SECTION I

An early friend of mine, who married well at Paris, and who has

the reputation of being a very clever woman, has often asked

me to write down what daily passed under my notice; to please

her, I made little notes, of three or four lines each, to recall

to my memory the most singular or interesting facts; as, for

instance--_attempt to assassinate the King; he orders Madame

de Pompadour to leave the Court; M. de Machault's ingratitude_,

etc. I always promised my friend that I would, some time or other,

reduce all these materials into the form of a regular narrative.

She mentioned the "Recollections of Madame de Caylus," which were,

however, not then printed; and pressed me so much to produce a

similar work, that I have taken advantage of a few leisure moments

to write this, which I intend to give her, in order that she may

arrange it and correct the style. I was for a long time about

the person of Madame de Pompadour, and my birth procured for me

respectful treatment from herself, and from some distinguished

persons who conceived a regard for me. I soon became the intimate

friend of Doctor Quesnay, who frequently came to pass two or

three hours with me.

His house was frequented by people of all parties, but the number

was small, and restricted to those who were on terms of greatest

intimacy with him. All subjects were handled with the utmost

freedom; and it is infinitely to his honour and theirs that nothing

was ever repeated.

The Countess D---- also visited me. She was a frank and lively

woman, and much liked by Madame de Pompadour. The Baschi family

paid me great attention. M. de Marigny had received some little

services from me, in the course of the frequent quarrels between

him and his sister, and he had a great friendship for me. The

King was in the constant habit of seeing me; and an accident,

which I shall have occasion to relate, rendered him very familiar

with me. He talked without any constraint when I was in the room.

During Madame de Pompadour's illness I scarcely ever left her

chamber, and passed the night there. Sometimes, though rarely,

I accompanied her in her carriage with Doctor Quesnay, to whom

she scarcely spoke a word, though he was a man of great talents.

When I was alone with her, she talked of many affairs which nearly

concerned her, and she once said to me, "The King and I have such

implicit confidence in you, that we look upon you as a cat, or

a dog, and go on talking as if you were not there." There was a

little nook, adjoining her chamber, which has since been altered,

where she knew I usually sat when I was alone, and where I heard

everything that was said in the room, unless it was spoken in a

low voice. But when the King wanted to speak to her in private,

or in the presence of any of his Ministers, he went with her into

a closet, by the side of the chamber, whither she also retired

when she had secret business with the Ministers, or with other

important persons; as, for instance, the Lieutenant of Police,

the Postmaster-General, etc. All these circumstances brought to

my knowledge a great many things which probity will neither allow

me to tell or to record. I generally wrote without order of time,

so that a fact may be related before others which preceded it.

Madame de Pompadour had a great friendship for three Ministers;

the first was M. de Machault, to whom she was indebted for the

regulation of her income, and the payment of her debts. She gave

him the seals, and he retained the first place in her regard till

the attempt to assassinate the King. Many people said that his

conduct on that occasion was not attributable to bad intentions;

that he thought it his duty to obey the King without making himself

in any way a party to the affair, and that his cold manners gave

him the appearance of an indifference which he did not feel.

Madame de Pompadour regarded him in the light of a faithless

friend; and, perhaps, there was some justice on both sides. But

for the Abbé de Bernis, M. de Machault might, probably, have

retained his place.

The second Minister, whom Madame de Pompadour liked, was the

Abbé de Bernis. She was soon disgusted with him when she saw

the absurdity of his conduct. He gave a singular specimen of

this on the very day of his dismissal. He had invited a great

many people of distinction to a splendid entertainment, which was

to have taken place on the very day when he received his order

of banishment, and had written in the notes of invitation--_M. Le

Comte de Lusace will be there_. This Count was the brother of

the Dauphine, and this mention of him was deservedly thought

impertinent. The King said, wittily enough, "_Lambert and Molière

will be there_." She scarcely ever spoke of the Cardinal de Bernis

after his dismissal from the Court.

He was extremely ridiculous, but he was a good sort of man. Madame,

the Infanta, died a little time before, and, by the way, of such a

complication of putrid and malignant diseases, that the Capuchins

who bore the body, and the men who committed it to the grave,

were overcome by the effluvia. Her papers appeared no less impure

in the eyes of the King. He discovered that the Abbé de Bernis

had been intriguing with her, and that they had deceived him,

and had obtained the Cardinal's hat by making use of his name.

The King was so indignant that he was very near refusing him the

_barrette_. He did grant it--but just as he would have thrown

a bone to a dog. The Abbé had always the air of a protégé when

he was in the company of Madame de Pompadour. She had known him

in positive distress. The Duc de Choiseul was very differently

situated; his birth, his air, his manners, gave him claims to

consideration, and he far exceeded every other man in the art

of ingratiating himself with Madame de Pompadour. She looked

upon him as one of the most illustrious nobles of the Court,

as the most able Minister, and the most agreeable man. M. de

Choiseul had a sister and a wife, whom he had introduced to her,

and who sedulously cultivated her favourable sentiments towards

him. From the time he was Minister, she saw only with his eyes;

he had the talent of amusing her, and his manners to women,

generally, were extremely agreeable.

Two persons--the Lieutenant of Police and the

Postmaster-General--were very much in Madame de Pompadour's

confidence; the latter, however, became less necessary to her

from the time that the King communicated to M. de Choiseul the

secret of the post-office, that is to say, the system of opening

letters and extracting matter from them: this had never been

imparted to M. d'Argenson, in spite of the high favour he enjoyed.

I have heard that M. de Choiseul abused the confidence reposed in

him, and related to his friends the ludicrous stories, and the

love affairs contained in the letters which were broken open.

The plan they pursued, as I have heard, was very simple. Six

or seven clerks of the post-office picked out the letters they

were ordered to break open, and took the impression of the seals

with a ball of quicksilver. Then they put each letter, with the

seal downwards, over a glass of hot water, which melted the wax

without injuring the paper. It was then opened, the desired matter

extracted, and it was sealed again, by means of the impression. This

is the account of the matter I have heard. The Postmaster-General

carried the extracts to the King on Sundays. He was seen coming

and going on this noble errand as openly as the Ministers. Doctor

Quesnay often, in my presence, flew in such a rage about that

_infamous_ Minister, as he called him, that he foamed at the

mouth. "I would as soon dine with the hangman as with the

Postmaster-General," said the Doctor. It must be acknowledged

that this was astonishing language to be uttered in the apartments

of the King's mistress; yet it went on for twenty years without

being talked of. "It was probity speaking with earnestness,"

said M. de Marigny, "and not a mere burst of spite or malignity."

The Duc de Gontaut was the brother-in-law and friend of M. de

Choiseul, and was assiduous in his attendance on Madame de Pompadour.

The sister of M. de Choiseul, Madame de Grammont, and his wife

were equally constant in their attentions. This will sufficiently

account for the ascendency of M. de Choiseul, whom nobody would

have ventured to attack. Chance, however, discovered to me a

secret correspondence of the King, with a man in a very obscure

station. This man, who had a place in the Farmers General, of

from two to three hundred a year, was related to one of the young

ladies of the Parc-aux-cerfs, by whom he was recommended to the

King. He was also connected in some way with M. de Broglie, in

whom the King placed great confidence. Wearied with finding that

this correspondence procured him no advancement, he took the

resolution of writing to me, and requesting an interview, which

I granted, after acquainting Madame de Pompadour with the

circumstance. After a great deal of preamble and of flattery,

he said to me, "Can you give me your word of hour, and that of

Madame de Pompadour, that no mention whatever of what I am going

to tell you will be made to the King?" "I think I can assure you

that, if you require such a promise from Madame de Pompadour,

and if it can produce no ill consequence to the King's service,

she will give it you." He gave me his word that what he requested

would have no bad effect; upon which I listened to what he had to

say. He shewed me several memorials, containing accusations of

M. de Choiseul, and revealed some curious circumstances relative

to the secret functions of the Comte de Broglie. These, however,

led rather to conjectures than to certainty, as to the nature

of the services he rendered to the King. Lastly, he shewed me

several letters in the King's handwriting. "I request," said he,

"that the Marquise de Pompadour will procure for me the place

of Receiver-General of Finances; I will give her information

of whatever I send the King; I will write according to her

instructions, and I will send her his answers." As I did not

choose to take liberties with the King's papers, I only undertook

to deliver the memorials. Madame de Pompadour having given me

her word according to the conditions on which I had received

the communication, I revealed to her everything I had heard.

She sent the memorials to M. de Choiseul, who thought them very

maliciously and very cleverly written. Madame de Pompadour and

he had a long conference as to the reply that was to be given

to the person by whom those disclosures were made. What I was

commissioned to say was this: that the place of Receiver-General

was at present too important, and would occasion too much surprise

and speculation; that it would not do to go beyond a place worth

fifteen thousand to twenty thousand francs a year; that they

had no desire to pry into the King's secrets; and that his

correspondence ought not to be communicated to anyone; that this

did not apply to papers like those of which I was the bearer,

which might fall into his hands; that he would confer an obligation

by communicating them, in order that blows aimed in the dark,

and directed by malignity and imposture, might be parried. The

answer was respectful and proper, in what related to the King;

it was, however, calculated to counteract the schemes of the

Comte de Broglie, by making M. de Choiseul acquainted with his

attacks, and with the nature of the weapons he employed. It was

from the Count that he received statements relating to the war

and to the navy; but he had no communication with him concerning

foreign affairs, which the Count, as it was said, transacted

immediately with the King. The Duc de Choiseul got the man who

spoke to me recommended to the Controller-General, without his

appearing in the business; he had the place which was agreed

upon, and the hope of a still better, and he entrusted to me

the King's correspondence, which I told him I should not mention

to Madame de Pompadour, according to her injunctions. He sent

several memorials to M. de Choiseul, containing accusations of

him, addressed to the King. This timely information enabled him

to refute them triumphantly.

The King was very fond of having little private correspondences,

very often unknown to Madame de Pompadour: she knew, however,

of the existence of some, for he passed part of his mornings in

writing to his family, to the King of Spain, to Cardinal Tencin,

to the Abbé de Broglie, and also to some obscure persons. "It

is, doubtless, from such people as these," said she to me, one

day, "that the King learns expressions which perfectly surprise

me. For instance, he said to me yesterday, when he saw a man

pass with an old coat on, '_il y a là un habit bien examiné._'

He once said to me, when he meant to express that a thing was

probable, '_il y a gros_'; I am told this is a saying of the common

people, meaning, _il y a gros à parier_." I took the liberty to

say, "But is it not more likely from his young ladies at the

Parc, that he learns these elegant expressions?" She laughed,

and said, "You are right; _il y a gros_." The King, however,

used these expressions designedly, and with a laugh.

