My alarms--An _éléve_ of the _Pare-aux-Cerfs_--Comte Jean
endeavours to direct the king’s ideas--A supper at Trianon--
Table talk--The king is seized with illness--His
conversation with me--The joiner’s daughter and the
small-pox--My despair--Conduct of La Martinière the surgeon
I had occasionally some unaccountable whims and caprices. Among other
follies I took it into my head to become jealous of the duchesse de
Cossé, under the idea that the duke would return to her, and that
I should no longer possess his affections. Now the cause of this
extravagant conduct was the firmness with which madame de Cossé refused
all overtures to visit me, and I had really become so spoiled and
petted, that I could not be brought to understand the reasonableness of
the duchesse de Cossé refusing to sanction her rival by her presence.
You may perceive that I had not carried my heroic projects with regard
to madame de Cossé into execution. Upon these occasions, the person most
to be pitied was the duke, whom I made answerable for the dignified and
virtuous conduct of his wife. My injustice drove him nearly to despair,
and he used every kind and sensible argument to convince me of my error,
as though it had been possible for one so headstrong and misguided as
myself to listen to or comprehend the language of reason. I replied
to his tender and beseeching epistles by every cutting and mortifying
remark; in a word, all common sense appeared to have forsaken me. Our
quarrel was strongly suspected by part of the court; but the extreme
prudence and forbearance of M. de Cossé prevented their suppositions
from ever obtaining any confirmation. But this was not the only subject
I had for annoyance. On the one hand, my emissaries informed me that
the king still continued to visit the baroness de New---k, although
with every appearance of caution and mystery, by the assistance and
connivance of the duc de Duras, who had given me his solemn promise
never again to meddle with the affair. The _gouvernante_ of the
_Parc-aux-Cerfs_ furnished me likewise with a long account of the many
visits paid by his majesty to her establishment. The fact was, the king
could not be satisfied without a continual variety, and his passion,
which ultimately destroyed him, appeared to have come on only as he
advanced in years.
All these things created in my mind an extreme agitation and an alarm,
and, improbable as the thing appeared even to myself, there were moments
when I trembled lest I should be supplanted either by the baroness or
some fresh object of the king’s caprice; and again a cold dread stole
over me as I anticipated the probability of the health of Louis XV
falling a sacrifice to the irregularity of his life. It was well known
throughout the château, that La Martinière, the king’s surgeon, had
strongly recommended a very temperate course of life, as essentially
necessary to recruit his constitution, wasted by so many excesses, and
had even gone so far as to recommend his no longer having a mistress;
this the courtiers construed into a prohibition against his possessing
a friend of any other sex than his own; for my own part, I experienced
very slight apprehensions of being dismissed, for I well knew that Louis
XV reckoned too much on my society to permit my leaving the court, and
if one, the more tender, part of our union were dissolved, etiquette
could no longer object to my presence. Still the advice of La Martinière
was far from giving me a reason for congratulation, but these minor
grievances were soon to be swallowed up in one fatal catastrophe, by
which the honours, and pleasures of Versailles were for ever torn from
me.
The _madame_ of the _Parc-aux-Cerfs_, fearing that some of the
subordinate members of that establishment might bring me intimation of
what was going on there without her cognizance, came one day to apprize
me that his majesty had fallen desperately in love with a young orphan
of high birth, whom chance had conducted within the walls of her harem;
that to an extraordinary share of beauty, Julie (for that was the name
of my rival) united the most insatiate ambition; her aims were directed
to reducing the king into a state of the most absolute bondage, “and
he,” said madame, “bids fair to become all that the designing girl would
have him.”
Julie feigned the most violent love for her royal admirer, nay she did
not hesitate to carry her language and caresses far beyond the strict
rules of decency; her manners were those of one accustomed to the most
polished society, whilst her expressions were peculiarly adapted to
please one who, like the king, had a peculiar relish for every thing
that was indecent or incorrect. His majesty either visited her daily or
sent for her to the château. I heard likewise from M. d’Aiguillon,
that the king had recently given orders that the three uncles and two
brothers of Julie should be raised by rapid promotion to the highest
military rank; at the same time the grand almoner informed me he had
received his majesty’s express command to appoint a cousin of the young
lady to the first vacant bishopric.
