"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.
Unpublished letter of Voltaire to madame du Barry—Reply of the countess—The maréchale de Mirepoix—Her first interview with madame du Barry—Anecdote of the diamonds of madame de Mirepoix—The king pays for them—Singular gratitude of the maréchale—The portfolio, and an unpublished letter of the marquise de Pompadour
By the way in which the king continued to speak to me of M. de Voltaire, I clearly saw how right the duke was in advising me to read the letter myself before I showed it to my august protector. I could not read it until the next day, and found it conceived in the following terms:—
"MADAME LA COMTESSE:—I feel myself urged by an extreme desire to have an explanation with you, after the receipt of a letter which M. the duc d'Aiguillon wrote to me last year. This nobleman, nephew of a gentleman, as celebrated for the name he bears as by his own reputation, and who has been my friend for more than sixty years, has communicated to me the pain which had been caused you by a certain piece of poetry, of my writing as was stated, and in which my style was recognised. Alas! madame, ever since the most foolish desire in the world has excited me to commit a great deal of idle trash to paper, not a month, a week, nay, even a day passes in which I am not accused and convicted of some great enormity; that is to say, the malicious author of all sorts of turpitudes and extravagancies. Eh! mon Dieu, the entire life-time of ten men would not be sufficient to write all with which I am charged, to my unutterable despair in this world, and to my eternal damnation in that which is to come.
"It is no doubt, much to die in final impenitence; altho' hell may contain all the honest men of antiquity and a great portion of those of our times; and paradise would not be much to hope for if we must find ourselves face to face with messieurs Fréron, Nonatte, Patouillet, Abraham Chauneix, and other saints cut out of the same cloth. But how much more severe would it be to sustain your anger! The hatred of the Graces brings down misfortune on men of letters; and when he embroils himself with Venus and the Muses he is a lost being; as, for instance, M. Dorat, who incessantly slanders his mistresses, and writes nothing but puerilities.
"I have been very cautious, in my long career, how I committed such a fault. If perchance I have lightly assailed the common cry of scribblers or pendants who were worthless, I have never ceased to burn incense on the altars of the ladies; them I have always sung when I—could not do otherwise. Independently, madame, of the profound respect I bear all your sex I profess a particular regard towards all those who approach our sovereign, and whom he invests with his confidence: in this I prove myself no less a faithful subject than a gallant Frenchman; and I venerate the God I serve in his constant friendships as I would do in his caprices. Thus I was far from outraging and insulting you still more grievously by composing a hateful work which I detest with my whole heart, and which makes me shed tears of blood when I think that people did not blush to attribute it to me.
"Believe in my respectful attachment, madame, no less than in my cruel destiny, which renders me odious to those by whom I would be loved. My enemies, a portion of whom are amongst yours, certainly succeed each other with frightful eagerness to try my wind. Now they have just published under my name some attacks on the poor president Henault, whom I love with sincere affection. What have they not attributed to me to inculpate me with my friends, with my illustrious protectors, M. le maréchal duc de Richelieu and their majesties the king of Prussia and the czarina of Russia!
"I could excuse them for making war upon strangers in my name, altho' that would be a pirate's method; but to attack, under my banner, my master, my sovereign lord, this I can never pardon, and I will raise against them even a dying voice; particularly when they strike you with the same blows; you, who love literature; you, who do me the honor to charge your memory with my feeble productions. It is an infamy to pretend that I fire on my own troops.
"Under any circumstances, madame, I am before you in a very delicate situation. There is in Versailles a family which overwhelms me with marks of their friendship. Mine ought to appertain to it to perpetuity; yet I learn that it is so unfortunate as to have no conception of your merit, and that envious talebearers place themselves between you and it. I am told that there is a kind of declared war; it is added, that I have furnished supplies to this camp, the chiefs of which I love and esteem. More wise, more submissive, I keep myself out of the way of blows; and my reverence for the supreme master is such, that I turn away my very eyes that they may not be spectators of the fight.
"Do not then, madame, think that any sentiment of affection has compelled, or can compel me to take arms against you. I would refuse any proposition which should rank me as hostile to you, if the natural generosity of your enemies could so far forget it. In reality they are as incapable of ordering a bad action as I am of listening to those who should show themselves so devoid of sense as to propose such a thing to me.
"I am persuaded that you have understood me, and I am fully cleared in your eyes. It would be delightful to me to ascertain this with certainty. I charge M. le maréchal duc de Richelieu to explain to you my disquietude on this head, and the favor I seek at your hands, from you who command France, whilst I, I ought to die in peace, not to displease any person, and live wisely with all. I conclude, madame la comtesse, this long and stupid epistle, which is, in fact, less a letter than a real case for consideration, by begging you to believe me, etc., "VOLTAIRE
"Ferney, April 28, 1769. Gentleman in ordinary to the king.
"P. S. My enemies say everywhere that I am not a Christian. I have just given them the lie direct, by performing my Easter devotions (mes paques) publicly; thus proving to all my lively desire to terminate my long career in the religion in which I was born; and I have fulfilled this important act after a dozen consecutive attacks of fever, which made me fear I should die before I could assure you of my respect and my devotion."
This apology gave me real pleasure. I pretended to believe the sincerity of him who addressed me, altho' he had not convinced me of his innocence; and I wrote the following reply to M. de Voltaire, which a silly pride dictates to me to communicate to you, in conjunction with the letter of the philosopher:
"MONSIEUR:—Even were you culpable from too much friendship towards those you cherish, I would pardon you as a recompense for the letter you address to me. This ought the more to charm me, as it gives me the certainty that you had been unworthily calumniated. Could you have said, under the veil of secrecy, things disagreeable to a great king, for whom, in common with all France, you profess sincere love? It is impossible. Could you, with gaiety of heart, wound a female who never did you harm, and who admires your splendid genius? In fact, could those you call your friends have stooped so low as not to have feared to compromise you, by making you play a part unworthy of your elevated reputation? All these suppositions were unreasonable: I could not for a moment admit them, and your two letters have entirely justified you. I can now give myself up without regret to my enthusiasm for you and your works. It would have been too cruel for me to have learnt with certainty that he whom I regarded as the first writer of the age had become my detractor without motive, without provocation. That it is not so I give thanks to Providence.
