The people heard of the attempt on the King's life with transports

of fury, and with the greatest distress. Their cries were heard

under the windows of Madame de Pompadour's apartment. Mobs were

collected, and Madame feared the fate of Madame de Châteauroux.

Her friends came in, every minute, to give her intelligence.

Her room was, at all times, like a church; everybody seemed to

claim a right to go in and out when he chose. Some came, under

pretence of sympathising, to observe her countenance and manner.

She did nothing but weep and faint away. Doctor Quesnay never

left her, nor did I. M. de St. Florentin came to see her several

times, so did the Comptroller-General, and M. Rouillé; but M.

de Machault did not come. The Duchesse de Brancas came very

frequently. The Abbé de Bernis never left us, except to go to

enquire for the King. The tears came in his eyes whenever he

looked at Madame. Doctor Quesnay saw the King five or six times

a day. "There is nothing to fear," said he to Madame. "If it

were anybody else, he might go to a ball." My son went the next

day, as he had done the day the event occurred, to see what was

going on at the Castle. He told us, on his return, that the Keeper

of the Seals was with the King. I sent him back, to see what

course he took on leaving the King. He came running back in half

an hour, to tell me that the Keeper of the Seals had gone to his

own house, followed by a crowd of people. When I told this to

Madame, she burst into tears, and said, "_Is that a friend?_"

The Abbé de Bernis said, "You must not judge him hastily, in

such a moment as this." I returned into the drawing-room about

an hour after, when the Keeper of the Seals entered. He passed

me, with his usual cold and severe look. "How is Madame de

Pompadour?" said he. "Alas!" replied I, "as you may imagine!"

He passed on to her closet. Everybody retired, and he remained

for half an hour. The Abbé returned and Madame rang. I went into

her room, the Abbé following me. She was in tears. "I must go, my

dear Abbé," said she. I made her take some orange-flower water,

in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered. She then told me to

call her equerry. He came in, and she calmly gave him her orders,

to have everything prepared at her hotel, in Paris; to tell all

her people to get ready to go; and to desire her coachman not

to be out of the way. She then shut herself up, to confer with

the Abbé de Bernis, who left her, to go to the Council. Her door

was then shut, except to the ladies with whom she was particularly

intimate, M. de Soubise, M. de Gontaut, the Ministers, and some

others. Several ladies, in the greatest distress, came to talk

to me in my room: they compared the conduct of M. de Machault

with that of M. de Richelieu, at Metz. Madame had related to

them the circumstances extremely to the honour of the Duke, and,

by contrast, the severest satire on the Keeper of the Seals.

"He thinks, or pretends to think," said she, "that the priests

will be clamorous for my dismissal; but Quesnay and all the

physicians declare that there is not the slightest danger." Madame

having sent for me, I saw the Maréchale de Mirepoix coming in.

While she was at the door, she cried out, "What are all those

trunks, Madame? Your people tell me you are going." "Alas! my

dear friend, such is our Master's desire, as M. de Machault tells

me." "And what does he advise?" said the Maréchale. "That I should

go without delay." During this conversation, I was undressing

Madame, who wished to be at her ease on her chaise-longue. "Your

Keeper of the Seals wants to get the power into his own hands,

and betrays you; he who quits the field loses it." I went out. M.

de Soubise entered, then the Abbé and M. de Marigny. The latter,

who was very kind to me, came into my room an hour afterwards.

I was alone. "She will remain," said he; "but, hush!--she will

make an appearance of going, in order not to set her enemies

at work. It is the little Maréchale who prevailed upon her to

stay: her keeper (so she called M. de Machault) will pay for

it." Quesnay came in, and, having heard what was said, with his

monkey airs, began to relate a fable of a fox, who, being at

dinner with other beasts, persuaded one of them that his enemies

were seeking him, in order that he might get possession of his

share in his absence. I did not see Madame again till very late,

at her going to bed. She was more calm. Things improved, from day

to day, and de Machault, the faithless friend, was dismissed.

The King returned to Madame de Pompadour, as usual. I learnt,

by M. de Marigny, that the Abbé had been, one day, with M.

d'Argenson, to endeavour to persuade him to live on friendly

terms with Madame, and that he had been very coldly received.

"He is the more arrogant," said he, "on account of Machault's

dismissal, which leaves the field clear for him, who has more

experience, and more talent; and I fear that he will, therefore,

be disposed to declare _war till death_." The next day, Madame

having ordered her chaise, I was curious to know where she was

going, for she went out but little, except to church, and to

the houses of the Ministers. I was told that she was gone to

visit M. d'Argenson. She returned in an hour, at farthest, and

seemed very much out of spirits. She leaned on the chimney-piece,

with her eyes fixed on the border of it. M. de Bernis entered.

I waited for her to take off her cloak and gloves. She had her

hands in her muff. The Abbé stood looking at her for some minutes;

at last he said, "You look like a sheep in a reflecting mood." She

awoke from her reverie, and, throwing her muff on the easy-chair,

replied, "It is a wolf who makes the sheep reflect." I went out:

the King entered shortly after, and I heard Madame de Pompadour

sobbing. The Abbé came into my room, and told me to bring some

Hoffman's drops: the King himself mixed the draught with sugar,

and presented it to her in the kindest manner possible. She smiled,

and kissed the King's hands. I left the room. Two days after,

very early in the morning, I heard of M. d'Argenson's exile.

It was her doing, and was, indeed, the strongest proof of her

influence that could be given. The King was much attached to

M. d'Argenson, and the war, then carrying on, both by sea and

land, rendered the dismissal of two such Ministers extremely

imprudent. This was the universal opinion at the time.

Many people talk of the letter of the Comte d'Argenson to Madame

d'Esparbès. I give it, according to the most correct version:

"The doubtful is, at length, decided. The Keeper of the Seals

is dismissed. You will be recalled, my dear Countess, and we

shall be masters of the field."

It is much less generally known that Arboulin, whom Madame calls

Bou-bou, was supposed to be the person who, on the very day of

the dismissal of the Keeper of the Seals, bribed the Count's

confidential courier, who gave him this letter. Is this report

founded on truth? I cannot swear that it is; but it is asserted

that the letter is written in the Count's style. Besides, who

could so immediately have invented it? It, however, appeared

certain, from the extreme displeasure of the King, that he had

some other subject of complaint against M. d'Argenson, besides

his refusing to be reconciled with Madame. Nobody dares to show

the slightest attachment to the disgraced Minister. I asked the

ladies who were most intimate with Madame de Pompadour, as well

as my own friends, what they knew of the matter; but they knew

nothing. I can understand why Madame did not let them into her

confidence at that moment. She will be less reserved in time.

I care very little about it, since I see that she is well, and

appears happy.

The King said a thing, which did him honour, to a person whose

name Madame withheld from me. A nobleman, who had been a most

assiduous courtier of the Count, said, rubbing his hands with

an air of great joy, "I have just seen the Comte d'Argenson's

baggage set out." When the King heard him, he went up to Madame,

shrugged his shoulders, and said, "And immediately the cock crew."

I believe this is taken from Scripture, where Peter denies Our

Lord. I confess, this circumstance gave me great pleasure. It

showed that the King is not the dupe of those around him, and

that he hates treachery and ingratitude.

Madame sent for me yesterday evening, at seven o'clock, to read

something to her; the ladies who were intimate with her were at

Paris, and M. de Gontaut ill. "The King," said she, "will stay

late at the Council this evening; they are occupied with the

affairs of the Parliament again." She bade me leave off reading,

and I was going to quit the room, but she called out, "Stop." She

rose; a letter was brought in for her, and she took it with an

air of impatience and ill-humour. After a considerable time she

began to talk openly, which only happened when she was extremely

vexed; and, as none of her confidential friends were at hand, she

said to me, "This is from my brother. It is what he would not

have dared to say to me, so he writes. I had arranged a marriage

for him with the daughter of a man of title; he appeared to be

well inclined to it, and I, therefore, pledged my word. He now

tells me that he has made inquiries; that the parents are people

of insupportable hauteur; that the daughter is very badly educated;

and that he knows, from authority not to be doubted, that when

she heard this marriage discussed, she spoke of the connection

with the most supreme contempt; that he is certain of this fact;

and that I was still more contemptuously spoken of than himself.

In a word, he begs me to break off the treaty. But he has let me

go too far; and now he will make these people my irreconcilable

enemies. This has been put in his head by some of his flatterers;

they do not wish him to change his way of living; and very few of

them would be received by his wife." I tried to soften Madame,

and, though I did not venture to tell her so, I thought her brother

right. She persisted in saying these were lies, and, on the following

Sunday, treated her brother very coldly. He said nothing to me

at that time; if he had, he would have embarrassed me greatly.

Madame atoned for everything by procuring favours, which were the

means of facilitating the young lady's marriage with a gentleman

of the Court. Her conduct, two months after marriage, compelled

Madame to confess that her brother had been perfectly right.

I saw my friend, Madame du Chiron. "Why," said she, "is the Marquise

so violent an enemy to the Jesuits? I assure you she is wrong.

All-powerful as she is, she may find herself the worse for their

enmity." I replied that I knew nothing about the matter. "It

is, however, unquestionably a fact; and she does not feel that

a word more or less might decide her fate." "How do you mean?"

said I.

"Well, I will explain myself fully," said she. "You know what

took place at the time the King was stabbed: an attempt was made

to get her out of the Castle instantly. The Jesuits have no other

object than the salvation of their penitents; but they are men,

and hatred may, without their being aware of it, influence their

minds, and inspire them with a greater degree of severity than

circumstances absolutely demand. Favour and partiality may, on the

other hand, induce the confessor to make great concessions; and

the shortest interval may suffice to save a favourite, especially

if any decent pretext can be found for prolonging her stay at

Court." I agreed with her in all she said, but I told her that I

dared not touch that string. On reflecting on this conversation

afterwards, I was forcibly struck with this fresh proof of the

intrigues of the Jesuits, which, indeed, I knew well already. I

thought that, in spite of what I had replied to Madame du Chiron,

I ought to communicate this to Madame de Pompadour, for the ease of

my conscience; but that I would abstain from making any reflection

upon it. "Your friend, Madame du Chiron," said she, "is, I perceive,

affiliated to the Jesuits, and what she says does not originate

with herself. She is commissioned by some reverend father, and

I will know by whom." Spies were, accordingly, set to watch her

movements, and they discovered that one Father de Saci, and, still

more particularly, one Father Frey, guided this lady's conduct,

"What a pity," said Madame to me, "that the Abbé Chauvelin cannot

know this." He was the most formidable enemy of the reverend

fathers. Madame du Chiron always looked upon me as a Jansenist,

because I would not espouse the interests of the good fathers

with as much warmth as she did.

Madame is completely absorbed in the Abbé de Bernis, whom she

thinks capable of anything; she talks of him incessantly. Apropos

of this Abbé, I must relate an anecdote, which almost makes one

believe in conjurors. A year, or fifteen months, before her disgrace,

Madame de Pompadour, being at Fontainebleau, sat down to write at

a desk, over which hung a portrait of the King. While she was

shutting the desk, after she had finished writing, the picture

fell, and struck her violently on the head. The persons who saw

the accident were alarmed, and sent for Dr. Quesnay. He asked the

circumstances of the case, and ordered bleeding and anodynes. Just

as she had been bled, Madame de Brancas entered, and saw us all in

confusion and agitation, and Madame lying on her chaise-longue.

She asked what was the matter, and was told. After having expressed

her regret, and having consoled her, she said, "I ask it as a

favour of Madame, and of the King (who had just come in), that

they will instantly send a courier to the Abbé de Bernis, and

that the Marquise will have the goodness to write a letter, merely

requesting him to inform her what his fortune-tellers told him,

and to withhold nothing from the fear of making her uneasy."

The thing was done as she desired, and she then told us that La

Bontemps had predicted, from the dregs in the coffee-cup, in

which she read everything, that the head of her best friend was

in danger, but that no fatal consequences would ensue.

