Dorine--Mademoiselle Choin and the maréchal d’Uxelles--
Zamor--M. de Maupeou’s wig--Henriette--The duc de Villeroi
and Sophie--Letter from the comtesse du Barry to the duc de
Villeroi--His reply--The countess writes again--Madame du
Barry and Sophie--Louis XV and the comtesse du Barry
Among the number which composed my household were three beings who
played conspicuous parts in my family, and who received the kindest
caresses in honour of their mistress. These three favoured objects were
Dorine, Zamor, and Henriette. Following the order or disorder in which
I have written thus far, I will first introduce my dear Dorine to your
notice.
Sweet, beautiful Dorine! how amiably affectionate and attached to thy
mistress wert thou! The poor animal still exists; for I would have you
know that I am speaking of a most faithful little dog; now indeed grown
old, asthmatic and snappish; but fifteen years since, distinguished for
her lightness, swiftness, and grace, for her pretty little countenance,
white teeth, large sparkling eyes, long tufted tail, and above all,
for her snow-white coat, spotted here and there with the most beautiful
brown.
Dorine was just three months old when madame de Montmorency brought
her to me in her muff; her throat was adorned with a rich gold collar,
bearing the arms of the du Barrys, and clasped with a large sapphire
surrounded with diamonds. The moment she saw me Dorine leaped upon my
lap with the most endearing familiarity, and from that period has never
quitted me. My train of courtiers hastened to become those of the new
favourite likewise; and pastrycooks and confectioners racked their
brains to procure tempting morsels for the gentle Dorine. She sipped her
coffee daily from a golden saucer, and Zamor (between whom and Dorine
a mutual dislike existed) was appointed her cupbearer. The wonderful
instinct of the highly gifted animal soon taught her, that although she
had free permission to bark at all the rest of the world, there was one
person in it to whom it behoved her to show herself in her most gracious
and smiling moods; who this person was I leave it to your sagacity to
divine. She, however, indemnified herself for this extra complaisance
by barking and biting at all who approached; and the handsomest,
best turned leg in the court was not secure from the sharp teeth of
mademoiselle Dorine. Nevertheless, all vied in praising and fondling
her, and I was enchanted with the general admiration she excited,
as well as the attention she received. One day that I was exultingly
relating to the duc d’Aguillon the cares and praises lavished on my dog,
he replied, “The grand dauphin, son of Louis XIV, after the death of his
wife, Marie Christine of Bavaria, secretly espoused mademoiselle Choin.
The maréchal d’Uxelles, who was not ignorant of this marriage, professed
himself the most devoted friend of the lady; he visited her regularly
morning and evening, and even carried his desire to please her so far,
as to send a servant with a dish of grilled hare for the house dog, who
had a particular fancy for game dressed in that manner! These attentions
and assiduities were faithfully continued for several years, till the
grand dauphin died, and then no more morning and evening visits, no more
presents to either mistress or dog. Apply the story well,” added the
duke, as he terminated his recital. Unfortunately the application of the
tale presented itself but too soon, and I have experienced the sad truth
of the history of mademoiselle Choin. At the death of the king so, did
my visitors disappear; and poor Dorine has partaken of the disgrace of
the comtesse du Barry.
The second object of my regard was Zamor, a young African boy, full of
intelligence and mischief; simple and independent in his nature, yet
wild as his country. Zamor fancied himself the equal of all he met,
scarcely deigning to acknowledge the king himself as his superior. This
son of Africa was presented to me by the duc de Richelieu, clad in
the picturesque costume of his native land; his head ornamented with
feathers of every colour, a short petticoat of plaited grass around his
waist, while the richest bracelets adorned his wrists, and chains of
gold, pearls, and rubies, glittered over his neck and hung from his
ears. Never would any one have suspected the old maréchal, whose
parsimony was almost proverbial, of making such a magnificent present.
In honour of the tragedy of Alzire, I christened my little negro Zamor,
to whom by degrees I became attached with all the tenderness of a
mother. You ask me why? Indeed that is more than I can tell; perhaps
at first I looked upon him as a sort of puppet or plaything, but,
imperceptibly to myself, I became passionately fond of my little page,
nor was the young urchin slow in perceiving the ascendancy he had gained
over me, and, in the end, to abuse his influence, and attained, as
I have before said, an almost incredible degree of insolence and
effrontery. Still I pardoned all his folly, and amused myself from
morning to night with watching his nimble fingers perform a thousand
tricks of jugglery. Even now that I have lost the gaiety of my happy
days, when I recall his irresistibly comic ways, I catch myself
laughing, like an old simpleton, at the bare recollection of his monkey
feats. I could relate twenty of his mischievous pranks, each more
amusing than the other. I will, however, excuse you from hearing
nineteen of them, upon condition that you shall listen to the twentieth,
which I select as being the shortest.