"M. the duc d'Aiguillon did not deceive you when he told you that I fed on your sublime poetry. I am in literature a perfect novice, and yet am sensible of the true beauties which abound in your works. I am to be included amongst the stones which were animated by Amphion: this is one of your triumphs; but to this you must be accustomed.
"Believe also that all your friends are not in the enemy's camp. There are those about me who love you sincerely, M. de Chauvelin, for instance, MM. de Richelieu and d'Aiguillon: this latter eulogizes you incessantly; and if all the world thought as he does, you would be here in your place. But there are terrible prejudices which my candor will not allow me to dissemble, which you have to overcome. There is one who complains of you, and this one must be won over to your interests. He wishes you to testify more veneration for what he venerates himself; that your attacks should not be so vehement nor so constant. Is it then impossible for you to comply his wishes in this particular? Be sure that you only, in setting no bounds in your attacks on religion, do yourself a vast mischief with the person in question.
"It will appear strange that I should hold such language to you: I only do it to serve you: do not take my statements unkindly. I have now a favor to ask of you; which is, to include me in the list of those to whom you send the first fruits of the brilliant productions of your pen. There is none who is more devoted to you, and who has a more ardent desire to convince you of this.
"I am, monsieur le gentilhomme ordinaire, with real attachment, etc."
I showed this letter to M. de Richelieu.
"Why," he inquired, "have you not assured him as to your indiscretion, which he fears?"
"Because his fear seemed to me unjust, and I leave you to represent me to him as I am; and now," I added, "it does not appear to me necessary for the king to know anything of this."
"You think wisely, madame; what most displeased him was to see madame de Pompadour in regular correspondence with M. de Voltaire."
I have related to you this episode of my history, that it may recompense you for the tiresome details of my presentation. I resume my recital. I told you that M. de Maupeou had told me that he would endeavor to bring madame la maréchale de Mirepoix, and introduce her to me, trusting to the friendship she had evinced for madame de Pompadour during the whole time of the favor and life of her who preceded me in the affections of Louis XV. I found, to my surprise, that he said nothing to me concerning it for several days, when suddenly madame la maréchale de Mirepoix was announced.
At this name and this title I rose quite in a fluster, without clearly knowing what could be the object of this visit, for which I was unprepared. The maréchale, who followed closely on the valet's heels, did not give me time for much reflection. She took me really a l'improviste, and I had not time to go and meet her.
"Madame la maréchale," said I, accosting her, "what lucky chance brings you to a place where the desire to have your society is so great?"
"It is the feeling of real sympathy," she replied, with a gracious smile; "for I also have longed for a considerable time to visit you, and have yielded to my wishes as soon as I was certain that my advances would not be repulsed."
"Ah, madame.," said I, "had you seriously any such fear? That tells me much less of the mistrust you had of yourself than of the bad opinion you had conceived of me. The honor of your visits—"
"The honor of my visits! That's admirable! I wish to obtain a portion of your friendship, and to testify to the king that I am sincerely attached to him."
"You overwhelm me, madame," cried I, much delighted, "and I beg you to give me your confidence."
"Well, now, all is arranged between us: I suit you and you please me. It is long since I was desirous of coming to you, but we are all under the yoke of the must absurd tyranny: soon we shall have no permission to go, to come, to speak, to hold our tongues, without first obtaining the consent of a certain family. This yoke has wearied me; and on the first word of the chancellor of France I hastened to you."
"I had begged him, madame, to express to you how much I should be charmed to have you when the king graced me with his presence. He likes you, he is accustomed to the delights of your society; and I should have been deeply chagrined had I come here only to deprive him of that pleasure."
"He is a good master," said the maréchale, "he is worthy of all our love. I have had opportunities of knowing him thoroughly, for I was most intimate with madame de Pompadour; and I believe that my advice will not be useless to you."
"I ask it of you, madame la maréchale, for it will be precious to me."
"Since we are friends, madame," said she, seating herself in a chair, "do not think ill of me if I establish myself at my ease, and take my station as in the days of yore. The king loves you: so much the better. You will have a double empire over him. He did not love the marquise, and allowed himself to be governed by her; for with him—I ask pardon of your excessive beauty—custom does all. It is necessary, my dear countess, to use the double lever you have, of your own charms and his constant custom to do to-morrow what he does to-day because he did it yesterday, and for this you lack neither grace nor wit."
I had heard a great deal concerning madame de Mirepoix; but I own to you, that before I heard her speak I had no idea what sort of a person she would prove. She had an air of so much frankness and truth, that it was impossible not to be charmed by it. The greater part of the time I did not know how to defend myself from her—at once so natural and so perfidious; and occasionally I allowed myself to love her with all my heart, so much did she seem to cherish me with all enthusiasm. She had depth of wit, a piquancy of expression, and knew how to disguise those interested adulations with turns so noble and beautiful that I have never met, neither before nor since, any woman worthy of being compared with her. She was, in her single self, a whole society; and certainly there was no possibility of being wearied when she was there. Her temper was most equable, a qualification rarely obtained without a loss of warmth of feeling. She always pleased because her business was to please and not to love; and it always sufficed her to render others enthusiastic and ardent. Except this tendency to egotism, she was the charm of society, the life of the party whom she enlivened by her presence. She knew precisely when to mourn with the afflicted, and joke with the merry-hearted. The king had much pleasure in her company: he knew that she only thought how to amuse him; and, moreover, as he had seen her from morning till evening with the marquise de Pompadour, her absence from my parties was insupportable to him, and almost contrary to the rules of etiquette at the château.
I cannot tell you how great was his satisfaction, when, at the first supper which followed our intimacy, he saw her enter. He ran to meet her like a child, and gave a cry of joy, which must have been very pleasing to the maréchale.
