The Comte de St. Germain came to see Madame de Pompadour, who was ill,

and lay on the sofa. He shewed her a little box, containing topazes,

rubies, and emeralds. He appeared to have enough to furnish a treasury.

Madame sent for me to see all these beautiful things. I looked at them

with an air of the utmost astonishment, but I made signs to Madame that I

thought them all false. The Count felt for something in his pocketbook,

about twice as large as a spectacle-case, and, at length, drew out two or

three little paper packets, which he unfolded, and exhibited a superb

ruby. He threw on the table, with a contemptuous air, a little cross of

green and white stones. I looked at it and said, "That is not to be

despised." I put it on, and admired it greatly. The Count begged me to

accept it. I refused--he urged me to take it. Madame then refused it

for me. At length, he pressed it upon me so warmly that Madame, seeing

that it could not be worth above forty Louis, made me a sign to accept

it. I took the cross, much pleased at the Count's politeness; and, some

days after, Madame presented him with an enamelled box, upon which was

the portrait of some Grecian sage (whose name I don't recollect), to whom

she compared him. I skewed the cross to a jeweller, who valued it at

sixty-five Louis. The Count offered to bring Madame some enamel

portraits, by Petitot, to look at, and she told him to bring them after

dinner, while the King was hunting. He shewed his portraits, after which

Madame said to him, "I have heard a great deal of a charming story you

told two days ago, at supper, at M. le Premier's, of an occurrence you

witnessed fifty or sixty years ago." He smiled and said, "It is rather

long."--"So much the better," said she, with an air of delight. Madame

de Gontaut and the ladies came in, and the door was shut; Madame made a

sign to me to sit down behind the screen. The Count made many apologies

for the ennui which his story would, perhaps, occasion. He said,

"Sometimes one can tell a story pretty well; at other times it is quite a

different thing."

"At the beginning of this century, the Marquis de St. Gilles was

Ambassador from Spain to the Hague. In his youth he had been

particularly intimate with the Count of Moncade, a grandee of Spain, and

one of the richest nobles of that country. Some months after the

Marquis's arrival at the Hague, he received a letter from the Count,

entreating him, in the name of their former friendship, to render him the

greatest possible service. 'You know,' said he, 'my dear Marquis, the

mortification I felt that the name of Moncade was likely to expire with

me. At length, it pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and to grant me a

son: he gave early promise of dispositions worthy of his birth, but he,

some time since, formed an unfortunate and disgraceful attachment to the

most celebrated actress of the company of Toledo. I shut my eyes to this

imprudence on the part of a young man whose conduct had, till then,

caused me unmingled satisfaction. But, having learnt that he was so

blinded by passion as to intend to marry this girl, and that he had even

bound himself by a written promise to that effect, I solicited the King

to have her placed in confinement. My son, having got information of the

steps I had taken, defeated my intentions by escaping with the object of

his passion. For more than six months I have vainly endeavoured to

discover where he has concealed himself, but I have now some reason to

think he is at the Hague. The Count earnestly conjured the Marquis to

make the most rigid search, in order to discover his son's retreat, and

to endeavour to prevail upon him to return to his home. 'It is an act of

justice,' continued he, 'to provide for the, girl, if she consents to

give up the written promise of marriage which she has received, and I

leave it to your discretion to do what is right for her, as well as to

determine the sum necessary to bring my son to Madrid in a manner

suitable to his condition. I know not,' concluded he, 'whether you are a

father; if you are, you will be able to sympathise in my anxieties.' The

Count subjoined to this letter an exact description of his son, and the

young woman by whom he was accompanied.

"On the receipt of this letter, the Marquis lost not a moment in sending

to all the inns in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague, but in vain--he

could find no trace of them. He began to despair of success, when the

idea struck him that a young French page of his, remarkable for his

quickness and intelligence, might be employed with advantage. He

promised to reward him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the young

woman, who was the cause of so much anxiety, and gave him the description

of her person. The page visited all the public places for many days,

without success; at length, one evening, at the play, he saw a young man

and woman, in a box, who attracted his attention. When he saw that they,

perceived he was looking at them, and withdrew to the back of the box to

avoid his observation, he felt confident that they were the objects of

his search. He did not take his eyes from the bog, and watched every

movement in it. The instant the performance ended, he was in the passage

leading from the boxes to the door, and he remarked that the young man,

who, doubtless, observed the dress he wore, tried to conceal himself, as

he passed him, by putting his handkerchief before his face. He followed

him, at a distance, to the inn called the Vicomte de Turenne, which he

saw him and the woman enter; and, being now certain of success, he ran to

inform the Ambassador. The Marquis de St. Gilles immediately repaired to

the inn, wrapped in a cloak, and followed by his page and two servants.

He desired the landlord to show him to the room of a young man and woman,

who had lodged for some time in his house. The landlord, for some time,

refused to do so, unless the Marquis would give their name. The page

told him to take notice that he was speaking to the Spanish Ambassador,

who had strong reasons for wishing to see the persons in question. The

innkeeper said they wished not to be known, and that they had absolutely

forbidden him to admit anybody into their apartment who did not ask for

them by name; but that, since the Ambassador desired it, he would show

him their room. He then conducted them up to a dirty, miserable garret.

He knocked at the door, and waited for some time; he then knocked again

pretty, loudly, upon which the door was half-opened. At the sight of the

Ambassador and his suite, the person who opened it immediately closed it

again, exclaiming that they, had made a mistake. The Ambassador pushed

hard against him, forced his way, in, made a sign to his people to wait

outside, and remained in the room. He saw before him a very handsome

young man, whose appearance perfectly, corresponded with the description,

and a young woman, of great beauty, and remarkably fine person, whose

countenance, form, colour of the hair, etc., were also precisely those

described by the Count of Moncade. The young man spoke first. He

complained of the violence used in breaking into the apartment of a

stranger, living in a free country, and under the protection of its laws.

The Ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, 'It is useless

to feign, my dear Count; I know you, and I do not come here--to give pain

to you or to this lady, whose appearance interests me extremely.' The

young man replied that he was totally mistaken; that he was not a Count,

but the son of a merchant of Cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and, that

they were travelling for pleasure. The Ambassador, casting his eyes

round the miserably furnished room, which contained but one bed, and some

packages of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, 'Is

this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title which is

warranted by my tender regard for your father), is this a fit residence

for the son of the Count of Moncade?' The young man still protested

against the use of any such language, as addressed to him. At length,

overcome by the entreaties of the Ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that

he was the son of the Count of Moncade, but declared that nothing should

induce him to return to his father, if he must abandon a woman he adored.

The young woman burst into tears, and threw herself at the feet of the

Ambassador, telling him that she would not be the cause of the ruin of

the young Count; and that generosity, or rather, love, would enable her

to disregard her own happiness, and, for his sake, to separate herself

from him. The Ambassador admired her noble disinterestedness. The young

man, on the contrary, received her declaration with the most desperate

grief. He reproached his mistress, and declared that he would never

abandon so estimable a creature, nor suffer the sublime generosity of her

heart to be turned against herself. The Ambassador told him that the

Count of Moncade was far from wishing to render her miserable, and that

he was commissioned to provide her with a sum sufficient to enable her to

return into Spain, or to live where she liked. Her noble sentiments, and

genuine tenderness, he said, inspired him with the greatest interest for

her, and would induce him to go to the utmost limits of his powers, in

the sum he was to give her; that he, therefore, promised her ten thousand

florins, that is to say, about twelve hundred Louis, which would be given

her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage she had received,

and the Count of Moncade took up his abode in the Ambassador's house, and

promised to return to Spain. The young woman seemed perfectly

indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly absorbed in her lover, and in

the grief of leaving him. She seemed insensible to everything but the

cruel sacrifice which her reason, and her love itself, demanded. At

length, drawing from a little portfolio the promise of marriage, signed

by the Count, 'I know his heart too well,' said she, 'to need it.' Then

she kissed it again and again, with a sort of transport, and delivered it

to the Ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of soul he

witnessed. He promised her that he would never cease to take the

liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the Count of his father's

forgiveness. 'He will receive with open arms,' said he, 'the prodigal

son, returning to the bosom of his distressed family; the heart of a

father is an exhaustless mine of tenderness. How great will be the

felicity of my friend on the receipt of these tidings, after his long

anxiety and affliction; how happy do I esteem myself, at being the

instrument of that felicity?' Such was, in part, the language of the

Ambassador, which appeared to produce a strong impression on the young

man. But, fearing lest, during the night, love should regain all his

power, and should triumph over the generous resolution of the lady, the

Marquis pressed the young Count to accompany him to his hotel. The

tears, the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel separation, cannot

be described; they deeply touched the heart of the Ambassador, who

promised to watch over the young lady. The Count's little baggage was

not difficult to remove, and, that very evening, he was installed in the

finest apartment of the Ambassador's house. The Marquis was overjoyed at

having restored to the illustrious house of Moncade the heir of its

greatness, and of its magnificent domains. On the following morning, as

soon as the young Count was up, he found tailors, dealers in cloth, lace,

stuffs, etc., out of which he had only to choose. Two valets de chambre,

and three laquais, chosen by the Ambassador for their intelligence and

good conduct, were in waiting in his antechamber, and presented

themselves, to receive his orders. The Ambassador shewed the young Count

the letter he had just written to his father, in which he congratulated

him on possessing a son whose noble sentiments and striking qualities

were worthy of his illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return.

The young lady was not forgotten; he confessed that to her generosity he

was partly indebted for the submission of her lover, and expressed his

conviction that the Count would not disapprove the gift he had made her,

of ten thousand florins. That sum was remitted, on the same day, to this

noble and interesting girl, who left the Hague without delay. The

preparations for the Count's journey were made; a splendid wardrobe and

an excellent carriage were embarked at Rotterdam, in a ship bound for

France, on board which a passage was secured for the Count, who was to

proceed from that country to Spain. A considerable sum of money, and

letters of credit on Paris, were given him at his departure; and the

parting between the Ambassador and the young Count was most touching. The

Marquis de St. Gilles awaited with impatience the Count's answer, and

enjoyed his friend's delight by anticipation. At the expiration of four

months, he received this long-expected letter. It would be utterly

impossible to describe his surprise on reading the following words,

'Heaven, my dear Marquis, never granted me the happiness of becoming a

father, and, in the midst of abundant wealth and honours, the grief of

having no heirs, and seeing an illustrious race end in my person, has

shed the greatest bitterness over my whole existence. I see, with

extreme regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young adventurer,

who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some means, obtained,

of our old friendship. But your Excellency must not be the sufferer. The

Count of Moncade is, most assuredly, the person whom you wished to serve;

he is bound to repay what your generous friendship hastened to advance,

in order to procure him a happiness which he would have felt most deeply.

I hope, therefore, Marquis, that your Excellency will have no hesitation

in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of three thousand

Louis of France, of the disbursal of which you sent me an account.'"

The manner in which the Comte de St. Germain spoke, in the characters of

the young adventurer, his mistress, and the Ambassador, made his audience

weep and laugh by turns. The story is true in every particular, and the

adventurer surpasses Gusman d'Alfarache in address, according to the

report of some persons present. Madame de Pompadour thought of having a

play written, founded on this story; and the Count sent it to her in

writing, from which I transcribed it.

M. Duclos came to the Doctor's, and harangued with his usual warmth. I

heard him saying to two or three persons, "People are unjust to great

men, Ministers and Princes; nothing, for instance, is more common than to

undervalue their intellect. I astonished one of these little gentlemen

of the corps of the infallibles, by telling him that I could prove that

there had been more men of ability in the house of Bourbon, for the last

hundred years, than in any other family."--"You prove that?" said

somebody, sneeringly. "Yes," said Duclos; "and I will tell you how. The

great Conde, you will allow, was no fool; and the Duchesse de Longueville

is cited as one of the wittiest women that ever lived. The Regent was a

man who had few equals, in every kind of talent and acquirement. The

Prince de Conti, who was elected King of Poland, was celebrated for his

intelligence, and, in poetry, was the successful rival of La Fare and St.

