Besides the little mistresses of the Parc-aux-cerfs, the King had

sometimes intrigues with ladies of the Court, or from Paris, who wrote to

him. There was a Madame de L-----, who, though married to a young and

amiable man, with two hundred thousand francs a year, wished absolutely

to become his mistress. She contrived to have a meeting with him: and

the King, who knew who she was, was persuaded that she was really madly

in love with him. There is no knowing what might have happened, had she

not died. Madame was very much alarmed, and was only relieved by her

death from inquietude. A circumstance took place at this time which

doubled Madame's friendship for me. A rich man, who had a situation in

the Revenue Department, called on me one day very secretly, and told me

that he had something of importance to communicate to Madame la Marquise,

but that he should find himself very much embarrassed in communicating it

to her personally, and that he should prefer acquainting me with it. He

then told me, what I already knew, that he had a very beautiful wife, of

whom he was passionately fond; that having on one occasion perceived her

kissing a little 'porte feuille', he endeavoured to get possession of it,

supposing there was some mystery attached to it. One day that she

suddenly left the room to go upstairs to see her sister, who had been

brought to bed, he took the, opportunity of opening the porte feuille,

and was very much surprised to find in it a portrait of the King, and a

very tender letter written by His Majesty. Of the latter he took a copy,

as also of an unfinished letter of his wife, in which she vehemently

entreated the King to allow her to have the pleasure of an interview--the

means she pointed out. She was to go masked to the public ball at

Versailles, where His Majesty could meet her under favour of a mask. I

assured M. de ------ that I should acquaint Madame with the affair, who

would, no doubt, feel very grateful for the communication. He then added,

"Tell Madame la Marquise that my wife is very clever and very intriguing.

I adore her, and should run distracted were she to be taken from me." I

lost not a moment in acquainting Madame with the affair, and gave her the

letter. She became serious and pensive, and I since learned that she

consulted M. Berrier, Lieutenant of Police, who, by a very simple but

ingeniously conceived plan, put an end to the designs of this lady. He

demanded an audience of the King, and told him that there was a lady in

Paris who was making free with His Majesty's name; that he had been given

the copy of a letter, supposed to have been written by His Majesty to the

lady in question. The copy he put into the King's hands, who read it in

great confusion, and then tore it furiously to pieces. M. Berrier added,

that it was rumoured that this lady was to meet His Majesty at the public

ball, and, at this very moment, it so happened that a letter was put into

the King's hand, which proved to be from the lady, appointing the

meeting; at least, M. Berrier judged so, as the King appeared very much

surprised on reading it, and said, "It must be allowed, M. le Lieutenant

of Police, that you are well informed." M. Berrier added, "I think it my

duty to tell Your Majesty that this lady passes for a very intriguing

person." "I believe," replied the King, "that it is not without

deserving it that she has got that character."

Madame de Pompadour had many vexations in the midst of all her grandeur.

She often received anonymous letters, threatening her with poison or

assassination: her greatest fear, however, was that of being supplanted

by a rival. I never saw her in a greater agitation than, one evening, on

her return from the drawing-room at Marly. She threw down her cloak and

muff, the instant she came in, with an air of ill-humour, and undressed

herself in a hurried manner. Having dismissed her other women, she said

to me, "I think I never saw anybody so insolent as Madame de Coaslin. I

was seated at the same table with her this evening, at a game of

'brelan', and you cannot imagine what I suffered. The men and women

seemed to come in relays to watch us. Madame de Coaslin said two or

three times, looking at me, 'Va tout', in the most insulting manner. I

thought I should have fainted, when she said, in a triumphant tone, I

have the 'brelan' of kings. I wish you had seen her courtesy to me on

parting."--"Did the King," said I, "show her particular attention?" "You

don't know him," said she; "if he were going to lodge her this very night

in my apartment, he would behave coldly to her before people, and would

treat me with the utmost kindness. This is the effect of his education,

for he is, by nature, kind-hearted and frank." Madame de Pompadour's

alarms lasted for some months, when she, one day, said to me, "That

haughty Marquise has missed her aim; she frightened the King by her grand

airs, and was incessantly teasing him for money. Now you, perhaps, may

not know that the King would sign an order for forty thousand LOUIS

without a thought, and would give a hundred out of his little private

treasury with the greatest reluctance. Lebel, who likes me better than

he would a new mistress in my place, either by chance or design had

brought a charming little sultana to the Parc-aux-cerfs, who has cooled

the King a little towards the haughty Vashti, by giving him occupation,

has received a hundred thousand francs, some jewels, and an estate.

Jannette--[The Intendant of Police.]--has rendered me great service, by

showing the King extracts from the letters broken open at the

post-office, concerning the report that Madame de Coaslin was coming into

favour: The King was much impressed by a letter from an old counsellor of

the Parliament, who wrote to one of his friends as follows: 'It is quite

as reasonable that the King should have a female friend and

confidante--as that we, in our several degrees, should so indulge

ourselves; but it is desirable that he should keep the one he has; she

is gentle, injures nobody, and her fortune is made. The one who is now

talked of will be as haughty as high birth can make her. She must have

an allowance of a million francs a year, since she is said to be

excessively extravagant; her relations must be made Dukes, Governors of

provinces, and Marshals, and, in the end, will surround the King, and

overawe the Ministers.'"

Madame de Pompadour had this passage, which had been sent to her by M.

Jannette, the Intendant of the Police, who enjoyed the King's entire

confidence. He had carefully watched the King's look, while he read the

letter, and he saw that the arguments of this counsellor, who was not a

disaffected person, made a great impression upon him. Some time

afterwards, Madame de Pompadour said to me, "The haughty Marquise behaved

like Mademoiselle Deschamps,

[A courtesan, distinguished for her charms, and still more so for an

extraordinary proof of patriotism. At a time when the public Treasury

was exhausted, Mademoiselle Deschamps sent all her plate to the Mint.

Louis XIV. boasted of this act of generous devotion to her country. The

Duc d'Ayen made it the subject of a pleasantry, which detracted nothing

from the merit of the sacrifice--but which is rather too gay for us to

venture upon.]

and she is turned off." This was not Madame's only subject of alarm. A

relation of Madame d'Estrades,

[The Comtesse d'Estrades, a relative of M. Normand, and a flatterer of

Madame de Pompadour, who brought her to Court, was secretly in the pay of

the Comte d'Argenson. That Minister, who did not disdain la Fillon, from

whom he extracted useful information, knew all that passed at the Court

of the favourite, by means of Madame d'Estrades, whose ingratitude and

perfidiousness he liberally paid.]

wife to the Marquis de C----, had made the most pointed advances to the

King, much more than were necessary for a man who justly thought himself

the handsomest man in France, and who was, moreover, a King. He was

perfectly persuaded that every woman would yield to the slightest desire

he might deign to manifest. He, therefore, thought it a mere matter of

course that women fell in love with him. M. de Stainville had a hand in

marring the success of that intrigue; and, soon afterwards, the Marquise

de C-----, who was confined to her apartments at Marly, by her relations,

escaped through a closet to a rendezvous, and was caught with a young man

in a corridor. The Spanish Ambassador, coming out of his apartments with

flambeaux, was the person who witnessed this scene. Madame d'Estrades

affected to know nothing of her cousin's intrigues, and kept up an

appearance of the tenderest attachment to Madame de Pompadour, whom she

was habitually betraying. She acted as spy for M. d'Argenson, in the

cabinets, and in Madame de Pompadour's apartments; and, when she could

discover nothing, she had recourse to her invention, in order that she

might not lose her importance with her lover. This Madame d'Estrades

owed her whole existence to the bounties of Madame, and yet, ugly as she

was, she had tried to get the King away from her. One day, when he, had

got rather drunk at Choisy (I think, the only time that, ever happened to

him), he went on board a beautiful barge, whither Madame, being ill of an

indigestion, could not accompany him. Madame d'Estrades seized this

opportunity. She got into the barge, and, on their return, as it was

dark, she followed the King into a private closet, where he was believed

to be sleeping on a couch, and there went somewhat beyond any ordinary

advances to him. Her account of the matter to Madame was, that she had

gone into the closet upon her own affairs, and that the King, had

followed her, and had tried to ravish her. She was at full liberty to

make what story she pleased, for the King knew neither what he had said,

nor what he had done. I shall finish this subject by a short history

concerning a young lady. I had been, one day, to the theatre at

Compiegne. When I returned, Madame asked me several questions about the

play; whether there was much company, and whether I did not see a very

beautiful girl. I replied, "That there was, indeed, a girl in a box near

mine, who was surrounded by all the young men about the Court." She

smiled, and said, "That is Mademoiselle Dorothee; she went, this evening,

to see the King sup in public, and to-morrow she is to be taken to the

hunt. You are surprised to find me so well informed, but I know a great

deal more about her. She was brought here by a Gascon, named Dubarre or

Dubarri, who is the greatest scoundrel in France. He founds all his

hopes of advancement on Mademoiselle Dorothee's charms, which he thinks

the King cannot resist. She is, really, very beautiful.. She was

pointed out to me in my little garden, whither she was taken to walk on

purpose. She is the daughter of a water-carrier, at Strasbourg, and her

charming lover demands to be sent Minister to Cologne, as a

beginning."--"Is it possible, Madame, that you can have been rendered

uneasy by such a creature as that?"--"Nothing is impossible," replied

she; "though I think the King would scarcely dare to give such a scandal.

Besides, happily, Lebel, to quiet his conscience, told the King that the

beautiful Dorothee's lover is infected with a horrid disease;" and, added

he, "Your Majesty would not get rid of that as you have done of the

scrofula." This was quite enough to keep the young lady at a distance.

"I pity you sincerely, Madame," said I, "while everybody else envies

you." "Ah!" replied she, "my life is that of the Christian, a perpetual

warfare. This was not the case with the woman who enjoyed the favour of

Louis XIV. Madame de La Valliere suffered herself to be deceived by

Madame de Montespan, but it was her own fault, or, rather, the effect of

her extreme good nature. She was entirely devoid of suspicion at first,

because she could not believe her friend perfidious. Madame de

Montespan's empire was shaken by Madame de Fontanges, and overthrown by

Madame de Maintenon; but her haughtiness, her caprices, had already

alienated the King. He had not, however, such rivals as mine; it is

true, their baseness is my security. I have, in general, little to fear

but casual infidelities, and the chance that they may not all be

sufficiently transitory for my safety. The King likes variety, but he is

also bound by habit; he fears eclats, and detests manoeuvring women. The

little Marechale (de Mirepoig) one day said to me, 'It is your staircase

that the King loves; he is accustomed to go up and down it. But, if he

found another woman to whom he could talk of hunting and business as he

does to you, it would be just the same to him in three days.'"

I write without plan, order, or date, just as things come into my mind;

and I shall now go to the Abbe de Bernis, whom I liked very much, because

he was good-natured, and treated me kindly. One day, just as Madame de

Pompadour had finished dressing, M. de Noailles asked to speak to her in

private. I, accordingly, retired. The Count looked full of important

business. I heard their conversation, as there was only the door between

us.

"A circumstance has taken place," said he, "which I think it my duty to

communicate to the King; but I would not do so without first informing

you of it, since it concerns one of your friends for whom I have the

utmost regard and respect. The Abbe de Bernis had a mind to shoot, this

morning, and went, with two or three of his people, armed with guns, into

the little park, where the Dauphin would not venture to shoot without

asking the King's permission. The guards, surprised at hearing the

report of guns, ran to the spot, and were greatly astonished at the sight

of M. de Bernis. They very respectfully asked to see his permission,

when they found, to their astonishment, that he had none. They begged of

him to desist, telling him that, if they did their duty, they should

arrest him; but they must, at all events, instantly acquaint me with the

circumstance, as Ranger of the Park of Versailles. They added, that the

King must have heard the firing, and that they begged of him to retire.