"You are a dear woman," he said to her, with an air which accorded with his words, "I always find you when I want you; and you can nowhere be more in place than here. I ask your friendship for our dear countess."
"She has it already, sire, from the moment I saw her; and I consider my intimacy with her as one of the happiest chances of my life."
The king showed the utmost good humor in the world during the rest of the evening. He scolded me, however, for the mystery I had made in concealing from him the agreeable visit of the maréchale. I justified myself easily by the pleasure which this surprise caused him; and, on my side, gave my sincere thanks to the chancellor.
"You owe me none," said he; "the good maréchale felt herself somewhat ill at ease not to be on close terms with her who possesses the affections of the king. It is an indispensable necessity that she should play a part in the lesser apartments; and as the principal character no longer suits her, she is contented to perform that of confidante, and ran here on my first intimation."
"Never mind the motive that brought her," I said; "she is a companion for me much more desirable than madame de Bearn."
"First from her rank," said the chancellor, smiling maliciously, "and then by virtue of her cousinship with the Holy Virgin."
I confess that I was ignorant of this incident in the house of Levi; and I laughed heartily at the description of the picture, in which one of the lords of this house is represented on his knees before the mother of God, who says to him, "Rise, cousin"; to which he replies, "I know my duty too well, cousin." I took care, however, how I joked on this point with the maréchale, who listened to nothing that touched on the nobility of the ancestors of her husband or on those of her own family.
Great had been the outcry in the palace against the duc de la Vauguyon and madame de Bearn, but how much louder did it become on the defection of the marquise de Mirepoix. The cabal was destroyed; for a woman of rank and birth like the maréchale was to me a conquest of the utmost importance. The princesse de Guémenée and the duchesse de Grammont were wofully enraged. This they manifested by satirical sneers, epigrams, and verses, which were put forth in abundance. All these inflictions disturbed her but little; the main point in her eyes was to possess the favor of the master; and she had it, for he felt that he was bound to her by her complaisance.
He was not long in giving her an unequivocal proof of his regard. The duc de Duras asked her, in presence of the king and myself, why she did not wear her diamonds as usual.
"They are my representatives," was her reply.
"What do you mean by representatives?" said I.
"Why, my dear countess, they are with a Jew instead of my sign-manual. The rogue had no respect for the word of a relation of the Holy Virgin and the daughter of the Beauvau. I was in want of thirty thousand francs; and to procure it I have given up my ornaments, not wishing to send to the Jew the old plate of my family, altho' the hunks wanted it."
We all laughed at her frankness, and the gaiety with which she gave this statement, but we went no further; to her great regret, no doubt, for I believe that the scene had been prepared between her and M. de Duras, either to let her profit in time of need, or else that she wished to pluck a feather from our wing. When I was alone with the king, he said,
"The poor maréchale pains me; I should like to oblige her and think I will give her five hundred louis."
"What will such a petty sum avail her? You know what she wants; either send her the whole or none. A king should do nothing by halves."
Louis XV answered me nothing; he only made a face, and began to walk up and down the room. "Ah," said I, "this excellent woman loves your majesty so much, that you ought to show your gratitude to her, were it only to recompense her for her intimacy with me."
"Well, you shall carry her the sum yourself, which Lebel shall bring you from me. But thirty thousand francs, that makes a large pile of crown-pieces."
"Then I must take it in gold."
"No, but in good notes. We must not, even by a look, intimate that she has sold her visits to us. There are such creatures in the world!"
The next morning Lebel brought me a very handsome rose-colored portfolio, embroidered with silver and auburn hair: it contained the thirty thousand francs in notes. I hastened to the maréchale. We were then at Marly.
"What good wind blows you hither?" said madame de Mirepoix.
"A royal gallantry," I replied; "you appeared unhappy, and our excellent prince sends you the money necessary to redeem your jewels."
The eyes of the lady became animated, and she embraced me heartily. "It is to you that I owe this bounty of the king."
"Yes, partly, to make the present entire; he would only have given you half the sum."
"I recognize him well in that he does not like to empty his casket. He would draw on the public treasury without hesitation for double the revenue of France, and would not make a division of a single crown of his own private peculium."
I give this speech verbatim; and this was all the gratitude which madame de Mirepoix manifested towards Louis XV. I was pained at it, but made no remark. She took up the portfolio, examined it carefully, and, bursting into a fit of laughter, said, while she flung herself into an arm-chair,
"Ah! ah! ah! this is an unexpected rencontre! Look at this portfolio, my dear friend: do you see the locks with which it is decorated? Well, they once adorned the head of madame de Pompadour. She herself used them to embroider this garland of silver thread; she gave it to the king on his birthday. Louis XV swore never to separate from it, and here it is in my hands."
Then, opening the portfolio, and rummaging it over, she found in a secret pocket a paper, which she opened, saying, "I knew he had left it."
It was a letter of madame de Pompadour, which I wished to have, and the maréchale gave me it instantly; the notes remained with her. I copy the note, to give you an idea of the sensibility of the king.
"SIRE,—I am ill; dangerously so, perhaps. In the melancholy feeling which preys upon me, I have formed a desire to leave you a souvenir, which will always make me present to your memory. I have embroidered this portfolio with my own hair; accept it; never part with it. Enclose in it your most important papers, and let its contents prove your estimation of it. Will you not accord my prayer? Sign it, I beseech you; it is the caprice, the wish of a dying woman."
Beneath it was written,
"This token of love shall never quit me. Louis."
