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 chose 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 Princess de R------, and Madame knew it, and often
spoke of her. He had, besides, some remains of liking for the Princess
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. Berrier 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
Marechal de Bassompierre was not a Prince; and, by the bye, the Duc de
Choiseul is his grandnephew; do you know that?"--"Your 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."
...........................
[The whole of this passage is in a different handwriting.]
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 Marechale 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
Sevres, 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 I-----, 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 Malvoiain, 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
protege; 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 Renard; 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,--[Afterwards Marechal de
Noaines.] 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.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Air of science calculated to deceive the vulgar
Bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before others
Clouds--you may see what you please in them
Dared to say to me, so he writes
Dead always in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon
French people do not do things by halves
Fresh proof of the intrigues of the Jesuits
How difficult it is to do good
I dared not touch that string
Infinite astonishment at his sharing the common destiny
Madame made the Treaty of Sienna
Pension is granted on condition that his poems are never printed
Pleasure of making a great noise at little expense
Sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru, to measure the earth
She always says the right thing in the right place
She drives quick and will certainly be overturned on the road