One day, upon which I had invited some select friends to dinner, a
superb pie was brought to table as a present which the ungallant M. de
Maupeou had had the politeness to send me in the morning. One of the
company proceeded to cut it, when scarcely had he pierced the
crust, than its perfidious contents proved to be an immense swarm of
cockchafers, which spread humming and buzzing all over the chamber.
Zamor, who had never before seen these insects, began to pursue them
all over the room, buzzing and humming as loudly as they did. The chase
lasted a long time; but at last the poor cockchafers weary of carrying
on the war, and mistaking the peruke of M. de Maupeou for an impregnable
fortress, flew to take refuge there. What did Zamor do, but run to the
chancellor, snatch off his wig, and carry it in triumph to a corner of
the room with its colony of cockchafers, leaving us all to admire the
bald head of the chief magistrate. I could willingly have enjoyed a
hearty laugh at this scene, but, out of respect for M. de Maupeou, I
feigned to be much displeased with Zamor, whom I desired one of the
attendants to flog for his rudeness. However, the guests and the
chancellor uniting in entreaties that I would pardon him, I was obliged
to allow my assumed anger to give way to their request, and the culprit
received a pardon.
There was but one person in the world whom Zamor really feared; he
was however on good terms with all my friends, and did not disdain
the society of the king. You have heard that the latter, by way of
amusement, bestowed on my little negro the title of governor of the
Pavillon de Lucienne, with a revenue arising therefrom of a thousand
crowns, and that the chancellor caused the necessary papers to be
prepared and delivered to him sealed with the state seal.
But of all the persons who visited me, the one most beloved by Zamor was
madame de Mirepoix, who never came without bringing him amusing presents
or some sweetmeats. The sight of her threw him into ecstasies of
delight; and the moment he caught sight of her, he would clap his hands,
leap with joy, dance around her, and kiss her hand, exclaiming, “_Ah!
mame la chale!_” (“Ah! Madame la maréchale “). The poor maréchale
always dreaded meeting the king when she came to visit me and Zamor; for
the great delight of his majesty was to make my little negro repeat a
name of Israelitish origin, which he did in so ridiculous a manner, that
the modesty of my fair friend was most shockingly put to the blush.
One person alone never vouchsafed to bestow the slightest glance of
encouragement upon my little imp of Africa, and this was comte Jean,
who even went so far as to awe him into silence either by a frown or a
gesture of impatience; his most lively tricks could not win a smile from
the count, who was either thoughtful or preoccupied with some ambitious
scheme of fortune. Zamor soon felt a species of instinctive dread of
this overpowering and awe-inspiring genius, whose sudden appearance
would chill him in his wildest fits of mirthful mischief, and send
him cowering to a corner of the room; where he would remain huddled
together, and apparently stupefied and motionless, till the count
quitted the apartment.
At the moment of my writing this, Zamor still resides under my roof.
During the years he has passed with me he has gained in height, but
in none of the intellectual qualities does he seem to have made any
progress; age has only stripped him of the charms of infancy without
supplying others in their place; nor can I venture to affirm, that his
gratitude and devotion to me are such as I have reason to expect they
should be;* for I can with truth affirm, that I have never ceased to
lavish kindness on him, and to be, in every sense of the word, a good
mistress to him.
* This wretch, whom the comtesse du Barry loaded with her
favours and benefits, conducted her to the scaffold.--EDITOR
(i.e., author)
There was one member of my establishment, however, whom I preferred
to either Dorine or Zamor and this was Henriette, who was sincerely
attached to me, and who, for that very reason, was generally disliked
throughout the castle. I bad procured a good husband for her, on whom I
bestowed a post which, by keeping both himself and his wife in the
close vicinity of the castle, prevented my kind friend from quitting
me. However, my poor Henriette was not fated to enjoy a long connubial
felicity, for her husband, being seized with a violent fever, in a fit
of delirium threw himself from a window into the court below, and was
taken up dead. Slander availed herself even of this fatal catastrophe
to whisper abroad, that the death of the unhappy man arose from his deep
sense of his wife’s misconduct and infidelity. This I can positively
assert was not the case, for Henriette was warmly and truly attached
to him, and conducted herself as a wife with the most undeviating
propriety. The fact was, that Henriette had drawn upon herself a
general hatred and ill will, because she steadily refused all gossiping
invitations, where my character would have been pulled to pieces, and
the affairs of my household discussed and commented upon: there, indeed,
she had sinned beyond all hope of pardon.