The Abbe apologized, on the score of ignorance, and assured them that he

had my permission. 'The Comte de Noailles,' said they, 'could only grant

permission to shoot in the more remote parts, and in the great park.'"

The Count made a great merit of his eagerness to give the earliest

information to Madame. She told him to leave the task of communicating

it to the King to her, and begged of him to say nothing about the matter.

M. de Marigny, who did not like the Abbe, came to see me in the evening;

and I affected to know nothing of the story, and to hear it for the first

time from him. "He must have been out of his senses," said he, "to shoot

under the King's windows,"--and enlarged much on the airs he gave

himself. Madame de Pompadour gave this affair the best colouring she

could the King was, nevertheless, greatly disgusted at it, and twenty

times, since the Abbe's disgrace, when he passed over that part of the

park, he said, "This is where the Abbe took his pleasure." The King

never liked him; and Madame de Pompadour told me one night, after his

disgrace, when I was sitting up with her in her illness, that she saw,

before he had been Minister a week, that he was not fit for his office.

"If that hypocritical Bishop," said she, speaking of the Bishop of

Mirepoix, "had not prevented the King from granting him a pension of four

hundred louis a year, which he had promised me, he would never have been

appointed Ambassador. I should, afterwards, have been able to give him

an income of eight hundred louis a year, perhaps the place of master of

the chapel. Thus he would have been happier, and I should have had

nothing to regret." I took the liberty of saying that I did not agree

with her. That he had yet remaining advantages, of which he could not be

deprived; that his exile would terminate; and that he would then be a

Cardinal, with an income of eight thousand louis a year. "That is true,"

she replied; "but I think of the mortifications he has undergone, and of

the ambition which devours him; and, lastly, I think of myself. I should

have still enjoyed his society, and should have had, in my declining

years, an old and amiable friend, if he had not been Minister." The King

sent him away in anger, and was strongly inclined to refuse him the hat.

M. Quesnay told me, some months afterwards, that the Abbe wanted to be

Prime Minister; that he had drawn up a memorial, setting forth that in

difficult crises the public good required that there should be a central

point (that was his expression), towards which everything should be

directed. Madame de Pompadour would not present the memorial; he

insisted, though she said to him, "You will rain yourself." The King

cast his eyes over it, and said "'central point,'--that is to say

himself, he wants to be Prime Minister." Madame tried to apologize for

him, and said, "That expression might refer to the Marechal de

Belle-Isle."--"Is he not just about to be made Cardinal?" said the King.

"This is a fine manoeuvre; he knows well enough that, by means of that

dignity, he would compel the Ministers to assemble at his house, and then

M. l'Abbe would be the central point. Wherever there is a Cardinal in

the council, he is sure, in the end, to take the lead. Louis XIV., for

this reason, did not choose to admit the Cardinal de Janson into the

council, in spite of his great esteem for him. The Cardinal de Fleury

told me the same thing. He had some desire that the Cardinal de Tencin

should succeed him; but his sister was such an intrigante that Cardinal

de Fleury advised me to have nothing to do with the matter, and I behaved

so as to destroy all his hopes, and to undeceive others. M. d'Argenson

has strongly impressed me with the same opinion, and has succeeded in

destroying all my respect for him." This is what the King said,

according to my friend Quesnay, who, by the bye, was a great genius, as

everybody said, and a very lively, agreeable man. He liked to chat with

me about the country. I had been bred up there, and he used to set me a

talking about the meadows of Normandy and Poitou, the wealth of the

farmers, and the modes of culture. He was the best-natured man in the

world, and the farthest removed from petty intrigue. While he lived at

Court, he was much more occupied with the best manner of cultivating land

than with anything that passed around him. The man whom he esteemed the

most was M. de la Riviere, a Counsellor of Parliament, who was also

Intendant of Martinique; he looked upon him as a man of the greatest

genius, and thought him the only person fit for the financial department

of administration.

The Comtesse d'Estrades, who owed everything to Madame de Pompadour, was

incessantly intriguing against her. She was clever enough to destroy all

proofs of her manoeuvres, but she could not so easily prevent suspicion.

Her intimate connection with M. d'Argenson gave offence to Madame, and,

for some time, she was more reserved with her. She, afterwards, did a

thing which justly irritated the King and Madame. The King, who wrote a

great deal, had written to Madame de Pompadour a long letter concerning

an assembly of the Chambers of Parliament, and had enclosed a letter of

M. Berrien. Madame was ill, and laid those letters on a little table by

her bedside. M. de Gontaut came in, and gossipped about trifles, as

usual. Madame d'Amblimont also came, and stayed but very little time.

Just as I was going to resume a book which I had been reading to Madame,

the Comtesse d'Estrades entered, placed herself near Madame's bed, and

talked to her for some time. As soon as she was gone, Madame called me,

asked what was o'clock, and said, "Order my door to be shut, the King

will soon be here." I gave the order, and returned; and Madame told me

to give her the King's letter, which was on the table with some other

papers. I gave her the papers, and told her there was nothing else. She

was very uneasy at not finding the letter, and, after enumerating the

persons who had been in the room, she said, "It cannot be the little

Countess, nor Gontaut, who has taken this letter. It can only be the

Comtesse d'Estrades;--and that is too bad." The King came, and was

extremely angry, as Madame told me. Two days afterwards, he sent Madame

d'Estrades into exile. There was no doubt that she took the letter; the

King's handwriting had probably awakened her curiosity. This occurrence

gave great pain to M. d'Argenson, who was bound to her, as Madame de

Pompadour said, by his love of intrigue. This redoubled his hatred of

Madame, and she accused him of favouring the publication of a libel, in

which she was represented as a worn-out mistress, reduced to the vile

occupation of providing new objects to please her lover's appetite. She

was characterised as superintendent of the Parc-aux-cerfs, which was said

to cost hundreds of thousands of louis a year. Madame de Pompadour did,

indeed, try to conceal some of the King's weaknesses, but she never knew

one of the sultanas of that seraglio. There were, however, scarcely ever

more than two at once, and often only one. When they married, they

received some jewels, and four thousand louis. The Parc-aux-cerfs was

sometimes vacant for five or six months. I was surprised, some time

after, at seeing the Duchesse de Luynes, Lady of Honour to the Queen,

come privately to see Madame de Pompadour. She afterwards came openly.

One evening, after Madame was in bed, she called me, and said, "My dear,

you will be delighted; the Queen has given me the place of Lady of the

Palace; tomorrow I am to be presented to her: you must make me look

well." I knew that the King was not so well pleased at this as she was;

he was afraid that it would give rise to scandal, and that it might be

thought he had forced this nomination upon the Queen. He had, however,

done no such thing. It had been represented to the Queen that it was an

act of heroism on her part to forget the past; that all scandal would be

obliterated when Madame de Pompadour was seen to belong to the Court in

an honourable manner; and that it would be the best proof that nothing

more than friendship now subsisted between the King and the favourite.

The Queen received her very graciously. The devotees flattered

themselves they should be protected by Madame, and, for some time, were

full of her praises. Several of the Dauphin's friends came in private to

see her, and some obtained promotion. The Chevalier du Muy, however,

refused to come. The King had the greatest possible contempt for them,

and granted them nothing with a good grace. He, one day, said of a man

of great family, who wished to be made Captain of the Guards, "He is a

double spy, who wants to be paid on both sides." This was the moment at

which Madame de Pompadour seemed to me to enjoy the most complete

satisfaction. The devotees came to visit her without scruple, and did

not forget to make use of every opportunity of serving themselves. Madame

de Lu----- had set them the example. The Doctor laughed at this change

in affairs, and was very merry at the expense of the saints. "You must

allow, however, that they are consistent," said I, "and may be sincere."

"Yes," said he; "but then they should not ask for anything."

One day, I was at Doctor Quesnay's, whilst Madame de Pompadour was at the

theatre. The Marquis de Mirabeau

[The author of "L'Ami des Hommes," one of the leaders of the sect of

Economistes, and father of the celebrated Mirabeau. After the death of

Quesnay, the Grand Master of the Order, the Marquis de Mirabeau was

unanimously elected his successor. Mirabeau was not deficient in a

certain enlargement of mind, nor in acquirements, nor even in patriotism;

but his writings are enthusiastical, and show that he had little more

than glimpses of the truth. The Friend of Man was the enemy of all his

family. He beat his servants, and did not pay them. The reports of the

lawsuit with his wife, in 1775, prove that this philosopher possessed, in

the highest possible degree, all the anti-conjugal qualities. It is said

that his eldest son wrote two contradictory depositions, and was paid by

both sides.]

came in, and the conversation was, for some time, extremely tedious to

me, running entirely on 'net produce'; at length, they talked of other

things.

Mirabeau said, "I think the King looks ill, he grows old."--"So much the

worse, a thousand times so much the worse," said Quesnay; "it would be

the greatest possible loss to France if he died;" and he raised his

hands, and sighed deeply. "I do not doubt that you are attached to the

King, and with reason," said Mirabeau: "I am attached to him too; but I

never saw you so much moved."--"Ah!" said Quesnay, "I think of what would

follow."--"Well, the Dauphin is virtuous."--"Yes; and full of good

intentions; nor is he deficient in understanding; but canting hypocrites

would possess an absolute empire over a Prince who regards them as

oracles. The Jesuits would govern the kingdom, as they did at the end of

Louis XIV.'s reign: and you would see the fanatical Bishop of Verdun

Prime Minister, and La Vauguyon all-powerful under some other title. The

Parliaments must then mind how they behave; they will not be better

treated than my friends the philosophers."--"But they go too far," said

Mirabeau; "why openly attack religion?"--"I allow that," replied the

Doctor; "but how is it possible not to be rendered indignant by the

fanaticism of others, and by recollecting all the blood that has flowed

during the last two hundred years? You must not then again irritate

them, and revive in France the time of Mary in England. But what is done

is done, and I often exhort them to be moderate; I wish they would follow

the example of our friend Duclos."--"You are right," replied Mirabeau;

"he said to me a few days ago, 'These philosophers are going on at such a

rate that they will force me to go to vespers and high mass;' but, in

fine, the Dauphin is virtuous, well-informed, and intellectual."--"It is

the commencement of his reign, I fear," said Quesnay, "when the imprudent

proceedings of our friends will be represented to him in the most

unfavourable point of view; when the Jansenists and Molinists will make

common cause, and be strongly supported by the Dauphine. I thought that

M. de Muy was moderate, and that he would temper the headlong fury of the

others; but I heard him say that Voltaire merited condign punishment. Be

assured, sir, that the times of John Huss and Jerome of Prague will

return; but I hope not to live to see it. I approve of Voltaire having

hunted down the Pompignans: were it not for the ridicule with which he

covered them, that bourgeois Marquis would have been preceptor to the

young Princes, and, aided by his brother, would have succeeded in again

lighting the faggots of persecution."--"What ought to give you confidence

in the Dauphin," said Mirabeau, "is, that, notwithstanding the devotion

of Pompignan, he turns him into ridicule. A short time back, seeing him

strutting about with an air of inflated pride, he said to a person, who

told it to me, 'Our friend Pompignan thinks that he is something.'" On

returning home, I wrote down this conversation.