The next day, the Abbé wrote word that Madame Bontemps also said

to him, "You came into the world almost black," and that this was

the fact. This colour, which lasted for some time, was attributed

to a picture which hung at the foot of his mother's bed, and

which she often looked at. It represented a Moor bringing to

Cleopatra a basket of flowers, containing the asp by whose bite

she destroyed herself. He said that she also told him, "You have

a great deal of money about you, but it does not belong to you;"

and that he had actually in his pocket two hundred louis for

the Duc de La Vallière. Lastly, he informed us that she said,

looking in the cup, "I see one of your friends--the best--a

distinguished lady, threatened with an accident;" that he confessed

that, in spite of all his philosophy, he turned pale; that she

remarked this, looked again into the cup, and continued, "Her

head will be slightly in danger, but of this no appearance will

remain half an hour afterwards." It was impossible to doubt the

facts. They appeared so surprising to the King, that he desired

some inquiry to be made concerning the fortune-teller. Madame,

however, protected her from the pursuit of the Police.

A man, who was quite as astonishing as this fortune-teller, often

visited Madame de Pompadour. This was the Comte de St. Germain,

who wished to have it believed that he had lived several centuries.

One day, at her toilet, Madame said to him, in my presence, "What

was the personal appearance of Francis I.? He was a King I should

have liked." "He was, indeed, very captivating," said St. Germain;

and he proceeded to describe his face and person as one does

that of a man one has accurately observed. "It is a pity he was

too ardent. I could have given him some good advice, which would

have saved him from all his misfortunes; but he would not have

followed it; for it seems as if a fatality attended Princes,

forcing them to shut their ears, those of the mind, at least, to

the best advice, and especially in the most critical moments."

"And the Constable," said Madame, "what do you say of him?" "I

cannot say much good or much harm of him," replied he. "Was

the Court of Francis I. very brilliant?" "Very brilliant; but

those of his grandsons infinitely surpassed it. In the time of

Mary Stuart and Margaret of Valois it was a land of enchantment--a

temple, sacred to pleasures of every kind; those of the mind

were not neglected. The two Queens were learned, wrote verses,

and spoke with captivating grace and eloquence." Madame said,

laughing, "You seem to have seen all this." "I have an excellent

memory," said he, "and have read the history of France with great

care. I sometimes amuse myself, not by _making_, but by _letting_

it be believed that I lived in old times." "You do not tell me

your age, however, and you give yourself out for very old. The

Comtesse de Gergy, who was Ambassadress to Venice, I think, fifty

years ago, says she knew you there exactly what you are now."

"It is true, Madame, that I have known Madame de Gergy a long

time." "But, according to what she says, you would be more than

a hundred." "That is not impossible," said he, laughing; "but

it is, I allow, still more possible that Madame de Gergy, for

whom I have the greatest respect, may be in her dotage." "You

have given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising.

She declares that for a long time she has felt as if she was

only four-and-twenty years of age; why don't you give some to

the King?" "Ah! Madame," said he, with a sort of terror, "I must

be mad to think of giving the King an unknown drug." I went into

my room to write down this conversation.

Some days afterwards, the King, Madame de Pompadour, some Lords

of the Court, and the Comte de St. Germain, were talking about

his secret for causing the spots in diamonds to disappear. The

King ordered a diamond of middling size, which had a spot, to

be brought. It was weighed; and the King said to the Count, "It

is valued at two hundred and forty louis; but it would be worth

four hundred if it had no spot. Will you try to put a hundred

and sixty louis into my pocket?" He examined it carefully, and

said, "It may be done; and I will bring it you again in a month."

At the time appointed, the Count brought back the diamond without

a spot, and gave it to the King. It was wrapped in a cloth of

amianthus, which he took off. The King had it weighed, and found

it but very little diminished. The King sent it to his jeweller

by M. de Gontaut, without telling him anything of what had passed.

The jeweller gave three hundred and eighty louis for it. The King,

however, sent for it back again, and kept it as a curiosity. He

could not overcome his surprise, and said that M. de St. Germain

must be worth millions, especially if he had also the secret of

making large diamonds out of a number of small ones. He neither

said that he had, nor that he had not; but he positively asserted

that he could make pearls grow, and give them the finest water.

The King paid him great attention, and so did Madame de Pompadour.

It was from her I learnt what I have just related. M. Quesnay

said, talking of the pearls, "They are produced by a disease

in the oyster. It is possible to know the cause of it; but, be

that as it may, he is not the less a quack, since he pretends

to have the _elixir vitoe_, and to have lived several centuries.

Our master is, however, infatuated by him, and sometimes talks

of him as if his descent were illustrious."

I have seen him frequently: he appeared to be about fifty; he was

neither fat nor thin; he had an acute, intelligent look, dressed

very simply, but in good taste; he wore very fine diamonds in his

rings, watch, and snuff-box. He came, one day, to visit Madame

de Pompadour, at a time when the Court was in full splendour, with

knee and shoe-buckles of diamonds so fine and brilliant that

Madame said she did not believe the King had any equal to them.

He went into the antechamber to take them off, and brought them to

be examined; they were compared with others in the room, and the

Duc de Gontaut, who was present, said they were both at least

eight thousand louis. He wore, at the same time, a snuff-box of

inestimable value, and ruby sleeve-buttons, which were perfectly

dazzling. Nobody could find out by what means this man became

so rich and so remarkable; but the King would not suffer him

to be spoken of with ridicule or contempt. He was said to be a

bastard son of the King of Portugal.

I learnt, from M. de Marigny, that the relations of the good

little Maréchale (de Mirepoix) had been extremely severe upon her,

for what they called the baseness of her conduct, with regard to

Madame de Pompadour. They said she held the stones of the cherries

which Madame ate in her carriage, in her beautiful little hands,

and that she sate in the front of the carriage, while Madame

occupied the whole seat in the inside. The truth was, that, in

going to Crécy, on an insupportably hot day, they both wished to

sit alone, that they might be cooler; and as to the matter of

the cherries, the villagers having brought them some, they ate

them to refresh themselves, while the horses were changed; and

the Maréchale emptied her pocket-handkerchief, into which they

had both thrown the cherry-stones, out of the carriage window. The

people who were changing the horses had given their own version

of the affair.

I had, as you know, a very pretty room at Madame's hotel, whither

I generally went privately. I had, one day, had visits from two or

three Paris representatives, who told me news; and Madame, having

sent for me, I went to her, and found her with M. de Gontaut. I

could not help instantly saying to her, "You must be much pleased,

Madame, at the noble action of the Marquis de ----." Madame replied,

drily, "Hold your tongue, and listen to what I have to say to

you." I returned to my little room, where I found the Comtesse

d'Amblimont, to whom I mentioned Madame's reception of me. "I

know what is the matter," said she; "it has no relation to you.

I will explain it to you. The Marquis de ---- has told all Paris,

that, some days ago, going home at night, alone, and on foot,

he heard cries in a street called Férou, which is dark, and,

in great part, arched over; that he drew his sword, and went

down the street, in which he saw, by the light of a lamp, a very

handsome woman, to whom some ruffians were offering violence;

that he approached, and that the woman cried out, 'Save me! save

me!' that he rushed upon the wretches, two of whom fought him,

sword in hand, whilst a third held the woman, and tried to stop

her mouth; that he wounded one in the arm; and that the ruffians,

hearing people pass at the end of the street, and fearing they

might come to his assistance, fled; that he went up to the lady,

who told him that they were not robbers, but villains, one of

whom was desperately in love with her; and that the lady knew

not how to express her gratitude; that she had begged him not

to follow her, after he had conducted her to a _fiacre_; that

she would not tell him her name, but that she insisted on his

accepting a little ring, as a token of remembrance; and that she

promised to see him again, and to tell him her whole history,

if he gave her his address; that he complied with this request

of the lady, whom he represented as a charming person, and who,

in the overflowing of her gratitude, embraced him several times.

This is all very fine, so far," said Madame d'Amblimont, "but

hear the rest. The Marquis de ---- exhibited himself everywhere

the next day, with a black ribbon bound round his arm, near the

wrist, in which part he said he had received the wound. He related

his story to everybody, and everybody commented upon it after

his own fashion. He went to dine with the Dauphin, who spoke

to him of his bravery, and of his fair unknown, and told him

that he had already complimented the Duc de C---- on the affair.

I forgot to tell you," continued Madame d'Amblimont, "that, on

the very night of the adventure, he called on Madame d'Estillac,

an old gambler, whose house is open till four in the morning;

that everybody there was surprised at the disordered state in

which he appeared; that his bagwig had fallen off, one skirt of

his coat was cut, and his right hand bleeding. That they instantly

bound it up, and gave him some Rota wine. Four days ago, the Duc

de C---- supped with the King, and sat near M. de St. Florentin.

He talked to him of his relation's adventure, and asked him if he

had made any inquiries concerning the lady. M. de St. Florentin

coldly answered, 'No;' and M. de C---- remarked, on asking him

some further questions, that he kept his eyes fixed on his plate,

looking embarrassed, and answered in monosyllables. He asked him

the reason of this, upon which M. de Florentin told him that it

was extremely distressing to him to see him under such a mistake.

'How can you know that, supposing it to be the fact?' said M.

de ----. 'Nothing is more easy to prove,' replied M. de St.

Florentin. 'You may imagine that, as soon as I was informed of

the Marquis de ----'s adventure, I set on foot inquiries, the

result of which was, that, on the night when this affair was said

to have taken place, a party of the watch was set in ambuscade

in this very street, for the purpose of catching a thief who

was coming out of the gaming house; that this party was there

four hours, and heard not the slightest noise.' M. de C---- was

greatly incensed at this recital, which M. de St. Florentin ought,

indeed, to have communicated to the King. He has ordered, or

will order, his relation to retire to his province.

[Illustration: Madame de Pompadour. _From the original painting

by Nattier in the Royal Gallery in Scotland._]

"After this, you will judge, my dear, whether you were very likely

to be graciously received when you went open-mouthed with your

compliment to the Marquise. This adventure," continued she, "reminded

the King of one which occurred about fifteen years ago. The Comte

d'E----, who was what is called _enfant d'honneur_ to the Dauphin,

and about fourteen years of age, came into the Dauphin's apartments,

one evening, with his bag-wig snatched off, and his ruffles torn,

and said that, having walked rather late near the piece of water

_des Suisses_, he had been attacked by two robbers; that he had

refused to give them anything, drawn his sword, and put himself

in art attitude of defence; that one of the robbers was armed

with a sword, the other with a large stick, from which he had

received several blows, but that he had wounded one in the arm,

and that, hearing a noise at that moment, they had fled. But

unluckily for the little Count, it was known that people were on

the spot at the precise time he mentioned, and had heard nothing.

The Count was pardoned, on account of his youth. The Dauphin made

him confess the truth, and it was looked upon as a childish freak

to set people talking about him."

The King disliked the King of Prussia because he knew that the

latter was in the habit of jesting upon his mistress, and the

kind of life he led. It was Frederick's fault, as I have heard it

said, that the king was not his most steadfast ally and friend,

as much as sovereigns can be towards each other; but the jestings

of Frederick had stung him, and made him conclude the treaty of

Versailles. One day, he entered Madame's apartment with a paper

in his hand, and said, "The King of Prussia is certainly a great

man; he loves men of talent, and, like Louis XIV., he wishes to

make Europe ring with his favours towards foreign _savans_. There

is a letter from him, addressed to Milord Marshal, ordering him

to acquaint a _supérieur_ man of my kingdom (D'Alembert) that he

has granted him a pension;" and, looking at the letter, he read

the following words: "You must know that there is in Paris a man

of the greatest merit, whose fortune is not proportionate to his

talents and character. I may serve as eyes to the blind goddess,

and repair in some measure the injustice, and I beg you to offer

on that account. I flatter myself that he will accept this pension

because of the pleasure I shall feel in obliging a man who joins

beauty of character to the most sublime intellectual talents."

The King here stopped, on seeing MM. d'Ayen and de Gontaut enter,

and then recommenced reading the letter to them, and added, "It

was given me by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, to whom it

was confided by Milord Marshal, for the purpose of obtaining my

permission for this _sublime genius_ to accept the favour. But,"

said the King, "what do you think is the amount?" Some said six,

eight, ten thousand livres. "You have not guessed," said the

King; "it is twelve hundred livres." "For sublime talents," said

the Duc d'Ayen, "it is not much. But the philosophers will make

Europe resound with this letter, and the King of Prussia will have

the pleasure of making a great noise at little expense."

