Conversation with the king--Marriage of the comte d’Artois--
Intrigues--The place of lady of honor--The maréchale de
Mirepoix--The comtesse de Forcalquier and madame du Barry--
The comtesse de Forcalquier and madame Boncault
The king was much annoyed at the indifference I evinced for all state
secrets, and frequently observed to me, “You are not at all like madame
de Pompadour: she was never satisfied unless she knew all that was going
on, and was permitted to take an active part in every transaction; she
would frequently scold me for not telling her things of which I was
myself ignorant. She was at the bottom of the most secret intrigues, and
watched every turn of my countenance, as though she sought to read in
my eyes the inmost thoughts of my mind. Never,” continued the king, “did
woman more earnestly desire supreme command; and so completely had she
learned to play my part, that I have frequently surprised her giving
private instructions to my ambassadors, differing altogether from what
I myself had dictated to them. Upon the same principle she maintained at
various courts envoys and ministers, who acted by her orders, and in her
name; she even succeeded in obtaining the friendship of the grave and
austere Marie Thérèse, who ultimately carried her condescension so far,
as only to address the marchioness by the title of ‘cousin’ and ‘dear
friend.’ I must confess, however, that these proceedings on the part of
madame de Pompadour were by no means agreeable to me, and I even prefer
your ignorance of politics to her incessant interference with them.”
This was said by Louis XV upon the occasion of the approaching marriage
of the comte d’Artois, the object of universal cabal and court intrigue
to all but myself, who preserved perfect tranquillity amidst the general
excitement that prevailed.
Various reasons made the marriage of this prince a matter of imperative
necessity. In the first place, the open gallantry of the young count
had attracted a crowd of disreputable personages of both sexes to
Versailles, and many scandalous adventures occurred within the château
itself; secondly, a motive still more important in the eyes of Louis XV,
originated in the circumstance of neither the marriage of the dauphin
nor that of the comte de Provence having been blest with any offspring.
The king began to despair of seeing any descendants in a direct line,
unless indeed heaven should smile upon the wedded life of the comte
d’Artois. Louis XV disliked the princes of the blood, and the bare idea
that the duc d’Orleans might one day wield his sceptre would have been
worse than death.
Many alliances were proposed for the prince. Marie Josèphe, infanta of
Spain, was then in her twentieth year, and consequently too old. The
princess Marie-Françoise-Bénédictine-Anne-Elizabeth-Josèphe-Antonine
Laurence-Ignace-Thérèse-Gertrude-Marguerite-Rose, etc., etc., of
Portugal, although younger than the first-mentioned lady, was yet
considered as past the age that would have rendered her a suitable match
for so young a bridegroom. The daughter of any of the electoral houses
of Germany was not considered an eligible match, and the pride of the
house of Bourbon could not stoop to so ignoble an alliance. There was no
alternative left therefore, but to return to the house of Savoy, and
take a sister of the comtesse de Provence. This proposal was well
received by the royal family, with the exception of the dauphiness, who
dreaded the united power and influence of the two sisters, if
circumstances should ever direct it against herself or her wishes; and I
heard from good authority, that both the imperial Marie Thérèse and her
daughter made many remonstrances to the king upon the subject. “The
empress,” said Louis XV, one day, “believes that things are still
managed here as in the days of the marquise de Pompadour and the duc de
Choiseul. Thank heaven, I am no longer under the dominion of my friend
and her pensionaries. I shall follow my own inclinations, and consult,
in the marriage of my grandson, the interests of France rather than
those of Austria.”
The little attention paid by Louis XV to the representations of Marie
Thérèse furnished my enemies with a fresh pretext for venting their
spleen. They accused me of having been bribed by the court of Turin,
which ardently desired a second alliance with France. I was most
unjustly accused, for I can with truth affirm, that the comte de la
Marmora, ambassador from Piedmont to Paris, neither by word nor deed
made any attempt to interest me in his success. The king was the first
person who informed me of the contemplated marriage, and my only fault
(if it could be called one) was having approved of the match.
More than one intrigue was set on foot within the château to separate
the princes. Many were the attempts to sow the seeds of dissension
between the dauphin and the comte d’Artois, as well as to embroil the
dauphin with _monsieur_. The first attempt proved abortive, but the
faction against _monsieur_ succeeded so far as to excite a lasting
jealousy and mistrust in the mind of Marie Antoinette. This princess
was far from contemplating the marriage of the comte d’Artois with any
feelings of pleasure, and when her new sister-in-law became a mother,
she bewailed her own misfortune in being without children with all the
feelings of a young and affectionate heart. Heaven did not, however,
always deny her the boon she so ardently desired.
You will, readily believe that the same anxiety prevailed upon the
occasion of this approaching marriage as had existed at the unions of
the dauphin and the comte de Provence, to obtain the various posts
and places the ambition of different persons led them to desire in the
establishment of the newly married pair. Wishing on my own part to
offer the maréchale de Mirepoix a proof of my high estimation of her
friendship towards me, I inquired of her whether a superior employment
about the person of the comtesse d’Artois would be agreeable to her?
