a clever creature," said she, "for you have completely
bewildered all the female part of this evening's society, and by
way of a finishing stroke will run away with the hearts of all the
flutterers here, before the fair ladies they were previously
hovering around, have recovered their first astonishment."

"Upon my word," said I, smiling, "I do not wonder at the kind
looks with which the ladies favour me, if my presence is capable
of producing so much mischief."

"Pray, my dear," answered the maréchale, "be under no mistake:
you might be as much beloved as others are, if you did not
monopolize the king's affections; the consequence is, that every
woman with even a passable face looks upon you as the usurper of
her right, and as the fickle gentlemen who woo these gentle ladies
are all ready to transfer their homage to you directly you appear,
you must admit that your presence is calculated to produce no
inconsiderable degree of confusion."

The commencement of a play which formed part of the evening's
entertainment obliged us to cease further conversation.  The first
piece represented was "<Rose et Colas>,"a charming pastoral, to
which the music of Monsigny gave a fresh charm; the actors were
selected from among the best of the Comedie Italienne--the divine
Clairval, and the fascinating mademoiselle Caroline.  I was
completely enchanted whilst the play lasted; I forgot both my
cabals and recent triumph, and for a while believed myself
actually transported to the rural scenes it represented, surrounded
by the honest villagers so well depicted; but this delightful
vision soon passed away, and soon, too soon I awoke from it to
find myself surrounded by my <excellent> friends at court.

"<Rose et Colas>" was followed by a species of comedy mixed with
songs.  This piece was wholly in honour of the dauphiness, with
the exception of some flattering and gallant allusions to myself
and some gross compliments to my cousin the chancellor, who, in
new silk robe and a fine powdered  wig, was also present at this fête.

The performers in this little piece, who were Favart, the actor,
and Voisenon, the priest, must have been fully satisfied with the
reception they obtained, for the comedy was applauded as though
it had been one of the <chefs d'oeuvre> of Voltaire.  In general
a private audience is very indulgent so long as the representation
lasts, but no sooner has the curtain fallen than they indulge in
a greater severity of criticism than a public audience would do.
And so it happened on the evening in question; one couplet had
particularly excited the discontent of the spectators, male and
female; I know not what prophetic spirit inspired the lines.

The unfortunate couplet was productive of much offence against
the husband and lover of madame Favart, for the greater part of
the persons present perfectly detested my poor cousin, who was
"to clip the wings of chicanery."  Favart managed to escape just
in time, and the abbé de Voisenon, who was already not in very
high favour with his judges, was compelled to endure the full
weight of their complaints and reproaches; every voice was
against him, and even his brethren of the French academy, departing
from their accustomed indulgence upon such matters, openly
reprimanded him for the grossness of his flattery; the poor abbé
attempted to justify himself by protesting that he knew nothing
of the hateful couplet, and that Favart alone was the guilty
person upon whom they should expend their anger.

"I am always," cried he, "doomed to suffer for the offences of
others; every kind of folly is made a present to me."  

"Have a care, monsieur l' abbé," exclaimed d'Alembert, who was
among the guests, "have a care!  men seldom lavish their gifts
but upon those who are rich enough to return the original present
in a tenfold degree."  This somewhat sarcastic remark was most
favourably received by all who heard it, it quickly circulated
through the room, while the poor, oppressed abbé protested,
with vehement action.

The fête itself was most splendidly and tastefully conducted,
and might have sent the different visitors home pleased and
gratified in an eminent degree, had not spite and ill-nature
suggested to madame de la Vauguyon, that as the chancellor and
myself were present, it must necessarily have been given with a
view of complimenting us rather than madame de Provence.  She
even sought to irritate the dauphiness by insinuating the same
mean and contemptible observations, and so far did she succeed,
that when madame de Valentinois approached to express her hopes
that the entertainment which she had honoured with her presence
had been to her royal highness's satisfaction, the dauphiness
coolly replied, "Do not, madame, affect to style this evening's
fête one bestowed in honour of myself, or any part of my family;
'tis true we have been the ostensible causes, and have, by our
presence, given it all the effect you desired, but you will pardon
our omitting to thank you for an attention, which was in reality,
directed to the comtesse du Barry and M. de Maupeou."

 	FACSIMILE OF LETTER FROM MME.  DU BARRY

TO THE DUC DE BRISSAC.

(photograph of original handwritten note omitted)
TRANSLATION

 	Heavens!  my dear friend, how sad are the days
when I am deprived of the happiness of passing the time
with you, and with what joy do I watch for the moment
which will bring you to me.  I shall not go to Paris
to-day, because the person I was going to see is
coming Thursday.  As you will be going away, I shall
visit the barracks instead, for I believe you approve
of the object.  Adieu.  I await you with impatience,
with a heart wholly yours, which, in spite of your
injustice, could never belong to any other, even
if I had the wish.  I think of you and that word of
yours which you will surely regret; and still another
regret is that I am deprived of you.  That is the
watchword of each instant.

THE COUNTESS Du Barry

At Louvecienne, Noon.

Madame de Valentinois came to me with tears in her eyes to repeat
the cruel remark of the princess; the maréchale de Mirepoix,
who heard her, sought to console her by assurances, that it would
in no degree affect her interest at court.  "Never mind, my good
friend," said she; "the pretty bird merely warbles the notes it
learns from its keeper la Vauguyon, and will as quickly forget  as
learn them.  Nevertheless, the king owes you recompense for the
vexation it has occasioned you."

Immediately that I found myself alone with the maréchale, I inquired
of her what was the nature of the reparation she considered
madame de Valentinois entitled to expect from the hands of his
majesty.  She replied, "'Tis on your account alone that the poor
countess has received her late mortification; the king is therefore
bound to atone for it in the form of a pension.  Money, my dear,
money is a sovereign cure at court; calms every grief and heals
every wound."

I fully agreed with the good-natured maréchale; and, when I bade
the sorrowful madame de Valentinois good night, I assured her I
would implore his majesty to repair the mischief my presence had
caused.  Accordingly on the following day, when the king questioned
me as to how far I had been amused with the fête given by madame
de Valentinois, I availed myself of the opening to state my entire
satisfaction, as well as to relate the disgrace into which she had
fallen, and to pray his majesty to bestow upon her a pension of
15,000 livres.

"Upon my word," exclaimed Louis XV, hastily traversing the chamber,
"this fête seems likely to prove a costly one to me."

"Nay, sire," said I, "it was a most delightful evening; and you
will not, I hope, refuse me such a trifle for those who lavished
so much for my amusement."

"Well," cried he, "be it so; the countess shall have the sum she requires, but upon 
condition that she does not apply to me again."  

"Really your majesty talks," replied I, "as though this trifling
pension were to be drawn from your own purse."  

The king began to smile at my remark, like a man who knows himself
found out.  I knew him well enough to be certain that, had he
intended the pension awarded madame de Valentinois to come from
his own privy purse, he would scarcely have consented to bestowing
on her more than a shabby pittance of a thousand livres per annum.
It is scarcely possible to conceive an idea of the excessive
economy of this prince.  I remember, that upon some great occasion,
when it was requisite to support the public treasury, which was
failing, by a timely contribution, the duc de Choiseul offered the
loan of 250,000 livres, whilst the king, to the astonishment of
all who heard him, confined his aid to 2,000 louis!  The maréchale
de Mirepoix used to assert that Louis XV was the only prince of
his line who ever knew the value of a crown.  She had,
nevertheless, managed to receive plenty from him, although, I
must own, that she had had no small difficulty in obtaining them;
nor did the king part with his beloved gold without many a sigh
of regret.

At the house of madame de Valentinois I met the maréchale de
Luxembourg, who had recently returned from Chanteloup.  There
really was something of infatuation in the general mania which
seemed to prevail of treating the king's sentiments with
indifference, and considering his displeasure as an affair of no
consequence.  Before the disgrace of the Choiseuls they were
equally the objects of madame de Luxembourg's most bitter hatred,
nor was madame de Grammont backward in returning her animosity;
yet, strange as it may seem, no sooner was the Choiseul party
exiled, than the maréchale never rested till she saw her name
engraved on the famous pillar erected to perpetuate the remembrance
of all those who had visited the exiles.  She employed their
mutual friends to effect a reconciliation, which was at length
effected by letter, and a friendly embrace exchanged by proxy.
These preliminaries over, the maréchale came to the king to make
the request to which he had now become accustomed, but which did
not the less amuse him.  Of course Louis XV made no hesitation in
granting her the request she solicited.  Speaking to me of the
subject, he said, "The <tender> meeting of madame de Grammont
and the maréchal de Luxembourg must indeed be an overpowering
sight; I only trust these two ladies may not drop the mask too
soon, and bite each other's ear while they are embracing."  

Madame de Luxembourg, daughter of the duc de Villeroi, had been
first married to the duc de Boufflers, whose brows she helped to
adorn with other ornaments than the ducal coronet; nor whilst her
youth and beauty lasted was she less generous to her second
husband: she was generally considered a most fascinating woman,
from the loveliness of her person and the vivacity of her manners;
but behind an ever ready wit, lurked the most implacable malice
and hatred against all who crossed her path or purpose.  As she
advanced in life she became more guarded and circumspect, until
at last she set herself up as the arbitress of high life, and the
youthful part of the nobility crowded around her, to hear the
lessons of her past experience.  By the number and by the power
of her pupils, she could command both the court and city; her
censures were dreaded, because pronounced in language so strong
and severe, as to fill those who incurred them with no hope of
ever shining in public opinion whilst so formidable a <veto> was
uttered against them; and her decrees, from which there was no
appeal, either stamped a man with dishonour, or introduced him as
a first-rate candidate for universal admiration and esteem, and
her hatred was as much dreaded as ever her smiles had been courted:
for my own part, I always felt afraid of her, and never willingly
found myself in her presence.

After I had obtained for madame de Valentinois the boon I solicited,
I was conversing with the king respecting madame de Luxembourg,
when the chancellor entered the room; he came to relate to his
majesty an affair which had occasioned various reports, and much
scandal.  The viscount de Bombelles, an officer in an hussar
regiment, had married a mademoiselle Camp, Reasons, unnecessary
for me to seek to discover, induced him, all at once, to annul his
marriage, and profiting by a regulation which forbade all good
Catholics from intermarrying with those of the reformed religion,
He demanded the dissolution of his union with mademoiselle Camp.
This attempt on his part to violate, upon such grounds, the
sanctity of the nuptial vow, whilst it was calculated to rekindle
the spirit of religious persecution, was productive of very
unfavourable consequences to the character of M. de Bombelles;
the great cry was against him, he stood alone and unsupported in
the contest, for even the greatest bigots themselves would not
intermeddle or appear to applaud a matter which attacked both
honour and good feeling: the comrades of M. de Bombelles refused
to associate with him; but the finishing stroke came from his old
companions at the military school, where he had been brought up.
On the 27th of November, 1771, the council of this establishment
wrote him the following letter:--

"The military school have perused with equal
indignation and grief the memorials which have
appeared respecting you in the public prints.  Had
you not been educated in this establishment, we
should merely have looked upon your affair with
mademoiselle Camp as a scene too distressing for
humanity and it would have been buried in our
peaceful walls beneath the veil of modesty and
silence; but we owe it to the youth sent to us by
his majesty, for the inculcation of those principles
which become the soldier as the man, not to pass
over the present opportunity of inspiring them with
a just horror of your misguided conduct, as well
as feeling it an imperative duty to ourselves not
to appear indifferent to the scandal and disgraceful
confusion your proceedings have occasioned in
the capital.  We leave to the ministers of our
religion, and the magistrates who are appointed
to guard our laws.  to decide upon the legality of
the bonds between yourself and mademoiselle Camp,
but by one tribunal you are distinctly pronounced
guilty towards her, and that is the tribunal of
honour, before that tribunal which exists in the
heart of every good man.  You have been universally
cited and condemned.  There are some errors which
all the impetuosity of youth is unable to excuse,
and yours are unhappily of that sort.  The different
persons composing this establishment, therefore,
concur not only in praying of us to signify their
sentiments, but likewise to apprize you, that you
are unanimously forbidden to appear within these
walls again."  

The chancellor brought to the king a copy of this severe letter,
to which I listened with much emotion, nor did the king seem
more calm than myself.

'This is, indeed," said he at length, "a very sad affair; we shall
have all the quarrels of Protestantism renewed, as if I had not
had already enough of those of the Jansenists and Jesuits.  As
far as I can judge, M. de Bombelles is entitled to the relief he
seeks, and every marriage contracted with a Protestant is null
and void by the laws of France."

"Oh, sire," cried I, " would I had married a Protestant."  

The king smiled for a moment at my jest, then resumed:

"I blame the military school."  

"Is it your majesty's pleasure," inquired the chancellor, "that I
should signify your displeasure to them?"

"No, sir," replied Louis, "it does not come within your line of
duty, and devolves rather upon the minister of war; and very
possibly he would object to executing such a commission; for how
could I step forward as the protector of one who would shake off
the moral obligation of an oath directly it suits his inclinations
to doubt its legality?  This affair gives me great uneasiness,
and involves the most serious consequences.  You will see that I
shall be overwhelmed with petitions and pamphlets, demanding of
me the revocation of the edict of Nantes."

"And what, sire," asked the chancellor gravely, "could you do,
that would better consolidate the glory of your reign?"

"Chancellor," exclaimed Louis XV, stepping back with unfeigned
astonishment, "have you lost your senses?  What would the clergy
say or do?  The very thought makes me shudder.  Do you then believe,
M. de Maupeou, that the race of the Clements, the Ravaillacs, the
Damiens, are extinct in France?"

"Ah, sire, what needless fears."

"Not so needless as you may deem them," answered the king.  "I
have been caught once, I am not going to expose myself to danger
a second time.  You know the proverb,--no, no, let us leave things
as my predecessors left them; besides, I shall not be sorry to
leave a little employment for my successor; he may get through it
how he can, and spite of all the clamouring of the philosophers,
the Protestants shall hold their present privileges so long as I
live.  I will have neither civil nor religious war, but live in
peace and eat my supper with a good appetite with you, my fair
comtesse, for my constant guest, and you, M. de Maupeou, for t
his evening's visitor."

The conversation here terminated.



CHAPTER XXXI


 Madame du Barry purchases the services of Marin the gazetteer
--Louis XV and madame de Rumas--M. de Rumas and the comtesse du
Barry--An intrigue--<Denouement>--A present upon the occasion--The
duc de Richelieu in disgrace--100,000 livres

This Marin, a provençal by birth, in his childhood one of the
choristers, and afterwards organist of the village church, was,
at the period of which I am speaking, one of the most useful men
possible.  Nominated by M. de St. Florentin to the post of censor
royal, this friend to the philosophers was remarkable for the
peculiar talent, with which he would alternately applaud and
condemn the writings of these gentlemen.  Affixing his sanction
to two lines in a tragedy by Dorat had cost him twenty-four hours'
meditation within the walls of the Bastille; and for permitting
the representation of some opera (the name of which I forget) he
had been deprived of a pension of 2,000 francs; but, wedded to
the delights of his snug post, Marin always contrived, after
every storm, to find his way back to its safe harbor.  He had
registered a vow never to resign the office of censor, but to keep
it in despite of danger and difficulty.  I soon discovered that
he passed from the patronage of Lebel to that of Chamilly, and I
was not slow in conjecturing that he joined to his avocations of
censor and gazetteer that of purveyor to his majesty's <petits amours>.

Spite of my indefatigable endeavors to render Louis XV happy and
satisfied with the pleasures of his own home, he would take
occasional wandering fits, and go upon the ramble, sometimes in
pursuit of a high-born dame, at others eager to obtain a poor and
simple <grisette>; and so long that the object of his fancy were
but new to him, it mattered little what were her claims to youth,
beauty, or rank in life.  The maréchale de Mirepoix frequently
said to me, "Do you know, my dear creature, that your royal
admirer is but a very fickle swain, who is playing the gay gallant
when he ought to be quietly seated at his own fireside.  Have a
care, he is growing old, and his intellect becomes more feeble
each day; and what he would never have granted some few years
back, may be easily wrung from him now.  Chamilly aspires at
governing his master, and Marin seconds him in his project."

At length, roused to a sense of impending evil, by the constant
reminding of the maréchale, I summoned Marin to my presence.
"Now, sir," said I, as he approached, "I would have you to know
that I am apprised of all your tricks: you and your friend Chamilly
are engaged in a very clever scheme to improve your own fortunes
at the expense of the king your master."

Marin burst into loud protestations of his innocence, declaring
that he was as innocent as the lamb just born.  I refused to
believe this, and desired he would explain to me why he went so
frequently to the apartments of M. Chamilly.

"Alas, madam!"  replied Marin, "I go thither but to solicit his
aid in craving the bounty of his majesty."

"You are for ever pleading poverty, miserly being," cried I; "you
are far richer than I am; but since you want money I will supply
you with it, and in return you shall be my secret newsman, and
royal censor in my service.  Now understand me clearly; every
month that you faithfully bring me an account of certain goings
on, I will count into your hand five and twenty <louis d'or>."  

I must confess that Marin only accepted my proposition with much
reluctance, but still he did accept it, and withdrew, meditating,
no doubt, how he should be enabled to satisfy both Chamilly
and myself.

A long time elapsed before Marin brought me any news of importance,
and I began to feel considerable doubts of his fidelity, when he
came to communicate a very important piece of intelligence.  He
had just learned that Chamilly frequently went to Paris, the
bearer of letters from the 'king to a young and pretty female,
named madame de Rumas, who resided in the old rue du Temple.

Here was a pretty discovery; the king actually engaged in a love
affair, letters passing between him and his mistress, whilst the
head <valet de chambre> was acting the part of Mercury to the
lovers.  This indeed required some speedy remedy, and I lost no
time in summoning my privy counsellor, Comte Jean, whom I acquainted
with what had occurred, and begged his advice as to the best
measures to be pursued.  "Indeed," replied my brother-in-law, "what
others would do in our place would be to throw M. Chamilly from
one of the windows of the château, and treat this his friend Marin
with a lodging in the Bastille; but, as we are persons of temper
and moderation, we will go more gently to work.  I will, in the
first place, gain every information relative to the affair, that
I may satisfy myself Marin is not seeking to show his honest
claims to your gold, by imposing a forged tale upon your credulity;
when that is ascertained we will decide upon our next best step."

Comte Jean departed to seek the assistance of M. de Sartines,
who was at that time entirely devoted to my interests; and, after
having diligently searched the whole rue du Temple, he succeeded
in discovering madame de Rumas.  He learnt that this lady had
recently married a person of her own rank, to whom she professed
to be violently attached; that they lived together with great
tranquillity, and had the reputation of conducting themselves as
persons of extreme propriety and regularity; paid their debts,
and avoided, by their air of neatness, order, and modest reserve,
the scandal of even their most ill-natured neighbors.  The husband
was said to be a great religionist, which increased the suspicions
of Comte Jean.  With regard to the epistolary correspondence
carried on by the lady, no information could be gleaned in in
that quarter.

Marin was again sent for by my brother-in-law, who questioned
and cross-questioned with so much address, that Marin found it
impossible to conceal any longer the remaining part of the affair,
of which he had before communicated but so much as his policy
deemed advisable.  He confessed that he had originally mentioned
madame de Rumas (whom he himself had long known) to Chamilly,
had shown him several of her letters; and, as he expected, the
style of these epistles so pleased the head valet, that he expressed
a wish to see the fair writer.  Marin accordingly introduced him
to the rue du Temple, where he was most graciously received, and
returned home enchanted with the lady: he spoke of her to the
king, strongly recommending his majesty to judge for himself.
 Accordingly his majesty wrote to madame de Rumas, who received
the letter from the hands of her friend Chamilly with all pomp and
state, talked first of her own virtue and honor, and afterwards
of her dutiful respect for his majesty.  She replied to the royal
note in so prudent yet obliging a manner, that the king was
enchanted.  This effective billet was answered by a second letter
from the king, which obtained a reply even more tenderly charming
than the one which preceded it.  An interview was next solicited
and granted; for a visit was such a trifle to refuse.  The royal
guest became pressing and the lady more reserved, till the time
was lost in attempts at convincing each other.  At the next
interview madame de Rumas freely confessed her sincere attachment
for his majesty, but added, that such was her desire to possess
his whole and undivided regard, that she could never give herself
up to the hope of keeping him exclusively hers whilst I interposed
between her and the king's heart--in a few words then she demanded
my dismissal.  This was going too far; and Louis XV, who thought
it no scandal to have a hundred mistresses, was alarmed at the
thoughts of occasioning the bustle and confusion attendant upon
disgracing his acknowledged favorite and recognised mistress; he
therefore assured her, her request was beyond his power to grant.

Madame de Rumas now sought to compromise the affair, by talking
of a share in his favor.  She asked, she said, but the heart of her
beloved monarch, and would freely leave me in possession of all
power and influence.  The king whose heart was regularly promised
once a day, did not hesitate to assure her of his fidelity, and
his wily enslaver flattered herself, that with time and clever
management, she should succeed in inducing him to break off
those ties which he now refused to break.

Things were in this state when Marin divulged to us the intrigue
conducted by Chamilly, and directed, though in a covert manner,
by the maréchal duc de Richelieu.  This spiteful old man possessed
no share of the talent of his family; and, not contented with the
favor bestowed on his nephew, thought only of his personal credit
and influence, which he fancied he should best secure by introducing
a new mistress to the king.  This well-concocted scheme threw
both Comte Jean and myself into a perfect fury.  We dismissed
Marin with a present of fifty louis, and my brother-in-law
besought of me to grant him four and twenty hours undisturbed
reflection, whilst, on my side, I assured him I should not rest
until we had completely discomfited our enemies.

On the following day Comte Jean laid before me several projects,
which were far from pleasing in my eyes; too much time was required
in their execution.  I knew the king too well to be blind to the
danger of allowing this mere whim of the moment to take root in
his mind.  One idea caught my fancy, and without mentioning it to
Comte Jean, I determined upon carrying it into execution.

The maréchale de Mirepoix happened at this moment not to be at
Paris at her hotel in the rue Bergere, but at her country house,
situated au Port à l'Anglaise.  I signified to the king my intention
of passing a couple of days with the maréchale, and accordingly
set out for that purpose.  Upon my arrival at Paris I merely
changed horses, and proceeded onwards with all possible despatch
to rejoin the maréchale, who was quite taken by surprise at my
unexpected arrival.  After many mutual embraces and exchange of
civilities, I explained to her the whole affair which had brought
me from Versailles.  The good-natured maréchale could not believe
her ears.  She soon, however, comprehended the nature of my alarms;
and so far from seeking to dissipate them, urged me to lose no
time in crushing an affair, which grew more threatening from each
day's delay.  I was fully of her opinion, and only asked her
assistance and co-operation in my plan of writing to M. de Rumas,
and inviting him to come on the following day to the house of
madame de Mirepoix.

That lady would doubtless have preferred my asking her to assist
me in any other way, but still she could not refuse to serve me
in the manner described: for I either bestowed on her all she
desired, or caused others to gratify her slightest request; and
how could she be sure, that were my reign to end, she might derive
the same advantages from any new favorite?  Self-interest therefore
bound her to my service, and accordingly she wrote to M. de Rumas
a very pressing letter, requesting to see him on the following day
upon matters of the highest importance.  This letter sent off, I
dined with the maréchale, and then returned to sleep at Paris.

On the following day.  at an early hour, I repaired to the Port
à l'Anglaise; M. de Rumas arrived there a few minutes after
myself.  He had the air and look of an honest man, but perhaps
no species of deceit is more easily detected than that quiet,
subdued manner, compressed lips, and uplifted eye.  Now-a-days
such a mode of dissembling would be too flimsy to impose even on
children; and hypocrites are ever greater proficients in their
art than was even M. de Rumas.

Madame de Mirepoix left us alone together, in order that I might
converse more freely with him.  I knew not how to begin, but
made many attempts to convey, in an indirect manner, the reasons
for his being summoned to that day's conference.  However, hints
and insinuations were alike thrown away upon one who had determined
neither to use eye's nor ears but as interest pointed out the
reasonableness of so doing; and accordingly, unable longer to
repress my impatience, I exclaimed abruptly,

"Pray, sir, do you know who I am?"

"Yes, madam," replied he, with a profound bow, and look of the
deepest humility, "you are the comtesse du Barry."  

"Well, sir," added I, "and you are equally well aware, no doubt,
of the relation in which I stand to the king?"

"But, madam--"  

"Nay, sir, answer without hesitation; I wish you to be candid,
otherwise my exceeding frankness may displease you."  

"I know, madam," replied the hypocrite, "that his majesty finds
great pleasure in your charming society."

"And yet, sir," answered I, "his majesty experiences equal delight
in the company of your wife.  How answer you that, M. de Rumas?"

"My wife, madam!"  

"Yes, sir, in the company of madame de Rumas; he pays her many
private visits, secretly corresponds with her--"  

"The confidence of his majesty must ever honor his subjects."

"But," replied I, quickly, "may dishonor a husband."

"How, madam!  What is it you would insinuate?"

"That your wife would fain supplant me, and that she is now the
mistress of the king, although compelled to be such in secret."  

"Impossible," exclaimed M. de Rumas, "and some enemy to my wife
has thus aspersed her to you."

"And do you treat it as a mere calumny?"  said I.  "No, sir,
nothing can be more true; and if you would wish further confirmation,
behold the letter which madame de Rumas wrote to the king only
the day before yesterday; take it and read it."

"Heaven preserve me, madam," exclaimed the time-serving wretch,
"from.  presuming to cast my eyes over what is meant only for his
majesty's gracious perusal; it would be an act of treason I am not
capable of committing."  

"Then, sir," returned I, "I may reasonably conclude that it is with
your sanction and concurrence your wife intrigues with the king?"

"Ah, madam," answered the wily de Rumas, in a soft and expostulating
tone, "trouble not, I pray you, the repose of my family.  I know
too well the virtue of madame de Rumas, her delicacy, and the
severity of her principles; I know too well likewise the sentiments
in which her excellent parents educated her, and I defy the blackest
malice to injure her in my estimation."

"Wonderfully, sir!"  cried I; "so you determine to believe your
wife's virtue incorruptible, all the while you are profiting by
her intrigues.  However, I am too certain of what I assert to
look on with the culpable indifference you are pleased to assume,
whilst your <virtuous> wife is seeking to supplant me at the
château; you shall hear of me before long.  Adieu, sir."  

So saying, I quitted the room in search of the maréchale, to
whom I related what had passed.

"And now, what think you of so base a hypocrite?"  asked I, when
I had finished my account.

"He well deserves having the mask torn from his face," replied
she; " but give yourself no further concern; return home, and
depend upon it, that, one way or other, I will force him into
the path of honor."

I accordingly ordered my carriage and returned to Versailles,
where, on the same evening, I received the following letter
from the maréchale:-- 

"MY DEAR COUNTESS, --My efforts have been
attended with no better success than yours.  Well
may the proverb say, 'There is none so deaf as he
who will not hear,' and M. de Rumas perseveres in
treating all I advanced respecting his wife as
calumnious falsehoods.  According to his version
of the tale, madame de Rumas has no other
motive in seeing Louis XV so frequently, but to
implore his aid in favor of the poor in her
neighborhood.  I really lost all patience when
I heard him attempting to veil his infamous conduct
under the mask of charity; I therefore proceeded at
once to menaces, telling him that you bad so many
advantages over his wife, that you scorned to
consider her your rival: but that, nevertheless,
you did not choose that any upstart pretender
should dare ask to share his majesty's heart.
To all this he made no reply; and as the sight of
him only increased my indignation, I at length
desired him to quit me.  I trust you will pardon
me for having spoken in as queenlike a manner
as you could have done yourself.

"Adieu, my sweet friend."

This letter was far from satisfying me, and I determined upon
striking a decisive blow.  I sent for Chamilly, and treating him
with all the contempt he deserved, I told him, that if the king
did not immediately give up this woman he might prepare for his
own immediate dismissal.  At first Chamilly sought to appease my
anger by eager protestations of innocence,but when he found I
already knew the whole affair, and was firmly fixed in my
determination, he becamealarmed, threw himself at my knees, and
promised to do all I would have him.  We then agreed to tell
Louis XV some tale of madame de Rumas that should effectually
deter him from thinking further of her.

In pursuance with this resolution, Chamilly informed the king,
that he had just been informed that madame de Rumas had a lover,
who boasted of being able to turn his majesty which way he pleased,
through the intervention of his mistress.  Louis XV wrote off
instantly to M. de Sartines, to have a watchful eye over the
proceedings of the Rumas family.  The lieutenant of police, who
had some regard for me, and a still greater portion of fear, was
faithful to my interests, and rendered to Louis XV the most
horrible particulars of the profligate mode of life pursued by
madame de Rumas; assuring him, that from every consideration of
personal safety, his majesty should shun the acquaintance.  The
king, incensed at the trick put upon him by these seemingly
virtuous people, was at first for confining both husband and wife
in prison, but this measure I opposed with all my power; for,
satisfied with the victory I had gained, I cared for no further
hurt to my adversaries.  I contrived, to insinuate to the worthy
pair the propriety of their avoiding the impending storm by a
timely retreat into the country, a hint they were wise enough to
follow up, so that I was entirely freed from all further dread
of their machinations.

All those who had served me in this affair I liberally rewarded;
Marin received for his share 500 louis.  It is true he lost the
confidence of Chamilly, but he gained mine instead, so that it
will easily be believed he was no sufferer by the exchange.  I
caused the maréchale to receive from the king a superb Turkey
carpet, to which I added a complete service of Sèvres porcelain,
with a beautiful breakfast set, on which were landscapes most
delicately and skilfully drawn in blue and gold: I gave her also
two large blue porcelain cots, as finely executed as those you
have so frequently admired in my small saloon.  These trifles
cost me no less a sum than 2800 livres.  I did not forget my
good friend M. de Sartines, who received a cane, headed with gold,
around which was a small band of diamonds.  As for Chamilly, I
granted him his pardon; and I think you will admit that was being
sufficiently generous.

After having thus recompensed the zeal of my friends, I had
leisure to think of taking vengeance upon the duc de Richelieu
for the part he had acted.  He came of his own accord to throw
himself into the very heat of my anger.  He had been calling on
the maréchale de Mirepoix, where he had seen with envious eyes
the magnificent carpet I had presented her with; the cupidity of
the duke induced him, after continually recurring to the subject,
to say, that where my friends were concerned, no one could accuse
me of want of liberality.  "No, sir," answered I, "I consider that
no price can sufficiently repay the kind and faithful services of
a true friend, nor can baseness and treachery be too generally
exposed and punished."  From the tone in which I spoke the old
maréchal easily perceived to what I was alluding.  He was wise
enough to be silent, whilst I followed up this first burst of my
indignation, by adding,

"For instance, monsieur le duc, how can I sufficiently repay your
friendly zeal to supply the king with a new mistress?"  

"I, madam?"

"Yes, sir, you; I am aware of all your kind offices, and only
lament my inability to reward them in a suitable manner."

"In that case I shall not attempt to deny my share in the business."

"You have then sufficient honor to avow your enmity towards me?"

"By no means enmity, madam.  I merely admit my desire to contribute
to the amusement of the king, and surely, when I see all around
anxious to promote the gratification of their sovereign, I need
not be withheld from following so loyal an example.  The duc de
Duras was willing to present his own relation for his majesty's
acceptance, the abbé Terray offers his own daughter, Comte Jean
his sister-in-law, whilst I simply threw a humble and modest
female in his majesty's path.  I cannot see in what my fault
exceeds that of the gentlemen I have just mentioned."

"You really are the most audacious of men," replied I, laughing;
"I shall be obliged to solicit a <lettre de cachet> to hold you
a prisoner in Guienne.  Upon my word, your nephew and myself
have a valuable and trustworthy friend in you."

"Hark ye, madam," rejoined the maréchal.  "I know not, in the
first place, whether his majesty would very easily grant you
this <lettre de cachet>, which most certainly I do not deserve.
You have served my nephew and neglected me; I wished to try the
strength of my poor wings, and I find, like many others, that I
must not hope to soar to any height."