I, one day, found Quesnay in great distress. "Mirabeau," said he, "is

sent to Vincennes, for his work on taxation. The Farmers General have

denounced him, and procured his arrest; his wife is going to throw

herself at the feet of Madame de Pompadour to-day." A few minutes

afterwards, I went into Madame's apartment, to assist at her toilet, and

the Doctor came in. Madame said to him, "You must be much concerned at

the disgrace of your friend Mirabeau. I am sorry for it too, for I like

his brother." Quesnay replied, "I am very far from believing him to be

actuated by bad intentions, Madame; he loves the King and the people."

"Yes," said she; "his 'Ami des Hommes' did him great honour." At this

moment the Lieutenant of Police entered, and Madame said to him, "Have

you seen M. de Mirabeau's book?"--"Yes, Madame; but it was not I who

denounced it?"--"What do you think of it?"--"I think he might have said

almost all it contains with impunity, if he had been more circumspect as

to the manner; there is, among other objectionable passages, this, which

occurs at the beginning: Your Majesty has about twenty millions of

subjects; it is only by means of money that you can obtain their

services, and there is no money."--"What, is there really that, Doctor?"

said Madame. "It is true, they are the first lines in the book, and I

confess that they are imprudent; but, in reading the work, it is clear

that he laments that patriotism is extinct in the hearts of his

fellow-citizens, and that he desires to rekindle it." The King entered:

we went out, and I wrote down on Quesnay's table what I had just heard.

I them returned to finish dressing Madame de Pompadour: she said to me,

"The King is extremely angry with Mirabeau; but I tried to soften him,

and so did the Lieutenant of Police. This will increase Quesnay's fears.

Do you know what he said to me to-day? The King had been talking to him

in my room, and the Doctor appeared timid and agitated. After the King

was gone, I said to him, 'You always seem so embarrassed in the King's

presence, and yet he is so good-natured.'--'I Madame,' said he, 'I left

my native village at the age of forty, and I have very little experience

of the world, nor can I accustom myself to its usages without great

difficulty. When I am in a room with the King, I say to myself, This is

a man who can order my head to be cut off; and that idea embarrasses

me.'--'But do not the King's justice and kindness set you at

ease?'--'That is very true in reasoning,' said he; 'but the sentiment is

more prompt, and inspires me with fear before I have time to say to

myself all that is calculated to allay it.'"

I got her to repeat this conversation, and wrote it down immediately,

that I might not forget it.

An anonymous letter was addressed to the King and Madame de Pompadour;

and, as the author was very anxious that it should not miscarry, he sent

copies to the Lieutenant of Police, sealed and directed to the King, to

Madame de Pompadour, and to M. de Marigny. This letter produced a strong

impression on Madame, and on the King, and still more, I believe, on the

Duc de Choiseul, who had received a similar one. I went on my knees to

M. de Marigny, to prevail on him to allow me to copy it, that I might

show it to the Doctor. It is as follows:

"Sire--It is a zealous servant who writes to Your Majesty. Truth is

always better, particularly to Kings; habituated to flattery, they see

objects only under those colours most likely to please them. I have

reflected, and read much; and here is what my meditations have suggested

to me to lay before Your Majesty. They have accustomed you to be

invisible, and inspired you with a timidity which prevents you from

speaking; thus all direct communication is cut off between the master and

his subjects. Shut up in the interior of your palace, you are becoming

every day like the Emperors of the East; but see, Sire, their fate! 'I

have troops,' Your Majesty will say; such, also, is their support: but,

when the only security of a King rests upon his troops; when he is only,

as one may say, a King of the soldiers, these latter feel their own

strength, and abuse it. Your finances are in the greatest disorder, and

the great majority of states have perished through this cause. A

patriotic spirit sustained the ancient states, and united all classes for

the safety of their country. In the present times, money has taken the

place of this spirit; it has become the universal lever, and you are in

want of it. A spirit of finance affects every department of the state;

it reigns triumphant at Court; all have become venal; and all distinction

of rank is broken up. Your Ministers are without genius and capacity

since the dismissal of MM. d'Argenson and de Machault. You alone cannot

judge of their incapacity, because they lay before you what has been

prepared by skilful clerks, but which they pass as their own. They

provide only for the necessity of the day, but there is no spirit of

government in their acts. The military changes that have taken place

disgust the troops, and cause the most deserving officers to resign; a

seditious flame has sprung up in the very bosom of the Parliaments; you

seek to corrupt them, and the remedy is worse than the disease. It is

introducing vice into the sanctuary of justice, and gangrene into the

vital parts of the commonwealth. Would a corrupted Parliament have

braved the fury of the League, in order to preserve the crown for the

legitimate sovereign? Forgetting the maxims of Louis XIV., who well

understood the danger of confiding the administration to noblemen, you

have chosen M. de Choiseul, and even given him three departments; which

is a much heavier burden than that which he would have to support as

Prime Minister, because the latter has only to oversee the details

executed by the Secretaries of State. The public fully appreciate this

dazzling Minister. He is nothing more than a 'petit-maitre', without

talents or information, who has a little phosphorus in his mind. There

is a thing well worthy of remark, Sire; that is, the open war carried on

against religion. Henceforward there can spring up no new sects, because

the general belief has been shaken, that no one feels inclined to occupy

himself with difference of sentiment upon some of the articles. The

Encyclopedists, under pretence of enlightening mankind, are sapping the

foundations of religion. All the different kinds of liberty are

connected; the Philosophers and the Protestants tend towards

republicanism, as well as the Jansenists. The Philosophers strike at the

root, the others lop the branches; and their efforts, without being

concerted, will one day lay the tree low. Add to these the Economists;

whose object is political liberty, as that of the others is liberty of

worship, and the Government may find itself, in twenty or thirty years,

undermined in every direction, and will then fall with a crash. If Your

Majesty, struck by this picture, but too true, should ask me for a

remedy, I should say, that it is necessary to bring back the Government

to its principles, and, above all, to lose no time in restoring order to

the state of the finances, because the embarrassments incident to a

country in a state of debt necessitate fresh taxes, which, after grinding

the people, induce them towards revolt. It is my opinion that Your

Majesty would do well to appear more among your people; to shew your

approbation of useful services, and your displeasure of errors and

prevarications, and neglect of duty: in a word, to let it be seen that

rewards and punishments, appointments and dismissals, proceed from

yourself. You will then inspire gratitude by your favours, and fear by

your reproaches; you will then be the object of immediate and personal

attachment, instead of which, everything is now referred to your

Ministers. The confidence in the King, which is habitual to your people,

is shewn by the exclamation, so common among them, 'Ah! if the King knew

it' They love to believe that the King would remedy all their evils, if

he knew of them. But, on the other hand, what sort of ideas must they

form of kings, whose duty it is to be informed of everything, and to

superintend everything, that concerns the public, but who are,

nevertheless, ignorant of everything which the discharge of their

functions requires them to know? 'Rex, roi, regere, regar, conduire'--to

rule, to conduct--these words sufficiently denote their duties. What

would be said of a father who got rid of the charge of his children as of

a burthen?

"A time will come, Sire, when the people shall be enlightened--and that

time is probably approaching. Resume the reins of government, hold them

with a firm hand, and act, so that it cannot be said of you, 'Faeminas et

scorta volvit ammo et haec principatus praemia putat':--Sire, if I see

that my sincere advice should have produced any change, I shall continue

it, and enter into more details; if not, I shall remain silent."

Now that I am upon the subject of anonymous letters to the King, I must

just mention that it is impossible to conceive how frequent they were.

People were extremely assiduous in telling either unpleasant truths, or

alarming lies, with a view to injure others. As an instance, I shall

transcribe one concerning Voltaire, who paid great court to Madame de

Pompadour when he was in France. This letter was written long after the

former.

"Madame--M. de Voltaire has just dedicated his tragedy of Tancred to you;

this ought to be an offering of respect and gratitude; but it is, in

fact, an insult, and you will form the same opinion of it as the public

has done if you read it with attention. You will see that this

distinguished writer appears to betray a consciousness that the subject

of his encomiums is not worthy of them, and to endeavour to excuse

himself for them to the public. These are his words: 'I have seen your

graces and talents unfold themselves from your infancy. At all periods

of your life I have received proofs of your uniform and unchanging

kindness. If any critic be found to censure the homage I pay you, he

must have a heart formed for ingratitude. I am under great obligations

to you, Madame, and these obligations it is my duty to proclaim.'

"What do these words really signify, unless that Voltaire feels it may be

thought extraordinary that he should dedicate his work to a woman who

possesses but a small share of the public esteem, and that the sentiment

of gratitude must plead his excuse? Why should he suppose that the

homage he pays you will be censured, whilst we daily see dedications

addressed to silly gossips who have neither rank nor celebrity, or to

women of exceptional conduct, without any censure being attracted by it?"

M. de Marigny, and Colin, Madame de Pompadour's steward, were of the same

opinion as Quesnay, that the author of this letter was extremely

malicious; that he insulted Madame, and tried to injure Voltaire; but

that he was, in fact, right. Voltaire, from that moment, was entirely

out of favour with Madame, and with the King, and he certainly never

discovered the cause.

The King, who admired everything of the age of Louis XIV., and

recollected that the Boileaus and Racines had been protected by that

monarch, who was indebted to them, in part, for the lustre of his reign,

was flattered at having such a man as Voltaire among his subjects. But

still he feared him, and had but little esteem for him. He could not

help saying, "Moreover, I have treated him as well as Louis XIV. treated

Racine and Boileau. I have given him, as Louis XIV. gave to Racine, some

pensions, and a place of gentleman in ordinary. It is not my fault if he

has committed absurdities, and has had the pretension to become a

chamberlain, to wear an order, and sup with a King. It is not the

fashion in France; and, as there are here a few more men of wit and

noblemen than in Prussia, it would require that I should have a very

large table to assemble them all at it." And then he reckoned upon his

fingers, Maupertuis, Fontenelle, La Mothe, Voltaire, Piron, Destouches,

Montesquieu, the Cardinal Polignac. "Your Majesty forgets," said some

one, "D'Alembert and Clairaut."--"And Crebillon," said he. "And la

Chaussee, and the younger Crebillon," said some one. "He ought to be

more agreeable than his father."--"And there are also the Abbes Prevot

and d'Olivet."--"Pretty well," said the King; "and for the last twenty

years all that (tout cela) would have dined and supped at my table."

Madame de Pompadour repeated to me this conversation, which I wrote down

the same evening. M. de Marigny, also, talked to me about it.

"Voltaire," said he, "has always had a fancy for being Ambassador, and he

did all he could to make the people believe that he was charged with some

political mission, the first time he visited Prussia."

The people heard of the attempt on the King's life with transports of

fury, and with the greatest distress. Their cries were heard under the

windows of Madame de Pompadour's apartment. Mobs were collected, and

Madame feared the fate of Madame de Chateauroux. Her friends came in,

every minute, to give her intelligence. Her room was, at all times, like

a church; everybody seemed to claim a right to go in and out when he

chose. Some came, under pretence of sympathising, to observe her

countenance and manner. She did nothing but weep and faint away. Doctor

Quesnay never left her, nor did I. M. de St. Florentin came to see her

several times, so did the Comptroller-General, and M. Rouilld; but M. de

Machault did not come. The Duchesse de Brancas came very frequently. The

Abbe de Bernis never left us, except to go to enquire for the King. The

tears came in his eyes whenever he looked at Madame. Doctor Quesnay saw

the King five or six times a day. "There is nothing to fear," said he to

Madame. "If it were anybody else, he might go to a ball." My son went

the next day, as he had done the day the event occurred, to see what was

going on at the Castle. He told us, on his return, that the Keeper of

the Seals was with the King. I sent him back, to see what course he took

on leaving the King. He came running back in half an hour, to tell me

that the Keeper of the Seals had gone to his own house, followed by a

crowd of people. When I told this to Madame, she burst into tears, and

said, "Is that a friend?" The Abbe de Bernis said, "You must not judge

him hastily, in such a moment as this." I returned into the drawing-room

about an hour after, when the Keeper of the Seals entered. He passed me,

with his usual cold and severe look. "How is Madame de Pompadour?" said

he. "Alas!" replied I, "as you may imagine!" He passed on to her

closet. Everybody retired, and he remained for half an hour. The Abbe

returned and Madame rang. I went into her room, the Abbe following me.

