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. 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.
CONTENTS
[ DETAILED TABLE OF CONTENTS ]
[ SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY ROBERT ARNOT ]
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 comtesseCHAPTER 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 ofCHAPTER 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—FavorCHAPTER 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 friendshipsCHAPTER 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 glassCHAPTER 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 SoubiseCHAPTER 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 SartinesCHAPTER VIII
The sieur Ledoux—The lettre de cachet—The duc de la
Vrillière—Madame de Langeac—M. de Maupeou—Louis XV—The comte JeanCHAPTER 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’sCHAPTER 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 GrammontCHAPTER 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 reconciliationCHAPTER 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 kingCHAPTER 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 BerchenyCHAPTER 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 MirepoixCHAPTER 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 VoltaireCHAPTER 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 PompadourCHAPTER 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’EgmontCHAPTER 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 RichelieuCHAPTER 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 SenlisCHAPTER 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 countessCHAPTER 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 LagardeCHAPTER 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 XVCHAPTER 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
BarryCHAPTER 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 intrigueCHAPTER XXV
Madame du Barry succeeds in alienating Louis XV from the duc 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 BarryCHAPTER 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 ministryCHAPTER 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 replyCHAPTER 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’AiguillonCHAPTER 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—MadameCHAPTER 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 BarryCHAPTER 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 livresCHAPTER 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 bishopCHAPTER 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—ReconciliationCHAPTER 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 BoncaultCHAPTER 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 ParisCHAPTER 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 strangerCHAPTER 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 councilCHAPTER 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 MirepoixCHAPTER 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 surgeonCHAPTER 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 BarryCHAPTER 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 VersaillesCHAPTER 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 disclosureCHAPTER 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 JeanCHAPTER 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 ForcalquierCHAPTER XLV
The duc d’Aiguillon’s first letter—The maréchale de Mirepoix—A second
letter from the duc d’Aiguillon—Numerous visitorsA 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?”
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.
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 toilette again prepared to lend their aid; and from this moment I had a regular establishment of attendants appointed for my use.
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 Richelieu 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 duc; 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.”
“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.”
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.”
The presentation of the comtesse? Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! they were not so squeamish in the days of madame de Pompadour.”
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, “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.”