While we were thus talking the maréchale de Mirepoix was announced.
I was still much agitated, and she immediately turned towards the
duke, as if to inquire of him the cause of my distress: upon  which,
M. de Richelieu related all that had passed with a cool  exactitude
that enraged me still further.  When he had finished, I said,

"Well, madame la maréchale, and what is your opinion of all this?"

"Upon my word, my dear countess," answered madame de Mirepoix,
"you have ample cause for complaint, but still this poor duke is
not so culpable as you imagine him to be.  He has large expenses
to provide for: and to obtain the money requisite for them he is
compelled to look to his majesty, whose favor he desires to win
by administering to his pleasures."

"Alas!"  replied the duke, "can you believe that but for the
pressure of unavoidable circumstances I would have separated
myself from my nephew and my fair friend there?"

"Come, come," cried the maréchale, " I must restore peace and
harmony between you.  As for you, my lord duke, be a true and
loyal subject; and you, my sweet countess, use your best endeavors
to prevail on the king to befriend and assist his faithful servant."

I allowed myself to be managed like a child; and instead of
scratching the face of M. de Richelieu, I obtained for him a
grant of 100,000 livres, which the court banker duly counted
out to him.



CHAPTER XXXII


A prefatory remark--Madame Brillant--The maréchale de Luxembourg's
cat--Despair of the maréchale--The ambassador, Beaumarchais, and
the duc de Chaulnes--the comte d'Aranda--Louis XV and his relics--The
abbé de Beauvais--His sermons--He is appointed bishop

When I related to comte Jean my reconciliation with the duc de
Richelieu, and the sum which this treaty had cost me, my
brother-in-law flew into the most violent fury; he styled the
maréchal a plunderer of the public treasury.  Well may the scripture
tell us we see the mote in our neighbor's eye, but regard not
the beam which is in our own eye.  I was compelled to impose
silence on comte Jean, or in the height of his rage he would
have offered some insult to the old maréchal, who already most
heartily disliked him for the familiarity of his tone and manner
towards him.  I did all in my power to keep these two enemies
from coming in each other's way, counselled to that by the
maréchale de Mirepoix, whose line of politics was of the most
pacific nature; besides I had no inclination for a war carried
on in my immediate vicinity, and, for my own part, so far from
wishing to harm any one, I quickly forgave every affront offered
to myself.

But hold!  I perceive I am running on quite smoothly in my own
praise.  Indeed, my friend, it is well I have taken that office
upon myself, for I fear no one else would undertake it.  The
most atrocious calumnies have been invented against me; I have
 been vilified both in prose and verse; and, amongst the great
number of persons on whom I have conferred the greatest obligations,
none has been found with sufficient courage or gratitude to stand
forward and undertake my defence.  I do not even except madame de
Mirepoix, whose conduct towards me in former days was marked by
the most studied attention.  She came to me one evening, with a
face of grief.

"Mercy upon me," cried I, "what ails you?"  

"Alas!"  replied she, in a piteous tone, "I have just quitted a
most afflicted family; their loss is heavy and irreparable.  The
maréchale de Luxembourg is well nigh distracted with grief."  

"Good heavens!"  exclaimed I, "can the duchesse de Lauzun be dead?"

"Alas!  no."  

"Perhaps poor madame de Boufflers?"  

"No, my friend."

"Who then is the object of so much regret?  Speak; tell me."

"Madame Brillant."  

"A friend of the old maréchale 's?"

"More than a friend," replied madame de Mirepoix; "her faithful
companion; her only companion; her only beloved object, since
her lovers and admirers ceased to offer their homage--in a word,
her cat."

"Bless me!"  cried I, "how you frightened me!  But what sort of a
cat could this have been to cause so many tears?"

"Is it possible that you do not know madame Brillant, at least
by name?"  

"I assure you," said I, "this is the very first time I ever heard
her name."  

"Well, if it be so, I will be careful not to repeat such a thing
to madame de Luxembourg; she would never pardon you for it.
Listen, my dear countess," continued madame de Mirepoix; "under
the present circumstances it will be sufficient for you to write
your name in her visiting-book."  

I burst into a fit of laughter.

"It is no joke, I promise you," exclaimed the maréchale; "the
death of madame Brillant is a positive calamity to madame de
Luxembourg.  Letters of condolence will arrive from Chanteloup;
madame du Deffant will be in deep affliction, and the virtues and
amiable qualities of the deceased cat will long furnish subjects
of conversation."  

"It was then a singularly engaging animal, I presume?"

"On the contrary, one of the most stupid, disagreeable, and
dirty creatures of its kind; but still it was the cat of madame
de Luxembourg."  

And after this funeral oration the maréchale and myself burst
into a violent fit of laughter.

When the king joined us, I acquainted him with this death, and my
conversation with the maréchale.  Louis XV listened to my recital
with an air of gravity; when I had finished, he said, "The present
opportunity is admirably adopted for satisfying the request of one
of my retinue, one of the best-hearted creatures, and at the same
time one of the silliest
men in the kingdom."

"I beg your pardon, sire," cried I, "but what is his name?  For
the description is so general, that I fear lest I should be at
a loss to recollect of whom you are speaking."  

"You are very ill-natured," cried Louis XV, "and I hardly know
whether you deserve to be gratified by hearing the name of the
poor gentleman: however, I will tell it to you; he is called Corbin
de la Chevrollerie.  A few days since this simple young man,
having solicited an audience, informed me, that he was desirous
of marrying a rich heiress, but that the young lady's family were
resolved  she should marry no one who was not previously employed
as an ambassador.  I expressed my surprise at so strange a caprice,
but the poor fellow endeavored to vindicate his bride's relations,
by stating that that they were willing to consider him as my
ambassador if I would only commission him to carry some message
of compliment or condolence.  Accordingly I promised to employ
him upon the occasion of the first death or marriage which should
take place in a ducal family.  Now, I think I cannot do better
than make him the bearer of my inquiries after the maréchale
de Luxembourg."

This idea struck me as highly amusing, and I immediately dispatched
a servant to summon M. de la Chevrollerie to the presence of the
king.  This being done, that gentleman presented himself with all
the dignity and importance of one who felt that a mission of high
moment was about to be entrusted to him.

His majesty charged him to depart immediately to the house of madame
de Luxembourg, and to convey his royal master's sincere condolences
for the heavy loss she had sustained in madame Brillant.

M. Corbin de la Chevrollerie departed with much pride and
self-complacency upon his embassy: he returned in about half an hour.

"Sire," cried he, "I have fulfilled your royal pleasure to madame
de Luxembourg.  She desires me to thank you most humbly for your
gracious condescension: she is in violent distress for the severe
loss she has experienced, and begged my excuse for quitting me
suddenly, as she had to superintend the stuffing of the deceased."

"The stuffing!"  exclaimed the king; "surely you mean the embalming?"

"No, sire," replied the ambassador, gravely, "the stuffing."

"Monsieur de la Chevrollerie," cried I, bursting into a violent
fit of laughter, "do you know in what degree of relationship the
deceased madame Brillant stood to madame de Luxembourg?"

"No, madam," replied the ambassador, gravely, "but I believe she
was her aunt, for I heard one of the females in waiting say, that
this poor madame Brillant was very old, and that she had lived
with her mistress during the last fourteen years."  

Thus finished this little jest.  However, Louis XV, who was
extremely kind to all about him, especially those in his service,
shortly after recompensed his simple-minded ambassador, by
intrusting him with a commission at once profitable and honorable.

Another event which took place at this period, caused no less
noise than the death of madame Brillant.  At this time, mademoiselle
Mesnard was, for her many charms of mind and person, the general
rage throughout Paris.  Courtiers, lawyers, bankers, and citizens
crowded alike to offer their homage.  Frail as fair, mademoiselle
Mesnard received all kindly, and took with gracious smiles the
rich gifts showered upon her by her various adorers.  The first
noblemen of the court, knights of the different orders, farmers-
general, all aspired to the honor of ruining themselves for her.
She had already satisfied the ruinous propensities of at least a
dozen of lovers, when the duc de Chaulnes entered the lists, and
was fortunate enough to eclipse all his rivals.  He might long
have enjoyed the preference thus obtained, but for an act of the
greatest imprudence of which a lover could be guilty.  He was so
indiscreet as to invite several of his most intimate friends to
sup with himself and Mademoiselle Mesnard.  Amongst the number
was Caron de Beaumarchais, a man possessed of the grace of a
prince and the generous profusion of a highwayman.  Caron de
Beaumarchais attracted the fancy of the fickle mademoiselle
Mesnard, a mutual understanding was soon established between
them, and in a snug little cottage surrounded by beautiful grounds
in the environs of Pere la Chaise, the enamored lovers frequently
met to exchange their soft vows.

Happily the deity who presided over the honor of the duke was
carefully watching their proceedings.  This guardian angel was no
other than madame Duverger, his former mistress, who, unable to
bear the desertion of her noble admirer, had vowed, in the first
burst of rage and disappointment, to have revenge sooner or later
upon her triumphant rival.  With this view she spied out all the
proceedings of mademoiselle Mesnard, whose stolen interviews
and infidelity she was not long in detecting; she even contrived
to win over a <femme de chambre>, by whose connivance she was
enabled to obtain possession of several letters containing
irrefragable proofs of guilt, and these she immediately forwarded
to the duc de Chaulnes.

This proud and haughty nobleman might have pardoned his mistress
had she quitted him for a peer of the realm and his equal, but to
be supplanted by a mere man of business, an author, too!--the
disgrace was too horrible for endurance.  The enraged lover flew
to Beaumarchais, and reproached him bitterly with his treachery;
the latter sought to deny the charge, but the duke, losing all
self-possession, threw the letters in his face, calling him a base
liar.  At this insult, Beaumarchais, who, whatever his enemies may
say of him, was certainly not deficient in courage, demanded
instant satisfaction.  The duke, by way of answer, seized the man
of letters by the collar, Beaumarchais called his servants, who,
in their turn, summoned the guard, which speedily arrived accompanied
by the commissary, and with much difficulty they succeeded in
removing M. de Chaulnes.  (who appeared to have entirely lost
his reason) from the room.

The conduct of the duke appeared to us completely out of place,
and he would certainly have answered for it within the walls of
the Bastille, had not his family made great intercession for him.
On the other hand, Beaumarchais, who eagerly availed himself of
every opportunity of writing memorials, composed one on the
subject of his quarrel with M. de Chaulnes, complaining that a
great nobleman had dared to force himself into his house, and lay
forcible hands on him, as though he were a thief or a felon.  The
whole of the pamphlet which related to this affair was admirably
written, and, like the "Barber of Seville," marked by a strongly
sarcastic vein.  However, the thing failed, and the duc de la
Vrillière, the sworn enemy of men of wit and talent, caused
Beaumarchais to be immediately confined within Fort 1'Eveque.
So that the offended party was made to suffer the penalty of
the offence.

In the same year the comte de Fuentes, ambassador from Spain to
the court of Louis XV, took leave of us.  He was replaced by the
comte d'Aranda, who was in a manner in disgrace with his royal
master: this nobleman arrived preceded by a highly flattering
reputation.  In the first place, he had just completed the destruction
of the Jesuits, and this was entitling him to no small thanks and
praises from encyclopedists.  Every one knows those two lines
of Voltaire's--

"Aranda dans l'Espagne instruisant les fidèles,
A l'inquisition vient de rogner les ailes."  *

	*"Aranda in Spain instructing the faithful
	at the Inquisition has just clipped wings."
	--Gutenberg ed.

The simplicity of comte d'Aranda indemnified us in some degree
for the haughty superciliousness of his predecessor.  Although no
longer young, he still preserved all the tone and vigor of his
mind, and only the habit which appeared to have been born with
him of reflecting, gave him a slow and measured tone in speaking.
His reserved and embarrassed manners were but ill-calculated
to show the man as he really was, and it required all the
advantages of intimacy to see him in his true value.  You may
attach so much more credit to what I say of this individual, as I
can only add, that he was by no means one of my best friends.

When Louis XV heard of the nomination of the comte d'Aranda to
the embassy from Spain to France, he observed to me,

"The king of Spain gets rid of his Choiseul by sending him to me."

"Then why not follow so excellent an example, sire?"  replied I; "
and since your Choiseul is weary of Chanteloup, why not command
him upon some political errand to the court of Madrid."

"Heaven preserve me from such a thing," exclaimed Louis XV.  "Such
a man as he is ought never to quit the kingdom, and I have been
guilty of considerable oversight to leave him the liberty of so
doing.  But to return to comte d'Aranda; he has some merit I
understand; still I like not that class of persons around me; they
are inexorable censors, who condemn alike every action of my life."

However, not the king's greatest enemy could have found fault
with his manner of passing his leisure hours.  A great part of
each day was occupied in a mysterious manufacture of cases for
relics, and one of his <valets de chambre>, named Turpigny, was
intrusted with the commission of purchasing old shrines and
reliquaries; he caused the sacred bones, or whatever else they
contain, to be taken out by Grandelatz, one of his almoners,
re-adjusted, and then returned to new cases.  These reliquaries
were distributed by him to his daughters, or any ladies of the
court of great acknowledged piety.  When I heard of this I mentioned
it to the king, who wished at first to conceal the fact; but, as
he was no adept at falsehood or disguise, he was compelled to
admit the fact.

"I trust, sire," said I, "that you will bestow one of your
prettiest and best-arranged reliquaries on me."

 "No, no," returned he, hastily, "that cannot be."

 "And why not?"  asked I.

"Because," answered he, "it would be sinful of me.  Ask anything
else in my power to bestow, and it shall be yours."

This was no hypocrisy on the part of Louis XV, who, spite of his
somewhat irregular mode of life, professed to hold religion in
the highest honor and esteem; to all that it proscribed he paid
the submission of a child.  We had ample proofs of this in the
sermons preached at Versailles by the abbé de Beauvais, afterwards
bishop of Senetz.

This ecclesiastic, filled with an inconsiderate zeal, feared not
openly to attack the king in his public discourses; he even went
so far as to interfere with many things of which he was not a
competent judge, and which by no means belonged to his jurisdiction:
in fact, there were ample grounds for sending the abbé to the
Bastille.  The court openly expressed its dissatisfaction at this
audacity, and for my own part I could not avoid evincing the
lively chagrin it caused me.  Yet, would you believe it, Louis XV
 declared, in a tone from which there was no appeal, that this
abbé had merely done his duty, and that those who had been less
scrupulous in the performance of theirs, would do well to be
silent on the subject.  This was not all; the cardinal de la
Roche Aymon, his grand almoner, refused to sanction the nomination
of M. de Beauvais to the bishopric, under the pretext of his not being
nobly descended.

M. de Beyons, bishop of Carcassone, a prelate of irreproachable
character, was deeply distressed to find that the want of birth
would exclude M. de Beauvais from the dignities of his holy
profession.  He went to discuss the matter with the grand almoner,
who again advanced his favorite plea for excluding M. de Beauvais.
"My  lord," replied M. de Beyons, "if I believed that nobility of
descent were the chief requisite for our advancement in our
blessed calling, I would trample my crosier under foot, and
renounce for ever all church dignities."

M. de Beyons sought the king, and loudly complained to him of
the infatuation and obstinacy of M. de la Roche Aymon.  Louis XV
however commanded that M. de Beauvais should be appointed to
the first vacant see, and when the grand almoner repeated his
objections to the preferment, the king answered, "Monsieur le
cardinal, in the days of our blessed Saviour the apostles had no
need to present their genealogical tree, duly witnessed and
attested.  It is my pleasure to make M. de Beauvais a bishop;
let that end the discussion of the matter."

The command was too peremptory to admit of any course but
instant and entire submission.



CHAPTER XXXIII


M. D----n and madame de Blessac--Anecdote--The rendezvous and the
Ball--The wife of Gaubert--They wish to give her to the king--
Intrigues--Their results--Letter from the duc de la Vrillière to
the countess--Reply--Reconciliation

Amongst the pages of the chapel was one whom the king distinguished
so greatly, that he raised him to the rank of a gentleman of the
bedchamber, and confided to his charge the cabinet of medals,
for which he had imbibed a taste since his liaison with madame
de Pompadour.  This esteemed page was named M. D-----n, who united
to the most amiable wit a varied and deep knowledge of men and
things.  He had had adventures at an age when they are usually
just understood, and talked of them with the utmost indiscretion.
But this so far from doing him any injury in the eyes of the world
only served to make him the more admired; for women in general
have an inclination for those who do not respect their reputation.

At the period I allude to a madame de Blessac, a very well-looking
woman, took upon herself to be very kindly disposed towards the
gentleman-in-waiting.  She told him so, and thereupon M. de
D------n ranged himself under her banner, and swore eternal
constancy.  However, the lady, by some accident, became greatly
smitten with the prince de la Trimouille, and without quitting
the little keeper of medals, gave him a lord for a substitute.
M. D------n soon learnt this fact, that he was not the sole
possessor of a heart which formed all his joy and glory.  He
found he was deceived, and he swore to be revenged.

Now the prince de la Trimouille had for his mistress mademoiselle
Lubert, an opera-dancer, very pretty and extraordinarily silly.
M. D------n went to her; "Mademoiselle," said he, "I come to
offer my services to you in the same way that M. de la Trimouille
has offered his to madame de Blessac, with whom I was on
exceedingly intimate terms."

The services of young D------n were accepted, and he was happy.
He then wrote to his former mistress, saying, that anxious to give
her a proof of his sincere attachment he had visited mademoiselle
Lubert, that he might leave her at leisure to receive the visits
of the prince de la Trimouille.

Madame de Blessac, stung to the quick, quarrelled with the prince,
who was excessively enraged with his rival; and there certainly
would have been an affair between these two gentlemen, had not
the king preserved the peace by sending his gentleman to St.
Petersburg as <attaché> to the embassy.  M. D------n went to
Russia, therefore, and on his return came to see me, and is now one
of the most welcome and agreeable of the men of my private circle.

As to madame de Blessac, she continued to carry on the war in
grand style.  Her husband dying she married again a foolish count,
three parts ruined, and who speedily dissipated the other quarter
of his own fortune and the whole of his wife's.  Madame Ramosky
then attacked the rich men of the day one after another.  One
alone stood out against her; it was M. de la Garde, who had been
one of my admirers.  Madame Ramoski wrote to him; he did not
answer.  At length she determined on visiting him, and wrote him
a note, to say that she should call upon him about six o'clock in
the evening.  What did M. de la Garde?  Why he gave a ball on
that very evening; and, when madame Ramoski reached his hotel,
she found it illuminated.  As she had come quite unprepared she
was compelled to return as she came, very discontentedly.

But to leave madame de Blessac and M. D------n, and to talk of
my own matters.  We had at this period a very great alarm at the
château, caused by the crime of a man, who preferred rather to
assassinate his wife than to allow her to dishonor him.  It is
worthy of narration.

A pretty shopkeeper of Paris, named Gaubert, who lived in the
rue de la Montagne Sainte- Geneviève, had recently married a
woman much younger than himself.  From the Petit Pont to the rue
Mouffetard, madame Gaubert was talked of for her lovely face and
beautiful figure; she was the Venus of the quarter.  Everybody
paid court to her, but she listened to none of her own rank, for
her vanity suggested that she deserved suitors of a loftier rank.

Her husband was very jealous.  Unfortunately M. Gaubert had for
cousin one of the valets of the king: this an, who knew the taste
of his master, thought how he could best turn his pretty cousin
to account.  He spoke to her of the generosity of Louis XV, of
the grandeur of Versailles, and of the part which her beauty
entitled her to play there.  In fact, he so managed to turn the
head of this young woman, that she begged him to obtain for her
a place in the king's favor.  Consequently Girard (that was his
 name) went to madame de Laugeac, and told her the affair as it
was.  She pleased with an opportunity of injuring me, went to
Paris, and betook herself <incog.> to the shop of madame Gaubert.
She found her charming, and spoke of her to the duc de la
Vrillière, and both agreed to show her portrait to his majesty.
But how to procure this portrait?  Her husband was her very shadow,
and never left her.  <Le petit saint>, who was never at a loss,
issued a <lettre de cachet> against him, and the unfortunate man
was shut up in Fort l'Evéque.  It was not until the portrait was f
inished that he was set at liberty.

He returned to his home without guessing at the motives of his
detention, but he learned that his wife had had her portrait
painted during his absence, and his jealousy was set to work.
Soon a letter from Girard, a fatal letter, which fell into his
hands, convinced him of the injury done him.  He took his wife
apart, and, feigning a resignation which he did not feel, "My
love," he said, "I loved thee, I love thee still: I thought, too,
that thou wert content with our competence, and wouldst not have
quitted thine husband for any other in the world: I have been
convinced otherwise.  A letter from Girard informs me, that with
thine own consent the king, whom thy portrait has pleased, desires
to see thee this very day.  It is a misfortune, but we must
submit.  Only before thou art established at Versailles, I should
wish thee to dine with me once more.  You can invite cousin
Girard, too, for I owe him something for what he has done for thee."

The young wife promised to return and see her husband.  That
evening at the performance at the court she was seated in the
same box with the marquise de Laugeac; the king's glass was
directed towards her the whole time, and at the termination of
the spectacle it was announced to her, that she was to sleep at
the château the next evening.  The project was never realized.

The next day, according to promise, the young wife went to Paris
with the valet.  She informed her husband of the success which
had befallen her, and he appeared delighted.  Dinner being ready,
they seated themselves at table, ate and drank.  Girard began to
laugh at his cousin for his complaisance, when suddenly all desire
to jest left him.  He experienced most horrible pains, and his
cousin suffered as well as himself.  "Wretches!"  said Gaubert to
them, "did you think I would brook dishonor?  No, no!  I have
deceived you both the better to wreak my vengeance.  I am now
happy.  Neither king nor valet shall ever possess my wife.  I have
poisoned you, and you must die."  The two victims implored his
pity.  "Yes," said he to his wife, "thy sufferings pain me, and
I will free you from them."  e then plunged a knife to her heart;
and, turning to Girard, said, "As for thee, I hate thee too much
to kill thee; die.  "And he left him.

The next day M. de Sartines came and told me the whole story.  He
had learnt them from the valet, who had survived his poisoning for
some hours.  Gaubert could not be found, and it was feared that
he would attempt some desperate deed.  No one dared mention it to
the king, but the captain of the guards and the first gentleman
in waiting took every possible precaution; and when Louis XV
asked for the young female who was to be brought to him, they
told him that she had died of a violent distemper.  It was not
until some days afterwards that the terror which pervaded the
château ceased.  They had found the body of the unfortunate
Gaubert on the banks of the Seine.

In spite of what had passed, the duc de la Vrillière had the
impudence to present himself to me.  I treated him with disdain,
reproaching him and Laugeac for their conduct.  He left me in
despair, and wrote me the following letter:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE,-Your anger kills me.  I am
guilty, but not so much so as you may imagine.  The
duty of my office compels me to do many things
which are disagreeable to me.  In the affair for
which you have so slightingly treated me there
was no intent to injure you, but only to procure
for the king an amusement which should make him
the more estimate your charms and your society.
Forgive a fault in which my heart bore no share; I
am sufficiently miserable, and shall not know
repose until I be reinstated in your good graces.

"As for the poor marchioness she is no more to
blame than myself.  She feels for you as much esteem
as attachment, and is anxious to prove it at any
opportunity.  I beseech you not to treat her
rigorously.  Think that we only work together for
the good of the king, and that it would be unjust
of you to hate us because we have endeavored to
please this excellent prince.  I hope that, contented
with this justification, you will not refuse to grant
me the double amnesty which I ask of your goodness."  

I replied thus:--

"Your letter, monsieur le duc, seduces me no
more than your words.  I know you well, and
appreciate you fully.  I was ignorant up to this
time, that amongst the duties of your office,
certain such functions were imposed upon you.
It appears that you attend to them as well as to
others, and I sincerely compliment you thereupon;
I beg of you to announce it in the 'Court Kalendar.'
It will add, I am convinced, to the universal esteem
in which you are held.

"As to madame de Laugeac, she is even more
insignificant than you, and that is not saying much.
I thank her for her esteem and attachment, but
can dispense with any marks of them; no good can
come from such an one as she.  Thus, M. le duc,
keep quiet both of you, and do not again attempt
measures which may compromise me.  Do your
business and leave me to mine.

"I am, with all due consideration,

"Your servant,

"COMTESSE DU BARRY"

I mentioned this to the king, who insisted on reconciling me with
<le petit saint>, who came and knelt to me.  I  granted the pardon
sought, out of regard for Louis XV; but from that moment the
contempt I felt for the duke increased an hundredfold.



CHAPTER XXXIV


Conversation with the king--Marriage of the comte d'Artois--
Intrigues--The place of lady of honor--The maréchale de Mirepoix--
The comtesse de Forcalquier and madame du Barry--The comtesse de
Forcalquier and madame Boncault

The king was much annoyed at the indifference I evinced for all
state secrets, and frequently observed to me, "You are not at all
like madame de Pompadour: she was never satisfied unless she
knew all that was going on, and was permitted to take an active
part in every transaction; she would frequently scold me for not
telling her things of which I was myself ignorant.  She was at
the bottom of the most secret intrigues, and watched every turn
of my countenance, as though she sought to read in my eyes the
inmost thoughts of my mind.  Never," continued the king, "did
woman more earnestly desire supreme command; and so completely
had she learned to play my part, that I have frequently surprised
her giving private instructions to my ambassadors, differing
altogether from what I myself had dictated to them.  Upon the same
principle she maintained at various courts envoys and ministers,
who acted by her orders, and in her name; she even succeeded in
obtaining the friendship of the grave and austere Marie Thérèse,
who ultimately carried her condescension so far, as only to address
the marchioness by the title of 'cousin' and 'dear friend.'  I must
confess, however, that these proceedings on the part of madame
de Pompadour were by no means agreeable to me, and I even prefer
your ignorance of politics to her incessant interference with them."

This was said by Louis XV upon the occasion of the approaching
marriage of the comte d'Artois, the object of universal cabal and
court intrigue to all but myself, who preserved perfect tranquillity
 amidst the general excitement that prevailed.

Various reasons made the marriage of this prince a matter of
imperative necessity.  In the first place, the open gallantry of
the young count had attracted a crowd of disreputable personages
of both sexes to Versailles, and many scandalous adventures
occurred within the château itself; secondly, a motive still more
important in the eyes of Louis XV, originated in the circumstance
of neither the marriage of the dauphin nor that of the comte de
Provence having been blest with any offspring.  The king began
to despair of seeing any descendants in a direct line, unless
indeed heaven should smile upon the wedded life of the comte
d'Artois.  Louis XV disliked the princes of the blood, and the
bare idea that the duc d'Orleans might one day wield his sceptre
would have been worse than death.

Many alliances were proposed for the prince.  Marie Josèphe,
infanta of Spain, was then in her twentieth year, and consequently
too old.  The princess Marie- Françoise-Bénédictine-Anne-Elizabeth-
Josèphe-Antonine-Laurence-Ignace- Thérèse -Gertrude-Marguerite-
Rose, etc., etc., of Portugal, although younger than the first-
mentioned lady, was yet considered as past the age that  would
have rendered her a suitable match for so young a bridegroom.
The daughter of any of the electoral houses of Germany was not
considered an eligible match, and the pride of the house of Bourbon
could not stoop to so ignoble an alliance.  There was no
alternative left therefore, but to return to the house of Savoy,
and take a sister of the comtesse de Provence.  This proposal
was well received by the royal family, with the exception of
the dauphiness, who dreaded the united power and influence of
the two sisters, if circumstances should ever direct it against
herself or her wishes; and I heard from good authority, that
both the imperial Marie Thérèse and her daughter made many
remonstrances to the king upon the subject.  "The empress," said
Louis XV, one day, "believes that things are still managed here
as in the days of the marquise de Pompadour and the duc de
Choiseul.  Thank heaven, I am no longer under the dominion of my
friend and her pensionaries.  I shall follow my own inclinations,
and consult, in the marriage of my grandson, the interests of
France rather than those of Austria."

The little attention paid by Louis XV to the representations of
Marie Thérèse furnished my enemies with a fresh pretext for
venting their spleen.  They accused me of having been bribed by
the court of Turin, which ardently desired a second alliance with
France.  I was most unjustly accused, for I can with truth affirm,
that the comte de la Marmora, ambassador from Piedmont to Paris,
neither by word nor deed made any attempt to interest me in his
success.  The king was the first person who informed me of the
contemplated marriage, and my only fault (if it could be called
one) was having approved of the match.

More than one intrigue was set on foot within the château to
separate the princes.  Many were the attempts to sow the seeds
of dissension between the dauphin and the comte d'Artois, as
well as to embroil the dauphin with <monsieur>.  The first
attempt proved abortive, but the faction against <monsieur>
succeeded so far as to excite a lasting jealousy and mistrust
in the mind of Marie Antoinette.  This princess was far from
contemplating the marriage of the comte d'Artois with any feelings
of pleasure, and when her new sister-in-law became a mother, she
bewailed her own misfortune in being without children with all
 the feelings of a young and affectionate heart.  Heaven did not,
however, always deny her the boon she so ardently desired.

You will, readily believe that the same anxiety prevailed upon
the occasion of this approaching marriage as had existed at the
unions of the dauphin and the comte de Provence, to obtain the
various posts and places the ambition of different persons led
them to desire in the establishment of the newly married pair.
Wishing on my own part to offer the maréchale de Mirepoix a proof
of my high estimation of her friendship towards me, I inquired
of her whether a superior employment about the person of the
comtesse d'Artois would be agreeable to her?

"Alas!  my dear creature," replied the good-natured maréchale, "I
am too old now to bear the toil and confinement of any service.
The post of lady of honor would suit me excellently well as far
as regards the income attached to it, but by no means agree with
my inclinations as far as discharging its functions goes.  You see
I am perfectly candid with you.  Listen to me; if you really wish
to oblige me, you can do this--give the title to another, and
bestow the pecuniary part of the engagement on me.  In that
manner you will be able to gratify two persons at the same time."  

"I will endeavor," said I, "to meet your wishes as far as I
possibly can, and you may be assured that you shall derive some
advantage from this marriage."

And I kept my word by shortly after obtaining for the maréchale
a sum of 50,000 livres; a most needful supply, for the poor
maréchale had to re-furnish her house, her present fittings-up
being no longer endurable by the eye of modish taste: she likewise
received an augmentation of 20,000 livres to her pension.  This
proceeding was highly acceptable to her, and the king afforded
his assistance with the best possible grace.  He could be generous,
and do things with a good grace when he pleased.

The refusal of the maréchale, which it was agreed we should keep
secret, obliged me to cast my eyes upon a worthy substitute, and
I at length decided upon selecting the comtesse de Forcalquier,
a lady who possessed every charm which can charm and attract,
joined to a faultless reputation; and, setting aside her strict
intimacy with myself, the court (envious as it is) could find no
fault with her.  I was convinced she would not be long in
acquiring an ascendency over the mind of the princess and I was
equally well assured she would never turn this influence against
myself; this was a point of no small importance to me.

Madame de Forcalquier most ardently desired the place of lady of
honor, without flattering herself with any hopes of obtaining it;
and, not liking to ask me openly for it, she applied to the duc
de Cossé.  I felt some regret that she had gone to work in so
circuitous a manner, and in consequence wrote her the
following note:--

"MADAM, --I am aware that you are desirous of
obtaining the post of lady of honor.  You should
not have forgotten that I am sufficiently your
friend to have forwarded your wishes by every
possible exertion.  Why did you apply to a third
person in preference to seeking my aid?  I really
am more than half angry with you for so doing.
Believe me, my friends need not the intervention
of any mediator to secure my best services.  You,
too, will regret not having made your first
application to me, when I tell you that I was
reserving for you the very place you were seeking
by so circuitous a route.  Yes, before you had asked
it, the post of lady of honor was yours.  I might
have sought in vain for a person more eminently
qualified for the office than yourself, or one in
whom I could place more unlimited confidence.
Come, my friend, I pray of you, not to thank me,
who have found sufficient reward in the pleasure
of obliging you, but to acknowledge the extreme
kindness and alacrity with which his majesty has
forwarded your wishes.

"Believe me, dear madam,

"Yours, very sincerely,

"THE COMTESSE Du Barry."