The King knew a great many anecdotes, and there were people enough

who furnished him with such as were likely to mortify the self-love

of others. One day, at Choisy, he went into a room where some

people were employed about embroidered furniture, to see how

they were going on; and looking out of the window, he saw at

the end of a long avenue two men in the Choisy uniform. "Who

are those two noblemen?" said he. Madame de Pompadour took up

her glass, and said, "They are the Duc d'Aumont, and ----." "Ah!"

said the King; "the Duc d'Aumont's grandfather would be greatly

astonished if he could see his grandson arm in arm with the grandson

of his _valet de Chambre_, L----, in a dress which may be called

a patent of nobility!" He went on to tell Madame de Pompadour a

long history, to prove the truth of what he said. The King went

out to accompany her into the garden; and, soon after, Quesnay

and M. de Marigny came in. I spoke with contempt of some one who

was very fond of money. At this the Doctor laughed, and said,

"I had a curious dream last night: I was in the country of the

ancient Germans; I had a large house, stacks of corn, herds of

cattle, a great number of horses, and huge barrels of ale; but I

suffered dreadfully from rheumatism, and knew not how to manage to

go to a fountain, at fifty leagues' distance, the waters of which

would cure me. I was to go among a strange people. An enchanter

appeared before me, and said to me, 'I pity your distress; here,

I will give you a little packet of the powder of _prelinpinpin_;

whoever receives a little of this from you will lodge you, feed

you, and pay you all sorts of civilities.' I took the powder,

and thanked him." "Ah!" said I, "how I should like to have some

powder of _prelinpinpin!_ I wish I had a chest full." "Well,"

said the Doctor, "that powder is _money_, for which you have so

great a contempt. Tell me who, of all the men who come hither,

receives the greatest attentions?" "I do not know," said I. "Why,"

said he, "it is M. de Monmartel, who comes four or five times a

year." "Why does he enjoy so much consideration?" "Because his

coffers are full of the powder of _prelinpinpin_. Everything in

existence," said he, taking a handful of louis from his pocket,

"is contained in these little pieces of metal, which will convey

you commodiously from one end of the world to the other. All men

obey those who possess this powder, and eagerly tender them their

services. To despise money, is to despise happiness, liberty, in

short, enjoyments of every kind." A _cordon bleu_ passed under

the window. "That nobleman," said I, "is much more delighted with

his _cordon bleu_ than he would be with ten thousand of your

pieces of metal." "When I ask the King for a pension," replied

Quesnay, "I say to him, 'Give me the means of having a better

dinner, a warmer coat, a carriage to shelter me from the weather,

and to transport me from place to place without fatigue.' But

the man who asks him for that fine blue ribbon would say, if

he had the courage and the honesty to speak as he feels, 'I am

vain, and it will give me great satisfaction to see people look

at me, as I pass, with an eye of stupid admiration, and make

way for me; I wish, when I enter a room, to produce an effect,

and to excite the attention of those who may, perhaps, laugh

at me when I am gone; I wish to be called _Monseigneur_ by the

multitude.' Is not all this mere empty air? In scarcely any country

will this ribbon be of the slightest use to him; it will give him

no power. My pieces of metal will give me the power of assisting

the unfortunate everywhere. Long live the omnipotent powder of

_prelinpinpin!_" At these last words, we heard a burst of laughter

from the adjoining room, which was only separated by a door from

the one we were in. The door opened, and in came the King, Madame

de Pompadour, and M. de Gontaut. "Long live the powder of

_prelinpinpin!_" said the King. "Doctor, can you get me any of

it?" It happened that, when the King returned from his walk, he

was struck with a fancy to listen to our conversation. Madame

de Pompadour was extremely kind to the Doctor, and the King went

out laughing, and talking with great admiration of the powder.

I went away, and so did the Doctor. I immediately sat down to

commit this conversation to writing. I was afterwards told that M.

Quesnay was very learned in certain matters relating to finance,

and that he was a great _économiste_. But I do not know very

well what that means. What I do know for certain is, that he

was very clever, very gay and witty, and a very able physician.

[Illustration: Madame de Pompadour learns of the likelihood of

her success in meeting her admirer, the King. _From the painting

by Casanova y Estorach._]

The illness of the little Duke of Burgundy, whose intelligence

was much talked of, for a long time occupied the attention of the

Court. Great endeavours were made to find out the cause of his

malady, and ill-nature went so far as to assert that his nurse,

who had an excellent situation at Versailles, had communicated to

him a nasty disease. The King shewed Madame de Pompadour the

information he had procured from the province she came from, as

to her conduct. A silly Bishop thought proper to say she had

been very licentious in her youth. The poor nurse was told of

this, and begged that he might be made to explain himself. The

Bishop replied, that she had been at several balls in the town in

which she lived, and that she had gone with her neck uncovered.

The poor man actually thought this the height of licentiousness.

The King, who had been at first uneasy, when he came to this,

called out, "_What a fool!_" After having long been a source of

anxiety to the Court, the Duke died. Nothing produces a stronger

impression upon Princes, than the spectacle of their equals dying.

Everybody is occupied about them while ill--but as soon as they

are dead, nobody mentions them. The King frequently talked about

death--and about funerals, and places of burial. Nobody could

be of a more melancholy temperament. Madame de Pompadour once

told me that he experienced a painful sensation whenever he was

forced to laugh, and that he had often begged her to break off

a droll story. He smiled, and that was all. In general, he had

the most gloomy ideas concerning almost all events. When there

was a new Minister, he used to say, "_He displays his wares like

all the rest, and promises the finest things in the world, not

one of which will be fulfilled. He does not know this country--he

will see._" When new projects for reinforcing the navy were laid

before him, he said, "This is the twentieth time I have heard

this talked of--France never will have a navy, I think." This

I heard from M. de Marigny.

I never saw Madame de Pompadour so rejoiced as at the taking

of Mahon. The King was very glad, too, but he had no belief in

the merit of his courtiers--he looked upon their success as the

effect of chance. Maréchal Saxe was, as I have been told, the

only man who inspired him with great esteem. But he had scarcely

ever seen him in his closet, or playing the courtier.

M. d'Argenson picked a quarrel with M. de Richelieu, after his

victory, about his return to Paris. This was intended to prevent

his coming to enjoy his triumph. He tried to throw the thing

upon Madame de Pompadour, who was enthusiastic about him, and

called him by no other name than the "_Minorcan_." The Chevalier

de Montaign was the favourite of the Dauphin, and much beloved

by him for his great devotion. He fell ill, and underwent an

operation called _l'empième_, which is performed by making an

incision between the ribs, in order to let out the pus; it had,

to all appearance, a favourable result, but the patient grew

worse, and could not breathe. His medical attendants could not

conceive what occasioned this accident and retarded his cure.

He died almost in the arms of the Dauphin, who went every day to

see him. The singularity of his disease determined the surgeons

to open the body, and they found, in his chest, part of the leaden

syringe with which decoctions had, as was usual, been injected into

the part in a state of suppuration. The surgeon, who committed

this act of negligence, took care not to boast of his feat, and

his patient was the victim. This incident was much talked of

by the King, who related it, I believe, not less than thirty

times, according to his custom; but what occasioned still more

conversation about the Chevalier de Montaign, was a box, found

by his bed's side, containing haircloths, and shirts, and whips,

stained with blood. This circumstance was spoken of one evening

at supper, at Madame de Pompadour's, and not one of the guests

seemed at all tempted to imitate the Chevalier. Eight or ten

days afterwards, the following tale was sent to the King, to

Madame de Pompadour, to the Baschi, and to the Duc d'Ayen. At

first nobody could understand to what it referred: at last, the

Duc d'Ayen exclaimed. "How stupid we are; this is a joke on the

austerities of the Chevalier de Montaign!" This appeared clear

enough--so much the more so, as the copies were sent to the Dauphin,

the Dauphine, the Abbé de St. Cyr, and to the Duc de V----. The

latter had the character of a pretender to devotion, and, in

his copy, there was this addition, "_You would not be such a

fool, my dear Duke, as to be a faquir--confess that you would

be very glad to be one of those good monks who lead such a jolly

life._" The Duc de Richelieu was suspected of having employed

one of his wits to write the story. The King was scandalised at

it, and ordered the Lieutenant of Police to endeavour to find

out the author, but either he could not succeed or he would not

betray him.

_Japanese Tale._

At a distance of three leagues from the capital of Japan, there

is a temple celebrated for the concourse of persons, of both

sexes, and of all ranks, who crowd thither to worship an idol

believed to work miracles. Three hundred men consecrated to the

service of religion, and who can give proofs of ancient and

illustrious descent, serve this temple, and present to the idol

the offerings which are brought from all the provinces of the

empire. They inhabit a vast and magnificent edifice, belonging

to the temple, and surrounded with gardens where art has combined

with nature to produce enchantment. I obtained permission to

see the temple, and to walk in the gardens. A monk advanced in

years, but still full of vigour and vivacity, accompanied me. I

saw several others, of different ages, who were walking there.

But what surprised me was to see a great many of them amusing

themselves by various agreeable and sportive games with young

girls elegantly dressed, listening to their songs, and joining in

their dances. The monk, who accompanied me, listened with great

civility and kindness to the questions I put to him concerning

his order. The following is the sum of his answers to my numerous

interrogations. The God Faraki, whom we worship, is so called

from a word which signifies the _fabricator_. He made all that

we behold--the earth, the stars, the sun, etc. He has endowed

men with senses, which are so many sources of pleasure, and we

think the only way of shewing our gratitude is to use them. This

opinion will, doubtless, appear to you much more rational than

that of the faquirs of India, who pass their lives in thwarting

nature, and who inflict upon themselves the most melancholy

privations and the most severe sufferings.

As soon as the sun rises, we repair to the mountain you see before

us, at the foot of which flows a stream of the most limpid water,

which meanders in graceful windings through that meadow--enamelled

with the loveliest flowers. We gather the most fragrant of them,

which we carry and lay upon the altar, together with various

fruits, which we receive from the bounty of Faraki. We then sing

his praises, and execute dances expressive of our thankfulness,

and of all the enjoyments we owe to this beneficent deity. The

highest of these is that which love produces, and we testify

our ardent gratitude by the manner in which we avail ourselves

of this inestimable gift of Faraki. Having left the temple, we

go into several shady thickets, where we take a light repast;

after which, each of us employs himself in some unoppressive

labour. Some embroider, others apply themselves to painting,

others cultivate flowers or fruits, others turn little implements

for our use. Many of these little works are sold to the people,

who purchase them with eagerness. The money arising from this

sale forms a considerable part of our revenue. Our morning is

thus devoted to the worship of God and to the exercise of the

sense of Sight, which begins with the first rays of the sun.

The sense of Taste is gratified by our dinner, and we add to it

the pleasure of Smell. The most delicious viands are spread for

us in apartments strewed with flowers. The table is adorned with

them, and the most exquisite wines are handed to us in crystal

goblets. When we have glorified God, by the agreeable use of the

palate, and the olfactory nerve, we enjoy a delightful sleep

of two hours, in bowers of orange trees, roses, and myrtles.

Having acquired a fresh store of strength and spirits, we return

to our occupations, that we may thus mingle labour with pleasure,

which would lose its zest by long continuance. After our work,

we return to the temple, to thank God, and to offer him incense.

From thence we go to the most delightful part of the garden,

where we find three hundred young girls, some of whom form lively

dances with the younger of our monks; the others execute serious

dances, which require neither strength nor agility, and which

only keep time to the sound of musical instruments.

