It is only fair to Lauraguais to say that, very soon after this was written, he gave the lie to the rumour that Sophie’s liaison with Bertin had been nothing but an ingenious speculation on the part of that lady, by refunding to his discomfited rival all that he had disbursed on her behalf, so that, in the end, the financier “lost nothing except the most charming woman in Paris.”
The second stage of the liaison between Sophie and Lauraguais was not less stormy than the first; in fact, it might quite as appropriately be called a renewal of hostilities as a renewal of love. A week or two of bliss, and then their quarrels recommenced, more frequent and more violent than before. After what had passed, the count felt that he had the right to be suspicious, and he took the fullest advantage of it. Almost every day there were angry accusations, indignant denials, bitter reproaches, and floods of tears, followed by apologies, vows of amendment, and reconciliation. Never was there a more singular pair of lovers. They seem to have been perpetually separating and coming together again, for, though life with one another was intolerable, they were even more unhappy apart; while if any misfortune happened to befall either of them, however strained their relations at the time might be, all grievances were straightway forgotten. An instance of this occurred towards the end of the following year.
The practice of inoculation for the small-pox, which had been introduced into England by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu early in the eighteenth century, had hitherto made but little progress in France, notwithstanding the fact that it had had several distinguished advocates, including Voltaire and Jean Jacques Rousseau. Towards the year 1763, however, a strong movement in its favour took place, in consequence of which the Parliament of Paris, on the requisition of the Advocate-General, Joly de Fleury, passed a decree prohibiting inoculation until the Faculties of Medicine and Theology should have pronounced a definite opinion on the subject.
The decree roused the indignation of Lauraguais, who was one of the warmest supporters of the innovation, and his indignation vented itself in a Mémoire sur l’inoculation, wherein M. Joly de Fleury was very roughly handled. This memoir he read before the Académie des Sciences, of which he was a member, and demanded permission to print it. The Academy at first demurred, but ultimately gave its consent, on the understanding that the references to the Advocate-General should be expunged. Apparently this condition was not observed, for the publication of the memoir was followed by an acrimonious correspondence, ending with a lettre de cachet, which directed that M. le Comte de Lauraguais should be conveyed to Metz and imprisoned in the citadel during his Majesty’s pleasure.[27]
On learning of the arrest of her lover, Sophie was in despair. She closed her salon and put on mourning. The few friends who were permitted to intrude upon her sorrow found her dissolved in tears, and went about declaring that nothing so pathetic had ever been seen before. The Abbé de Voisenon wrote to the imprisoned count, describing in touching language the actress’s grief, and felicitating him on having found a faithful mistress at the Opera; a piece of good fortune, said the abbé, so remarkable that it ought to go far to console him for his captivity:
“Ne te plains pas de ton malheur,
Du cœur de La Vallière il te fournit la preuve,
On assure qu’Arnould se souvient d’être veuve
Et que de sa constance elle fait son bonheur.”
Lauraguais’s family and friends did everything in their power to procure his release; but both Louis XV. and Choiseul had come to regard that nobleman as a public nuisance, and turned a deaf ear to their appeals. And so the count remained for some four months at Metz, and might have remained a good deal longer, had not a fortunate chance enabled Sophie to intervene on his behalf.
On November 2, the opera of Dardanus was played before the Court, at Fontainebleau, Sophie taking the part of the heroine Iphise, one of her most successful impersonations. On this occasion she appears to have surpassed herself, and even the bored King was moved to something like admiration. Profiting by the impression she had created, without waiting to doff the robes of Iphise, she begged for a few minutes’ conversation with the Duc de Choiseul, and, throwing herself at his feet, besought him to release her lover. “The heart of the gallant and all-powerful Minister was touched, and he had not the courage to refuse to this beautiful and tearful Iphise the return of her Dardanus.”[28]
Lauraguais returned more infatuated than ever. Gratitude had redoubled his love for his mistress; never had she appeared to him more adorable. Declaring that it was his intention to consecrate to her alone the liberty which he owed to her, he installed himself at Sophie’s house, as in the early days of their liaison, and refused even to see his unfortunate wife, whom he unjustly suspected of having been a trifle lukewarm in her efforts to obtain his release. This was a little too much for the endurance even of that long-suffering lady, and, soon afterwards, she sought and obtained a judicial separation.
His few months’ imprisonment at Metz would appear to have exercised a chastening effect upon the volatile count, as, for the next three or four years, though quarrels were still of frequent occurrence, there was no open rupture between the lovers. During this period, two more children were born to them: a son, Antoine Constant, who subsequently entered the army, rose to be colonel of a regiment of cuirassiers, and was killed at the battle of Wagram; and a daughter, Alexandrine Sophie, of whom we shall have something to say later on.