Madame de Forcalquier was not long in obeying the summons contained
in my note; she embraced me with the warmest gratitude and
friendship, delighted at finding herself so eligibly established
at court, for at that period every person regarded the comte
d'Artois as the only hope of the monarchy; and blinded by the
universal preference bestowed on him, the young prince flattered
himself that the crown would infallibly ornament his brows.  I
have been told, that when first the queen's pregnancy was
perceived, a general lamentation was heard throughout the castle,
and all ranks united in deploring an event which removed the
comte d'Artois from the immediate succession to the throne.

Up to the present moment I knew Madame de Forcalquier only as
one whose many charms, both of mind and person, joined to great
conversational powers and the liveliest wit, had rendered her the
idol of society, and obtained for her the appellation of
<Bellissima>.  I knew not that this woman, so light and trifling
in appearance, was capable of one of those lively and sincere
attachments, which neither time nor change of fortune could
destroy or diminish.  She had a particular friend, a madame
Boncault, the widow of a stockbroker, and she was anxious to
contribute to her well-doing.  With this view she solicited of me
the place of lady in waiting for this much-esteemed individual.
Astonished at the request I put a hasty negative on it.

"If you refuse me this fresh favor," said madame de Forcalquier,
"you will prevent me from profiting by your kindness to myself."

"And why so?"  inquired I.

"I owe to madame Boncault," answered she, "more than my life; I
am indebted to her for tranquillity, honor, and the high estimation
in which the world has been pleased to hold me.  I have now an
opportunity of proving my gratitude, and I beseech of you to
assist my endeavors."

"But tell me, first," cried I, "what is the nature of this very
important service you say madame de Boncault has rendered you;
is it a secret, or may I hear it?"

"Certainly," replied the countess, "although the recital is
calculated to bring the blush of shame into my cheek.  Are we
alone, and secure from interruption?"

I rang and gave orders that no person should be suffered to
disturb us; after which madame de Forcalquier proceeded
as follows:--

"I was scarcely seventeen years old, when my parents informed me
that they had disposed of my hand, and that I must prepare myself
to receive a husband immediately.  My sentiments were not inquired
into, nor, to confess the truth, was such an investigation usual,
or deemed a matter of any import.  A young female of any rank
has no voice in any transaction till the day which follows her
marriage; until then her wishes are those of her family, and her
desires bounded by the rules of worldly etiquette.  I had scarcely
conversed twice or thrice with my future lord, and then only for
a few minutes at a time, before he conducted me to the foot of
the altar, there to pronounce the solemn vow which bound me his
for life.  I had scarcely seen him, and barely knew whether he
was agreeable or disagreeable.  He was neither young nor old,
handsome nor ugly, pleasing nor displeasing; just one of those
persons of whom the world is principally composed; one of those
men who enter or leave a saloon without the slightest curiosity
being excited respecting him.  I had been told that I ought to
love my husband, and accordingly I taught myself to do so; but
scarcely had the honeymoon waned, than my fickle partner transferred
his affections from me to one of my attendants; and to such a
height did his guilty passion carry him, that he quitted his home
for Italy, carrying with him the unfortunate victim of his seductive
arts.  It was during his absence that I first became acquainted
with madame Boncault; she was my own age, and equally unfortunate
in her domestic life; the same tests, griefs, and a great similarity
of temper and disposition soon united us in the bonds of the
firmest friendship; but as she possessed a stronger and more
reasonable mind than I did, she forgot her own sorrows to administer
to mine.  However, if the whole truth must be owned, I ought to
confess that my chief consolation was derived from a young cousin
of my own, who freely lavished upon me that unbounded affection
I would fain have sought from my husband.

"Meanwhile, wearied of his folly, this latter returned; and,
after having transferred his capricious fancies to at least half
a dozen mistresses, he finished where he should have begun by
attaching himself to her, who, as his wife, had every claim to
his homage.  Men are unaccountable creatures, but unfortunately
for my husband his senses returned too late; my heart was too
entirely occupied to restore him to that place he had so hastily
vacated.  My affections were no longer mine to bestow, but equally
shared by my estimable friend madame Boncault and my young and
captivating cousin.  I was a bad hand at dissimulating, and M. de
Forcalquier perceived enough of my sentiments to excite his jealous
suspicions, and immediately removed with me to one of his estates.

"However, my cousin (whom my husband was far from suspecting) and
madame Boncault accompanied me in my retreat; there myself and
my admirer, more thrown together than we had been at Paris, began
insensibly to lay aside the restraint we had hitherto imposed on
our inclinations, and commenced a train of imprudences which
would quickly have betrayed us had not friendship watched over
us.  The excellent madame Boncault, in order to save my reputation,
took so little care to preserve her own, that M. de Forcalquier
was completely caught by her manoeuvre.  One morning, finding
me alone, he said,

"' Madam, I am by no means satisfied with what is going on here.
Your friend is wholly devoid of shame and modesty; she has been
with us but one short fortnight, and is now the open and confessed
mistress of your cousin.'

"'Sir,' exclaimed I, trembling for what was to follow, 'you are,
you must be mistaken: the thing is impossible.  Madame Boncault
is incapable--'

"'Nonsense, madam,' replied M. de Forcalquier; 'I know what I am
saying.  Several things have induced me to suspect for a long
while what I now assert with perfect confidence of its truth; but
if you are still incredulous, behold this proof of guilt which I
found just now in your cousin's chamber.'

"So saying, my husband put into my hands a letter written by my
cousin evidently to some female in the château, whom he solicited
to admit him that evening to the usual place of rendezvous, where
he flattered himself their late misunderstanding would be cleared up.

"After having read, or, to speak more correctly, guessed at the
contents of this fatal letter, I conjured my husband to replace
it where he had found it, lest his guests should suspect him of
having dishonorably obtained possession of their secret.  He
quitted me, and I hastened in search of my friend: I threw myself
on my knees before her, and related all that had passed, accusing
myself of the basest selfishness in having consented to save my
honor at the expense of hers; then rising with renewed courage I
declared my intention of confessing my imprudence to my husband.
Madame Boncault withheld me.  'Do you doubt my regard for you?'
asked she; 'if indeed you do justice to my sincere attachment to
you, permit me to make this one sacrifice for your safety.  Leave
your husband at liberty to entertain his present suspicions
respecting me, but grant me one favor in your turn.  Speak to
your cousin; request him to quit the  château, for should he
remain the truth will be discovered, and then, my friend, you are
lost past my endeavors to save you.'

"Less generous than madame Boncault, I consented to follow her
advice.  However, I have never forgotten her generous devotion;
and now that the opportunity has presented itself of proving my
gratitude, I beseech of you, my dear countess, to aid me in the
discharge of my debt of gratitude."

As madame de Forcalquier finished speaking, I threw myself into
her arms.  "From this moment," cried I, "madame Boncault is my
dear and esteemed <protégée>; and if I have any influence over
the mind of the king, she shall be appointed lady in waiting to
our young princess.  Such a woman is a treasure, and I heartily
thank you for having mentioned her to me."



CHAPTER XXXV


 Marriage of madame Boncault--The comte de Bourbon Busset --Marriage
of comte d'Hargicourt--Disgrace of the comte de Broglie--He is
replaced by M. Lemoine--The king complains of ennui--Conversations
on the subject--Entry into Paris

Spite of the merit of madame Boncault, and the many eulogiums I
bestowed on her whilst relating her history to the king, I could
not immediately obtain the post madame de Forcalquier had requested
for this paragon of friends.  His majesty replied to me by saying,
that no doubt so many virtues merited a high reward, but that
ere madame Boncault could be appointed lady in waiting to his
granddaughter, she must be presented at court under some other
name than the one she now bore.

"Oh, if that be all, sire,"' replied I, "it will soon be effected.
Ladies who have the good fortune to possess a rich dowry and
powerful friends need never look far for a choice of husbands.
Only let madame Boncault have reason to reckon upon your patronage,
and she will have no lack of admirers."  

The king, always ready to oblige me, caused it to be understood
throughout the château that he was desirous of seeing madame
Boncault well established, as he had it in contemplation to confide
to her a place of great trust.  Immediately a score of suitors
presented themselves; the preference was given to the comte de
Bourbon Busset as the person most calculated in every respect to
answer our purpose; he possessed elegant manners, an unblemished
reputation, and a descent so illustrious as to be traced even to
the reigning family.  No sooner were the celebrations of this
marriage over, than I procured the formal appointment of madame
de Bourbon Busset to the post of lady in waiting to the new
princess.  This nomination tended greatly to increase the high
opinion entertained of the judgment and discrimination of the
comtesse de Forcalquier, and you may easily believe, from the f
riendship I bore this lady, that I fully entered into her triumph
on the occasion.

When the comtesse de Bourbon Busset came to return me her
acknowledgments for what I had done, she accompanied it with a
request for a fresh interference on my part: this was to obtain
for her husband the title of duke and peer.  Accordingly I
mentioned her wishes to the king, observing at the same time how
very surprising it was that one so nearly related to the house of
Bourbon should not have reached the honors of the ducal peerage:
to which Louis XV replied, that he had no desire to increase the
number of princes of the blood, of whom there were quite sufficient
of legitimate birth without placing the illegitimate upon the same
footing; that Louis XIV had been a sufficient warning of the folly
of acting too indulgently towards these latter, who were only so
many additional enemies to the royal authority.  To all this I
answered, that it was not fitting to treat the family of Bourbon
Busset, however illegitimate might be its origin, as though it
merely belonged to the <petite noblesse>, etc.; but my arguments
were in vain, and, as the proverb says, "I talked to the wind."
My friends recommended me not to press the subject, and the matter
ended there.  However, in order to smooth the refusal as much as
possible, I procured M. de Bourbon Busset the appointment of first
gentleman usher to the young prince.

The establishment of the comtesse d'Artois was now formed.  M.
de Chéglus, bishop of Cahors, had the post of first almoner; and
strange to say, although a prelate, was a man of irreproachable
virtue; he had little wit but strong sense, and was better known
by his many charitable deeds than by the brilliancy of his
sayings.  He was eminently suited for the office now conferred on
him; and those who knew him best were the least surprised to find
the nomination had fallen on him.

I also procured a post in the establishment of the young couple
for my sister-in-law, the comtesse d'Hargicourt.  Her maiden
name was Fumel, an ancient family in Guienne, and M. de Fumel,
her father, was governor of the château Trompette at Bordeaux.
This marriage had at first encountered many difficulties from the
deadly hatred which existed in the château against us.  Comte
Jean, perceiving that things were going against us, applied to
the king himself for assistance in the affair.  Louis XV could
not endure him, but his dislike was manifested only by an uneasy
timidity in his presence, and he freely granted any request that
would the soonest free him from his presence.  The king acted
upon the same principle in the present conjuncture; he bestowed
a million of livres upon the comte d'Hargicourt, that is to say,
500,000 livres to be employed in paying the debts of the comte de
Fumel, and in freeing his estates from a dowry of 60,000 livres to
be paid to his daughter on her marriage, with various other
clearances and payments; besides this my brother-in-law, comte
d'Hargicourt, was appointed captain in the prince's Swiss guards,
one of the most honorable commissions that could have been
conferred on him.

The comte de Crussel and the prince d'Henin were named captains
of the guard to M. d'Artois.  This prince d'Henin was of such
diminutive stature that he was sometimes styled, by way of jest,
the "prince of dwarfs," "the dwarf of princes."  He was the
beloved nephew of the maréchale de Mirepoix, whose fondness
could not supply him with the sense he so greatly needed; he was
besides very profligate, and continually running into some
difficulty or other by his eager pursuit after pleasure.  It is
related of him, that the duc de Lauragnais, wearied with seeing
the prince d'Henin for ever fluttering about his mistress,
mademoiselle Arnoult, drew up a consultation, to inquire whether
it were possible to die of ennui: this he submitted to several
physicians and celebrated lawyers, who having united in replying
affirmatively, he caused the consultation with its answer to be
forwarded to the prince d'Henin, warning him henceforward to
cease his visits to mademoiselle Arnoult; or, in the event of her
death, he would certainly be taken up as a party concerned in
effecting it.

The opposite party was now more irritated than ever by the many
places and employments I caused to be given either to my own
friends, or to those for whom they solicited my interest.  The
duchesse de Grammont, flattering herself that she might now take
the field against me with advantage, arrived in Paris one fine
morning from Chanteloup.  Those about me were full of wrath, I
know not for why, at her arrival, but I explained to them, that
they were mistaken in supposing madame de Grammont an exile; she
had voluntarily accompanied her brother into his retreat, and when
that was no longer agreeable to her she returned to Paris.  However,
her journey did neither good nor harm; she had many invitations
to fêtes given in honor of herself, was frequently asked to dinners,
balls, etc., but that was all; no person set their wits to work to
reinstate her in the good graces of the king.  I soon comprehended
the forlorn hopes of my poor enemy, and my former animosity soon
gave way to the play with which she inspired me.

About the period of the marriage of the comtesse d'Artois, an
individual of some eminence fell into disgrace; this was the
comte de Broglie.  This gentleman, as you know, was private
minister to Louis XV, intrusted for some time past with his
correspondence, and affected the airs of a favorite.  He solicited
upon the present occasion the honor of going to meet the princess
at the bridge of Beauvoisin, a request which was granted.  This
was not sufficient for him; he begged for a month's leave of
absence, with permission to proceed to Turin: this depended on
the duc d'Aiguillon, who was by no means partial to the comte de
Broglie.  He said to me when speaking of him,

"I feel no inclination to oblige this minister; on the contrary,
he may wait long enough for what he desires as far as I am concerned.  

"I fear he will be greatly offended with you," answered I.

"Oh, never mind that," replied the duke; "if he grows sullen
about it, why well; if he is loud and vehement, better still;
and should his anger lead him to the commission of any act of
folly, depend upon it we will take advantage of it."  

As I foresaw, the comte de Broglie was deeply offended, and wrote
to the duc d'Aiguillon a letter full of imprudent expressions.  This
was exactly what this latter desired, who eagerly carried and read
the paper to the different members of the council, who heard it
with every expression of surprise and displeasure; the king viewed
it as a piece of open rebellion, and resolved to punish the writer
with his heaviest displeasure; the duc d'Aiguillon asked nothing
better, and ere an hour had elapsed, the duc de la Vrillière
received orders to draw up a <lettre de cachet> in which the
king expressed his discontent of the comte de Broglie, deprived
him of the commission he had given him to go and receive the
princess of Savoy, and exiled him to Buffée, one of his estates
near Angoulême.

This was a matter of great talk at the château; no one could
imagine what had made the comte de Broglie conduct himself so
foolishly.  It was at this period that M. d Marchault said of
him, when he saw him pass his house on his way to Buffée, "He has
the ministry by the tail."

M. de Broglie having gone, his majesty was compelled to look out
for another confidant, and raised to that eminence M. Lemoine,
clerk of his closet.  M. Lemoine, in an inferior station had shown
himself competent to fill the highest offices in the state.  Such
abilities are rare.  He was an excellent lawyer, admirable
chancellor of exchequer, and had the king said to him, "I make
thee a general," he would, the next day, have commanded armies
and gained victories.  Despite his merit he lived long unknown:
the reason was obvious--he knew nothing of intrigue; and his wife,
though pretty, was discreet; and these are not the means to advance
a man at court.

Louis XV, who knew something of men when he chose to study them.,
was not slow in detecting the talent of Lemoine, and in consequence
gave him that station in which de Broglie had been installed.  No
sooner had Lemoine glanced over the affairs submitted to his
control, than he became master of them, as much as though they
had occupied the whole of his life, and in a short time he gave
to his situation an importance which it had never before reached.
Unwilling, however, to incur hatred, he enveloped himself in
profound mystery, so much so that nobody, with the exception of
Messrs.  d'Aiguillon and de Sartines, knew anything of his labors.
This pleased the king, who was averse to publicity.

The duc d'Aiguillon could not conceal his joy at being freed
from de Broglie, his most troublesome colleague.  It was a grand
point gained for him, as he could now make sure of the post of
secretary-at-war, the main object of his ambition.  He wished to
be placed in the duc de Choiseul's position, and to effect this
he redoubled his attentions towards the king, who, though not
really regarding him, at length treated him as the dearest of his
subjects.  There are inexplicable mysteries in weak characters;
obstinacy alarms them, and they yield because they hate resistance.

The king was <ennuied> to death, and became daily more dull and
heavy.  I saw his gloom without knowing how to disperse it, but
it did not make me particularly uncomfortable.  Occupied with my
dear duc de Brissac I almost forgot his majesty for him: the
maréchale de Mirepoix, who had more experience than I had in the
affairs at Versailles, and who knew the king well, was alarmed
at my negligence, and spoke to me of it.

"Do you not see," she said, one day, "what a crisis is at hand?"

"What crisis?"  I asked.

"The king is dying of ennui."

"True."

"Does it not alarm you?"  said the maréchale.

"Why should it?"  

"What makes him so?  Think well when I tell you that your mortal
enemy has seized Louis XV; your most redoubtable enemy, <ennui>!"

"Very well; but what would you have me do?"

"You must amuse him."  

'That is easier said than done."  

"You are right, but it is compulsory.  Believe me, kings are not
moulded like other men: early disgusted with all things, they
only exist in a variety of pleasures; what pleases them this evening
will displease them tomorrow; they wish to be happy in a different
way.  Louis XV is more kingly in this respect than any other.
You must devise amusements for him."  

"Alas," I replied, "how?  Shall I give him a new tragedy of la
Harpe's,--he will yawn; an opera of Marmontel,--he will go to
sleep.  Heavens!  how unfortunate I am!"  

"Really, my dear," replied the maréchale, "I cannot advise you;
but I can quote a powerful example.  In such a case madame de
Pompadour would have admitted a rival near the throne."  

"Madame de Pompadour was very amiable, my dear," I replied, "and
I would have done so once or twice, but the part of Mother Gourdan
does not suit me; I prefer that of her young ladies."  

At these words the maréchale laughed, whilst I made a long grave
face.  At this instant comte Jean entered, and exclaimed,

"Really, ladies, you present a singular contrast.  May I ask you,
sister, what causes this sorrow?  What ails you?"  

"Oh, brother!"  was my response, "the king is dying of ennui."

"That is no marvel," said my brother-in-law.

"And to rouse him," I added, "it is necessary, the maréchale says,
that I must take a pretty girl by the hand, and present her to
the king with these words: 'Sire, having found that you grow
tired of me, I present this lady to you, that you may amuse
yourself with her."

 'That would be very fine," replied comte Jean; "it would show
him that you had profited by my advice."  Then, whispering in my
ear, "You know, sister, I am capable of the greatest sacrifices
for the king."  

"What are you saying, Comte Jean?"  asked the  maréchale, who
had heard some words.

"I said to my sister," answered he, coolly, "that she ought to be
executed to please the king."

"And you, too, brother," I cried.

"Yes, sister," said he, with a theatrical tone, "I see the dire
necessity, and submit to it unrepiningly.  Let us yield to fate,
or rather, let us so act as to make it favorable to us.  The
king requires some amusement, and let us find him a little wench.
We must take heed not to present any fine lady: no, no; by all
the devils--!  Excuse me, maréchale, 'tis a habit I have."

"It is nature, you mean," replied the maréchale: "the nightingale
is born to sing, and you, comte Jean, were born to swear; is it
not true?"  

 "<Morbleu>, madam, you are right."  

After this conversation the maréchale went out, and Comte Jean
departed to arrange his plans for the king's amusement.

However, the ennui of Louis XV was somewhat dissipated by the
tidings of the various incidents which occurred at the grand entry
of the dauphin and dauphiness into Paris.  We learnt that the duc
de Brissac, as governor of Paris, on receiving the dauphiness, said,

"Madam, you see about you two hundred thousand lovers."  He was
right; the princess looked like an angel.  I had taken a mortal
aversion to her.  Alas!  circumstances have too fully avenged me:
this unfortunate queen loses popularity daily; her perfidious
friends have sacrificed her to their interests.  I pity her.



CHAPTER XXXVI


Visit from a stranger--Madame de Pompadour and a Jacobinical
monk--Continuation of this history--Deliverance of a state prisoner--
A meeting with the stranger

One day, at an hour at which I was not accustomed to see any person,
a lady called and requested to see me; she was informed that I was
visible to no person.  No matter, she persisted in her request,
saying that she had to speak to me upon matters of the first
importance, and declared, that I should be delighted with her
visit.  However, my servants, accustomed to the artifices practised
by persons wishing to see me for interested purposes, heeded
very little the continued protestations of my strange applicant,
and peremptorily refused to admit her; upon which the unknown
retired with the indication of extreme anger.

Two hours afterwards a note, bearing no signature, was brought
me, in which the late scene was described to me, and I was further
informed, that the lady, so abruptly repulsed by my servants,
had presented herself to communicate things which concerned not
only my own personal safety but the welfare of all France; a
frightful catastrophe was impending, which there was still time
to prevent; the means of so doing were offered me, and I was
conjured not to reject them.  The affair, if treated with
indifference, would bring on incalculable misfortunes and horrors,
to which I should be the first victim.  All this apparent mystery
would be cleared up, and, the whole affair explained, if I
would repair on the following day, at one o'clock, to the Baths
of Apollo.  A grove of trees there was pointed out as a safe
place of rendezvous, and being so very near my residence, calculated
to remove any fears I might entertain of meeting a stranger, who,
as the note informed me, possessed the means of entering this
secluded spot.  I was again conjured to be punctual to the appointed
hour as I valued my life.

The mysterious and solemn tone of this singular epistle struck
me with terror.  Madame de Mirepoix was with me at the moment I
received it.  This lady had a peculiar skill in physiognomy, and
the close attention she always paid to mine was frequently extremely
embarrassing and disagreeable She seemed (as usual) on the present
occasion to read all that was passing in my mind; however, less
penetrating eyes than hers might easily have perceived, by my
sudden agitation, that the paper I held in my hand contained
something more than usual.

"What ails you?"  asked she, with the familiarity our close
intimacy warranted; "does that note bring you any bad news?"

"No," said I; "it tells me nothing; but it leaves me ample room
for much uneasiness and alarm: but, after all, it may be merely
some hoax, some foolish jest played off at my expense; but judge
for yourself."  So saying, I handed her the letter: when she had
perused it, she said,

"Upon my word, if I were in your place, I would clear up this
mystery; good advice is not so easily met with as to make it a
matter of difficulty to go as far as the Baths of Apollo to seek
it.  It is by no means impossible but that, as this paper tells
you, some great peril is hanging over you.  The marquise de
Pompadour," continued madame de Mirepoix, "received more than
once invitations similar to this, which she never failed to attend;
and I recollect one circumstance, in which she had no cause to
regret having done so: without the kind offices of one of these
anonymous writers it is very possible that she might have expired
heart broken, and perhaps forsaken in some state prison, instead
of ending her days in the château of Versailles, honored even to
the tomb by the friendship and regard of the king of France."

I asked my friend to explain her last observation, and she replied
as follows:--

"One day an anonymous billet, similar to this, was left for
madame de Pompadour: it requested her to repair, at a specified
hour, to the church of the Jacobins, rue Saint Honoré, in Paris,
where she was promised some highly important communications.
The marchioness was punctual to the rendezvous; and, as she
entered the church, a Jacobite, so entirely wrapped in his capuchin
as to conceal his features, approached her, took her by the hand,
and conducted her to an obscure chapel; where, requesting her to
sit down, he took a seat himself, and began as follows:--

"'Madam, you are about to lose the favor of the king; a party is
at work to give a new mistress to the king; the lady is young,
beautiful, witty, and possessed of an insatiable ambition; for the
last six months she has been in the daily habit of seeing the king,
unknown to you and all the court, and this has been accomplished
in the following manner: her father is <valet de chambre> to his
majesty, and she has an only brother, two years younger than
herself, whose astonishing resemblance to her has created continual
mistakes; this brother is promised the inheritance of his father's
office; and, under pretext of acquiring the due initiation for
future post, has been permitted every morning to attend the
king's rising.

"'However, this embryo page is the sister, who comes each morning
disguised in her brother's clothes.  The king has had many private
conversations with the designing beauty; and, seduced by her
many charms of mind and person, as well as dazzled by the hidden
and concealed nature of their intrigue, finds his passion for her
increases from day to day.  Many are the designing persons ready
to profit by the transfer of the king's affections from you to this
fresh favorite; and they flatter themselves the desired event is
close at hand.  You are to be confined by a <lettre de cachet>
to the isle of St. Margaret, for the place of your exile is already
chosen.  The principal conspirators are two powerful noblemen,
one of whom is reputed your most intimate friend.  I learned all
these particulars,' continued the Jacobite, 'from a young penitent,
but not under the seal of confession.  This penitent is the
particular friend of the female in question, who confided the
secret to her, from whom I received it, accompanied by the most
flattering promises of future protection and advancement.  These
splendid prospects excited her jealous envy, and she came here
to confess the whole to me, requesting I would seek you out and
inform you of the whole affair.  Here is a letter she obtained
unknown to her aspiring friend, which she wishes you to see, as
a pledge of the veracity of her statement.' The marchioness cast
her eyes over the paper held out to her by the Jacobite.  It was
a letter addressed by the king to his new mistress.

"You may imagine the terror of madame de Pompadour, her anxiety
and impatience to return to Versailles.  However, ere she quitted
the friendly monk she assured him of her lasting gratitude, and
begged of him to point out how she could best prove it.  'For
myself,' replied he, 'I ask nothing; but if you would render me
your debtor, confer the first vacant bishopric on a man whom I
greatly esteem, the abbé de Barral.' You will easily suppose that
the abbé de Barral had not long to wait for his preferment: as
for the Jacobite the marchioness never again saw or heard anything
of him.  She mentioned him to the newly appointed bishop, who
could not even understand to what she alluded.  She related the
affair, when he called heaven to witness that he knew nothing of
any Jacobite either directly or indirectly."

"And how did the marchioness get rid of her rival?"  inquired I
of madame de Mirepoix.

"By a very simple and effective expedient.  She sent for the duc
de Saint Florentin, whom she requested immediately to expedite
two <lettres de cachet>; one for the <valet de chambre>, who was
shut up in the château de Lectoure, and the other for the daughter,
whom the marchioness sent to the isle of St. Marguerite, to
occupy the place she had so obligingly destined for herself."

"And now," asked I, "did these unfortunate people ever get out
of prison?"

"That I know not," answered the maréchale; "and, God forgive me,
for aught I ever inquired they may be there now."  

"If so," cried I, "the conduct of both the king and the duc de la
Vrillière is abominable and unpardonable."

"Why, bless your heart, my dear," exclaimed the maréchale, "do
you expect that his majesty should recollect all the pretty
women he has intrigued with, any more than the poor duke can be
expected to keep a list in his memory of the different persons
he has sent to a prison?  He would require a prodigious recollection
for such a purpose."  This unfeeling reply filled me with indignation,
and redoubled the pity I already felt for the poor prisoners.  I
immediately despatched a note to the duc de Saint Florentin,
requesting he would come to me without delay: he hastened to obey
my summons.  When he had heard my recital he remained silent
some minutes, as though collecting his recollections upon the
subject, and then replied,

"I do indeed remember that some obscure female was confined in
the château of the isle Sainte Marguerite at the request of madame
de Pompadour, but I cannot now say, whether at the death of the
marchioness any person thought of interceding for her release."  

"That is precisely what I wish to ascertain," cried I; "return to
your offices, monsieur le duc, and use your best endeavors to
discover whether this unfortunate girl and her parent are still
in confinement; nor venture again in my presence until you have
despatched the order for their deliverance: you will procure a
conveyance for them from their prison to Paris at the expense of
government.  You understand, my lord?"  

The following morning the duke brought me the desired information.
He told me, that the father had been dead seven years,  but the
daughter still remained a prisoner: the order for restoring her
to liberty had been forwarded the night preceding.  I will now
briefly relate the end of this mournful story.  

Three weeks after this I received an early visit from  the duc de
la Vrillière, who came to apprize me, that  my protégée from the
isle of  St. Marguerite was in my  antechamber awaiting permission
to offer me her grateful thanks.  I desired she might instantly be
admitted; her appearance shocked me; not a single trace of that
beauty which had proved so fatal to its possessor now remained.
She was pale, emaciated, and her countenance, on which care and
confinement had imprinted the wrinkles of premature old age, was
sad and dejected even to idiocy.  I could have wished that madame
de Pompadour, by way of punishment for her cruelty, could but
have seen the object of her relentless persecution.  I think she
would have blushed for herself.  When the poor girl entered my
apartment she looked wildly around her, and casting herself at
my feet, inquired with many tears to what motive she was indebted
for my generous interference in her behalf.  The duc de la
Vrillière contemplated with the utmost <sang froid> the spectacle
of a misery he had so largely contributed to.  I requested of him
to leave us to ourselves.  I then raised my weeping <protégée>,
consoled her to the best of my ability, and then requested her
to give me the history of her captivity.  Her story was soon
told: she had been an inhabitant of the same prison for seventeen
years and five months, without either seeing a human being, or
hearing the sound of a human voice.  Her recital made me shudder,
and I promised her that henceforward her life should be rendered
as happy as it had hitherto been miserable.

The king supped with me that evening.  By some singular chance he
was on this occasion in the happiest temper possible: he laughed,
sung, joked with such unusual spirits, that I hesitated ere I
disturbed a gaiety to which Louis XV was so little prone.
However, I took him aside, saying, "Sire, I have to ask atonement
and reparation for a most horrible piece of injustice."  After which,
I proceeded to acquaint him with the distressing history of his
unfortunate mistress.  He appeared perfectly well to recollect
the female to whom I alluded; and when I ceased speaking, he
said, with a half-suppressed sigh,

"Poor creature!  she has indeed been unfortunate; seventeen years
and five months in prison!  The duc de la  Vrillière is greatly to
blame in the affair; but when once he has placed persons between
four walls, he thinks he has fulfilled the whole of his duty.  He
should recollect, that a good memory is a necessary qualification
for situation he holds; it is indeed an imperative duty in him to
think of the poor wretches he deprives of their liberty."

"And in you too, sire," interrupted I; "and it appears to me that
you have lost sight of it, in the present affair, as culpably as
your minister."

"I confess it, indeed," answered Louis XV; "but the unfortunate
sufferer herself was not without a due share of blame in the
matter.  Her presumption had greatly irritated madame de Pompadour,
who punished her as she thought fit: of course I could not,
consistently with the regard I professed for the marchioness,
interfere in the execution of her vengeance."

"I do not agree with you," said I.

"Why, what else could I do?"  asked Louis XV, with the most
imperturbable calmness; "she had superior claims, was acknowledged
as chief favorite, and I could not refuse her the sacrifice of a
mere temporary caprice."

"Very well said," answered I, "and founded upon excellent
principles; but surely it was not necessary to shut up the object
of your caprice in a state prison, and, above all, to leave her
there for such a length of time.  However, the mischief is done;
and all we have to think of is to repair it.  You have now, sire,
a fine opportunity of displaying your royal munificence."

"You think, then," returned Louis XV, "that I am bound to make
this unhappy girl some present?  Well, I will; to-morrow I will
send her 10,000 louis."

"A thousand louis!"  exclaimed I, clasping my hands; "what, as a
recompense for seventeen years' imprisonment?  No, no, sire, you
shall not get off so easily; you must must settle on her a pension
of 12,000 livres, and present her with an order for 100,000 more
as an immediate supply."  

"Bless me!"  ejaculated the king, "why all, the girls in my
kingdom would go to prison for such a dowry: however, she shall
have the pension; but, in truth, my treasury is exhausted."

"Then, sire," returned I, "borrow of your friends."  

"Come, come, let us finish this business; I will give your
<protégée> 4000 louis."  

"No, I cannot agree," answered I, "to less than 5000."  

The king promised me I should have them; and, on the following
day, his valet Turpigny brought me the order for the pension, and
a bag, in which I found only 4000 louis.  This piece of meanness
did not surprise me, but it made me shrug up my shoulders, and
sent me to my cabinet to take the sum deficient from my own funds.
With this dowry my poor <protégée> soon found a suitable husband
in the person of one of her cousins, for whom I procured a
lucrative post under government.  These worthy people have since
well repaid me by their grateful and devoted attachment for the
service I was enabled to render them.  One individual of their
family was, however, far from resembling them either in goodness
of heart or generosity of sentiment--I allude to the brother of the
lady; that same brother who formerly supplied his sister with his
clothes, that she might visit the king unsuspected.  Upon the
incarceration of the father the son succeeded him in his office
of <valet de chambre>, and acquired considerable credit at court;
yet, although in the daily habit of seeing the king, he neither
by word nor deed sought to obtain the deliverance of either his
parent or sister.  On the contrary, he suffered the former to
perish in a dungeon, and allowed the latter to languish in one
during more than seventeen years, and in all probability she
would have ended her days without receiving the slightest mark
of his recollection of his unfortunate relative.  I know no trait
of base selfishness more truly revolting than the one I have
just related.

