I think that Madame [her predecessor] was more wronged than wronging;
she had to do with very wicked people, about whom I could tell many
things if I chose. Madame was very young, beautiful, agreeable, and
full of grace, and surrounded by the greatest coquettes in the world,
the mistresses of Madame's enemies, who sought only to get her into
trouble and make Monsieur quarrel with her. They say here that she was
not handsome; but she had so much grace that everything became her.
She was not capable of forgiving, and was determined to drive away the
Chevalier de Lorraine. In that she succeeded, but it cost her her
life. He sent the poison from Italy by a Provençal gentleman named
Morel, and to reward the latter he was made chief _maître-d'hôtel_.
He robbed and pillaged me and was made to sell his office, for which
he got a high price. This Morel had the cleverness of a devil, but
knew neither law nor gospel. He owned to me himself that he believed
in nothing. When he was dying he would not hear of God, and said of
himself, "Let this carcass alone; it is good for nothing more."
It is very true that Madame was poisoned, but without Monsieur's
knowledge. When those scoundrels held counsel with one another to
determine how they should poison poor Madame, they discussed whether
or not they should warn Monsieur. The Chevalier de Lorraine said, "No,
do not let us tell him, for he cannot hold his tongue. If he does not
speak of it the first year, he will get us hanged ten years later."
And it is known that one of the wretches added, "Be careful not to let
Monsieur know of it; he would tell it to the king, and that would hang
us." They made Monsieur believe that the Dutch had given Madame a slow
poison in chocolate: but here is the truth:--
D'Effiat did not poison the chicory water, but he poisoned Madame's
cup; and that was well imagined, because no one drinks from our cups
but ourselves. The cup was not brought out as soon as asked for; they
said it was mislaid. A _valet de chambre_ whom I had, and who had been
in the service of the late Madame (he is dead now), related to me
that in the morning, while Monsieur and Madame were at mass, d'Effiat
went to the buffet, found the cup, and rubbed it with some paper. The
_valet de chambre_ said to him: "Monsieur, what are you doing in our
closet, and why are you touching Madame's cup?" He answered: "I am
dying of thirst, and as the cup was dirty I cleaned it with paper."
That evening Madame asked for her chicory water, and as soon as she
drank it she cried out that she was poisoned. Those who were there had
drunk of the same water, but not from her cup, and they were not taken
ill. They put her to bed, and she grew worse and worse, and died two
hours after midnight in frightful suffering.
Monsieur never troubled his wife about her gallantries with the king
his brother; he himself related to me the whole of Madame's life, and
he never would have passed that matter over in silence had he believed
it. I think that as to this circumstance the world has been unjust to
Madame.
For many years a rumour has spread about Saint-Cloud that the ghost
of the late Madame appeared about a fountain where she used to sit in
very warm weather, because the place was cool. One evening a lacquey
of the Maréchale de Clérembault, going to draw water at the well,
saw something white without a face; the phantom, which was sitting
down, rose to double its height. The poor lacquey, seized with
fright, ran away; on reaching the house he insisted that he had seen
Madame, fell ill and died. The officer who was then captain of the
château, imagining that there must be something under it all, went
to the fountain himself, saw the ghost, and threatened to give it a
hundred blows with his stick if it did not own who it was. Whereupon
the ghost said: "Oh! Monsieur de Lastéra, don't hurt me, I am only
poor Philippinette." She was an old woman in the village, about
seventy-seven years old, with only one tooth in her mouth, weak eyes
rimmed with red, a huge mouth, a thick nose,--in short, hideous. They
wanted to put her in prison, but I interceded for her. When she came
to thank me for that I said to her: "What mania possessed you to play
the ghost instead of staying in your bed?" She answered, laughing: "I
don't regret what I have done; at my age one sleeps little, and one
must have something or other to keep one's spirits up. All I ever did
in my youth did not give me as much enjoyment as playing the ghost.
Those who were not afraid of my white sheet were afraid of my face.
The cowards made such faces I nearly died of laughing. That pleasure
at night paid me for the pain of carrying faggots by day."