We talk and laugh with our companions, who are dressed in a light

gauze, and whose tresses are adorned with flowers; we press them

to partake of exquisite sherbets, differently prepared. The hour

of supper being arrived, we repair to rooms illuminated with the

lustre of a thousand tapers fragrant with amber. The supper-room is

surrounded by three vast galleries, in which are placed musicians,

whose various instruments fill the mind with the most pleasurable

and the softest emotions. The young girls are seated at table

with us, and, towards the conclusion of the repast, they sing

songs, which are hymns in honour of the God who has endowed us

with senses which shed such a charm over existence, and which

promise us new pleasure from every fresh exercise of them. After

the repast is ended, we return to the dance, and, when the hour

of repose arrives, we draw from a kind of lottery, in which every

one is sure of a prize that is a sumptuously decorated sleeping

room for the night. These rooms are allotted to each by chance

to avoid jealousy, since some rooms are handsomer than others.

Thus ends the day and gives place to a night of exquisite repose

in which we enjoy well-earned sleep, that most divine of earthly

gifts.

We admire the wisdom and the goodness of Faraki, who has implanted

an unconscious mutual attraction between the sexes that constantly

draws them towards each other. It is this mutual love, these

invisible ties, that make the world brighter, cheerier, happier.

It has been truly said that those who selfishly cut themselves

away from these ties, those that lead narrow, lonely, morbid lives,

lose most of life's joys. What should we say to the favourite of

a King from whom he had received a beautiful house, and fine

estates, and who chose to spoil the house, to let it fall in

ruins, to abandon the cultivation of the land, and let it become

sterile, and covered with thorns? Such is the conduct of the

faquirs of India, who condemn themselves to the most melancholy

privations, and to the most severe sufferings. Is not this insulting

Faraki? Is it not saying to him, I despise your gifts? Is it not

misrepresenting him and saying, You are malevolent and cruel,

and I know that I can no otherwise please you than by offering

you the spectacle of my miseries? "I am told," added he, "that

you have, in your country, faquirs not less insane, not less

cruel to themselves." I thought, with some reason, that he meant

the fathers of La Trappe. The recital of the matter afforded me

much matter for reflection, and I admired how strange are the

systems to which perverted reason gives birth.

The Duc de V---- was a nobleman of high rank and great wealth.

He said to the King one evening at supper, "Your Majesty does

me the favour to treat me with great kindness: I should be

inconsolable if I had the misfortune to fall under your displeasure.

If such a calamity were to befall me, I should endeavour to divert

my grief by improving some beautiful estates of mine in such

and such a province;" and he thereupon gave a description of

three or four fine seats. About a month after, talking of the

disgrace of a Minister, he said, "I hope your Majesty will not

withdraw your favour from me; but if I had the misfortune to

lose it, I should be more to be pitied than anybody, for I have

no asylum in which to hide my head." All those present, who had

heard the description of the beautiful country houses, looked at

each other and laughed. The King said to Madame de Pompadour,

who sat next to him at table, "_People are very right in saying

that a liar ought to have a good memory._"

An event, which made me tremble, as well as Madame, procured me

the familiarity of the King. In the middle of the night, Madame

came into my chamber, _en chemise_, and in a state of distraction.

"Here! Here!" said she, "the King is dying." My alarm may be

easily imagined. I put on a petticoat, and found the King in her

bed, panting. What was to be done?--it was an indigestion. We

threw water upon him, and he came to himself. I made him swallow

some Hoffman's drops, and he said to me, "Do not make any noise,

but go to Quesnay; say that your mistress is ill; and tell the

Doctor's servants to say nothing about it." Quesnay, who lodged

close by, came immediately, and was much astonished to see the

King in that state. He felt his pulse, and said, "The crisis is

over; but, if the King were sixty years old, this might have

been serious." He went to seek some drug, and, on his return, set

about inundating the King with perfumed water. I forget the name

of the medicine he made him take, but the effect was wonderful.

I believe it was the _drops of Général Lamotte_. I called up

one of the girls of the wardrobe to make tea, as if for myself.

The King took three cups, put on his _robe de chambre_ and his

stockings, and went to his own room, leaning upon the Doctor.

What a sight it was to see us all three half naked! Madame put

on a robe as soon as possible, and I did the same, and the King

changed his clothes behind the curtains, which were very decently

closed. He afterwards spoke of this short attack, and expressed

his sense of the attentions shown him. An hour after, I felt the

greatest possible terror in thinking that the King might have

died in our hands. Happily, he quickly recovered himself, and

none of the domestics perceived what had taken place. I merely

told the girl of the wardrobe to put everything to rights, and

she thought it was Madame who had been indisposed. The King,

the next morning, gave secretly to Quesnay a little note for

Madame, in which he said, _Ma chère amie must have had a great

fright, but let her reassure herself--I am now well, which the

Doctor will certify to you._ From that moment the King became

accustomed to me, and, touched by the interest I had shown for

him, he often gave me one of his peculiarly gracious glances,

and made me little presents, and, on every New Year's Day, sent

me porcelain to the amount of twenty louis d'or. He told Madame

that he looked upon me in the apartment as a picture or statue, and

never put any constraint upon himself on account of my presence.

Doctor Quesnay received a pension of a thousand crowns for his

attention and silence, and the promise of a place for his son. The

King gave me an order upon the Treasury for four thousand francs,

and Madame had presented to her a very handsome chiming-clock

and the King's portrait in a snuffbox.

The King was habitually melancholy, and liked everything which

recalled the idea of death, in spite of the strongest fears of

it. Of this, the following is an instance: Madame de Pompadour

was on her way to Crécy, when one of the King's grooms made a sign

to her coachman to stop, and told him that the King's carriage had

broken down, and that, knowing her to be at no great distance,

His Majesty had sent him forward to beg her to wait for him. He

soon overtook us, and seated himself in Madame de Pompadour's

carriage, in which were, I think, Madame de Château-Rénaud, and

Madame de Mirepoix. The lords in attendance placed themselves in

some other carriages. I was behind, in a chaise, with Gourbillon,

Madame de Pompadour's _valet de chambre_. We were surprised in a

short time by the King stopping his carriage. Those which followed,

of course stopped also. The King called a groom, and said to

him, "You see that little eminence; there are crosses; it must

certainly be a burying-ground; go and see whether there are any

graves newly dug." The groom galloped up to it, returned, and

said to the King, "There are three quite freshly made." Madame

de Pompadour, as she told me, turned away her head with horror;

and the little Maréchale gaily said, "_This is indeed enough to

make one's mouth water._" Madame de Pompadour spoke of it when

I was undressing her in the evening. "What a strange pleasure,"

said she, "to endeavour to fill one's mind with images which one

ought to endeavour to banish, especially when one is surrounded

by so many sources of happiness! But that is the King's way; he

loves to talk about death. He said, some days ago, to M. de

Fontanieu, who was seized with a bleeding at the nose, at the

levée, 'Take care of yourself; at your age it is a forerunner

of apoplexy.' The poor man went home frightened, and absolutely

ill."

I never saw the King so agitated as during the illness of the

Dauphin. The physicians came incessantly to the apartments of

Madame de Pompadour, where the King interrogated them. There

was one from Paris, a very odd man, called Pousse, who once said

to him, "You are a good papa; I like you for that. But you know

we are all your children, and share your distress. Take courage,

however; your son will recover." Everybody's eyes were upon the

Duc d'Orléans, who knew not how to look. He would have become

heir to the crown, the Queen being past the age to have children.

Madame de ---- said to me, one day, when I was expressing my

surprise at the King's grief, "It would annoy him beyond measure

to have a Prince of the blood heir apparent. He does not like

them, and looks upon their relationship to him as so remote,

that he would feel humiliated by it." And, in fact, when his

son recovered, he said, "The King of Spain would have had a fine

chance." It was thought that he was right in this, and that it

would have been agreeable to justice; but that, if the Duc d'Orléans

had been supported by a party, he might have supported his

pretensions to the crown. It was, doubtless, to remove this

impression that he gave a magnificent fête at St. Cloud on the

occasion of the Dauphin's recovery. Madame de Pompadour said to

Madame de Brancas, speaking of this fête, "He wishes to make

us forget the _château en Espagne_ he has been dreaming of; in

_Spain_, however, they build them of solider materials." The

people did not shew so much joy at the Dauphin's recovery. They

looked upon him as a devotee, who did nothing but sing psalms.

They loved the Duc d'Orléans, who lived in the capital, and had

acquired the name of the _King of Paris_. These sentiments were

not just; the Dauphin only sang psalms when imitating the tones

of one of the choristers of the chapel. The people afterwards

acknowledged their error, and did justice to his virtues. The Duc

d'Orléans paid the most assiduous court to Madame de Pompadour:

the Duchess, on the contrary, detested her. It is possible that

words were put into the Duchess's mouth which she never uttered;

but she, certainly, often said most cutting things. The King would

have sent her into exile, had he listened only to his resentment;

but he feared the éclat of such a proceeding, and he knew that

she would only be the more malicious. The Duc d'Orléans was, just

then, extremely jealous of the Comte de Melfort; and the Lieutenant

of Police told the King he had strong reasons for believing that

the Duke would stick at nothing to rid himself of this gallant,

and that he thought it his duty to give the Count notice, that he

ought to be upon his guard. The King said, "He would not dare to

attempt any such violence as you seem to apprehend; but there is

a better way: let him try to surprise them, and he will find me

very well inclined to have his cursed wife shut up; but if he

got rid of this lover, she would have another to-morrow. Nay,

she has others at this moment; for instance, the Chevalier de

Colbert, and the Comte de l'Aigle." Madame de Pompadour, however,

told me these two last affairs were not certain.

An adventure happened about the same time, which the Lieutenant

of Police reported to the King. The Duchesse d'Orléans had amused

herself one evening, about eight o'clock, with ogling a handsome

young Dutchman, whom she took a fancy to, from a window of the

Palais Royal. The young man, taking her for a woman of the town,

wanted to make short work, at which she was very much shocked.

She called a Swiss, and made herself known. The stranger was

arrested; but he defended himself by affirming that she had talked

very loosely to him. He was dismissed, and the Duc d'Orléans

gave his wife a severe reprimand.

The King (who hated her so much that he spoke of her without

the slightest restraint) one day said to Madame de Pompadour,

in my presence, "Her mother knew what she was, for, before her

marriage, she never suffered her to say more than yes and no.

Do you know her joke on the nomination of Moras? She sent to

congratulate him upon it: two minutes after, she called back

the messenger she had sent, and said, before everybody present,

'Before you speak to him, ask the Swiss if he still has the place.'"

Madame de Pompadour was not vindictive, and, in spite of the

malicious speeches of the Duchesse d'Orléans, she tried to excuse

her conduct. "Almost all women," she said, "have lovers; she

has not all that are imputed to her: but her free manners, and

her conversation, which is beyond all bounds, have brought her

into general disrepute."

My companion came into my room the other day, quite delighted.

She had been with M. de Chenevières, first Clerk in the War-office,

and a constant correspondent of Voltaire, whom she looks upon

as a god. She was, by the bye, put into a great rage one day,

lately, by a print-seller in the street, who was crying, "Here

is Voltaire, the famous Prussian; here you see him, with a great

bear-skin cap, to keep him from the cold! Here is the famous

Prussian, for six sous!" "What a profanation!" said she. To return

to my story: M. de Chenevières had shewn her some letters from

Voltaire, and M. Marmontel had read an _Epistle to his Library_.