She was in tears. "I must go, my dear Abbe," said she. I made her take

some orange-flower water, in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered.

She then told me to call her equerry. He came in, and she calmly gave

him her orders, to have everything prepared at her hotel, in Paris; to

tell all her people to get ready to go; and to desire her coachman not to

be out of the way. She then shut herself up, to confer with the Abbe de

Bernis, who left her, to go to the Council. Her door was then shut,

except to the ladies with whom she was particularly intimate, M. de

Soubise, M. de Gontaut, the Ministers, and some others. Several ladies,

in the greatest distress, came to talk to me in my room: they compared

the conduct of M. de Machault with that of M. de Richelieu, at Metz.

Madame had related to them the circumstances extremely to the honour of

the Duke, and, by contrast, the severest satire on the Keeper of the

Seals. "He thinks, or pretends to think," said she, "that the priests

will be clamorous for my dismissal; but Quesnay and all the physicians

declare that there is not the slightest danger." Madame having sent for

me, I saw the Marechale de Mirepoix coming in. While she was at the

door, she cried out, "What are all those trunks, Madame? Your people

tell me you are going."--"Alas! my dear friend, such is our Master's

desire, as M. de Machault tells me."--"And what does he advise?" said

the Marechale. "That I should go without delay." During this

conversation, I was undressing Madame, who wished to be at her ease on

her chaise-longue. "Your Beeper of the Seals wants to get the power into

his own hands, and betrays you; he who quits the field loses it." I went

out. M. de Soubise entered, then the Abbe and M. de Marigny. The

latter, who was very kind to me, came into my room an hour afterwards. I

was alone. "She will remain," said he; "but, hush!--she will make an

appearance of going, in order not to set her enemies at work. It is the

little Marechale who prevailed upon her to stay: her keeper (so she

called M. de Machault) will pay for it." Quesnay came in, and, having

heard what was said, with his monkey airs, began to relate a fable of a

fox, who, being at dinner with other beasts, persuaded one of them that

his enemies were seeking him, in order that he might get possession of

his share in his absence. I did not see Madame again till very late, at

her going to bed. She was more calm. Things improved, from day to day,

and de Machault, the faithless friend, was dismissed. The King returned

to Madame de Pompadour, as usual. I learnt, by M. de Marigny, that the

Abbe had been, one day, with M. d'Argenson, to endeavour to persuade him

to live on friendly terms with Madame, and that he had been very coldly

received. "He is the more arrogant," said he, "on account of Machault's

dismissal, which leaves the field clear for him, who has more experience,

and more talent; and I fear that he will, therefore, be disposed to

declare war till death." The next day, Madame having ordered her chaise,

I was curious to know where she was going, for she went out but little,

except to church, and to the houses of the Ministers. I was told that

she was gone to visit M. d'Argenson. She returned in an hour, at

farthest, and seemed very much out of spirits. She leaned on the

chimneypiece, with her eyes fixed on the border of it. M. de Bernis

entered. I waited for her to take off her cloak and gloves. She had her

hands in her muff. The Abbe stood looking at her for some minutes; at

last he said, "You look like a sheep in a reflecting mood." She awoke

from her reverie, and, throwing her muff on the easy-chair, replied, "It

is a wolf who makes the sheep reflect." I went out: the King entered

shortly after, and I heard Madame de Pompadour sobbing. The Abbe came

into my room, and told me to bring some Hoffman's drops: the King himself

mixed the draught with sugar, and presented it to her in the kindest

manner possible. She smiled, and kissed the King's hands. I left the

room. Two days after, very early in the morning, I heard of M.

d'Argenson's exile. It was her doing, and was, indeed, the strongest

proof of her influence that could be given. The King was much attached

to M. d'Argenson, and the war, then carrying on, both by sea and land,

rendered the dismissal of two such Ministers extremely imprudent. This

was the universal opinion at the time.

Many people talk of the letter of the Comte d'Argenson to Madame

d'Esparbes. I give it, according to the most correct version:

"The doubtful is, at length, decided. The Keeper of the Seals is

dismissed. You will be recalled, my dear Countess, and we shall be

masters of the field."

It is much less generally known that Arboulin, whom Madame calls Bou-bou,

was supposed to be the person who, on the very day of the dismissal of

the Keeper of the Seals, bribed the Count's confidential courier, who

gave him this letter. Is this report founded on truth? I cannot swear

that it is; but it is asserted that the letter is written in the Count's

style. Besides, who could so immediately have invented it? It, however,

appeared certain, from the extreme displeasure of the King, that he had

some other subject of complaint against M. d'Argenson, besides his

refusing to be reconciled with Madame. Nobody dares to show the

slightest attachment to the disgraced Minister. I asked the ladies who

were most intimate with Madame de Pompadour, as well as my own friends,

what they knew of the matter; but they knew nothing. I can understand

why Madame did not let them into her confidence at that moment. She will

be less reserved in time. I care very little about it, since I see that

she is well, and appears happy.

The King said a thing, which did him honour, to a person whose name

Madame withheld from me. A nobleman, who had been a most assiduous

courtier of the Count, said, rubbing his hands with an air of great joy,

"I have just seen the Comte d'Argenson's baggage set out." When the King

heard him, he went up to Madame, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "And

immediately the cock crew."

"I believe this is taken from Scripture, where Peter denies Our Lord. I

confess, this circumstance gave me great pleasure. It showed that the

King is not the dupe of those around him, and that he hates treachery and

ingratitude."

Madame sent for me yesterday evening, at seven o'clock, to read something

to her; the ladies who were intimate with her were at Paris, and M. de

Gontaut ill. "The King," said she, "will stay late at the Council this

evening; they are occupied with the affairs of the Parliament again." She

bade me leave off reading, and I was going to quit the room, but she

called out, "Stop." She rose; a letter was brought in for her, and she

took it with an air of impatience and ill-humour. After a considerable

time she began to talk openly, which only happened when she was extremely

vexed; and, as none of her confidential friends were at hand, she said to

me, "This is from my brother. It is what he would not have dared to say

to me, so he writes. I had arranged a marriage for him with the daughter

of a man of title; he appeared to be well inclined to it, and I,

therefore, pledged my word. He now tells me that he has made inquiries;

that the parents are people of insupportable hauteur; that the daughter

is very badly educated; and that he knows, from authority not to be

doubted, that when she heard this marriage discussed, she spoke of the

connection with the most supreme contempt; that he is certain of this

fact; and that I was still more contemptuously spoken of than himself. In

a word, he begs me to break off the treaty. But he has let me go too

far; and now he will make these people my irreconcilable enemies. This

has been put in his head by some of his flatterers; they do not wish him

to change his way of living; and very few of them would be received by

his wife." I tried to soften Madame, and, though I did not venture to

tell her so, I thought her brother right. She persisted in saying these

were lies, and, on the following Sunday, treated her brother very coldly.

He said nothing to me at that time; if he had, he would have embarrassed

me greatly. Madame atoned for everything by procuring favours, which

were the means of facilitating the young lady's marriage with a gentleman

of the Court. Her conduct, two months after marriage, compelled Madame

to confess that her brother had been perfectly right.

I saw my friend, Madame du Chiron. "Why," said she, "is the Marquise so

violent an enemy to the Jesuits? I assure you she is wrong. All

powerful as she is, she may find herself the worse for their enmity." I

replied that I knew nothing about the matter. "It is, however,

unquestionably a fact; and she does not feel that a word more or less

might decide her fate."--"How do you mean?" said I. "Well, I will

explain myself fully," said she. "You know what took place at the time

the King was stabbed: an attempt was made to get her out of the Castle

instantly. The Jesuits have no other object than the salvation of their

penitents; but they are men, and hatred may, without their being aware of

it, influence their minds, and inspire them with a greater degree of

severity than circumstances absolutely demand. Favour and partiality

may, on the other hand, induce the confessor to make great concessions;

and the shortest interval may suffice to save a favourite, especially if

any decent pretext can be found for prolonging her stay at Court." I

agreed with her in all she said, but I told her that I dared not touch

that string. On reflecting on this conversation afterwards, I was

forcibly struck with this fresh proof of the intrigues of the Jesuits,

which, indeed, I knew well already. I thought that, in spite of what I

had replied to Madame du Chiron, I ought to communicate this to Madame de

Pompadour, for the ease of my conscience; but that I would abstain from

making any reflection upon it. "Your friend, Madame du Chiron," said

she, "is, I perceive, affiliated to the Jesuits, and what she says does

not originate with herself. She is commissioned by some reverend father,

and I will know by whom." Spies were, accordingly, set to watch her

movements, and they discovered that one Father de Saci, and, still more

particularly, one Father Frey, guided this lady's conduct. "What a

pity," said Madame to me, "that the Abbe Chauvelin cannot know this." He

was the most formidable enemy of the reverend fathers. Madame du Chiron

always looked upon me as a Jansenist, because I would not espouse the

interests of the good fathers with as much warmth as she did.

Madame is completely absorbed in the Abbe de Bernis, whom she thinks

capable of anything; she talks of him incessantly. Apropos, of this

Abbe, I must relate an anecdote, which almost makes one believe in

conjurors. A year, or fifteen months, before her disgrace, Madame de

Pompadour, being at Fontainebleau, sat down to write at a desk, over

which hung a portrait of the King. While she was, shutting the desk,

after she had finished writing, the picture fell, and struck her

violently on the head.. The persons who saw the accident were alarmed,

and sent for Dr. Quesnay. He asked the circumstances of the case, and

ordered bleeding and anodynes. Just, as she had been bled, Madame de

Brancas entered, and saw us all in confusion and agitation, and Madame

lying on her chaise-longue. She asked what was the matter, and was told.

After having expressed her regret, and having consoled her, she said, "I

ask it as a favour of Madame, and of the King (who had just come in),

that they will instantly send a courier to the Abbe de Bernis, and that

the Marquise will have the goodness to write a letter, merely requesting

him to inform her what his fortune-tellers told him, and to withhold

nothing from the fear of making her uneasy." The thing was, done as she

desired, and she then told us that La Bontemps had predicted, from the

dregs in the, coffee-cup, in which she read everything, that the, head of

her best friend was in danger, but that no fatal consequences would

ensue.

The next day, the Abbe wrote word that Madame Bontemps also said to him,

"You came into the world almost black," and that this was the fact. This

colour, which lasted for some time, was attributed to a picture which

hung at the foot of his, mother's bed, and which she often looked at. It

represented a Moor bringing to Cleopatra a basket of flowers, containing

the asp by whose bite she destroyed herself. He said that she also told

him, "You have a great deal of money about you, but it does not belong to

you;" and that he had actually in his pocket two hundred Louis for the

Duc de La Valliere. Lastly, he informed us that she said, looking in the

cup, "I see one of your friends--the best--a distinguished lady,

threatened with an accident;" that he confessed that, in spite of all his

philosophy, he turned pale; that she remarked this, looked again into the

cup, and continued, "Her head will be slightly in danger, but of this no

appearance will remain half an hour afterwards." It was impossible to

doubt the facts. They appeared so surprising to the King, that he

desired some inquiry to be made concerning the fortune-teller. Madame,

however, protected her from the pursuit of the Police.

