Conversation of the maréchale de Mirepoix with the comtesse
du Barry on court friendship--Intrigues of madame de Bearn--
Preconcerted meeting with madame de Flaracourt---Rage of
madame de Bearn--Portrait and conversation of madame de
Flaracourt with the comtesse du Barry--Insult from the
princesse de Guémenée--Her banishment--Explanation of the
king and the duc de Choiseul relative to madame du Barry--
The comtesse d’Egmont
However giddy I was I did not partake in the excessive gaiety of madame
de Mirepoix. I was pained to see how little reliance could be placed
on the sensibility of the king, as well as how far I could esteem the
consideration of the maréchale for madame de Pompadour, from whom she
had experienced so many marks of friendship. This courtier baseness
appeared to me so villainous, that I could not entirely conceal how I
was affected with displeasure. Madame de Mirepoix saw it, and, looking
at me attentively, said,
“Do you feel any desire to become pathetical in the country we live in?
I warn you that it will be at your own expense. We must learn to content
ourselves here with appearances, and examine nothing thoroughly.”
“‘There is then no reality?” said I to her.
“Yes,” she answered me, “but only two things, power and money: the rest
is ‘leather and prunella’ (_contes bleus_): no person has time to love
sincerely; it is hatred only that takes deep root and never dies.
To hope to give birth to a real passion, an Orestean and Pyladean
friendship, is a dream from which you must be awakened.”
“Then you do not love me?”
“You ask me a very awkward question, my darling, I can tell you. I do
love you, and very much, too: I have proved it by ranging myself on your
side, and by declaring, with the utmost frankness, that I would rather
see you in the situation in which you are, than any other woman of the
court. But there is a long space between this and heroical friendship: I
should deceive you if I were to affirm the contrary, and there would
be no common sense in giving faith to my words. Every one has too much
business, too much intrigue, too many quarrels on hand, to have any
leisure to think of others: every one lives for himself alone. Mesdames
de Guémenée and de Grammont appear very intimate: that is easily
explained, they unite against a common enemy. But were your station left
vacant, no sooner would the king have thrown the apple to one of them,
but the other would detest her instantly.”
Contrary to custom I made no reply: I was absorbed in painful
reflections to which this conversation had given rise. The maréchale
perceived it, and said,
“We should fall into philosophy if we probed this subject too deeply.
Let us think no more of this: besides, I have a new defection to tell
you of. Madame de Flaracourt told me yesterday that she much regretted
having misunderstood you, and that you were worth more than all those
who persecute you. She appeared to me disposed to ally herself to you
for the least encouragement which you might be induced to hold out to
her.”
“You know very well,” I replied, “that I am willing to adopt your
advice. The house of Flaracourt is not to be despised, and I ask no
better than to be on amicable terms with the lady.”
“Well, then, come this morning and walk in the grove nearest the
pavilion, I shall be there with madame de Flaracourt: we will meet by
chance, compliments will follow, and the alliance will be formed.”
The maréchale and I had scarcely separated when madame de Bearn was
announced. This lady besieged me night and day. Gifted with a subtle and
penetrating spirit--that talent which procures advancement at court,
she saw, with pain, that I sought to attract other females about me:
she would fain have remained my only friend, that she might, unopposed,
influence me in all I did. She saw, therefore, the appearance of madame
de Mirepoix in my drawing-room with uneasiness: her bad humor was
sufficiently apparent to attract the notice of the maréchale, who
laughed at it: her social position as a titled woman, and the king’s
friendship, giving her confidence that her credit would always exceed
that of my godmother.
Madame de Bearn was compelled to submit to the ascendancy of the
maréchale, but yet did not the less relax in her efforts to keep from
me all other female society, she hoped that at last the king would
distinguish her, and call her into his intimacy as my friend; she was
not more fond of the comtesse d’Aloigny, altho’ the nullity of this
lady need not have alarmed her much. For me, I began to resent the
irksomeness of having incessantly at my side a person who manifested too
openly her desire to compel me to submit to her wishes, and I waited, to
secure my freedom, only until the circle of females I could admit to my
society should be extended.
Such were our reciprocal feelings during our stay at Marly. The madame
de Bearn watched me with more care than at Versailles, fearing, no
doubt, that the freedom of the country might facilitate connections
prejudicial to her interests. Little did she anticipate on this day the
stroke which was in preparation for her. I asked her spitefully to
take a turn with me into the park, and I took care not to announce the
meeting which we had arranged.