M. Quesnay came in for a moment; she told him all this: and, as

he did not appear to take any great interest in it, she asked

him if he did not admire great poets. "Oh, yes; just as I admire

great bilboquet players," said he, in that tone of his, which

rendered everything he said diverting. "I have written some verses,

however," said he, "and I will repeat them to you; they are upon

a certain M. Rodot, an Intendant of the Marine, who was very

fond of abusing medicine and medical men. I made these verses

to revenge Æsculapius and Hippocrates.

Antoine se medicina

En decriant ta medicine,

Et de ses propres mains mina

Les fondemens de sa machine:

Très rarement il opina

Sans humeur bizarre ou chagrine,

Et, l'esprit qui le domina

Etait affiché sur sa mine.

"What do you say to them?" said the Doctor. My companion thought

them very pretty, and the Doctor gave me them in his handwriting,

begging me, at the same time, not to give any copies.

Madame de Pompadour joked my companion about her _bel-esprit_,

but sometimes she reposed confidence in her. Knowing that she

was often writing, she said to her, "You are writing a novel,

which will appear some day or other; or, perhaps, the age of Louis

XV.: I beg you to treat me well." I have no reason to complain

of her. It signifies very little to me that she can talk more

learnedly than I can about prose and verse.

She never told me her real name; but one day I was malicious

enough to say to her, "Some one was maintaining, yesterday, that

the family of Madame de Mar---- was of more importance than many

of good extraction. They say it is the first in Cadiz. She had very

honourable alliances, and yet she has thought it no degradation

to be governess to Madame de Pompadour's daughter. One day you

will see her sons or her nephews Farmers General, and her

granddaughters married to Dukes." I had remarked that Madame de

Pompadour for some days had taken chocolate, _à triple vanille

et ambré_, at her breakfast; and that she ate truffles and celery

soup: finding her in a very heated state, lone day remonstrated

with her about her diet, to which she paid no attention. I then

thought it right to speak to her friend, the Duchesse de Brancas.

"I had remarked the same thing," said she, "and I will speak

to her about it before you." After she was dressed, Madame de

Brancas, accordingly, told her she was uneasy about her health.

"I have just been talking to her about it," said the Duchess,

pointing to me, "and she is of my opinion." Madame de Pompadour

seemed a little displeased; at last, she burst into tears. I

immediately went out, shut the door, and returned to my place

to listen. "My dear friend," she said to Madame de Brancas, "I

am agitated by the fear of losing the King's heart by ceasing to

be attractive to him. Men, you know, set great value on certain

things, and I have the misfortune to be of a very cold temperament.

I, therefore, determined to adopt a heating diet, in order to

remedy this defect, and for two days this elixir has been of

great service to me, or, at least, I have thought I felt its

good effects." The Duchesse de Brancas took the phial which was

upon the toilet, and after having smelt at it, "Fie!" said she,

and threw it into the fire. Madame de Pompadour scolded her,

and said, "I don't like to be treated like a child." She wept

again, and said, "You don't know what happened to me a week ago.

The King, under pretext of the heat of the weather, lay down

upon my sofa, and passed half the night there. He will take a

disgust to me and have another mistress." "You will not avoid

that," replied the Duchess, "by following your new diet, and that

diet will kill you; render your company more and more precious to

the King by your gentleness: do not repulse him in his fond moments,

and let time do the rest; the chains of habit will bind him to you

for ever." They then embraced; Madame de Pompadour recommended

secrecy to Madame de Brancas, and the diet was abandoned.

A little while after, she said to me, "Our master is better pleased

with me. This is since I spoke to Quesnay, without, however,

telling him all. He told me, that to accomplish my end, I must

try to be in good health, to digest well, and, for that purpose,

take exercise. I think the Doctor is right. I feel quite a different

creature. I adore that man (the King), I wish so earnestly to be

agreeable to him! But, alas! sometimes he says I am a _macreuse_

(a cold-blooded aquatic bird). I would give my life to please

him."

One day, the King came in very much heated. I withdrew to my

post, where I listened. "What is the matter?" said Madame de

Pompadour. "The long robes and the clergy," replied he, "are

always at drawn daggers, they distract me by their quarrels.

But I detest the long robes the most. My clergy, on the whole,

is attached and faithful to me; the others want to keep me in

a state of tutelage." "Firmness," said Madame de Pompadour, "is

the only thing that can subdue them." "Robert Saint Vincent is

an incendiary, whom I wish I could banish, but that would make

a terrible tumult. On the other hand, the Archbishop is an

iron-hearted fellow, who tries to pick quarrels. Happily, there

are some in the Parliament upon whom I can rely, and who affect

to be very violent, but can be softened upon occasion. It costs

me a few abbeys, and a few secret pensions, to accomplish this.

There is a certain V---- who serves me very well, while he appears

to be furious on the other side." "I can tell you some news of

him, Sire," said Madame de Pompadour. "He wrote to me yesterday,

pretending that he is related to me, and begging for an interview."

"Well," said the King, "let him come. See him; and if he behaves

well, we shall have a pretext for giving him something." M. de

Gontaut came in, and seeing that they were talking seriously,

said nothing. The King walked about in an agitated manner, and

suddenly exclaimed, "The Regent was very wrong in restoring to

them the right of remonstrating; they will end in ruining the

State." "Ah, Sire," said M. de Gontaut, "it is too strong to be

shaken by a set of petty justices." "You don't know what they

do, nor what they think. They are an assembly of republicans;

however, here is enough of the subject. Things will last as they

are as long as I shall. Talk about this on Sunday, Madame, with

M. Berrier." Madame d'Amblimont and Madame d'Esparbès came in.

"Ah! here come my kittens," said Madame de Pompadour; "all that

we are about is Greek to them; but their gaiety restores my

tranquillity, and enables me to attend again to serious affairs.

You, Sire, have the chase to divert you--they answer the same

purpose to me." The King then began to talk about his morning's

sport, and Lansmatte. It was necessary to let the King go on

upon these subjects, and even, sometimes, to hear the same story

three or four times over, if new persons came into the room.

Madame de Pompadour never betrayed the least ennui. She even

sometimes persuaded him to begin his story anew.

I one day said to her, "It appears to me, Madame, that you are

fonder than ever of the Comtesse d'Amblimont." "I have reason to

be so," said she. "She is unique, I think, for her fidelity to

her friends, and for her honour. Listen, but tell nobody--four

days ago, the King, passing her to go to supper, approached her,

under the pretence of tickling her, and tried to slip a note

into her hand. D'Amblimont, in her madcap way, put her hands

behind her back, and the King was obliged to pick up the note,

which had fallen on the ground. Gontaut was the only person who

saw all this, and after supper, he went up to the little lady,

and said, 'You are an excellent friend.' 'I did my duty,' said

she, and immediately put her finger on her lips to enjoin him to

be silent. He, however, informed me of this act of friendship of

the little heroine, who had not told me of it herself." I admired

the Countess's virtue, and Madame de Pompadour said, "She is giddy

and headlong; but she has more sense and more feeling than a

thousand prudes and devotees. D'Esparbès would not do as much--most

likely she would meet him more than half-way. The King appeared

disconcerted, but he still pays her great attentions." "You will,

doubtless, Madame," said I, "show your sense of such admirable

conduct." "You need not doubt it," said she, "but I don't wish

her to think that I am informed of it." The King, prompted either

by the remains of his liking, or from the suggestions of Madame

de Pompadour, one morning went to call on Madame d'Amblimont,

at Choisy, and threw round her neck a collar of diamonds and

emeralds, worth between fifty thousand and seventy-five thousand

francs. This happened a long time after the circumstance I have

just related.

There was a large sofa in a little room adjoining Madame de

Pompadour's, upon which I often reposed.

One evening, towards midnight, a bat flew into the apartment

where the Court was; the King immediately cried out, "Where is

General Crillon?" (He had just left the room.) "He is the General

to command against the bats." This set everybody calling out,

"_Où etais-tu, Crillon?_" M. de Crillon soon after came in, and

was told where the enemy was. He immediately threw off his coat,

drew his sword, and commenced an attack upon the bat, which flew

into the closet where I was fast asleep. I started out of sleep

at the noise, and saw the King and all the company around me. This

furnished amusement for the rest of the evening. M. de Crillon

was a very excellent and agreeable man, but he had the fault of

indulging in buffooneries of this kind, which, however, were

the result of his natural gaiety, and not of any subserviency of

character. Such, however, was not the case with another exalted

nobleman, a Knight of the Golden Fleece, whom Madame saw one day

shaking hands with her _valet de chambre_. As he was one of the

vainest men at Court, Madame could not refrain from telling the

circumstance to the King; and, as he had no employment at Court,

the King scarcely ever after named him on the Supper List.

I had a cousin at Saint Cyr, who was married. She was greatly

distressed at having a relation waiting woman to Madame de Pompadour,

and often treated me in the most mortifying manner. Madame knew

this from Colin, her steward, and spoke of it to the King. "I

am not surprised at it," said he; "this is a specimen of the

silly women of Saint Cyr. Madame de Maintenon had excellent

intentions, but she made a great mistake. These girls are brought

up in such a manner, that, unless they are all made ladies of

the palace, they are unhappy and impertinent."

Some time after, this relation of mine was at my house. Colin,

who knew her, though she did not know him, came in. He said to me,

"Do you know that the Prince de Chimay has made a violent attack

upon the Chevalier d'Henin for being equerry to the Marquise." At

these words, my cousin looked very much astonished, and said,

"Was he not right?" "I don't mean to enter into that question,"

said Colin--"but only to repeat his words, which were these: 'If

you were only a man of moderately good family and poor, I should

not blame you, knowing, as I do, that there are hundreds such, who

would quarrel for your place, as young ladies of family would,

to be about your mistress. But, recollect, that your relations

are princes of the Empire, and that you bear their name.'" "What,

sir," said my relation, "the Marquise's equerry of a princely

house?" "Of the house of Chimay," said he; "they take the name

of Alsace"--witness the Cardinal of that name. Colin went out

delighted at what he had said.

"I cannot get over my surprise at what I have heard," said my

relation. "It is, nevertheless, very true," replied I; "you may

see the Chevalier d'Henin (that is the family name of the Princes

de Chimay), with the cloak of Madame upon his arm, and walking

alongside her sedan-chair, in order that he may be ready, on

her getting in, to cover her shoulders with her cloak, and then

remain in the antechamber, if there is no other room, till her

return."

From that time, my cousin let me alone; nay, she even applied

to me to get a company of horse for her husband, who was very

loath to come and thank me. His wife wished him to thank Madame

de Pompadour; but the fear he had lest she should tell him, that

it was in consideration of his relationship to her waiting-woman

that he commanded fifty horse, prevented him. It was, however,

a most surprising thing that a man belonging to the house of

Chimay should be in the service of any lady whatever; and the

commander of Alsace returned from Malta on purpose to get him

out of Madame de Pompadour's household. He got him a pension

of a hundred louis from his family, and the Marquise gave him

a company of horse. The Chevalier d'Henin had been page to the

Maréchal de Luxembourg, and one can hardly imagine how he could

have put his relation in such a situation; for, generally speaking,

all great houses keep up the consequence of their members. M. de

Machault, the Keeper of the Seals, had, at the same time, as

equerry, a Knight of St. Louis, and a man of family--the Chevalier

de Peribuse--who carried his portfolio, and walked by the side

of the chair.