Aulaire. The Duke of Burgundy was learned and enlightened. His Duchess,

the daughter of Louis XIV., was remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and

couplets. The Duc du Maine is generally spoken of only for his weakness,

but nobody had a more agreeable wit. His wife was mad, but she had an

extensive acquaintance with letters, good taste in poetry, and a

brilliant and inexhaustible imagination. Here are instances enough, I

think," said he; "and, as I am no flatterer, and hate to appear one, I

will not speak of the living." His hearers were astonished at this

enumeration, and all of them agreed in the truth of what he had said. He

added, "Don't we daily hear of silly D'Argenson,

[Rene LOUIS d'Argenson, who was Minister for Foreign Affairs. He was the

author of 'Considerations sur le Gouvernement', and of several other

works, from which succeeding political writers have drawn, and still draw

ideas, which they give to the world as new. This man, remarkable not only

for profound and original thinking, but for clear and forcible

expression, was, nevertheless, D'Argenson la bete. It is said, however,

that he affected the simplicity, and even silliness of manner, which

procured him that appellation. If, as we hope, the unedited memoirs left

by Rene d'Argenson will be given to the world, they will be found fully

to justify the opinion of Duclos, with regard to this Minister, and the

inappropriateness of his nickname.]

because he has a good-natured air, and a bourgeois tone? and yet, I

believe, there have not been many Ministers comparable to him in

knowledge and in enlightened views." I took a pen, which lay on the

Doctor's table, and begged M. Duclos to repeat to me all the names he had

mentioned, and the eulogium he had bestowed on each. "If," said he, "you

show that to the Marquise, tell her how the conversation arose, and that

I did not say it in order that it might come to her ears, and eventually,

perhaps, to those of another person. I am an historiographer, and I will

render justice, but I shall, also, often inflict it."--"I will answer for

that," said the Doctor, "and our master will be represented as he really

is. Louis XIV. liked verses, and patronised poets; that was very well,

perhaps, in his time, because one must begin with something; but this age

will be very superior to the last. It must be acknowledged that Louis

XV., in sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru, to measure the earth, has

a higher claim to our respect than if he directed an opera. He has

thrown down the barriers which opposed the progress of philosophy, in

spite of the clamour of the devotees: the Encyclopaedia will do honour to

his reign." Duclos, during this speech, shook his head. I went away,

and tried to write down all I had heard, while it was fresh. I had the

part which related to the Princes of the Bourbon race copied by a valet,

who wrote a beautiful hand, and I gave it to Madame de Pompadour. But

she said to me, "What! is Duclos an acquaintance of yours? Do you want

to play the 'bel esprit', my dear good woman? That will not sit well

upon you." The truth is, that nothing can be further from my

inclination. I told her that I met him accidentally at the Doctor's,

where he generally spent an hour when he came to Versailles. "The King

knows him to be a worthy man," said she.

Madame de Pompadour was ill, and the King came to see her several times a

day. I generally left the room when he entered, but, having stayed a few

minutes, on one occasion, to give her a glass of chicory water, I heard

the King mention Madame d'Egmont. Madame raised her eyes to heaven, and

said, "That name always recalls to me a most melancholy and barbarous

affair; but it was not my fault." These words dwelt in my mind, and,

particularly, the tone in which they were uttered. As I stayed with

Madame till three o'clock in the morning, reading to her a part of the

time, it was easy for me to try to satisfy my curiosity. I seized a

moment, when the reading was interrupted, to say, "You looked dreadfully

shocked, Madame, when the King pronounced the name of D'Egmont." At

these words, she again raised her eyes, and said, "You would feel as I

do, if you knew the affair."--"It must, then, be deeply affecting, for I

do not think that it personally concerns you, Madame."--"No," said she,

"it does not; as, however, I am not the only person acquainted with this

history, and as I know you to be discreet, I will tell it you. The last

Comte d'Egmont married a reputed daughter of the Duc de Villars; but the

Duchess had never lived with her husband, and the Comtesse d'Egmont is,

in fact, a daughter of the Chevalier d'Orleans.--[Legitimate son of the

Regent, Grand Prior of France.]--At the death of her husband, young,

beautiful, agreeable, and heiress to an immense fortune, she attracted

the suit and homage of all the most distinguished men at Court. Her

mother's director, one day, came into her room and requested a private

interview; he then revealed to her that she was the offspring of an

adulterous intercourse, for which her mother had been doing penance for

five-and-twenty years. 'She could not,' said he, 'oppose your former

marriage, although it caused her extreme distress. Heaven did not grant

you children; but, if you marry again, you run the risk, Madame, of

transmitting to another family the immense wealth, which does not, in

fact, belong to you, and which is the price of crime.'

"The Comtesse d'Egmont heard this recital with horror. At the same

instant, her mother entered, and, on her knees, besought her daughter to

avert her eternal damnation. Madame d'Egmont tried to calm her own and

her mother's mind. 'What can I do?' said she, to her. 'Consecrate

yourself wholly to God,' replied the director, 'and thus expiate your

mother's crime.' The Countess, in her terror, promised whatever they

asked, and proposed to enter the Carmelites. I was informed of it, and

spoke to the King about the barbarous tyranny the Duchesse de Villars and

the director were about to exercise over this unhappy young woman; but we

knew not how to prevent it. The King, with the utmost kindness,

prevailed on the Queen to offer her the situation of Lady of the Palace,

and desired the Duchess's friends to persuade her to endeavour to deter

her daughter from becoming a Carmelite. It was all in vain; the wretched

victim was sacrificed."