Behold us then walking this way and that, quite by chance, without
however going any distance from the pavilion. Madame de Bearn, not
liking the vicinity of the château, was desirous to go into the wood. I
declined this under vain excuses, when suddenly madame de Mirepoix and
madame de Flaracourt appeared at the end of a very short walk.
“Let us turn this way,” said the countess to me, “here comes one of our
enemies, whom it would be as well to avoid.”
“Why turn away?” I replied; “she is alone, we are two, and then the
maréchale de Mirepoix is not opposed to us.”
Saying this, I advanced towards them. Madame de Flaracourt appeared very
gracious: I replied to her advances with due politeness, and instead
of separating, we continued to walk about together. Madame de Bearn
saw clearly that chance was not the sole cause of this meeting: she
dissembled as well as she could. I afterwards learnt that she owed me a
spite, particularly for the mystery which I had made of this occurrence.
The marked silence, and the sullen air she assumed during this
interview, and which her sense and knowledge of the world should have
prevented her from manifesting, proved to me, on this occasion, as on
many other others, that temper cannot always be conquered, and that at
times it will burst forth in spite of the experience and caution of the
courtier.
I did not give myself much trouble on this subject: I had well
recompensed the good offices of the countess: I had ample proof that in
serving me she had acted on the impulse of self-interest: we were quits,
I thought, and I saw no reason why I should remain isolated just to
serve her pleasure.
When we returned to my apartments I saw plainly, by her mutterings, her
sighs, and the shrugging of her shoulders, that she was deeply
irritated at what had just taken place. She was desirous of provoking
an explanation, but as that could only tend to her disadvantage, she
contented herself with leaving me earlier than her usual want, without
saying anything disagreeable. Her custom was not to leave me alone, and
her abrupt departure confirmed me in the idea I had imbibed, that this
sort of comedy had much thwarted her.
In the course of the same day I received a visit from the comtesse
de Flaracourt. This lady, whose sparkling eyes shone with an air of
mischief, presented herself to me with an appearance of openness and
confidence which completely cloaked the malignity and treachery of
her character. She threw her arms round my neck with as much grace as
tenderness, and taking my hand, as if to arrest my attention, said:
“I ought, madame, to explain to you the delay that I have made before
I introduce myself to you, as well as the promptitude of this my first
visit. I was prejudiced against you, and had formed a false estimate of
you. My _liaison_ with mesdames d’Egmont, de Brionne, and de Grammont
naturally placed me in the rank opposed to you: so much for what has
passed. But I have seen you: I have studied you at a distance, as well
as close, and I have recognised, without difficulty, the injustice of
your enemies. I have been enraged with myself for having been deceived
regarding you: I wish to repair my wrongs. Enlightened by the opinion
of the maréchale de Mirepoix, I have not hesitated to approach you under
her auspices, and our first meeting has so happily furnished me with an
opportunity of appreciating you, that I would not delay any longer the
pleasure of making you a personal avowal of my past sentiments, and of
those with which you now inspire me.”
The tone in which madame de Flaracourt uttered these words was so
gracious and so persuasive, that I could not resist the pleasure of
embracing her. She returned my kiss with the same eagerness, and would
not listen to my thanks.
“All is explained between us,” she continued, “let us forget the past,
and let us do as if meeting for the first time to-day; we henceforward
date this as the first of our acquaintance.”
“The affability with which you have presented yourself to me,” I
replied, “does not permit me to believe that I have only known you from
this morning; I am in an illusion which will only allow me to look on
our recent alliance as an ancient friendship.”
After having exchanged some conversation of the same tenor, we talked of
my situation as regarded the other females of the court.
“They hate you for two reasons,” said the countess: “in the first
place, because you have made a conquest which all the world envies you;
secondly because you are not one of us. There is not one family who can
lean on you in virtue of the rights of blood, or alliances which stand
instead of it. You have superseded a woman who more than any other could
have a claim to your good fortune: she is sister to the prime minister,
who has in her train, like Lucifer, more than a third part of heaven,
for all the courtiers hang on her brother.
