“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.”