A man, who was quite as astonishing as this fortune-teller, often visited

Madame de Pompadour. This was the Comte de St. Germain, who wished to

have it believed that he had lived several centuries.

[St. Germain was an adept--a worthy predecessor of Cagliostro, who

expected to live five hundred years. The Count de St. Germain pretended

to have already lived two thousand, and, according to him, the account

was still running. He went so far as to claim the power of transmitting

the gift of long life. One day, calling upon his servant to, bear

witness to a fact that went pretty far back, the man replied, "I have no

recollection of it, sir; you forget that I have only had the honour of

serving you for five hundred years."

St. Germain, like all other charlatans of this sort, assumed a theatrical

magnificence, and an air of science calculated to deceive the vulgar.

His best instrument of deception was the phantasmagoria; and as, by means

of this abuse of the science of optics, he called up shades which were

asked for, and almost always recognised, his correspondence with the

other world was a thing proved by the concurrent testimony of numerous

witnesses.

He played the same game in London, Venice, and Holland, but he constantly

regretted Paris, where his miracles were never questioned.

St. Germain passed his latter days at the Court of the Prince of Hesse

Cassel, and died at Plewig, in 1784, in the midst of his enthusiastic

disciples, and to their infinite astonishment at his sharing the common

destiny.]

One day, at her toilet, Madame said to him, in my presence, "What was the

personal appearance of Francis I.? He was a King I should have

liked."--"He was, indeed, very captivating," said St. Germain; and he

proceeded to describe his face and person as one does that of a man one

has accurately observed. "It is a pity he was too ardent. I could have

given him some good advice, which would have saved him from all his

misfortunes; but he would not have followed it; for it seems as if a

fatality attended Princes, forcing them to shut their ears, those of the

mind, at least, to the best advice, and especially in the most critical

moments."--"And the Constable," said Madame, "what do you say of

him?"--"I cannot say much good or much harm of him," replied he. "Was

the Court of Francis I. very brilliant?"--"Very brilliant; but those of

his grandsons infinitely surpassed it. In the time of Mary Stuart and

Margaret of Valois it was a land of enchantment--a temple, sacred to

pleasures of every kind; those of the mind were not neglected. The two

Queens were learned, wrote verses, and spoke with captivating grace and

eloquence." Madame said, laughing, "You seem to have seen all this."--"I

have an excellent memory," said he, "and have read the history of France

with great care. I sometimes amuse myself, not by making, but by letting

it be believed that I lived in old times."--"You do not tell me your age,

however, and you give yourself out for very old. The Comtesse de Gergy,

who was Ambassadress to Venice, I think, fifty years ago, says she knew

you there exactly what you are now."--"It is true, Madame, that I have

known Madame de Gergy a long time."--"But, according to what she says,

you would be more than a hundred"--"That is not impossible," said he,

laughing; "but it is, I allow, still more possible that Madame de Gergy,

for whom I have the greatest respect, may be in her dotage."--"You have

given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising. She declares that

for a long time she has felt as if she was only four-and-twenty years of

age; why don't you give some to the King?"--"Ah! Madame," said he, with a

sort of terror, "I must be mad to think of giving the King an unknown

drug." I went into my room to write down this conversation. Some days

afterwards, the King, Madame de Pompadour, some Lords of the Court, and

the Comte de St. Germain, were talking about his secret for causing the

spots in diamonds to disappear. The King ordered a diamond of middling

size, which had a spot, to be brought. It was weighed; and the King said

to the Count, "It is valued at two hundred and forty louis; but it would

be worth four hundred if it had no spot. Will you try to put a hundred

and sixty louis into my pocket?" He examined it carefully, and said, "It

may be done; and I will bring it you again in a month." At the time

appointed, the Count brought back the diamond without a spot, and gave it

to the King. It was wrapped in a cloth of amianthus, which he took off.

The King had it weighed, and found it but very little diminished. The

King sent it to his jeweller by M. de Gontaut, without telling him

anything of what had passed. The jeweller gave three hundred and eighty

louis for it. The King, however, sent for it back again, and kept it as

a curiosity. He could not overcome his surprise, and said that M. de St.

Germain must be worth millions, especially if he had also the secret of

making large diamonds out of a number of small ones. He neither said

that he had, nor that he had not; but he positively asserted that he

could make pearls grow, and give them the finest water. The King, paid

him great attention, and so did Madame de Pompadour. It was from her I

learnt what I have just related. M. Queanay said, talking of the pearls,

"They are produced by a disease in the oyster. It is possible to know

the cause of it; but, be that as it may, he is not the less a quack,

since he pretends to have the elixir vitae, and to have lived several

centuries. Our master is, however, infatuated by him, and sometimes

talks of him as if his descent were illustrious."

I have seen him frequently: he appeared to be about fifty; he was neither

fat nor thin; he had an acute, intelligent look, dressed very simply, but

in good taste; he wore very fine diamonds in his rings, watch, and

snuff-box. He came, one day, to visit Madame de Pompadour, at a time

when the Court was in full splendour, with knee and shoe-buckles of

diamonds so fine and brilliant that Madame said she did not believe the

King had any equal to them. He went into the antechamber to take them

off, and brought them to be examined; they were compared with others in

the room, and the Duc de Gontaut, who was present, said they were worth

at least eight thousand louis. He wore, at the same time, a snuff-box of

inestimable value, and ruby sleeve-buttons, which were perfectly

dazzling. Nobody could find out by what means this man became so rich

and so remarkable; but the King would not suffer him to be spoken of with

ridicule or contempt. He was said to be a bastard son of the King of

Portugal.

I learnt, from M. de Marigny, that the relations of the good little

Marechale (de Mirepoix) had been extremely severe upon her, for what they

called the baseness of her conduct, with regard to Madame de Pompadour.

They said she held the stones of the cherries which Madame ate in her

carriage, in her beautiful little hands, and that she sate in the front

of the carriage, while Madame occupied the whole seat in the inside. The

truth was, that, in going to Crecy, on an insupportably hot day, they

both wished to sit alone, that they might be cooler; and as to the matter

of the cherries, the villagers having brought them some, they ate them to

refresh themselves, while the horses were changed; and the Marechal

emptied her pocket-handkerchief, into which they had both thrown the

cherry-stones, out of the carriage window. The people who were changing

the horses had given their own version of the affair.

I had, as you know, a very pretty room at Madame's hotel, whither I

generally went privately. I had, one day, had visits from two or three

Paris representatives, who told me news; and Madame, having sent for me,

I went to her, and found her with M. de Gontaut. I could not help

instantly saying to her, "You must be much pleased, Madame, at the noble

action of the Marquis de ------." Madame replied, drily, "Hold your

tongue, and listen to what I have to say to you." I returned to my

little room, where I found the Comtesse d'Amblimont, to whom I mentioned

Madame's reception of me. "I know what is the matter," said she; "it has

no relation to you. I will explain it to you. The Marquis de -------has

told all Paris, that, some days ago, going home at night, alone, and on

foot, he heard cries in a street called Ferou, which is dark, and, in

great part, arched over; that he drew his sword, and went down the

street, in which he saw, by the light of a lamp, a very handsome woman,

to whom some ruffians were offering violence; that he approached, and

that the woman cried out, 'Save me! save me!' that he rushed upon the

wretches, two of whom fought him, sword in hand, whilst a third held the

woman, and tried to stop her mouth; that he wounded one in the arm; and

that the ruffians, hearing people pass at the end of the street, and

fearing they might come to his assistance, fled; that he went up to the

lady, who told him that they were not robbers, but villains, one of whom

was desperately in love with her; and that the lady knew not how to

express her gratitude; that she had begged him not to follow her, after

he had conducted her to a fiacre; that she would not tell him her name,

but that she insisted on his accepting a little ring, as a token of

remembrance; and that she promised to see him again, and to tell him her

whole history, if he gave her his address; that he complied with this

request of the lady, whom he represented as a charming person, and who,

in the overflowing of her gratitude, embraced him several times. This is

all very fine, so far," said Madame d'Amblimont, "but hear the rest. The

Marquis de exhibited himself everywhere the next day, with a black ribbon

bound round his arm, near the wrist, in which part he said he had

received a wound. He related his story to everybody, and everybody

commented upon it after his own fashion. He went to dine with the

Dauphin, who spoke to him of his bravery, and of his fair unknown, and

told him that he had already complimented the Duc de C---- on the affair.

I forgot to tell you," continued Madame d'Amblimont, "that, on the very

night of the adventure, he called on Madame d'Estillac, an old gambler,

whose house is open till four in the morning; that everybody there was

surprised at the disordered state in which he appeared; that his bagwig

had fallen off, one skirt of his coat was cut, and his right hand

bleeding. That they instantly bound it up, and gave him some Rota wine.

Four days ago, the Duc de C---- supped with the King, and sat near M. de

St. Florentin. He talked to him of his relation's adventure, and asked

him if he had made any inquiries concerning the lady. M. de St.

Florentin coldly answered, 'No!' and M. de C---- remarked, on asking him

some further questions, that he kept his eyes firmed on his plate,

looking embarrassed, and answered in monosyllables. He asked him the

reason of this, upon which M. de Florentin told him that it was extremely

distressing to him to see him under such a mistake. 'How can you know

that, supposing it to be the fact?' said M. de ------, 'Nothing is more

easy to prove,' replied M. de St. Florentin. 'You may imagine that, as

soon as I was informed of the Marquis de ------'s adventure, I set on

foot inquiries, the result of which was, that, on the night when this

affair was said to have taken place, a party of the watch was set in

ambuscade in this very street, for the purpose of catching a thief who

was coming out of the gaming house; that this party was there four hours,

and heard not the slightest noise.' M. de C was greatly incensed at this

recital, which M. de St. Florentin ought, indeed, to have communicated to

the King. He has ordered, or will order, his relation to retire to his

province.

"After this, you will judge, my dear, whether you were very likely to be

graciously received when you went open-mouthed with your compliment to

the Marquise. This adventure," continued she, "reminded the King of one

which occurred about fifteen years ago. The Comte d'E----, who was what

is called 'enfant d'honneur' to the Dauphin, and about fourteen years of

age, came into the Dauphin's apartments, one evening, with his bag-wig

snatched off, and his ruffles torn, and said that, having walked rather

late near the piece of water des Suisses, he had been attacked by two

robbers; that he had refused to give them anything, drawn his sword, and

put himself in an attitude of defence; that one of the robbers was armed

with a sword, the other with a large stick, from which he had received

several blows, but that he had wounded one in the arm, and that, hearing

a noise at that moment, they had fled. But unluckily for the little

Count, it was known that people were on the spot at the precise time he

mentioned, and had heard nothing. The Count was pardoned, on account of

his youth. The Dauphin made him confess the truth, and it was looked

upon as a childish freak to set people talking about him."

The King disliked the King of Prussia because he knew that the latter was

in the habit of jesting upon his mistress, and the kind of life he led.