Conversation of the maréchale de Mirepoix with the comtesse du Barry on court friendship—Intrigues of madame de Bearn—Preconcerted meeting with madame de Flaracourt—-Rage of madame de Bearn—Portrait and conversation of madame de Flaracourt with the comtesse du Barry—Insult from the princesse de Guémenée—Her banishment—Explanation of the king and the duc de Choiseul relative to madame du Barry—The comtesse d'Egmont
However giddy I was I did not partake in the excessive gaiety of madame de Mirepoix. I was pained to see how little reliance could be placed on the sensibility of the king, as well as how far I could esteem the consideration of the maréchale for madame de Pompadour, from whom she had experienced so many marks of friendship. This courtier baseness appeared to me so villainous, that I could not entirely conceal how I was affected with displeasure. Madame de Mirepoix saw it, and, looking at me attentively, said,
"Do you feel any desire to become pathetical in the country we live in? I warn you that it will be at your own expense. We must learn to content ourselves here with appearances, and examine nothing thoroughly."
"'There is then no reality?" said I to her.
"Yes," she answered me, "but only two things, power and money: the rest is 'leather and prunella' (contes bleus): no person has time to love sincerely; it is hatred only that takes deep root and never dies. To hope to give birth to a real passion, an Orestean and Pyladean friendship, is a dream from which you must be awakened."
"Then you do not love me?"
"You ask me a very awkward question, my darling, I can tell you. I do love you, and very much, too: I have proved it by ranging myself on your side, and by declaring, with the utmost frankness, that I would rather see you in the situation in which you are, than any other woman of the court. But there is a long space between this and heroical friendship: I should deceive you if I were to affirm the contrary, and there would be no common sense in giving faith to my words. Every one has too much business, too much intrigue, too many quarrels on hand, to have any leisure to think of others: every one lives for himself alone. Mesdames de Guémenée and de Grammont appear very intimate: that is easily explained, they unite against a common enemy. But were your station left vacant, no sooner would the king have thrown the apple to one of them, but the other would detest her instantly."
Contrary to custom I made no reply: I was absorbed in painful reflections to which this conversation had given rise. The maréchale perceived it, and said,
"We should fall into philosophy if we probed this subject too deeply. Let us think no more of this: besides, I have a new defection to tell you of. Madame de Flaracourt told me yesterday that she much regretted having misunderstood you, and that you were worth more than all those who persecute you. She appeared to me disposed to ally herself to you for the least encouragement which you might be induced to hold out to her."
"You know very well," I replied, "that I am willing to adopt your advice. The house of Flaracourt is not to be despised, and I ask no better than to be on amicable terms with the lady."
"Well, then, come this morning and walk in the grove nearest the pavilion, I shall be there with madame de Flaracourt: we will meet by chance, compliments will follow, and the alliance will be formed."
The maréchale and I had scarcely separated when madame de Bearn was announced. This lady besieged me night and day. Gifted with a subtle and penetrating spirit—that talent which procures advancement at court, she saw, with pain, that I sought to attract other females about me: she would fain have remained my only friend, that she might, unopposed, influence me in all I did. She saw, therefore, the appearance of madame de Mirepoix in my drawing-room with uneasiness: her bad humor was sufficiently apparent to attract the notice of the maréchale, who laughed at it: her social position as a titled woman, and the king's friendship, giving her confidence that her credit would always exceed that of my godmother.
Madame de Bearn was compelled to submit to the ascendancy of the maréchale, but yet did not the less relax in her efforts to keep from me all other female society, she hoped that at last the king would distinguish her, and call her into his intimacy as my friend; she was not more fond of the comtesse d'Aloigny, altho' the nullity of this lady need not have alarmed her much. For me, I began to resent the irksomeness of having incessantly at my side a person who manifested too openly her desire to compel me to submit to her wishes, and I waited, to secure my freedom, only until the circle of females I could admit to my society should be extended.
Such were our reciprocal feelings during our stay at Marly. The madame de Bearn watched me with more care than at Versailles, fearing, no doubt, that the freedom of the country might facilitate connections prejudicial to her interests. Little did she anticipate on this day the stroke which was in preparation for her. I asked her spitefully to take a turn with me into the park, and I took care not to announce the meeting which we had arranged.
Behold us then walking this way and that, quite by chance, without however going any distance from the pavilion. Madame de Bearn, not liking the vicinity of the château, was desirous to go into the wood. I declined this under vain excuses, when suddenly madame de Mirepoix and madame de Flaracourt appeared at the end of a very short walk.
"Let us turn this way," said the countess to me, "here comes one of our enemies, whom it would be as well to avoid."
"Why turn away?" I replied; "she is alone, we are two, and then the maréchale de Mirepoix is not opposed to us."
Saying this, I advanced towards them. Madame de Flaracourt appeared very gracious: I replied to her advances with due politeness, and instead of separating, we continued to walk about together. Madame de Bearn saw clearly that chance was not the sole cause of this meeting: she dissembled as well as she could. I afterwards learnt that she owed me a spite, particularly for the mystery which I had made of this occurrence. The marked silence, and the sullen air she assumed during this interview, and which her sense and knowledge of the world should have prevented her from manifesting, proved to me, on this occasion, as on many other others, that temper cannot always be conquered, and that at times it will burst forth in spite of the experience and caution of the courtier.
I did not give myself much trouble on this subject: I had well recompensed the good offices of the countess: I had ample proof that in serving me she had acted on the impulse of self-interest: we were quits, I thought, and I saw no reason why I should remain isolated just to serve her pleasure.
When we returned to my apartments I saw plainly, by her mutterings, her sighs, and the shrugging of her shoulders, that she was deeply irritated at what had just taken place. She was desirous of provoking an explanation, but as that could only tend to her disadvantage, she contented herself with leaving me earlier than her usual want, without saying anything disagreeable. Her custom was not to leave me alone, and her abrupt departure confirmed me in the idea I had imbibed, that this sort of comedy had much thwarted her.