“On the other hand, we are not accustomed to remain so long in
opposition to the will of the king. Such a resistance is not natural to
us; it weighs upon us, it harms us, the favor of our master being our
chief good. We are only something thro’ him, and when combatting against
him we have neither the courage nor the perseverance. Thus you may be
very certain that the majority of women who oppose you do it against the
grain: and if you add to this that they are incessantly exposed to the
murmurs and complaints of their husbands, sons, brothers, and lovers,
you will easily be convinced that they only aspire to finding a means
of reconciling the regard they owe to the Choiseuls and the terror which
they inspire, with the desire they have to seek your protection and the
friendship of the king. The cabal only flies on one wing, and I cannot
divine its situation at the commencement of the next winter. Do not
disquiet yourself any more with what it can do: keep yourself quiet;
continue to please the ‘master,’ and you will triumph over the multitude
as easily as you have conquered the resistance of mesdames.”
Such was the language of the comtesse de Flaracourt: it agreed, as you
will perceive, with that of madame de Mirepoix, and I ought the more
to believe it, as it was the fruit of their experience and profound
knowledge of court manners. Their example proved to me, as well as their
words, that all those who approached the king could not bear for a long
time the position in which he placed those whom he did not look upon
with pleasure. However, Louis XV evinced more plainly from day to day
the ascendancy I had over his mind. He assisted publicly at my toilette,
he walked out with me, left me as little as possible, and sought by
every attention to console me for the impertinences with which my
enemies bespattered me. The following anecdote will prove to you how
little consideration he had for those persons who dared to insult me
openly.
One day at Marly, I entered the drawing-room; there was a vacant seat
near the princesse de Guémenée, I went to it, and scarcely was seated
when my neighbor got up, saying, “What horror!” and betook herself to
the further end of the room. I was much confused: the offence was too
public for me to restrain my resentment, and even when I wished to do so
the thing was scarcely possible. The comte Jean, who had witnessed
it, and my sisters-in-law, who learnt it from him, were enraged. I was
compelled to complain to the king, who instantly sent the princesse de
Guémenée an order to quit Marly forthwith, and betake herself to the
princesse de Marsan, _gouvernante_ of the children of the royal family
of France, of whose post she had the reversion.
Never did a just chastisement produce a greater effect. The outcry
against me was louder than ever, it seemed as tho’ the whole nobility
of France was immolated at “one fell swoop.” To have heard the universal
clamor, it would have been thought that the princess had been sent to
the most obscure prison in the kingdom. This proof of the king’s regard
for me did much mischief, no doubt, as it furnished my enemies with a
pretext to accuse me of a vindictive spirit. Could I do otherwise? Ought
I to have allowed myself to be overwhelmed with impunity, and was it
consistent with the dignity of my august protector, that I should be
insulted thus openly by his subjects, his courtiers, his guests, even in
the private apartments of his palace?
However, this wrath of the nobility did not prevent the Choiseul family
from experiencing a feeling of fright. They had just received a signal
favor. The government of Strasbourg, considered as the key of France and
Alsace, had been given in reversion to the comte de Stainville, brother
of the duc de Choiseul. Certainly this choice was a very great proof of
the indulgence of the king, and the moment was badly chosen to pay with
ingratitude a benefit so important. This did not hinder the duchesse de
Grammont, and all the women of her house, or who were her allies, from
continuing to intrigue against me. It was natural to believe that the
king would not permit such doing for a long time, and that should he
become enraged at them, that I should attempt to soothe his anger.
Matters were in this state, when one morning, after his accustomed
routine, the duc de Choiseul requested a private audience of the king.
“I grant it this moment,” said the prince, “what have you to say to me?”
“I wish to explain to your majesty how excessively painful is the
situation in which I am placed with regard to some of the members of my
family. All the females, and my sister at their head, attack me about a
quarrel which is strange to me, and with which I have declared I would
not meddle.”
“You do well, monsieur le duc,” said the king, with cool gravity, “I am
much vexed at all that is going on, and have resolved not to suffer it
any longer.”
The decision of this discourse made a deep impression M. de Choiseul: he
sought to conceal it whilst he replied:
“It is difficult, sire, to make women listen to reason.”
“All are not unreasonable,” rejoined the king: “your wife, for instance,
is a model of reason and wisdom: she has perfect control of herself. She
is the wise woman of scripture.”