But this story has led me far from the subject I was previously
commencing: this narrative, which I never call to mind without a
feeling of pleasure, has led me away in spite of myself.  Still I
trust that my narrative has been sufficiently interesting to induce
you to pardon the digression it has occasioned, and now I will
resume the thread of my discourse.



CHAPTER XXXVII


 A conspiracy--A scheme for poisoning madame du Barry--The four
bottles--Letter to the duc d'Aiguillon--Advice of the ministers--
Opinion of the physicians--The chancellor and lieutenant of
police--Resolution of the council

Have you any curiosity to learn the dénouement of the story I
was telling you of my anonymous correspondent?  Read what follows,
then, and your wishes shall be gratified: that is, if you have
patience to hear a rather long story; for I cannot promise you
that mine will very speedily be completed.  Let me see: where
did I leave off?  Oh, I recollect.

I was telling you that madame de Mirepoix urged me to repair, as
I was requested, to the Baths of Apollo.  I had a key which opened
all the park gates; we entered the park, took the path which turns
off to the left, and after having walked for about five minutes,
found ourselves opposite the person we were in search of.  It
was a female of from thirty to forty years of age, of diminutive
stature, dressed after the fashion of the <bourgeoises> of the
day, but still an air of good taste was evident through the
simplicity of her attire.  Her countenance must once have been
handsome, if one might judge by the beauty of her eyes and mouth,
but she was pale, withered and already impressed with the traces
of a premature old age.  But her beauties, although faded, were
still animated by a quick and ever-varying expression of a keen
and lively wit.

Whilst I made these hasty remarks the stranger saluted me, and
afterwards the maréchale de Mirepoix, with a ease of manner
which perfectly surprised me.  Nor did she in any other instance
betray the embarrassment of a person who finds herself for the
first time in the presence of persons of a rank superior to her own.

"Madam," she said, addressing herself to me, "I trust you will
pardon me for having given you the trouble of coming hither; I
might have spared it you, had your people permitted me to see
you when I called at your house yesterday."  

"Your invitation," replied I, "was so pressingly enforced, that I
confess my curiosity has been most keenly awakened."  

"I will immediately satisfy it," answered she, " but what I have
to say must be told to yourself alone."  

"Well, then," said the maréchale, "I will leave you for the
present: I am going to admire that fine group of Girardon"; and
so saying, she quitted the walk in which I was standing.

Directly she was gone the stranger said to me, "Madam, I will
explain myself without reserve or unnecessary prolixity; I beseech
of you to listen attentively whilst I tell you, in the first place,
that both your life and that of the king is in imminent danger."

"Heavens!"  cried I, " what do I hear?"

"That which I well know to be true," answered the female, with
a  firm voice; "I repeat that your life and that of the king is
in danger."  

These words, pronounced in a low, solemn voice, froze me with
terror; my limbs tottered under me, and I almost sank to the
ground.  The stranger assisted me to a bench, offered me her arm,
and when she saw me a little recovered, she continued,

"Yes, madam, a conspiracy is afoot against yourself and Louis XV.
You are to be made away with out of revenge, and Louis XV is to
suffer, in the hopes of his death effecting a change in the
present face of affairs."

"And who," inquired I, "are the conspirators?"

'The Jesuits and parliamentarians; these ancient rivals, equally
persecuted by the royal government, have determined to make
common cause against their mutual foe.  The Jesuits flatter
themselves that the dauphin inherits the kind feelings entertained
by his father for their order, and the parliamentarians justly
reckon upon the friendly disposition of the young prince towards
the old magistracy.  Both parties equally flatter themselves that
a fresh reign would bring about their re-establishment, and they
are impatient to accelerate so desirable an event: the conspiracy
is directed by four Jesuits and the same number of the ex-members
of the parliament of Paris.  The remainder of the two corporations
are not initiated in the secret of the enterprise.  I am not able
at present to give you the names of the eight conspirators, the
person from whom I derive my information not having as yet
confided them even to myself, but I trust ere long to obtain such
 a mark of confidence."

The female ceased speaking, and I remained in a state of doubt,
fear, and alarm, impossible to describe.  Still one thing appeared
clear to me, that information so mysteriously conveyed was not
deserving of belief, unless supported by more corroborating
testimony.  My unknown friend evidently divined all that was
passing in my mind, for she observed,

"I perceive that my recital appears to you improbable; one
particular which I will state may perhaps overcome your i
ncredulity.  Are you not in the habit, madam, of taking every
evening <eau sucrée> mixed with a large proportion of orange-
flower water?"

"I am," replied I.

"This day," continued my informant, "you will receive four bottles
of orange-flower water contained in a box bearing the usual
appearances of having come from the perfumers', but it is sent
by other hands, and the liquor contained in the flasks is mingled
with a deadly poison."

These last words made me tremble.  "You must complete your kind
offices," cried I to my visitor, "by bringing me acquainted with
the person from whom you have derived your intelligence: that
individual must be acquainted with the whole of the plot; and,
believe me, I will not be unmindful of either of you."

"Stay one instant," replied the lady, without evincing the slightest
emotion; "the man who was my informant is assuredly aware of the
names of those concerned in the conspiracy, but he has charged
me not to state who he is but upon certain conditions; a
recommendation I shall most certainly attend to."

"Be assured," interrupted I, "that your demands shall be acceded
to; you shall yourself fix the price of your entire disclosure of
every fact connected with the business."

"It will not be an exorbitant one," replied the lady; "merely
600,000 francs, to be equally divided between the friend you
desire to know and myself; for this sum, which is not a very
large one, you may command the services of both of us.  One word
more, madam, and I am gone.  Observe a strict silence upon all I
have told you; or, if you must have a counsellor in such perilous
circumstances, confide merely in some tried friend; say the duc
d'Aiguillon or the chancellor, or both should you deem it necessary;
but have a care how you admit a third to a participation of the
affair; you could scarcely select another person without choosing
one already corrupted by your enemies.  It is said that they are
in correspondence with even those persons immediately about the
person of the king.  Adieu, madam; I will see you at your own
apartments the day after to-morrow, when I trust you will have
ready 100,000 francs, on account of the 600,000 I have stipulated for."

So saying, she curtsied and left me, overcome with surprise.  A
thousand fearful ideas pressed upon my brain, and my heart sickened
at the long train of gloomy images which presented themselves.  I
had had sufficient proofs since my elevation of the deadly hatred
borne me by those whom my good fortune had rendered my enemies:
yet, hitherto, my strongest apprehensions had never been directed
to anything more errible than being supplanted in the favor of the
king, or being confined in my château du Lucienne.  The horrible
ideas of murder, poison, or assassination by any means, had never
presented themselves to me.  All at once I recollected the young
man in the garden of the Tuileries; his predictions of my future
greatness had been accomplished.  He had also announced to me
fearful vicissitudes, and had threatened to appear to me when
these catastrophes were about to occur.  Doubtless he would keep
his word; now was the time for so doing, and I timidly glanced
around as I caught the sound of a slight rustle among the branches,
fully expecting to see my young prophet; but the figure which met
my eye was that of madame de Mirepoix, who, tired of waiting,
had come to rejoin me.

'What!  "said she, "are you alone?  I did not observe your visitor
leave you.  Did she vanish into air?"

"Very possibly," answered I.

"So then," replied the maréchale, "she proved a fairy, or some
beneficent <génie>, after all?"

"If she were a spirit," said I, "it certainly was not to the better
sort she belonged."  

"Have a care," cried the maréchale; "I have already formed a
thousand conjectures as to what this woman has been telling."

"And all your suppositions," replied I, "would fall short of the
reality.  Listen, my dear maréchale," added I, rising, and taking
her arm to proceed homewards, "I have been strictly prohibited
from admitting any counsellor but the duc d'Aiguillon and the
chancellor; still I can have no reserves with you, who I know, f
rom the regard you bear both to the king and myself, will advise
me to the best of your power."  

As we walked towards the château, I explained to my companion
the joint conspiracy of the Jesuits and ancient members of the
parliament against the king's life and my own.  When I had ceased
speaking, she replied,

"All this is very possible; despair may conduct the Jesuits and
parliamentarians to the greatest extremities; but still this
mysterious female may be nothing more than an impostor.  At any
rate, I am anxious to learn whether the box she described has been
left at your house; if so, it will be a strong corroboration, if
not, a convincing proof of the falsehood of what she asserts."

We had by this time reached the bottom of the staircase which
conducted to my apartments; we ascended the stairs rapidly, and
the first person I met in the anteroom was Henriette.

"Henriette," said I, "has any thing been brought for me during
my absence?"

"Nothing except a box of orange-flower water from Michel the
perfumer's, which I presume you ordered, madam."

A glance of mutual surprise and consternation passed between the
maréchale and myself.  We entered my chamber, where madame de
Mirepoix opened the fatal box; it contained the four bottles
exactly as had been described.  We regarded each other in profound
silence, not daring to communicate our reflections.  However, it
was requisite to take some steps, and, catching up a pen, I hastily
wrote the following billet to the duc d'Aiguillon,

"MONSIEUR LE DUC,-- Whatever may be the affairs
with which you are at present occupied, I pray of
you to throw them aside, and hasten to me instantly
upon receipt of this.  Nothing can equal in importance
the subject upon which I wish to see you; I cannot
now explain myself fully, but prepare for news of
the most horrible description, and it refers to the
safety and preservation of the most valuable life
in the kingdom.  I cannot delay time by writing
more; I can only beseech of you not to lose one
moment in obeying this summons.  Adieu; fail not
to come and bring me back this note."

The duke hastened to me full of terror and alarm.

"Your letter has really frightened me," said he; "what can be the
matter?  Surely the life of his majesty is not in danger?"

"Too truly is it," answered I; "but sit down, and you shall know
all the affair.  The maréchale is already aware of the matter
and need not withdraw."

The duke listened with extreme attention to the recital of my
interview in the grove surrounding the Baths of Apollo, as well
as to the account of the discourse I had held there with the
strange female.  I endeavoured to relate the conversation as
minutely and accurately as possible, but still the duke sought
further particulars.  He inquired the style of countenance, dress,
manner, and tone of voice possessed by the <incognita>.  One
might have supposed, by the closeness of his questions, that he
already fancied he had identified this mysterious personage: he
then examined the box, which stood on the table, and remarked,
"This is a very serious affair, nor can I undertake the management
of it alone; it involves a too great responsibility.  Spite of the
lady's assertions, I am confident the fullest confidence might
be placed in all the ministers.  However, I will first have a
conference with M. de Saint-Florentin and the chancellor, in
whose presence I will send for the lieutenant of police; and the
contents of these bottles shall be immediately analyzed."

The duke, without quitting me, wrote immediately to his two
colleagues as well as to M. de Sartines, requesting this latter
to repair to my apartment without delay.  One of the ministers
summoned by M. d'Aiguillon was not at that moment at Versailles,
having left at an early hour in the morning for Paris.  Neither
he nor M. de Sartines could possibly be with us before eight
o'clock in the evening; it was therefore agreed to adjourn our
conference till their arrival.  Meanwhile M. d'Aiguillon, the
maréchale, and myself, remained in a state of the most cruel
anxiety.  The duke first blamed me for not having caused the
woman to be arrested, and afterwards he confessed to the maréchale,
that perhaps it was better the conspiracy should be allowed time
to ripen into maturity.  Daring this time the liquid contained
in the four bottles was being decomposed: M. Quesnay, first
physician, Messrs.  Thiebault and Varennes, visiting physicians,
M. de la Martinière, counsellor of state, surgeon to his majesty,
as well as Messrs.  Ducor and Prost, apothecaries to his majesty,
had been collected together for this purpose by the duc d'Aiguillon.

These gentlemen came to report the termination of their experiments
at the very moment when the chancellor and lieutenant of police
entered the room; the duc de la Vrillière had preceded them by
about five minutes; the duc d'Aiguillon requested these gentlemen
to be seated.  The doctors Quesnay and la Martinière were
introduced, and desired to make known the result of their operations.
My newly-arrived guests, who as yet understood nothing of what
was going on, were struck with astonishment at hearing it said,
that the four bottles of orange-flower water contained a
considerable proportion of a most active poison, of which a few
drops would be sufficient to cause instantaneous death.  Having
thus executed their commission, the medical gentlemen bowed
and retired.

M. d'Aiguillon then explained to my wondering friends the horrible
affair which had occasioned their being sent for so hastily.  I
cannot tell you what effect this disclosure produced on M. de la
Vrillière or M. de Maupeou, my whole attention being fixed upon
M. de Sartines.  You may suppose that a lieutenant of police,
particularly one who piqued himself upon knowing every thing,
could not feel very much at his ease, when each word that was
uttered convicted him either of incapacity or negligence.  His
brow became contracted, he hemmed, choked, fidgeted about, and
appeared as though he would have given every thing in the world f
or liberty to justify himself, but etiquette forbade it, and he
was only permitted to speak after the secretaries of state then
present, or if called upon by either of them.

When M. d'Aiguillon had ceased speaking, the chancellor in his
turn took up the conversation.  M. de Maupeou was by nature cold
and sarcastic, delighting in annoying any person; but, on the
present occasion, the ill-nature inherent in him was still excited
by the decided hatred he bore to the unfortunate M. de Sartines.
He began by saying, that the conspiracy was evident, and was
easily explained by the state of exasperation in which the Jesuits
and parliamentarians now were; both orders looking for no other
prospect of amendment in their condition than such as might arise
from some sudden convulsion of the kingdom.  He expressed his
opinion of the necessity of instituting a rigorous inquiry into the
conduct of these two bodies; and then, turning to M. de Sartines,
whose cheek grew pale at the movement, he charged him to lay
before the council all those particulars which he must necessarily
possess as head of the police, either respecting the present plot,
or relating to any of the ancient members of parliament or the
order of Jesuits.

This was a dagger to the heart of M. de Sartines, who in vain
sought to frame a suitable reply: but what could he say?  He did
not in reality possess any of the information for which he had
received credit, and after many awkward endeavours at explaining
himself, he was compelled frankly to confess, that he knew not a
word more of the conspiracy than he had just then heard.

It was now the turn of M. de la Vrillière to speak.  He also
would fain have attacked the unfortunate lieutenant of police;
but, whether M. de Maupeou thought that his own correction had
been sufficiently strong, or whether he begrudged any other
person interfering with his vengeance upon his personal foe, he
abruptly interrupted the tirade of M. de la Vrillière, by observing,
that a conspiracy conducted by only eight persons might very
possibly escape the eye of the police; but, furnished as it now
was with so many circumstances and particulars, it was impossible
that the plot should any longer defy their vigilant researches.

M. d'Aiguillon fully concurred in this observation, and M. de
Sartines, recovered in some measure from his first alarm, promised
every thing they could desire; and it was finally arranged that
the police should this night use every precautionary measure in
Paris, and that the officers of the guard should receive orders
to redouble their zeal and activity in watching the château; and
that when the unknown female called again on me, she should be
conducted by madame de Mirepoix to the duc d'Aiguillon, who
would interrogate her closely.

These measures decided on, the council broke up, and I went to
receive the king, who was this evening to do me the favour of
taking his supper in my apartments.



CHAPTER XXXVIII


Conclusion of this affair -A letter from the incognita--Her
examination--Arrest of Cabert the Swiss--He dies in the Bastille of
poison--Madame Lorimer is arrested and poisoned--The innocence
of the Jesuits acknowledged--Madame de Mirepoix and the
100,000 francs--Forgetfulness on the part of the lieutenant of
police--A visit from comte Jean--Madame de Mirepoix

M. de Sartines did not sleep on his post, but his researches were
fruitless; and, on the following day, three successive messengers
came to announce to us that they had as yet made no discovery.
The day passed without bringing any fresh intelligence, and our
anxiety increased daily.  At length arrived the period fixed for
the visit of the <incognita>.  I awaited the coming of this female
with an impatience impossible to describe.  About mid-day a note
was brought me; I instantly recognized the writing as that of my
mysterious friend, and hastily breaking the seal, read as follows:

"MADAM,--I must entreat your pardon for breaking
the appointment for to-day, imperative duties still
detain me in Paris.

"Since our last interview I have been unceasingly
occupied in endeavouring to discover the names of
the eight persons of whom I spoke to you, and, I
am sorry to say, I have but partially succeeded.
The person who has hitherto furnished me with my
information obstinately refuses to state who are
the parliamentarians concerned in the conspiracy.
I am, however, enabled to forward you the names
of the four Jesuits, with some few particulars relating
to these worthy fathers.

"The Jesuits in question are Messrs.  Corbin,
Berthier, Cerulti, and Dumas; the first of whom
was employed in the education of the dauphin,
the second and the third are sufficiently known;
as for the fourth, he is a bold and enterprising
Parisian, capable of conceiving and executing the
most daring schemes.  Whilst the order remained
in possession of power he had no opportunity of
displaying his extraordinary talents, and consequently
he obtained but a trifling reputation; but since its
banishment he has become its firmest support and
principal hope.  All the treasures of the brotherhood
are at his disposal, and I learn, that the day
before yesterday he received a considerable sum
from Lyons.

"This intrepid and daring spirit is the very soul
of the conspiracy; he it is who conceived the
plan and set the whole machine in action.  It would
be effectually extinguished could we but once
secure him, but this is by no means an easy task;
he has no fixed abode; never sleeps two nights
following in the same home; one day he may be
found in one part of Paris and the next at the very
opposite corner; he changes his manner of dress
as frequently as he does his abode.

"I shall have the honour of seeing you to-morrow
or the day after at furthest.  Meanwhile lay aside
all uneasiness for his majesty's safety: I pledge
you my word he is for the present in perfect
security.  The execution of the plot is still
deferred for the want of a Damiens sufficiently
sanguinary to undertake the task.

"Deign, madam, to accept the assurance of my
sincere devotion, and believe that I will neglect
no opportunity of affording you proofs of it.
"Yours, madam, etc., etc."

I immediately communicated this letter to the duc d'Aiguillon, who
convoked a fresh meeting of the persons who had been present on
the preceding day.  It was at first deliberated whether or not to
arrest the whole body of Jesuits then in Paris, but this, although
the advice of M. d'Aiguillon, was by no means approved of by the
chancellor.  M. de Sartines and M. de la  Vrillière were for
carrying the idea into execution, but the objections of M. de
Maupeou were too powerful to be overruled, and the scheme was for
the present abandoned.  The chancellor maintained that the other
conspirators, warned of their own, danger by the seizure of their
friends, would either escape the vengeance of the laws by flight
or by close confinement in their houses; he greatly dreaded as
it was, that his foes, the parliamentarians, would avoid the
punishment he longed to inflict on them.  Indeed, in his estimation,
it seemed as though every measure would be anticipated so long as
the female, who seemed so intimately acquainted with their design,
was at liberty; and this last opinion was unanimously concurred in.

All the delays greatly irritated me, and rendered my impatience
to witness the termination of the affair greater than it had ever
been.  The stranger had promised to make her appearance on the
following day; it passed away, however, without my hearing anything
of her.  On the day following she came; I immediately sent to
apprize M. d'Aiguillon, who, with M. de la Vrillière and the
chancellor, entered my apartments ere the lady had had time to
commence the subject upon which she was there to speak.  This
unexpected appearance did not seem to disconcert her in the least,
nor did her <sang-froid> and ordinary assurance in any degree
fail her.  She reproached me for having intrusted the secret to so
many persons, but her reproof was uttered without bitterness, and
merely as if she feared lest my indiscretion might compromise our
safety.  She was overwhelmed with questions, and the chancellor
interrogated her with the keenest curiosity; but to all the inquiries
put to her she replied with a readiness and candour which surprised
the whole party.  She was desired to give the names of those
engaged in the conspiracy, as well as of him who first informed
her of it.  She answered that her own name was Lorimer, that she
was a widow living upon her own property.  As for the man, her
informant, he was a Swiss, named Cabert, of about thirty years of
age, and had long been her intimate friend: however, the embarrassed
tone with which she pronounced these last words left room for the
suspicion, that he had been something dearer to her than a friend.
She was then urged to give up the names of the four parliamentarians,
but she protested that she had not yet been able to prevail on
Cabert to confide them to her, that she was compelled to use the
utmost circumspection in her attempts at discovering the facts
already disclosed, but flattered herself she should yet succeed
in gaining a full and unreserved disclosure.  M. de Maupeou
encouraged her, by every possible argument, to neglect no means
of arriving at so important a discovery.

The examination over, and the 100,000 francs she had demanded
given to her, she retired, but followed at a distance by a number
of spies, who were commissioned to watch her slightest movement.

Cabert, the Swiss, was arrested in a furnished lodging he occupied
in rue Saint Roch, and sent without delay to Versailles, where, as
before, M. d'Aiguillon with his two colleagues waited in my study
to receive and question the prisoner.  Cabert was a young and
handsome man, whose countenance bore evident marks of a dissolute
and profligate life.  He confessed, without any difficulty, that
his only means of gaining a livelihood were derived from the
generosity of a female friend, but when he was pressed upon the
subject of the conspiracy, he no longer replied with the same
candour, but merely answered in short and impatient negatives
the many questions put to him, accompanied with fervent
protestations of innocence; adding, that implacable enemies had
fabricated the whole story, only that they might have an opportunity
of wreaking their vengeance, by implicating him in it.

"Accuse not your enemies," cried I, for the first time mingling
in the conversation, "but rather blame your benefactress; it is
madame Lorimer who has denounced you, and far from intending to
harm you by so doing, she purposes dividing with you the 100,000
livres which are to reward her disclosures."

I easily found, by the frowning looks directed towards me by the
three gentlemen present, that I had been guilty of great imprudence
in saying so much; but Cabert, wringing his hands, uttered, with
the most despairing accent,

"I am lost!  and most horribly has the unfortunate woman
avenged herself."

"What would you insinuate?"  

"That I am the victim of an enraged woman," replied he.

He afterwards explained, that he had been the lover of madame
Lorimer, but had become wearied of her, and left her in consequence;
that she had violently resented this conduct; and, after having
in vain sought to move him by prayers and supplications, had
tried the most horrible threats and menaces.  "I ought not indeed,"
continued he, "to have despised these threats, for well I knew
the fiendlike malice of the wretched creature, and dearly do I
pay for my imprudence, by falling into the pit she has dug for me."

In vain we endeavoured to induce him to hold a different language.
He persisted with determined obstinacy in his first statement;
continually protesting his own innocence, and loading the author
of his woes with bitter imprecations.  It was deemed impossible
to allow this man to go at large; accordingly M. de la Vrillière
issued a <lettre de cachet>, which sent him that night to seek a
lodging in the Bastille.  It was afterwards deemed advisable to
put him to the torture, but the agonies of the rack wrung from  him
no deviation from, or contradiction of, what he had previously alleged.

The affair had now become mysterious and inexplicable.  However,
a speedy termination was most imperatively called for; if it
were permitted to become generally known, it could not fail of
reaching the ears of the king, whose health was daily declining;
and M. de Quesnay had assured us, that in his present languid
state, the shock produced by news so alarming, might cause his
instantaneous death.

Whilst we remained in uncertainty as to our mode of proceeding
in the business, Cabert, the Swiss, three days after his admission
into the Bastille, expired in the most violent convulsions.  His
body was opened, but no trace of poison could be discovered: our
suspicions were however awakened, and what followed confirmed them.

Madame Lorimer was arrested.  She protested that she had been
actuated by no feelings of enmity against her unfortunate lover,
whom she had certainly reproached for having expended the money
she furnished him with in the society of other females, and to the
anger which arose between herself and Cabert on the occasion
could she alone ascribe his infamous calumnies respecting her;
that, for her own part, she had never ceased to love him, and, as
far as she knew, that feeling was reciprocal; and, in betraying
the conspiracy, her principal desire, next to the anxious hope of
preserving the king, was to make the fortune of Cabert.  She
was confined in the Bastille, but she did not long remain within
its walls; for at the end of a fortnight she died of an inflammatory
disease.  Her death was marked by no convulsions, but the traces
of poison were evident.

These two violent deaths occurring so immediately one after
another (as not the slightest doubt existed that Cabert had
likewise died of poison) threw the ministers into a sad state of
perplexity.  But to whom could they impute the double crime
unless to some accomplice, who dreaded what the unhappy prisoners
might be tempted to reveal.  Yet the conduct of the Jesuitical
priests stated by madame Lorimer to be the principal ring-leaders
in the plot, although exposed to the most rigorous scrutiny,
offered not the slightest grounds for suspicion.  Neither did
their letters (which were all intercepted at the various post-houses)
give any indication of a treasonable correspondence.

M. de Sartines caused the private papers of the suspected parties
to be opened during their owners' absence, without discovering
anything which could compromise their character.  I am speaking,
however, of the fathers Corbin, Berthier, and Cerulti, for all our
efforts could not trace father Dumas throughout all Paris.  Nor
was the innocence of the parliamentarians less evident; they vented
their hatred against the ministry, and particularly against M. de
Maupeou, in pamphlets, couplets, and epigrams, both in French and
Latin, but they had no idea of conspiracies or plots.

And thus terminated an affair, which had caused so much alarm,
and which continued for a considerable period to engage the
attention of ministers.  How was the mystery to be cleared up?
The poisoned orange- flower water, and the sudden deaths of the
two prisoners, were facts difficult to reconcile with the no less
undeniable innocence of the three accused Jesuits.  The whole
business was to me an incomprehensible mass of confusion, in
which incidents the most horrible were mingled.  At last we
agreed that the best and only thing to be done was to consign
the affair to oblivion; but there were circumstances which did
not so easily depart from the recollection of my excellent friend,
the maréchale de Mirepoix.  "My dear soul," said she to me one
day, "have you ever inquired what became of the 100,000 livres
given to madame Lorimer?  she had no time to employ them in any
way before her imprisonment in the Bastille.  You ought to inquire
into what hands they have fallen."  

I fully comprehended the drift of this question, which I put to
M. de Sartines the first time I saw him.

"Bless me," exclaimed he, "you remind me that these 100,000
livres have been lying in a drawer in my office.  But I have such
a terrible memory."  

"Happily," replied I, "I have a friend whose memory  is as good
as yours seems defective upon such occasions.  It will not be
wise to permit such a sum to remain uselessly in your office: at
the same time I need not point out that you, by your conduct in
the late affair, have by no means earned a right to them."

He attempted to justify himself; but, interrupting him, I exclaimed,
"My good friend, you have set up a reputation of your own creating
and inventing; and well it is you took the office upon yourself
for no one else would have done it for you; but you perceive how
frail have been its foundations; for the moment you are compelled
to stand upon your own resources you faint, and are easily overcome."

He endeavoured to make a joke of the affair, but indeed it seemed
to accord as ill with his natural inclination as did the restitution
of the 100,000 livres.  However, he brought them to me the
following day, and as I was expecting the arrival of madame de
Mirepoix, I placed them in a porcelain vase which stood upon my
chimney-piece.  Unfortunately for the maréchale, comte Jean
presented himself before she did.  He came to inform me, that my
husband (of whose quitting Toulouse I had forgotten to tell you)
had again arrived in Paris.  I did not disguise the vexation which
this piece of intelligence excited in me.

"And wherefore has comte Guillaume returned to Paris?"
inquired I, angrily.

"Because he is afraid."

"Afraid of what?"  replied I.

"Of being murdered," answered comte Jean: "it is a most horrible
and authentic story.  Imagine to yourself the dangers of his
situation: some brigands, who have a design on his life, have
written him an anonymous billet, in which they protest they will
certainly murder him, unless he deposits 50,000 livres in a certain
place.  You may suppose his terror; money he had none, neither
was his credit sufficiently good to enable him to borrow any.
As a last and only chance, he threw himself into a carriage, and
hastened, tremblingly, to implore your assistance."  

"And I am quite certain you will not withhold yours from him,"
answered I

"You are perfectly right," cried he, "but unfortunately just now
I have not a single crown I can call my own; so that it rests
with you alone, my dearest sister, to save the life of this
hapless comte du Barry."

"I am extremely distressed, my dear brother-in-law," replied I,
"that I am just as poor, and as unable to afford the necessary
aid as yourself; my purse is quite empty."

"Faith, my dear sister-in-law, I am not surprised at that if you
convert a china vase into a receptacle for your bank notes."

Saying this, he drew a bundle of notes from the hiding-place in
which I had deposited them.  "Do you know," continued comte
Jean, "I really think we shall find money enough here."  He began
to count them: and when he had finished he said, "My dear sister,
neither your husband nor myself wish to importune you, or put
you to any inconvenience, therefore you shall merely oblige him
with the loan of these 50,000 livres to extricate him from his
present peril; they shall be faithfully and quickly restored to
you, and a note of hand given you for that purpose if you desire
it."  So saying, he divided the money into two parts, replaced
one in the vase, and pocketed the other.

I was very indignant at the cool impudence with which this was
done, and my patience had well nigh forsaken me: however, I
restrained myself; and I was happy enough that I could so far
conquer myself.  My reproaches would not have induced comte Jean
to give me back my money, and would only have roused his violence;
which, when once excited, found vent in language so vehement and
energetic, that I did not desire to hear any more of it than I
could help.  At these moments he selected not the politest expressions,
but those which were the strongest: and besides, such was the
ungovernable nature of comte Jean's temper, that once roused, he
would have treated the king himself with as little consideration
as he did me.  Still, he never deliberately insulted me, nor did
he compose those insulting verses respecting me, which were printed
as his, in "<Les Anecdotes sur Madame du Barry>."  This would
have been an indignity I would quickly have caused him to repent
having offered.

"Well," inquired I, "are you very glad to see your brother in Paris?"

'No, 'pon my soul!"  returned he; "but since he is here, we must
do the best we can with him; he was very anxious to see his
sister-in-law and niece.  He says the former is ugly as sin, and
the latter almost as handsome as you."

"Very gallant," replied I; "but tell me, comte Jean, does this
elegant compliment proceed from my husband or yourself?"

We were just then interrupted by the arrival of the  maréchale,
and comte Jean retired.

"Well, my dear," she began, "have you seen M. de Sartines, and
did you speak to him respecting those 100,000 livres?"

 "Oh, yes," replied I, "he gave them back to me; but I have
already had half of them stolen from me."

"By comte Jean, I'll engage," cried she.  "Upon my word, that
man is a perfect spendthrift, a prodigal; who, if you do not take
great care, will certainly ruin you.  And what will you do with
the remaining 50,000 livres, my dear friend; where will you
place them?"

"In your hands, my dear maréchale; 'tis his majesty's command."

"To that command," answered she, "I must perforce submit"; and,
taking the bundle of notes, she continued, "Assure his majesty
that it will ever be my greatest pride and pleasure to obey his
slightest wish.  My respect for his orders can only be equalled
by my tender friendship for her who is the bearer of the royal
mandate."  Then, deliberately putting the money in her pocket,
she exclaimed, "You must own that comte Jean is a great rogue."



CHAPTER XXXIX


 My  alarms--An <éléve> of the <Pare-aux-Cerfs>--Comte Jean
endeavours to direct the king's ideas--A supper at Trianon--Table
talk--The king is seized with illness--His conversation with me--The
joiner's daughter and the small-pox--My despair--Conduct of La
Martinière the surgeon

I had occasionally some unaccountable whims and caprices.  Among
other follies I took it into my head to become jealous of the
duchesse de Cossé, under the idea that the duke would return to
her, and that I should no longer possess his affections.  Now the
cause of this extravagant conduct was the firmness with which
madame de Cossé refused all overtures to visit me, and I had
really become so spoiled and petted, that I could not be brought
to understand the reasonableness of the duchesse de Cossé refusing
to sanction her rival by her presence.