The Chevalier de Courten, who had been in Prussia, came in, and,

hearing this story told, said, "I have seen what is much better

than that: passing through a village in Prussia, I got out at the

post-house, while I was waiting for horses; and the post-master,

who was a captain in the Prussian service, showed me several

letters in Frederick's handwriting, addressed to his uncle, who

was a man of rank, promising him to provide for his nephews;

the provision he made for this, the eldest of these nephews,

who was dreadfully wounded, was the postmastership which he then

held." M. de Marigny related this story at Quesnay's, and added,

that the man of genius above mentioned was D'Alembert, and that

the King had permitted him to accept the pension. He added, that

his sister had suggested to the King that he had better give

D'Alembert a pension of twice the value, and forbid him to take

the King of Prussia's. This advice he would not take, because

he looked upon D'Alembert as an infidel. M. de Marigny took a

copy of the letter, which he lent me.

A certain nobleman, at one time, affected to cast tender glances

on Madame Adélaïde. She was wholly unconscious of it; but, as

there are Arguses at Court, the King was, of course, told of

it, and, indeed, he thought he had perceived it himself. I know

that he came into Madame de Pompadour's room one day, in a great

passion, and said, "Would you believe that there is a man in

my Court insolent enough to dare to raise his eyes to one of

my daughters?" Madame had never seen him so exasperated, and

this illustrious nobleman was advised to feign a necessity for

visiting his estates. He remained there two months. Madame told

me, long after, that she thought that there were no tortures to

which the King would not have condemned any man who had seduced

one of his daughters. Madame Adélaïde, at the time in question,

was a charming person, and united infinite grace, and much talent,

to a most agreeable face.

A courier brought Madame de Pompadour a letter, on reading which

she burst into tears. It contained the intelligence of the battle

of Rosbach, which M. de Soubise sent her, with all the details.

I heard her say to the Maréchal de Belle-Isle, wiping her eyes,

"M. de Soubise is inconsolable; he does not try to excuse his

conduct, he sees nothing but the disastrous fortune which pursues

him." "M. de Soubise must, however, have many things to urge in

his own behalf," said M. de Belle-Isle, "and so I told the King."

"It is very noble in you, Marshal, not to suffer an unfortunate

man to be overwhelmed; the public are furious against him, and

what has he done to deserve it?" "There is not a more honourable

nor a kinder man in the world. I only fulfil my duty in doing

justice to the truth, and to a man for whom I have the most profound

esteem. The King will explain to you, Madame, how M. de Soubise

was forced to give battle by the Prince of Saxe-Hildbourgshausen,

whose troops fled first, and carried along the French troops."

Madame would have embraced the old Marshal if she had dared,

she was so delighted with him.

M. de Soubise, having gained a battle, was made Marshal of France:

Madame was enchanted with her friend's success. But, either it

was unimportant, or the public were offended at his promotion;

nobody talked of it but Madame's friends. This unpopularity was

concealed from her, and she said to Colin, her steward, at her

toilet, "Are you not delighted at the victory M. de Soubise has

gained? What does the public say of it? He has taken his revenge

well." Colin was embarrassed, and knew not what to answer. As

she pressed him further, he replied that he had been ill, and

had seen nobody for a week.

M. de Marigny came to see me one day, very much out of humour. I

asked him the cause. "I have," said he, "just been intreating my

sister not to make M. le Normand-de-Mezi Minister of the Marine.

I told her that she was heaping coals of fire upon her own head. A

favourite ought not to multiply the points of attack upon herself."

The Doctor entered. "You," said the Doctor, "are worth your weight

in gold, for the good sense and capacity you have shewn in your

office, and for your moderation, but you will never be appreciated

as you deserve; your advice is excellent; there will never be

a ship taken but Madame will be held responsible for it to the

public, and you are very wise not to think of being in the Ministry

yourself."

One day, when I was at Paris, I went to dine with the Doctor,

who happened to be there at the same time; there were, contrary

to his usual custom, a good many people, and, among others, a

handsome young Master of the Requests, who took a title from

some place, the name of which I have forgotten, but who was a

son of M. Turgot, the _prévôt des marchands_. They talked a great

deal about administration, which was not very amusing to me;

they then fell upon the subject of the love Frenchmen bear to

their Kings. M. Turgot here joined in the conversation, and said,

"This is not a blind attachment; it is a deeply rooted sentiment,

arising from an indistinct recollection of great benefits. The

French nation--I may go farther--Europe, and all mankind, owe to

a King of France" (I have forgotten his name) "whatever liberty

they enjoy. He established _communes_, and conferred on an immense

number of men a civil existence. I am aware that it may be said,

with justice, that he served his own interests by granting these

franchises; that the cities paid him taxes, and that his design

was to use them as instruments of weakening the power of great

nobles; but what does that prove, but that this measure was at

once useful, politic, and humane?" From Kings in general the

conversation turned upon Louis XV., and M. Turgot remarked that

his reign would be always celebrated for the advancement of the

sciences, the progress of knowledge, and of philosophy. He added

that Louis XV. was deficient in the quality which Louis XIV.

possessed to excess; that is to say, in a good opinion of himself;

that he was well-informed; that nobody was more perfectly master

of the topography of France; that his opinion in the Council was

always the most judicious; and that it was much to be lamented

that he had not more confidence in himself, or that he did not

rely upon some Minister who enjoyed the confidence of the nation.

Everybody agreed with him. I begged M. Quesnay to write down

what young Turgot had said, and showed it to Madame. She praised

this Master of the Requests greatly, and spoke of him to the

King. "It is a good breed," said he.

One day, I went out to walk, and saw, on my return, a great many

people going and coming, and speaking to each other privately: it

was evident that something extraordinary had happened. I asked

a person of my acquaintance what was the matter. "Alas!" said

he, with tears in his eyes, "some assassins, who had formed the

project of murdering the King, have inflicted several wounds

on a garde-du-corps, who overheard them in a dark corridor; he

is carried to the hospital; and as he has described the colour

of these men's coats, the Police are in quest of them in all

directions, and some people, dressed in clothes of that colour,

are already arrested." I saw Madame with M. de Gontaut, and I

hastened home. She found her door besieged by a multitude of

people, and was alarmed: when she got in, she found the Comte

de Noailles. "What is all this, Count?" said she. He said he was

come expressly to speak to her, and they retired to her closet

together. The conference was not long. I had remained in the

drawing-room, with Madame's equerry, the Chevalier de Sosent,

Gourbillon, her _valet de chambre_, and some strangers. A great

many details were related; but, the wounds being little more

than scratches, and the garde-du-corps having let fall some

contradictions, it was thought that he was an impostor, who had

invented all this story to bring himself into favour. Before the

night was over, this was proved to be the fact, and, I believe,

from his own confession. The King came, that evening, to see

Madame de Pompadour; he spoke of this occurrence with great _sang

froid_, and said, "The gentleman who wanted to kill me was a

wicked madman; this is a low scoundrel."

When he spoke of Damiens, which was only while his trial lasted,

he never called him anything but _that gentleman_.

I have heard it said that he proposed having him shut up in a

dungeon for life; but that the horrible nature of the crime made

the judges insist upon his suffering all the tortures inflicted

upon like occasions. Great numbers, many of them women, had a

barbarous curiosity to witness the execution; amongst others,

Madame de P----, a very beautiful woman, and the wife of a Farmer

General. She hired two places at a window for twelve louis, and

played a game of cards in the room whilst waiting for the execution

to begin. On this being told to the King, he covered his eyes

with his hands and exclaimed, "_Fi, la Vilaine!_" I have been

told that she, and others, thought to pay their court in this

way, and signalise their attachment to the King's person.

Two things were related to me by M. Duclos at the time of the

attempt on the King's life.

The first, relative to the Comte de Sponheim, who was the Duc

de Deux-Ponts, and next in succession to the Palatinate and

Electorate of Bavaria. He was thought to be a great friend to

the King, and had made several long sojourns in France. He came

frequently to see Madame. M. Duclos told us that the Duc de

Deux-Ponts, having learned, at Deux-Ponts, the attempt on the

King's life, immediately set out in a carriage for Versailles:

"But remark," said he, "the spirit of _courtisanerie_ of a Prince,

who may be Elector of Bavaria and the Palatinate to-morrow. This

was not enough. When he arrived within ten leagues of Paris, he

put on an enormous pair of jack-boots, mounted a post-horse,

and arrived in the court of the palace cracking his whip. If

this had been real impatience, and not charlatanism, he would

have taken horse twenty leagues from Paris." "I don't agree with

you," said a gentleman whom I did not know; "impatience sometimes

seizes one towards the end of an undertaking, and one employs

the readiest means then in one's power. Besides, the Duc de

Deux-Ponts might wish, by showing himself thus on horseback, to

serve the King, to whom he is attached, by proving to Frenchmen

how greatly he is beloved and honoured in other countries." Duclos

resumed: "Well," said he, "do you know the story of M. de C----?

The first day the King saw company, after the attempt of Damiens,

M. de C---- pushed so vigorously through the crowd that he was

one of the first to come into the King's presence, but he had

on so shabby a black coat that it caught the King's attention,

who burst out laughing, and said, 'Look at C----, he has had

the skirt of his coat torn off.' M. de C---- looked as if he was

only then first conscious of his loss, and said, 'Sire, there

is such a multitude hurrying to see Your Majesty, that I was

obliged to fight my way through them, and, in the effort, my

coat has been torn.' 'Fortunately it was not worth much,' said

the Marquis de Souvré, 'and you could not have chosen a worse

one to sacrifice on the occasion.'"

Madame de Pompadour had been very judiciously advised to get her

husband, M. le Normand, sent to Constantinople, as Ambassador.

This would have a little diminished the scandal caused by seeing

Madame de Pompadour, with the title of Marquise, at Court, and

her husband Farmer General at Paris. But he was so attached to a

Paris life, and to his opera habits, that he could not be prevailed

upon to go. Madame employed a certain M. d'Arboulin, with whom

she had been acquainted before she was at Court, to negotiate

this affair. He applied to a Mademoiselle Rem, who had been an

opera-dancer, and who was M. le Normand's mistress. She made

him very fine promises; but she was like him, and preferred a

Paris life. She would do nothing in it.

At the time that plays were acted in the little apartments, I

obtained a lieutenancy for one of my relations, by a singular

means, which proves the value the greatest people set upon the

slightest access to the Court. Madame did not like to ask anything

of M. d'Argenson, and, being pressed by my family, who could

not imagine that, situated as I was, it could be difficult for

me to obtain a command for a good soldier, I determined to go

and ask the Comte d'Argenson. I made my request, and presented

my memorial. He received me coldly, and gave me vague answers.

I went out, and the Marquis de V----, who was in his closet,

followed me. "You wish to obtain a command," said he; "there

is one vacant, which is promised me for one of my protégés; but

if you will do me a favour in return, or obtain one for me, I

will give it to you. I want to be a _police officer_, and you

have it in your power to get me a place." I told him I did not

understand the purport of his jest. "I will tell you," said he;

"_Tartuffe_ is going to be acted in the cabinets, and there is

the part of a police officer, which only consists of a few lines.

Prevail upon Madame de Pompadour to assign me that part, and

the command is yours." I promised nothing, but I related the

history to Madame, who said she would arrange it for me. The

thing was done, and I obtained the command, and the Marquis de

V---- thanked Madame as if she had made him a Duke.

The King was often annoyed by the Parliaments, and said a very

remarkable thing concerning them, which M. de Gontaut repeated

to Doctor Quesnay in my presence. "Yesterday," said he, "the

King walked up and down the room with an anxious air. Madame

de Pompadour asked him if he was uneasy about his health, as

he had been, for some time, rather unwell. 'No,' replied he;

'but I am greatly annoyed by all these remonstrances.' 'What

can come of them,' said she, 'that need seriously disquiet Your

Majesty? Are you not master of the Parliaments, as well as of

all the rest of the kingdom?' 'That is true,' said the King;

'but, if it had not been for these counsellors and presidents,

I should never have been stabbed by _that gentleman_, (he always

called Damiens so). 'Ah! Sire,' cried Madame de Pompadour. 'Read

the trial,' said he. 'It was the language of those gentlemen

he names which turned his head.' 'But,' said Madame, 'I have

often thought that, if the Archbishop could be sent to Rome--'

'Find anybody who will accomplish that business, and I will give

him whatever he pleases.'" Quesnay said the King was right in

all he had uttered. The Archbishop was exiled shortly after,

and the King was seriously afflicted at being driven to take

such a step. "What a pity," he often said, "that so excellent

a man should be so obstinate." "And so shallow," said somebody,

one day. "Hold your tongue," replied the King, somewhat sternly.