It was Frederick's fault, as I have heard it said, that the King was not

his most steadfast ally and friend, as much as sovereigns can be towards

each other; but the jestings of Frederick had stung him, and made him

conclude the treaty of Versailles. One day, he entered Madame's

apartment with a paper in his hand, and said, "The King of Prussia is

certainly a great man; he loves men of talent, and, like Louis XIV., he

wishes to make Europe ring with his favours towards foreign savans. There

is a letter from him, addressed to Milord Marshal,

[George Keith, better known under the name of Milord Marshal, was the

eldest son of William Keith, Earl Marshal of Scotland. He was an avowed

partisan of the Stuarts, and did not lay down the arms he had taken up in

their cause until it became utterly desperate, and drew upon its

defenders useless dangers. When they were driven from their country, he

renounced it, and took up his residence successively in France, Prussia,

Spain, and Italy. The delicious country and climate of Valencia he

preferred above any other.

Milord Marshal died in the month of May, 1778. It was he who said to

Madame Geoffrin, speaking of his brother, who was field-marshal in the

Prussian service, and died on the field of honour, "My brother leaves me

the most glorious inheritance" (he had just laid the whole of Bohemia

under contribution); "his property does not amount to seventy ducats." A

eulogium on Milord Marshal, by D'Alembert, is extant. It is the most

cruelly mangled of all his works, by Linguet]

ordering him to acquaint a 'superieur' man of my kingdom (D'Alembert)

that he has granted him a "pension;" and, looking at the letter, he read

the following words: "You must know that there is in Paris a man of the

greatest merit, whose fortune is not proportionate to his talents and

character. I may serve as eyes to the blind goddess, and repair in some

measure the injustice, and I beg you to offer on that account. I flatter

myself that he will accept this pension because of the pleasure I shall

feel in obliging a man who joins beauty of character to the most sublime

intellectual talents." The King here stopped, on seeing MM. de Ayen and

de Gontaut enter, and then recommenced reading the letter to them, and

added, "It was given me by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, to whom it

was confided by Milord Marshal, for the purpose of obtaining my

permission for this sublime genius to accept the favour. But," said the

King, "what do you think is the amount?" Some said six, eight, ten

thousand livres. "You have not guessed," said the King; "it is twelve

hundred livres."--"For sublime talents," said the Duc d'Ayen, "it is not

much. But the philosophers will make Europe resound with this letter,

and the King of Prussia will have the pleasure of making a great noise at

little expense."

The Chevalier de Courten,--[The Chevalier de Courten was a Swiss, and a

man of talent.]--who had been in Prussia, came in, and, hearing this

story told, said, "I have seen what is much better than that: passing

through a village in Prussia, I got out at the posthouse, while I was

waiting for horses; and the postmaster, who was a captain in the Prussian

service, showed me several letters in Frederick's handwriting, addressed

to his uncle, who was a man of rank, promising him to provide for his

nephews; the provision he made for this, the eldest of these nephews, who

was dreadfully wounded, was the postmastership which he then held." M.

de Marigny related this story at Quesnay's, and added, that the man of

genius above mentioned was D'Alembert, and that the King had permitted

him to accept the pension. He added, that his sister had suggested to

the King that he had better give D'Alembert a pension of twice the value,

and forbid him to take the King of Prussia's. This advice he would not

take, because he looked upon D'Alembert as an infidel. M. de Marigny

took a copy of the letter, which he lent me.

A certain nobleman, at one time, affected to cast tender glances on

Madame Adelaide. She was wholly unconscious of it; but, as there are

Arguses at Court, the King was, of course, told of it, and, indeed, he

thought he had perceived it himself. I know that he came into Madame de

Pompadour's room one day, in a great passion, and said, "Would you

believe that there is a man in my Court insolent enough to dare to raise

his eyes to one of my daughters?" Madame had never seen him so

exasperated, and this illustrious nobleman was advised to feign a

necessity for visiting his estates. He remained there two months. Madame

told me, long after, that she thought that there were no tortures to

which the King would not have condemned any man who had seduced one of

his daughters. Madame Adelaide, at the time in question, was a charming

person, and united infinite grace, and much talent, to a most agreeable

face.

A courier brought Madame de Pompadour a letter, on reading which she

burst into tears. It contained the intelligence of the battle of

Rosbach, which M. de Soubise sent her, with all the details. I heard her

say to the Marechal de Belle-Isle, wiping her eyes, "M. de Soubise is

inconsolable; he does not try to excuse his conduct, he sees nothing but

the disastrous fortune which pursues him."--"M. de Soubise must, however,

have many things to urge in his own behalf," said M. de Belle-Isle, "and

so I told the King."--"It is very noble in you, Marshal, not to suffer an

unfortunate man to be overwhelmed; the public are furious against him,

and what has he done to deserve it?"--"There is not a more honourable nor

a kinder man in the world. I only fulfil my duty in doing justice to the

truth, and to a man for whom I have the most profound esteem. The King

will explain to you, Madame, how M. de Soubise was forced to give battle

by the Prince of Sage-Hildbourgshausen, whose troops fled first, and

carried along the French troops." Madame would have embraced the old

Marshal if she had dared, she was so delighted with him.

M. de Soubise, having gained a battle, was made Marshal of France: Madame

was enchanted with her friend's success. But, either it was unimportant,

or the public were offended at his promotion; nobody talked of it but

Madame's friends. This unpopularity was concealed from her, and she said

to Colin, her steward, at her toilet, "Are you not delighted at the

victory M. de Soubise has gained? What does the public say of it? He

has taken his revenge well." Colin was embarrassed, and knew not what to

answer. As she pressed him further, he replied that he had been ill, and

had seen nobody for a week.

M. de Marigny came to see me one day, very much out of humour. I asked

him the cause. "I have," said he, "just been intreating my sister not to

make M. le Normand-de-Mezi Minister of the Marine. I told her that she

was heaping coals of fire upon her own head. A favourite ought not to

multiply the points of attack upon herself." The Doctor entered. "You,"

said the Doctor, "are worth your weight in gold, for the good sense and

capacity you have shewn in your office, and for your moderation, but you

will never be appreciated as you deserve; your advice is excellent; there

will never be a ship taken but Madame will be held responsible for it to

the public, and you are very wise not to think of being in the Ministry

yourself."

One day, when I was at Paris, I went to dine with the Doctor, who

happened to be there at the same time; there were, contrary to his usual

custom, a good many people, and, among others, a handsome young Master of

the Requests, who took a title from some place, the name of which I have

forgotten, but who was a son of M. Turgot, the 'prevot des marchands'.

They talked a great deal about administration, which was not very amusing

to me; they then fell upon the subject of the love Frenchmen bear to

their Kings. M. Turgot here joined in the conversation, and said, "This

is not a blind attachment; it is a deeply rooted sentiment, arising from

an indistinct recollection of great benefits. The French nation--I may

go farther--Europe, and all mankind, owe to a King of France" (I have

forgotten his name)--[Phillip the Long]--"whatever liberty they enjoy. He

established communes, and conferred on an immense number of men a civil

existence. I am aware that it may be said, with justice, that he served

his own interests by granting these franchises; that the cities paid him

taxes, and that his design was to use them as instruments of weakening

the power of great nobles; but what does that prove, but that this

measure was at once useful, politic, and humane?" From Kings in general

the conversation turned upon Louis XV., and M. Turgot remarked that his

reign would be always celebrated for the advancement of the sciences, the

progress of knowledge, and of philosophy. He added that Louis XV. was

deficient in the quality which Louis XIV. possessed to excess; that is

to say, in a good opinion of himself; that he was well-informed; that

nobody was more perfectly master of the topography of France; that his

opinion in the Council was always the most judicious; and that it was

much to be lamented that he had not more confidence in himself, or that

he did not rely upon some Minister who enjoyed the confidence of the

nation. Everybody agreed with him. I begged M. Quesnay to write down

what young Turgot had said, and showed it to Madame. She praised this

Master of the Requests greatly, and spoke of him to the King. "It is a

good breed," said he.

One day, I went out to walk, and saw, on my return, a great many people

going and coming, and speaking to each other privately: it was evident

that something extraordinary had happened. I asked a person of my

acquaintance what was the matter. "Alas!" said he, with tears in his

eyes, "some assassins, who had formed the project of murdering the King,

have inflicted several wounds on a garde-du-corps, who overheard them in

a dark corridor; he is carried to the hospital: and as he has described

the colour of these men's coats, the Police are in quest of them in all

directions, and some people, dressed in clothes of that colour, are

already arrested." I saw Madame with M. de Gontaut, and I hastened home.

She found her door besieged by a multitude of people, and was alarmed:

when she got in, she found the Comte de Noailles. "What is all this,

Count?" said she. He said he was come expressly to speak to her, and

they retired to her closet together. The conference was not long. I had

remained in the drawing-room, with Madame's equerry, the Chevalier de

Solent, Gourbillon, her valet de chambre, and some strangers. A great

many details were related; but, the wounds being little more than

scratches, and the garde-du-corps having let fall some contradictions, it

was thought that he was an impostor, who had invented all this story to

bring himself into favour. Before the night was over, this was proved to

be the fact, and, I believe, from his own confession. The King came,

that evening, to see Madame de Pompadour; he spoke of this occurrence

with great sang froid, and said, "The gentleman who wanted to kill me was

a wicked madman; this is a low scoundrel."

When he spoke of Damiens, which was only while his trial lasted, he never

called him anything but that gentleman.

I have heard it said that he proposed having him shut up in a dungeon for

life; but that the horrible nature of the crime made the judges insist

upon his suffering all the tortures inflicted upon like occasions. Great

numbers, many of them women, had a barbarous curiosity to witness the

execution; amongst others, Madame de P------, a very beautiful woman, and

the wife of a Farmer General. She hired two places at a window for

twelve Louis, and played a game of cards in the room whilst waiting for

the execution to begin. On this being told to the King, he covered his

eyes with his hands and exclaimed, "Fi, la Vilaine!" I have been told

that she, and others, thought to pay their court in this way, and

signalise their attachment to the King's person.

Two things were related to me by M. Duclos at the time of the attempt on

the King's life.

The first, relative to the Comte de Sponheim, who was the Duc de

Deux-Ponts, and next in succession to the Palatinate and Electorate of

Bavaria. He was thought to be a great friend to the King, and had made

several long sojourns in France. He came frequently to see Madame. M.

Duclos told us that the Duc de Deux-Ponts, having learned, at Deux-Ponts,

the attempt on the King's life, immediately set out in a carriage for

Versailles: "But remark," said he, "the spirit of 'courtisanerie' of a

Prince, who may be Elector of Bavaria and the Palatinate tomorrow. This

was not enough. When he arrived within ten leagues of Paris, he put on

an enormous pair of jack-boots, mounted a post-horse, and arrived in the

court of the palace cracking his whip. If this had been real impatience,

and not charlatanism, he would have taken horse twenty leagues from

Paris."--"I don't agree with you," said a gentleman whom I did not know;

"impatience sometimes seizes one towards the end of an undertaking, and

one employs the readiest means then in one's power. Besides, the Duc de

Deux-Ponts might wish, by showing himself thus on horseback, to serve the

King, to whom he is attached, by proving to Frenchmen how greatly he is

beloved and honoured in other countries." Duclos resumed: "Well," said

he, "do you know the story of M. de C-----? The first day the King saw

company, after the attempt of Damiens, M. de C----- pushed so vigorously

through the crowd that he was one of the first to come into the King's

presence, but he had on so shabby a black coat that it caught the King's

attention, who burst out laughing, and said, 'Look at C-----, he has had

the skirt of his coat torn off.' M. de C----- looked as if he was only

then first conscious of his loss, and said, 'Sire, there is such a

multitude hurrying to see Your Majesty, that I was obliged to fight my

way through them, and, in the effort, my coat has been

torn.'--'Fortunately it was not worth much,' said the Marquis de Souvre,

'and you could not have chosen a worse one to sacrifice on the

occasion.'"