These various reports threw me into a train of painful and uneasy
reflections. Louis XV. had never before bestowed such marks of favour
upon any _élève_ of the _Parc-aux-Cerfs_, and the intrigue had attained
this height with the most inconceivable rapidity. Chamilly interrupted
my meditations, by presenting himself with an account of his having been
commissioned by his majesty to cause a most splendid suit of diamonds to
be prepared for mademoiselle Julie, the king not considering any jewels
of Paris worthy her acceptance. By way of a finish to all this, I
learned that two ladies, one of whom was a duchess, had openly boasted
at Versailles of their relationship to Julie. This was a more decided
corroborative than all the rest. Courtiers of either sex are skilful
judges of the shiftings of the wind of court favour, and I deemed it
high time to summon my brother-in-law to my assistance, as well as to
urge him to exert his utmost energies to support my tottering power.
My communication tormented comte Jean as much as it did me; he proposed
several means of combating this rising inclination on the part of Louis
XV. I assented to whatever he suggested, and we set to work with an
eagerness, increased on my part by a species of gloomy presentiment,
which subsequent events but too fatally confirmed. The maréchale de
Mirepoix, who, from being on good terms with every person, was sure to
be aware of all that was going on, spoke to me also of this rival who
was springing up in obscurity and retirement; and it was from the same
source I learned what I have told you of the two ladies of the court.
She advised me not to abandon myself to a blind confidence, and this
opinion was strengthened when I related all I had gathered upon the
subject.
“You may justly apprehend,” said she, “that Julie will instil some of
her bold and fearless nature into the king, and should she presume to
put herself in competition with you, victory would in all probability
incline to the side of the last comer”; and I felt but too truly that
the maréchale spoke with truth.
A few days after this, the king being alone with me, comte Jean entered.
After the usual salutations, he exclaimed, “I have just seen a most
lovely creature.”
“Who is she?” inquired his majesty, hastily.
“No high-born dame,” answered comte Jean, “but the daughter of a
cabinet-maker at Versailles; I think I never beheld such matchless
beauty.”
“Always excepting present company,” replied the king.
“Assuredly,” rejoined my brother-in-law, “but, sire, the beauteous
object of whom I speak is a nymph in grace, a sylph in airy lightness,
and an angel in feature.”
“Comte Jean seems deeply smitten indeed, madam,” exclaimed Louis XV,
turning towards me.
“Not I indeed,” replied my brother-in-law, “my lovemaking days are
over.”
“Oh! oh!” cried the king, smiling, “_fructus belli_.”
“What does your majesty say?” inquired I.
“Nay, let the comte explain,” cried Louis XV.
“The king observed, my dear sister,” answered comte Jean, “that
ladies--but, in fact, I can neither explain the observation, nor was it
intended for you--so let it rest.”
He continued for some time to jest with comte Jean upon his supposed
passion for the fair daughter of the cabinet-maker; and the king,
whilst affecting the utmost indifference, took every pains to obtain the
fullest particulars as to where this peerless beauty might be found.
When my brother-in-law and myself were alone, he said to me, “I played
my part famously, did I not? How eagerly the bait was swallowed!”
“Explain yourself,” said I.
“My good sister, what I have said respecting this perfection of
loveliness is no fiction, neither have I at all exaggerated either her
perfections or her beauty, and I trust by her aid we shall obliterate
from the king’s mind every recollection of the syren of the
_Parc-aux-Cerfs_.”
“Heaven grant it,” exclaimed I.
“My dear sister,” replied comte Jean, “heaven has nothing to do with
such things.”
Alas! he was mistaken, and Providence only employed the present occasion
as a means of causing us to be precipitated into the very abyss of ruin
we had dug for others. On the following morning, Chamilly came to me
to inquire whether it was my pleasure that the present scheme should be
carried into execution.
“Yes, yes,” answered I eagerly, “by all means, the more we direct the
inclinations of the king for the present, the better for him and for us
likewise.”
Armed with my consent, Chamilly dispatched to the unhappy girl that
_madame_, whose skill in such delicate commissions had never been
known to fail. Not that in the present instance any great bribes were
requisite, but it was necessary to employ some agent whose specious
reasoning and oily tongue should have power to vanquish the virtuous
reluctance of the victim herself, as well as to obtain a promise of
strict silence from her family. They were soon induced to listen to
their artful temptress; and the daughter, dazzled by the glittering
prospect held out to her, was induced to accompany _madame_ back to
Trianon, where the king was to sup, in company with the ducs d’Aiguillon
and de Richelieu, the prince de Soubise, the ducs de Cossé, de Duras,
and de Noailles, mesdames de Mirepoix, de Forcalquier, de Flaracourt,
and myself; my brother-in-law and Chon were also of the party, although
not among the number of those who sat down to supper. Their presence was
merely to keep up my spirits, and with a view to divert me from dwelling
on the presumed infidelity of the king.
