Fête given by the comtesse de Valentinois--The comtesse du
Barry feigns an indisposition--Her dress--The duc de Cossé--
The comte and comtesse de Provence--Dramatic entertainment--
Favart and Voisenon--A few observations--A pension--The
maréchale de Luxembourg--Adventure of M. de Bombelles--Copy
of a letter addressed to him--Louis XV--M. de Maupeou and
madame du Barry
My present situation was not a little embarrassing; known and recognised
as the mistress of the king, it but ill accorded with my feelings to be
compelled to add to that title the superintendent of his pleasures; and
I had not yet been sufficiently initiated into the intrigues of a
court life to accept this strange charge without manifest dislike and
hesitation. Nevertheless, whilst so many were contending for the honour
of that which I condemned, I was compelled to stifle my feelings and
resign myself to the bad as well as the good afforded by my present
situation; at a future period I shall have occasion again to revert to
the _Parc-aux-Cerfs_ during the period of my reign, but for the present
I wish to change the subject by relating to you what befell me at a fête
given me by madame de Valentinois, while she feigned to give it in the
honour of madame de Provence.
The comtesse de Valentinois, flattered by the kindness of the
dauphiness’s manner towards her, and wishing still further to insinuate
herself into her favour, imagined she should promote her object by
requesting that princess would do her the honour to pass an evening at
her house; her request was granted, and that too before the duchesse de
la Vauguyon could interfere to prevent it. Furious at not having been
apprized of the invitation till too late to cause its rejection, she
vowed to make the triumphant countess pay dearly for her triumph; for
my own part I troubled myself very little with the success of madame
de Valentinois, which, in fact, I perceived would rather assist than
interfere with my projects. Hitherto I had not made my appearance at any
of the houses of the nobility when the princesses were invited thither;
this clearly proved to the public, in general, how great was the
opposition I experienced from the court party. I was now delighted
to prove to the Parisians that I was not always to lead the life of
a recluse, but that I could freely present myself at those parties to
which other ladies were invited. However, as my friends apprehended that
the comtesse de Provence might prevail upon her lady of honour not to
invite me, by the advice of the chancellor and the minister for foreign
affairs, it was arranged that I should for a week previous to the fête
feign a severe indisposition. It would be impossible to describe the joy
with which these false tidings were received by my enemies. We are
all apt to picture things as we would have them, and already the eager
imaginations of the opposing party had converted the account of my
illness into an incurable and mortal disease.
Every hour my friends brought me in fresh anecdotes of the avidity with
which the rumour of my dangerous state had been received, whilst I lay
upon what the credulous hopes of my enemies had determined to be my
death-bed, laughing heartily at their folly, and preparing fresh schemes
to confound and disappoint their anticipated triumph.
One very important object of consideration was my dress for the coming
occasion. The king presented me with a new set of jewels, and himself
selected the materials for my robe and train, which were to be composed
of a rich green satin embroidered with gold, trimmed with wreaths of
roses, and looped up with pearls; the lower part of this magnificent
dress was trimmed with a profusion of the finest Flemish lace. I wore on
my head a garland of full blown roses, composed of the finest green and
gold work; round my forehead was a string of beautiful pearls, from the
centre of which depended a diamond star; add to this a pair of splendid
ear-rings, valued at 100,000 crowns, with a variety of jewels equally
costly, and you may form some idea of my appearance on that eventful
evening. The king, who presided at my toilette, could not repress his
admiration; he even insisted upon clasping my necklace, in order that he
might, as he said, flatter himself with having completed such a triumph
of nature and art.