The Archbishop was very charitable, and liberal to excess, but

he often granted pensions without discernment. He granted one of

an hundred louis to a pretty woman, who was very poor, and who

assumed an illustrious name, to which she had no right. The fear

lest she should be plunged into vice led him to bestow such excessive

bounty upon her; and the woman was an admirable dissembler. She

went to the Archbishop's, covered with a great hood, and, when

she left him, she amused herself with a variety of lovers.

Great people have the bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before

their servants. M. de Gontaut once said these words covertly, as he

thought, to the Duc de ----, "That measures had been taken which

would, probably, have the effect of determining the Archbishop to

go to Rome, with a Cardinal's hat; and that, if he desired it,

he was to have a coadjutor."

A very plausible pretext had been found for making this proposition,

and for rendering it flattering to the Archbishop, and agreeable

to his sentiments. The affair had been very adroitly begun, and

success appeared certain. The King had the air, towards the

Archbishop, of entire unconsciousness of what was going on. The

negotiator acted as if he were only following the suggestions

of his own mind, for the general good. He was a friend of the

Archbishop, and was very sure of a liberal reward. A valet of

the Duc de Gontaut, a very handsome young fellow, had perfectly

caught the sense of what was spoken in a mysterious manner. He

was one of the lovers of the lady of the hundred louis a year,

and had heard her talk of the Archbishop, whose relation she

pretended to be. He thought he should secure her good graces

by informing her that great efforts were being made to induce

her patron to reside at Rome, with a view to get him away from

Paris. The lady instantly told the Archbishop, as she was afraid

of losing her pension if he went. The information squared so well

wit the negotiation then on foot, that the Archbishop had no

doubt of its truth. He cooled, by degrees, in his conversations

with the negotiator, whom he regarded as a traitor, and ended

by breaking with him. These details were not known till long

afterwards. The lover of the lady having been sent to the Bicêtre,

some letters were found among his papers, which gave a scent of

the affair, and he was made to confess the rest.

In order not to compromise the Duc de Gontaut, the King was told

that the valet had come to a knowledge of the business from a

letter which he had found in his master's clothes. The King took

his revenge by humiliating the Archbishop, which he was enabled

to do by means of the information he had obtained concerning

the conduct of the lady, his protégée. She was found guilty of

swindling, in concert with her beloved valet; but, before her

punishment was inflicted, the Lieutenant of Police was ordered

to lay before Monseigneur a full account of the conduct of his

relation and pensioner. The Archbishop had nothing to object to

in the proofs which were submitted to him; he said, with perfect

calmness, that she was not his relation; and, raising his hands

to heaven, "She is an unhappy wretch," said he, "who has robbed

me of the money which was destined for the poor. But God knows

that, in giving her so large a pension, I did not act lightly.

I had, at the time, before my eyes the example of a young woman

who once asked me to grant her seventy louis a year, promising me

that she would always live very virtuously, as she had hitherto

done. I refused her, and she said, on leaving me, 'I must turn

to the left, Monseigneur, since the way on the right is closed

against me.' The unhappy creature has kept her word but too well.

She found means of establish a faro-table at her house, which

is tolerated; and she joins to the most profligate conduct in

her own person the infamous trade of a corrupter of youth; her

house is the abode of every vice. Think, sir, after that, whether

it was not an act of prudence, on my part, to grant the woman

in question a pension, suitable to the rank in which I thought

her born, to prevent her abusing the gifts of youth, beauty,

and talents, which she possessed, to her own perdition, and the

destruction of others." The Lieutenant of Police told the King

that he was touched with the candour and the noble simplicity

of the prelate. "I never doubted his virtues," replied the King,

"but I wish he would be quiet." This same Archbishop gave a pension

of fifty louis a year to the greatest scoundrel in Paris. He is

a poet, who writes abominable verses; this pension is granted

on condition that his poems are never printed. I learned this

fact from M. de Marigny, to whom he recited some of his horrible

verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with some

people of quality. He chinked the money in his pocket. "This

is my good Archbishop's," said he, laughing; "I keep my word

with him: my poem will not be printed during my life, but I read

it. What would the good prelate say if he knew that I shared my

last quarter's allowance with a charming little opera-dancer?

'It is the Archbishop, then, who keeps me,' said she to me; 'Oh,

la! how droll that is!'" The King heard this, and was much

scandalised at it. "How difficult it is to do good!" said he.

The King came into Madame de Pompadour's room, one day, as she

was finishing dressing. "I have just had a strange adventure,"

said he: "would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom

into my bedroom, I met a gentleman face to face?" "My God! Sire,"

cried Madame, terrified. "It was nothing," replied he; "but I

confess I was greatly surprised: the man appeared speechless

with consternation. 'What do you do here?' cried I, civilly.

He threw himself on his knees, saying, 'Pardon me, Sire; and,

above all, have me searched.' He instantly emptied his pockets

himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and

terror: at last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend

of Beccari, whom he came to visit; that he had mistaken the

staircase, and, finding all the doors open, he had wandered into

the room in which I found him, and which he would have instantly

left: I rang; Guimard came, and was astonished enough at finding

me tête-à-tête with a man in his shirt. He begged Guimard to go

with him into another room, and to search his whole person. After

this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat. Guimard said

to me, 'He is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth; this

may, besides, be easily ascertained.' Another of the servants of

the palace came in, and happened to know him. 'I will answer for

this good man,' said he, 'who, moreover, makes the best _boeuf

à l'écarlate_ in the world.' As I saw the man was so agitated

that he could not stand steady, I took fifty louis out of my

bureau, and said, 'Here, sir, are fifty louis, to quiet your

alarms.' He went out, after throwing himself at my feet." Madame

exclaimed on the impropriety of having the King's bedroom thus

accessible to everybody. He talked with great calmness of this

strange apparition, but it was evident that he controlled himself,

and that he had, in fact, been much frightened, as, indeed, he

had reason to be. Madame highly approved of the gift; and she

was the more right in applauding it, as it was by no means in

the King's usual manner. M. de Marigny said, when I told him

of this adventure, that he would have wagered a thousand louis

against the King's making a present of fifty, if anybody but

I had told him of the circumstance. "It is a singular fact,"

continued he, "that all of the race of Valois have been liberal

to excess; this is not precisely the case with the Bourbons, who

are rather reproached with avarice! Henri IV. was said to be

avaricious. He gave to his mistresses, because he could refuse

them nothing; but he played with the eagerness of a man whose whole

fortune depends on the game. Louis XIV. gave through ostentation.

It is most astonishing," added he, "to reflect on what might

have happened. The King might actually have been assassinated

in his chamber, without anybody knowing anything of the matter

and without a possibility of discovering the murderer." For more

than a fortnight Madame could not get over this incident.

About that time she had a quarrel with her brother, and both were

in the right. Proposals were made to him to marry the daughter of

one of the greatest noblemen of the Court, and the King consented

to create him a Duke, and even to make the title hereditary.

Madame was right in wishing to aggrandise her brother, but he

declared that he valued his liberty above all things, and that

he would not sacrifice it except for a person he really loved.

He was a true Epicurean philosopher, and a man of great capacity,

according to the report of those who knew him well, and judged

him impartially. It was entirely at his option to have had the

reversion of M. de St. Florentin's place, and the place of Minister

of Marine, when M. de Machault retired; he said to his sister,

at the time, "I spare you many vexations, by depriving you of a

slight satisfaction. The people would be unjust to me, however

well I might fulfil the duties of my office. As to M. de St.

Florentin's place, he may live five-and-twenty years, so that I

should not be the better for it. Kings' mistresses are hated enough

on their own account; they need not also draw upon themselves the

hatred which is directed against Ministers." M. Quesnay repeated

this conversation to me.

The King had another mistress, who gave Madame de Pompadour some

uneasiness. She was a woman of quality, and the wife of one of

the most assiduous courtiers.

A man in immediate attendance on the King's person, and who had

the care of his clothes, came to me one day, and told me that,

as he was very much attached to Madame, because she was good

and useful to the King, he wished to inform me that, a letter

having fallen out of the pocket of a coat which His Majesty had

taken off, he had had the curiosity to read it, and found it to

be from the Comtesse de ----, who had already yielded to the

King's desires. In this letter, she required the King to give

her fifty thousand crowns in money, a regiment for one of her

relations, and a bishopric for another, and to dismiss, Madame

in the space of fifteen days, etc. I acquainted Madame with what

this man told me, and she acted with singular greatness of mind.

She said to me, "I ought to inform the King of this breach of

trust of his servant, who may, by the same means, come to the

knowledge of, and make a bad use of, important secrets; but I

feel a repugnance to ruin the man: however, I cannot permit him

to remain near the King's person, and here is what I shall do:

Tell him that there is a place of ten thousand francs a year

vacant in one of the provinces; let him solicit the Minister of

Finance for it, and it shall be granted to him; but, if he should

ever disclose through what interest he has obtained it, the King

shall be made acquainted with his conduct. By this means, I think

I shall have done all that my attachment and duty prescribe. I rid

the King of a faithless domestic, without ruining the individual."

I did as Madame ordered me: her delicacy and address inspired

me with admiration. She was not alarmed on account of the lady,

seeing what her pretensions were. "She drives too quick," remarked

Madame, "and will certainly be overturned on the road." The lady

died.

"See what the Court is; all is corruption there, from the highest

to the lowest," said I to Madame, one day, when she was speaking

to me of some facts that had come to my knowledge. "I could tell

you many others," replied Madame; "but the little chamber, where

you often remain, must furnish you with a sufficient number."

This was a little nook, from whence I could hear a great part

of what passed in Madame's apartment. The Lieutenant of Police

sometimes came secretly to this apartment, and waited there.

Three or four persons, of high consideration, also found their

way in, in a mysterious manner, and several devotees, who were,

in their hearts, enemies of Madame de Pompadour. But these men

had not petty objects in view: one required the government of a

province; another, a seat in the Council; a third, a Captaincy of

the Guards; and this man would have obtained it if the Maréchale

de Mirepoix had not requested it for her brother, the Prince de

Beauvan. The Chevalier du Muy was not among these apostates;

not even the promise of being High Constable would have tempted

him to make up to Madame, still less to betray his master, the

Dauphin. The Prince was, to the last degree, weary of the station

he held. Sometimes, when teased to death by ambitious people,

who pretended to be Catos, or wonderfully devout, he took part

against a Minister against whom he was prepossessed; then relapsed

into his accustomed state of inactivity and ennui.

The King used to say, "My son is lazy; his temper is Polonese--hasty

and changeable; he has no tastes; he cares nothing for hunting,

for women, or for good living; perhaps he imagines that if he

were in my place he would be happy; at first, he would make great

changes, create everything anew, as it were. In a short time

he would be as tired of the rank of King as he now is of his

own; he is only fit to live _en philosophe_, with clever people

about him." The King added, "He loves what is right; he is truly

virtuous, and does not want understanding."

M. de St. Germain said, one day, to the King, "To think well of

mankind, one must be neither a Confessor, not a Minister, nor

a Lieutenant of Police." "Nor a King," said His Majesty. "Ah!

Sire," replied he, "you remember the fog we had a few days ago,

when we could not see four steps before us. Kings are commonly

surrounded by still thicker fogs, collected around them by men

of intriguing character, and faithless Ministers--all, of every

class, unite in endeavouring to make things appear to Kings in

any light but the true one." I heard this from the mouth of the

famous Comte de St. Germain, as I was attending upon Madame, who

was ill in bed. The King was there; and the Count, who was a

welcome visitor, had been admitted. There were also present, M.

de Gontaut, Madame de Brancas, and the Abbé de Bernis. I remember

that the very same day, after the Count was gone out, the King

talked in a style which gave Madame great pain. Speaking of the

King of Prussia, he said, "That is a madman, who will risk all to

gain all, and may, perhaps, win the game, though he has neither

religion, morals, nor principles. He wants to make a noise in

the world, and he will succeed. Julian, the Apostate, did the

same." "I never saw the King so animated before," observed Madame,

when he was gone out; "and really the comparison with Julian,

the Apostate, is not amiss, considering the irreligion of the

King of Prussia. If he gets out of his perplexities, surrounded

as he is by his enemies, he will be one of the greatest men in

history."

M. de Bernis remarked, "Madame is correct in her judgment, for

she has no reason to pronounce his praises; nor have I, though

I agree with what she says." Madame de Pompadour never enjoyed

so much influence as at the time when M. de Choiseul became one

of the Ministry. From the time of the Abbé de Bernis she had

afforded him her constant support, and he had been employed in

foreign affairs, of which he was said to know but little. Madame

made the Treaty of Vienna, though the first idea of I it was

certainly furnished her by the Abbé. I have been informed by

several persons that the King often talked to Madame upon this

subject; for my own part, I never heard any conversation relative

to it, except the high praises bestowed by her on the Empress

and the Prince de Kaunitz, whom she had known a good deal of.