Yon may perceive that I had not carried my heroic  projects with
regard to madame de Cossé into execution.  Upon these occasions,
the person most to be pitied was the duke, whom I made answerable
for the dignified and virtuous conduct of his wife.  My injustice
drove him nearly to despair, and he used every kind and sensible
argument to convince me of my error, as though it had been possible
for one so headstrong and misguided as myself to listen to or
comprehend the language of reason.  I replied to his tender and
beseeching epistles by every cutting and mortifying remark; in a
word, all common sense appeared to have forsaken me.  Our quarrel
was strongly suspected by part of the court; but the extreme
prudence and forbearance of M. de Cossé prevented their suppositions
from ever obtaining any confirmation.  But this was not the only
subject I had for annoyance.  On the one hand, my emissaries
informed me that the king still continued to visit the baroness de
New---k, although with every appearance of caution and mystery,
by the assistance and connivance of the duc de Duras, who had
given me his solemn promise never again to meddle with the
affair.  The <gouvernante> of the <Parc-aux-Cerfs> furnished me
likewise with a long account of the many visits paid by his
majesty to her establishment.  The fact was, the king could not
be satisfied without a continual variety, and his passion, which
ultimately destroyed him, appeared to have come on only as he
advanced in years.

All these things created in my mind an extreme agitation and an
alarm, and, improbable as the thing appeared even to myself, there
were moments when I trembled lest I should be supplanted either
by the baroness or some -fresh object of the king's caprice; and
again a cold dread stole  over me as I anticipated the probability
of the health of Louis XV falling a sacrifice to the irregularity
of his life.  It was well known throughout the château, that La
Martinière, the king's surgeon, had strongly recommended a very
temperate course of life, as essentially necessary to recruit his
constitution, wasted by so many excesses, and had even gone so
far as to recommend his no longer having a mistress; this the
courtiers construed into a prohibition against his possessing a
friend of any other sex than his own; for my own part, I
experienced very slight apprehensions of being dismissed, for I
well knew that Louis XV reckoned too much on my society to
permit my leaving the court, and if one, the more tender, part
of our union were dissolved, etiquette could no longer object to
my presence.  Still the advice of La Martinière was far from
giving me a reason for congratulation, but these minor grievances
were soon to be swallowed up in one fatal catastrophe, by which
the honours, and pleasures of Versailles were for ever torn from me.

The <madame> of the <Parc-aux-Cerfs>, fearing that some of the
subordinate members of that establishment might bring me intimation
of what was going on there without her cognizance, came one day
to apprize me that his majesty had fallen desperately in love
with a young orphan of high birth, whom chance had conducted
within the walls of her harem; that to an extraordinary share of
beauty, Julie (for that was the name of my rival) united the most
insatiate ambition; her aims were directed to reducing the king
into a state of the most absolute bondage," and he," said madame,
"bids fair to become all that the designing girl would have him."  

Julie feigned the most violent love for her royal admirer, nay
she did not hesitate to carry her language and caresses far
beyond the strict rules of decency; her manners were those of one
accustomed to the most polished society, whilst her expressions
were peculiarly adapted to please one who, like the king, had a
peculiar relish for every thing that was indecent or incorrect.
His majesty either visited her daily or sent for her to the
château.  I heard likewise from M. d'Aiguillon, that  the king
had recently given orders that the three uncles and two brothers
of Julie should be raised by rapid promotion to the highest
military rank; at the same time the grand almoner informed me
he had received his majesty's express command to appoint a cousin
of the young lady to the first vacant bishopric.

These various reports threw me into a train of painful and uneasy
reflections.  Louis XV.  had never before bestowed such marks of
favour upon any <élève> of the <Parc- aux-Cerfs, and the intrigue
had attained this height with the most inconceivable rapidity.
Chamilly interrupted my meditations, by presenting himself with
an account of his having been commissioned by his majesty to
cause a most splendid suit of diamonds to be prepared for
mademoiselle Julie, the king not considering any jewels of Paris
worthy her acceptance.  By way of a finish to all this, I learned
that two ladies, one of whom was a duchess, had openly boasted
at Versailles of their relationship to Julie.  This was a more
decided corroborative than all the rest.  Courtiers of either
sex are skilful judges of the shiftings of the wind of court
favour, and I deemed it high time to summon my brother-in-law
to my assistance, as well as to urge him to exert his utmost
energies to support my tottering power.

My communication tormented comte Jean as much as it did me; he
proposed several means of combating this rising inclination on the
part of Louis XV.  I assented to whatever he suggested, and we set
to work with an eagerness, increased on my part by a species of
gloomy presentiment, which subsequent events but too fatally
confirmed.  The maréchale de Mirepoix, who, from being on good
terms with every person, was sure to be aware of all that was going
on, spoke to me also of this rival who was springing up in
obscurity and retirement; and it was from the same source I
learned what I have told  you of the two ladies of the court.  She
advised me not to abandon myself to a blind confidence, and this
opinion was strengthened when I related all I had gathered upon
the subject.

"You may justly apprehend," said she, "that Julie will instil some
of her bold and fearless nature into the king, and should she
presume to put herself in competition with you, victory would in
all probability incline to the side of the last comer"; and I felt
but too truly that the maréchale spoke with truth.

A few days after this, the king being alone with me, comte Jean
entered.  After the usual salutations, he exclaimed, "I have just
seen a most lovely creature."

"Who is she?"  inquired his majesty, hastily.

"No high-born dame," answered comte Jean, "but the daughter of a
cabinet-maker at Versailles; I think I never beheld such
matchless beauty."

"Always excepting present company," replied the king.

"Assuredly," rejoined my brother-in-law, "but, sire, the beauteous
object of whom I speak is a nymph in grace, a sylph in airy
lightness, and an angel in feature."

"Comte Jean seems deeply smitten indeed, madam," exclaimed
Louis XV, turning towards me.

"Not I indeed," replied my brother-in-law, "my lovemaking days
are over."

"Oh!  oh!"  cried the king, smiling, "<fructus belli>."  

"What does your majesty say?"  inquired I.

"Nay, let the comte explain," cried Louis XV.

"The king observed, my dear sister," answered comte Jean, "that
ladies--but, in fact, I can neither explain the observation, nor
was it intended for you--so let it rest."

He continued for some time to jest with comte Jean upon his
supposed passion for the fair daughter of the cabinet-maker; and
the king, whilst affecting the utmost indifference, took every
pains to obtain the fullest particulars as to where this peerless
beauty might be found.

When my brother-in-law and myself were alone, he said to me,
"I played my part famously, did I not?  How eagerly the bait
was swallowed!"

"Explain yourself," said I.

"My good sister, what I have said respecting this perfection of l
oveliness is no fiction, neither have I at all exaggerated either
her perfections or her beauty, and I trust by her aid we shall
obliterate from the king's mind every recollection of the syren
of the <Parc-aux- Cerfs>."  

"Heaven grant it," exclaimed I.

"My dear sister," replied comte Jean, "heaven has nothing to do
with such things."  

Alas!  he was mistaken, and Providence only employed the present
occasion as a means of causing us to be precipitated into the very
abyss of ruin we had dug for others.  On the following morning,
Chamilly came to me to inquire whether it was my pleasure that
the present scheme should be carried into execution.

"Yes, yes,' answered I eagerly, "by all means, the more we direct
the inclinations of the king for the present, the better for him
and for us likewise."

Armed with my consent, Chamilly dispatched to the unhappy girl
that <madame>, whose skill in such delicate commissions had never
been known to fail.  Not that in the present instance any great
bribes were requisite, but it was necessary to employ some agent
whose specious reasoning and oily tongue should have power to
vanquish the virtuous reluctance of the victim herself, as well
as to obtain a promise of strict silence from her family.  They
were soon induced to listen to their artful temptress; and the
daughter, dazzled by the glittering prospect held out to her, was
induced to accompany <madame> back to Trianon, where the king
was to sup, in company with the ducs d'Aiguillon and de Richelieu,
the prince de Soubise, the ducs de Cossé, de Duras, and de
Noailles, mesdames de Mirepoix, de Forcalquier, de Flaracourt, and
myself; my brother-in-law and Chon were also of the party, although
not among the number of those who sat down to supper.  Their
presence was merely to keep up my spirits, and with a view to
divert me from dwelling on the presumed infidelity of the king.

We had promised ourselves a most delightful evening, and had all
come with the expectation of finding considerable amusement in
watching the countenances and conduct of those who were not aware
of the real state of the game, whilst such as were admitted into
my entire confidence, were sanguine in their hopes and expectations
of employing the simple beauty of the maiden of Versailles to
crush the aspiring views of my haughty rival of the <Parc-aux-
Cerfs>.  This was, indeed, the point at which I aimed, and my
further intention was to request the king to portion off
mademoiselle Julie, so that she might be ever removed from again
crossing my path.

Meanwhile, by way of passing the tedious hours, I went to satisfy
my curiosity respecting those charms of which comte Jean had
spoken so highly.  I found the object of so many conjectures
possessed of an uncommon share of beauty, set off, on the present
occasion, by every aid that a splendid and elaborate toilette
could impart; her features were perfect, her form tall and
symmetrical, her hair was in the richest style of luxuriance; but
by way of drawback to so many advantages, both her hands and
feet were large and coarse.  I had expected to have found her
timid, yet exulting, but she seemed languid and dejected even to
indisposition.  I attributed the lassitude and heaviness which
hung over her to some natural regrets for sacrificing some
youthful passion at the shrine of ambition; but I was far from
guessing the truth .  Had I but suspected the real cause!  but I
 contented myself with a silent scrutiny, and did not (as I
should have done) question her on the subject, but passed on to
the saloon, where the guests were already assembled.  The evening
passed away most delightfully; the maréchale de Mirepoix excelled
herself in keeping up a continual flow of lively conversation.
Never had messieurs de Cossé and de Richelieu appeared to equal
advantage.  The king laughed heartily at the many humorous tales
told, and his gaiety was the more excited, from his believing
that I was in utter ignorance of his infidelity.  The champagne
was passed freely round the table, till all was one burst of
hilarious mirth.  A thousand different topics were started, and
dismissed only to give way to fresh subjects more piquant than
the preceding.

The king, in a fit of good humour, began to relate his adventures
with madame de Grammont; but here you must pardon me, my friend,
for so entirely did his majesty give the reins to his inclination
for a plain style of language, that, although excess of prudery
formed no part of the character of any of the ladies assembled,
we were compelled to sit with our eyes fixed upon our plate or
glass, not daring to meet the glance of those near us.  I have
little doubt but that Louis XV indulged himself to this extent
by a kind of mental vow to settle the affair with his confessor
at the earliest opportunity.

We were still at table when the clock struck two hours past midnight.

"Bless me!  so late?"  inquired the king.

"Indeed, sire," replied the maréchale de Mirepoix, "your agreeable
society drives all recollection of time away."  

"Then 'tis but fit I should furnish you all with memory enough
to recollect what is necessary for your own health.  Come, my
friends, morning will soon call us to our different cares, so
away to your pillows."  

So saying, the king bade us a friendly farewell, and retired
with the ducs de Duras and de Noailles.  We remained after his
majesty, and retiring into the great saloon, threw ourselves
without any ceremony upon the different couches and ottomans.

"For my own part," said the prince de Soubise, "I shall not think
of separating from so agreeable a party till daylight warns
me hence."

"The first beams of morn will soon shine through these windows,"
 replied M. d'Aiguillon.

"We can already perceive the brightest rays of Aurora reflected
in the sparkling eyes around us," exclaimed M. de Cossé.

"A truce with your gallantry, gentlemen," replied madame de
Mirepoix, "at my age I can only believe myself capable of reflecting
the last rays of the setting sun."  

"Hush!"  interrupted madame de Forcalquier, "you forget we are
at Versailles, where age is never thought of, but where, like our
gracious sovereign, all are young."

"Come, ladies," said madame de Flaracourt, "let us retire; I for
one, plead guilty of being in need of repose."

"No, no!"  replied the duc de Richelieu, "let us employ the
remaining hours in pleasing and social converse," and with a
tremulous voice he began that charming trio in "Selina and Azor,"
"<Veillons mes soeurs>."  We joined chorus with him, and the
echoes of the palace of Louis XV resounded with the mirthful
strain.  This burst of noisy mirth did not last long, and we
relapsed into increased taciturnity, spite of our endeavours to
keep up a general conversation.  We were all fatigued, though
none but madame de Flaracourt would confess the fact.  Tired
nature called loudly for repose, and we were each compelled to
seek it in the different apartments assigned us.  The duc d'Aiguillon
alone was compelled, by the duties of his office, to return
to Versailles.

Upon entering my chamber I found my brother-in-law there, in
the most violent fit of ill humour, that the king (who was in fact
ignorant of his being at Trianon) had not invited him to supper.
As I have before told you, comte Jean was no favourite with his
majesty, and as I had displayed no wish for his company, Louis
XV had gladly profited by my indifference to omit him upon the
present occasion.  I endeavoured to justify the king, without
succeeding, however, in appeasing comte Jean, who very unceremoniously
consigned us all to the care and company of a certain old
gentleman, whose territory is supposed to lie beneath "the
round globe which we inhabit."

 "I have to thank you," replied I, "for a very flattering mode of
saying 'good night.'"

"Perhaps," answered comte Jean roughly, "you would prefer--"

"Nothing from your lips if you please, my polite brother," cried
I, interrupting him, "nothing you will say in your present humour
can be at all to my taste."

Chon interfered between us, and effected a reconciliation, which
I was the more willing to listen to, that I might enjoy that sleep
my weary eye-lids craved for.  Scarcely was my head on my pillow,
than I fell into a profound sleep: could I but have anticipated
to what I should awake!  It was eleven o'clock on the following
morning when an immense noise of some person entering my chamber,
aroused me from the sweet slumbers I was still buried in.  Vexed
at the disturbance, I inquired, in a peevish tone, "Who is there?"

"Tis I, my sister," replied Chon, "M. de Chamilly is here,
anxious to speak with you upon a matter of great importance."  

Chamilly, who was close behind mademoiselle du Barry, begged
to be admitted.

"What is the matter, Chamilly?  "cried I, "and what do you want?
Is mademoiselle Julie to set off into the country immediately?"

"Alas!  madam," replied Chamilly, "his majesty is extremely ill."  

These words completely roused me, and raising myself on my arm,
I eagerly repeated, "Ill!  of what does he complain?"

"Of general and universal pain and suffering," replied Chamilly.

"And the female who was here last night, how is she?"

"Nearly as bad, madam; she arose this morning complaining of
illness and languor, which increased so rapidly, that she was
compelled to be carried to one of the nearest beds, where she
now is."

All this tormented me to the greatest degree, and I dismissed
Chamilly for the purpose of rising, although I had no distinct
idea of what it would be most desirable to say or do.  My
sister-in-law, with more self-possession, suggested the propriety
of summoning Bordeu, my physician; a proposal which I at once
concurred in, more especially when she informed me, that La
Martinière was already sent for, and hourly expected.

"1 trust," said I, "that Bouvart knows nothing of this, for I
neither approve of him as a man or a doctor."

The fact was, I should have trembled for my own power, had both
Bouvart and La Martinière got the king into their hands.  With La
Martinière I knew very well I was no favourite; yet it was impossible
to prevent his attendance; the king would never have fancied a
prescription in which he did not concur.

Meanwhile I proceeded with my toilette as rapidly as possible,
that I might, by visiting the king, satisfy myself of the nature of
his malady.  Ere I had finished dressing, my brother-in-law,
who had likewise been aroused by the mention of his majesty's
illness, entered my chamber with a gloomy look; he already saw
the greatness of the danger which threatened us, he had entirely
forgotten our quarrel of the preceding evening, but his temper
was by no means improved by the present state of things.  We
had no need of explaining ourselves by words, and he continued
walking up and down the room with, his arms folded and his eyes
fixed on the floor, till we were joined by the  maréchale de
Mirepoix and the comtesse de Forcalquier.  Madame de Flaracourt
had taken her departure at an early hour, either ignorant of
what had occurred or with the intention of being prepared for
whatever might happen.

As yet, it was but little in the power of any person to predict
the coming blow.  "The king is ill," said each of us as we met.
"The king is ill," was the morning salutation of the ducs de
Richelieu, de Noailles, de Duras, and de Cossé.  The prince de
Soubise had followed the example of madame de Flaracourt, and
had quitted Trianon; it seemed as though the hour for defection
were already arrived.  A summons now arrived from his majesty
who wished to see me.  I lost not a moment in repairing to his
apartment, where I found him in bed, apparently in much pain and
uneasiness.  He received me tenderly, took my hands in his, and
kissed them; then exclaimed,

 "I feel more indisposed than I can describe, a weight seems
pressing on my chest, and universal languor appears to chain my
faculties both of body and mind.  I should like to see
La Martinière."

"And would you not likewise wish to have the advice of Bordeu?"  

"'Yes," said he, "let both come, they are both clever men, and
I have full confidence in their skill.  But do you imagine that
my present illness will be of a serious nature?"

"By no means, sire," returned I, "merely temporary, I trust
and believe."  

"Perhaps I took more wine than agreed with me last evening; but
where is the maréchale?"

"In my chamber with madame de Forcalquier."  

"And the prince de Soubise?"  

"He has taken flight," replied I, laughing.

"I suppose so," returned Louis XV, "he could not bear a long
absence from Paris; company he must have."

"In that respect he resembles you, sire, for you generally consider
company as a necessary good."  

He smiled, and then closing his eyes remained for some minutes
silent and motionless, after a while he said,

"My head is very heavy, so farewell, my sweet friend, I will
endeavour to get some sleep."  

"Sleep, sire!"  said I, "and may it prove as healthful and
refreshing as I pray it may."  

So saying, I glided out of the room and returned to my friends,
I found madame de Mirepoix and the duc de Cossé waiting for me
in the anteroom.

"How is the king?"  inquired they both in a breath.

"Better than I expected," I replied, "but he is desirous
of sleeping."  

"So much the worse," observed the duc de Cossé; "I should have
thought better of his case had he been more wakeful."

"Are you aware of the most imperative step for you to take?"
inquired the maréchale de Mirepoix.

"No," said I, "what is it?"  

"To keep his majesty at Trianon," replied she; "it will be far
better for you that the present illness should take its course
at Trianon rather than at Versailles."

"I second that advice," cried the duc de Richelieu, who just
then entered the room; "yes, yes, as madame de Mirepoix wisely
observes, this is the place for the king to be ill in."  

"But," exclaimed I, "must we not be guided by the
physicians' advice?"  

"Do you make sure of Bordeu," said the duke, "and I will speak
to La Martinière."  

M. de Cossé took me aside, and assured me that I might rely upon
him in life or death.  When we had conversed together for some
minutes, I besought of him to leave the place as early as possible;
"Take madame de Forcalquier with you," said I, "your presence
just now at Trianon would be too much commented upon."

He made some difficulties in obeying me, but I insisted and he
went.  After his departure, the duc de Richelieu, the maréchale
and myself walked together in the garden.  Our walk was so directed
that we could see through the colonnade every person who arrived
up the avenue.  We spoke but little, and an indescribable feeling
of solemnity was mingled with the few words which passed, when,
all at once, our attention was attracted by the sight of comte
Jean, who rushed towards me in a state of frenzy.

"Accursed day," cried he, stopping when he saw us, "that wretched
girl from Versailles has brought the small-pox with her."  

At this fatal news I heaved a deep sigh and fainted.  I was
carried under the portico, while the poor maréchale, scarcely
more in her senses than myself, stood over me weeping like a
child, while every endeavour was being made to restore me to
life.  Bordeu, who chanced to be at Versailles, arrived, and
supposing it was on my account he had been summoned, hastened
to my assistance.  The duc de Richelieu and comte Jean informed
him of all that had passed, upon which he requested to see the
unfortunate female immediately; while he was conducted thither,
I remained alone with the maréchale and Henriette, who had come
to Trianon with my suite.  My first impulse upon regaining the
use of my senses, was to throw myself in the arms of the maréchale.

"What will become of me?"  exclaimed I, weeping, "if the king
should take this fatal malady, he will never survive it."

"Let us hope for the best," answered madame de Mirepoix; "it
would be encouraging grief to believe a misfortune, which we have
at present no reason to suspect."  

Comte Jean now rejoined us, accompanied by Bordeu and the duc de
Richelieu; their countenances were gloomy and dejected.  The
miserable victim of ambition had the symptoms of the most malignant
sort of small-pox; this was a finishing stroke to my previous
alarms.  However, comte Jean whispered in my ear, "Bordeu will
arrange that the king shall remain here."

This assurance restored me to something like composure; but
these hopes were speedily dissipated by the arrival of La Martinière.

"What is the matter?"  inquired he, "is the king very ill?"

"That remains for you to decide"; replied the duc de Richelieu;
"but however it may be, madame du Barry entreats of you not to
think of removing the king to Versailles."  

"And why so?"  asked La Martinière, with his accustomed abruptness.
"His majesty would be much better there than here."

"He can nowhere be better than at Trianon, monsieur," said I.

"That, madam," answered La Martinière, "is the only point upon
which you must excuse my consulting you, unless, indeed, you
are armed with a physician's diploma."

"Monsieur la Martinière," cried the duc de Richelieu, "you might
employ more gentle language when speaking to a lady."

"Was I sent for hither," inquired the angry physician, "to go
through a course of politeness?"  

For my own part I felt the utmost dread, I scarcely knew of what.
Bordeu, seeing my consternation, hastened to interfere, by saying,

"At any rate, monsieur la Martinière, you will not alarm the
king needlessly."  

 "Nor lull him into a false security," answered the determined
La Martinière.  "But what is his malady have you seen him,
doctor Bordeu?"

"Not yet."  

"Then why do we linger here?  Your servant, ladies and gentlemen."

The medical men then departed, accompanied the duc de Richelieu.



CHAPTER XL


La Martinière causes the king to be removed to Versailles--The
young prophet appears again to madame du Barry--Prediction
respecting cardinal de Richelieu--The joiner's daughter requests
to see madame du Barry--Madame de Mirepoix and the 50,000
francs--A < soirée > in the salon of madame du Barry

We continued for some minutes silently gazing on the retreating
figures of La Martinière and his companions.

"Come," said the maréchale, "let us return to the house"; saying
which, she supported herself by the arm of comte Jean, whilst I
mechanically followed her example, and sadly and sorrowfully we
bent our steps beneath the splendid colonnade which formed the
entrance to the mansion.

When I reached my chamber, I found mademoiselle du Barry there,
still ignorant of the alarming news I had just learned.  She
earnestly pressed me to return to bed, but this I refused; for
my burning anxiety to learn every particular relative to the
king would have prevented my sleeping.  How different was the
style of our present conversation to that of the preceding evening;
no sound of gaiety was heard; hushed alike were the witty
repartee, and the approving laugh which followed it.  Now, we
spoke but by fits and starts, with eye and ear on the watch to
catch the slightest sound, whilst the most trifling noise, or the
opening of a door, made us start with trepidation and alarm.
The time appeared to drag on to an interminable length.

At last the duc de Richelieu made his appearance.

"Well, my friends," said he, "the king is to be removed to
Versailles, spite of your wishes, madam, spite of his own royal
inclination, and against mine, likewise.  La Martinière has
thundered forth his edict, and poor Bordeu opposed him in vain.
His majesty, who expresses a wish to remain here, stated his
pleasure to La Martinière.

'"Sire,' answered the obstinate physician, 'it cannot be.  You
are too ill to be permitted to take your choice in the matter,
and to the château at Versailles you must be removed.'

"'Your words imply my being dangerously indisposed,' said the
king, inquiringly.

"'Your majesty is sufficiently ill to justify every precaution,
and to require our best cares.  You must return to the château;
Trianon is not healthy; you will be much better at Versailles.'

"'Upon my word, doctor,' replied the king, 'your words are far
from consoling; there must be danger, then, in my present sickness?'

"'There would be considerable danger were you to remain here,
whilst it is very probable you may avoid any chance of it by
following my directions with regard to an immediate removal
to Versailles.'

"'I feel but little disposed for the journey,' said his majesty.

"'Still, your majesty must be removed, there is an absolute
necessity for it, and I take all the responsibility upon myself.'

"'What do you think of this determination, Bordeu?'

"'I think, sire, that you may be permitted to please yourself.'

"'You hear that, La Martinière?'

"'Yes, sire, and your majesty heard my opinion likewise.' Then
turning towards Bordeu, 'Sir,' exclaimed he, 'I call upon you in
my capacity of head physician to the king, to state your opinion
in writing, and to abide by the consequences of it; you who are
not one of his majesty's physicians.'

"At this direct appeal, your doctor, driven to extremities,
adopted either the wise or cowardly resolution of maintaining a
strict silence.  The king, who was awaiting his reply with much
impatience, perceiving his reluctance to speak, turned towards
the duc de Duras, who was in attendance upon him, and said, 'Let
them take me when and where my head physician advises.'"

At this recital I shed fresh tears.  The duke afterwards told us
that when La Martinière had quitted his majesty, he went to
ascertain the condition of the wretched girl who had introduced
all this uneasiness among us, and after having attentively
examined her, he exclaimed, "She is past all hope, God only
knows what the consequences may be."  This gloomy prognostic
added still more to my distress, and whilst those around me strove
to communicate fresh hopes and confidence to my tortured mind,
I remained in a state too depressed and dejected to admit one,
even one ray of consolation.

The king was removed from Trianon, followed by all the persons
belonging to his suite.  The maréchale insisted upon deferring
her departure till I quitted the place.  We set out a few minutes
after his majesty, and my coachman had orders to observe the
same slow pace at which the royal carriage travelled.  Scarcely
had we reached Versailles, when mechanically directing my eyes
towards the iron gate leading to the garden, a sudden paleness
overspread my countenance, and a cry of terror escaped me, for,
leaning against the gate in question, I perceived that singular
being, who, after having foretold my elevation, had engaged to
present himself before me, when a sudden reverse was about to
overtake me.  This unexpected fulfilment of his promise threw me
into the most cruel agitation, and I could not refrain from
explaining the cause of my alarm to those who were with me.  No
sooner had I made myself understood than Comte Jean stopped the
carriage, and jumped out with the intention of questioning this
mysterious visitor.  We waited with extreme impatience the return
of my brother- in-law, but he came back alone, nor had he been
able to discover the least trace of the object of his search.  In
vain had he employed the two footmen from behind the carriage
to examine the different avenues by which he might have retired.
Nothing could be heard of him, and I remained, more than ever,
convinced that the entire fulfilment of the prophecy was at hand,
and that the fatal hour would shortly strike, which would witness
my fall from all my pomp and greatness.  We continued our route
slowly and silently; the maréchale accompanied me to the door of
my apartment, where I bade her adieu, spite of her wish to remain
with me; but even her society was now fatiguing to me, and I
longed to be alone with merely my own family.

My two sisters-in-law, the wife of comte d'Hargicourt and that
of my nephew, were speedily assembled to talk over with me the
events of the last twelve hours.  I threw myself upon my bed in
a state of mental and bodily fatigue, impossible to describe.  I
strove in vain to collect my ideas, and arm myself for what I
well saw was approaching, and the exact appearance of the singular
predicter of my destiny prepared me for the rapid accomplishing
of all that had been promised.

Louis XV, during this fatal illness, was placed under the care
of Bordeu and Lemonnier.  No particularly alarming symptoms
appeared during that day, and we remained in a state of suspense
more difficult to bear than even the most dreadful certainty.  As
oon as the king felt himself sufficiently recovered from the
fatigues of his removal he requested to see me.  After bestowing
on me the most gratifying marks of the sincerest attachment,
he said,

"I am well punished, my dear countess, for my inconstancy towards
you, but forgive me.  I pray and believe that, however my fancy
may wander, my heart is all your own."  

"Is that quite true?"  said I, smiling.  "Have you not some
reservations?  Does not a noble female in the <Parc- aux-Cerfs>
come in for a share as well as the baroness de New----k?"  

 The king pressed my hand, and replied,

"You must not believe all those idle tales; I met the baroness
by chance, and, for a time, I thought her pretty.  As for the
other, if she renders you in any way uneasy, let her be married
at once, and sent where we need never see her again."  

'This is, indeed, the language of sincerity," cried I, and from
this moment I shall have the fullest confidence in you."

The conversation was carried on for a long while in this strain.
The physicians had made so light of the complaint, that the king
believed his illness to be merely of a temporary nature, and his
gaiety and good spirits returned almost to their natural height.
He inquired after madame de Mirepoix, and whether my sisters-
in-law were uneasy respecting his state of health.  You may
imagine that my reply was worded with all the caution necessary
to keep him in profound ignorance as to his real condition.  When
I returned to my apartment I found Bordeu there, who appeared
quite at a loss what to say respecting the king's malady, the
symptoms still remained too uncertain to warrant any person in
calling it the small-pox.  

"And should it prove that horrible complaint?"  inquired I.

"There would, in that case, be considerable danger," replied
Bordeu, not without extreme embarrassment..

 "Perhaps even to the extinction of all hope?"  asked I.

 "God alone can tell," returned Bordeu.

"I understand," interrupted I, quickly, "and, spite of the mystery
with which you would fain conceal the extent of his majesty's
danger, I know, and venture to assert, that you consider him
already as dead."  

"Have a care, madam," exclaimed Bordeu, "how you admit such an
idea, and still more of proclaiming it.  I pledge you my word that
I do not consider the king is in danger; I have seen many cures
equally extraordinary with his."  

I shook my head in token of disbelief.  I had uttered what I firmly
supposed the truth, and the sight of my evil genius in the person
of the prophet who had awaited my return to Versailles, turned
the encouraging words of Bordeu into a cold, heavy chill, which
struck to my heart.  Bordeu quitted me to resume his attendance
upon the king.  After him came the duc d'Aiguillon, whose features
bore the visible marks of care and disquiet.  He met me with the
utmost tenderness and concern, asked of me the very smallest
details of the disastrous events of the morning.  I concealed
nothing from him, and he listened to my recital with the most
lively interest; and the account of the apparition of the wonderful
being who seemed destined to follow me throughout my career was
not the least interesting part of our conversation.

"There are," said the duke, "many very extraordinary things in
this life, reason questions them, philosophy laughs at them, and
yet it is impossible to deny that there are various hidden causes,
or sudden inspirations, which have the greatest effect upon our
destiny.  As a proof, I will relate to you the following circumstance.
You are aware," continued the duke, "that the cardinal de
Richelieu, the author of our good fortune, spite of the superiority
of his mind, believed in judicial astrology.  When his own
immediate line became extinct by the unexpected death of his
family and relatives, he wished to ascertain what would be the
fate of those children belonging to his sister, whom he had
adopted as the successors of his name, arms, and fortune.  The
planets were consulted, and the answer received was, that two
centuries from the day on which Providence had so highly elevated
himself, the family, upon whom rested all his hopes of perpetuating
his name, should fail entirely in its male descent.  You see that
the duc de Fronsac has only one child, an infant not many days
old.  I also have but one, and these two feeble branches seem
but little calculated to falsify the prediction.  Judge, my dear
countess, how great must be my paternal anxiety!"  

This relation on the part of the duc d'Aiguillon was but ill
calculated to restore my drooping spirits, and although I had
no reason for concluding that the astrologer had spoken
prophetically to the grand cardinal, I was not the less inclined
to believe, with increased confidence, the predictions uttered
respecting myself by my inexplicable visitor of the morning.  My
ever kind friend, the duchesse d'Aiguillon, was not long ere she
too made her appearance, with the view, and in the hope of
consoling me.  I could not resist her earnest endeavours to rouse
me from my grief, and a grateful sense of her goodness obliged
me to deck my features with at least the semblance of cheerfulness.
Every hour fresh accounts of the king's health were brought me,
of a most encouraging nature; by these bulletins one might naturally
suppose him rapidly recovering, and we all began to smile at our
folly in having been so soon alarmed; in fact, my spirits rose in
 proportion as those about me appeared full of fresh confidence,
and the mysterious visit of my evil genius gradually faded from
my recollection.