We had promised ourselves a most delightful evening, and had all come
with the expectation of finding considerable amusement in watching the
countenances and conduct of those who were not aware of the real state
of the game, whilst such as were admitted into my entire confidence,
were sanguine in their hopes and expectations of employing the simple
beauty of the maiden of Versailles to crush the aspiring views of my
haughty rival of the _Parc-aux-Cerfs_. This was, indeed, the point
at which I aimed, and my further intention was to request the king to
portion off mademoiselle Julie, so that she might be ever removed from
again crossing my path.
Meanwhile, by way of passing the tedious hours, I went to satisfy my
curiosity respecting those charms of which comte Jean had spoken so
highly. I found the object of so many conjectures possessed of an
uncommon share of beauty, set off, on the present occasion, by every aid
that a splendid and elaborate toilette could impart; her features were
perfect, her form tall and symmetrical, her hair was in the richest
style of luxuriance; but by way of drawback to so many advantages, both
her hands and feet were large and coarse. I had expected to have found
her timid, yet exulting, but she seemed languid and dejected even to
indisposition. I attributed the lassitude and heaviness which hung over
her to some natural regrets for sacrificing some youthful passion at
the shrine of ambition; but I was far from guessing the truth. Had I but
suspected the real cause! but I contented myself with a silent scrutiny
(I should have questioned her on the subject), but passed on to the
saloon, where the guests were already assembled. The evening passed away
most delightfully; the maréchale de Mirepoix excelled herself in keeping
up a continual flow of lively conversation. Never had messieurs de Cossé
and de Richelieu appeared to equal advantage. The king laughed heartily
at the many humorous tales told, and his gaiety was the more excited,
from his believing that I was in utter ignorance of his infidelity. The
champagne was passed freely round the table, till all was one burst of
hilarious mirth. A thousand different topics were started, and dismissed
only to give way to fresh subjects more piquant than the preceding.
The king, in a fit of good humour, began to relate his adventures with
madame de Grammont; but here you must pardon me, my friend, for so
entirely did his majesty give the reins to his inclination for a plain
style of language, that, although excess of prudery formed no part of
the character of any of the ladies assembled, we were compelled to sit
with our eyes fixed upon our plate or glass, not daring to meet the
glance of those near us. I have little doubt but that Louis XV indulged
himself to this extent by a kind of mental vow to settle the affair with
his confessor at the earliest opportunity.
We were still at table when the clock struck two hours past midnight.
“Bless me! so late?” inquired the king.
“Indeed, sire,” replied the maréchale de Mirepoix, “your agreeable
society drives all recollection of time away.”
“Then ‘tis but fit I should furnish you all with memory enough to
recollect what is necessary for your own health. Come, my friends,
morning will soon call us to our different cares, so away to your
pillows.”
So saying, the king bade us a friendly farewell, and retired with
the ducs de Duras and de Noailles. We remained after his majesty, and
retiring into the great saloon, threw ourselves without any ceremony
upon the different couches and ottomans.
“For my own part,” said the prince de Soubise, “I shall not think of
separating from so agreeable a party till daylight warns me hence.”
“The first beams of morn will soon shine through these windows,” replied
M. d’Aiguillon.
“We can already perceive the brightest rays of Aurora reflected in the
sparkling eyes around us,” exclaimed M. de Cossé.
“A truce with your gallantry, gentlemen,” replied madame de Mirepoix,
“at my age I can only believe myself capable of reflecting the last rays
of the setting sun.”
“Hush!” interrupted madame de Forcalquier, “you forget we are at
Versailles, where age is never thought of, but where, like our gracious
sovereign, all are young.”
“Come, ladies,” said madame de Flaracourt, “let us retire; I for one,
plead guilty of being in need of repose.”
“No, no!” replied the duc de Richelieu, “let us employ the remaining
hours in pleasing and social converse,” and with a tremulous voice he
began that charming trio in “Selina and Azor,” “_Veillons mes soeurs_.”
We joined chorus with him, and the echoes of the palace of Louis XV
resounded with the mirthful strain. This burst of noisy mirth did not
last long, and we relapsed into increased taciturnity, spite of our
endeavours to keep up a general conversation. We were all fatigued,
though none but madame de Flaracourt would confess the fact. Tired
nature called loudly for repose, and we were each compelled to seek it
in the different apartments assigned us. The duc d’Aiguillon alone was
compelled, by the duties of his office, to return to Versailles.
Upon entering my chamber I found my brother-in-law there, in the most
violent fit of ill humour, that the king (who was in fact ignorant of
his being at Trianon) had not invited him to supper. As I have before
told you, comte Jean was no favourite with his majesty, and as I had
displayed no wish for his company, Louis XV had gladly profited by my
indifference to omit him upon the present occasion. I endeavoured to
justify the king, without succeeding, however, in appeasing comte Jean,
who very unceremoniously consigned us all to the care and company of a
certain old gentleman, whose territory is supposed to lie beneath “the
round globe which we inhabit.”