She said that he had a clear head, the head of a statesman. One

day, when she was talking in this strain, some one tried to cast

ridicule upon the Prince on account of the style in which he

wore his hair, and the four _valets de chambre_, who made the

hair-powder fly in all directions, while Kaunitz ran about that

he might only catch the superfine part of it. "Aye," said Madame,

"just as Alcibiades cut off his dog's tail in order to give the

Athenians something to talk about, and to turn their attention

from those things he wished to conceal."

Never was the public mind so inflamed against Madame de Pompadour

as when news arrived of the battle of Rosbach. Every day she received

anonymous letters, full of the grossest abuse; atrocious verses,

threats of poison and assassination. She continued long a prey to

the most acute sorrow, and could get no sleep but from opiates.

All this discontent was excited by her protecting the Prince of

Soubise; and the Lieutenant of Police had great difficulty in

allaying the ferment of the people. The King affirmed that it

was not his fault. M. du Verney was the confidant of Madame in

everything relating to war; a subject which he well understood,

though not a military man by profession. The old Maréchal de

Noailles called him, in derision, the General of the flour, but

Maréchal Saxe, one day, told Madame that du Verney knew more

of military matters than the old Marshal. Du Verney once paid

a visit to Madame de Pompadour, and found her in company with

the King, the Minister of War, and two Marshals; he submitted to

them the plan of a campaign, which was generally applauded. It

was through his influence that M. de Richelieu was appointed to

the command of the army, instead of the Maréchal d'Estrées. He came

to Quesnay two days after, when I was with him. The Doctor began

talking about the art of war, and I remember he said, "Military

men make a great mystery of their art; but what is the reason

that young Princes have always the most brilliant success? Why,

because they are active and daring. When Sovereigns command their

troops in person what exploits they perform! Clearly, because

they are at liberty to run all risks." These observations made

a lasting impression on my mind.

The first physician came, one day, to see Madame: he was talking

of madmen and madness. The King was present, and everything relating

to disease of any kind interested him. The first physician said

that he could distinguish the symptoms of approaching madness

six months beforehand. "Are there any persons about the Court

likely to become mad?" said the King. "I know one who will be

imbecile in less than three months," replied he. The King pressed

him to tell the name. He excused himself for some time. At last

he said, "It is M. de Séchelles, the Controller-General." "You

have a spite against him," said Madame, "because he would not

grant what you asked." "That is true," said he, "but though that

might possibly incline me to tell a disagreeable truth, it would

not make me invent one. He is losing his intellects from debility.

He affects gallantry at his age, and I perceive the connection in

his ideas is becoming feeble and irregular." The King laughed;

but three months afterwards he came to Madame, saying, "Séchelles

gives evident proofs of dotage in the Council. We must appoint

a successor to him." Madame de Pompadour told me of this on the

way to Choisy. Some time afterwards, the first physician came to

see Madame, and spoke to her in private. "You are attached to M.

Berryer, Madame," said he, "and I am sorry to have to warn you that

he will be attacked by madness, or by catalepsy, before long. I saw

him this morning at chapel, sitting on one of those very low little

chairs, which are only meant to kneel upon. His knees touched his

chin. I went to his house after mass; his eyes were wild, and

when his secretary spoke to him, he said, '_Hold your tongue,

pen. A pen's business is to write, and not to speak._'" Madame,

who liked the Keeper of the Seals, was very much concerned, and

begged the first physician not to mention what he had perceived.

Four days after this, M. Berryer was seized with catalepsy, after

having talked incoherently. This is a disease which I did not

know even by name, and got it written down for me. The patient

remains in precisely the same position in which the fit seizes

him; one leg or arm elevated, the eyes wide open, or just as it

may happen. This latter affair was known to all the Court at

the death of the Keeper of the Seals.

When the Maréchal de Belle-Isle's son was killed in battle, Madame

persuaded the King to pay his father a visit. He was rather

reluctant, and Madame said to him, with an air half angry, half

playful:

----"Barbare! dont l'orgueil

Croit le sang d'un sujet trop payé d'un coup d'oeil."

The King laughed, and said, "Whose fine verses are those?"

"Voltaire's," said Madame ----. "As barbarous as I am, I gave

him the place of gentleman in ordinary, and a pension," said

the King.

The King went in state to call on the Marshal, followed by all the

Court; and it certainly appeared that this solemn visit consoled

the Marshal for the loss of his son, the sole heir to his name.

When the Marshal died, he was carried to his house on a common

hand-barrow, covered with a shabby cloth. I met the body. The

bearers were laughing and singing. I thought it was some servant,

and asked who it was. How great was my surprise at learning that

these were the remains of a man abounding in honours and in riches.

Such is the Court; the dead are always in fault, and cannot be

put out of sight too soon.

The King said, "M. Fouquet is dead, I hear." "He was no longer

Fouquet," replied the Duc d'Ayen; "Your Majesty had permitted

him to change that name, under which, however, he acquired all

his reputation." The King shrugged his shoulders. His Majesty

had, in fact, granted him letters patent, permitting him not to

sign Fouquet during his Ministry. I heard this on the occasion

in question. M. de Choiseul had the war department at his death.

He was every day more and more in favour. Madame treated him with

greater distinction than any previous Minister, and his manners

towards her were the most agreeable it is possible to conceive,

at once respectful and gallant. He never passed a day without

seeing her. M. de Marigny could not endure M. de Choiseul, but

he never spoke of him, except to his intimate friends. Calling,

one day, at Quesnay's, I found him there. They were talking of

M. de Choiseul. "He is a mere _petit maître_," said the Doctor,

"and, if he were handsome just fit to be one of Henri the Third's

favourites." The Marquis de Mirabeau and M. de La Rivière came

in. "This kingdom," said Mirabeau, "is in a deplorable state.

There is neither national energy, nor the only substitute for

it--money."

"It can only be regenerated," said La Rivière, "by a conquest,

like that of China, or by some great internal convulsion; but

woe to those who live to see that! The French people do not do

things by halves." These words made me tremble, and I hastened out

of the room. M. de Marigny did the same, though without appearing

at all affected by what had been said. "You heard De La Rivière,"

said he,--"but don't be alarmed, the conversations that pass

at the Doctor's are never repeated; these are honourable men,

though rather chimerical. They know not where to stop. I think,

however, they are in the right way; only, unfortunately, they

go too far." I wrote this down immediately.

"The Comte de St. Germain came to see Madame de Pompadour, who was

ill, and lay on the sofa. He shewed her a little box, containing

topazes, rubies, and emeralds. He appeared to have enough to

furnish a treasury. Madame sent for me to see all these beautiful

things. I looked at them with an air of the utmost astonishment,

but I made signs to Madame that I thought them all false. The

Count felt for something in his pocketbook, about twice as large

as a spectacle-case, and, at length, drew out two or three little

paper packets, which he unfolded, and exhibited a superb ruby.

He threw on the table, with a contemptuous air, a little cross

of green and white stones. I looked at it and said, "That is

not to be despised." I put it on, and admired it greatly. The

Count begged me to accept it. I refused--he urged me to take it.

Madame then refused it for me. At length, he pressed it upon me

so warmly that Madame, seeing that it could not be worth above

forty louis, made me a sign to accept it. I took the cross, much

pleased at the Count's politeness and, some days after, Madame

presented him with an enamelled box, upon which was the portrait

of some Grecian sage (whose name I don't recollect), to whom

she compared him. I shewed the cross to a jeweller, who valued

it at sixty-five louis. The Count offered to bring Madame some

enamel portraits, by Petitot, to look at, and she told him to

bring them after dinner, while the King was hunting. He shewed

his portraits, after which Madame said to him, "I have heard a

great deal of a charming story you told two days ago, at supper,

at M. le Premier's, of an occurrence you witnessed fifty or sixty

years ago." He smiled and said, "It is rather long." "So much

the better," said she, with an air of delight. Madame de Gontaut

and the ladies came in, and the door was shut; Madame made a

sign to me to sit down behind the screen. The Count made many

apologies for the ennui which his story would, perhaps, occasion.

He said, "Sometimes one can tell a story pretty well; at other

times it is quite a different thing."

"At the beginning of this century, the Marquis de St. Gilles

was Ambassador from Spain to the Hague. In his youth he had been

particularly intimate with the Count of Moncade, a grandee of

Spain, and one of the richest nobles of that country. Some months

after the Marquis's arrival at the Hague, he received a letter

from the Count, entreating him, in the name of their former

friendship, to render him the greatest possible service. 'You

know,' said he, 'my dear Marquis, the mortification I felt that

the name of Moncade was likely to expire with me. At length, it

pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and to grant me a son: he

gave early promise of dispositions worthy of his birth, but he,

some time since, formed an unfortunate and disgraceful attachment

to the most celebrated actress of the company of Toledo. I shut my

eyes to this imprudence on the part of a young man whose conduct

had, till then, caused me unmingled satisfaction. But, having learnt

that he was so blinded by passion as to intend to marry this girl,

and that he had even bound himself by a written promise to that

effect, I solicited the King to have her placed in confinement. My

son, having got information of the steps I had taken, defeated

my intentions by escaping with the object of his passion. For

more than six months I have vainly endeavoured to discover where

he has concealed himself, but I have now some reason to think he

is at the Hague.' The Count earnestly conjured the Marquis to

make the most rigid search, in order to discover his son's retreat,

and to endeavour to prevail upon him to return to his home. 'It

is an act of justice,' continued he, 'to provide for the girl,

if she consents to give up the written promise of marriage which

she has received, and I leave it to your discretion to do what

is right for her, as well as to determine the sum necessary to

bring my son to Madrid in a manner suitable to his condition.

I know not,' concluded he, 'whether you are a father; if you

are, you will be able to sympathise in my anxieties.' The Count

subjoined to this letter an exact description of his son, and the

young woman by whom he was accompanied. On the receipt of this

letter, the Marquis lost not a moment in sending to all the inns

in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague, but in vain--he could find

no trace of them. He began to despair of success, when the idea

struck him that a young French page of his, remarkable for his

quickness and intelligence, might be employed with advantage. He

promised to reward him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the

young woman, who was the cause of so much anxiety, and gave him

the description of her person. The page visited all the public

places for many days, without success; at length, one evening, at

the play, he saw a young man and woman, in a box, who attracted

his attention. When he saw that they perceived he was looking

at them, and withdrew to the back of the box to avoid his

observation, he felt confident that they were the objects of

his search. He did not take his eyes from the box, and watched

every movement in it. The instant the performance ended, he was

in the passage leading from the boxes to the door, and he remarked

that the young man, who, doubtless, observed the dress he wore,

tried to conceal himself, as he passed him, by putting his

handkerchief before his face. He followed him, at a distance,

to the inn called the _Vicomte de Turenne_, which he saw him

and the woman enter; and, being now certain of success, he ran

to inform the Ambassador. The Marquis de St. Gilles immediately

repaired to the inn, wrapped in a cloak, and followed by his

page and two servants. He desired the landlord to show him to

the room of a young man and woman, who had lodged for some time

in his house. The landlord, for some time, refused to do so,

unless the Marquis would give their name. The page told him to

take notice that he was speaking to the Spanish Ambassador, who

had strong reasons for wishing to see the persons in question.

The innkeeper said they wished not to be known, and that they had

absolutely forbidden him to admit anybody into their apartment

who did not ask for them by name; but that, since the Ambassador

desired it, he would show him their room. He then conducted them

up to a dirty, miserable garret. He knocked at the door, and

waited for some time; he then knocked again pretty loudly, upon

which the door was half-opened. At the sight of the Ambassador

and his suite, the person who opened it immediately closed it

again, exclaiming that they had made a mistake. The Ambassador

pushed hard against him, forced his way in, made a sign to his

people to wait outside, and remained in the room. He saw before

him a very handsome young man, whose appearance perfectly

corresponded with the description, and a young woman, of great

beauty, and remarkably fine person, whose countenance, form,

colour of the hair, etc., were also precisely those described by

the Count of Moncade. The young man spoke first. He complained

of the violence used in breaking into the apartment of a stranger,

living in a free country, and under the protection of its laws.

The Ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, 'It

is useless to feign, my dear Count; I know you, and I do not

come here to give pain to you or to this lady, whose appearance

interests me extremely.' The young man replied that he was totally

mistaken; that he was not a Count, but the son of a merchant of

Cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and, that they were travelling

for pleasure. The Ambassador, casting his eyes round the miserably

furnished room, which contained but one bed, and some packages

of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, 'Is

this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title which

is warranted by my tender regard for your father), is this a

fit residence for the son of the Count of Moncade?' The young

man still protested against the use of any such language, as

addressed to him. At length, overcome by the entreaties of the

Ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that he was the son of the

Count of Moncade, but declared that nothing should induce him

to return to his father, if he must abandon a woman he adored.

The young woman burst into tears; and threw herself at the feet

of the Ambassador, telling him that she would not be the cause

of the ruin of the young Count; and that generosity, or rather,

love, would enable her to disregard her own happiness, and, for

his sake, to separate herself from him. The Ambassador admired her

noble disinterestedness. The young man, on the contrary, received

her declaration with the most desperate grief. He reproached his

mistress, and declared that he would never abandon so estimable

a creature, nor suffer the sublime generosity of her heart to be

turned against herself. The Ambassador told him that the Count

of Moncade was far from wishing to render her miserable, and

that he was commissioned to provide her with a sum sufficient

to enable her to return into Spain, or to live where she liked.

Her noble sentiments, and genuine tenderness, he said, inspired

him with the greatest interest for her, and would induce him

to go to the utmost limits of his powers, in the sum he was to

give her; that he, therefore, promised her ten thousand florins,

that is to say, about twelve hundred louis, which would be given

her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage she had

received, and the Count of Moncade took up his abode in the

Ambassador's house, and promised to return to Spain. The young

woman seemed perfectly indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly

absorbed in her lover, and in the grief of leaving him. She seemed

insensible to everything but the cruel sacrifice which her reason,

and her love itself, demanded. At length, drawing from a little

portfolio the promise of marriage, signed by the Count, 'I know

his heart too well,' said she, 'to need it.' Then she kissed it

again and again, with a sort of transport, and delivered it to

the Ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of soul

he witnessed. He promised her that he would never cease to take

the liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the Count of his

father's forgiveness. 'He will receive with open arms,' said he,

'the prodigal son, returning to the bosom of his distressed family;

the heart of a father is an exhaustless mine of tenderness. How

great will be the felicity of my friend on the receipt of these

tidings, after his long anxiety and affliction; how happy do I

esteem myself, at being the instrument of that felicity!' Such

was, in part, the language of the Ambassador, which appeared to

produce a strong impression on the young man. But, fearing lest,

during the night, love should regain all his power, and should

triumph over the generous resolution of the lady, the Marquis

pressed the young Count to accompany him to his hotel. The tears,

the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel separation, cannot

be described; they deeply touched the heart of the Ambassador,

who promised to watch over the young lady. The Count's little

baggage was not difficult to remove, and, that very evening,

he was installed in the finest apartment of the Ambassador's

house. The Marquis was overjoyed at having restored to the

illustrious house of Moncade the heir of its greatness, and of

its magnificent domains. On the following morning, as soon as

the young Count was up, he found tailors, dealers in cloth, lace,

stuffs, etc., out of which he had only to choose. Two _valets

de chambre_, and three laquais, chosen by the Ambassador for

their intelligence and good conduct, were in waiting in his

antechamber, and presented themselves, to receive his orders. The

Ambassador shewed the young Count the letter he had just written

to his father, in which he congratulated him on possessing a son

whose noble sentiments and striking qualities were worthy of his

illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return. The young lady

was not forgotten; he confessed that to her generosity he was

partly indebted for the submission of her lover, and expressed

his conviction that the Count would not disapprove the gift he

had made her, of ten thousand florins. That sum was remitted, on

the same day, to this noble and interesting girl, who left the

Hague without delay. The preparations for the Count's journey

were made; a splendid wardrobe and an excellent carriage were

embarked at Rotterdam, in a ship bound for France, on board which

a passage was secured for the Count, who was to proceed from that

country to Spain. A considerable sum of money, and letters of

credit on Paris, were given him at his departure; and the parting

between the Ambassador and the young Count was most touching.

The Marquis de St. Gilles awaited with impatience the Count's

answer, and enjoyed his friend's delight by anticipation. At

the expiration of four months, he received this long-expected

letter. It would be utterly impossible to describe his surprise

on reading the following words. 'Heaven, my dear Marquis, never

granted me the happiness of becoming a father, and, in the midst

of abundant wealth and honours, the grief of having no heirs,

and seeing an illustrious race end in my person, has shed the

greatest bitterness over my whole existence. I see, with extreme

regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young adventurer,

who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some means,

obtained, of our old friendship. But your Excellency must not

be the sufferer. The Count of Moncade is, most assuredly, the

person whom you wished to serve; he is bound to repay what your

generous friendship hastened to advance, in order to procure

him a happiness which he would have felt most deeply. I hope,

therefore, Marquis, that your Excellency will have no hesitation

in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of three

thousand louis of France, of the disbursal of which you sent

me an account.'"

The manner in which the Comte de St. Germain spoke, in the characters

of the young adventurer, his mistress, and the Ambassador, made

his audience weep and laugh by turns. The story is true in every

particular, and the adventurer surpasses Gusman d'Alfarache in

address, according to the report of some persons present. Madame

de Pompadour thought of having a play written, founded on this

story; and the Count sent it to her in writing, from which I

transcribed it.

M. Duclos came to the Doctor's, and harangued with his usual

warmth. I heard him saying to two or three persons, "People are

unjust to great men, Ministers and Princes; nothing, for instance,

is more common than to undervalue their intellect. I astonished

one of these little gentlemen of the corps of the _infallibles_,

by telling him that I could prove that there had been more men

of ability in the house of Bourbon, for the last hundred years,

than in any other family." "You prove that?" said somebody,

sneeringly. "Yes," said Duclos; "and I will tell you how. The

great Condé, you will allow, was no fool; and the Duchesse de

Longueville is cited as one of the wittiest women that ever lived.

The Regent was a man who had few equals, in every kind of talent

and acquirement. The Prince de Conti, who was elected King of

Poland, was celebrated for his intelligence, and, in poetry,

was the successful rival of La Fare and St. Aulaire. The Duke of

Burgundy was learned and enlightened. His Duchess, the daughter

of Louis XIV., was remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and

couplets. The Duc du Maine is generally spoken of only for his

weakness, but nobody had a more agreeable wit. His wife was mad,

but she had an extensive acquaintance with letters, good taste in

poetry, and a brilliant and inexhaustible imagination. Here are

instances enough, I think," said he; "and, as I am no flatterer,

and hate to appear one, I will not speak of the living." His

hearers were astonished at this enumeration, and all of them

agreed in the truth of what he had said. He added, "Don't we daily

hear of _silly D'Argenson_, because he has a good-natured air,

and a _bourgeois_ tone? and yet, I believe, there have not been

many Ministers comparable to him in knowledge and in enlightened

views." I took a pen, which lay on the Doctor's table, and begged

M. Duclos to repeat to me all the names he had mentioned, and

the eulogium he had bestowed on each. "If," said he, "you show

that to the Marquise, tell her how the conversation arose, and

that I did not say it in order that it might come to her ears,

and eventually, perhaps, to those of another person. I am an

historiographer, and I will render justice, but I shall, also,

often inflict it." "I will answer for that," said the Doctor,

"and our master will be represented as he really is. Louis XIV.

liked verses, and patronised poets; that was very well, perhaps,

in his time, because one must begin with something; but this

age will be very superior to the last. It must be acknowledged

that Louis XV., in sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru, to

measure the earth, has a higher claim to our respect than if he

directed an opera. He has thrown down the barriers which opposed

the progress of philosophy, in spite of the clamour of the devotees:

the Encyclopædia will do honour to his reign." Duclos, during

this speech, shook his head. I went away, and tried to write

down all I had heard, while it was fresh. I had the part which

related to the Princes of the Bourbon race copied by a valet,

who wrote a beautiful hand, and I gave it to Madame de Pompadour.

But she said to me, "What! is Duclos an acquaintance of yours? Do

you want to play the _bel esprit_, my dear good woman? That will

not sit well upon you." The truth is, that nothing can be further

from my inclination. I told her that I met him accidentally at

the Doctor's, where he generally spent an hour when he came to

Versailles. "The King knows him to be a worthy man," said she.

Madame de Pompadour was ill, and the King came to see her several

times a day. I generally left the room when he entered, but,

having stayed a few minutes, on one occasion, to give her a glass

of chicory water, I heard the King mention Madame d'Egmont. Madame

raised her eyes to heaven, and said, "That name always recalls

to me a most melancholy and barbarous affair; but it was not my

fault." These words dwelt in my mind, and, particularly, the

tone in which they were uttered. As I stayed with Madame till

three o'clock in the morning, reading to her a part of the time,

it was easy for me to try to satisfy my curiosity. I seized a

moment, when the reading was interrupted, to say, "You looked

dreadfully shocked, Madame, when the King pronounced the name

of D'Egmont." At these words, she again raised her eyes, and

said, "You would feel as I do, if you knew the affair." "It must,

then, be deeply affecting, for I do not think that it personally

concerns you, Madame." "No," said she, "it does not; as, however,

I am not the only person acquainted with this history, and as

I know you to be discreet, I will tell it you. The last Comte

d'Egmont married a reputed daughter of the Duc de Villars; but

the Duchess had never lived with her husband, and the Comtesse

d'Egmont is, in fact, a daughter of the Chevalier d'Orléans.

At the death of her husband, young, beautiful, agreeable, and

heiress to an immense fortune, she attracted the suit and homage

of all the most distinguished men at Court. Her mother's director,

one day, came into her room and requested a private interview; he

then revealed to her that she was the offspring of an adulterous

intercourse, for which her mother had been doing penance for

five-and-twenty years. 'She could not,' said he, 'oppose your

former marriage, although it caused her extreme distress. Heaven

did not grant you children; but, if you marry again, you run

the risk, Madame, of transmitting to another family the immense

wealth, which does not, in fact, belong to you, and which is

the price of crime.'

"The Comtesse d'Egmont heard this recital with horror. At the

same instant, her mother entered, and, on her knees, besought

her daughter to avert her eternal damnation. Madame d'Egmont

tried to calm her own and her mother's mind. 'What can I do?'

said she, to her. 'Consecrate yourself wholly to God,' replied the

director, 'and thus expiate your mother's crime.' The Countess,

in her terror, promised whatever they asked, and proposed to

enter the Carmelites. I was informed of it, and spoke to the

King about the barbarous tyranny the Duchesse de Villars and the

director were about to exercise over this unhappy young woman;

but we knew not how to prevent it. The King, with the utmost

kindness, prevailed on the Queen to offer her the situation of

Lady of the Palace, and desired the Duchess's friends to persuade

her to endeavour to deter her daughter from becoming a Carmelite.

It was all in vain; the wretched victim was sacrificed."

Madame took it into her head to consult a fortune-teller, called

Madame Bontemps, who had told M. de Bernis's fortune, as I have

already related, and had surprised him by her predictions. M. de

Choiseul, to whom she mentioned the matter, said that the woman

had also foretold fine things that were to happen to him. "I know

it," said she, "and, in return, you promised her a carriage,

but the poor woman goes on foot still." Madame told me this,

and asked me how she could disguise herself, so as to see the

woman without being known. I dared not propose any scheme then,

for fear it should not succeed; but, two days after, I talked

to her surgeon about the art, which some beggars practise, of

counterfeiting sores, and altering their features. He said that

was easy enough. I let the thing drop, and, after an interval

of some minutes, I said, "If one could change one's features,

one might have great diversion at the opera, or at balls. What

alterations would it be necessary to make in me, now, to render

it impossible to recognise me?" "In the first place," said he,

"you must alter the colour of your hair, then you must have a

false nose, and put a spot on some part of your face, or a wart,

or a few hairs." I laughed, and said, "Help me to contrive this

for the next ball; I have not been to one for twenty years; but

I am dying to puzzle somebody, and to tell him things which no

one but I can tell him. I shall come home, and go to bed, in a

quarter of an hour." "I must take the measure of your nose,"

said he; "or do you take it with wax, and I will have a nose

made: you can get a flaxen or brown wig." I repeated to Madame

what the surgeon had told me: she was delighted at it. I took

the measure of her nose, and of my own, and carried them to the

surgeon, who, in two days, gave me the two noses, and a wart,

which Madame stuck under her left eye, and some paint for the

eyebrows. The noses were most delicately made, of a bladder, I

think, and these, with the other disguises, rendered it impossible

to recognize the face, and yet did not produce any shocking

appearance. All this being accomplished, nothing remained but

to give notice to the fortune-teller; we waited for a little

excursion to Paris, which Madame was to take, to look at her

house. I then got a person, with whom I had no connection, to

speak to a waiting-woman of the Duchesse de Rufféc, to obtain an

interview with the woman. She made some difficulty, on account

of the Police; but we promised secrecy, and appointed the place of

meeting. Nothing could be more contrary to Madame de Pompadour's

character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to engage in

such an adventure. But her curiosity was raised to the highest

pitch, and, moreover, everything was so well arranged that there

was not the slightest risk. Madame had let M. de Gontaut, and

her _valet de chambre_, into the secret. The latter had hired

two rooms for his niece, who was then ill, at Versailles, near

Madame's hotel. We went out in the evening, followed by the _valet

de chambre_, who was a safe man, and by the Duke, all on foot.