In the course of the same day I received a visit from the comtesse de Flaracourt. This lady, whose sparkling eyes shone with an air of mischief, presented herself to me with an appearance of openness and confidence which completely cloaked the malignity and treachery of her character. She threw her arms round my neck with as much grace as tenderness, and taking my hand, as if to arrest my attention, said:
"I ought, madame, to explain to you the delay that I have made before I introduce myself to you, as well as the promptitude of this my first visit. I was prejudiced against you, and had formed a false estimate of you. My liaison with mesdames d'Egmont, de Brionne, and de Grammont naturally placed me in the rank opposed to you: so much for what has passed. But I have seen you: I have studied you at a distance, as well as close, and I have recognised, without difficulty, the injustice of your enemies. I have been enraged with myself for having been deceived regarding you: I wish to repair my wrongs. Enlightened by the opinion of the maréchale de Mirepoix, I have not hesitated to approach you under her auspices, and our first meeting has so happily furnished me with an opportunity of appreciating you, that I would not delay any longer the pleasure of making you a personal avowal of my past sentiments, and of those with which you now inspire me."
The tone in which madame de Flaracourt uttered these words was so gracious and so persuasive, that I could not resist the pleasure of embracing her. She returned my kiss with the same eagerness, and would not listen to my thanks.
"All is explained between us," she continued, "let us forget the past, and let us do as if meeting for the first time to-day; we henceforward date this as the first of our acquaintance."
"The affability with which you have presented yourself to me," I replied, "does not permit me to believe that I have only known you from this morning; I am in an illusion which will only allow me to look on our recent alliance as an ancient friendship."
After having exchanged some conversation of the same tenor, we talked of my situation as regarded the other females of the court.
"They hate you for two reasons," said the countess: "in the first place, because you have made a conquest which all the world envies you; secondly because you are not one of us. There is not one family who can lean on you in virtue of the rights of blood, or alliances which stand instead of it. You have superseded a woman who more than any other could have a claim to your good fortune: she is sister to the prime minister, who has in her train, like Lucifer, more than a third part of heaven, for all the courtiers hang on her brother.
"On the other hand, we are not accustomed to remain so long in opposition to the will of the king. Such a resistance is not natural to us; it weighs upon us, it harms us, the favor of our master being our chief good. We are only something thro' him, and when combatting against him we have neither the courage nor the perseverance. Thus you may be very certain that the majority of women who oppose you do it against the grain: and if you add to this that they are incessantly exposed to the murmurs and complaints of their husbands, sons, brothers, and lovers, you will easily be convinced that they only aspire to finding a means of reconciling the regard they owe to the Choiseuls and the terror which they inspire, with the desire they have to seek your protection and the friendship of the king. The cabal only flies on one wing, and I cannot divine its situation at the commencement of the next winter. Do not disquiet yourself any more with what it can do: keep yourself quiet; continue to please the 'master,' and you will triumph over the multitude as easily as you have conquered the resistance of mesdames."
Such was the language of the comtesse de Flaracourt: it agreed, as you will perceive, with that of madame de Mirepoix, and I ought the more to believe it, as it was the fruit of their experience and profound knowledge of court manners. Their example proved to me, as well as their words, that all those who approached the king could not bear for a long time the position in which he placed those whom he did not look upon with pleasure. However, Louis XV evinced more plainly from day to day the ascendancy I had over his mind. He assisted publicly at my toilet, he walked out with me, left me as little as possible, and sought by every attention to console me for the impertinences with which my enemies bespattered me. The following anecdote will prove to you how little consideration he had for those persons who dared to insult me openly.
One day at Marly, I entered the drawing-room; there was a vacant seat near the princesse de Guémenée, I went to it, and scarcely was seated when my neighbor got up, saying, "What horror!" and betook herself to the further end of the room. I was much confused: the offence was too public for me to restrain my resentment, and even when I wished to do so the thing was scarcely possible. The comte Jean, who had witnessed it, and my sisters-in-law, who learnt it from him, were enraged. I was compelled to complain to the king, who instantly sent the princesse de Guémenée an order to quit Marly forthwith, and betake herself to the princesse de Marsan, gouvernante of the children of the royal family of France, of whose post she had the reversion.
Never did a just chastisement produce a greater effect. The outcry against me was louder than ever, it seemed as tho' the whole nobility of France was immolated at "one fell swoop." To have heard the universal clamor, it would have been thought that the princess had been sent to the most obscure prison in the kingdom. This proof of the king's regard for me did much mischief, no doubt, as it furnished my enemies with a pretext to accuse me of a vindictive spirit. Could I do otherwise? Ought I to have allowed myself to be overwhelmed with impunity, and was it consistent with the dignity of my august protector, that I should be insulted thus openly by his subjects, his courtiers, his guests, even in the private apartments of his palace?
However, this wrath of the nobility did not prevent the Choiseul family from experiencing a feeling of fright. They had just received a signal favor. The government of Strasbourg, considered as the key of France and Alsace, had been given in reversion to the comte de Stainville, brother of the duc de Choiseul. Certainly this choice was a very great proof of the indulgence of the king, and the moment was badly chosen to pay with ingratitude a benefit so important. This did not hinder the duchesse de Grammont, and all the women of her house, or who were her allies, from continuing to intrigue against me. It was natural to believe that the king would not permit such doing for a long time, and that should he become enraged at them, that I should attempt to soothe his anger.
Matters were in this state, when one morning, after his accustomed routine, the duc de Choiseul requested a private audience of the king. "I grant it this moment," said the prince, "what have you to say to me?"
"I wish to explain to your majesty how excessively painful is the situation in which I am placed with regard to some of the members of my family. All the females, and my sister at their head, attack me about a quarrel which is strange to me, and with which I have declared I would not meddle."
"You do well, monsieur le duc," said the king, with cool gravity, "I am much vexed at all that is going on, and have resolved not to suffer it any longer."
The decision of this discourse made a deep impression M. de Choiseul: he sought to conceal it whilst he replied:
"It is difficult, sire, to make women listen to reason."
"All are not unreasonable," rejoined the king: "your wife, for instance, is a model of reason and wisdom: she has perfect control of herself. She is the wise woman of scripture."