“I have to thank you,” replied I, “for a very flattering mode of
saying ‘good night.’”
“Perhaps,” answered comte Jean roughly, “you would prefer--”
“Nothing from your lips if you please, my polite brother,” cried I,
interrupting him, “nothing you will say in your present humour can be at
all to my taste.”
Chon interfered between us, and effected a reconciliation, which I was
the more willing to listen to, that I might enjoy that sleep my weary
eye-lids craved for. Scarcely was my head on my pillow, than I fell into
a profound sleep: could I but have anticipated to what I should awake!
It was eleven o’clock on the following morning when an immense noise of
some person entering my chamber, aroused me from the sweet slumbers I
was still buried in. Vexed at the disturbance, I inquired, in a peevish
tone, “Who is there?”
“Tis I, my sister,” replied Chon, “M. de Chamilly is here, anxious to
speak with you upon a matter of great importance.”
Chamilly, who was close behind mademoiselle du Barry, begged to be
admitted.
“What is the matter, Chamilly?” cried I, “and what do you want? Is
mademoiselle Julie to set off into the country immediately?”
“Alas! madam,” replied Chamilly, “his majesty is extremely ill.”
These words completely roused me, and raising myself on my arm, I
eagerly repeated, “Ill! of what does he complain?”
“Of general and universal pain and suffering,” replied Chamilly.
“And the female who was here last night, how is she?”
“Nearly as bad, madam; she arose this morning complaining of illness
and languor, which increased so rapidly, that she was compelled to be
carried to one of the nearest beds, where she now is.”
All this tormented me to the greatest degree, and I dismissed Chamilly
for the purpose of rising, although I had no distinct idea of what
it would be most desirable to say or do. My sister-in-law, with more
self-possession, suggested the propriety of summoning Bordeu, my
physician; a proposal which I at once concurred in, more especially when
she informed me, that La Martinière was already sent for, and hourly
expected.
“I trust,” said I, “that Bouvart knows nothing of this, for I neither
approve of him as a man or a doctor.”
The fact was, I should have trembled for my own power, had both Bouvart
and La Martinière got the king into their hands. With La Martinière I
knew very well I was no favourite; yet it was impossible to prevent his
attendance; the king would never have fancied a prescription in which he
did not concur.
Meanwhile I proceeded with my toilette as rapidly as possible, that I
might, by visiting the king, satisfy myself of the nature of his malady.
Ere I had finished dressing, my brother-in-law, who had likewise been
aroused by the mention of his majesty’s illness, entered my chamber
with a gloomy look; he already saw the greatness of the danger which
threatened us, he had entirely forgotten our quarrel of the preceding
evening, but his temper was by no means improved by the present state
of things. We had no need of explaining ourselves by words, and he
continued walking up and down the room with, his arms folded and
his eyes fixed on the floor, till we were joined by the maréchale de
Mirepoix and the comtesse de Forcalquier. Madame de Flaracourt had taken
her departure at an early hour, either ignorant of what had occurred or
with the intention of being prepared for whatever might happen.
As yet, it was but little in the power of any person to predict the
coming blow. “The king is ill,” said each of us as we met. “The king is
ill,” was the morning salutation of the ducs de Richelieu, de Noailles,
de Duras, and de Cossé. The prince de Soubise had followed the example
of madame de Flaracourt, and had quitted Trianon; it seemed as though
the hour for defection were already arrived. A summons now arrived from
his majesty who wished to see me. I lost not a moment in repairing to
his apartment, where I found him in bed, apparently in much pain and
uneasiness. He received me tenderly, took my hands in his, and kissed
them; then exclaimed,
“I feel more indisposed than I can describe, a weight seems
pressing on my chest, and universal languor appears to chain my
faculties both of body and mind. I should like to see La Martinière.”
“And would you not likewise wish to have the advice of Bordeu?”
“‘Yes,” said he, “let both come, they are both clever men, and I have
full confidence in their skill. But do you imagine that my present
illness will be of a serious nature?”
“By no means, sire,” returned I, “merely temporary, I trust and
believe.”
“Perhaps I took more wine than agreed with me last evening; but where is
the maréchale?”
“In my chamber with madame de Forcalquier.”
“And the prince de Soubise?”
“He has taken flight,” replied I, laughing.
“I suppose so,” returned Louis XV, “he could not bear a long absence
from Paris; company he must have.”