We had not, at farthest, above two hundred steps to go. We were

shown into two small rooms, in which were fires. The two men

remained in one, and we in the other. Madame had thrown herself

on a sofa. She had on a night-cap, which concealed half her face,

in an unstudied manner. I was near the fire, leaning on a table,

on which were two candles. There were lying on the chairs, near

us, some clothes, of small value. The fortune-teller rang--a

little servant-girl let her in, and then went to wait in the

room where the gentlemen were. Coffee-cups, and a coffee-pot,

were set; and I had taken care to place, upon a little buffet,

some cakes, and a bottle of Malaga wine, having heard that Madame

Bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor. Her face,

indeed, sufficiently proclaimed it. "Is that lady ill?" said

she, seeing Madame de Pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa.

I told her that she would soon be better, but that she had kept

her room for a week. She heated the coffee, and prepared the two

cups, which she carefully wiped, observing that nothing impure

must enter into this operation. I affected to be very anxious

for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a pretext for

assuaging her thirst, which she did, without, much entreaty.

When she had drunk two or three small glasses (for I had taken

care not to have large ones), she poured the coffee into one

of the two large cups. "This is yours," said she; "and this is

your friend's; let them stand a little." She then observed our

hands and our faces; after which she drew a looking-glass from

her pocket, into which she told us to look, while she looked at

the reflections of our faces. She next took a glass of wine,

and immediately threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while

she inspected my cup, and considered all the lines formed by

the dregs of the coffee she had poured out. She began by saying,

"_That is well--prosperity--but there is a black mark--distresses.

A man becomes a comforter. Here, in this corner, are friends,

who support you. Ah! who is he that persecutes them? But justice

triumphs--after rain, sunshine--a long journey successful. There,

do you see these little bags! That is money which has been paid--to

you, of course, I mean. That is well. Do you see that arm?" "Yes."

"That is an arm supporting something: a woman veiled; I see her;

it is you. All this is clear to me. I hear, as it were, a voice

speaking to me. You are no longer attacked. I see it, because the

clouds in that direction are passed off_ (pointing to a clearer

spot). _But, stay--I see small lines which branch out from the

main spot. These are sons, daughters, nephews--that is pretty

well."_ She appeared overpowered with the effort she was making.

At length, she added, _"That is all. You have had good luck

first--misfortune afterward. You have had a friend, who has exerted

himself with success to extricate you from it. You have had

law-suits--at length fortune has been reconciled to you, and

will change no more._" She drank another glass of wine. "Your

health, Madame," said she to the Marquise, and went through the

same ceremonies with the cup. At length, she broke out, "_Neither

fair nor foul. I see there, in the distance, a serene sky; and

then all these things that appear to ascend--all these things

are applauses. Here is a grave man, who stretches out his arms.

Do you see?--look attentively." "That is true,"_ said Madame de

Pompadour, with surprise (there was, indeed, some appearance

of the kind). "_He points to something square--that is an open

coffer.--Fine weather.--But, look! there are clouds of azure

and gold, which surround you. Do you see that ship on the high

sea? How favourable the wind is! You are on board; you land in

a beautiful country, of which you become the Queen. Ah! what

do I see! Look there--look at that hideous, crooked, lame man,

who is pursuing you--but he is going on a fool's errand. I see a

very great man, who supports you in his arms. Here, look! he is

a kind of giant. There is a great deal of gold and silver--a few

clouds here and there. But you have nothing to fear. The vessel

will be sometimes tossed about, but it will not be lost. Dixi._"

Madame said, "When shall I die, and of what disease?" "I never

speak of that," said she; "_see here, rather--but fate will not

permit it. I will shew you how fate confounds everything_"--shewing

her several confused lumps of the coffee-dregs. "Well, never

mind as to the time, then, only tell me the kind of death." The

fortune-teller looked in the cup, and said, "_You will have time

to prepare yourself._" I gave her only two louis, to avoid doing

anything remarkable. She left us, after begging us to keep her

secret, and we rejoined the Duc de Gontaut, to whom we related

everything that had passed. He laughed heartily, and said, "Her

coffee-dregs are like the clouds--you may see what you please

in them."

There was one thing in my horoscope which struck me, that was

the comforter; because one of my uncles had taken great care of

me, and had rendered me the most essential services. It is also

true that I afterwards had an important lawsuit; and, lastly,

there was the money which had come into my hands through Madame de

Pompadour's patronage and bounty. As for Madame, her husband was

represented accurately enough by the man with the coffer; then the

country of which she became Queen seemed to relate to her present

situation at Court; but the most remarkable thing was the crooked

and lame man, in whom Madame thought she recognized the Duc de

V----, who was very much deformed. Madame was delighted with her

adventure and her horoscope, which she thought corresponded very

remarkably with the truth. Two days after, she sent for M. de St.

Florentin, and begged him not to molest the fortune-teller. He

laughed, and replied that he knew why she interceded for this woman.

Madame asked him why he laughed. He related every circumstance of

her expedition with astonishing exactness; but he knew nothing

of what had been said, or, at least, so he pretended. He promised

Madame that, provided Bontemps did nothing which called for notice,

she should not be obstructed in the exercise of her profession,

especially if she followed it in secret. "I know her," added he,

"and I, like other people, have had the curiosity to consult

her. She is the wife of a soldier in the guards. She is a clever

woman in her way, but she drinks. Four or five years ago, she

got such hold on the mind of Madame de Rufféc, that she made

her believe she could procure her an elixir of beauty, which

would restore her to what she was at twenty-five. The Duchess

pays high for the drugs of which this elixir is compounded; and

sometimes they are bad: sometimes, the sun, to which they were

exposed, was not powerful enough; sometimes, the influence of a

certain constellation was wanting. Sometimes, she has the courage

to assure the Duchess that she really is grown handsomer, and

actually succeeds in making her believe it." But the history of

this woman's daughter is still more curious. She was exquisitely

beautiful, and the Duchess brought her up in her own house. Bontemps

predicted to the girl, in the Duchess's presence, that she would

marry a man of two thousand louis a year. This was not very likely

to happen to the daughter of a soldier in the guards. It did

happen, nevertheless. The little Bontemps married the President

Beaudouin, who was mad. But, the tragical part of the story is,

that her mother had also foretold that she would die in child-birth

of her first child, and that she did actually die in child-birth,

at the age of eighteen, doubtless under a strong impression of her

mother's prophecy, to which the improbable event of her marriage

had given such extraordinary weight. Madame told the King of the

adventure her curiosity had led her into, at which he laughed,

and said he wished the Police had arrested her. He added a very

sensible remark. "In order to judge," said he, "of the truth or

falsehood of such predictions, one ought to collect fifty of

them. It would be found that they are almost always made up of

the same phrases, which are sometimes inapplicable, and sometimes

hit the mark. But the first are rarely mentioned, while the others

are always insisted on."

I have heard, and, indeed, it is certainly true, that M. de Bridge

lived on terms of intimacy with Madame, when she was Madame

d'Etioles. He used to ride on horseback with her, and, as he is

so handsome a man that he has retained the name of _the handsome

man_, it was natural enough that he should be thought the lover

of a very handsome woman. I have heard something more than this.

I was told that the King said to M. de Bridge, "Confess, now,

that you were her lover. She has acknowledged it to me, and I

exact from you this proof of sincerity." M. de Bridge replied,

that Madame de Pompadour was at liberty to say what she pleased

for her own amusement, or for any other reason; but that he, for

his part, could not assert a falsehood; that he had been her

friend; that she was a charming companion, and had great talents;

that he delighted in her society; but that his intercourse with

her had never gone beyond the bounds of friendship. He added,

that her husband was present in all their parties, that he watched

her with a jealous eye, and that he would, not have suffered him

to be so much with her if he had conceived the least suspicion

of the kind. The King persisted, and told him he was wrong to

endeavour to conceal a fact which was unquestionable. It was

rumoured, also, that the Abbé de Bernis had been a favoured lover

of hers. The said Abbé was rather a coxcomb; he had a handsome

face, and wrote poetry. Madame de Pompadour was the theme of

his gallant verses. He sometimes received the compliments of

his friends upon his success with a smile which left some room

for conjecture, although he denied the thing in words. It was,

for some time, reported at Court that she was in love with the

Prince de Beauvau: he is a man distinguished for his gallantries,

his air of rank and fashion, and his high play; he is brother

to the little Maréchale: for all these reasons, Madame is very

civil to him, but there is nothing marked in her behaviour. She

knows, besides, that he is in love with a very agreeable woman.

Now that I am on the subject of lovers, I cannot avoid speaking

of M. de Choiseul. Madame likes him better than any of those I

have just mentioned, but he is not her lover. A lady, whom I

know perfectly well, but whom I do not choose to denounce to

Madame, invented a story about them, which was utterly false.

She said, as I have good reason to believe, that one day, hearing

the King coming, I ran to Madame's closet door; that I coughed in

a particular manner; and that the King having, happily, stopped

a moment to talk to some ladies, there was time to adjust matters,

so that Madame came out of the closet with me and M. de Choiseul,

as if we had been all three sitting together. It is very true

that I went in to carry something to Madame, without knowing

that the King was come, and that she came out of the closet with

M. de Choiseul, who had a paper in his hand, and that I followed

her a few minutes after. The King asked M. de Choiseul what that

paper was which he had in his hand. He replied that it contained

the remonstrance from the Parliament.

Three or four ladies witnessed what I now relate, and as, with

the exception of one, they were all excellent women, and greatly

attached to Madame, my suspicions could fall on none but the

one in question, whom I will not name, because her brother has

always treated me with great kindness. Madame de Pompadour had

a lively imagination and great sensibility, but nothing could

exceed the coldness of her temperament. It would, besides, have

been extremely difficult for her, surrounded as she was, to keep

up an intercourse of that kind with any man. It is true that

this difficulty would have been diminished in the case of an

all-powerful Minister, who had constant pretexts for seeing her

in private. But there was a much more decisive fact--M. de Choiseul

had a charming mistress--the Princesse de R----, and Madame knew

it, and often spoke of her. He had, besides, some remains of

liking for the Princesse de Kinski, who followed him from Vienna.

It is true that he soon after discovered how ridiculous she was.

All these circumstances combined were, surely, sufficient to

deter Madame from engaging in a love affair with the Duke; but

his talents and agreeable qualities captivated her. He was not

handsome, but he had manners peculiar to himself, an agreeable

vivacity, a delightful gaiety; this was the general opinion of

his character. He was much attached to Madame, and though this

might, at first, be inspired by a consciousness of the importance

of her friendship to his interest, yet, after he had acquired

sufficient political strength to stand alone, he was not the

less devoted to her, nor less assiduous in his attentions. He

knew her friendship for me, and he one day said to me, with great

feeling, "I am afraid, my dear Madame du Hausset, that she will

sink into a state of complete dejection, and die of melancholy.

Try to divert her." What a fate for the favourite of the greatest

monarch in existence! thought I.

One day, Madame de Pompadour had retired to her closet with M.

Berryer. Madame d'Amblimont stayed with Madame de Gontaut, who

called me to talk about my son. A moment after, M. de Gontaut came

in and said, "D'Amblimont, who shall have the Swiss guards?" "Stop

a moment," said she; "let me call my council----, M. de Choiseul."

"That is not so very bad a thought," said M. de Gontaut, "but

I assure you, you are the first person who has suggested it."