This flattery and justly merited eulogium, which the king made of the duchess whenever he found an opportunity, was the more painful to M. de Choiseul, as his conduct was not irreproachable towards a woman whose virtues he alone did not justly appreciate. It was a direct satire against his sister's conduct, whose ascendancy over him, her brother, the king well knew. He replied that the good behavior of his wife was the safeguard of his family, and he greatly regretted that the duchesse de Grammont had not a right to the same eulogium.
"I beg you," said the prince, "to engage her to change her language, and to conduct herself with less boldness, if she would not have me force her to repent."
"That, sire, is a mission painful to fulfil, and words very hard to convey to her."
"So much the worse for her," replied the king, elevating his voice, "if she bear any friendship for you, let her prove it in this particular: your interests should keep her mouth shut."
The duke had no difficulty to comprehend the indirect menace implied: he instantly renewed his regrets for the disagreeable disturbances that had occurred.
"Add insulting," said Louis XV. "I am content with you and your services, duke. I have just proved this to you, by giving your brother more than he could expect from me; but have not I the right to have my intimacies respected? It appears to me that if you spoke more decidedly in your family you would command more attention."
"This makes me fear, sire, that your majesty does not believe me sincere in my expression of the regret which I just took the liberty to utter to your majesty."
"Mon Dieu, monsieur le duc, you certainly do not like madame du Barry."
"I neither like nor hate her, sire; but I see with trouble that she receives at her house all my enemies."
"Whose fault is that if it be so? Your own; you, who would never visit her; she would have received you with pleasure, and I have not concealed from you the satisfaction I should have experienced."
These last words made the duke start, his eyes became animated. After a moment's reflection he said to the king,
"Sire, is it indispensably necessary for the service of the state that I endeavor to attain the good-will of madame la comtesse du Barry?"
"No."
"Well, then, sire, allow matters to remain as they are. It would cost me much to quarrel with my whole family, the more so as this sacrifice is not useful to you, and would in no wise alter my position with your majesty."
However painful to the king such a determination might be, he did not allow the duke to perceive it; he dissembled the resentment he felt, and contented himself with saying,
"Duc de Choiseul, I do not pretend to impose chains on you; I have spoken to you as a friend rather than as a sovereign. Now I return to what was said at first, and accept with confidence the promise you make me not to torment a lady whom I love most sincerely."
Thus ended a conversation from which the duke, with a less haughty disposition, might have extracted greater advantages and played a surer game. It was the last plank of safety offered in the shipwreck which menaced him. He disdained it: the opportunity of seizing it did not present itself again. I doubt not but that if he would have united himself freely and sincerely with me I should not have played him false. Louis XV, satisfied with his condescension in my behalf, would have kept him at the head of his ministry: but his pride ruined him, he could not throw off the yoke which the duchesse de Grammont had imposed on him: he recoiled from the idea of telling her that he had made a treaty of peace with me, and that was not one of the least causes of his disgrace.
The journey to Marly gave birth to a multitude of intrigues of persons who thought to wrap themselves up in profound mystery, and all whose actions we knew. The police were very active about the royal abodes, especially since the fatal deed of the regicide Damiens. To keep them perpetually on the watch, they were ordered to watch attentively the amours of the lords and ladies of the court.
The daughter of the duc de Richelieu, the comtesse d'Egmont, whose age was no pretext for her follies, dearly liked low love adventures. She used to seek them out in Paris, when she could find none at Versailles. She was not, however, the more indulgent towards me. This lady was not always content with noble lovers, but sought them in all classes, and more than once, simple mortals, men of low order, obtained preference over demi-gods. Her conduct in this respect was the result of long experience. She used to go out alone, and traverse the streets of Paris. She entered the shops, and when her eye rested on a good figure, having wide shoulders, sinewy limbs, and a good looking face, she then called up all the resources of her mind to form and carry on an intrigue, of which the consequences, at first agreeable to him who was the object of it, terminated most frequently fatally. The following adventure will give you an idea of the talent of madame d'Egmont in this way, and how she got rid of her adorers when she had exhausted with them the cup of pleasure.
Intrigue of the comtesse d'Egmont with a shopman—His unhappy fate—The comtesse du Barry protects him—Conduct of Louis XV upon the occasion—The young man quits France—Madame du Barry's letter to the comtesse d'Egmont—Quarrel with the maréchal de Richelieu
The comtesse d'Egmont was one day observed to quit her house attired with the most parsimonious simplicity; her head being covered by an enormously deep bonnet, which wholly concealed her countenance, and the rest of her person enveloped in a pelisse, whose many rents betrayed its long service. In this strange dress she traversed the streets of Paris in search of adventures. She was going, she said, wittily enough, "to return to the cits what her father and brother had so frequently robbed them of." Chance having led her steps to the rue St. Martin, she was stopped there by a confusion of carriages, which compelled her first to shelter herself against the wall, and afterwards to take refuge in an opposite shop, which was one occupied by a linen-draper.
She looked around her with the eye of a connoisseur, and perceived beneath the modest garb of a shopman one of those broad-shouldered youths, whose open smiling countenance and gently tinged complexion bespoke a person whose simplicity of character differed greatly from the vast energy of his physical powers: he resembled the Farnese Hercules upon a reduced scale. The princess approached him, and requested to see some muslins, from which she selected two gowns, and after having paid for them, requested the master of the shop to send his shopman with them, in the course of half an hour, to an address she gave as her usual abode.
The comtesse d'Egmont had engaged an apartment on the third floor of a house in the rue Tiquetonne, which was in the heart of Paris. The porteress of the dwelling knew her only as madame Rossin: her household consisted of a housekeeper and an old man, both devoted to a mistress whose character they well understood, and to whom they had every motive to be faithful.
Here it was, then, that the lady hastened to await the arrival of the new object of her plebeian inclinations. Young Moireau (for such was the shopman's name) was not long ere he arrived with his parcel. Madame d'Egmont was ready to receive him: she had had sufficient time to exchange her shabby walking dress for one which bespoke both coquetry and voluptuousness; the softness of her smile, and the turn of her features announced one whose warmth of passions would hold out the most flattering hopes of success to him who should seek her love.