In this manner the day passed away.  I visited the king from
time to time, and he, although evidently much oppressed and
indisposed, conversed with me without any painful effort.  His
affection for me seemed to gain fresh strength as his bodily
vigour declined, and the fervent attachment he expressed for
me, at a time when self might reasonably have been expected to
hold possession of his mind, filled me with regret at not being able
 more fully to return so much tenderness.  In the evening I
wished to be alone, the maréchale de Mirepoix had sent to request
a private interview, and I awaited her arrival in my chamber,
whilst an immense concourse of visitors filled my salons.  The
king's danger was not yet sufficiently decided for the courtiers
 to abandon me, and the chances continued too strongly in my
favour to warrant any one of them in withdrawing from me their
usual attentions.  Comte Jean, however, presented himself before
me, spite of the orders I had given to exclude every person but
the maréchale.

"My dear sister," cried he, as he entered, "Chamilly has just told
me that he has received the royal command to have Julie married
off without delay; now this is a piece of delicacy towards yourself
on the part of the king for which you owe him many thanks.  But
I have another communication to make you, of a less pleasing nature.
The unfortunate girl who has been left at Trianon, has called
incessantly for you the whole of this day; she asserts that she
has matters of importance to communicate to you."

Whatever surprise I experienced at this intelligence, it was
impossible it could be otherwise than true, for was it likely
that, at a time like the present, comte Jean would attempt to
impose such a tale upon me.

"What would you have me do?"  asked I of my brother-in-law.

"Hark ye, sister," replied he, "we are both of us in a very
critical situation just now, and should spare no endeavour to
extricate ourselves from it.  Very possibly thisgirl may be in
possession of facts more important than you at present conceive
possible; the earnestness with which she perseveres in her desire
of seeing you, and her repeated prayers to those around her to
beg your attendance, proves that it is something more than the
mere whim of a sick person, and in your place, I should not
hesitate to comply with her wishes."

"And how could we do so?  "said I.

"To-night," returned he, "when all your guests have retired, and
Versailles is in a manner deserted, I will fetch you; we have keys
which open the various gates in the park, and walking through
which, and the gardens, we can reach Trianon unobserved.  No
person will be aware of our excursion, and we shall return with
the same caution with which we went.  We will, after our visit,
cause our clothes to be burnt, take a bath, and use every possible
precaution to purify ourselves from all chance of infection.  When
that is done you may venture into the apartment of his majesty,
even if that malady which at present hangs over him should turn
out to be the small-pox."

I thought but little of the consequences of our scheme, or of the
personal danger I incurred, and I promised my brother-in-law
that I would hold myself in readiness to accompany him.  We then
conversed together upon the state of the king, and, what you will
have some difficulty in crediting, not one word escaped either of
us relative to our future plans or prospects; still it was the
point to which the thoughts of comte Jean must naturally
have turned.

We were interrupted in our < tête-à-tête > by the arrival of the
maréchale, whose exactitude I could not but admire.  Comte Jean,
having hastily paid his compliments, left us together.  

"Well, my dear countess," said she, taking my hand with a friendly
pressure, "and how goes on the dear invalid?"

"Better, I hope," replied I, "and indeed, this illness, at first
so alarming to me, seems rather calculated to allay my former
fears and anxieties by affording the king calm and impartial
reflection; the result of it is that my dreaded rival of the
 <Parc-aux-Cerfs> is dismissed."

"I am delighted to hear this," replied madame de Mirepoix, "but,
my dear soul, let me caution you against too implicitly trusting
these deceitful appearances, to-morrow may destroy these flattering
hopes, and the next day--"  

"Indeed!"  cried I, interrupting her, "the physicians answer
for his recovery."

"And suppose they should chance to be mistaken," returned my
cautious friend, "what then?  But, my dear countess, my regard
or you compels me to speak out, and to warn you of reposing in
tranquillity when you ought to be acting.  Do not deceive yourself,
leave nothing to chance; and if you have any favour to ask of
the king, lose no time in so doing while yet you have the opportunity."  

"And what favour would you advise me to ask?"  said I

"You do not understand me, then?"  exclaimed the  maréchale, "I
say that it is imperatively necessary for you to accept whatever
the king may feel disposed to offer you as a future provision,
and as affording you the means of passing the remainder of your
days in ease and tranquillity.  What would become of you in case
of the worst?  Your numerous creditors would besiege you with a
rapacity, still further excited by the support they would receive
from court.  You look at me with surprise because I speak the
language of truth; be a reasonable creature I implore of you
once in your life, and do not thus sacrifice the interests of
your life to a romantic disregard of self."

I could not feel offended with the maréchale for addressing me
thus, but I could not help fancying the moment was ill chosen,
and unable to frame an answer to my mind, I remained silent.
Mistaken as to the cause of my taciturnity, she continued,

"Come, I am well pleased to see you thus reflecting upon what
I have said; but lose no time, strike the iron while it is hot.
Do as I have recommended either to-night or early to-morrow;
possibly, after that time it may be too late.  May I venture also
to remind you of your friends, my dear countess.  I am in great
trouble just now, and I trust you will not refuse to obtain for
me, from his majesty, a favour of which I stand in the utmost
need--50,000 francs would come very seasonably; I have lost that
sum at cards, and must pay it, but how I know not."  

"Let not that distress you," said I, "for I can relieve you of
that difficulty until the king's convalescence enables him to
undertake the pleasing office of assisting your wishes.  M. de
Laborde has orders to honour all my drafts upon him, I will
therefore draw for the sum you require."  So saying, I hastily
scrawled upon a little tumbled piece of paper those magic words,
which had power to unlock the strong coffers of a court banker.
The  maréchale embraced me several times with the utmost vivacity.

"You are my guardian angel," cried she, "you save me from despair.
But, tell me, my generous friend, do you think M. de Laborde will
make any difficulty?"

"Why," said I, "should you suppose it possible he will do so?"

"Oh, merely on account of present circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"The illness--no, I mean the indisposition of his majesty."

"He is an excellent man," said I, "and I doubt not but he will
act nobly and honourably."

"If we could but procure his majesty's signature--"

"But that is quite impossible to-night."

"I know it is, and, therefore, I will tell you what I think of
doing.  Perhaps, if I were to set out for Paris immediately, I
might be able to present this cheque before Laborde is acquainted
with our misfortune.  It is not late, so farewell, my dearest
countess.  I shall return to-morrow before you are up, but do
not forget what I have said to you; and remember, that under
any circumstances, the king should secure you a safe and ample
independence.  If his death finds you well provided for, you will
still have a court, friends, relatives, partisans, in a word, the
means of gratifying every inclination.  Be guided by me, and
follow my advice."

And after this lesson of practical morality, the maréchale quitted
me to hurry to Paris; and I, wearied and heartsick, flew to my
crowded salons as a remedy against the gloomy ideas her
conversation had given rise to.

On this evening my guests were more numerous and brilliant than
usual, for no person entertaining the least suspicion of the king's
danger, all vied with each other in evincing, by their presence,
the desire they felt of expressing their regard for me.  My
friends, acquaintances, people whom I scarcely knew at all, were
collected together in my drawing-rooms; this large assemblage of
joyous and cheerful faces, drove away for a moment all the gloom
which had bung over me.  I even forgot the morning's visitor, and
if the health of the king were at all alluded to, it was only
<en passant>.  It seemed a generally understood thing not to
believe him seriously ill; in fact, to deny all possibility of
such a thing being the case.  Thus all went on as usual, scandal,
slander, epigrams, <jeux d'esprits>, all the lively nonsense
usually circulated upon such occasions, went round, and were
laughed at and admired according to the tastes of those to whom
they were addressed.

Could a stranger have seen us, so careless, thoughtless, and gay,
he would have been far from suspecting that we were upon the eve
of a catastrophe which must change the whole face of affairs in
France.  For my own part, my spirits rose to a height with the
giddy crowd around me, and in levity and folly, I really believe
I exceeded them.

At a late hour my rooms were at length forsaken, and I retired
to my chamber where, having dismissed my other attendants, I
remained alone (as was frequently my custom) with my faithful
Henriette, whom I caused to exchange my evening dress for a dark
robe, which I covered with a large Spanish mantle I had never
before worn, and thus equipped, I waited the arrival of comte
Jean.  Henriette, surprised at these preparations, pressed me
with so many questions, that at last I explained my whole purpose
to her.  The attached creature exerted all her eloquence to point
out the dangers of the enterprise, which she implored of me to
abandon, but I refused to listen to her remonstrances, and she
ceased urging me further, only protesting she should await my
return with the most lively impatience.

At length, comte Jean appeared, armed with a small sword-stick
and pistols in his pocket, with every other precaution necessary
for undertaking so perilous an adventure.  We descended into
the garden with many smiles at the singular figures we made, but
no sooner were we in the open air, than the sight of the clear
 heavens sparkling with stars, the cool still night, the vast walks
lined with statues, which resembled a troop of white phantoms,
the gentle waving of the branches, as the evening breeze stirred
their leaves, with that feeling of awe and solemnity generally
attendant upon the midnight hour, awoke in our minds ideas more
suitable to our situation.  We ceased speaking and walked slowly
down the walk past the basin of the dragon, in order, by crossing
the park, to reach the château de Trianon.  

Fortune favoured us, for we met only one guard in the park, this
man having recognised us as we drew near, saluted us, and was
about to retire, when my brother-in-law called him back an desired
him to take our key, and open with it the nearest gates to the
place which we wished to go to.  He also commanded him to await
our return.  The soldier was accustomed to these nocturnal e
xcursions even on the part of the most scrupulous and correct
gentlemen and ladies of the court.  He, therefore, assured us of
his punctuality, and opened for us a great iron gate, which it
would have cost my brother-in-law much trouble to have turned
upon its hinges.

The nearer we approached the end of our journey, the more fully
did our minds become impressed with new and painful disquietudes.
At length, we reached the place of our destination.  

My brother-in-law desired he might be announced but said nothing
of who I was.  We were expected, for a Swiss belonging to the
palace conducted us to a chamber at one end of the château,
where, stretched on a bed of loathsome disease, was the creature
who, but a few hours before, had been deemed worthy the embraces
of a powerful monarch.  Beside her were an elderly female, her
mother, and an aged priest, who had been likewise summoned by the
unfortunate girl, and her brother, a young man of about twenty-four
years of age, with an eye of fire, and a frame of Herculean power.
He was sitting with his back turned towards the door; the mother,
half reclining on the bed, held in her hand a handkerchief steeped
in her tears, while the ecclesiastic read prayers to them from a
book which he held.  A nurse, whom we had not before perceived,
answered the call of the Swiss, and inquired of him what he wanted.  

"I want nothing, myself," answered he, "but here is comte Jean
du Barry with a lady from Versailles; they say they come at the
request of mademoiselle Anne."

We were now on the threshold of the door, and the nurse, crossing
the chamber, spoke to the mother, who hastily rose, while the
priest discontinued his prayers.  The mother looked at us, then
whispered some words to her daughter.  The patient stirred in her
bed, and the nurse returning to us, said to comte Jean that he
might approach the bed of the invalid.

He advanced and I followed him, although the noisome effluvia
with which the air was loaded produced a sickness I scarcely could
surmount.  The gloom of the place was still further increased by
the dim light of two wax candles placed in a nook of the room.

The priest, having recognised my brother-in-law, and suspecting
doubtless who I was, was preparing to withdraw, but the sick girl
made signs for him to remain.  He obeyed, but removing to a
distance, he took his place beside the young man, who, understanding
only that strangers had arrived, rose from his seat and displayed
his tall gigantic height to the fullest advantage.  



CHAPTER XLI


Interview with the joiner's daughter--Consultation of the physicians
respecting the king--The small-pox declares itself--the comte de
Muy--The princesses--Extreme sensibility of madame de Mirepoix--The
king is kept in ignorance of his real condition--The archbishop of
Paris visits Versailles

The gloomy and mysterious air scattered over the group which
presented itself to our eyes filled us with desponding thoughts.
There appeared throughout the party a kind of concentrated grief
and silent despair which struck us with terror.  We remained
motionless in the same spot without any persons quitting their f
ixed attitude to offer us a seat.  After some minutes of a deep
silence, which I durst not interrupt any more than comte Jean,
whose accustomed hardihood seemed effectually checked, the
suffering girl raised herself in her bed, and in a hollow
voice exclaimed,

"Comtesse du Barry, what brings you here?"

The sound of her hoarse and grating voice made me start, spite of myself.

"My poor child," answered I, tenderly, "I come to see you at
your request."  

"Yes, yes," replied she, bursting into a frightful fit of laughter,
"I wished to see you to thank you for my dishonour, and for the
perdition into which you have involved me."  

"My daughter," said the priest, approaching her, "is this what
you promised me?"

"And what did I promise to God when I vowed to hold myself chaste
and spotless?  Perjured wretch that I am, I have sold my honour
for paltry gold; wheedled by the deceitful flattery of that man
who stands before me, I joined his infamous companion in the
path of guilt and shame.  But the just vengeance of heaven has
overtaken me, and I am rightly punished."

Whether this language was the result of a previously studied
lesson I know not, but it was ill-calculated to raise my
failing spirits.

"My child, my beloved child!"  exclaimed the weeping mother,
"fear not, God is merciful and will accept your sincere abhorrence
of your fault.  I have this day offered in your name a fine wax
taper to your patroness, St. Anne, who will, no doubt, intercede
for you."

"No, no!"  replied the unhappy girl, "there is no longer any hope
for me; and the torments I now suffer are but the preludes to
those which I am doomed to endure everlastingly."

This singular scene almost convulsed me with agitation.  I seized
the arm of my brother-in-law with the intention of escaping from
so miserable a spot; the invalid perceived my design and
vehemently exclaimed,

"Stay, comtesse du Barry; I have not yet finished with you, I
have not yet announced the full revenge I shall take for your
share in my present hopeless condition; your infamous exaltation
draws to a close, the same poison which is destroying me,
circulates in the veins of him you have too long governed; but
your reign is at an end.  He will soon quit his earthly crown,
and my hand strikes the blow which sends him hence.  But still,
dying a victim to a cruel and loathsome complaint, I go to my
grave triumphing over my haughty rival, for I shall die the last
possessor of the king's affections.  Heavens!  what agonies are
these?"  cried she; then, after a short silence, she continued,
extending to me her arms hideous with the leprous blotches of
her disgusting malady, "yes, you have been my destruction; your
accursed example led me to sell myself for the wages of infamy,
and to the villainous artifices of the man who brought you here
I owe all my sufferings.  I am dying more young, more beautiful,
more beloved than you; I am hurried to an untimely end.  God of
heaven!  die I did I say die?  I cannot, will not--Mother, save
your child!--Brother, help me, save me!"

"My daughter, my darling child!"  cried the despairing mother,
wringing her hands and weeping bitterly.

"My dearest sister Anne, what can I do for you?"  inquired the
young man, whose stern features were melted into mere
womanish tenderness.

"Daughter," interrupted the priest, " God is good; he can and
will forgive you if you heartily turn to him, with a sincere desire
to atone for your fault."

All this took place in less time than it has taken in the
recital.  My brother-in-law seemed completely deprived of his
usual self-possession by this burst of frightful raving; his
feet appeared rooted to the floor of the chamber; his colour
changed from white to red, and a cold perspiration covered his
brows.  For my own part, I was moved beyond description; but
my faculties seemed spell-bound, and when I strove to speak, my
tongue cleaved to my mouth.

The delirium of poor Anne continued for some time to find utterance,
either by convulsive gesticulation, half-uttered expressions, and,
occasionally, loud and vehement imprecations.  At length, quite
exhausted with her violence, which required all the efforts of
her brother to subdue by positive force, she sunk into a state
of insensibility.  The priest, on his knees, implored in a loud
voice the mercy of Providence for the king and all his subjects.
Had any person conceived the design of working on my fears so
far as to induce me to abandon a life at court, they could not
have succeeded more entirely than by exhibiting to me the scene
I have been describing.  Had not many contending ideas enabled
me to bear up under all I saw and heard, my senses must have
forsaken me; under common circumstances, the aspect of the brother
alone would have terrified me exceedingly; and even now, I cannot
recollect without a shudder, the looks of dark and sinister
meaning he alternately directed at me and at comte Jean.  At this
moment, the doctor who had the charge of the unhappy girl arrived.
The warmth and eagerness of manner with which he addressed me
directly he perceived my presence, might have proved to all around
that I was not the hateful creature I had been described.  This
well-timed interruption restored me to the use of my faculties,
and repulsing the well-meant attentions of my medical friend, I
exclaimed, "Do not heed me, I conjure you, I am only temporarily
indisposed.  But hasten to that poor girl whose dangererous state
 requires all your care."  

My brother-in-law, recovering himself by a strong effort, profited
by the present opportunity to remove me into another apartment,
the pure air of which contributed to cool my fevered brain; but
 my trembling limbs refused to support me, and it was necessary
to apply strong restoratives ere I was sufficiently recovered to
quit the fatal spot.  At Trianon, as well as at Versailles, I was
considered absolute mistress; those of the royal household, who
were aware of my being at the former, earnestly solicited me to
retire to the chamber I had occupied on the preceding night, but
to this arrangement the comte and myself were equally opposed.
A sedan chair was therefore procured, in which I was rapidly
transported back to Versailles.

You may easily conceive in what a state I arrived there.  My good
Henriette was greatly alarmed, and immediately summoned Bordeu,
 who, not venturing to bleed me, contented himself with administering
some cordials which revived me in some degree.  But the events of
the last few hours seemed indelibly fixed in my mind; and I heard,
almost with indifference, the bulletin issued respecting the
state of the king's health during the fatal night which had just
passed.  One object alone engrossed my thoughts; -eyes seemed
still to behold the miserable girl stretched on her dying bed,
whose ravings of despair and threatening words yet rung in my
ears, and produced a fresh chill of horror, as with painful
tenacity my mind dwelt upon them to the utter exclusion of every
other consideration.  The unfortunate creature expired on the
third day, a victim to the rapid progress of the most virulent
species of small-pox.  She died more calmly and resigned than I
had seen her.  For my own part, I freely pardoned her injustice
towards myself, and sincerely forgive the priest if he (as I have
been told) excited her bitterness against me.

The severe shock I had experienced might have terminated fatally
for me, had not my thoughts been compelled to rouse themselves
for the contemplation of the alarming prospect before me.  It was
more than four o'clock in the morning when I returned to the
château, and at nine I rose again without having obtained the least
 repose.  The king had inquired for me several times.  I instantly
went to him, and my languid frame, pale countenance and heavy
eyes, all which he took as the consequences of my concern for his
indisposition, appeared greatly to affect him; and he sought to
comfort me by the assurance of his being considerably better.
This was far from being true, but he was far from suspecting
the nature of the malady to which his frame was about to become
a prey.  The physicians had now pronounced with certainty on the
subject, nor was it possible to make any mystery of it with me,
who had seen Anne on her sick-bed.

In common with all who knew the real nature of the complaint, I
sought to conceal it from the king, and in this deception the
physicians themselves concurred.  In the course of the morning a
consultation took place; when called upon for their opinion, each
of them endeavoured to evade a direct answer, disguising the name
of his majesty's disease under the appellation of a cutaneous
eruption, chicken-pox, etc., etc., none daring to give it its true
denomination.  Bordeu and Lemonnier pursued this cautious plan,
but La Martinière, who had first of all pronounced his decision
on the subject, impatient of so much circumlocution on the part
of those around him, could no longer repress his indignation.

"How is this, gentlemen!"  exclaimed he, "is science at a
standstill with you?  Surely, you cannot be in any doubt on the
subject of the king's illness.  His majesty has the small-pox,
with a complication of other diseases equally dangerous, and I
look upon him as a dead man."

"Monsieur de la Martinière," cried the duc de Duras, who, in
quality of his office of first gentleman of the bed-chamber, was
present at this conference, "allow me to remind you that you are
expressing yourself very imprudently."  

"Duc de Duras," replied the abrupt La Martinier, "my business is
not to flatter the king, but to tell him the truth with regard to
his health.  None of the medical gentlemen present can deny the
truth of what I have asserted; they are all of my opinion, although
I alone have the courage to act with that candour which my sense
of honour dictates."

The unbroken silence preserved by those who heard this address,
clearly proved the truth of all La Martinière advanced.  The duc
de Duras was but too fully convinced of the justice of his opinion.

"The king is then past all hope," repeated he, "and what remains
to be done?"

"To watch over him, and administer every aid and relief which art
suggests," was the brief reply of La Martinière.

The different physicians, when separately questioned, hesitated
no longer to express their concurrence in the opinion that his
majesty's case was entirely hopeless, unless, indeed, some crisis,
which human foresight could not anticipate, should arise in his favour.

This opinion changed the moral face of the château.  The duc de
Duras, who had not previously suspected even the existence of
danger, began to feel how weighty a burthen reposed on his
shoulders; he recommended to the medical attendants the utmost
caution and  silence, pointing out, at the same time, all the ill
consequences which might arise, were any imprudent or sudden
explanation of his real malady made to the august sufferer.  Unable
to attend to everything himself, and not inclined to depend upon
his son, whose natural propensity he was fully aware of, he
recalled to his recollection that the comte de Muy, the sincere
and attached friend of the dauphin, son to Louis XV, was then in
Versailles.  He immediately sought him out in the apartments he
occupied in the château, and communicated to him the result of
the consultation respecting the king's illness.

The comte de Muy was one of those rare characters reserved by
Providence for the happiness of a state, when kings are wise
enough to employ them.  He thought not of personal interest or
advantage, but dictated to the duke the precise line of conduct he
himself would have pursued under similar circumstances.

"The first thing to be done," said he, "is to remember that the
king is a Christian, and to conform in every respect to the
customs of his predecessors.  You are aware, my lord duke, that
directly any member of the royal family is attacked by the small-pox,
he ought immediately to receive extreme unction; you will,
therefore, make the necessary arrangements, and apprize those
whose duty it becomes to administer it."

"This is, indeed, an unpleasant commission," replied the duke; "to
administer extreme unction to his majesty, is to announce to him
cruelly and abruptly that his last hour has arrived, and to bid
him prepare for death."

"The duty is nevertheless imperative," answered the comte de Muy,
"and you incur no slight responsibility by neglecting it."

The consequence of this conversation was, that the duke sent off
two couriers immediately, one to madame Louise, and the other
to the archbishop of Paris.  He also apprized the ministers of the
result of the consultation which had taken place, whilst the comte
de Muy took upon himself the painful office of acquainting the
dauphin with the dangerous state of his grandfather.  This young
prince, whose first impulses were always amiable, immediately
burst into tears; the dauphiness endeavoured to console him.
But from that moment her royal highness appeared to show by her
lofty and dignified bearing, her consciousness of the fresh
importance she had necessarily acquired in the eyes of the nation.
Meanwhile, the dauphin hastened to the sick room of his beloved
relative, anxious to bestow upon him the cares and attentions of
a son; but in the anteroom his progress was stopped by the duc
de la Vrillière, who informed him, that the interests of the
throne would not permit his royal highness to endanger his life
by inhaling the contagious atmosphere of a room loaded with the
venom of the small-pox.  He adjured him, in the name of the king
and his country, not to risk such fearful chances.  The lords in
attendance, who did not partake the heroism the young prince,
added their entreaties to those of <le petit saint>, and succeeded,
at length, in prevailing upon him to return to his apartments, to
the great joy of Marie Antoinette, who could not endure the
prospect of being separated from her husband at so important
a juncture.

No sooner had the princesses learned the danger of their august
parent, than without an instant's hesitation they hurried to him.
I was in his chamber when they arrived; they saluted me with
great gentleness and affability.  When the king saw them, he
inquired what had brought them thither at so unusual an hour.

"We are come to see you, my dearest father," replied madame
Adélaïde; "we have heard of your indisposition, and trifling as
it is said to be, we could not rest without satisfying our anxious
wish to know how you found yourself."

The other sisters expressed themselves in similar terms.

"It is all very well, my children," said Louis XV, with a pleasing
smile, "and you are all three very excellent girls, but I would
rather you should keep away from this close room; it can do you
no good, and I promise to let you know if I find myself getting
any worse."  

After a slight resistance the princesses feigned an obedience to
his will; but, in reality, they merely retired into an adjoining
chamber, concealed from the sight of their parent, where they
remained, until the moment when they undertook the charge of the
patient.  Their heroic devotion was the admiration of all France
and Europe.

Much as their presence constrained me, I still kept my place beside
 the sick-bed of his majesty, who would not suffer me to leave him
for a minute.

At an early hour the maréchale de Mirepoix returned, according
to her promise.  I met her in the corridor as I was passing along
on my way to the king's apartment; her face was full of
cheerful smiles.

"How greatly am I obliged to you for your prompt succour," said
she, without even inquiring after my health or that of the king.
"Do you know, I was but just in time; ten minutes later, and I
should have been refused payment for your cheque.  M. de Laborde,
who was so devotedly your friend only yesterday, counted out to
me the glittering coin I was so anxious to obtain.  He even
accompanied me to my carriage, when behold, just at the moment,
when, with his hat in his hand, he was most gallantly bowing, and
wishing me a pleasant journey, a courier arrived from Versailles
bringing him the news of the king's illness.  He looked so
overwhelmed with consternation and alarm, that I could not prevent
myself from bursting into a hearty fit of laughter, nor has my
gaiety forsaken me up to the present moment."

"You are very fortunate," said I, "to be enabled thus to preserve
your good spirits."

"My dear creature, I would fain cheat time of some of his claims
upon me.  But now I think of it, what is the matter since I was
here?  Is the king worse, and what is this I hear whispered abroad
of the small-pox?"  

"Alas, madam," answered I, much hurt at the insensibility she
displayed, "we run but too great danger of losing our friend and
benefactor for ever."  

"Dear me, how very shocking!  But what has he settled on you?
What have you asked him for?"

"Nothing!"  replied I, coolly.

"Nothing!  very admirable, indeed; but, my good soul, these fine
sentiments sometimes leave people to eat the bread of charity.
So, then, you have not followed my advice.  Once more, I repeat,
lose not the present opportunity, and, in your place, I would set
about securing my own interest without one instant's delay."

"That I could not do, madam," said I; "it is wholly foreign to
my nature to take advantage of the weakness of a dying man."  

"Dying man!"  repeated the maréchale incredulously, "come, come,
he is not dead yet; and whilst there is life there is hope; and I
suppose you have carried your ideas of disinterestedness so far
as to omit mentioning your friends, likewise.  You will never
have any worldly sense, I believe.  My dear soul," said she,
stooping down and whispering in my ear, "you are surrounded by a
set of selfish wretches, who care nothing for you unless you can f
orward their interests."  

"I see it, I know it," exclaimed I impatiently; "but though I
beg my bread, I will not importune the king."

"As you please," cried madame de Mirepoix, "pray do not let me
disturb your intentions.  Silly woman that you are, leave others
to act the sublime and grand, your part should be that of a
reasonable creature.  Look at myself, suppose I had not seized
the ball at the bound."

"You were born at Versailles," answered I, smiling in spite
of myself.

"True, and I confess that with me the greatest of all sense is
common sense, which produces that instinctive feeling of
self-preservation implanted even in animals.  But is the king
indeed so very ill?"  

"He is, indeed, dangerously ill."  

"I am very sorry," answered she, "his majesty and myself were
such old friends and companions; but things will now be very
different, and we shall soon see the court filled with new faces,
whilst you and I, my poor countess, may hide our diminished
heads.  A set of hungry wretches will drive us away from the
princely banquet at which we have so long regaled, and scarcely
will their eagerness leave us a few scattered crumbs--how dreadful!
Yes, I repeat that for many reasons, we shall have just cause for
regretting the late king."  

"The <late> king!"  exclaimed I.  "His majesty is not yet dead,
madame la maréchale."

"I know that, but he will die; and by speaking of the event as
if it had already taken place, we prepare our minds to meet the
blow with greater resignation when it does fall.  I am much
concerned, I can assure you; but let us quit the close confined
air of this corridor, and go where we may breathe a purer atmosphere."

She took me by the arm with a greater familiarity than she had
ever before assumed, and led the way to my chamber, where I
found the duc de la Vrillière awaiting me, to request I would
return to the king, who had asked for me more than once.  This
consummate hypocrite seized the present opportunity of renewing
his assurances of an unalterable attachment to me, vowing an
eternal friendship.  I was weak enough to believe him, and when
I gave him my hand in token of reconciliation, I espied the maréchale
standing behind him, making signals to me to distrust his professions.

I know not the reason of this conduct on the part of the duc de l
a Vrillière, but I can only suppose it originated in his considering
the king in less danger than he was said to be; however, I suffered
him to lead me to the chamber of the invalid.  When Louis XV
saw me return, he inquired why I had quitted him?  I replied,
because I was fearful of wearying him; upon which he assured
me, that he only felt easy and comfortable so long as I was with him.

"But, perhaps, there is some contagion in my present complaint?"
 exclaimed he, as though labouring under some painful idea.

"Certainly not," replied I; "it is but a temporary eruption of
the skin, which will, no doubt, carry off the fever you have
suffered with."

"I feared it was of a more dangerous nature," answered the king.

"You torment yourself needlessly, sire," said I; "why should
you thus create phantoms for your own annoyance and alarm?
Tranquillize yourself, and leave the task of curing you to us."

I easily penetrated the real import of his words; he evidently
suspected the truth, and was filled with the most cruel dread
of having his suspicions confirmed.  During the whole of this
day he continued in the same state of uncertainty; the strictest
watch was set around him that no imprudent confession should
reveal to him the real nature of his situation.  I continued
sitting beside him in a state of great constraint, from the
knowledge of my being closely observed by the princesses, of
 whose vicinity we durst not inform him, in the fear of exciting
his fears still more.

The courier, who had been despatched to madame Louise, returned,
bringing a letter from that princess to her sisters, under cover to
madame Adélaïde, in which she implored of them not to suffer any
consideration to prevent their immediately acquainting their father
with the dangerous condition he was in.  The duty, she added, was
imperative, and the greatest calamity that could befall them, would
be to see this dearly loved parent expire in a state of sinful
indifference as to his spiritual welfare.

The august recluse, detached from all sublunary considerations,
saw nothing but the glorious hereafter, where she would fain
join company with all her beloved friends and connexions of
this world.

The archbishop of Paris, M. de Beaumont, a prelate highly esteemed
for his many excellent private qualities, but who had frequently
embarrassed the king by his pertinacity, did not forget him on
this occasion; for no sooner did the account of his majesty's i
llness reach him, than, although suffering with a most painful
complaint, he hastened to Versailles, where his presence embarrassed
every one, particularly the grand almoner, who, a better courtier
than priest, was excessively careful never to give offence to any
person, even though the king's salvation depended upon it; he,
therefore, kept his apartment, giving it out that he was
indisposed, and even took to his bed, the better to avoid any
disagreeable or inconvenient request.  The sight of the archbishop
of Paris was far from being agreeable to him.  This prelate went
first in search of the princesses who were not to be seen on
account of their being with their father.  A message was despatched
to them, and mesdames Adélaïde and Sophie, after having a long
conference with him, by his advice, summoned the bishops of
Meaux, Goss, and de Senlis, and held a species of council, in
which it was unanimously agreed that nothing ought to prevent
their entering upon an explanation with the king, and offering
him spiritual succour.

Who was to undertake the delicate commission, became the next
point to consider.  M. de Roquelaire declined, not wishing, as he
said, to infringe upon the rights of the grand almoner, who was
now at Versailles.  M. de la Roche Aymon was therefore sent for,
requesting his immediate attendance.  Never did invitation arrive
more <mal à propos>, or more cruelly disturb any manoeuvring
soul.  However, to refuse was impossible, and the cardinal arrived,
execrating the zeal of his reverend brother of Paris; who, after
having explained the state of affairs to him, informed him that
he was sent for the purpose of discharging his office by preparing
the king for confession.

The grand almoner replied, that the sacred duty by no means
belonged to him; that his place at court was of a very different
nature, and had nothing at all to do with directing the king's
conscience.  His majesty, he said, had a confessor, who ought
to be sent for, and the very sight of him in the royal chamber
would be sufficient to apprize the illustrious invalid of the
motives which brought him thither.  In a word, the grand almoner
got rid of the affair, by saying, "that, as it was one of the utmost
importance, it would be necessary to confer with his royal
highness, the dauphin, respecting it."  