Madame took it into her head to consult a fortuneteller, called Madame

Bontemps, who had told M. de Bernis's fortune, as I have already related,

and had surprised him by her predictions. M. de Choiseul, to whom she

mentioned the matter, said that the woman had also foretold fine things

that were to happen to him. "I know it," said she, "and, in return, you

promised her a carriage, but the poor woman goes on foot still." Madame

told me this, and asked me how she could disguise herself, so as to see

the woman without being known. I dared not propose any scheme then, for

fear it should not succeed; but, two days after, I talked to her surgeon

about the art, which some beggars practise, of counterfeiting sores, and

altering their features. He said that was easy enough. I let the thing

drop, and, after an interval of some minutes, I said, "If one could

change one's features, one might have great diversion at the opera, or at

balls. What alterations would it be necessary to make in me, now, to

render it impossible to recognise me?"--"In the first place," said he,

"you must alter the colour of your hair, then you must have a false nose,

and put a spot on some part of your face, or a wart, or a few hairs." I

laughed, and said, "Help me to contrive this for the next ball; I have

not been to one for twenty years; but I am dying to puzzle somebody, and

to tell him things which no one but I can tell him. I shall come home,

and go to bed, in a quarter of an hour."--"I must take the measure of

your nose," said he; "or do you take it with wax, and I will have a nose

made: you can get a flaxen or brown wig." I repeated to Madame what the

surgeon had told me: she was delighted at it. I took the measure of her

nose, and of my own, and carried them to the surgeon, who, in two days,

gave me the two noses, and a wart, which Madame stuck under her left eye,

and some paint for the eyebrows. The noses were most delicately made, of

a bladder, I think, and these, with the ether disguises, rendered it

impossible to recognize the face, and yet did not produce any shocking

appearance. All this being accomplished, nothing remained but to give

notice to the fortuneteller; we waited for a little excursion to Paris,

which Madame was to take, to look at her house. I then got a person,

with whom I had no connection, to speak to a waiting-woman of the

Duchesse de Ruffec, to obtain an interview with the woman. She made some

difficulty, on account of the Police; but we promised secrecy, and

appointed the place of meeting. Nothing could be more contrary to Madame

de Pompadour's character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to

engage in such an adventure. But her curiosity was raised to the highest

pitch, and, moreover, everything was so well arranged that there was not

the slightest risk. Madame had let M. de Gontaut, and her valet de

chambre, into the secret. The latter had hired two rooms for his niece,

who was then ill, at Versailles, near Madame's hotel. We went out in the

evening, followed by the valet de chambre, who was a safe man, and by the

Duke, all on foot. We had not, at farthest, above two hundred steps to

go. We were shown into two small rooms, in which were fires. The two

men remained in one, and we in the other. Madame had thrown herself on a

sofa. She had on a night-cap, which concealed half her face, in an

unstudied manner. I was near the fire, leaning on a table, on which were

two candles. There were lying on the chairs, near us, some clothes, of

small value. The fortune-teller rang--a little servant-girl let her in,

and then went to wait in the room where the gentlemen were. Coffee-cups,

and a coffee-pot, were set; and I had taken care to place, upon a little

buffet, some cakes, and a bottle of Malaga wine, having heard that Madame

Bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor. Her face, indeed,

sufficiently proclaimed it. "Is that lady ill?" said she, seeing Madame

de Pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa. I told her that she would

soon be better, but that she had kept her room for a week. She heated

the coffee, and prepared the two cups, which she carefully wiped,

observing that nothing impure must enter into this operation. I affected

to be very anxious for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a

pretext for assuaging her thirst, which she did, without much entreaty.

When she had drunk two or three small glasses (for I had taken care not

to have large ones), she poured the coffee into one of the two large

cups. "This is yours," said she; "and this is your friends's; let them

stand a little." She then observed our hands and our faces; after which

she drew a looking-glass from her pocket, into which she told us to look,

while she looked at the reflections of our faces. She next took a glass

of wine, and immediately threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while

she inspected my cup, and considered all the lines formed by the dregs of

the coffee she had poured out. She began by saying, "That is

well--prosperity--but there is a black mark--distresses. A man becomes a

comforter. Here, in this corner, are friends, who support you. Ah! who

is he that persecutes them? But justice triumphs--after rain,

sunshine--a long journey successful. There, do you see these little

bags? That is money which has been paid--to you, of course, I mean.

That is well. Do you see that arm?"--"Yes."--"That is an arm supporting

something: a woman veiled; I see her; it is you. All this is clear to

me. I hear, as it were, a voice speaking to me. You are no longer

attacked. I see it, because the clouds in that direction are passed off

(pointing to a clearer spot). But, stay--I see small lines which branch

out from the main spot. These are sons, daughters, nephews--that is

pretty well." She appeared overpowered with the effort she was making.

At length, she added, "That is all. You have had good luck

first--misfortune afterward. You have had a friend, who has exerted

himself with success to extricate you from it. You have had lawsuits--at

length fortune has been reconciled to you, and will change no more." She

drank another glass of wine. "Your health, Madame," said she to the

Marquise, and went through the same ceremonies with the cup. At length,

she broke out, "Neither fair nor foul. I see there, in the distance, a

serene sky; and then all these things that appear to ascend all these

things are applauses. Here is a grave man, who stretches out his arms.

Do you see?--look attentively."--"That is true," said Madame de

Pompadour, with surprise (there was, indeed, some appearance of the

kind). "He points to something square that is an open coffer. Fine

weather. But, look! there are clouds of azure and gold, which surround

you. Do you see that ship on the high sea? How favourable the wind is!