Madame Rossin and the young shopman were soon engaged in conversation, further animated by the bright glances sent direct from the eyes of madame to the unguarded heart of her admiring visitor. Emboldened by the graciousness of her manner, he presumed to touch her fair hand: the lady, in affected anger, rose, and commanded him to quit the house. The terrified youth fell at her feet, imploring pardon for his boldness, and then hastily quitted the room ere the feigned madame Rossin could pronounce the forgiveness he demanded. "The fool," was (doubtless) the princess's exclamation, "had he been brought up at court he would have conducted himself very differently."
This silliness of proceeding was, however, far from being displeasing to the princess: on the contrary, it seemed to increase her determination to prosecute the adventure. Accordingly, on the following day she hastened to resume her former walking dress, and in it to take the road which led to the rue St. Martin, and again to present herself as a customer at the linen-draper's shop. This time she purchased cloth for chemises. Indescribable and unspeakable was the joy of young Moireau, when, after having served the mistress of his thoughts, he heard her request of his master to allow the goods she had selected to be sent to her residence; and equally was he surprised that she omitted to name him as the person she wished should convey them. Nevertheless, as may be imagined, Moireau obtained possession of the parcel, and was soon on his way to the rue Tiquetonne, where he found the lady more languishing and attractive than before; and soon they were deep in the most earnest and interesting conversation. Moireau, who now saw that his boldness was not displeasing to the lady, became more and more presuming: true, his overtures were refused, but so gently, that it only fanned his flame; nor was it till after reiterated prayers that he succeeded in obtaining her promise to meet him on the following Sunday. The princess, like a skilful manoeuvrer, reckoned upon the additional violence his ardor would receive from this delay. The affection with which she had inspired him would only gain strength by thus deferring the day for their next meeting, whilst he would have time to meditate upon the virtue as well as the charms of her he had won.
The long looked for Sunday at length arrived, and Moireau was first at the place of rendezvous. His simple dress augmented his natural good looks, whilst the countess had spared no pains to render her appearance calculated to captivate and seduce. All reserve was thrown aside; and to satisfy the eager curiosity of her lover, she stated herself to be the widow of a country lawyer, who had come to Paris to carry on a lawsuit. It would be useless to follow the princess during the further course of this meeting. Suffice it to say, that Moirreau and madame d'Egmont separated mutually happy and satisfied with each other.
The youth, who was now ages gone in love, had only reached his twenty-second year, and madame Rossin was his first attachment. So ardent and impetuous did his passion hourly grow, that it became a species of insanity. On the other hand, the high-born dame, who had thus captivated him, felt all the attractions of his simple and untutored love, further set off by the fine manly figure of the young shopman. Indeed, so much novelty and interest did she experience in her new amour, that, far from finding herself, as she had expected, disposed to relinquish the affair (as she had anticipated) at the end of two or three interviews, which she had imagined would have satisfied her capricious fancy, she put off, to an indefinite period, her original project of ending the affair by feigning a return to the country.
This resolution, however, she did not feel courage to carry into effect; and two or three months rolled rapidly away without any diminution of their reciprocal flame, when one fine Sunday evening Moireau, whose time hung heavily on his hands, took it into his head to visit the opera. This species of amusement constitutes the ne plus ultra of the delights of a French cit. Moireau seated himself in the pit, just opposite the box of the gentlemen in waiting. The performance was "Castor and Pollux." At the commencement of the second act a sudden noise and bustle drew Moireau from the contemplative admiration into which the splendor of the piece had thrown him. The disturbance arose from a general move, which was taking place in the box belonging to the gentlemen in waiting. Madame d'Egmont had just arrived, attended by four or five grand lords of the court covered with gold, and decorated with the order of the Holy Ghost, and two ladies richly dressed, from whom she was distinguished as much by the superior magnificence of her attire as by her striking beauty.
Moireau could not believe his eyes; he felt assured he beheld madame Rossin, yet he fancied he must be under the influence of some fantastic dream; but every look, every gesture of the princess, a thousand trifles, which would have escaped the notice of a common observer, but which were engraved in indelible characters on the heart of her admirer, all concurred to assure him that he recognised in this lovely and dazzling female, so splendidly attired and so regally attended, the cherished mistress of his affections; she whom that very morning he had held in his embrace. He addressed a thousand questions to those about him, from whom he learnt his own good fortune and the exalted rank of her he had won. Scarcely could he restrain the burst of joy, when informed that the fair object, glittering with jewels and radiant in beauty, was the daughter of Richelieu, and the wife of one of the princes of the noble houses of Egmont.
A thousand tumultuous and flattering ideas rushed in crowds to the brain of young Moireau, and he saw in anticipation a long and brilliant vista opening before him. Poor inexperienced youth! He mistook the wisest and safest path, which would have been to have appeared ignorant of the high rank of his mistress, and to have induced her, from motives of affection, to preside over his fortunes, and to rise by her means without allowing her to suspect he guessed her ability to bestow riches and preferment. He, on the contrary, hastened to her with the account of his having discovered her real rank and station. Madame d'Egmont, whose self-possession enabled her to conceal the terror and uneasiness his recital inspired her with, listened calmly and silently till he had ceased speaking, and then asked him, with a playful smile, if he was quite sure of being in his right senses? "For how otherwise could you," said she, "confuse a poor obscure widow like myself with the rich and powerful princess you speak of? My friend, you are under the influence of a dream; believe me, I am neither more nor less than poor widow Rossin, and can boast of no claim to the illustrious name of Egmont or Richelieu."
But the more she spoke the less she persuaded, and young Moireau was not to be reasoned out of his conviction of her identity with the high-born princess of Egmont, and he alternately employed threats and promises to induce her to confess the fact; but the lady was firm and immovable. Resolved at all risk to preserve her incognito, she found herself compelled to bring the affair to a conclusion, by feigning extreme anger at the pertinacity with which Moireau importuned her upon a subject which she protested she knew nothing: her lover retaliated, and a desperate quarrel ensued. Moireau rushed angrily from her presence, vowing that he would publish his adventure thro'out Paris; an empty threat, which his devotion to the princess would never have permitted him to carry into execution.