At the hour fixed upon I set out, conducted by the ducs d’Aiguillon and
de Cossé, and now I remember I have introduced this latter to you for
the first time, however I will promise that it will not be for the last;
he possessed, and still possesses all the virtues of his noble house,
he was impetuous from a deeply feeling heart, and proud from a
consciousness of being properly appreciated. Young, handsome, and
daring, he was pre-eminently calculated both to inspire love, and
to feel it; it was quite impossible for him to fail in winning the
affections of any female he exerted himself to please, and even at the
present time that he has lost some of his earlier graces, he is still
irresistible as ever; his naturally gay disposition was but ill suited
to nourishing grave or philosophic reasoning, but then he was the soul
of company, and possessed a fine and delicate wit which ever vented
itself in the most brilliant sallies. M. de Cossé, like the knights of
old, was wholly devoted to his king and his mistress, and would, I
am sure, had the occasion required it, have nobly died in defence of
either; I only pray he may never be put to the proof. I saw much of him
at the beginning of our acquaintance, but as his many amiable qualitie
became better known, I found myself almost continually in his society,
indeed as I have something to confess in the business, I could hardly
choose a better opportunity than the present, did I not recollect that
the good duc d’Aiguillon is waiting all this while for me to announce
the _entrée_ of our party into the ante-room of Madame de Valentinois.
My entrance was a complete _coupe-de-théâtre_. I had been imagined
languishing on the bed of sickness, yet there I stood in all the fulness
of health and freshness of beauty. I could very easily read upon each
countenance the vexation and rage my appearance of entire freedom from
all ailment excited; however, I proceeded without any delay to the
mistress of the house, whom I found busily engaged in seating her
visitors, and playing the amiable to the dauphiness. This princess
seemed equally astonished at my unexpected apparition; nevertheless,
taken off her guard, she could not prevent herself from courteously
returning the profound salutation I made her. As for the duchesse de la
Vauguyon, when she saw me, she turned alternately from red to white,
and was even weak enough to give public vent to her fury. The comte de
Provence, who had been told that I was not expected, began to laugh when
he perceived me, and taking the first opportunity of approaching me, he
said, “Ah, madame! so you too can mystify your friends, I see! Have a
care; the sight of charms like yours is sufficient to strike terror into
any adversaries, without having recourse to any expedient to heighten
their effect.” Saying this he passed on without giving me the
opportunity of replying, as I could have wished to have done.
The maréchale de Mirepoix, to whom I had confided my secret, and of
whose fidelity I was assured, was present at the fête. I availed myself
of the offer of a seat near her and directly we were seated, “You are a
clever creature,” said she, “for you have completely bewildered all the
female part of this evening’s society, and by way of a finishing stroke
will run away with the hearts of all the flutterers here, before the
fair ladies they were previously hovering around, have recovered their
first astonishment.”
“Upon my word,” said I, smiling, “I do not wonder at the kind looks with
which the ladies favour me, if my presence is capable of producing so
much mischief.”
“Pray, my dear,” answered the maréchale, “be under no mistake: you might
be as much beloved as others are, if you did not monopolize the king’s
affections; the consequence is, that every woman with even a passable
face looks upon you as the usurper of her right, and as the fickle
gentlemen who woo these gentle ladies are all ready to transfer their
homage to you directly you appear, you must admit that your presence is
calculated to produce no inconsiderable degree of confusion.”
The commencement of a play which formed part of the evening’s
entertainment obliged us to cease further conversation. The first piece
represented was “_Rose et Colas_,” a charming pastoral, to which the
music of Monsigny gave a fresh charm; the actors were selected from
among the best of the Comedie Italienne--the divine Clairval, and the
fascinating mademoiselle Caroline. I was completely enchanted whilst the
play lasted; I forgot both my cabals and recent triumph, and for a while
believed myself actually transported to the rural scenes it represented,
surrounded by the honest villagers so well depicted; but this delightful
vision soon passed away, and soon, too soon I awoke from it to find
myself surrounded by my _excellent_ friends at court.
“_Rose et Colas_” was followed by a species of comedy mixed with songs.
This piece was wholly in honour of the dauphiness, with the exception
of some flattering and gallant allusions to myself and some gross
compliments to my cousin the chancellor, who, in new silk robe and a
fine powdered wig, was also present at this fête.
The performers in this little piece, who were Favart, the actor, and
Voisenon, the priest, must have been fully satisfied with the reception
they obtained, for the comedy was applauded as though it had been one of
the _chefs d’oeuvre_ of Voltaire. In general a private audience is very
indulgent so long as the representation lasts, but no sooner has the
curtain fallen than they indulge in a greater severity of criticism
than a public audience would do. And so it happened on the evening in
question; one couplet had particularly excited the discontent of the
spectators, male and female; I know not what prophetic spirit inspired
the lines.