You are on board; you land in a beautiful country, of which you become

the Queen. Ah! what do I see? Look there--look at that hideous,

crooked, lame man, who is pursuing you--but he is going on a fool's

errand. I see a very great man, who supports you in his arms. Here,

look! he is a kind of giant. There is a great deal of gold and silver--a

few clouds here and there. But you have nothing to fear. The vessel will

be sometimes tossed about, but it will not be lost. Dixi." Madame said,

"When shall I die, and of what disease?"--"I never speak of that," said

she; "see here, rather but fate will not permit it. I will shew you how

fate confounds everything"--shewing her several confused lumps of the

coffee-dregs. "Well, never mind as to the time, then, only tell me the

kind of death." The fortune-teller looked in the cup, and said, "You

will have time to prepare yourself." I gave her only two Louis, to avoid

doing anything remarkable. She left us, after begging us to keep her

secret, and we rejoined the Duc de Gontaut, to whom we related everything

that had passed. He laughed heartily, and said, "Her coffee-dregs are

like the clouds--you may see what you please in them."

There was one thing in my horoscope which struck me, that was the

comforter; because one of my uncles had taken great care of me, and had

rendered me the most essential services. It is also true that I

afterwards had an important lawsuit; and, lastly, there was the money

which had come into my hands through Madame de Pompadour's patronage and

bounty. As for Madame, her husband was represented accurately enough by

the man with the coffer; then the country of which she became Queen

seemed to relate to her present situation at Court; but the most

remarkable thing was the crooked and lame man, in whom Madame thought she

recognized the Duc de V-----, who was very much deformed. Madame was

delighted with her adventure and her horoscope, which she thought

corresponded very remarkably with the truth. Two days after, she sent

for M. de St. Florentin, and begged him not to molest the fortuneteller.

He laughed, and replied that he knew why she interceded for this woman.

Madame asked him why he laughed. He related every circumstance of her

expedition with astonishing exactness;--[M. de St. Florentin was

Minister for Paris, to whom the Lieutenant of Police was

accountable.]--but he knew nothing of what had been said, or, at least,

so he pretended. He promised Madame that, provided Bontemps did nothing

which called for notice, she should not be obstructed in the exercise of

her profession, especially if she followed it in secret. "I know her,"

added he, "and I, like other people, have had the curiosity to consult

her. She is the wife of a soldier in the guards. She is a clever woman

in her way, but she drinks. Four or five years ago, she got such hold on

the mind of Madame de Ruffec, that she made her believe she could procure

her an elixir of beauty, which would restore her to what she was at

twenty-five. The Duchess pays high for the drugs of which this elixir is

compounded; and sometimes they are bad: sometimes, the sun, to which they

were exposed, was not powerful enough; sometimes, the influence of a

certain constellation was wanting. Sometimes, she has the courage to

assure the Duchess that she really is grown handsomer, and actually

succeeds in making her believe it." But the history of this woman's

daughter is still more curious. She was exquisitely beautiful, and the

Duchess brought her up in her own house. Bontemps predicted to the girl,

in the Duchess's presence, that she would marry a man of two thousand

Louis a year. This was not very likely to happen to the daughter of a

soldier in the guards. It did happen, nevertheless. The little Bontemps

married the President Beaudouin, who was mad. But, the tragical part of

the story is, that her mother had also foretold that she would die in

childbirth of her first child, and that she did actually die in

child-birth, at the age of eighteen, doubtless under a strong impression

of her mother's prophecy, to which the improbable event of her marriage

had given such extraordinary weight. Madame told the King of the

adventure her curiosity had led her into, at which he laughed, and said

he wished the Police had arrested her. He added a very sensible remark.

"In order to judge," said he, "of the truth or falsehood of such

predictions, one ought to collect fifty of them. It would be found that

they are almost always made up of the same phrases, which are sometimes

inapplicable, and some times hit the mark. But the first are

rarely-mentioned, while the others are always insisted on."

I have heard, and, indeed, it is certainly true, that M. de Bridge lived

on terms of intimacy with Madame, when she was Madame d'Aioles. He used

to ride on horseback with her, and, as he is so handsome a man, that he

has retained the name of the handsome man, it was natural enough that he

should be thought the lover of a very handsome woman. I have heard

something more than this. I was told that the King said to M. de Bridge,

"Confess, now, that you were her lover. She has acknowledged it to me,

and I exact from you this proof of sincerity." M. de. Bridge replied,

that Madame de Pompadour was at liberty to say what she pleased for her

own amusement, or for any other reason; but that he, for his part, could

not assert a falsehood; that he had been, her friend; that she was a

charming companion, and had great talents; that he delighted in her

society; but that his intercourse with her had never gone beyond the

bounds of friendship. He added, that her husband was present in all

their parties, that he watched her with a jealous eye, and that he would

not have suffered him to be so much with her if he had conceived the

least suspicion of the kind. The King persisted, and told him he was

wrong to endeavour to conceal a fact which was unquestionable. It was

rumoured, also, that the Abbe de Bernis had been a favoured lover of

hers. The said Abbe was rather a coxcomb; he had a handsome face, and

wrote poetry. Madame de Pompadour was the theme of his gallant verses.

He sometimes received the compliments of his friends upon his success

with a smile which left some room for conjecture, although he denied the

thing in words. It was, for some time, reported at Court that she was in

love with the Prince de Beauvau: he is a man distinguished for his

gallantries, his air of rank and fashion, and his high play; he is

brother to the little Marechale: for all these reasons, Madame is very

civil to him, but there is nothing marked in her behaviour. She knows,

besides, that he is in love with a very agreeable woman.

Now that I am on the subject of lovers, I cannot avoid speaking of M. de

Choiseul. Madame likes him better than any of those I have just

mentioned, but he is not her lover. A lady, whom I know perfectly well,

but whom I do not chose to denounce to Madame, invented a story about

them, which was utterly false. She said, as I have good reason to

believe, that one day, hearing the King coming, I ran to Madame's closet

door; that I coughed in a particular manner; and that the King having,

happily, stopped a moment to talk to some ladies, there was time to

adjust matters, so that Madame came out of the closet with me and M. de

Choiseul, as if we had been all three sitting together. It is very true

that I went in to carry something to Madame, without knowing that the

King was come, and that she came out of the closet with M. de Choiseul,

who had a paper in his hand, and that I followed her a few minutes after.