“In that respect he resembles you, sire, for you generally consider
company as a necessary good.”
He smiled, and then closing his eyes remained for some minutes silent
and motionless, after a while he said,
“My head is very heavy, so farewell, my sweet friend, I will endeavour
to get some sleep.”
“Sleep, sire!” said I, “and may it prove as healthful and refreshing as
I pray it may.”
So saying, I glided out of the room and returned to my friends, I found
madame de Mirepoix and the duc de Cossé waiting for me in the anteroom.
“How is the king?” inquired they both in a breath.
“Better than I expected,” I replied, “but he is desirous of sleeping.”
“So much the worse,” observed the duc de Cossé; “I should have thought
better of his case had he been more wakeful.”
“Are you aware of the most imperative step for you to take?” inquired
the maréchale de Mirepoix.
“No,” said I, “what is it?”
“To keep his majesty at Trianon,” replied she; “it will be far better
for you that the present illness should take its course at Trianon
rather than at Versailles.”
“I second that advice,” cried the duc de Richelieu, who just then
entered the room; “yes, yes, as madame de Mirepoix wisely observes, this
is the place for the king to be ill in.”
“But,” exclaimed I, “must we not be guided by the physicians’ advice?”
“Do you make sure of Bordeu,” said the duke, “and I will speak to La
Martinière.”
M. de Cossé took me aside, and assured me that I might rely upon him
in life or death. When we had conversed together for some minutes, I
besought of him to leave the place as early as possible; “Take madame de
Forcalquier with you,” said I, “your presence just now at Trianon would
be too much commented upon.”
He made some difficulties in obeying me, but I insisted and he went.
After his departure, the duc de Richelieu, the maréchale and myself
walked together in the garden. Our walk was so directed that we could
see through the colonnade every person who arrived up the avenue. We
spoke but little, and an indescribable feeling of solemnity was mingled
with the few words which passed, when, all at once, our attention was
attracted by the sight of comte Jean, who rushed towards me in a state
of frenzy.
“Accursed day,” cried he, stopping when he saw us, “that wretched girl
from Versailles has brought the small-pox with her.”
At this fatal news I heaved a deep sigh and fainted. I was carried under
the portico, while the poor maréchale, scarcely more in her senses than
myself, stood over me weeping like a child, while every endeavour
was being made to restore me to life. Bordeu, who chanced to be at
Versailles, arrived, and supposing it was on my account he had been
summoned, hastened to my assistance. The duc de Richelieu and comte Jean
informed him of all that had passed, upon which he requested to see
the unfortunate female immediately; while he was conducted thither, I
remained alone with the maréchale and Henriette, who had come to Trianon
with my suite. My first impulse upon regaining the use of my senses, was
to throw myself in the arms of the maréchale.
“What will become of me?” exclaimed I, weeping, “if the king should take
this fatal malady, he will never survive it.”
“Let us hope for the best,” answered madame de Mirepoix; “it would be
encouraging grief to believe a misfortune, which we have at present no
reason to suspect.”
Comte Jean now rejoined us, accompanied by Bordeu and the duc de
Richelieu; their countenances were gloomy and dejected. The miserable
victim of ambition had the symptoms of the most malignant sort of
small-pox; this was a finishing stroke to my previous alarms. However,
comte Jean whispered in my ear, “Bordeu will arrange that the king shall
remain here.”
This assurance restored me to something like composure; but these hopes
were speedily dissipated by the arrival of La Martinière.
“What is the matter?” inquired he, “is the king very ill?”
“That remains for you to decide”; replied the duc de Richelieu; “but
however it may be, madame du Barry entreats of you not to think of
removing the king to Versailles.”
“And why so?” asked La Martinière, with his accustomed abruptness. “His
majesty would be much better there than here.”
“He can nowhere be better than at Trianon, monsieur,” said I.
“That, madam,” answered La Martinière, “is the only point upon which
you must excuse my consulting you, unless, indeed, you are armed with a
physician’s diploma.”
“Monsieur la Martinière,” cried the duc de Richelieu, “you might employ
more gentle language when speaking to a lady.”
“Was I sent for hither,” inquired the angry physician, “to go through a
course of politeness?”
For my own part I felt the utmost dread, I scarcely knew of what.
Bordeu, seeing my consternation, hastened to interfere, by saying,
“At any rate, monsieur la Martinière, you will not alarm the king
needlessly.”
“Nor lull him into a false security,” answered the determined
La Martinière. “But what is his malady have you seen him, doctor
Bordeu?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why do we linger here? Your servant, ladies and gentlemen.”
The medical men then departed, accompanied the duc de Richelieu.