“Alas! my dear creature,” replied the good-natured maréchale, “I am too
old now to bear the toil and confinement of any service. The post of
lady of honor would suit me excellently well as far as regards the
income attached to it, but by no means agree with my inclinations as far
as discharging its functions goes. You see I am perfectly candid
with you. Listen to me; if you really wish to oblige me, you can do
this--give the title to another, and bestow the pecuniary part of the
engagement on me. In that manner you will be able to gratify two persons
at the same time.”
“I will endeavor,” said I, “to meet your wishes as far as I possibly
can, and you may be assured that you shall derive some advantage from
this marriage.”
And I kept my word by shortly after obtaining for the maréchale a sum
of 50,000 livres; a most needful supply, for the poor maréchale had to
re-furnish her house, her present fittings-up being no longer endurable
by the eye of modish taste: she likewise received an augmentation of
20,000 livres to her pension. This proceeding was highly acceptable to
her, and the king afforded his assistance with the best possible grace.
He could be generous, and do things with a good grace when he pleased.
The refusal of the maréchale, which it was agreed we should keep secret,
obliged me to cast my eyes upon a worthy substitute, and I at length
decided upon selecting the comtesse de Forcalquier, a lady who
possessed every charm which can charm and attract, joined to a faultless
reputation; and, setting aside her strict intimacy with myself, the
court (envious as it is) could find no fault with her. I was convinced
she would not be long in acquiring an ascendency over the mind of
the princess and I was equally well assured she would never turn this
influence against myself; this was a point of no small importance to me.
Madame de Forcalquier most ardently desired the place of lady of honor,
without flattering herself with any hopes of obtaining it; and, not
liking to ask me openly for it, she applied to the duc de Cossé. I felt
some regret that she had gone to work in so circuitous a manner, and in
consequence wrote her the following note:--
“MADAM,--I am aware that you are desirous of obtaining the post of lady
of honor. You should not have forgotten that I am sufficiently your
friend to have forwarded your wishes by every possible exertion. Why did
you apply to a third person in preference to seeking my aid? I really am
more than half angry with you for so doing. Believe me, my friends need
not the intervention of any mediator to secure my best services. You,
too, will regret not having made your first application to me, when I
tell you that I was reserving for you the very place you were seeking by
so circuitous a route. Yes, before you had asked it, the post of lady of
honor was yours. I might have sought in vain for a person more eminently
qualified for the office than yourself, or one in whom I could place
more unlimited confidence. Come, my friend, I pray of you, not to thank
me, who have found sufficient reward in the pleasure of obliging you,
but to acknowledge the extreme kindness and alacrity with which his
majesty has forwarded your wishes.
“Believe me, dear madam,
“Yours, very sincerely,
“THE COMTESSE Du Barry.”
Madame de Forcalquier was not long in obeying the summons contained
in my note; she embraced me with the warmest gratitude and friendship,
delighted at finding herself so eligibly established at court, for at
that period every person regarded the comte d’Artois as the only hope of
the monarchy; and blinded by the universal preference bestowed on him,
the young prince flattered himself that the crown would infallibly
ornament his brows. I have been told, that when first the queen’s
pregnancy was perceived, a general lamentation was heard throughout the
castle, and all ranks united in deploring an event which removed the
comte d’Artois from the immediate succession to the throne.
Up to the present moment I knew Madame de Forcalquier only as one whose
many charms, both of mind and person, joined to great conversational
powers and the liveliest wit, had rendered her the idol of society, and
obtained for her the appellation of _Bellissima_. I knew not that this
woman, so light and trifling in appearance, was capable of one of those
lively and sincere attachments, which neither time nor change of
fortune could destroy or diminish. She had a particular friend, a madame
Boncault, the widow of a stockbroker, and she was anxious to contribute
to her well-doing. With this view she solicited of me the place of lady
in waiting for this much-esteemed individual. Astonished at the request
I put a hasty negative on it.
“If you refuse me this fresh favor,” said madame de Forcalquier, “you
will prevent me from profiting by your kindness to myself.”
“And why so?” inquired I.
“I owe to madame Boncault,” answered she, “more than my life; I am
indebted to her for tranquillity, honor, and the high estimation in
which the world has been pleased to hold me. I have now an opportunity
of proving my gratitude, and I beseech of you to assist my endeavors.”
“But tell me, first,” cried I, “what is the nature of this very
important service you say madame de Boncault has rendered you; is it a
secret, or may I hear it?”
“Certainly,” replied the countess, “although the recital is calculated
to bring the blush of shame into my cheek. Are we alone, and secure from
interruption?”