The King asked M. de Choiseul what that paper was which he had in his

hand. He replied that it contained the remonstrance from the Parliament.

Three or four ladies witnessed what I now relate, and as, with the

exception of one, they were all excellent women, and greatly attached to

Madame, my suspicions could fall on none but the one in question, whom I

will not name, because her brother has always treated me with great

kindness. Madame de Pompadour had a lively imagination and great

sensibility, but nothing could exceed the coldness of her temperament. It

would, besides, have been extremely difficult for her, surrounded as she

was, to keep up an intercourse of that kind with any man. It is true

that this difficulty would have been diminished in the case of an

all-powerful Minister, who had constant pretexts for seeing her in

private. But there was a much more decisive fact--M. de Choiseul had a

charming mistress--the Princess de R------, and Madame knew it, and often

spoke of her. He had, besides, some remains of liking for the Princess

de Kinski, who followed him from Vienna. It is true that he soon after

discovered how ridiculous she was. All these circumstances combined

were, surely, sufficient to deter Madame from engaging in a love affair

with the Duke; but his talents and agreeable qualities captivated her.

He was not handsome, but he had manners peculiar to himself, an agreeable

vivacity, a delightful gaiety; this was the general opinion of his

character. He was much attached to Madame, and though this might, at

first, be inspired by a consciousness of the importance of her friendship

to his interest, yet, after he had acquired sufficient political strength

to stand alone, he was not the less devoted to her, nor less assiduous in

his attentions. He knew her friendship for me, and he one day said to me,

with great feeling, "I am afraid, my dear Madame du Hausset, that she

will sink into a state of complete dejection, and die of melancholy. Try

to divert her." What a fate for the favourite of the greatest monarch in

existence! thought I.

One day, Madame de Pompadour had retired to her closet with M. Berryer.

Madame d'Amblimont stayed with Madame de Gontaut, who called me to talk

about my son. A moment after, M. de Gontaut came in and said,

"D'Amblimont, who shall have the Swiss guards?"--"Stop a moment," said

she; "let me call my council----, M. de Choiseul."--"That is not so very

bad a thought," said M. de Gontaut, "but I assure you, you are the first

person who has suggested it." He immediately left us, and Madame

d'Amblimont said, "I'll lay a wager he is going to communicate my idea to

M. de Choiseul." He returned very shortly, and, M. Berrier having left

the room, he said to Madame de Pompadour, "A singular thought has entered

d'Amblimont's head."--"What absurdity now?" said Madame. "Not so great

an absurdity neither," said he. "She says the Swiss guards ought to be

given to M. de Choiseul, and, really, if the King has not positively

promised M. de Soubise, I don't see what he can do better."--"The King

has promised nothing," said Madame, "and the hopes I gave him were of the

vaguest kind. I only told him it was possible. But though I have a

great regard for M. de Soubise, I do not think his merits comparable to

those of M. de Choiseul." When the King came in, Madame, doubtless, told

him of this suggestion. A quarter of an hour afterwards, I went into the

room to speak to her, and I heard the King say, "You will see that,

because the Duc du Maine, and his children, had that place, he will think

he ought to have it, on account of his rank as Prince (Soubise); but the

Marechal de Bassompierre was not a Prince; and, by the bye, the Duc de

Choiseul is his grandnephew; do you know that?"--"Your Majesty is better

acquainted with the history of France than anybody," replied Madame. Two

days after this, Madame de said to me, "I have two great delights; M. de

Soubise will not have the Swiss guards, and Madame de Marsan will be

ready to burst with rage at it; this is the first: and M. de Choiseul

will have them; this is the greatest."

...........................

[The whole of this passage is in a different handwriting.]

There was a universal talk of a young lady with whom the King was as much

in love as it was possible for him to be. Her name was Romans. She was

said to be a charming girl. Madame de Pompadour knew of the King's

visits, and her confidantes brought her most alarming reports of the

affair. The Marechale de Mirepoix, who had the best head in Madame's

council, was the only one who encouraged her. "I do not tell you," said

she, "that he loves you better than her; and if she could be transported

hither by the stroke of a fairy's wand; if she could entertain him this

evening at supper; if she were familiar with all his tastes, there would,

perhaps, be sufficient reason for you to tremble for your power. But

Princes are, above all, pre-eminently the slaves of habit. The King's

attachment to you is like that he bears to your apartment, your

furniture. You have formed yourself to his manners and habits; you know

how to listen and reply to his stories; he is under no constraint with

you; he has no fear of boring you. How do you think he could have

resolution to uproot all this in a day, to form a new establishment, and

to make a public exhibition of himself by so striking a change in his

arrangements?" The young lady became pregnant; the reports current among

the people, and even those at Court, alarmed Madame dreadfully. It was

said that the King meant to legitimate the child, and to give the mother

a title. "All that," said Madame de Mirepoix, "is in the style of Louis

XIV.--such dignified proceedings are very unlike those of our master."

Mademoiselle Romans lost all her influence over the King by her

indiscreet boasting. She was even treated with harshness and violence,

which were in no degree instigated by Madame. Her house was searched,

and her papers seized; but the most important, those which substantiated

the fact of the King's paternity, had been withdrawn. At length she gave

birth to a son, who was christened under the name of Bourbon, son of

Charles de Bourbon, Captain of Horse. The mother thought the eyes of all

France were fixed upon her, and beheld in her son a future Duc du Maine.

She suckled him herself, and she used to carry him in a sort of basket to

the Bois de Boulogne. Both mother and child were covered with the finest

laces. She sat down upon the grass in a solitary spot, which, however,

was soon well known, and there gave suck to her royal babe. Madame had

great curiosity to see her, and took me, one day, to the manufactory at

Sevres, without telling me what she projected. After she had bought some

cups, she said, "I want to go and walk in the Bois de Boulogne," and gave

orders to the coachman to stop at a certain spot where she wished to

alight. She had got the most accurate directions, and when she drew near

the young lady's haunt she gave me her arm, drew her bonnet over her

eyes, and held her pocket-handkerchief before the lower part of her face.