He immediately left us, and Madame d'Amblimont said, "I'll lay

a wager he is going to communicate my idea to M. de Choiseul."

He returned very shortly, and, M. Berryer having left the room,

he said to Madame de Pompadour, "A singular thought has entered

d'Amblimont's head." "What absurdity now?" said Madame. "Not

so great an absurdity neither," said he. "She says the Swiss

guards ought to be given to M. de Choiseul, and, really, if the

King has not positively promised M. de Soubise, I don't see what

he can do better." "The King has promised nothing," said Madame,

"and the hopes I gave him were of the vaguest kind. I only told

him it was possible. But though I have a great regard for M.

de Soubise, I do not think his merits comparable to those of

M. de Choiseul." When the King came in, Madame, doubtless, told

him of this suggestion. A quarter of an hour afterwards, I went

into the room to speak to her, and I heard the King say, "You

will see that, because the Duc du Maine, and his children, had

that place, he will think he ought to have it, on account of

his rank as Prince (Soubise); but the Maréchal de Bassompièrre

was not a Prince; and, by the bye, the Duc de Choiseul is for him

to be. Her name was Romans. She was Majesty is better acquainted

with the history of France than anybody," replied Madame. Two

days after this, Madame de ---- said to me, "I have two great

delights; M. de Soubise will not have the Swiss guards, and Madame

de Marsan will be ready to burst with rage at it; this is the

first: and M. de Choiseul will have them; this is the greatest."

There was a universal talk of a young lady with whom the King was

as much in love as it was possible for him to be. Her name was

Romans. She was said to be a charming girl. Madame de Pompadour

knew of the King's visits, and her confidantes brought her most

alarming reports of the affair. The Maréchale de Mirepoix, who

had the best head in Madame's council, was the only one who

encouraged her. "I do not tell you," said she, "that he loves

you better than her; and if she could be transported hither by

the stroke of a fairy's wand; if she could entertain him this

evening at supper; if she were familiar with all his tastes,

there would, perhaps, be sufficient reason for you to tremble

for your power. But Princes are, above all, pre-eminently the

slaves of habit. The King's attachment to you is like that he

bears to your apartment, your furniture. You have formed yourself

to his manners and habits; you know how to listen and reply to

his stories; he is under no constraint with you; he has no fear

of _boring_ you. How do you think he could have resolution to

uproot all this in a day, to form a new establishment, and to

make a public exhibition of himself by so striking a change in

his arrangements?" The young lady became pregnant; the reports

current among the people, and even those at Court, alarmed Madame

dreadfully. It was said that the King meant to legitimate the

child, and to give the mother a title. "All that," said Madame

de Mirepoix, "is in the style of Louis XIV.--such dignified

proceedings are very unlike those of our master." Mademoiselle

Romans lost all her influence over the King by her indiscreet

boasting. She was even treated with harshness and violence, which

were in no degree instigated by Madame. Her house was searched,

and her papers seized; but the most important, those which

substantiated the fact of the King's paternity, had been withdrawn.

At length she gave birth to a son, who was christened under the

name of Bourbon, son of Charles de Bourbon, Captain of Horse.

The mother thought the eyes of all France were fixed upon her,

and beheld in her son a future Duc du Maine. She suckled him

herself, and she used to carry him in a sort of basket to the

Bois de Boulogne. Both mother and child were covered with the

finest laces. She sat down upon the grass in a solitary spot,

which, however, was soon well known, and there gave suck to her

royal babe. Madame had great curiosity to see her, and took me,

one day, to the manufactory at Sèvres, without telling me what

she projected. After she had bought some cups, she said, "I want

to go and walk in the Bois de Boulogne," and gave orders to the

coachman to stop at a certain spot where she wished to alight.

She had got the most accurate directions, and when she drew near

the young lady's haunt she gave me her arm, drew her bonnet over

her eyes, and held her pocket-handkerchief before the lower part

of her face. We walked, for some minutes, in a path, from whence

we could see the lady suckling her child. Her jet black hair was

turned up, and confined by a diamond comb. She looked earnestly

at us. Madame bowed to her, and whispered to me, pushing me by the

elbow, "Speak to her." I stepped forward, and exclaimed, "What

a lovely child!" "Yes, Madame," replied she, "I must confess

that he is, though I am his mother." Madame, who had hold of my

arm, trembled and I was not very firm. Mademoiselle Romans said

to me, "Do you live in this neighbourhood?" "Yes, Madame," replied

I, "I live at Auteuil with this lady, who is just now suffering

from a most dreadful toothache." "I pity her sincerely, for I

know that tormenting pain well." I looked all around, for fear

any one should come up who might recognise us. I took courage

to ask her whether the child's father was a handsome man. "Very

handsome, and, if I told you his name, you would agree with me."

"I have the honour of knowing him, then, Madame?" "Most probably

you do." Madame, fearing, as I did, some rencontre, said a few

words in a low tone, apologizing for having intruded upon her,

and we took our leave. We looked behind us, repeatedly, to see

if we were followed, and got into the carriage without being

perceived. "It must be confessed that both mother and child are

beautiful creatures," said Madame--"not to mention the father;

the infant has his eyes. If the King had come up while we were

there, do you think he would have recognised us?" "I don't doubt

that he would, Madame, and then what an agitation I should have

been in, and what a scene it would have been for the bystanders!

and, above all, what a surprise to her!" In the evening Madame

made the King a present of the cups she had bought, but she did

not mention her walk, for fear Mademoiselle Romans should tell

him that two ladies, who knew him, had met her there such a day.

Madame de Mirepoix said to Madame, "Be assured, the King cares

very little about children; he has enough of them, and he will

not be troubled with the mother or the son. See what sort of

notice he takes of the Comte de L----, who is strikingly like

him. He never speaks of him, and I am convinced that he will

never do anything for him. Again and again I tell you, we do not

live under Louis XIV." Madame de Mirepoix had been Ambassadress

to London, and had often heard the English make this remark.

Some alterations had been made in Madame de Pompadour's rooms,

and I had no longer, as heretofore, the niche in which I had

been permitted to sit, to hear Caffarelli, and, in later times,

Mademoiselle Fel and Jeliotte. I, therefore, went more frequently

to my lodgings in town, where I usually received my friends: more

particularly when Madame visited her little hermitage, whither

M. de Gontaut commonly accompanied her. Madame du Chiron, the

wife of the Head Clerk in the War-Office, came to see me. "I

feel," said she, "greatly embarrassed, in speaking to you about

an affair, which will, perhaps, embarrass you also. This is the

state of the case. A very poor woman, to whom I have sometimes

given a little assistance, pretends to be a relation of the Marquise

de Pompadour. Here is her petition." I read it, and said that

the woman had better write directly to Madame, and that I was

sure, if what she asserted was true, her application would be

successful. Madame du Chiron followed my advice. The woman wrote

she was in the lowest depth of poverty, and I learnt that Madame

sent her six louis until she could gain more accurate information

as to the truth of her story. Colin, who was commissioned to

take the money, made inquiries of M. de Malvoisin, a relation

of Madame, and a very respectable officer. The fact was found to

be as she had stated it. Madame then sent her a hundred louis,

and promised her a pension of sixty louis a year. All this was

done with great expedition, and Madame had a visit of thanks from

her poor relation, as soon as she had procured decent clothes

to come in. That day the King happened to come in at an unusual

hour, and saw this person going out. He asked who it was. "It

is a very poor relation of mine," replied Madame. "She came,

then, to beg for some assistance?" "No," said she. "What did

she come for, then?" "To thank me for a little service I have

rendered her," said she, blushing from the fear of seeming to

boast of her liberality. "Well," said the King; "since she is

your relation, allow me to have the pleasure of serving her too.

I will give her fifty louis a year out of my private purse, and,

you know, she may send for the first year's allowance to-morrow."

Madame burst into tears, and kissed the King's hand several times.

She told me this three days afterwards, when I was nursing her

in a slight attack of fever. I could not refrain from weeping

myself at this instance of the King's kindness. The next day,

I called on Madame du Chiron to tell her of the good fortune

of her protégée; I forgot to say that, after Madame had related

the affair to me, I told her what part I had taken in it. She

approved my conduct, and allowed me to inform my friend of the

King's goodness. This action, which showed no less delicate

politeness towards her than sensibility to the sufferings of

the poor woman, made a deeper impression on Madame's heart than

a pension of two thousand a year given to herself.

Madame had terrible palpitations of the heart. Her heart actually

seemed to leap. She consulted several physicians. I recollect that

one of them made her walk up and down the room, lift a weight,

and move quickly. On her expressing some surprise, he said, "I

do this to ascertain whether the organ is diseased; in that case

motion quickens the pulsation; if that effect is not produced,

the complaint proceeds from the nerves." I repeated this to my

oracle, Quesnay. He knew very little of this physician, but he

said his treatment was that of a clever man. His name was Rénard;

he was scarcely known beyond the Marais. Madame often appeared

suffocated, and sighed continually. One day, under pretence of

presenting a petition to M. de Choiseul, as he was going out,

I said, in a low voice, that I wished to see him a few minutes

on an affair of importance to my mistress. He told me to come as

soon as I pleased, and that I should be admitted. I told him that

Madame was extremely depressed; that she gave way to distressing

thoughts, which she would not communicate; that she, one day,

said to me, "The fortune-teller told me I _should have time to

prepare myself_; I believe it, for I shall be worn to death by

melancholy." M. de Choiseul appeared much affected; he praised

my zeal, and said that he had already perceived some indications

of what I told him; that he would not mention my name, but would

try to draw from her an explanation. I don't know what he said to

her; but, from that time, she was much more calm. One day, but

long afterwards, Madame said to M. de Gontaut, "I am generally

thought to have great influence, but if it were not for M. de

Choiseul, I should not be able to obtain a Cross of St. Louis."

The King and Madame de Pompadour had a very high opinion of Madame

de Choiseul. Madame said, "She always says the right thing in

the right place." Madame de Grammont was not so agreeable to

them; and I think that this was to be attributed, in part, to

the sound of her voice, and to her blunt manner of speaking;

for she was said to be a woman of great sense, and devotedly

attached to the King and Madame de Pompadour. Some people pretended

that she tried to captivate the King, and to supplant Madame:

nothing could be more false, or more ridiculously improbable.

Madame saw a great deal of these two ladies, who were extremely

attentive to her. She one day remarked to the Duc d'Ayen, that

M. de Choiseul was very fond of his sisters. "I know it, Madame,"

said he, "and many sisters are the better for that." "What do

you mean?" said she. "Why," said he, "as the Duc de Choiseul

loves his sister, it is thought fashionable to do the same; and

I know silly girls, whose brothers formerly cared nothing about

them, who are now most tenderly beloved. No sooner does their

little finger ache, than their brothers are running about to fetch

physicians from all corners of Paris. They flatter themselves

that somebody will say, in M. de Choiseul's drawing-room, "How

passionately M. de ---- loves his sister; he would certainly

die if he had the misfortune to lose her." Madame related this

to her brother, in my presence, adding, that she could not give

it in the Duke's comic manner. M. de Marigny said, "I have had

the start of them all, without making so much noise; and my dear

little sister knows that I loved her tenderly before Madame de

Grammont left her convent. The Duc d'Ayen, however, is not very

wrong; he has made the most of it in his lively manner, but it

is partly true." "I forgot," replied Madame, "that the Duke said,

'I want extremely to be in the fashion, but which sister shall

I take up? Madame de Caumont is a devil incarnate, Madame de

Villars drinks, Madame d'Armagnac is a bore, Madame de la Marck

is half mad.'" "These are fine family portraits, Duke," said

Madame. The Duc de Gontaut laughed, during the whole of this

conversation, immoderately. Madame repeated it, one day, when

she kept her bed. M. de G---- also began to talk of his sister,

Madame du Roure. I think, at least, that is the name he mentioned.

He was very gay, and had the art of creating gaiety. Somebody

said, he is an excellent piece of furniture for a favourite. He

makes her laugh, and asks for nothing either for himself or for

others; he cannot excite jealousy, and he meddles in nothing. He

was called the White Eunuch. Madame's illness increased so rapidly

that we were alarmed about her; but bleeding in the foot cured

her as if by a miracle. The King watched her with the greatest

solicitude; and I don't know whether his attentions did not

contribute as much to the cure as the bleeding. M. de Choiseul

remarked, some days after, that she appeared in better spirits.

I told him that I thought this improvement might be attributed

to the same cause.