Madame d'Egmont, however, was not so sure that her secret was safe, and she lost not an instant in repairing to the house of M. de Sartines, to obtain from him a lettre de cachet against the aspiring shopman, who, seized in the street, was conveyed away, and confined as a maniac in a madhouse, where, but for a circumstance you shall hear, he would doubtless be still.
I happened to be with the king when the lieutenant of police arrived upon matters connected with his employment. According to custom, Louis inquired whether he had anything very amusing to communicate to him? "Many things, sire," replied he, "and amongst others an anecdote of madame d'Egmont"; and he began to relate to us, word for word, what I have written you. The king laughed till he cried; as for me, altho' I could not help finding the tale sufficiently comic to induce risibility, I listened with more coolness; and when it was completed, I exclaimed,
"Can it be, sire, that you will permit this unfortunate young man to be the eternal victim of so unprincipled a woman?"
"What would you have me do?" said Louis; "how can I interfere without compromising the reputation of madame d'Egmont?"
"Allow me to say," replied I, "that this fear ought not to prevent your majesty's interference. You are father of your subjects; and the respect you entertain for madame d'Egmont should not outweigh your duty, which imperatively calls upon you to command the release of this wretched young man."
"But," argued the king, "by such a step I shall for ever disoblige the duc de Richelieu and his family."
"Fear it not," cried I, "if your majesty will trust to me, I will undertake to bring the maréchal and his nephew to approve of your proceedings; and as for the rest of his family, let them go where they will; for the empire of the world I should be sorry to bear them company."
This manner of speaking pleased the king; and, turning to M. de Sartines, "Lieutenant of police," said he, "you have heard my fair chancellor; you will act in strict conformity with the orders she will transmit you from me."
"Then take these orders now, sir," said I: "in the first place, this ill-treated young Moireau must immediately be set at liberty, and my own police (for I must tell you I had them) will give me the faithful account of all your proceedings in this affair."
The king comprehended my meaning. "You will keep a careful watch," added he to M. de Sartines, "that no harm befalls this unfortunate youth, whom, I beg, you will discreetly recommend to quit France ere the malice of those who have reason to fear his reappearance works him some evil."
"And who, sire," asked I, "shall dare injure one whom your majesty deigns to honor with your protection?"
"Madame," replied M. de Sartines, "even his majesty's high patronage cannot prevent a secret blow from some daring hand; a quarrel purposely got up; a beverage previously drugged; a fall from any of the bridges into the river; or, even the supposition of one found dead, having destroyed himself."
"You make me shudder," said I, "in thus unveiling the extent of human depravity. So, then, this young man, whose only fault appears to have been that captivating the eyes of a noble lady, should perish in a dungeon, or save his life at the sacrifice of country, friends, connections; and all this for having listened to the passion of a woman, as licentious in manners as illustrious by birth: this frightful injustice rouses all my indignation. Well, then, since the power of the monarch of France is insufficient to protect his oppressed subject in his own realms, let him shield him from want in a foreign land, by allowing him a pension of one hundred louis. I will take upon myself to defray the expenses of his journey."
Thus saying, I was hastening to the adjoining room, where stood my secretaire, to take from it a thousand crowns I wished to give for the purpose. The king held me back by my arm, saying to me,
"You are the most excellent creature I know of, but you see I am always master. I will undertake to provide for this young man. M. de Sartines," pursued he, "I wish to secure to him a thousand crowns yearly; and, further, you will supply him with six thousand francs ready money, which M. de la Borde will repay to your order. Now are you satisfied, Couci?" said the king, turning to me.
My only reply was to throw my arms around his neck without ceremony, spite of the presence of a witness, who might blush at my familiarity. "You are indeed," said I, "a really good prince; it is only a pity you will not assert your right to rule alone."
"You are a little rebel," cried he, "to doubt my absolute power." This tone of playful gaiety was kept up some time after the departure of the lieutenant of police.
M. de Sartines returned next day to tell me that everything had been accomplished to my desire. "M. Moireau," said he, "has left prison, and departs for Spain to-morrow morning: his intention is to join some friends of his at Madrid. He is informed of all he owes you, and entreats your acceptance of his most grateful and respectful acknowledgments. Will you see him?"
"That would be useless," answered I; "say to him only, that I request he will write to me upon his arrival at Madrid, and give me the history of his late adventure in its fullest details."
Moireau did not disappoint me; and so soon as his letter reached me I hastened to copy it, merely suppressing the date of the place from which it was written, and forwarded it immediately to the comtesse d'Egmont, with the following note:—
"The many proofs of tender attachment with which the widow Rossin honored young Moireau make me believe that she will learn with pleasure of my having the good fortune to rescue the ill-fated youth from the cruelty of the comtesse d'Egmont. This interesting young man no longer groans a wretched prisoner in the gloomy abode that haughty lady had selected for him, but is at this minute safe in a neighboring kingdom, under the powerful patronage of king of France, who is in possession of every circumstance relative to the affair. I likewise know the whole of the matter, and have in my keeping the most irrefragable proofs of all that took place and should I henceforward have any reason to complain of the comtesse d'Egmont, I shall publish these documents with permission of those concerned.
"The public will then be enabled to judge of the virtue and humanity of one who affects to treat me with a ridiculous disdain. There exists no law against a fair lady having lovers and admirers, but a stern one forbids her to command or procure their destruction. I KNOW ALL; and madame d'Egmont's future conduct will decide my silence and discretion. The affair with Moireau is not the only one, others of even a graver sin preceded it. I can publish the whole together; and, I repeat, my determination on this head depends wholly and entirely upon the manner in which madame d'Egmont shall henceforward conduct herself towards me. I beg madame de Rossin will allow me to subscribe myself, with every feeling she so well, merits,
"Her very humble and most obedient servant,