We walked, for some minutes, in a path, from whence we could see the lady

suckling her child. Her jet black hair was turned up, and confined by a

diamond comb. She looked earnestly at us. Madame bowed to her, and

whispered to me, pushing me by the elbow, "Speak to her." I stepped

forward, and exclaimed, "What a lovely child!"--"Yes, Madame," replied

she, "I must confess that he is, though I am his mother." Madame, who

had hold of my arm, trembled, and I was not very firm. Mademoiselle

Romans said to me, "Do you live in this neighbourhood?"--"Yes, Madame,"

replied I, "I live at Auteuil with this lady, who is just now suffering

from a most dreadful toothache."--"I pity her sincerely, for I know that

tormenting pain well." I looked all around, for fear any one should come

up who might recognise us. I took courage to ask her whether the child's

father was a handsome man. "Very handsome, and, if I told you his name,

you would agree with me."--"I have the honour of knowing him, then,

Madame?"--"Most probably you do." Madame, fearing, as I did, some

rencontre, said a few words in a low tone, apologizing for having

intruded upon her, and we took our leave. We looked behind us,

repeatedly, to see if we were followed, and got into the carriage without

being perceived. "It must be confessed that both mother and child are

beautiful creatures," said Madame--"not to mention the father; the infant

has his eyes. If the King had come up while we were there, do you think

he would have recognised us?"--"I don't doubt that he would, Madame, and

then what an agitation I should have been in, and what a scene it would

have been for the bystanders! and, above all, what a surprise to her!" In

the evening, Madame made the King a present of the cups she had bought,

but she did not mention her walk, for fear Mademoiselle Romans should

tell him that two ladies, who knew him, had met her there such a day.

Madame de Mirepoix said to Madame, "Be assured, the King cares very

little about children; he has enough of them, and he will not be troubled

with the mother or the son. See what sort of notice he takes of the

Comte de I-----, who is strikingly like him. He never speaks of him, and

I am convinced that he will never do anything for him. Again and again I

tell you, we do not live under Louis XIV." Madame de Mirepoix had been

Ambassadress to London, and had often heard the English make this remark.

Some alterations had been made in Madame de Pompadour's rooms, and I had

no longer, as heretofore, the niche in which I had been permitted to sit,

to hear Caffarelli, and, in later times, Mademoiselle Fel and Jeliotte.

I, therefore, went more frequently to my lodgings in town, where I

usually received my friends: more particularly when Madame visited her

little hermitage, whither M. de Gontaut commonly accompanied her. Madame

du Chiron, the wife of the Head Clerk in the War-Office, came to see me.

"I feel," said she, "greatly embarrassed, in speaking to you about an

affair, which will, perhaps, embarrass you also. This is the state of

the case. A very poor woman, to whom I have sometimes given a little

assistance, pretends to be a relation of the Marquise de Pompadour. Here

is her petition." I read it, and said that the woman had better write

directly to Madame, and that I was sure, if what she asserted was true,

her application would be successful. Madame du Chiron followed my

advice. The woman wrote she was in the lowest depth of poverty, and I

learnt that Madame sent her six Louis until she could gain more accurate

information as to the truth of her story. Colin, who was commissioned to

take the money, made inquiries of M. de Malvoiain, a relation of Madame,

and a very respectable officer. The fact was found to be as she had

stated it. Madame then sent her a hundred louis, and promised her a

pension of sixty louis a year. All this was done with great expedition,

and Madame had a visit of thanks from her poor relation, as soon as she

had procured decent clothes to come in. That day the King happened to

come in at an unusual hour, and saw this person going out. He asked who

it was. "It is a very poor relation of mine," replied Madame. "She

came, then, to beg for some assistance?"--"No," said she. "What did she

come for, then?"--"To thank me for a little service I have rendered her,"

said she, blushing from the fear of seeming to boast of her liberality.

"Well," said the King; "since she is your relation, allow me to have the

pleasure of serving her too. I will give her fifty louis a year out of

my private purse, and, you know, she may send for the first year's

allowance to-morrow." Madame burst into tears, and kissed the King's

hand several times. She told me this three days afterwards, when I was

nursing her in a slight attack of fever. I could not refrain from

weeping myself at this instance of the King's kindness. The next day, I

called on Madame du Chiron to tell her of the good fortune of her

protege; I forgot to say that, after Madame had related the affair to me,

I told her what part I had taken in it. She approved my conduct, and

allowed me to inform my friend of the King's goodness. This action,

which showed no less delicate politeness towards her than sensibility to

the sufferings of the poor woman, made a deeper impression on Madame's

heart than a pension of two thousand a year given to herself.

Madame had terrible palpitations of the heart. Her heart actually seemed

to leap. She consulted several physicians. I recollect that one of them

made her walk up and down the room, lift a weight, and move quickly. On

her expressing some surprise, he said, "I do this to ascertain whether

the organ is diseased; in that case motion quickens the pulsation; if

that effect is not produced, the complaint proceeds from the nerves." I

repeated this to my oracle, Quesnay. He knew very little of this

physician, but he said his treatment was that of a clever man. His name

was Renard; he was scarcely known beyond the Marais. Madame often

appeared suffocated, and sighed continually. One day, under pretence of

presenting a petition to M. de Choiseul, as he was going out, I said, in

a low voice, that I wished to see him a few minutes on an affair of

importance to my mistress. He told me to come as soon as I pleased, and

that I should be admitted. I told him that Madame was extremely

depressed; that she gave way to distressing thoughts, which she would not

communicate; that she, one day, said to me, "The fortune-teller told me I

should have time to prepare myself; I believe it, for I shall be worn to

death by melancholy." M. de Choiseul appeared much affected; he praised

my zeal, and said that he had already perceived some indications of what

I told him; that he would not mention my name, but would try to draw from

her an explanation. I don't know what he said to her; but, from that

time, she was much more calm. One day, but long afterwards, Madame said

to M. de Gontaut, "I am generally thought to have great influence, but if

it were not for M. de Choiseul, I should not be able to obtain a Cross of

St. Louis."