Whether it was from ambition, or from tenderness, Madame de Pompadour

had a regard for her daughter, which seemed to proceed from the

bottom of her heart. She was brought up like a Princess, and,

like persons of that rank, was called by her Christian name alone.

The first persons at Court had an eye to this alliance, but her

mother had, perhaps, a better project. The King had a son by

Madame de Vintimille, who resembled him in face, gesture, and

manners. He was called the Comte du ----. Madame de Pompadour

had him brought to Bellevue. Colin, her steward, was employed

to find means to persuade his tutor to bring him thither. They

took some refreshment at the house of the Swiss, and the Marquise,

in the course of her walk, appeared to meet them by accident.

She asked the name of the child, and admired his beauty. Her

daughter came up at the same moment, and Madame de Pompadour

led them into a part of the garden where she knew the King would

come. He did come, and asked the child's name. He was told, and

looked embarrassed when Madame, pointing to them, said they would

be a beautiful couple. The King played with the girl, without

appearing to take any notice of the boy, who, while he was eating

some figs and cakes which were brought, his attitudes and gestures

were so like those of the King, that Madame de Pompadour was in

the utmost astonishment. "Ah!" said she, "Sire, look at ----"

"At what?" said he. "Nothing," replied Madame, "except that one

would think one saw his father."

"I did not know," said the King, smiling, "that you were so

intimately acquainted with the Comte du L----." "You ought to

embrace him," said she, "he is very handsome." "I will begin,

then, with the young lady," said the King, and embraced them

in a cold, constrained manner. I was present, having joined

Mademoiselle's governess. I remarked to Madame, in the evening,

that the King had not appeared very cordial in his caresses.

"That is his way," said she; "but do not those children appear

made for each other? If it was Louis XIV., he would make a Duc

du Maine of the little boy; I do not ask so much; but a place

and a dukedom for his son is very little; and it is because he is

his son that I prefer him to all the little Dukes of the Court.

My grandchildren would blend the resemblance of their grandfather

and grandmother; and this combination, which I hope to live to

see, would, one day, be my greatest delight." The tears came

into her eyes as she spoke. Alas! alas! only six months elapsed,

when her darling daughter, the hope of her advanced years, the

object of her fondest wishes, died suddenly. Madame de Pompadour

was inconsolable, and I must do M. de Marigny the justice to

say that he was deeply afflicted. His niece was beautiful as

an angel, and destined to the highest fortunes, and I always

thought that he had formed the design of marrying her. A dukedom

would have given him rank; and that, joined to his place, and

to the wealth which she would have had from her mother, would

have made him a man of great importance. The difference of age

was not sufficient to be a great obstacle. People, as usual, said

the young lady was poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons

who command a large portion of public attention always gives birth

to these rumours. The King shewed great regret, but more for

the grief of Madame than on account of the loss itself, though

he had often caressed the child, and loaded her with presents. I

owe it, also, to justice, to say that M. de Marigny, the heir

of all Madame de Pompadour's fortune, after the death of her

daughter, evinced the sincerest and deepest regret every time

she was seriously ill. She, soon after, began to lay plans for

his establishment. Several young ladies of the highest birth were

thought of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a Duke, but

his turn of mind indisposed him for schemes either of marriage

or ambition. Ten times he might have been made Prime Minister,

yet he never aspired to it. "That is a man," said Quesnay to me,

one day, "who is very little known; nobody talks of his talents

or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient patronage of the

arts: no man, since Colbert, has done so much in his situation:

he is, moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will

not see in him anything but the brother of the favourite; and,

because he is fat, he is thought dull and heavy." This was all

perfectly true. M. de Marigny had travelled in Italy with very

able artists, and had acquired taste, and much more information

than any of his predecessors had possessed. As for the heaviness

of his air, it only came upon him when he grew fat; before that,

he had a delightful face. He was then as handsome as his sister.

He paid court to nobody, had no vanity, and confined himself to

the society of persons with whom he was at his ease. He went

rather more into company at Court after the King had taken him

to ride with him in his carriage, thinking it then his duty to

shew himself among the courtiers.

Madame called me, one day, into her closet, where the King was

walking up and down in a very serious mood. "You must," said she,

"pass some days in a house in the Avenue de St. Cloud, whither

I shall send you. You will there find a young lady about to lie

in." The King said nothing, and I was mute from astonishment.

"You will be mistress of the house, and preside, like one of

the fabulous goddesses, at the accouchement. Your presence is

necessary, in order that everything may pass secretly, and according

to the King's wish. You will be present at the baptism, and name

the father and mother." The King began to laugh, and said, "The

father is a very honest man;" Madame added, "beloved by every

one, and adored by those who know him." Madame then took from

a little cupboard a small box, and drew from it an aigrette of

diamonds, at the same time saying to the King, "I have my reasons

for it not being handsomer." "It is but too much so," said the

King; "how kind you are;" and he then embraced Madame, who wept

with emotion, and, putting her hand upon the King's heart, said,

"This is what I wish to secure." The King's eyes then filled

with tears, and I also began weeping, without knowing why.

Afterwards, the King said, "Guimard will call upon you every

day, to assist you with his advice, and at the critical moment

you will send for him. You will say that you expect the sponsors,

and a moment after you will pretend to have received a letter,

stating that they cannot come. You will, of course, affect to

be very much embarrassed; and Guimard will then say that there

is nothing for it but to take the first comers. You will then

appoint as godfather and godmother some beggar, or chairman,

and the servant girl of the house, and to whom you will give but

twelve francs, in order not to attract attention." "A louis,"

added Madame, "to obviate anything singular, on the other hand."

"It is you who make me economical, under certain circumstances,"

said the King. "Do you remember the driver of the _fiacre_? I

wanted to give him a louis, and Duc d'Ayen said, 'You will be

known;' so that I gave him a crown." He was going to tell the

whole story. Madame made a sign to him to be silent, which he

obeyed, not without considerable reluctance. She afterwards told

me that at the time of the fêtes given on occasion of the Dauphin's

marriage, the King came to see her at her mother's house in a

hackney-coach. The coachman would not go on, and the King would

have given him a louis. "The police will hear of it, if you do,"

said the Duc d'Ayen, "and its spies will make inquiries, which

will, perhaps, lead to a discovery."

"Guimard," continued the King, "will tell you the names of the

father and mother; he will be present at the ceremony, and make

the usual presents. It is but fair that you also should receive

yours;" and, as he said this, he gave me fifty louis, with that

gracious air that he could so well assume upon certain occasions,

and which no person in the kingdom had but himself. I kissed

his hand and wept. "You will take care of the _accouchée_, will

you not? She is a good creature, who has not invented gunpowder,

and I confide her entirely to your direction; my chancellor will

tell you the rest," he said, turning to Madame, and then quitted

the room. "Well, what think you of the part I am playing?" asked

Madame. "It is that of a superior woman, and an excellent friend,"

I replied. "It is his heart I wish to secure," said she; "and

all those young girls who have no education will not run away

with it from me. I should not be equally confident were I to

see some fine woman belonging to the Court, or the city, attempt

his conquest."

I asked Madame, if the young lady knew that the King was the

father of her child? "I do not think she does," replied she;

"but, as he appeared fond of her, there is some reason to fear

that those about her might be too ready to tell her; otherwise,"

said she, shrugging her shoulders, "she, and all the others,

are told that he is a Polish nobleman, a relation of the Queen,

who has apartments in the castle." This story was contrived on

account of the _cordon bleu_, which the King has not always time

to lay aside, because, to do that, he must change his coat, and

in order to account for his having a lodging in the castle so

near the King. There were two little rooms by the side of the

chapel, whither the King retired from his apartment, without

being seen by anybody but a sentinel, who had his orders, and who

did not know who passed through those rooms. The King sometimes

went to the Parc-aux-cerfs, or received those young ladies in

the apartments I have mentioned.

I must here interrupt my narrative, to relate a singular adventure,

which is only known to six or seven persons, masters or valets.

At the time of the attempt to assassinate the King, a young girl,

whom he had seen several times, and for whom he had manifested

more tenderness than for most, was distracted at this horrible

event. The Mother-Abbess of the Parc-aux-cerfs perceived her

extraordinary grief, and managed so as to make her confess that

she knew the Polish Count was the King of France. She confessed

that she had taken from his pocket two letters, one of which was

from the King of Spain, the other from the Abbé de Broglie. This

was discovered afterwards, for neither she nor the Mother-Abbess

knew the names of the writers. The girl was scolded, and M. Lebel,

first _valet de chambre_, who had the management of all these

affairs, was called; he took the letters, and carried them to

the King, who was very much embarrassed in what manner to meet a

person so well informed of his condition. The girl in question,

having perceived that the King came secretly to see her companion,

while she was neglected, watched his arrival, and, at the moment

he entered with the Abbess, who was about to withdraw, she rushed

distractedly into the room where her rival was. She immediately

threw herself at the King's feet. "Yes," said she, "you are King

of all France; but that would be nothing to me if you were not

also monarch of my heart: do not forsake me, my beloved sovereign;

I was nearly mad when your life was attempted!" The Mother-Abbess

cried out, "You are mad now." The King embraced her, which appeared

to restore her to tranquillity. They succeeded in getting her

out of the room, and a few days afterwards the unhappy girl was

taken to a madhouse, where she was treated as if she had been

insane, for some days. But she knew well enough that she was not

so, and that the King had really been her lover. This lamentable

affair was related to me by the Mother-Abbess, when I had some

acquaintance with her at the time of the accouchement I have

spoken of, which I never had before, nor since.

To return to my history: Madame de Pompadour said to me, "Be

constantly with the _accouchée_, to prevent any stranger, or

even the people of the house, from speaking to her. You will

always say that he is a very rich Polish nobleman, who is obliged

to conceal himself on account of his relationship to the Queen,

who is very devout. You will find a wet-nurse in the house, to

whom you will deliver the child. Guimard will manage all the

rest. You will go to church as a witness; everything must be

conducted as if for a substantial citizen. The young lady expects

to lie in in five or six days; you will dine with her, and will

not leave her till she is in a state of health to return to the

Parc-aux-cerfs, which she may do in a fortnight, as I imagine,

without running any risk." I went, that same evening, to the Avenue

de Saint Cloud, where I found the Abbess and Guimard, an attendant

belonging to the castle, but without his blue coat. There were,

besides, a nurse, a wet-nurse, two old men-servants, and a girl,

who was something between a servant and a waiting-woman. The young

lady was extremely pretty, and dressed very elegantly, though

not too remarkably. I supped with her and the Mother-Abbess, who

was called Madame Bertrand. I had presented the aigrette Madame

de Pompadour gave me before supper, which had greatly delighted

the young lady, and she was in high spirits. Madame Bertrand

had been housekeeper to M. Lebel, first _valet de chambre_ to

the King. He called her Dominique, and she was entirely in his

confidence. The young lady chatted with us after supper; she

appeared to be very _naïve_. The next day, I talked to her in

private. She said to me, "How is the Count?" (It was the King

whom she called by this title.) "He will be very sorry not to be

with me now; but he was obliged to set off on a long journey."

I assented to what she said. "He is very handsome," said she,

"and loves me with all his heart. He promised me an allowance;

but I love him disinterestedly; and, if he would let me, I would

follow him to Poland." She afterwards talked to me about her

parents, and about M. Lebel, whom she knew by the name of Durand.