CHAPTER XLII


 First proceedings of the council--The dauphin receives the prelates
with great coolness--Situation of the archbishop of Paris--
Richelieu evades the project for confessing the king--The friends
of madame du Barry come forward--The English physician--The
abbé Terray--Interview with the prince de Soubise--The prince
and the courtiers--La Martinière informs the king of France the
true nature of his complaint--Consequences of this disclosure

The different members of this <concile impromptu> declared
themselves in favour of this advice, much to the grief and chagrin
of the princess Adélaïde.  She easily perceived by this proposition
that the court would very shortly change masters, and could she
hope to preserve the same influence during the reign of her nephew
she had managed to obtain whilst her father held the sceptre?
However, she made no opposition to the resolution of the prelates,
who forthwith proceeded to the dauphin, who received them with
considerable coolness.  As yet, but ill-assured in the new part
he had to play, the prince showed himself fearful and embarrassed.
The dauphiness would willingly have advised him, but that prudence
would not permit her to do, so that the dauphin, left wholly to
himself, knew not on what to determine.

This was precisely what the grand almoner had hoped and expected,
and he laughed in his sleeve at the useless trouble taken by the
archbishop; and whilst he openly affected to promote his desires
as much as was in his power, he secretly took measures to prevent
their success.  M. de Beaumont, who was of a most open and upright
nature, was far from suspecting these intrigues; indeed, his simple
and pious character but ill-qualified him for the corrupt and deceitful
atmosphere of a court, especially such a one as Versailles.  His
situation now became one of difficulty; abandoned by the bishops
and the grand almoner, disappointed in his hopes of finding a
supporter in the dauphin, what could he do alone with the
princesses, who, in their dread of causing an emotion, which
might be fatal to their parent, knew not what to resolve upon.  As
a last resource, they summoned the  abbé Mandaux, the king's
confessor.  The prelate excited his zeal in all its fervour, and
this simple and obscure priest determined to undertake that
which many more eminent personages had shrunk from attempting.

He therefore sought admittance into the chamber of the king, where
 he found the ducs de Duras and de Richelieu, to whom he
communicated the mission upon which he was come.

At this declaration, the consequences of which he plainly foresaw,
the duc de Duras hesitated to reply, scarcely knowing how to ward
off a blow the responsibility of which must fall upon him alone.
The duc de Richelieu, with greater self-command, extricated him
from his difficulty.

"Sir," said he to the abbé, "your zeal is highly praise-worthy,
both the duke and myself are aware of all that should be done
upon such an occasion as the present; and although I freely
admit that the sacred act you speak of is of an imperative nature,
yet I would observe, that the king being still in ignorance of his
fatal malady, neither your duties nor ours can begin, until the
moment when the physicians shall have thought proper to reveal
the whole truth to his majesty.  This is a matter of form and
etiquette to which all must submit who have any functions to
fulfil in the château."

The duc de Duras could have hugged his colleague for this well-
timed reply.  The abbé Mandaux felt all the justness of the
observation, yet with all the tenacity of his profession, he replied,

"That since it rested with the physicians to apprize the king of
his being ill with the small-pox, they ought to be summoned and
consulted as to the part to take."

At these words the duc de Duras slipped away from the group,
and went himself in search of Doctor Bordeu, whom he brought
into an angle of the chamber out of sight of the king's bed.  The
duc de Duras having explained to him what the abbé had just been
saying to them, as well as the desire he had manifested of
preparing the king to receive the last sacraments, the doctor
 regarded the abbé fixedly for some instance, and then inquired i
n a severe tone, "Whether he had promised any person to murder
the king?"

This abrupt and alarming question made the priest change colour,
whilst he asked for an explanation of such a singular charge.

"I say, sir," replied Bordeu, "that whoever speaks at present to
his majesty of small-pox, confession, or extreme unction, will
have to answer for his life."

"Do you, indeed, believe," asked the duc de Richelieu, "that the
mention of these things would produce so fatal a result?"  

"Most assuredly I do; and out of one hundred sick persons it
would have the same effect upon sixty, perhaps eighty; indeed,
I have known the shock produce instantaneous death.  This I am
willing to sign with my own blood if it be necessary, and my
professional brother there will not dispute its truth."

At these words he made a sign for Lemonnier to advance, and
after having explained to him the subject of conversation, begged
of him to speak his opinion openly and candidly.  Lemonnier was
somewhat of a courtier, and one glance at the two noblemen before
whom he stood, was sufficient to apprize him what opinion was
expected from him.  He, therefore, fully and unhesitatingly
confirmed all that Bordeu had previously advanced.

Strong in these decisions, the duc de Duras expressed his regret
to the confessor at being unable to accord his request.  "But,"
added he, "You perceive the thing is impossible, unless to him
who would become a regicide."

This terrible expression renewed the former terror of the abbé,
who, satisfied with having shown his zeal, was, perhaps, not
very sorry for having met with such insurmountable obstacles.  He
immediately returned to the apartment of madame Sophie, where
the council was still assembled, and related the particulars of
his visit; whilst the poor archbishop of Paris, thus foiled in
every attempt, was compelled to leave Versailles
wholly unsuccessful.

I heard all these things from the duc de Richelieu; he told me
that nothing could have been more gratifying than the conduct of
Bordeu and Lemonnier, and that I had every reason for feeling s
atisfied with the conduct of all around me.  "It is in the moment
of peril," said he, "that we are best able to know our true friends."

"I see it," replied I; "and since our danger is a mutual one ought
we not to forget our old subjects of dispute?"  

"For my own part, madam," returned he, "I do not remember that
any ever existed; besides, is not my cause yours likewise?  A new
reign will place me completely in the background.  The present
king looks upon me as almost youthful; while, on the contrary,
his grandson will consider me as a specimen of the days of
Methuselah.  The change of masters can be but to my disadvantage;
let us, therefore, stand firmly together, that we may be the better
enabled to resist the attacks of our enemies."  

"Do you consider," inquired I, "that we may rely upon the firmness
of the duc de Duras?"  

"As safely as you may on mine," answered he, "so long as he is
not attacked face to face; but if they once assail him with the
arms of etiquette, he is a lost man, he will capitulate.  It is
unfortunate for him that I am not likely to be near him upon
such an occasion."  

Comte Jean, who never left me, then took up the conversation,
 and advised M. de Richelieu to leave him to himself as little as
 possible; it was, therefore, agreed that we should cause the duc
de Duras to be constantly surrounded by persons of our party,
who should keep those of our adversaries at a distance.

We had not yet lost all hope of seeing his majesty restored to
health; nature, so languid and powerless in the case of poor
Anne, seemed inclined to make a salutary effort on the part of
the king.  

Every instant of this day and the next, that I did not spend by
the sick-bed of Louis XV, were engrossed by most intimate friends,
the ducs d'Aiguillon, de Cossé, etc., mesdames de Mirepoix, de
Forcalquier, de Valentinois, de l'Hôpital, de Montmorency, de
Flaracourt, and others.  As yet, none of my party had abandoned
me; the situation of affairs was not, up to the present, sufficiently
 clear to warrant an entire defection.  The good  Geneviève
Mathon, whom chance had conducted to Versailles during the last
week, came to share with Henriette, my sisters-in-law, and my
niece, the torments and uncertainties which distracted my mind.
We were continually in a state of mortal alarm, dreading every
instant to hear that the king was aware of his malady, and the
danger which threatened, and our fears but too well proclaimed
our persuasion that such a moment would be the death-blow to our
hopes.  It happened that in this exigency, as it most commonly
occurs in affairs of great importance, all our apprehensions had
been directed towards the ecclesiastics, while we entirely
overlooked the probability that  the abrupt la Martinière might,
in one instant, become the cause of our ruin.  All this so entirely
escaped us, that we took not the slightest precaution to prevent it.  

No sooner was the news of the king being attacked with small-pox
publicly known, than a doctor Sulton, an English physician, the
pretended professor of an infallible cure for this disease, presented
himself at Versailles, and tendered his services.  The poor man
was simple enough to make his first application to those medical
attendants already intrusted with the management of his majesty,
but neither of them would give any attention to his professions of
skill to overcome so fatal a malady.  On the contrary, they treated
him as a mere quack, declared that they would never consent to
confide the charge of their august patient to the hands of a
stranger whatever he might be.  Sulton returned to Paris, and
obtaining an audience of the duc d'Orleans, related to him what
had passed between himself and the king's physicians.  The prince
made it his business the following day to call upon the princesses,
to whom he related the conversation he had held with doctor Sulton
the preceding evening.

In their eagerness to avail themselves of every chance for promoting
the recovery of their beloved parent, the princesses blamed the
duke for having bestowed so little attention upon the Englishman,
and conjured him to return to Paris, see Sulton, and bring him to
Versailles on the following day.  The duc d'Orleans acted in strict
conformity with their wishes; and although but little satisfied
with the replies made by Sulton to many of his questions relative
to the measures he should pursue in his treatment of the king, he
caused him to accompany him to Versailles, in order that the
princesses might judge for themselves.  The task of receiving
him was undertaken by madame Adélaïde.  Sulton underwent a
rigorous examination, and was offered an immense sum for the
discovery of his secret, provided he would allow his remedy to
be subjected to the scrutiny of some of the most celebrated
chemists of the time.  Sulton declared that the thing was
impossible; in the first place, it was too late, the disease was
too far advanced for the application of the remedy to possess
that positive success it would have obtained in the earlier stage
of the malady; in the next place, he could not of himself dispose
of a secret which was the joint property of several members of
his family.

Prayers, promises, entreaties were alike uselessly employed to
 change the resolution of Sulton; the fact was evidently this, he
knew himself to be a mere pretender to his art, for had he been
certain of what he advanced, had he even conceived the most
slender hopes of saving the life of the king, he would not have
hesitated for a single instant to have done all that was asked.

This chance of safety was, therefore, at an end, and spite of
the opinion I entertained of Sulton, I could not but feel sorry
Bordeu had not given him a better reception when he first made
known his professed ability to surmount this fatal disorder.
However, I was careful not to express my dissatisfaction, for it
was but too important for me to avoid any dispute at a time when
the support of my friends had become so essentially necessary to me.

In proportion as the king became worse, my credit also declined.
Two orders, addressed to the comptroller-general and M. de la
Borde, for money, met with no attention.  The latter replied, with
extreme politeness, that the 100,000 francs received by comte
 Jean a few days before the king was taken ill, and the 50,000
paid to madame de Mirepoix recently, must be a convincing proof,
in my eyes, of his friendly intentions towards me, but that he had
no money at present in his possession, the first he received should
 be at my disposal.

The abbé Terray acted with less ceremony, for he came himself to
say, that, so long as the king remained ill, he would pay no money
without his majesty's signature, for which my brother-in-law might
 either ask or wait till there no longer existed any occasion for
 such a precaution; and that, for his own part, he could not
conceive how he could have consumed the enormous sums he had
already drawn from the treasury.

This manner of speaking stung me to the quick.

"I find you," said I to him, "precisely the mean, contemptible
wretch you were described to me; but you are premature.  I am
not yet an exile from court, and yet you seem already to have
forgotten all you owe to me."

"I have a very good memory, madam," replied he, "and if you wish
it, I can count upon my fingers the money you and your family have
received of me.  You will see--"  

"What shall I see?"  interrupted I, "unless, indeed, it be an
amount of your regrets that such a sum was not left in your
hands to be pillaged by your mistresses and their spurious
offspring.  Really, to hear you talk, any one would suppose you
a Sully for integrity, and a Colbert in financial talent."

This vigorous reply staggered the selfish and coarse-minded abbé,
who easily perceived that he had carried matters too far, and had
reckoned erroneously upon the feebleness and timidity of my
natural disposition; he attempted to pacify me, but his cowardly
insolence had exasperated me too highly to admit of any apology
or peace-making.

"Have a care what you do," said I, "or rather employ yourself in
packing up whatever may belong to you, for you shall quit your
post whatever may befall.  In the event of the king's death you
will certainly be turned out by his successor, and if he regain
his health, he must then choose between you and me, there can
be no medium.  Henceforward, you may consider me only in the
light of your mortal enemy."

He wished to insist upon my hearing him, but I exclaimed, "Quit
the room, I wish neither to see nor hear more of you."

The abbé saw that it was necessary to obey, he therefore bowed
and retired.  Two hours afterwards he sent me the sum which I
had asked of him for my brother-in-law, accompanied by a most
humble and contrite letter.  Certainly, had I only listened to the
inspiration of my heart, I should have sent back the money
without touching it, and the epistle without reading it; but my
heroism did not suit comte Jean, who chanced to be present.  'Take
 it, take it," cried he; "the only way of punishing such a
miscreant, is to break his purse-strings.  He would, indeed, have
the laugh on his side were your fit of anger to change into a fit
of generosity; besides, this may be the last we shall ever see."  

My brother-in-law and the comptroller-general were an excellent
pair.  I treated the latter with silent contempt, not even replying
to his letter; this was, however, my first and only stroke of
vengeance, the disastrous events which followed did not permit
me to pursue my plans for revenging this treacherous and
contemptible conduct.

This quarrel, and the defection of the <worthy> abbé, had the
effect of rendering me much indisposed.  My illness was attributed
to an excess of sorrow for the dangerous condition of his majesty,
nor did I contradict the report; for, in truth, I did most
sincerely lament the malady with which the king was suffering,
and my regrets arose far more from a feeling of gratitude and
esteem, than any self-interested calculations.  It was, therefore,
in no very excellent humour that I saw the prince de Soubise
enter my apartment.  You may remember that this nobleman had
quitted Trianon without saying one word to me, and since that
period I had never seen him, although he had punctually made his
inquiries after the king.  When I perceived him, I could not help
inquiring, with something of a sarcastic expression, whether his
majesty had been pronounced convalescent?  The prince
comprehended the bitterness of the question.

"You are severe, madam," replied he, "yet I can solemnly affirm
that circumstances, and not inclination, have kept me from your
presence until now."

"May I believe you?"  said I.  "Are you quite sure you have not
been imitating the policy of the abbé Terray?"  Upon which I
related the behaviour of the comptroller-general.

 "Priest-like," answered the prince.

"And is it not <courtier>-like also?"  inquired I.

"Perhaps it may," rejoined M. de Soubise; "for the two species
of priest and courtier so nearly resemble each other in many
particulars, as to have become well nigh amalgamated into one;
but I claim your indulgence to make me an exception to the general
rule, and to class me as a soldier and a man of honour; besides
which, you are too lovely ever to be forgotten, and your past
goodness to me will ensure you my services let what may occur."  

"Well, then," said I, extending my hand, "as a reward for your
candour, which I receive as genuine, I will request your
forgiveness for any annoyance I may have caused you on your
family's account, I ought never to have resented any thing they
have done.  My presence here could not fail of being highly
disagreeable to them; however, they will soon be relieved from
that source of uneasiness, my stay draws rapidly to a close."

The prince de Soubise, with a ready grace and obliging manner,
for which I shall ever remember him with a grateful recollection,
endeavoured to dispel my apprehensions as to the state of the
king; but whilst I acknowledged the kindness of his intention,
my heart refused all comfort in a case, which I too well knew
was utterly hopeless.

The state of affairs was now so manifest, that already an obsequious
crowd beseiged the doors of the dauphin, anxious to be first in the
demonstration of their adoration of the rising sun; but the young
prince, aided by the clear-minded advice of his august spouse,
refused, with admirable prudence, to receive such premature
homage; and since he was interdicted by the physicians from
visiting the royal invalid, he confined himself within his
apartments, admitting no person but a select few who possessed
his confidence.

The disappointed satellites, frustrated in their endeavours to in
gratiate themselves with the dauphin, turned their thoughts
towards the comte de Provence, imagining that this prince, spite
of his extreme youth, might have considerable influence over
the mind of his brother, the dauphin.  But this idea, however
plausible, was by no means correct; it was too much the interest
of ambitious and mercenary men to create a want of harmony
between the royal pair, and up to the moment in which I am writing,
no attempts have been made to produce a kinder and more fraternal
feeling between two such near relatives.

I quitted the king as little as possible, watching with deep
concern the progress of a malady, the nature of which was a secret
to himself alone; for, in the dread of incurring my displeasure,
no person had ventured to acquaint him with the awful fact.  By
the aid of the grand almoner, I had triumphed over the wishes of
the archbishop of Paris, and those of the confessor.  The princes
and princesses awaited the event; all was calm composure; when,
all at once, the barriers I had been so carefully erecting were
crushed beneath my feet, at one sudden and unexpected blow.

The king was by no means easy in his own mind with regard to his
illness.  The many messages that were continually whispered around
him, the remedies administered, and, above all, the absence of his
grandsons, all convinced him that something of a very unusual and
alarming nature was progressing.  His own feelings might,
likewise, well assure him that he was attacked by an illness of no
ordinary nature.  Tortured beyond further bearing by the suggestions
of his fancy, Louis XV at length resolved to ascertain the truth,
and, with this intent, closely questioned Bordeu and Lemonnier,
who did their best to deceive him.  Still, dissatisfied with their
evasive replies, he watched an opportunity, when they were both
absent, to desire La Martinière would at once explain the true
malady with which he was then suffering.  La Martinière puzzled
and confused, could only exclaim,

"I entreat of you, sire, not to fatigue yourself with conversation;
remember how strongly you have been forbidden all exertion."

"I am no child, La Martinière," cried Louis XV, his cheeks glowing
with increased fire; "and I insist upon being made acquainted with
the precise nature of my present illness.  You have always served
me loyally and faithfully, and from you I expect to receive that
candid statement every one about me seems bent upon concealing."  

"Endeavour to get some sleep, sire," rejoined La Martinière, "and
do not exhaust yourself by speaking at present."  

"La Martinière, you irritate me beyond all endurance.  If you
love me, speak out, I conjure you, and tell me, frankly, the name
of my complaint."

 "Do you insist upon it, sire?"

"I do, my friend, I do."

"Then, sire, you have the small-pox; but be not alarmed, it is a
disease as frequently cured as many others."  

"The small-pox!"  exclaimed the king, in a voice of horror; "have
 I indeed that fatal disease?  and do you talk of curing it?"  

"Doubtless, sire; many die of it as well as other disorders, but
we are sanguine in our hopes and expectations of saving
your majesty."

The king made no reply, but, turned heavily in his bed and threw
the coverlet over his face.  A silence ensued, which lasted until
the return of the physicians, when, finding they made no allusion
to his condition, the king addressed them in a cool and
offended tone.

"Why," said he, "have you concealed from me the fact of my having
the small-pox?"  This abrupt inquiry petrified them with
astonishment, and unable to frame a proper reply, they stood
speechless with alarm and apprehension.  "Yes," resumed the king,
"but for La Martinière, I should have died in ignorance of my
danger.  I know now the state in which I am, and before long I
shall be gathered to my forefathers."

All around him strove to combat this idea, and exerted their utmost
endeavours to persuade the royal patient that his disorder had
assumed the most favourable shape, and that not a shadow of
danger was perceptible, but in vain; for the blow had fallen, and
the hapless king, struck with a fatal presentiment of coming ill,
turned a deaf ear to all they could advance.

Bordeu, deeply concerned for what had transpired, hastened to
announce to the duc de Richelieu the turn which had taken place
in the face of affairs.  Nothing could exceed the rage with which
the news was received.  The duke hurried to the king's bedside.

"Is it, indeed, true, sire," inquired he, "that your majesty doubts
of your perfect restoration to health?  May I presume to inquire
whether any circumstance has occurred to diminish your confidence
in your medical attendants?"

"Duc de Richelieu," replied the king, looking as though he would
search into his very soul, "I have the small-pox.  " 

"Well," returned the duke, "and, as I understand, of a most
favourable sort; perhaps, it might have been better that La
Martinière had said nothing about it.  However, it is a malady
as readily subdued by art as any other; you must not allow yourself
to feel any uneasiness respecting it, science has now so much
improved in the treatment of this malady."

"I doubt not its ability to cure others, but me!  Indeed, duc de
Richelieu, I would much rather face my old parliament than this
inveterate disease."  

"Your majesty's being able to jest is a good sign."

At this moment, ignorant of all that had taken place, I entered
the room; for, in the general confusion, no person had informed
me of it.  The moment Louis XV perceived me, he exclaimed in a
hollow tone,

"Dearest countess, I have the small-pox."

At these words a cry of terror escaped me.

"Surely, sire," exclaimed I, "this is some wandering of your
imagination, and your medical attendants are very wrong to permit
you to indulge it for a minute."  

"Peace!"  returned Louis XV ; "you know not what you say.  I
have the small-pox, I repeat; and, thanks to La  Martinière, I
now know my real state."

I now perceived whose hand had dealt the blow, and seeing at
once all the consequences of the disclosure, exclaimed in my
anger, turning towards La Martinière,

"You have achieved a noble work, indeed, sir; you could not
restrain yourself within the bounds of prudence, and you see the
state to which you have reduced his majesty."

La Martinière knew not what to reply; the king undertook his defence.

"Blame him not," said he; "but for him I should have quitted this
world like a heathen, without making my peace with an offended God."

At these words I fainted in the arms of doctor Bordeu, who, with
the aid of my attendants, carried me to my chamber, and, at length,
succeeded in restoring me.  My family crowded around me, and
sought to afford me that consolation they were in equal need
of themselves.

Spite of the orders I had given to admit no person, the duc
d'Aiguillon would insist upon seeing me.  He exerted his best
endeavours to persuade me to arm myself with courage, and, like
a true and attached friend, appeared to lose sight of his own
approaching fall from power in his ardent desire to serve me.

In this mournful occupation an hour passed away, and left my
dejected companions sighing over the present, and, anticipating
even worse prospects than those now before them.



CHAPTER XLIII


Terror of the king--A complication--Filial piety of the  princesses--
Last interview between madame du Barry and Louis XV--Conversation
with the maréchale de Mirepoix--The chancellor Maupeou--The fragment--
Comte Jean

Perhaps no person ever entertained so great a dread of death as
Louis XV, consequently no one required to be more carefully
prepared for the alarming intelligence so abruptly communicated
by La  Martinière, and which, in a manner, appeared to sign the
king's death-warrant.

To every person who approached him the despairing monarch could
utter only the fatal phrase, "I have the small-pox," which, in
his lips, was tantamount to his declaring himself a dead man.
Alas!  had his malady been confined to the small-pox, he might
still have been spared to our prayers; but, unhappily, a
complication of evils, which had long been lurking in his veins,
burst forth with a violence which, united to his cruel complaint,
bade defiance to surgical or medical skill.

Yet, spite of the terror with which the august sufferer
contemplated his approaching end, he did not lose sight of the
interests of the nation as vested in the person of the dauphin,
whom he positively prohibited, as well as his other grandsons,
from entering his chamber or even visiting the part of the château
he occupied.  After this he seemed to divest himself of all
further care for sublunary things; no papers were brought for his
inspection, nor did he ever more sign any official document.

The next request made by Louis XV was for his daughters, who
presented themselves bathed in tears, and vainly striving to
repress that grief which burst forth  in spite of all their
endeavours.  The king replied to their sobs, by saying, "My
children, I have the small-pox; but weep not.  These gentlemen
 [pointing towards the physicians] assure me they can cure me."
But, while uttering this cheerful sentence, his eye caught the
stern and iron countenance of La Martinière, whose look of cool
disbelief seemed to deny the possibility of such an event.

With a view to divert her father from the gloom which all at
once came over his features, the princess Adélaïde informed him
that she had a letter addressed to him byher sister, madame Louise.

"Let me hear it," cried the king; "it is, no doubt, some heavenly
mission with which she is charged.  But who knows?"  He stopped,
but it was easy to perceive that to the fear of death was added a
dread of his well-being in another world.  Madame Adélaïde then
read the letter with a low voice, while the attendants retired
to a respectful distance.  All eyes were directed to the
countenance of the king, in order to read there the nature of its
contents; but already had the ravages of his fatal disease robbed
his features of every expression, save that of pain and suffering.

The princesses now took their stations beside their parent, and
established themselves as nurses, an office which, I can with
truth affirm, they continued to fill unto the last with all the
devotion of the purest filial piety.

 On this same day Louis XV caused me to be sent for.  I ran to
his bedside trembling with alarm.  The various persons engaged in
his apartment retired when they saw me, and we were left alone.

"My beloved friend," said the king, 'I have the small-pox; I am
still very ill."

"Nay, sire," interrupted I, "you must not fancy things worse than
they are; you will do well, depend upon it, and we shall yet pass
many happy days together."  

"Do you indeed think so?"  returned Louis XV.  "May heaven grant
your prophecy be a correct one.  But see the state in which I now
am; give me your hand."  

He took my hand and made me feel the pustules with which his
burning cheeks were covered.  I know not what effect this touch
of my hand might have produced, but the king in his turn patted
my face, pushed back the curls which hung negligently over my
brow; then, inclining me towards him, drew my head upon his
pillow.  I submitted to this whim with all the courage I could
assume; I even went so far as to be upon the point of bestowing
a gentle kiss upon his forehead.  But, stopping me, with a
mournful air, he said, "No, my lovely countess; I am no longer
myself, but here is a miniature which has not undergone the same
change as its unfortunate master."

I took the miniature, which I placed with respectful tenderness
in my bosom, nor have I ever parted with it since.

This scene lasted for some minutes, after which I was retiring,
but the king called me back, seized my hand, which he tenderly
kissed, and then whispered an affectionate "Adieu."  These were
the last words I ever heard from his lips.

Upon re-entering my apartments I found madame de Mirepoix awaiting
me, to whom I related all that had taken place, expressing, at the
same time, my earnest hope of being again summoned, ere long, to
the presence of my friend and benefactor.

"Do not deceive yourself, my dear," said she; "depend upon it
you have had your last interview; you should have employed it
more profitably.  His portrait!  why, if I mistake not, you have
<five> already.  Why did you not carry about with you some deed
of settlement ready for signature?  he would have denied you
nothing at such a moment, when you may rest assured he knew
himself to be taking his last farewell."

"Is it possible?"  exclaimed I.  "And can you really suppose the
king believed he spoke to me for the last time?"  

"I have not the slightest doubt of it; I have known him for many
a day.  He remembers the scene of Metz, and looks upon you as
forming the second edition of the poor duchesse de Chateauroux,
who, by the by, was not equal to you in any respect."

I burst into a fit of tears, but not of regret for having allowed
my late interview with the king to pass in so unprofitable a
manner.  However, the maréchale, misconceiving the cause of this
burst of grief, exclaimed, "Come, come; it is too late now, and
all your sorrow cannot recall the last half-hour.  But,
mademoiselle du Barry," continued she, "I advise you to commence
 your packing up at once, that when the grand move comes you may
not in your hurry, leave anything behind you."  

These remarks increased my affliction, but the maréchale had no
intention of wounding my feelings, and worldly-minded as she was,
considered all that could be saved out of the wreck as the only
subject worthy attention.  Meanwhile, comte Jean, with a gloomy
and desponding air, continued silently with folded arms to pace
the room, till all at once, as if suddenly struck by the arguments
of madame de Mirepoix, he exclaimed,

"The maréchale is right"; and abruptly quitted the apartment, as
if to commence his own preparations.

Ere madame de Mirepoix had left me and she remained till a late
hour, the ducs d'Aiguillon and de Cossé arrived, who, although
less experienced in their knowledge of the king's character, were
yet fully of her opinion respecting my last visit to him.

Scarcely had these visitors withdrawn, than I was apprized that
the chancellor of France desired to see me.  He was admitted,
and the first glance of the countenance of M. de Maupeou convinced
me that our day of power was rapidly closing.

"Your servant, cousin," said he, seating himself without the
smallest ceremony; "at what page of our history have we arrived?"

"By the unusual freedom and effrontery of your manner," answered
I, "I should surmise that we have reached the word <finis>."

"Oh," replied the chancellor, "I crave your pardon for having
omitted my best bow; but, my good cousin, my present visit is a
friendly one, to advise you to burn your papers with as little
delay as possible."

"Thank you for your considerate counsel," said I, coolly, " but I
have no papers to destroy.  I have neither mixed with any state
intrigue, nor received a pension from the English government.
Nothing will be found in my drawers but some unanswered
billets-doux."

"Then as I can do nothing for you, my good cousin, oblige me by
giving this paper to the duc d'Aiguillon."

"What is it?"  inquired I, with much curiosity.

"Have you forgotten our mutual engagement to support each other,
and not to quit the ministry until the other retired also?  I have
lately been compelled (from perceiving how deeply the duke was
manoeuvering against me) to send him a copy of this agreement.
Under other circumstances I might have availed myself of this
writing, but now it matters not; the blow which dismisses me
proceeds from other hands than his, and I am willing to leave
him the consolation of remaining in power a few days after myself.
Give him, then, this useless document; and now, farewell, my
pretty cousin, let us take a last embrace."

Upon which the chancellor, presuming until the last upon our
imaginary relationship, kissed my cheek, and having put into my
hands the paper in question, retired with a profound bow.

This ironical leave taking left me stupefied with astonishment,
and well I presaged my coming disgrace from the absurd mummery
the chancellor had thought fit to play off.

Comte Jean, who had seen M. de Maupeou quit the house, entered
my apartment to inquire the reason of his visit.  Silent and
dejected, I allowed my brother-in-law to take up the paper,
which he read without any ceremony.  "What is the meaning of this
scrawl?"  cried comte Jean, with one of his usual oaths; "upon my
word our cousin is a fine fellow," continued he, crushing the
paper between his fingers.  "I'll engage that he still hopes to
keep his place; however, one thing consoles me, and that is, that
both he and his parliament will soon be sent to the right about."

Our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Chamilly, who
came to acquaint me that the king was sleeping, and did not wish
to be again disturbed that night.  Remembering my usual
omnipotence in the château, I was about, like a true idiot, to
prove to Chamilly that the king's interdict did not extend to me,
when I was stopped in my purpose by the appearance of the duc
d'Aiguillon; and as it was now nearly eleven o'clock at night, I
could scarcely doubt his being the bearer of some
extraordinary message.



CHAPTER XLIV


 The duc d'Aiguillon brings an order for the immediate departure
of madame du Barry--The king's remarks recapitulated--The countess
holds a privy council--Letter to madame de Mirepoix and the ducs
de Cossé and d'Aiguillon--Night of departure--Ruel--Visit from
madame de Forcalquier

I said I did not expect the duc d'Aiguillon; and the grief which
was spread over his features, and the large tears which stood in
his eyes, persuaded me but too plainly that all hope was at an end.

"Is the king dead?"  cried I, in a stifled voice.

"No, madam," replied he, "Louis XV still lives, nor is it by any
means certain that the misfortune you apprehend is in store for us."

"He sends me from him, then," exclaimed I, with a convulsive cry,
"and my enemies have triumphed."

"His majesty is but of human nature, madam," replied the duke;
"he feels himself dangerously ill, dreads the future, and believes
that he owes his people a sort of reparation for past errors."

"How, my lord duke," interrupted I, "this grave language in your
lips--but no matter.  Inform me only at whose desire you state
these melancholy facts; speak, I am prepared for your mission,
be it what it may."

"You shall hear everything, madam," replied the duke, leading me
to an arm-chair.  I seated myself; my sisters- in-law, my niece,
and comte Jean stood around me, eagerly waiting the duke's
communication.  "A few hours after you had been removed from his
chamber, the king inquired of the princess Adélaïde whether it
were generally known at Paris that he had the small-pox.  The
princess replied in the affirmative, adding:

"'The archbishop of Paris was here twice during yesterday to
inquire after you.'

"'Yet I belong more properly to the diocese of Chartres,' returned
the king, 'and surely M. de Fleury would not interest himself less
about me than M. de Beaumont.'

"'They are both truly anxious about you, my dearest father, and
if you would only see them--'

"'No, no,' answered Louis XV; 'they must not be taken from the
duties of their respective dioceses; besides, in case of need, I
have my grand almoner.'

"Madame Adélaïde did not venture to urge the matter further just
then, and, after a short interval of silence, a message was
brought from you, inquiring whether you could see the king, to
 which he himself replied, that he felt inclined to sleep, and
would rather not see any person that night.  I was in the chamber,
and he very shortly called me to him, and said:

"'Duc d'Aiguillon, I have the small-pox; and you are aware that
there is a sort of etiquette in my family which enjoins my
immediately discharging my duties as a Christian.'