The unfortunate couplet was productive of much offence against the
husband and lover of madame Favart, for the greater part of the persons
present perfectly detested my poor cousin, who was “to clip the wings
of chicanery.” Favart managed to escape just in time, and the abbé de
Voisenon, who was already not in very high favour with his judges, was
compelled to endure the full weight of their complaints and reproaches;
every voice was against him, and even his brethren of the French
academy, departing from their accustomed indulgence upon such matters,
openly reprimanded him for the grossness of his flattery; the poor abbé
attempted to justify himself by protesting that he knew nothing of the
hateful couplet, and that Favart alone was the guilty person upon whom
they should expend their anger.
“I am always,” cried he, “doomed to suffer for the offences of others;
every kind of folly is made a present to me.”
“Have a care, monsieur l’ abbé,” exclaimed d’Alembert, who was among the
guests, “have a care! men seldom lavish their gifts but upon those who
are rich enough to return the original present in a tenfold degree.”
This somewhat sarcastic remark was most favourably received by all
who heard it, it quickly circulated through the room, while the poor,
oppressed abbé protested, with vehement action.
The fête itself was most splendidly and tastefully conducted, and
might have sent the different visitors home pleased and gratified in an
eminent degree, had not spite and ill-nature suggested to madame de
la Vauguyon, that as the chancellor and myself were present, it must
necessarily have been given with a view of complimenting us rather
than madame de Provence. She even sought to irritate the dauphiness by
insinuating the same mean and contemptible observations, and so far did
she succeed, that when madame de Valentinois approached to express her
hopes that the entertainment which she had honoured with her presence
had been to her royal highness’s satisfaction, the dauphiness coolly
replied, “Do not, madame, affect to style this evening’s fête one
bestowed in honour of myself, or any part of my family; ‘tis true we
have been the ostensible causes, and have, by our presence, given it all
the effect you desired, but you will pardon our omitting to thank you
for an attention, which was in reality, directed to the comtesse du
Barry and M. de Maupeou.”
FACSIMILE OF LETTER FROM MME. DU BARRY
TO THE DUC DE BRISSAC.
(photograph of original handwritten note omitted) TRANSLATION
Heavens! my dear friend, how sad are the days when I am deprived of the
happiness of passing the time with you, and with what joy do I watch for
the moment which will bring you to me. I shall not go to Paris to-day,
because the person I was going to see is coming Thursday. As you will be
going away, I shall visit the barracks instead, for I believe you
approve of the object. Adieu. I await you with impatience, with a heart
wholly yours, which, in spite of your injustice, could never belong to
any other, even if I had the wish. I think of you and that word of yours
which you will surely regret; and still another regret is that I am
deprived of you. That is the watchword of each instant.
THE COUNTESS Du Barry
At Louvecienne, Noon.
Madame de Valentinois came to me with tears in her eyes to repeat the
cruel remark of the princess; the maréchale de Mirepoix, who heard her,
sought to console her by assurances, that it would in no degree affect
her interest at court. “Never mind, my good friend,” said she; “the
pretty bird merely warbles the notes it learns from its keeper la
Vauguyon, and will as quickly forget as learn them. Nevertheless, the
king owes you recompense for the vexation it has occasioned you.”
Immediately that I found myself alone with the maréchale, I inquired
of her what was the nature of the reparation she considered madame
de Valentinois entitled to expect from the hands of his majesty. She
replied, “‘Tis on your account alone that the poor countess has received
her late mortification; the king is therefore bound to atone for it
in the form of a pension. Money, my dear, money is a sovereign cure at
court; calms every grief and heals every wound.”
I fully agreed with the good-natured maréchale; and, when I bade the
sorrowful madame de Valentinois good night, I assured her I would
implore his majesty to repair the mischief my presence had caused.
Accordingly on the following day, when the king questioned me as to how
far I had been amused with the fête given by madame de Valentinois, I
availed myself of the opening to state my entire satisfaction, as well
as to relate the disgrace into which she had fallen, and to pray his
majesty to bestow upon her a pension of 15,000 livres.