Madame de Pompadour had been very judiciously advised to get her husband,

M. le Normand, sent to Constantinople, as Ambassador. This would have a

little diminished the scandal caused by seeing Madame de Pompadour, with

the title of Marquise, at Court, and her husband Farmer General at Paris.

But he was so attached to a Paris life, and to his opera habits, that he

could not be prevailed upon to go. Madame employed a certain M.

d'Arboulin, with whom she had been acquainted before she was at Court, to

negotiate this affair. He applied to a Mademoiselle Rem, who had been an

opera-dancer, and who was M. le Normand's mistress. She made him very

fine promises; but she was like him, and preferred a Paris life. She

would do nothing in it.

At the time that plays were acted in the little apartments, I obtained a

lieutenancy for one of my relations, by a singular means, which proves

the value the greatest people set upon the slightest access to the Court.

Madame did not like to ask anything of M. d'Argenson, and, being pressed

by my family, who could not imagine that, situated as I was, it could be

difficult for me to obtain a command for a good soldier, I determined to

go and ask the Comte d'Argenson. I made my request, and presented my

memorial. He received me coldly, and gave me vague answers. I went out,

and the Marquis de V-----, who was in his closet, followed me. "You wish

to obtain a command," said he; "there is one vacant, which is promised me

for one of my proteges; but if you will do me a favour in return, or

obtain one for me, I will give it to you. I want to be a police officer,

and you have it in your power to get me a place." I told him I did not

understand the purport of his jest. "I will tell you," said he;

"Tartuffe is going to be acted in the cabinets, and there is the part of

a police officer, which only consists of a few lines. Prevail upon

Madame de Pompadour to assign me that part, and the command is yours." I

promised nothing, but I related the history to Madame, who said she would

arrange it for me. The thing was done, and I obtained the command, and

the Marquis de V----- thanked Madame as if she had made him a Duke.

The King was often annoyed by the Parliaments, and said a very remarkable

thing concerning them, which M. de Gontaut repeated to Doctor Quesnay in

my presence. "Yesterday," said he, "the King walked up and down the room

with an anxious air. Madame de Pompadour asked him if he was uneasy

about his health, as he had been, for some time, rather unwell. 'No,'

replied he; 'but I am greatly annoyed by all these remonstrances.'--'What

can come of them,' said she, 'that need seriously disquiet Your Majesty?

Are you not master of the Parliaments, as well as of all the rest of the

kingdom?'--'That is true,' said the King; 'but, if it had not been for

these counsellors and presidents, I should never have been stabbed by

that gentleman' (he always called Damiens so). 'Ah! Sire,' cried Madame

de Pompadour. 'Read the trial,' said he. 'It was the language of those

gentlemen he names which turned his head.'--'But,' said Madame, 'I have

often thought that, if the Archbishop--[M. de Beaumont]--could be sent to

Rome--'--'Find anybody who will accomplish that business, and I will give

him whatever he pleases.'" Quesnay said the King was right in all he had

uttered. The Archbishop was exiled shortly after, and the King was

seriously afflicted at being driven to take such a step. "What a pity,"

he often said, "that so excellent a man should be so obstinate."--"And so

shallow," said somebody, one day. "Hold your tongue," replied the King,

somewhat sternly. The Archbishop was very charitable, and liberal to

excess, but he often granted pensions without discernment.

[The following is a specimen of the advantages taken of his natural

kindness. Madame la Caille, who acted the Duennas at the Opera Comique,

was recommended to him as the mother of a family, who deserved his

protection, The worthy prelate asked what he could do for her.

Monseigneur," said the actress, "two words from your hand to the Duc de

Richelieu would induce him to grant me a demi-part." M. de Beaumont, who

was very little acquainted with the language of the theatre, thought that

a demi-part meant a more liberal portion of the Marshal's alms, and the

note was written in the most pressing manner. The Marshal answered, that

he thanked the Archbishop for the interest he took in the Theatre

Italien, and in Madame la Caille, who was a very useful person at that

theatre; that, nevertheless, she had a bad voice; but that the

recommendation of the Archbishop was to be preferred to the greatest

talents, and that the demi-part was granted."]

He granted one of an hundred louis to a pretty woman, who was very poor,

and who assumed an illustrious name, to which she had no right. The fear

lest she should be plunged into vice led him to bestow such excessive

bounty upon her; and the woman was an admirable dissembler. She went to

the Archbishop's, covered with a great hood, and, when she left him, she

amused herself with a variety of lovers.

Great people have the bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before their

servants. M. de Gontaut once said these words, covertly, as he thought,

to the Duc de ------, "That measures had been taken which would,

probably, have the effect of determining the Archbishop to go to Rome,

with a Cardinal's hat; and that, if he desired it, he was to have a

coadjutor."

A very plausible pretext had been found for making this proposition, and

for rendering it flattering to the Archbishop, and agreeable to his

sentiments. The affair had been very adroitly begun, and success

appeared certain. The King had the air, towards the Archbishop, of

entire unconsciousness of what was going on. The negotiator acted as if

he were only following the suggestions of his own mind, for the general

good. He was a friend of the Archbishop, and was very sure of a liberal

reward. A valet of the Duc de Gontaut, a very handsome young fellow, had

perfectly caught the sense of what was spoken in a mysterious manner. He

was one of the lovers of the lady of the hundred Louis a year, and had

heard her talk of the Archbishop, whose relation she pretended to be. He

thought he should secure her good graces by informing her that great

efforts were being made to induce her patron to reside at Rome, with a

view to get him away from Paris. The lady instantly told the Archbishop,

as she was afraid of losing her pension if he went. The information

squared so well with the negotiation then on foot, that the Archbishop

had no doubt of its truth. He cooled, by degrees, in his conversations

with the negotiator, whom he regarded as a traitor, and ended by breaking

with him. These details were not known till long afterwards. The lover

of the lady having been sent to the Bicetre, some letters were found

among his papers, which gave a scent of the affair, and he was made to

confess the rest.

In order not to compromise the Duc de Gontaut, the King was told that the

valet had come to a knowledge of the business from a letter which he had

found in his master's clothes. The King took his revenge by humiliating

the Archbishop, which he was enabled to do by means of the information he

had obtained concerning the conduct of the lady, his protege. She was

found guilty of swindling, in concert with her beloved valet; but, before

her punishment was inflicted, the Lieutenant of Police was ordered to lay

before Monseigneur a full account of the conduct of his relation and

pensioner. The Archbishop had nothing to object to in the proofs which

were submitted to him; he said, with perfect calmness, that she was not

his relation; and, raising his hands to heaven, "She is an unhappy

wretch," said he, "who has robbed me of the money which was destined for

the poor. But God knows that, in giving her so large a pension, I did

not act lightly. I had, at that time, before my eyes the example of a

young woman who once asked me to grant her seventy louis a year,

promising me that she would always live very virtuously, as she had

hitherto done. I refused her, and she said, on leaving me, 'I must turn

to the left, Monseigneur, since the way on the right is closed against

me: The unhappy creature has kept her word but too well. She found means

of establishing a faro-table at her house, which is tolerated; and she

joins to the most profligate conduct in her own person the infamous trade

of a corrupter of youth; her house is the abode of every vice. Think,

sir, after that, whether it was not an act of prudence, on my part, to

grant the woman in question a pension, suitable to the rank in which I

thought her born, to prevent her abusing the gifts of youth, beauty, and

talents, which she possessed, to her own perdition, and the destruction

of others." The Lieutenant of Police told the King that he was touched

with the candour and the noble simplicity of the prelate. "I never

doubted his virtues," replied the King, "but I wish he would be quiet."

This same Archbishop gave a pension of fifty louis a year to the greatest

scoundrel in Paris. He is a poet, who writes abominable verses; this

pension is granted on condition that his poems are never printed. I

learned this fact from M. de Marigny, to whom he recited some of his

horrible verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with

some people of quality. He chinked the money in his pocket. "This is my

good Archbishop's," said he, laughing; "I keep my word with him: my poem

will not be printed during my life, but I read it. What would the good

prelate say if he knew that I shared my last quarter's allowance with a

charming little opera-dancer? 'It is the Archbishop, then, who keeps

me,' said she to me; 'Oh, la! how droll that is!'" The King heard this,

and was much scandalised at it. "How difficult it is to do good!" said

he.

The King came into Madame de Pompadour's room, one day, as she was

finishing dressing. "I have just had a strange adventure," said he:

"would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom into my bedroom, I

met a gentleman face to face?"--"My God! Sire," cried Madame, terrified.

"It was nothing," replied he; "but I confess I was greatly surprised: the

man appeared speechless with consternation. 'What do you do here?' said

I, civilly. He threw himself on his knees, saying, 'Pardon me, Sire;

and, above all, have me searched: He instantly emptied his pockets

himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and terror: at

last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend of Beccari, whom

he came to visit; that he had mistaken the staircase, and, finding all

the doors open, he had wandered into the room in which I found him, and

which he would have instantly left: I rang; Guimard came, and was

astonished enough at finding me tete-a-tete with a man in his shirt. He

begged Guimard to go with him into another room, and to search his whole

person. After this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat.

Guimard said to me, 'He is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth;

this may, besides, be easily ascertained.' Another of the servants of

the palace came in, and happened to know him. 'I will answer for this

good man,' said, he, 'who, moreover, makes the best 'boeuf a carlate' in

the world.' As I saw the man was so agitated that he could not stand

steady, I took fifty louis out of my bureau, and said, Here, sir, are

fifty Louis, to quiet your alarms: He went out, after throwing himself at

my feet." Madame exclaimed on the impropriety of having the King's

bedroom thus accessible to everybody. He talked with great calmness of

this strange apparition, but it was evident that he controlled himself,

and that he had, in fact, been much frightened, as, indeed, he had reason

to be. Madame highly approved of the gift; and she was the more right in

applauding it, as it was by no means in the King's usual manner. M. de

Marigny said, when I told him of this adventure, that he would have

wagered a thousand louis against the King's making a present of fifty, if

anybody but I had told him of the circumstance. "It is a singular fact,"

continued he, "that all of the race of Valois have been liberal to

excess; this is not precisely the case with the Bourbons, who are rather

reproached with avarice. Henri IV. was said to be avaricious. He gave

to his mistresses, because he could refuse them nothing; but he played

with the eagerness of a man whose whole fortune depends on the game.

Louis XIV. gave through ostentation. It is most astonishing," added he,

"to reflect on what might have happened. The King might actually have

been assassinated in his chamber, without anybody knowing anything of the

matter and without a possibility of discovering the murderer." For more

than a fortnight Madame could not get over this incident.

About that time she had a quarrel with her brother, and both were in the

right. Proposals were made to him to marry the daughter of one of the

greatest noblemen of the Court, and the King consented to create him a

Duke, and even to make the title hereditary. Madame was right in wishing

to aggrandise her brother, but he declared that he valued his liberty

above all things, and that he would not sacrifice it except for a person

he really loved. He was a true Epicurean philosopher, and a man of great

capacity, according to the report of those who knew him well, and judged

him impartially. It was entirely at his option to have had the reversion

of M. de St. Florentin's place, and the place of Minister of Marine, when

M. de Machault retired; he said to his sister, at the time, "I spare you

many vexations, by depriving you of a slight satisfaction. The people

would be unjust to me, however well I might fulfil the duties of my

office. As to M. de St. Florentin's place, he may live five-and-twenty

years, so that I should not be the better for it. Kings' mistresses are

hated enough on their own account; they need not also draw upon,

themselves the hatred which is directed against Ministers." M. Quesnay

repeated this conversation to me.