She it was who pointed out to me the perfidious conduct of the duc de
Villeroi. This gentleman, from the very beginning of my rise in the
royal favour, had demonstrated the most lively friendship for me, of
which he sought to persuade me by the strongest protestations, which,
weak and credulous as I was, I implicitly believed, until one day that
Henriette, availing herself of my being quite alone, let me into
the secrets of my establishment and furnished me with a key to the
assiduities of M. de Villeroi.
Amongst the females in my service was one named Sophie, young, beautiful
both in face and form, of a sweet disposition, and every way calculated
to inspire the tender passion. M. de Villeroi felt the full force of her
charms, and became the whining, sighing lover--her very shadow. Up to
this period I had had no cause of complaint against M. de Villeroi; and
certainly I should not have interfered with his plebeian flame had he
not thought proper, when questioned by my enemies as to his continual
presence at the castle, and great assiduities there, to protest that
his visits thither were not in honour of my charms, but for those of my
waiting-maid. However, my vanity had rendered me his constant dupe.
I felt perfectly astonished as I listened to Henriette’s recital;
and when she had ceased, I conjured her to tell me candidly, whether she
had not invented the whole tale either out of spite to Sophie or with
a design to make me break off further friendship with the duke. This she
most solemnly denied, and recommended me to make inquiries amongst my
friends, who would be compelled to bear testimony to the truth of all
she had asserted. I determined to do so; and the first person whom I was
enabled to interrogate respecting the affair was the bishop de Senlis.
This prelate came frequently to see me, and I found his society each day
more pleasing. He served me as a kind of gazette of all that passed with
the princesses, in whose opinion I had still the misfortune not to be in
the very highest estimation. When occasion required it, M. de Roquelaure
would venture to take my part, and that without making a single enemy;
for who could be offended with one so affable, so good, so full of
kindness towards all? In fact, the worthy bishop was so fortunate as to
obtain the love of every person who knew him; and, in the most select
society of opposing parties, each would reserve a place for good M. de
Roquelaure.
When I questioned him as to his knowledge of the affair, his
embarrassment was evident.
“What a world is this!” cried he. “Why, let me ask, do you listen to
those who repeat such mortifying tales to you?”
“Because, my lord, my friends will not see me made the sport of a
heartless and perfidious friend; and, if you entertain the slightest
regard for me, I conjure you to tell me all you know upon the subject.”
“And do you, my good madam, conceive that it would become my sacred
calling to speak ill of my neighbour? besides, surely you would not
attach any belief to the idle reports spread about the castle by
ill-disposed persons?”
“All this has nothing to do with my question, my lord,” resumed I. “I
ask you once again, whether you ever heard the duc de Villeroi assign
his passion for one of my women as the reason for his visits to me? Have
you, my lord bishop? I entreat you to answer.”
“Madam, I have not,” said the good prelate, colouring deeply.
“Ah, monsieur de Roquelaure,” cried I, “you must not say mass to-morrow,
for I greatly fear you have just committed a certain fault which is
styled fibbing.”
The bishop made no reply, and his silence spoke volumes of confirmation.
Scarcely had he quitted me than the duc d’Aiguillon entered, to whom I
put the same question; and he frankly confessed, that the excuse alleged
to have been used by the duc de Villeroi was strictly the expression of
that gentleman.
“I was wrong,” said the duke, “not to have mentioned it to you, but I
was silent from a desire to preserve peace between you. Now that
the affair has been revealed to you, I will not sully my lips with a
falsehood for the pleasure of upholding an unprincipled man.”
“I will not ask you to tell me more,” replied I. “I know enough to make
me despise the cowardly spirit of him whom I reject as unworthy of my
friendship.” So saying, I ran to my writing-table, and wrote to the duc
de Villeroi the following note:--
“MONSIEUR LE DUC,--I love my friends with all their faults, but I cannot
pardon their perfidy; and, since from what I have heard I am left to
conclude, that but for the charms of my attendant Sophie, I should not
have been favoured with so many of your visits, I now write to warn you,
that I this day dismiss the unfortunate object of your admiration
from my service, and therefore recommend you to cease all further
communication. Your presence in my house would be any thing but
agreeable to me; and since the fair object which has hitherto attracted
you will no longer dwell under my roof, I presume your presenting
yourself before me would only be more painful than you have hitherto
found it. The frankness of my conduct may offend you, but it cannot
surprise or grieve you more than your duplicity has me.
“I remain with befitting sentiments, monsieur le duc,
“Your most humble and obedient servant.”
When I had completed my letter, I rang, and a footman attended. “Go,”
said I to him, “carry this note immediately to the duc de Villeroi, and
wait, if it be necessary, the whole day, until you can return with the
assurance that you have delivered it into his own hand.”