"My mother," said she, "kept a large grocer's shop, and my father

was a man of some consequence; he belonged to the Six Corps, and

that, as everybody knows, is an excellent thing. He was twice

very near being head-bailiff." Her mother had become bankrupt at

her father's death, but _the Count_ had come to her assistance,

and settled upon her fifteen hundred francs a year, besides giving

her six thousand francs down. On the sixth day, she was brought

to bed, and, according to my instructions, she was told the child

was a girl, though it reality it was a boy; she was soon to be

told that it was dead, in order that no trace of its existence

might remain for a certain time. It was eventually to be restored

to its mother. The King gave each of his children about ten thousand

francs a year. They inherited after each other as they died off,

and seven or eight were already dead. I returned to Madame de

Pompadour, to whom I had written every day by Guimard. The next

day, the King sent for me into the room; he did not say a word

as to the business I had been employed upon; but he gave me a

large gold snuff-box, containing two rouleaux of twenty-five

louis each. I curtsied to him, and retired. Madame asked me a

great many questions of the young lady, and laughed heartily at

her simplicity, and at all she had said about the Polish nobleman.

"He is disgusted with the Princess, and, I think, will return to

Poland for ever, in two months." "And the young lady?" said I.

"She will be married in the country," said she, "with a portion

of forty thousand crowns at the most and a few diamonds." This

little adventure, which initiated me into the King's secrets,

far from procuring for me increased marks of kindness from him,

seemed to produce a coldness towards me; probably because he was

ashamed of my knowing his obscure amours. He was also embarrassed

by the services Madame de Pompadour had rendered him on this

occasion.

Besides the little mistresses of the Parc-aux-cerfs, the King

had sometimes intrigues with ladies of the Court, or from Paris,

who wrote to him. There was a Madame de L----, who, though married

to a young and amiable man, with two hundred thousand francs a

year, wished absolutely to become his mistress. She contrived

to have n meeting with him: and the King, who knew who she was,

was persuaded that she was really madly in love with him. There

is no knowing what might have happened, had she not died. Madame

was very much alarmed, and was only relieved by her death from

inquietude. A circumstance took place at this time which doubled

Madame's friendship for me. A rich man, who had a situation in

the Revenue Department, called on me one day very secretly, and

told me that he had something of importance to communicate to

Madame la Marquise, but that he should find himself very much

embarrassed in communicating it to her personally, and that he

should prefer acquainting me with it. He then told me, what I

already knew, that he had a very beautiful wife, of whom he was

passionately fond; that having on one occasion perceived her

kissing a little _porte-feuille_, he endeavoured to get possession

of it, supposing there was some mystery attached to it. One day

that she suddenly left the room to go upstairs to see her sister,

who had been brought to bed, he took the opportunity of opening

the _porte-feuille_, and was very much surprised to find in it

a portrait of the King, and a very tender letter written by His

Majesty. Of the latter he took a copy, as also of an unfinished

letter of his wife, in which she vehemently entreated the King

to allow her to have the pleasure of an interview--the means

she pointed out. She was to go masked to the public ball at

Versailles, where His Majesty could meet her under favour of a

mask. I assured M. de ---- that I should acquaint Madame with

the affair, who would, no doubt, feel very grateful for the

communication. He then added, "Tell Madame la Marquise that my

wife is very clever and very intriguing. I adore her, and should

run distracted were she to be taken from me." I lost not a moment

in acquainting Madame with the affair and gave her the letter.

She became serious and pensive, and I since learned that she

consulted M. Berrier, Lieutenant of Police, who, by a very simple

but ingeniously conceived plan, put an end to the designs of this

lady. He demanded an audience of the King, and told him that there

was a lady in Paris who was making free with His Majesty's name;

that he had been given the copy of a letter, supposed to have

been written by His Majesty to the lady in question. The copy

he put into the King's hands, who read it in great confusion,

and then tore it furiously to pieces. M. Berrier added, that

it was rumoured that this lady was to meet His Majesty at the

public ball, and, at this very moment, it so happened that a

letter was put into the King's hand, which proved to be from

the lady, appointing the meeting; at least, M. Berrier judged

so, as the King appeared very much surprised on reading it, and

said, "It must be allowed, M. le Lieutenant of Police, that you

are well informed." M. Berrier added, "I think it my duty to

tell Your Majesty that this lady passes for a very intriguing

person." "I believe," replied the King, "that it is not without

deserving it that she has got that character."

Madame de Pompadour had many vexations in the midst of all her

grandeur. She often received anonymous letters, threatening her

with poison or assassination: her greatest fear, however, was

that of being supplanted by a rival. I never saw her in a greater

agitation than, one evening, on her return from the drawing-room

at Marly. She threw down her cloak and muff, the instant she

came in, with an air of ill-humour, and undressed herself in

a hurried manner. Having dismissed her other women, she said

to me, "I think I never saw anybody so insolent as Madame de

Coaslin. I was seated at the same table with her this evening,

at a game of _brelan_, and you cannot imagine what I suffered.

The men and women seemed to come in relays to watch us. Madame

de Coaslin said two or three times, looking at me, _Va tout_,

in the most insulting manner. I thought I should have fainted,

when she said, in a triumphant tone, I have the _brelan_ of kings.

I wish you had seen her courtesy to me on parting." "Did the

King," said I, "show her particular attention?" "You don't know

him," said she; "if he were going to lodge her this very night

in my apartment, he would behave coldly to her before people,

and would treat me with the utmost kindness. This is the effect

of his education, for he is, by nature, kind-hearted and frank."

Madame de Pompadour's alarms lasted for some months, when she,

one day, said to me, "That haughty Marquise has missed her aim;

she frightened the King by her grand airs, and was incessantly

teasing him for money. Now you, perhaps, may not know that the King

would sign an order for forty thousand louis without a thought,

and would give a hundred out of his little private treasury with

the greatest reluctance. Lebel, who likes me better than he would

a new mistress in my place, either by chance or design had brought

a charming little sultana to the Parc-aux-cerfs, who has cooled

the King a little towards the haughty Vashti, by giving him

occupation, ---- has received a hundred thousand francs, some

jewels, and an estate. Jannette has rendered me great service,

by showing the King extracts from the letters broken open at

the post-office, concerning the report that Madame de Coaslin

was coming into favour. The King was much impressed by a letter

from an old counsellor of the Parliament, who wrote to one of

his friends as follows: "It is quite as reasonable that the King

should have a female friend and confidante--as that we, in our

several degrees, should so indulge ourselves; but it is desirable

that he should keep the one he has; she is gentle, injures nobody,

and her fortune is made. The one who is now talked of will be as

haughty as high birth can make her. She must have an allowance

of a million francs a year, since she is said to be excessively

extravagant; her relations must be made Dukes, Governors of

provinces, and Marshals, and, in the end, will surround the King,

and overawe the Ministers."

Madame de Pompadour had this passage, which had been sent to

her by M. Jannette, the Intendant of the Police, who enjoyed the

King's entire confidence. He had carefully watched the King's

look, while he read the letter, and he saw that the arguments of

this counsellor, who was not a disaffected person, made a great

impression upon him. Some time afterwards, Madame de Pompadour said

to me, "The haughty Marquise behaved like Mademoiselle Deschamps,

and she is _turned off_." This was not Madame's only subject

of alarm. A relation of Madame d'Estrades, wife to the Marquis

de C----, had made the most pointed advances to the King, much

more than were necessary for a man who justly thought himself the

handsomest man in France, and who was, moreover, a King. He was

perfectly persuaded that every woman would yield to the slightest

desire he might deign to manifest. He, therefore, thought it a

mere matter of course that women fell in love with him. M. de

Stainville had a hand in marring the success of that intrigue;

and, soon afterwards, the Marquise de C----, who was confined

to her apartments at Marly, by her relations, escaped through

a closet to a rendezvous, and was caught with a young man in a

corridor. The Spanish Ambassador, coming out of his apartments

with flambeaux, was the person who witnessed this scene. Madame

d'Estrades affected to know nothing of her cousin's intrigues,

and kept up an appearance of the tenderest attachment to Madame

de Pompadour, whom she was habitually betraying. She acted as spy

for M. d'Argenson, in the cabinets, and in Madame de Pompadour's

apartments; and, when she could discover nothing, she had recourse

to her invention, in order that she might not lose her importance

with her lover. This Madame d'Estrades owed her whole existence

to the bounties of Madame, and yet, ugly as she was, she had

tried to get the King away from her. One day, when he had got

rather drunk at Choisy (I think, the only time that ever happened

to him), he went on board a beautiful barge, whither Madame,

being ill of an indigestion, could not accompany him. Madame

d'Estrades seized this opportunity. She got into the barge, and,

on their return, as it was dark, she followed the King into a

private closet, where he was believed to be sleeping on a couch,

and there went somewhat beyond any ordinary advances to him.

Her account of the matter to Madame was, that she had gone into

the closet upon her own affairs, and that the King had followed

her, and had tried to ravish her. She was at full liberty to

make what story she pleased, for the King knew neither what he

had said, nor what he had done. I shall finish this subject by

a short history concerning a young lady. I had been, one day,

to the theatre at Compiègne. When I returned, Madame asked me

several questions about the play; whether there was much company,

and whether I did not see a very beautiful girl. I replied, "That

there was, indeed, a girl in a box near mine, who was surrounded

by all the young men about the Court." She smiled, and said,

"That is Mademoiselle Dorothée; she went, this evening, to see

the King sup in public, and to-morrow she is to be taken to the

hunt. You are surprised to find me so well informed, but I know

a great deal more about her. She was brought here by a Gascon,

named Dubarré or Dubarri, who is the greatest scoundrel in France.

He founds all his hopes of advancement on Mademoiselle Dorothée's

charms, which he thinks the King cannot resist. She is, really,

very beautiful. She was pointed out to me in my little garden,

whither she was taken to walk on purpose. She is the daughter of

a water-carrier, at Strasbourg, and her charming lover demands

to be sent Minister to Cologne, as a beginning." "Is it possible,

Madame, that you can have been rendered uneasy by such a creature

as that?" "Nothing is impossible," replied she; "though I think

the King would scarcely dare to give such a scandal. Besides,

happily, Lebel, to quiet his conscience, told the King that the

beautiful Dorothée's lover is infected with a horrid disease;"

and, added he, "Your Majesty would not get rid of that as you

have done of the scrofula." This was quite enough to keep the

young lady at a distance.

"I pity you sincerely, Madame," said I, "while everybody else

envies you." "Ah!" replied she, "my life is that of the Christian,

a perpetual warfare. This was not the case with the woman who

enjoyed the favour of Louis XIV. Madame de La Vallière suffered

herself to be deceived by Madame de Montespan, but it was her

own fault, or, rather, the effect of her extreme good nature.

She was entirely devoid of suspicion at first, because she could

not believe her friend perfidious. Madame de Montespan's empire

was shaken by Madame de Fontanges, and overthrown by Madame de

Maintenon; but her haughtiness, her caprices, had already alienated

the King. He had not, however, such rivals as mine; it is true,

their baseness is my security. I have, in general, little to

fear but casual infidelities, and the chance that they may not

all be sufficiently transitory for my safety. The King likes

variety, but he is also bound by habit; he fears éclats, and

detests manoeuvring women. The little Maréchale (de Mirepoix)

one day said to me, 'It is your staircase that the King loves;

he is accustomed to go up and down it. But, if he found another

woman to whom he could talk of hunting and business as he does

to you, it would be just the same to him in three days.'"