The King had another mistress, who gave Madame de Pompadour some

uneasiness. She was a woman of quality, and the wife of one of the most

assiduous courtiers.

A man in immediate attendance on the King's person, and who had the care

of his clothes, came to me one day, and told me that, as he was very much

attached to Madame, because she was good and useful to the King, he

wished to inform me that, a letter having fallen out of the pocket of a

coat which His Majesty had taken off, he had had the curiosity to read

it, and found it to be from the Comtesse de ----- who had already yielded

to the King's desires. In this letter, she required the King to give her

fifty thousand crowns in money, a regiment for one of her relations, and

a bishopric for another, and to dismiss Madame in the space of fifteen

days, etc. I acquainted Madame with what this man told me, and she acted

with singular greatness of mind. She said to me, "I ought to inform the

King of this breach of trust of his servant, who may, by the same means,

come to the knowledge of, and make a bad use of, important secrets; but I

feel a repugnance to ruin the man: however, I cannot permit him to remain

near the King's person, and here is what I shall do: Tell him that there

is a place of ten thousand francs a year vacant in one of the provinces;

let him solicit the Minister of Finance for it, and it shall be granted

to him; but, if he should ever disclose through what interest he has

obtained it, the King shall be made acquainted with his conduct. By this

means, I think I shall have done all that my attachment and duty

prescribe. I rid the King of a faithless domestic, without ruining the

individual." I did as Madame ordered me: her delicacy and address

inspired me with admiration. She was not alarmed on account of the lady,

seeing what her pretentions were. "She drives too quick," remarked

Madame, "and will certainly be overturned on the road." The lady died.

"See what the Court is; all is corruption there, from the highest to the

lowest," said I to Madame, one day, when she was speaking to me of some

facts, that had come to my knowledge. "I could tell you many others,"

replied Madame; "but the little chamber, where you often remain, must

furnish you with a sufficient number." This was a little nook, from,

whence I could hear a great part of what passed in Madame's apartment.

The Lieutenant of Police sometimes came secretly to this apartment, and

waited there. Three or four persons, of high consideration, also found

their way in, in a mysterious, manner, and several devotees, who were, in

their hearts, enemies of Madame de Pompadour. But these men had not

petty objects in view: one: required the government of a province;

another, a seat in the Council; a third, a Captaincy of the, Guards; and

this man would have obtained it if the Marechale de Mirepoix had not

requested it for her brother, the Prince de Beauvan. The Chevalier du

Muy was not among these apostates; not even the promise of being High

Constable would have tempted him to make up to Madame, still less to

betray his master, the Dauphin. This Prince was, to the last degree,

weary of the station he held. Sometimes, when teased to death by

ambitious people, who pretended to be Catos, or wonderfully devout, he

took part against a Minister against whom he was prepossessed; then

relapsed into his accustomed state of inactivity and ennui.

The King used to say, "My son is lazy; his temper is Polonese--hasty and

changeable; he has no tastes; he cares nothing for hunting, for women, or

for good living; perhaps he imagines that if he were in my place he would

be happy; at first, he would make great changes, create everything anew,

as it were. In a short time he would be as tired of the rank of King as

he now is of his own; he is only fit to live 'en philosophe', with clever

people about him." The King added, "He loves what is right; he is truly

virtuous, and does not want under standing."

M. de St. Germain said, one day, to the King, "To think well of mankind,

one must be neither a Confessor, nor a Minister, nor a Lieutenant of

Police."--"Nor a King," said His Majesty. "Ah! Sire," replied he, "you

remember the fog we had a few days ago, when we could not see four steps

before us. Kings are commonly surrounded by still thicker fogs,

collected around them by men of intriguing character, and faithless

Ministers--all, of every class, unite in endeavouring to make things

appear to Kings in any, light but the true one." I heard this from the

mouth of the famous Comte de St. Germain, as I was attending upon Madame,

who was ill in bed. The King was there; and the Count, who was a welcome

visitor, had been admitted. There were also present, M. de Gontaut,

Madame de Brancas, and the Abbe de Bernis. I remember that the very same

day, after the Count was gone out, the King talked in a style which gave

Madame great pain. Speaking of the King of Prussia, he said, "That is a

madman, who will risk all to gain all, and may, perhaps, win the game,

though he has neither religion, morals, nor principles. He wants to make

a noise in the world, and he will succeed. Julian, the Apostate, did the

same."--"I never saw the King so animated before," observed Madame, when

he was gone out; "and really the comparison with Julian, the Apostate, is

not amiss, considering the irreligion of the King of Prussia. If he gets

out of his perplexities, surrounded as he is by his enemies, he will be

one of the greatest men in history."

M. de Bernis remarked, "Madame is correct in her judgment, for she has no

reason to pronounce his praises; nor have I, though I agree with what she

says." Madame de Pompadour never enjoyed so much influence as at the

time when M. de Choiseul became one of the Ministry. From the time of

the Abbe de Bernis she had afforded him her constant support, and he had

been employed in foreign affairs, of which he was said to know but

little. Madame made the Treaty of Sienna, though the first idea of it

was certainly furnished her by the Abbe. I have been informed by several

persons that the King often talked to Madame upon this subject; for my

own part, I never heard any conversation relative to it, except the high

praises bestowed by her on the Empress and the Prince de Kaunitz, whom

she had known a good deal of. She said that he had a clear head, the

head of a statesman. One day, when she was talking in this strain, some

one tried to cast ridicule upon the Prince on account of the style in

which he wore his hair, and the four valets de chambre, who made the

hair-powder fly in all directions, while Kaunitz ran about that he might

only catch the superfine part of it. "Aye," said Madame, "just as

Alcibiades cut off his dog's tail in order to give the Athenians

something to talk about, and to turn their attention from those things he

wished to conceal."

Never was the public mind so inflamed against Madame de Pompadour as when

news arrived of the battle of Rosbach. Every day she received anonymous

letters, full of the grossest abuse; atrocious verses, threats of poison

and assassination. She continued long a prey to the most acute sorrow,

and could get no sleep but from opiates. All this discontent was excited

by her protecting the Prince of Soubise; and the Lieutenant of Police had

great difficulty in allaying the ferment of the people. The King

affirmed that it was not his fault. M. du Verney was the confidant of

Madame in everything relating to war; a subject which he well understood,

though not a military man by, profession. The old Marechal de Noailles

called him, in derision, the General of the flour, but Marechal Saxe, one

day, told Madame that Du Verney knew more of military matters than the

old Marshal. Du Verney once paid a visit to Madame de Pompadour, and

found her in company with the King, the Minister of War, and two

Marshals; he submitted to them the plan of a campaign, which was

generally applauded. It was through his influence that M. de Richelieu

was appointed to the command of the army, instead of the Marechal

d'Estrdes. He came to Quesnay two days after, when I was with him. The

Doctor began talking about the art of war, and I remember he said,

"Military men make a great mystery of their art; but what is the reason

that young Princes have always the most brilliant success? Why, because

they are active and daring. When Sovereigns command their troops in

person what exploits they perform! Clearly, because they are at liberty

to run all risks." These observations made a lasting impression on my

mind.

The first physician came, one day, to see Madame he was talking of madmen

and madness. The King was present, and everything relating to disease of

any kind interested him. The first physician said that he could

distinguish the symptoms of approaching madness six months beforehand.

"Are there any persons about the Court likely to become mad?" said the

King.--"I know one who will be imbecile in less than three months,"

replied he. The King pressed him to tell the name. He excused himself

for some time. At last he said, "It is M. de Sechelles, the

Controller-General."--"You have a spite against him," said Madame,

"because he would not grant what you asked"--"That is true," said he,

"but though that might possibly incline me to tell a disagreeable truth,

it would not make me invent one. He is losing his intellects from

debility. He affects gallantry at his age, and I perceive the connection

in his ideas is becoming feeble and irregular."--The King laughed; but

three months afterwards he came to Madame, saying, "Sechelles gives

evident proofs of dotage in the Council. We must appoint a successor to

him." Madame de Pompadour told me of this on the way to Choisy. Some

time afterwards, the first physician came to see Madame, and spoke to her

in private. "You are attached to M. Berryer, Madame," said he, "and I am

sorry to have to warn you that he will be attacked by madness, or by

catalepsy, before long. I saw him this morning at chapel, sitting on one

of those very low little chairs, which are only, meant to kneel upon.

His knees touched his chin. I went to his house after Mass; his eyes

were wild, and when his secretary spoke to him, he said, 'Hold your

tongue, pen. A pen's business is to write, and not to speak.'" Madame,

who liked the Keeper of the Seals, was very much concerned, and begged

the first physician not to mention what he had perceived. Four days

after this, M. Berryer was seized with catalepsy, after having talked

incoherently. This is a disease which I did not know even by name, and

got it written down for me. The patient remains in precisely the same

position in which the fit seizes him; one leg or arm elevated, the eyes

wide open, or just as it may happen. This latter affair was known to all

the Court at the death of the Keeper of the Seals.

When the Marechal de Belle-Isle's son was killed in battle, Madame

persuaded the King to pay his father a visit. He was rather reluctant,

and Madame said to him, with an air half angry, half playful:

--------"Barbare! don't l'orgueil

Croit le sang d'un sujet trop pays d'un coup d'oeil."

The King laughed, and said, "Whose fine verses are those?"--"Voltaire's,"

said Madame ------.

"As barbarous as I am, I gave him the place of gentleman in ordinary, and

a pension," said the King.

The King went in state to call on the Marshal, followed by all the Court;

and it certainly appeared that this solemn visit consoled the Marshal for

the loss of his son, the sole heir to his name.

When the Marshal died, he was carried to his house on a common

hand-barrow, covered with a shabby cloth. I met the body. The bearers

were laughing and singing. I thought it was some servant, and asked who

it was. How great was my surprise at learning that these were the

remains of a man abounding in honours and in riches. Such is the Court;

the dead are always in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon.

The King said, "M. Fouquet is dead, I hear."--"He was no longer Fouquet,"

replied the Duc d'Ayen; "Your Majesty had permitted him to change that

name, under which, however, he acquired all his reputation." The King

shrugged his shoulders. His Majesty had, in fact, granted him letters

patent, permitting him not to sign Fouquet during his Ministry. I heard

this on the occasion in question. M. de Choiseul had the war department

at his death. He was every day more and more in favour.

Madame treated him with greater distinction than any previous Minister,

and his manners towards her were the most agreeable it is possible to

conceive, at once respectful and gallant. He never passed a day without

seeing her. M. de Marigny could not endure M. de Choiseul, but he never

spoke of him, except to his intimate friends. Calling, one day, at

Quesnay's, I found him there. They were talking of M. de Choiseul. "He

is a mere 'petit maitre'," said the Doctor, "and, if he were handsome

just fit to be one of Henri the Third's favourites." The Marquis de

Mirabeau and M. de La Riviere came in. "This kingdom," said Mirabeau,

"is in a deplorable state. There is neither national energy, nor the

only substitute for it--money."--"It can only be regenerated," said La

Riviere, "by a conquest, like that of China, or by some great internal

convulsion; but woe to those who live to see that! The French people do

not do things by halves." These words made me tremble, and I hastened

out of the room. M. de Marigny did the same, though without appearing at

all affected by what had been said. "You heard De La Riviere," said

he,--"but don't be alarmed, the conversations that pass at the Doctor's

are never repeated; these are honourable men, though rather chimerical.

They know not where to stop. I think, however, they are in the right

way; only, unfortunately, they go too far." I wrote this down

immediately.