Whilst I was thus speaking to the man, who had been engaged by my
steward, and very recently entered into my service, I chanced to look at
him inadvertently, when my attention was arrested by seeing him rapidly
change colour. I could not at the moment conceive what could thus
agitate him, and making a sign for him to depart immediately upon his
commission, he slowly left the room, regarding me as he went in such a
manner, that I could not fail recognising him: and here, my friend, I
must lay aside every particle of self-love and vanity ere I can make you
a complete confession; the retrospect of my life brings many events,
of which the remembrance is indeed painful to me, and only the solemn
promise I am under to conceal nothing restrains me from consigning many
particulars to oblivion. I am once more about to incur the chance of
drawing down your contempt by my candour, but before I enter upon the
subject, permit me to conclude my affair with the duc de Villeroi.
My letter was a thunderbolt to the duke. He better than any one knew
the extent of my credit, which he dreaded, lest I might employ it to his
injury; he therefore hastened to reply to me in the following words:--
“MADAME LA COMTESSE,--I am a most unhappy, or rather a vilely
calumniated man; and my enemies have employed the most odious means of
making me appear despicable in your eyes. I confess, that not daring to
aspire to you, I stopped at the footstool of your throne, but I wholly
deny the words which have been laid to my charge. I venture to expect
from your justice that you will grant me the favour of an opportunity of
exculpating myself from so black a charge. It would be cruel indeed to
condemn a man without hearing him.
“I am with the most profound respect, &c.”
To this hypocritical epistle I replied by another note as follows:--
“Every bad and unfavourable case may be denied, monsieur le duc,
therefore I am not astonished at your seeking to repel the charge of
having uttered the disrespectful words laid to your charge. As for the
explanations you offer me they would be fruitless; I will have none with
those who have either been my friends or appeared to be such. I must
therefore beg you will cease all attempts at a correspondence which can
lead to no good results.
“I have the honour to remain, &c., &c.”
After this business was despatched, I caused Sophie to be sent for to
attend me.
“Well, Sophie,” said I, “you perceive the confusion you have occasioned
through your folly. Is it then true that the duc de Villeroi has spoken
of love to you?”
“Yes, indeed, madam,” replied the poor girl, weeping bitterly.
“And you return his passion.”
“I believe so, madam.”
This _naïf_ confession made me smile. I continued--
“Then you are not quite sure of the fact?”
“No, madam; for when I do not see him I forget all about it; but when
he is before me, so handsome and so generous, so full of love, I try to
make myself equally fond of him; but somehow I cannot help preferring
his courier, M. l’Eclair.”
These last words completely destroyed all attempts at preserving my
gravity, and I burst into the most uncontrollable laughter, which,
however, soon gave place to a painful recollection of how soon this
young and artless creature, as simple as she was beautiful, was likely
to lose this open-heartedness in the hands of her seducer.
“Sophie,” said I to her at last, “this unfortunate affair forbids my
retaining you any longer in my service; I am compelled to send you from
me. I trust this noble lover of yours will never forsake you; have a
care only to conceal from him, should you persist in encouraging his
addresses, that he has a rival in the person of his courier, l’Eclair.”
Sophie threw herself weeping at my feet. I raised and encouraged her by
the kindest words to pursue the right path, but I remained steady in my
determination of sending her from me.
I was not mistaken. The duc de Villeroi became the possessor of poor
Sophie, and publicly boasted of having her under his protection. He did
not, however, proceed to these extreme measures until he had essayed
every possible means of effecting a reconciliation with me, and he
employed more than a hundred persons in the vain attempt of inducing me
to pardon him. With this view the maréchale de Mirepoix, whose succour
he had implored, observed to me that it was sometimes necessary to feign
to overlook an insult; I replied, that dissimulation was an art I knew
nothing of, nor did I wish ever to acquire it.
“Really, my dear countess,” cried she, “you should not live at court,
you are absolutely unfit for it.”
“It may be so,” replied I; “but I would rather quit Versailles
altogether than be surrounded by false and perfidious friends.”
All the remonstrances of the good-natured maréchale were fruitless, I
could not bring myself to pardon a man who had so openly outraged my
friendship.
Directly I saw the king, I related the whole affair to him.
“It must be confessed,” said he, “that the duke has behaved very ill
towards you, but he has certainly shown his taste as far as regards
Sophie. She is a sweet creature.”
“Ah! you are all alike,” cried I. “You gentlemen think a pretty face
an excuse for every fault; and he only deserves blame who can attach
himself where beauty is wanting.”
“Because he is a simpleton for so doing,” said Louis XV with the utmost
gravity, giving me at the same time an affectionate embrace.