“Mademoiselle de Choiseul arrived at the same moment, and we told Madame de Rochechouart what had taken place. She appeared most indignant. ‘And who said such a thing?’ she inquired. We absolutely refused to tell her. Thereupon Madame de Rochechouart, who did not wish to commit herself with Mademoiselle de Choiseul, said: ‘I have withdrawn myself from the world, and events of this kind do not reach us; but tell me which member of your family you wish me to write to, who may be able to give you some explanations.’ Mademoiselle de Choiseul named her aunt, the Duchesse de Gramont.[66]
“Madame de Rochechouart accordingly wrote to her: she came the next day, and Mademoiselle de Choiseul having told her the cause of her trouble, Madame de Gramont replied: ‘I do not wish to deceive you; you are now growing up and cannot be left in a state of ignorance that might lead you to make injudicious remarks. It is quite true that your mother’s misconduct has obliged her family to place her in a convent. You have a sister[67] who has been brought up in another convent, and who is coming to be with you at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. Your demeanour towards the pupils must be sufficiently authoritative to prevent any one broaching the subject in future, and above all, have no confidantes. You can easily imagine that this is not an agreeable topic of conversation for your father; do not therefore mention it to him, unless he be the first to speak to you.’
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul asked if she would not be allowed to write to her mother. Madame de Gramont said that she could not take upon herself to give her that permission, but that she would speak of it to her family.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul came and told me all this, and we agreed that we would appear to have forgotten what had taken place, and that if the others referred to it we should show our displeasure.”
Unfortunately, Mademoiselle de Lévis’s cruel gossip was but too well-founded, and the romantic adventures of Madame de Stainville, especially the final catastrophe, had created a great scandal.
When the Duc de Choiseul became war minister (at the death of the Maréchal de Belle-Isle) he had his brother, the Comte Jacques de Choiseul-Stainville, named lieutenant-general. The Count had no fortune; his family, wishing to secure for him a brilliant match, turned their thoughts to Mademoiselle Thérèse de Clermont-Revel, who was a great heiress, and endowed with a charming presence. The Duke cleverly conducted the negotiations, and the marriage was decided upon. The Count was nearly forty years old, his betrothed was only fifteen, and had never seen her future husband. He obtained leave of absence, came to Paris, and six hours after his arrival the marriage was celebrated.[68]
The young Comtesse de Stainville was presented in society by her sister-in-law, the Duchesse de Choiseul, and created quite a sensation. She danced like an angel, and shone with grace and beauty. It was easy to suppose that before long she would receive attentions from the most fashionable men. Contemporary memoirs even pretend that her brother-in-law, the Duc de Choiseul, dared to hazard a declaration, which was badly received. It is said that Lauzun fared better, but this passing fancy was shortly superseded by another sentiment. It is well known how actors were then run after in society. Their conquests were innumerable. At that time Clairval was the actor most in vogue, and the favourite of all the ladies. He united to undoubted talent a handsome face, an elegant figure, and a natural audacity which nothing could check. He was not long in perceiving the impression that he had made on Madame de Stainville, and determined to risk all and take advantage of it. A lady’s-maid and a footman were taken into the secret, and Madame de Stainville even went so far as to receive Clairval at her own residence.[69]
Some time passed: Madame de Stainville gave birth to a second daughter, and nothing foreshadowed the scandal that was about to take place; but the intimacy between Clairval and the Countess was gradually becoming known; the Duchesse de Gramont was the first to hear of it. She hated her young sister-in-law, and was not slow to inform her brother of the rumours which till then he had ignored.
The Count was away on military service with the army, and was to return to be present at an entertainment in which all Paris was interested. The Maréchale de Mirepoix was preparing a wonderful fancy ball at the hôtel de Brancas. National dances were to be performed by twenty-four gentlemen and by as many ladies, in Chinese and Indian costumes. These were being rehearsed for the last week. “The guilty and unfortunate Madame de Stainville,” says Madame du Deffand, “had Prince d’Hénin for a partner, and was present every day at these rehearsals. On Tuesday, two days before the ball, all the dancers were entertained at a supper given by the Duchesse de Valentinois; it was noticed that Madame de Stainville seemed very dejected and constantly had tears in her eyes. Her husband had arrived that morning.” On the following day, Wednesday,[70] at three o’clock in the morning, Madame de Stainville was carried off in a post-chaise and conducted by her husband in person to the Convent of the Filles de Sainte Marie at Nancy. The Count had easily obtained a lettre de cachet through his brother, the Duke, and his wife was confined for the rest of her life. He returned her all her fortune, and had a trustee appointed, who was authorised to give the Countess everything she required, but not a farthing in money. A sum was devoted to his daughters’ maintenance, and the remainder of her income put under sequestration for their benefit.
The lady’s-maid was sent to the Salpetrière and the footman to Bicêtre, as a punishment for having aided in the affair. It was generally considered that M. de Stainville had inflicted on his wife a chastisement of unheard-of severity. In those days of easy morality it was not the custom to consider this sin as an unpardonable offence, and the beautiful Madame de Stainville excited a universal feeling of pity. It was even said that the Count’s mistress, a young and charming actress at the opera, notified to him on his return from Nancy that she would never see him again, for fear of being taken for an accomplice in such an iniquitous proceeding.[71]