"'Yes, sire, if the malady wore a serious aspect; but in your case--'

"'May God grant,' replied he, 'that my disorder be not dangerous;
however, it may become so, if it is as yet harmless, and I would
fain die as a believer rather than an infidel.  I have been a great
sinner, doubtless; but I have ever observed Lent with a most
scrupulous exactitude.  I have caused more than a hundred thousand
masses to be said for the repose of unhappy souls; I have
respected the clergy, and punished the authors of all impious
works, so that I flatter myself I have not been a very bad Christian.'

"I listened to his discourse with a heavy heart, yet I still
strove to reassure the king respecting his health, of which, I
assured him, there was not the slightest doubt.

"'There is one sacrifice,' said the king, in a low and hurried
tone, 'that my daughter Louise, her sisters, and the clergy, will
not be long in exacting from me in the name of etiquette.  I
recollect the scene of Metz, and it would be highly disagreeable
to me to have it repeated at Versailles; let us, therefore, take
our precautions in time to prevent it.  Tell the duchesse
d'Aiguillon that she will oblige me by taking the comtesse du
Barry to pass two or three days with her at Ruel.'

"'How, sire!' exclaimed I, 'send your dearest friend from you at
a time when you most require her cares?'

"'I do not send her away,' answered the king, with mournful
tenderness, 'I but yield to present necessity; let her submit as
she values my happiness, and say to her, that I hope and believe
her absence will be very short.'"

The duke here ceased his recital, which fully confirmed all my
previous anticipations.  My female relatives sobbed aloud, while
comte Jean, compressing his lips, endeavoured to assume that
firmness he did not really possess.  By a violent effort I forced
myself to assume a sort of resignation.

"Am I required to depart immediately?"  inquired I.

"No," said the duke; "to leave the château in the middle of the
night would be to assume the air of a flight, we had better
await the coming day; it will, besides, afford time to apprize
the duchess.  " 

While the duc d'Aiguillon was thus gone to arrange for my departure,
I requested to be left alone.  My heart was oppressed, and I felt
the need of venting my grief upon some friendly bosom.  After a
few moments, spent in collecting my thoughts, I addressed two
letters, one to the  maréchale de Mirepoix, and the other to the
duc de Cossé; to the former I wrote on account of my retirement
to Ruel, bewailed the sad turn my prospects had assumed, expressed
my deep concern for the severe illness of my excellent friend and
benefactor, begging of her to defend my character from all unjust
attacks, and to allow me to be blamed for no faults but such as
I had really been guilty of.  I concluded with these words, "I
set out at seven o'clock to-morrow morning; the duchesse
d'Aiguillon will conduct me to Ruel, where I shall remain until
I am ordered elsewhere."  

To the duke I merely sent a short account of my present prospects,
hour of departure, etc.  And, my feelings somewhat relieved by the
penning of these epistles, I threw myself upon a couch to await
the morning.  Upon awaking, I received the following note from
the duchesse d'Aiguillon:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE,--I owe his majesty many
thanks for the pleasing, yet mournful, task he has
allotted me.  Your kindness to my family,
independently of my private regard for you, gives
you the surest claim of my best services during
this afflicting period.  Let me beseech of you not
to despair, but cheerfully anticipate brighter days.

"I will call for you at seven o'clock, and if you
approve of it, we will use my carriage.  Ruel is
entirely at your disposal and that of your family."  

This note was truly characteristic of its amiable writer, who at
court passed for a cold-hearted, frigid being, whilst, in reality,
the warm feelings of her excellent heart were reserved for her
chosen friends.

I have never admired those general lovers who profess to love
every one, nor do I feel quite sure it is a very strong
recommendation to say a person is beloved by all who know her.
Read, now, a striking contrast to the short but sympathizing
billet of madame d'Aiguillon, in the following heartless letter f
rom the maréchale de Mirepoix, which was put into my hands as I
was ascending the carriage.

"MY LOVELY COUNTESS,--I am all astonishment!  Can
it be possible that you are to quit Versailles?
You are right in saying you have been the friend
of every one, and those who could speak ill of you
are to be pitied for not having had better
opportunities of understanding your real character.
But fear not, the dauphiness is virtue personified,
and the dauphin equally perfect.  Every thing
promises a peaceful and indulgent reign, should
we have the misfortune to lose his present majesty.
Still there will always be a great void left at
Versailles; as far as I am concerned, I have passed
so much of my time with you, that I cannot imagine
what I shall do with my evenings; it will cost me
much of my age to alter habits and customs now so
long fixed and settled, but such is life; nothing
certain, nothing stable.  We should imitate cats
in our attachments, and rather identify ourselves
with the house than the possessor of it.  I trust
you have secured an ample provision for the future;
neglect not the present, to-morrow may come in
vain for you.

"Be sure you let me know the spot to which you
permanently retire, and I will endeavour to see you
as frequently as my engagements will admit of.

Adieu, <ma belle petite>."  

Spite of the bitterness of my feelings, this letter drew a smile
to my lips; the allusion to cats which had escaped the maréchale
exactly applied to her own character, of which I had been warned
before I became acquainted with her; but her protestations of
warm and unutterable attachment had gained my confidence, and I
allowed myself to be guided implicitly by her.

The duchesse d'Aiguillon was waiting for me while I perused the
above letter; at length, with a sigh, I prepared to quit that
palace of delights where I had reigned absolute mistress.  I cast
a mournful look around me, on those splendid walks, fountains
and statues, worthy the gardens of Armida, but where there reigned,
at this early hour, a sort of gloomy silence; whilst, in that
chamber where love had well nigh deified me and recognised me as
queen of France, lay extended the monarch so lately my protector
and friend.

It was the Wednesday of the fifth of May that I took my seat in
the carriage of the duchesse d'Aiguillon accompanied by my
sister-in-law and the vicomtesse Adolphe, who would not forsake
me.  Bischi remained with madame d'Hargicourt, whose duties
detained her with the comtesse d'Artois.  Her husband also
remained at Versailles, while comte Jean and his son proceeded
to Paris.  I will not attempt to describe the emotions with which
I quitted my magnificent suite of apartments, and traversed the
halls and staircases already crowded by persons anxiously awaiting
the first intimation of the king's decease.  I was wrapped in my
pelisse, and effectually eluded observation.  It has been said that
I left Versailles at four o'clock in the morning, but that was a
mere invention on the part of my servants to baffle the curiosity
of those who might have annoyed me by their presence.

We pursued our way in mournful reflection, whilst madame d'Aiguillon,
with her wonted goodness, sought by every means to distract me
from the dejection in which I was buried.  Her husband, who
remained with the king, engaged to write me a true account of
all that transpired during my absence, and I shall very shortly
present you with a specimen of the fidelity with which he
performed his promise.  The duchess did the honours of Ruel.

"Here," said she, "the great cardinal Richelieu loved to repose
himself from the bustle and turmoil of a court."  

"I think," answered I, "it would have been less a favourite with
his eminence had it been selected for his abode on the eve of
his disgrace."  

Immediately upon my arrival I retired to bed, for fatigue had so
completely overpowered me that I fell into a heavy slumber, from
which I did not awake till the following day; when I found the
duchesse d'Aiguillon, my sister-in-law, Geneviève Mathon, and
Henriette, seated by my bed: the sight of them was cheering and
gratifying proof of my not being as yet abandoned by all the world.

I arose, and we were just about to take our places at table, when
madame de Forcalquier arrived.  I must confess that her presence
was an agreeable surprise to me; I was far from reckoning on her
constancy in friendship, and her present conduct proved her worthy
of her excellent friend, madame Boncault, whose steady attachment
I had so frequently heard extolled.  The sight of her imparted
fresh courage to me, and I even resumed my usual high spirits, and
in the sudden turn my ideas had taken, was childish enough to
express my regrets for the loss of my downy and luxurious bed at
Versailles, complaining of the woful difference between it and
the one I had slept on at Ruel.

The duchesse d'Aiguillon, who must have pitied the puerility of
such a remark, gently endeavoured to reconcile me to it by reminding
me that both the marquise de Pompadour and the cardinal de
Richelieu had reposed upon that very couch.

I endeavoured to return some sportive reply, but my thoughts had
flown back to Versailles, and my momentary exhilaration was at
an end.  Tears rose to my eyes and choked my attempts at conversation;
I therefore begged the duchess would excuse me, and retired to my
apartment until I could  compose myself; but the kind and attentive
friend to whose hospitality I was then confided needed no further
mention of my hard couch, but caused the best bed Ruel contained
to be prepared for me by the time I again pressed my pillow.

This same evening brought M. de Cossé, who could no longer repress
his impatience to assure me of his entire devotion.  He appeared
on this occasion, if possible, more tender and more respectful
in his manner of evincing it than ever.

We supped together without form or ceremony, the party consisting
of mesdames d'Aiguillon, de Forcalquier, and myself, mademoiselle
du Barry, and the vicomtesse Adolphe, the prince de Soubise and
the duc de Cossé.  But the meal passed off in sorrowful silence;
each of us seemed to abstain from conversation as though the
slightest remark might come fraught with some painful allusion.
On the following day I received the letter from the duc d'Aiguillon
which you will find in the following chapter.



CHAPTER XLV


The duc d'Aiguillon's first letter--The maréchale de Mirepoix
--A second letter from the duc d'Aiguillon--Numerous visitors

"My much esteemed friend,--I promised you upon
your departure to inform you of all that  transpired,
and although the task is a mournful one, I will do
my best to acquit myself with zeal and sincerity,
and each evening I will write you an exact detail
of all that has occurred during the day.  The king
remains much as you left him, and you must know
that already his medical attendants differ in their
opinion respecting him--Lemonnier utterly
despairing of his recovery, while Bordeu is most
sanguine that he shall be enabled to restore him
to health.  La Martinière persists in his assertion
that the attention of the king should be
immediately directed to his spiritual concerns.
The archbishop of Paris remains until called for
in the ante-chamber, and the princesses never
leave the bedside of their august parent.

"The king spoke with me concerning you for some
time this morning, and I can assure you, you are
the first object in his thoughts; he has begged of
me never to forsake you, and has deigned to repose
in me the enviable post of your future protector.
'I bequeath my beloved friend to your fidelity,'
added the suffering prince.  I took advantage of
this opportunity to remark that I looked upon your
quitting Versailles as too precipitate and premature
a step.  'No, no,' replied the king, "I have acted
for the best; I have once been deceived as to my
condition, and I would willingly prevent being
again taken by surprise.  Tell my beloved and
excellent countess how truly I love her'; and
hearing the prince de Soubise mention his design
of supping at Ruel, he charged him to embrace
you for him.

"The dauphin still remains secluded in his apartment,
but I know that he keeps up a regular correspondence
with madame Victoire, whose letters, after being
immersed in vinegar, are carried to the comte de
Muy, who fumigates them previously to allowing
them to reach the hands of the dauphin.

 				"I am, etc., etc.

"VERSAILLES, May 5, 1774, nine o'clock, evening."  

Upon awaking the following morning I again received news of the
king, who was stated to have passed a good night, and even La
Martinière seemed inclined to hope.  As yet, then, there were no
safe grounds for abandoning me, and about two o'clock in the
afternoon I was favoured with a visit from madame de Mirepoix,
who, running up to me, exclaimed with her usual vivacity,

"Oh, my dear creature, how I longed to see you!"  and then
leading me into another chamber, she added,

"Do you know I quite missed you?  As I wrote you, my time hung
heavily on my hands.  What in the world will become of me if I am
compelled to resign the delightful hours granted to the envied few
who are permitted the < entrée > to the <petits appartements>?
For you see, my dear, the dauphiness will be far from bestowing
that honour upon me.  I am too old to form one of her coterie,
and I shall be laid aside like the rest of the antiquities of the
château.  By the way," continued the voluble maréchale, "there
is already a great cabal in the  château respecting the formation
of a new ministry, in which, besides desiring lucrative posts for
themselves, all are anxious to introduce their private friends;
in the midst of so many absorbing interests you appear to be
already forgotten, which, by the way, is no bad thing for you.
Your best plan is to remain perfectly tranquil."  Then rapidly
passing to her most prevailing idea, this excellent friend proceeded
to inquire what the king had bestowed on me as a parting present,
"for," said she, "he would not certainly permit you to leave
Versailles empty-handed."

"It is a point," replied I, "that neither his majesty nor myself
once thought of."  

"Then such an omission proves him a vile egotist, and you a
prodigious simpleton," answered she; "and were I in your place,
I would commission the duc d'Aiguillon to make a direct demand
of a future provision for you; you really should see about this,
and secure to yourself a noble establishment for yourself and
your friends, who ought not to suffer for your overstrained
delicacy.  Look at the duc de Choiseul, who has kept a regular
court at Chanteloup, and never wanted for a train of courtiers
at it."

After this lesson of worldly wisdom, the excellent maréchale gave
me a friendly kiss, returned to her carriage, and I saw her no
more during my stay at Ruel.

The evening brought with it a second letter from the duc
d'Aiguillon, it was as follows:--

"MADAM,--I hasten to acquaint you with the
pleasing information of his majesty being considerably
 better; his strength appears to have returned,
and he himself, in the consciousness of improving
health, expressed aloud his regret for having been
so hasty in advising your removal from him.  He has
continually repeated, 'How weak and selfish of me
thus to afflict my dearest countess!  would you
not advise me, my friend, to request her immediate
return?'  Of course, my reply was in the affirmative.
His majesty then put the same question to the duc
de Richelieu, who answered, that in his opinion it
was the best plan he could decide upon.  The bulletin
signed by the different physicians accompanies this:
it leaves me nothing to add but to recommend your
bearing with patience this temporary absence from
court, to which you will ere long return, more
idolized, more sought after, than ever.  The duc
de la Vrillière and the abbé Terray present the
assurance of their unbounded respect and devotion,
 etc., etc."  

The duchess, my sister-in-law, and niece shared in joy at such
gratifying intelligence, and the ensuing day brought a concourse
of visitors to Ruel; indeed, any one might have supposed that
fresh swarms of flatterers and courtiers had been created only
to swell my numbers of humble and obsequious adorers.  I bestowed
on each unmeaning guest a smiling welcome, for indeed, my heart
was too light and I felt too happy to be enabled to frown even
upon those who, when the storm appeared near, had basely
deserted me.

It was amusing enough to see with what zeal any person, whom I
had previously recommended was assisted by the various ministers
in the pursuit of their object; the <petit saint> found himself
all at once at leisure to pay his respects to me.  He confirmed
all the kind messages sent me by the king through the duc d'Aiguillon.
Madame de Mirepoix, who had visited me the preceding evening,
reserved her next call for the following day, but a few hours
effected a cruel change in my fortune.



CHAPTER XLVI


A third letter from the duke--The king receives extreme unction--
Letter from madame Victoire to the dauphin--M. de Machault--
A promenade with the duc de Cossé--Kind attention from the
prince des Deux Ponts--A fourth letter from the duc d'Aiguillon
--Comte Jean bids me farewell--M. d'Aiguillon's fifth letter,
containing an account of the death of Louis XV--The duc de la
 Vrillière--The <lettre de cachet>--Letter to the queen--Departure
for the abbey of <Pont aux Dames>

The account received in the evening from the duc  d'Aiguillon I
shall not transcribe, as it was merely a repetition of the good
tidings of the morning.  The day following still brought a
continuation of favorable accounts, but the next letter was in
these words:--

"MADAM, AND MOST HONORED FRIEND,--Arm yourself
with courage; the king is extremely ill, and I ought
not to conceal from you that serious apprehensions
are entertained for his life; he has passed a wretched
night, His daughters, who never quitted his bedside,
whispered to him that the archbishop of Paris and
his grand almoner were in the anteroom if he desired
to see them.  The king did not seem to hear their
words, but about three o'clock in the morning he
called the duc de Duras, whom he bade inquire
whether M. Mandoux were in the château; and, if
so, to apprize him he wished to speak with him.

"At these words the princesses and all who heard
them burst into a fit of weeping, which was only
interrupted by the arrival of the confessor, who,
approaching the bedside of the penitent, held a
conference with him of nearly a quarter of an hour:
this being concluded, the king, in a low and firm
voice, inquired for his almoner.  The latter soon
presented himself, anxious to discharge the duties
of his sacred office.  His majesty kept continually
repeating to his afflicted children, 'My daughters,
why should what I am now about to do agitate or
alarm you?  You are well aware, that having the
small-pox, the etiquette established in my family
compels me to receive the last solemn rites of the
 church, and I but acquit myself of an obligation
in submitting to it.'

"The tone in which the king spoke convinced his
attendants that he rather strove to re-assure
 himself than his children, by the persuasion that
the receiving extreme unction was not so much
the consequence of his own dangerous state as a
mere act of obedience to an established custom.
It was then decided that the sacred ceremony should
take place at seven o'clock in the morning; and
here arose some little embarrassment; the
ecclesiastics insisting upon the necessity of the
king's making some striking and open atonement
for what they were pleased to term the scandal of
his private life.

"The king's chamber now presented a picture at
once solemn and gloomy.  Grouped together on one
side the bed might be seen the different noblemen
in attendance upon his majesty; a little removed
stood the clergy, concealed from the invalid by
the closely-drawn curtains; in the midst of these
contending parties were the princesses going from
one to the other, vainly seeking by mild and gentle
mediation to produce a satisfactory arrangement.
It was at length understood, that, on account of
the extreme weakness of the invalid, the grand
almoner should pronounce in his name a kind of
honorable apology for past offences.

"You can scarcely imagine, madam, the universal
consternation spread throughout the château by
the information that the king was about to receive
the last rites of his church.  The terror and alarm
became overpowering for a while, but subsiding
into a more religious feeling crowds of persons
followed with solemn reverence the holy procession
as it passed along, bearing the holy sacrament to
the expiring monarch.  At the moment when it was
administered the grand almoner, turning towards
all present, pronounced the following words in
the king's name:--

"'Gentlemen, the weakness of his majesty preventing
him from expressing himself, he has commanded me
to inform you, that although he is responsible to
God alone for his conduct, he yet regrets having
caused any scandal to his people by the irregularities
of his life, that he sincerely repents of his sins,
 and, should Providence restore him to health, he
purposes living henceforward in all the virtue and
morality of his youth, in the defence and
maintenance of religion, in preserving a true
faith, and in watching over the best interests
of his people.'

"Yours, madam, etc., etc."  

I learned also, through another channel, that (according to
custom) forty hours' prayer had been enjoined in every church in
France to implore the mercy of heaven for the king.  I heard too
that the shrine of Saint Geneviève had been displayed for the
veneration of true believers.

I passed a miserable night, dreaming of graves, winding-sheets,
and funeral-torches, from which I only awoke to receive the
morning's despatches.  Alas! the news but confirmed the distressing
state of the king.  The very solitude in which I was left at Ruel
might alone have served to convince me of my misfortune; for,
with the exception of the duc de Cossé, no person came near us.
M. de Cossé invited me to walk with him in the garden; I accepted
the arm of this noble friend, and we directed our steps towards
the wood.  When we were there secure from interruption, the duke
inquired what were my plans for the future?

"How can I tell you," answered I; "what is henceforward to be
my fate is better known to our future queen than to myself."

"That is precisely what I dread," replied M. de Cossé.  "Unfortunately
you have deeply offended the queen elect, who has irritated her
husband's mind against you; and then the Choiseul faction will,
in all probability, come into power."

"I see all this," returned I, "and am prepared for whatever
may happen."

"I admire your calmness in a moment like the present," cried the
duke; "but have a care.  Perhaps the best thing would be to remove
you beyond the reach of the first shock of court displeasure.  In
your place I would request passports from the duc d'Aiguillon and
travel into England."

"Oh, speak not of such a thing, I conjure you," interrupted I;
"I have a horror of such journeys, and would much rather trust
to the generosity of the dauphiness.  She is about to become a
great queen, while I shall be a creature so humiliated and
abased, that the very difference between our situations will be a
sufficient vengeance in her eyes."

We returned to the house, and had scarcely entered, when M. de
Palchelbel, plenipotentiary to the prince des Deux Ponts,
was announced.

"M. de Palchelbel," cried I, extending my hand, "what good wind
brings you here?"  

"I have been honoured by the commands of the prince, my master,
madam," replied he, "to bring you the assurances of his unalterable
friendship; and to say further, that whenever you feel dissatisfied
with your residence in France, you will find at Deux Ponts an
asylum, which the most earnest endeavors of the prince, my
gracious patron, will strive to render agreeable to you."

I was much affected by this mark of generous regard on the part
of prince Charles Auguste; and, turning quickly towards the duke,
I exclaimed,

"What think you of all this?  Will you henceforward believe those
self-dubbed philosophers, who assert that friendship is unknown
to royalty?  You have here a proof of the contrary.  For my own
part, M. de Palchelbel," continued I, turning towards the minister,
"I am much gratified by your message, and entreat of you to thank
his royal highness most sincerely for me.  I will write to him
myself on the subject, but beg of you to repeat that, kind as are
his offers, I cannot accept of them; but shall certainly remain in
France until the new sovereign commands or permits me to quit it."

I afterwards repeated to the minister of Deux Ponts what I had
previously stated in the garden to M. de  Cossé, and had the
satisfaction of hearing madam d'Aiguillon approve of my sentiments.

When I retired to my apartment I was followed by my niece.

"How happy are you, dear aunt," said she, 'to preserve such
friends in your present troubles."  

"I owe them," replied I, "to my simplicity and candor."

"Will you not retire to Germany?"

"Certainly not," answered I.

"Yet it would be better to allow the first burst of displeasure
on the part of the dauphiness to pass over."

"Who gave you this counsel, my dear niece?  I am quite sure it
does not originate in yourself."  

"I had promised not to tell," answered she; "but if you insist
upon it, I must confess, that I was persuaded by the prince de
Condé and M. de Soubise to urge you to follow it."

"Do they then wish for my absence?"  inquired I, angrily.  

"Only for your own sake, dearest aunt."  

"I thank them; but my resolution is formed to commit myself
entirely to Providence in this melancholy affair."  

The day passed on; and with feverish impatience I waited the
arrival of the next courier: he came, at length, and confirmed
my worst fears; the king was entirely given over by his physicians,
and his dissolution was hourly expected.  The letter containing
this mournful tidings concluded thus:--

"I have just seen comte Jean, he is here incognito.
We had entirely forgotten that passports would be
necessary; however, I have now furnished him with
four for England, Germany, Italy, and Switzerland.
The count is far from partaking of your sense of
security, and is wisely anxious (as I think) of
shielding himself from the first burst of royal
vengeance.  The duchess has informed me of your
refusal of an asylum at Deux Ponts; and, while I
admire your courage, permit me to add, that you
should rather have listened to the dictates of
prudence than magnanimity under present circumstances."  

The following morning, at an early hour, comte Jean entered my
chamber, saying,

"I understand the king is dead; have you heard anything of it?"

"Were the report correct," answered I, "I should have known it
ere the intelligence reached Paris."  

"Well, living or dead, I am advised to keep out of the way; and
this night will see me on my journey from Paris.  Will you
accompany me?"  

"No, I replied I; "I have refused travelling with a much more
creditable companion than yourself."  

"There you are wrong then; for, depend upon it, a cloister will
be your fate; at any rate my business here is at an end.  The new
monarch is young, and attached to his wife, and my daughter-in-law
is too great a simpleton to be turned to any account at court."

My brother-in-law then requested I would furnish him with money.
I gave him what I had, and placed in his hands diamonds to the
value of 30,000 francs.  He was very anxious to obtain all my
jewels, under pretence of conveying them safely out of the kingdom,
but this I was too wise to agree to; he would have staked them at t
he first gaming-table he met with.  We separated without much
emotion on either side.  He next took leave of Chon and his
daughter-in-law.  the former wept bitterly, for she was a most
excellent and amiable girl--but the latter, who knew but too much
of the villainy of her father-in-law, could scarcely repress
her joy at his departure.  Comte Jean perceived it; and, according
to his brutal custom, indulged in a coarse jest at her expense;
for one of his maxims was to hold all women in sovereign contempt
but such as could be useful to him.  For my own part, his absence
gave me something like pleasure; his presence was wearisome to me;
it was like the dregs of the cup which had intoxicated my senses.

During the day several false reports arrived of the death of the
king; but at length, about half past four o'clock in the afternoon,
I received the following letter:--

"MADAM,-You have lost your best friend and I an
excellent master: at three clock this day his majesty
breathed his last.  I can scarcely describe to you
the horrors of his death-bed.  The princesses
Adélaïde and Sophie braved the frightful contagion
to the last and never quitted him till the last
spark had flown.  Alas!  with the exception of
themselves, every attendant openly expressed
their weariness and disgust.

"For several days the physicians have forbidden
the windows to be opened; and those condemned to
inhale the pestilential vapor of the room vainly
sought to counteract them by every powerful
fumigation.  Alas, madam, what is a king when he
can no longer grasp the sceptre?  How great a
leveller is death!  The prelates abandoned the sick
chamber, and left a simple curé of the chapel to
take their place;  the lords in waiting and other
officers shrunk from the duties of their office,
and with their eyes fixed on a time-piece eagerly
awaited the hour which should free them from it.
 The princesses, who perceived this impatience,
durst make no complaint, while the king, occasionally
recovering his senses, uttered broken sentences,
expressive of the religious terror which had seized
his mind.  At length, at a few minutes past three
o'clock, Lemonnier, in his capacity of first
physician, said, after laying his hand upon the
heart of the patient, and placing a glass before
his lips, 'The king is dead.' At these words all
present strove with indecent haste to quit the
chamber; not a single sigh, not one regret was
heard.  The princesses were carried insensible
to their apartments.

"The extinction of a <bougie> which had been
placed in a certain window, announced the accession
of the dauphin ere the duc d'Aumont had informed
him of the decease of his august grandsire."

This letter wrung from me some bitter tears, as well for the king,
who had so lavishly bestowed his affections upon me, as for
myself.  What would now be my fate?  Alas!  I knew not; all my
brilliant prospects were buried in the coffin of my late protector.

The duc d'Aiguillon arrived at Ruel about midnight; he, as well
as the other ministers who had been about the late monarch during
his last illness, being prohibited by etiquette from following the
present monarch to Choisy, whither the whole of the royal family
had retired for a few days.  He told us that the duc d'Aumont,
having commanded La Martinière to proceed with the embalming of
the royal corpse, that physician replied, "Certainly, my lord,
it shall be done if you command it, but, in that case, the duties
of your office compel you to receive his majesty's bowels in a
golden dish; and I protest, that such is the state of the body,
that of all who may assist at the operation, not one will survive
eight days.  It is for your grace to determine what shall be done."

M. d'Aumont thought no more of embalming his late master, but
gave orders for the body being immediately placed in a leaden
coffin, from which here still issued frightful effluvia.

Up to the moment of my quitting Ruel madame de Mirepoix gave me
no token of recollection: I heard that herself and the prince de
Beauvau were reconciled, and for her sake I rejoiced at it.  No
person came near us the whole of the day with the exception of
M. de Cossé, and I sat in hourly expectation of some order from
court.  At length we descried a travelling carriage with six
horses, proceeding at a rapid pace up the avenue.  "I know that
livery," exclaimed I; " 'tis that of my humble adorer, my
obsequious slave, my friend at court, the duc de la Vrillière,
commonly called <le petit saint>.  You see that the good soul
could not delegate to another the pleasing task of arresting me;
but permit me to retire to my apartment; it is fitting he should
seek me there if he has any communication to make to me."  The
duchess, approved my resolution; and the duc de la  Vrillière
having been introduced into the salon, after the first compliments,
requested to see me, that he might acquaint me with the
king's pleasure.

Mademoiselle du Barry undertook to inform me of the duke's arrival.

"You were not mistaken, dear sister," said she; "the duc de la
Vrillière is the bearer of the king's orders respecting you: but
compose yourself, I beseech you."

"Fear not," said I; "I am as calm as you would have me.  Tell
the vile dissembler, I mean the duke, I await him"

M. Tartuffe was but a faint copy of <le petit saint> as he presented
himself before me.  His manners still retained part of their former
servility, but there was a lurking smile about him, which proved
how well he was pleased with the part he had to perform.

He approached me with lingering steps and an air of mysterious
importance, while a sort of sardonic grin contradicted the sorrow
he endeavored to force into his countenance.  For my own part,
I caused the folding-doors to be thrown open, and advancing
ceremoniously, stood to receive the orders of the king.  I bowed
stiffly and silently; and, with something like a malicious
satisfaction, I witnessed the embarrassment into which my cool
and collected manner threw him.

"Madam," said he at last, "I have a painful duty to perform: in a
word, I am the bearer of a <lettre de cachet>."

 "Well, sir!  "said I, tranquilly.

"Madam, I must request you to believe how greatly I regret the
task imposed upon me; but my duty and obedience to the king--"

"Would enable you to strangle your nearest relative.  All that is
 well known; but, in the name of all that is base, cowardly, and
unmanly, could no one but <you> be found to remind a distressed
and afflicted woman that she has lost her only friend and support?"

"Madam, I repeat, obedience--necessity--"

"Enough, sir; I pity you."

 "Madam, you outrage the king in my person."

"No, sir; I respect the king too highly to believe that there could
ever be any relation between him and one who is too contemptible
to remind me that he was but a few days back the most cringing
of my servile slaves."

<Le petit saint>, boiling with rage, with an unsteady hand,
unfolded and read, in a trembling voice, the following words:

"MADAME LA COMTESSE Du Barry,--For reasons,
which have for their object the preservation of
the tranquillity of my kingdom, and the prevention
of any state secrets confided to you being
promulgated, I send this order for your immediate
removal to <Pont aux Dames>, accompanied by one
female attendant only, and under the escort of the
exempt who has the necessary orders.  This measure
is by no means intended to be either disagreeable
or of long duration.  I therefore pray God to have
you in his holy keeping,

"(Signed)	Louis."  

"That, madam," continued the duke, " is his majesty's pleasure,
and you have nothing to do but to submit."

"Your advice was not asked, my lord," returned I; "I honor and
obey the king's slightest wish, but your presence is no longer
requisite; you will therefore be pleased to rid me of it."

The duke, resuming his air of mock humility, bowed low, and
departed.

When I was alone, I must confess a few tears escaped me, but I
soon wiped them away; my resolution was taken.

The duchesse d'Aiguillon and my female friends hastened to question
me relative to the duke's visit.  I showed them the <lettre
de cachet>, which confirmed the misfortune they had suspected
from seeing Hamond, who was to be my escort, waiting in the
anteroom to conduct me to the abbey of <Pont aux Dames>, near
Meaux, the place of my exile.  They all evinced the utmost sorrow,
and both Chon and my niece protested that with the king's permission,
they would willingly attend me in my seclusion.  I felt grateful
for this mark of attachment; then sending for the exempt, I
inquired whether I might be allowed sufficient time to write a
letter, and cause a few necessary preparations to be made?
"Madam, I replied he, "my only orders are to accompany you
to <Pont aux Dames>, the hour of departure is left to yourself."

I then penned a few hasty lines to the king, indicative of my
wishes for the happiness and prosperity of his reign, of my ready
obedience to his commands, and of my earnest wishes that my
sister-in-law and niece might be permitted to visit me.  This
letter I was promised should be punctually delivered.  I had now
the painful duty to perform of choosing between Henriette and
Geneviève, as only one attendant was allowed me at <Pont aux
Dames>.  Henriette pleaded her claim as my servant, while the
excellent Geneviève timidly urged her early friendship.

"Let chance decide it," cried I.  They drew lots, and Geneviève
was selected.

We reached Pont aux Dames in the middle of the night; it was a
miserable looking place, which took its date from the time of
Saint Louis or Charlemagne for ought I know.  What a contrast
met my eyes between this ruinous old building, its bare walls,
wooden seats, and gloomy casements, and the splendor of Versailles
or Choisy; all my firmness forsook me, I threw myself weeping
into the arms of Geneviève.

A courier-had announced my intended arrival, and I found all the
good sisters impatient to see me.  What eager curiosity did the
pious nuns evince to behold one of whom they had heard so much
even in their quiet retreat, and how many questions had I to reply
to from those who had the courage to address me.  Alas!  I, of
all the throng assembled, was the most anxious for quiet and solitude.

I was lodged in the best apartments, which, however magnificent
the good people of <Pont aux Dames> might consider them, were
not on a par with the granaries of Lucienne.  But complaint was
useless, and I could only resign myself to what was offered me.





End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Memoirs of the Comtesse du Barry