“Upon my word,” exclaimed Louis XV, hastily traversing the chamber,
“this fête seems likely to prove a costly one to me.”
“Nay, sire,” said I, “it was a most delightful evening; and you will
not, I hope, refuse me such a trifle for those who lavished so much for
my amusement.”
“Well,” cried he, “be it so; the countess shall have the sum she
requires, but upon condition that she does not apply to me again.”
“Really your majesty talks,” replied I, “as though this trifling pension
were to be drawn from your own purse.”
The king began to smile at my remark, like a man who knows himself found
out. I knew him well enough to be certain that, had he intended the
pension awarded madame de Valentinois to come from his own privy purse,
he would scarcely have consented to bestowing on her more than a shabby
pittance of a thousand livres per annum. It is scarcely possible to
conceive an idea of the excessive economy of this prince. I remember,
that upon some great occasion, when it was requisite to support the
public treasury, which was failing, by a timely contribution, the duc
de Choiseul offered the loan of 250,000 livres, whilst the king, to the
astonishment of all who heard him, confined his aid to 2,000 louis! The
maréchale de Mirepoix used to assert that Louis XV was the only prince
of his line who ever knew the value of a crown. She had, nevertheless,
managed to receive plenty from him, although, I must own, that she had
had no small difficulty in obtaining them; nor did the king part with
his beloved gold without many a sigh of regret.
At the house of madame de Valentinois I met the maréchale de Luxembourg,
who had recently returned from Chanteloup. There really was something of
infatuation in the general mania which seemed to prevail of treating the
king’s sentiments with indifference, and considering his displeasure as
an affair of no consequence. Before the disgrace of the Choiseuls they
were equally the objects of madame de Luxembourg’s most bitter hatred,
nor was madame de Grammont backward in returning her animosity; yet,
strange as it may seem, no sooner was the Choiseul party exiled, than
the maréchale never rested till she saw her name engraved on the famous
pillar erected to perpetuate the remembrance of all those who had
visited the exiles. She employed their mutual friends to effect a
reconciliation, which was at length effected by letter, and a friendly
embrace exchanged by proxy. These preliminaries over, the maréchale came
to the king to make the request to which he had now become accustomed,
but which did not the less amuse him. Of course Louis XV made no
hesitation in granting her the request she solicited. Speaking to me of
the subject, he said, “The _tender_ meeting of madame de Grammont and
the maréchal de Luxembourg must indeed be an overpowering sight; I only
trust these two ladies may not drop the mask too soon, and bite each
other’s ear while they are embracing.”
Madame de Luxembourg, daughter of the duc de Villeroi, had been first
married to the duc de Boufflers, whose brows she helped to adorn with
other ornaments than the ducal coronet; nor whilst her youth and beauty
lasted was she less generous to her second husband: she was generally
considered a most fascinating woman, from the loveliness of her person
and the vivacity of her manners; but behind an ever ready wit, lurked
the most implacable malice and hatred against all who crossed her
path or purpose. As she advanced in life she became more guarded and
circumspect, until at last she set herself up as the arbitress of high
life, and the youthful part of the nobility crowded around her, to hear
the lessons of her past experience. By the number and by the power of
her pupils, she could command both the court and city; her censures were
dreaded, because pronounced in language so strong and severe, as to fill
those who incurred them with no hope of ever shining in public opinion
whilst so formidable a _veto_ was uttered against them; and her decrees,
from which there was no appeal, either stamped a man with dishonour, or
introduced him as a first-rate candidate for universal admiration and
esteem, and her hatred was as much dreaded as ever her smiles had
been courted: for my own part, I always felt afraid of her, and never
willingly found myself in her presence.