I write without plan, order, or date, just as things come into

my mind; and I shall now go to the Abbé de Bernis. whom I liked

very much, because he was good-natured, and treated me kindly.

One day, just as Madame de Pompadour had finished dressing, M.

de Noailles asked to speak to her in private. I, accordingly,

retired. The Count looked full of important business. I heard

their conversation, as there was only the door between us.

"A circumstance has taken place," said he, "which I think it my

duty to communicate to the King; but I would not do so without

first informing you of it, since it concerns one of your friends

for whom I have the utmost regard and respect. The Abbé de Bernis

had a mind to shoot, this morning, and went, with two or three

of his people, armed with guns, into the little park, where the

Dauphin would not venture to shoot without asking the King's

permission. The guards, surprised at hearing the report of guns,

ran to the spot, and were greatly astonished at the sight of M. de

Bernis. They very respectfully asked to see his permission, when

they found, to their astonishment, that he had none. They begged

of him to desist, telling him that, if they did their duty, they

should arrest him; but they must, at all events, instantly acquaint

me with the circumstance, as Ranger of the Park of Versailles.

They added, that the King must have heard the firing, and that

they begged of him to retire. The Abbé apologized, on the score of

ignorance, and assured them that he had my permission. 'The Comte

de Noailles,' said they, 'could only grant permission to shoot in

the more remote parts, and in the great park.'" The Count made

a great merit of his eagerness to give the earliest information

to Madame. She told him to leave the task of communicating it

to the King to her, and begged of him to say nothing about the

matter. M. de Marigny, who did not like the Abbé, came to see

me in the evening; and I affected to know nothing of the story,

and to hear it for the first time from him. "He must have been out

of his senses," said he, "to shoot under the King's windows,"--and

enlarged much on the airs he gave himself. Madame de Pompadour

gave this affair the best colouring she could: the King was,

nevertheless, greatly disgusted at it, and twenty times, since

the Abbé's disgrace, when he passed over that part of the park,

he said, "This is where the Abbé took his pleasure." The King

never liked him; and Madame de Pompadour told me one night, after

his disgrace, when I was sitting up with her in her illness,

that she saw, before he had been Minister a week, that he was

not fit for his office. "If that hypocritical Bishop," said she,

speaking of the Bishop of Mirepoix, "had not prevented the King

from granting him a pension of four hundred louis a year, which he

had promised me, he would never have been appointed Ambassador.

I should, afterwards, have been able to give him an income of

eight hundred louis a year, perhaps the place of master of the

chapel. Thus he would have been happier, and I should have had

nothing to regret." I took the liberty of saying that I did not

agree with her. That he had yet remaining advantages, of which

he could not be deprived; that his exile would terminate; and that

he would then be a Cardinal, with an income of eight thousand

louis a year. "That is true," she replied; "but I think of the

mortifications he has undergone, and of the ambition which devours

him; and, lastly, I think of myself. I should have still enjoyed

his society, and should have had, in my declining years, an old

and amiable friend, if he had not been Minister." The King sent

him away in anger, and was strongly inclined to refuse him the

hat. M. Quesnay told me, some months afterwards, that the Abbé

wanted to be Prime Minister; that he had drawn up a memorial,

setting forth that in difficult crises the public good required

that there should be a _central point_ (that was his expression),

towards which everything should be directed. Madame de Pompadour

would not present the memorial; he insisted, though she said to

him, "_You will ruin yourself._" The King cast his eyes over it,

and said "_central point_"--that is to say himself, he wants to

be Prime Minister. Madame tried to apologize for him, and said,

"That expression might refer to the Maréchal de Belle-Isle." "Is

he not just about to be made Cardinal?" said the King. "This

is a fine manoeuvre; he knows well enough that, by means of that

dignity, he would compel the Ministers to assemble at his house,

and then M. l'Abbé would be the _central point_. Wherever there

is a Cardinal in the council, he is sure, in the end, to take

the lead. Louis XIV., for this reason, did not choose to admit

the Cardinal de Janson into the council, in spite of his great

esteem for him. The Cardinal de Fleury told me the same thing. He

had some desire that the Cardinal de Tencin should succeed him;

but his sister was such an intrigante that Cardinal de Fleury

advised me to have nothing to do with the matter, and I behaved

so as to destroy all his hopes, and to undeceive others. M.

d'Argenson has strongly impressed me with the same opinion, and

has succeeded in destroying all my respect for him." This is

what the King said, according to my friend Quesnay, who, by the

bye, was a great genius, as everybody said, and a very lively,

agreeable man. He liked to chat with me about the country. I

had been bred up there, and he used to set me a talking about

the meadows of Normandy and Poitou, the wealth of the farmers,

and the modes of culture. He was the best-natured man in the

world, and the farthest removed from petty intrigue. While he

lived at Court, he was much more occupied with the best manner of

cultivating land than with anything that passed around him. The

man whom he esteemed the most was M. de la Rivière, a Counsellor

of Parliament, who was also Intendant of Martinique; he looked

upon him as a man of the greatest genius, and thought him the

only person fit for the financial department of administration.

The Comtesse d'Estrades, who owed everything to Madame de Pompadour,

was incessantly intriguing against her. She was clever enough to

destroy all proofs of her manoeuvres, but she could not so easily

prevent suspicion. Her intimate connection with M. d'Argenson gave

offence to Madame, and, for some time, she was more reserved with

her. She, afterwards, did a thing which justly irritated the

King and Madame. The King, who wrote a great deal, had written

to Madame de Pompadour a long letter concerning an assembly of the

Chambers of Parliament, and had enclosed a letter of M. Berrier.

Madame was ill, and laid those letters on a little table by her

bedside. M. de Gontaut came in, and gossipped about trifles, as

usual. Madame d'Amblimont also came, and stayed but very little

time. Just as I was going to resume a book which I had been reading

to Madame, the Comtesse d'Estrades entered, placed herself near

Madame's bed, and talked to her for some time. As soon as she

was gone, Madame called me, asked what was o'clock, and said,

"Order my door to be shut, the King will soon be here." I gave

the order, and returned; and Madame told me to give her the King's

letter, which was on the table with some other papers. I gave

her the papers, and told her there was nothing else. She was

very uneasy at not finding the letter, and, after enumerating

the persons who had been in the room, she said, "It cannot be

the little Countess, nor Gontaut, who has taken this letter.

It can only be the Comtesse d'Estrades;--and that is too bad."

The King came, and was extremely angry, as Madame told me. Two

days afterwards, he sent Madame d'Estrades into exile. There was

no doubt that she took the letter; the King's handwriting had

probably awakened her curiosity. This occurrence gave great pain

to M. d'Argenson, who was bound to her, as Madame de Pompadour

said, by his love of intrigue. This redoubled his hatred of Madame,

and she accused him of favouring the publication of a libel,

in which she was represented as a worn-out mistress, reduced

to the vile occupation of providing new objects to please her

lover's appetite. She was characterised as superintendent of

the Parc-aux-cerfs, which was said to cost hundreds of thousands

of louis a year. Madame de Pompadour did, indeed, try to conceal

some of the King's weaknesses, but she never knew one of the

sultanas of that seraglio. There were, however, scarcely ever

more than two at once, and often only one. When they married, they

received some jewels, and four thousand louis. The Parc-aux-cerfs

was sometimes vacant for five or six months. I was surprised,

some time after, at seeing the Duchesse de Luynes, Lady of Honour

to the Queen, come privately to see Madame de Pompadour. She

afterwards came openly. One evening, after Madame was in bed, she

called me, and said, "My dear, you will be delighted; the Queen

has given me the place of Lady of the Palace; tomorrow I am to be

presented to her: you must make me look well." I knew that the

King was not so well pleased at this as she was; he was afraid

that it would give rise to scandal, and that it might be thought

he had forced this nomination upon the Queen. He had, however,

done no such thing. It had been represented to the Queen that

it was an act of heroism on her part to forget the past; that

all scandal would be obliterated when Madame de Pompadour was

seen to belong to the Court in an honourable manner; and that

it would be the best proof that nothing more than friendship now

subsisted between the King and the favourite. The Queen received

her very graciously. The devotees flattered themselves they should

be protected by Madame, and, for some time, were full of her

praises. Several of the Dauphin's friends came in private to see

her, and some obtained promotion. The Chevalier du Muy, however,

refused to come. The King had the greatest possible contempt for

them, and granted them nothing with a good grace. He, one day,

said of a man of great family, who wished to be made Captain

of the Guards, "He is a double spy, who wants to be paid on both

sides." This was the moment at which Madame de Pompadour seemed

to me to enjoy the most complete satisfaction. The devotees came

to visit her without scruple, and did not forget to make use

of every opportunity of serving themselves. Madame de Lu----

had set them the example. The Doctor laughed at this change in

affairs, and was very merry at the expense of the saints. "You

must allow, however, that they are consistent," said I, "and

may be sincere." "Yes," said he; "but then they should not ask

for anything."

One day, I was at Doctor Quesnay's, whilst Madame de Pompadour

was at the theatre. The Marquis de Mirabeau came in, and the

conversation was, for some time, extremely tedious to me, running

entirely on _net produce_; at length, they talked of other things.

Mirabeau said, "I think the King looks ill, he grows old." "So

much the worse, a thousand times so much the worse," said Quesnay;

"it would be the greatest possible loss to France if he died;"

and he raised his hands, and sighed deeply. "I do not doubt that

you are attached to the King, and with reason," said Mirabeau;

"I am attached to him too; but I never saw you so much moved."

"Ah!" said. Quesnay, "I think of what would follow." "Well,

the Dauphin is virtuous." "Yes; and full of good intentions;

nor is he deficient in understanding; but canting hypocrites

would possess an absolute empire over a Prince who regards them

as oracles. The Jesuits would govern the kingdom, as they did at

the end of Louis XIV.'s reign: and you would see the fanatical

Bishop of Verdun Prime Minister, and La Vauguyon all-powerful

under some other title. The Parliaments must then mind how they

behave; they will not be better treated than my friends the

philosophers." "But they go too far," said Mirabeau; "why openly

attack religion?" "I allow that," replied the Doctor; "but how

is it possible not to be rendered indignant by the fanaticism of

others, and by recollecting all the blood that has flowed during

the last two hundred years? You must not then again irritate

them, and revive in France the time of Mary in England. But what

is done is done, and I often exhort them to be moderate; I wish

they would follow the example of our friend Duclos." "You are

right," replied Mirabeau; "he said to me a few days ago, 'These

philosophers are going on at such a rate that they will force

me to go to vespers and high mass;' but, in fine, the Dauphin

is virtuous, well-informed, and intellectual." "It is the

commencement of his reign, I fear," said Quesnay, "when the imprudent

proceedings of our friends will be represented to him in the most

unfavourable point of view; when the Jansenists and Molinists will

make common cause, and be strongly supported by the Dauphine. I

thought that M. de Muy was moderate, and that he would temper the

headlong fury of the others; but I heard him say that Voltaire

merited condign punishment. Be assured, sir, that the times of

John Huss and Jerome of Prague will return; but I hope not to

live to see it. I approve of Voltaire having hunted down the

Pompignans: were it not for the ridicule with which he covered

them, that _bourgeois_ Marquis would have been preceptor to the

young Princes, and, aided by his brother, would have succeeded

in again lighting the faggots of persecution." "What ought to

give you confidence in the Dauphin," said Mirabeau, "is, that,

notwithstanding the devotion of Pompignan, he turns him into

ridicule. A short time back, seeing him strutting about with an

air of inflated pride, he said to a person, who told it to me,

'Our friend Pompignan thinks that he is something.'" On returning

home, I wrote down this conversation.