I rang and gave orders that no person should be suffered to disturb us;
after which madame de Forcalquier proceeded as follows:--
“I was scarcely seventeen years old, when my parents informed me that
they had disposed of my hand, and that I must prepare myself to receive
a husband immediately. My sentiments were not inquired into, nor, to
confess the truth, was such an investigation usual, or deemed a
matter of any import. A young female of any rank has no voice in any
transaction till the day which follows her marriage; until then her
wishes are those of her family, and her desires bounded by the rules
of worldly etiquette. I had scarcely conversed twice or thrice with
my future lord, and then only for a few minutes at a time, before he
conducted me to the foot of the altar, there to pronounce the solemn vow
which bound me his for life. I had scarcely seen him, and barely knew
whether he was agreeable or disagreeable. He was neither young nor old,
handsome nor ugly, pleasing nor displeasing; just one of those persons
of whom the world is principally composed; one of those men who enter or
leave a saloon without the slightest curiosity being excited respecting
him. I had been told that I ought to love my husband, and accordingly
I taught myself to do so; but scarcely had the honeymoon waned, than
my fickle partner transferred his affections from me to one of my
attendants; and to such a height did his guilty passion carry him, that
he quitted his home for Italy, carrying with him the unfortunate victim
of his seductive arts. It was during his absence that I first became
acquainted with madame Boncault; she was my own age, and equally
unfortunate in her domestic life; the same tests, griefs, and a great
similarity of temper and disposition soon united us in the bonds of the
firmest friendship; but as she possessed a stronger and more reasonable
mind than I did, she forgot her own sorrows to administer to mine.
However, if the whole truth must be owned, I ought to confess that my
chief consolation was derived from a young cousin of my own, who freely
lavished upon me that unbounded affection I would fain have sought from
my husband.
“Meanwhile, wearied of his folly, this latter returned; and, after
having transferred his capricious fancies to at least half a dozen
mistresses, he finished where he should have begun by attaching himself
to her, who, as his wife, had every claim to his homage. Men are
unaccountable creatures, but unfortunately for my husband his senses
returned too late; my heart was too entirely occupied to restore him to
that place he had so hastily vacated. My affections were no longer mine
to bestow, but equally shared by my estimable friend madame Boncault and
my young and captivating cousin. I was a bad hand at dissimulating,
and M. de Forcalquier perceived enough of my sentiments to excite
his jealous suspicions, and immediately removed with me to one of his
estates.
“However, my cousin (whom my husband was far from suspecting) and madame
Boncault accompanied me in my retreat; there myself and my admirer, more
thrown together than we had been at Paris, began insensibly to lay aside
the restraint we had hitherto imposed on our inclinations, and commenced
a train of imprudences which would quickly have betrayed us had not
friendship watched over us. The excellent madame Boncault, in order to
save my reputation, took so little care to preserve her own, that M. de
Forcalquier was completely caught by her manoeuvre. One morning, finding
me alone, he said,
“’ Madam, I am by no means satisfied with what is going on here. Your
friend is wholly devoid of shame and modesty; she has been with us but
one short fortnight, and is now the open and confessed mistress of your
cousin.’
“‘Sir,’ exclaimed I, trembling for what was to follow, ‘you are,
you must be mistaken: the thing is impossible. Madame Boncault is
incapable--’
“‘Nonsense, madam,’ replied M. de Forcalquier; ‘I know what I am saying.
Several things have induced me to suspect for a long while what I
now assert with perfect confidence of its truth; but if you are still
incredulous, behold this proof of guilt which I found just now in your
cousin’s chamber.’
“So saying, my husband put into my hands a letter written by my cousin
evidently to some female in the château, whom he solicited to admit
him that evening to the usual place of rendezvous, where he flattered
himself their late misunderstanding would be cleared up.
“After having read, or, to speak more correctly, guessed at the contents
of this fatal letter, I conjured my husband to replace it where he had
found it, lest his guests should suspect him of having dishonorably
obtained possession of their secret. He quitted me, and I hastened in
search of my friend: I threw myself on my knees before her, and related
all that had passed, accusing myself of the basest selfishness in having
consented to save my honor at the expense of hers; then rising with
renewed courage I declared my intention of confessing my imprudence to
my husband. Madame Boncault withheld me. ‘Do you doubt my regard for
you?’ asked she; ‘if indeed you do justice to my sincere attachment to
you, permit me to make this one sacrifice for your safety. Leave your
husband at liberty to entertain his present suspicions respecting me,
but grant me one favor in your turn. Speak to your cousin; request him
to quit the château, for should he remain the truth will be discovered,
and then, my friend, you are lost past my endeavors to save you.’
“Less generous than madame Boncault, I consented to follow her advice.
However, I have never forgotten her generous devotion; and now that the
opportunity has presented itself of proving my gratitude, I beseech
of you, my dear countess, to aid me in the discharge of my debt of
gratitude.”
As madame de Forcalquier finished speaking, I threw myself into her
arms. “From this moment,” cried I, “madame Boncault is my dear and
esteemed _protégée_; and if I have any influence over the mind of the
king, she shall be appointed lady in waiting to our young princess. Such
a woman is a treasure, and I heartily thank you for having mentioned her
to me.”