After I had obtained for madame de Valentinois the boon I solicited, I
was conversing with the king respecting madame de Luxembourg, when the
chancellor entered the room; he came to relate to his majesty an affair
which had occasioned various reports, and much scandal. The viscount de
Bombelles, an officer in an hussar regiment, had married a mademoiselle
Camp, Reasons, unnecessary for me to seek to discover, induced him,
all at once, to annul his marriage, and profiting by a regulation which
forbade all good Catholics from intermarrying with those of the reformed
religion, He demanded the dissolution of his union with mademoiselle
Camp. This attempt on his part to violate, upon such grounds, the
sanctity of the nuptial vow, whilst it was calculated to rekindle the
spirit of religious persecution, was productive of very unfavourable
consequences to the character of M. de Bombelles; the great cry was
against him, he stood alone and unsupported in the contest, for even the
greatest bigots themselves would not intermeddle or appear to applaud a
matter which attacked both honour and good feeling: the comrades of M.
de Bombelles refused to associate with him; but the finishing stroke
came from his old companions at the military school, where he had
been brought up. On the 27th of November, 1771, the council of this
establishment wrote him the following letter:--
“The military school have perused with equal indignation and grief the
memorials which have appeared respecting you in the public prints.
Had you not been educated in this establishment, we should merely
have looked upon your affair with mademoiselle Camp as a scene too
distressing for humanity and it would have been buried in our peaceful
walls beneath the veil of modesty and silence; but we owe it to the
youth sent to us by his majesty, for the inculcation of those principles
which become the soldier as the man, not to pass over the present
opportunity of inspiring them with a just horror of your misguided
conduct, as well as feeling it an imperative duty to ourselves not
to appear indifferent to the scandal and disgraceful confusion your
proceedings have occasioned in the capital. We leave to the ministers of
our religion, and the magistrates who are appointed to guard our
laws, to decide upon the legality of the bonds between yourself and
mademoiselle Camp, but by one tribunal you are distinctly pronounced
guilty towards her, and that is the tribunal of honour, before that
tribunal which exists in the heart of every good man. You have been
universally cited and condemned. There are some errors which all the
impetuosity of youth is unable to excuse, and yours are unhappily
of that sort. The different persons composing this establishment,
therefore, concur not only in praying of us to signify their sentiments,
but likewise to apprize you, that you are unanimously forbidden to
appear within these walls again.”
The chancellor brought to the king a copy of this severe letter, to
which I listened with much emotion, nor did the king seem more calm than
myself.
“This is, indeed,” said he at length, “a very sad affair; we shall have
all the quarrels of Protestantism renewed, as if I had not had already
enough of those of the Jansenists and Jesuits. As far as I can judge,
M. de Bombelles is entitled to the relief he seeks, and every marriage
contracted with a Protestant is null and void by the laws of France.”
“Oh, sire,” cried I, “would I had married a Protestant.”
The king smiled for a moment at my jest, then resumed:
“I blame the military school.”
“Is it your majesty’s pleasure,” inquired the chancellor, “that I should
signify your displeasure to them?”
“No, sir,” replied Louis, “it does not come within your line of duty,
and devolves rather upon the minister of war; and very possibly he would
object to executing such a commission; for how could I step forward as
the protector of one who would shake off the moral obligation of an oath
directly it suits his inclinations to doubt its legality? This affair
gives me great uneasiness, and involves the most serious consequences.
You will see that I shall be overwhelmed with petitions and pamphlets,
demanding of me the revocation of the edict of Nantes.”
“And what, sire,” asked the chancellor gravely, “could you do, that
would better consolidate the glory of your reign?”
“Chancellor,” exclaimed Louis XV, stepping back with unfeigned
astonishment, “have you lost your senses? What would the clergy say
or do? The very thought makes me shudder. Do you then believe, M. de
Maupeou, that the race of the Clements, the Ravaillacs, the Damiens, are
extinct in France?”
“Ah, sire, what needless fears.”
“Not so needless as you may deem them,” answered the king. “I have been
caught once, I am not going to expose myself to danger a second time.
You know the proverb,--no, no, let us leave things as my predecessors
left them; besides, I shall not be sorry to leave a little employment
for my successor; he may get through it how he can, and spite of all the
clamouring of the philosophers, the Protestants shall hold their present
privileges so long as I live. I will have neither civil nor religious
war, but live in peace and eat my supper with a good appetite with you,
my fair comtesse, for my constant guest, and you, M. de Maupeou, for t
his evening’s visitor.”
The conversation here terminated.