I, one day, found Quesnay in great distress. "Mirabeau," said

he, "is sent to Vincennes, for his work on taxation. The Farmers

General have denounced him, and procured his arrest; his wife

is going to throw herself at the feet of Madame de Pompadour

to-day." A few minutes afterwards, I went into Madame's apartment,

to assist at her toilet, and the Doctor came in. Madame said to

him, "You must be much concerned at the disgrace of your friend

Mirabeau. I am sorry for it too, for I like his brother." Quesnay

replied, "I am very far from believing him to be actuated by bad

intentions, Madame; he loves the King and the people." "Yes,"

said she; "his _Ami des Hommes_ did him great honour." At this

moment the Lieutenant of Police entered, and Madame said to him,

"Have you seen M. de Mirabeau's book?" "Yes, Madame; but it was

not I who denounced it?" "What do you think of it?" "I think he

might have said almost all it contains with impunity, if he had

been more circumspect as to the manner; there is, among other

objectionable passages, this, which occurs at the beginning:

_Your Majesty has about twenty millions of subjects; it is only

by means of money that you can obtain their services, and there

is no money._" "What, is there really that, Doctor?" said Madame.

"It is true, they are the first lines in the book, and I confess

that they are imprudent; but, in reading the work, it is clear

that he laments that patriotism is extinct in the hearts of his

fellow-citizens, and that he desires to rekindle it." The King

entered: we went out, and I wrote down on Quesnay's table what

I had just heard. I then returned to finish dressing Madame de

Pompadour: she said to me, "The King is extremely angry with

Mirabeau; but I tried to soften him, and so did the Lieutenant

of Police. This will increase Quesnay's fears. Do you know what

he said to me to-day? The King had been talking to him in my

room, and the Doctor appeared timid and agitated. After the King

was gone, I said to him, 'You always seem so embarrassed in the

King's presence, and yet he is so good-natured.' 'Madame,' said

he, 'I left my native village at the age of forty, and I have

very little experience of the world, nor can I accustom myself

to its usages without great difficulty. When I am in a room with

the King, I say to myself, 'This is a man who can order my head

to be cut off; and that idea embarrasses me.' 'But do not the

King's justice and kindness set you at ease?' 'That is very true

in reasoning,' said he; 'but the sentiment is more prompt, and

inspires me with fear before I have time to say to myself all

that is calculated to allay it.'"

I got her to repeat this conversation, and wrote it down immediately,

that I might not forget it.

An anonymous letter was addressed to the King and Madame de

Pompadour; and, as the author was very anxious that it should

not miscarry, he sent copies to the Lieutenant of Police, sealed

and directed _to the King, to Madame de Pompadour, and to M. de

Marigny_. This letter produced a strong impression on Madame, and

on the King, and still more, I believe, on the Duc de Choiseul, who

had received a similar one. I went on my knees to M. de Marigny,

to prevail on him to allow me to copy it, that I might show it

to the Doctor. It is as follows:

"Sire--It is a zealous servant who writes to Your Majesty. Truth

is always better, particularly to Kings; habituated to flattery,

they see objects only under those colours most likely to please

them. I have reflected, and read much; and here is what my

meditations have suggested to me to lay before Your Majesty.

They have accustomed you to be invisible, and inspired you with

a timidity which prevents you from speaking; thus all direct

communication is cut off between the master and his subjects.

Shut up in the interior of your palace, you are becoming every

day like the Emperors of the East; but see, Sire, their fate!

'I have troops,' Your Majesty will say; such, also, is their

support: but, when the only security of a King rests upon his

troops; when he is only, as one may say, a King of the soldiers,

these latter feel their own strength, and abuse it. Your finances

are in the greatest disorder, and the great majority of states

have perished through this cause. A patriotic spirit sustained

the ancient states, and united all classes for the safety of

their country. In the present times, money has taken the place

of this spirit; it has become the universal lever, and you are in

want of it. A spirit of finance affects every department of the

state; it reigns triumphant at Court; all have become venal; and

all distinction of rank is broken up. Your Ministers are without

genius and capacity since the dismissal of MM. d'Argenson and de

Machault. You alone cannot judge of their incapacity, because

they lay before you what has been prepared by skilful clerks, but

which they pass as their own. They provide only for the necessity

of the day, but there is no spirit of government in their acts.

The military changes that have taken place disgust the troops,

and cause the most deserving officers to resign; a seditious flame

has sprung up in the very bosom of the Parliaments; you seek

to corrupt them, and the remedy is worse than the disease. It is

introducing vice into the sanctuary of justice, and gangrene into

the vital parts of the commonwealth. Would a corrupted Parliament

have braved the fury of the League, in order to preserve the

crown for the legitimate sovereign? Forgetting the maxims of

Louis XIV., who well understood the danger of confiding the

administration to noblemen, you have chosen M. de Choiseul, and

even given him three departments; which is a much heavier burden

than that which he would have to support as Prime Minister, because

the latter has only to oversee the details executed by the

Secretaries of State. The public fully appreciate this dazzling

Minister. He is nothing more than a _petit-maître_, without talents

or information, who has a little phosphorus in his mind. There

is a thing well worthy of remark, Sire; that is, the open war

carried on against religion. Henceforward there can spring up no

new sects, because the general belief has been shaken, that no

one feels inclined to occupy himself with difference of sentiment

upon some of the articles. The Encyclopedists, under pretence of

enlightening mankind, are sapping the foundations of religion.

All the different kinds of liberty are connected; the Philosophers

and the Protestants tend towards republicanism, as well as the

Jansenists. The Philosophers strike at the root, the others lop

the branches; and their efforts, without being concerted, will

one day lay the tree low. Add to these the Economists, whose

object is political liberty, as that of the others is liberty of

worship, and the Government may find itself, in twenty or thirty

years, undermined in every direction, and will then fall with a

crash. If Your Majesty, struck by this picture, but too true,

should ask me for a remedy, I should say, that it is necessary to

bring back the Government to its principles, and, above all, to

lose no time in restoring order to the state of the finances,

because the embarrassments incident to a country in a state of

debt necessitate fresh taxes, which, after grinding the people,

induce them towards revolt. It is my opinion that Your Majesty

would do well to appear more among your people; to shew your

approbation of useful services, and your displeasure of errors

and prevarications, and neglect of duty: in a word, to let it be

seen that rewards and punishments, appointments and dismissals,

proceed from yourself. You will then inspire gratitude by your

favours, and fear by your reproaches; you will then be the object

of immediate and personal attachment, instead of which, everything

is now referred to your Ministers. The confidence in the King,

which is habitual to your people, is shewn by the exclamation,

so common among them, 'Ah! if the King knew it.' They love to

believe that the King would remedy all their evils, if he knew

of them. But, on the other hand, what sort of ideas must they

form of Kings, whose duty it is to be informed of everything,

and to superintend everything, that concerns the public, but who

are, nevertheless, ignorant of everything which the discharge

of their functions requires them to know? _Rex, roi, regere,

régir, conduire_--to rule, to conduct--these words sufficiently

denote their duties. What would be said of a father who got rid

of the charge of his children as of a burthen?

"A time will come, Sire, when the people shall be enlightened--and

that time is probably approaching. Resume the reins of government,

hold them with a firm hand, and act, so that it cannot be said

of you, _Foeminas et scorta volvit animo et hoec principatûs

proemia putat:_--Sire, if I see that my sincere advice should

have produced any change, I shall continue it, and enter into

more details; if not, I shall remain silent."

Now that I am upon the subject of anonymous letters to the King,

I must just mention that it is impossible to conceive how frequent

they were. People were extremely assiduous in telling either

unpleasant truths, or alarming lies, with a view to injure others.

As an instance, I shall transcribe one concerning Voltaire, who

paid great court to Madame de Pompadour when he was in France.

This letter was written long after the former.

"Madame--M. de Voltaire has just dedicated his tragedy of _Tancred_

to you; this ought to be an offering of respect and gratitude;

but it is, in fact, an insult, and you will form the same opinion

of it as the public has done if you read it with attention. You

will see that this distinguished writer appears to betray a

consciousness that the subject of his encomiums is not worthy of

them, and to endeavour to excuse himself for them to the public.

These are his words: 'I have seen your graces and talents unfold

themselves from your infancy. At all periods of your life I have

received proofs of your uniform and unchanging kindness. If any

critic be found to censure the homage I pay you, he must have a

heart formed for ingratitude. I am under great obligations to

you, Madame, and these obligations it is my duty to proclaim.'

"What do these words really signify, unless that Voltaire feels

it may be thought extraordinary that he should dedicate his work

to a woman who possesses but a small share of the public esteem,

and that the sentiment of gratitude must plead his excuse? Why

should he suppose that the homage he pays you will be censured,

whilst we daily see dedications addressed to silly gossips who have

neither rank nor celebrity, or to women of exceptional conduct,

without any censure being attracted by it? "

M. de Marigny, and Colin, Madame de Pompadour's steward, were

of the same opinion as Quesnay, that the author of this letter

was extremely malicious; that he insulted Madame, and tried to

injure Voltaire; but that he was, in fact, right. Voltaire, from

that moment, was entirely out of favour with Madame, and with

the King, and he certainly never discovered the cause.

The King, who admired everything of the age of Louis XIV., and

recollected that the Boileaus and Racines had been protected by

that monarch, who was indebted to them, in part, for the lustre

of his reign, was flattered at having such a man as Voltaire among

his subjects. But still he feared him, and had but little esteem

for him. He could not help saying, "Moreover, I have treated

him as well as Louis XIV. treated Racine and Boileau. I have

given him, as Louis XIV. gave to Racine, some pensions, and a

place of gentleman in ordinary. It is not my fault if he has

committed absurdities, and has had the pretension to become a

chamberlain, to wear an order, and sup with a King. It is not

the fashion in France; and, as there are here a few more men

of wit and noblemen than in Prussia, it would require that I

should have a very large table to assemble them all at it." And

then he reckoned upon his fingers, Maupertuis, Fontenelle, La

Mothe, Voltaire, Piron, Destouches, Montesquieu, the Cardinal

Polignac. "Your Majesty forgets," said some one, "D'Alembert and

Clairaut." "And Crébillon," said he. "And la Chaussée, and the

younger Crébillon," said some one. "He ought to be more agreeable

than his father." "And there are also the Abbés Prévôt and d'Olivet."

"Pretty well," said the King; "and for the last twenty years _all

that (tout cela)_ would have dined and supped at my table."

Madame de Pompadour repeated to me this conversation, which I

wrote down the same evening. M. de Marigny, also, talked to me

about it. "Voltaire," said he, "has always had a fancy for being

Ambassador, and he did all he could to make the people believe

that he was charged with some political mission, the first time

he visited Prussia."