This flattery and justly merited eulogium, which the king made of the
duchess whenever he found an opportunity, was the more painful to M. de
Choiseul, as his conduct was not irreproachable towards a woman whose
virtues he alone did not justly appreciate. It was a direct satire
against his sister’s conduct, whose ascendancy over him, her brother,
the king well knew. He replied that the good behavior of his wife was
the safeguard of his family, and he greatly regretted that the duchesse
de Grammont had not a right to the same eulogium.
“I beg you,” said the prince, “to engage her to change her language, and
to conduct herself with less boldness, if she would not have me force
her to repent.”
“That, sire, is a mission painful to fulfil, and words very hard to
convey to her.”
“So much the worse for her,” replied the king, elevating his voice, “if
she bear any friendship for you, let her prove it in this particular:
your interests should keep her mouth shut.”
The duke had no difficulty to comprehend the indirect menace implied: he
instantly renewed his regrets for the _disagreeable_ disturbances that
had occurred.
“Add _insulting_,” said Louis XV. “I am content with you and your
services, duke. I have just proved this to you, by giving your brother
more than he could expect from me; but have not I the right to have my
intimacies respected? It appears to me that if you spoke more decidedly
in your family you would command more attention.”
“This makes me fear, sire, that your majesty does not believe me sincere
in my expression of the regret which I just took the liberty to utter to
your majesty.”
“_Mon Dieu_, monsieur le duc, you certainly do not like madame du
Barry.”
“I neither like nor hate her, sire; but I see with trouble that she
receives at her house all my enemies.”
“Whose fault is that if it be so? Your own; you, who would never visit
her; she would have received you with pleasure, and I have not concealed
from you the satisfaction I should have experienced.”
These last words made the duke start, his eyes became animated. After a
moment’s reflection he said to the king,
“Sire, is it indispensably necessary for the service of the state that I
endeavor to attain the good-will of madame la comtesse du Barry?”
“No.”
“Well, then, sire, allow matters to remain as they are. It would cost me
much to quarrel with my whole family, the more so as this sacrifice
is not useful to you, and would in no wise alter my position with your
majesty.”
However painful to the king such a determination might be, he did not
allow the duke to perceive it; he dissembled the resentment he felt, and
contented himself with saying,
“Duc de Choiseul, I do not pretend to impose chains on you; I have
spoken to you as a friend rather than as a sovereign. Now I return to
what was said at first, and accept with confidence the promise you make
me not to torment a lady whom I love most sincerely.”
Thus ended a conversation from which the duke, with a less haughty
disposition, might have extracted greater advantages and played a surer
game. It was the last plank of safety offered in the shipwreck which
menaced him. He disdained it: the opportunity of seizing it did not
present itself again. I doubt not but that if he would have united
himself freely and sincerely with me I should not have played him false.
Louis XV, satisfied with his condescension in my behalf, would have kept
him at the head of his ministry: but his pride ruined him, he could not
throw off the yoke which the duchesse de Grammont had imposed on him: he
recoiled from the idea of telling her that he had made a treaty of peace
with me, and that was not one of the least causes of his disgrace.
The journey to Marly gave birth to a multitude of intrigues of persons
who thought to wrap themselves up in profound mystery, and all whose
actions we knew. The police were very active about the royal abodes,
especially since the fatal deed of the regicide Damiens. To keep them
perpetually on the watch, they were ordered to watch attentively the
amours of the lords and ladies of the court.
The daughter of the duc de Richelieu, the comtesse d’Egmont, whose age
was no pretext for her follies, dearly liked low love adventures. She
used to seek them out in Paris, when she could find none at Versailles.
She was not, however, the more indulgent towards me. This lady was not
always content with noble lovers, but sought them in all classes, and
more than once, simple mortals, men of low order, obtained preference
over demi-gods. Her conduct in this respect was the result of long
experience. She used to go out alone, and traverse the streets of Paris.
She entered the shops, and when her eye rested on a good figure, having
wide shoulders, sinewy limbs, and a good looking face, she then called
up all the resources of her mind to form and carry on an intrigue, of
which the consequences, at first agreeable to him who was the object
of it, terminated most frequently fatally. The following adventure will
give you an idea of the talent of madame d’Egmont in this way, and how
she got rid of her adorers when she had exhausted with them the cup of
pleasure.