The King and Madame de Pompadour had a very high opinion of Madame de

Choiseul. Madame said, "She always says the right thing in the right

place." Madame de Grammont was not so agreeable to them; and I think

that this was to be attributed, in part, to the sound of her voice, and

to her blunt manner of speaking; for she was said to be a woman of great

sense, and devotedly attached to the King and Madame de Pompadour. Some

people pretended that she tried to captivate the King, and to supplant

Madame: nothing could be more false, or more ridiculously improbable.

Madame saw a great deal of these two ladies, who were extremely attentive

to her. She one day remarked to the Duc d'Ayen,--[Afterwards Marechal de

Noaines.] that M. de Choiseul was very fond of his sisters. "I know it,

Madame," said he, "and many sisters are the better for that."--"What do

you mean?" said she. "Why," said he, "as the Duc de Choiseul loves his

sister, it is thought fashionable to do the same; and I know silly girls,

whose brothers formerly cared nothing about them, who are now most

tenderly beloved. No sooner does their little finger ache, than their

brothers are running about to fetch physicians from all corners of Paris.

They flatter themselves that somebody will say, in M. de Choiseul's

drawing-room, 'How passionately M. de ------ loves his sister; he would

certainly die if he had the misfortune to lose her.'" Madame related

this to her brother, in my presence, adding, that she could not give it

in the Duke's comic manner. M. de Marigny said, "I have had the start of

them all, without making so much noise; and my dear little sister knows

that I loved her tenderly before Madame de Grammont left her convent.

The Duc d'Ayen, however, is not very wrong; he has made the most of it in

his lively manner, but it is partly true."--"I forgot," replied Madame,

"that the Duke said, 'I want extremely to be in the fashion, but which

sister shall I take up? Madame de Caumont is a devil incarnate, Madame

de Villars drinks, Madame d'Armagnac is a bore, Madame de la Marck is

half mad.'"--"These are fine family portraits, Duke," said Madame. The

Duc de Gontaut laughed, during the whole of this conversation,

immoderately. Madame repeated it, one day, when she kept her bed. M. de

G----- also began to talk of his sister, Madame du Roure. I think, at

least, that is the name he mentioned. He was very gay, and had the art

of creating gaiety. Somebody said, he is an excellent piece of furniture

for a favourite. He makes her laugh, and asks for nothing either for

himself or for others; he cannot excite jealousy, and he meddles in

nothing. He was called the White Eunuch. Madame's illness increased so

rapidly that we were alarmed about her; but bleeding in the foot cured

her as if by a miracle. The King watched her with the greatest

solicitude; and I don't know whether his attentions did not contribute as

much to the cure as the bleeding. M. de Choiseul remarked, some days

after, that she appeared in better spirits. I told him that I thought

this improvement might be attributed to the same cause.

SECRET COURT MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XVI. AND THE ROYAL FAMILY OF FRANCE

INTRODUCTION.

I should consider it great presumption to intrude upon the public

anything respecting myself, were there any other way of establishing the

authenticity of the facts and papers I am about to present. To the

history of my own peculiar situation, amid the great events I record,

which made me the depositary of information and documents so important, I

proceed, therefore, though reluctantly, without further preamble.

I was for many years in the confidential service of the Princesse de

Lamballe, and the most important materials which form my history have

been derived not only from the conversations, but the private papers of

my lamented patroness. It remains for me to show how I became acquainted

with Her Highness, and by what means the papers I allude to came into my

possession.

Though, from my birth, and the rank of those who were the cause of it

(had it not been from political motives kept from my knowledge), in point

of interest I ought to have been very independent, I was indebted for my

resources in early life to His Grace the late Duke of Norfolk and Lady

Mary Duncan. By them I was placed for education in the Irish Convent,

Rue du Bacq, Faubourg St. Germain, at Paris, where the immortal Sacchini,

the instructor of the Queen, gave me lessons in music. Pleased with my

progress, the celebrated composer, when one day teaching Marie

Antoinette, so highly overrated to that illustrious lady my infant

natural talents and acquired science in his art, in the presence of her

very shadow, the Princesse de Lamballe, as to excite in Her Majesty an

eager desire for the opportunity of hearing me, which the Princess

volunteered to obtain by going herself to the convent next morning with

Sacchini. It was enjoined upon the composer, as I afterwards learned,

that he was neither to apprise me who Her Highness was, nor to what

motive I was indebted for her visit. To this Sacchini readily agreed,

adding, after disclosing to them my connections and situation, "Your

Majesty will be, perhaps, still more surprised, when I, as an Italian,

and her German master, who is a German, declare that she speaks both

these languages like a native, though born in England; and is as well

disposed to the Catholic faith, and as well versed in it, as if she had

been a member of that Church all her life."

This last observation decided my future good fortune: there was no

interest in the minds of the Queen and Princess paramount to that of

making proselytes to their creed.

The Princess, faithful to her promise, accompanied Sacchini. Whether it

was chance, ability, or good fortune, let me not attempt to conjecture;

but from that moment I became the protege of this ever-regretted angel.

Political circumstances presently facilitated her introduction of me to

the Queen. My combining a readiness in the Italian and German languages,

with my knowledge of English and French, greatly promoted my power of

being useful at that crisis, which, with some claims to their confidence

of a higher order, made this august, lamented, injured pair more like

mothers to me than mistresses, till we were parted by their murder.

The circumstances I have just mentioned show that to mere curiosity, the

characteristic passion of our sex and so often its ruin, I am to ascribe

the introduction, which was only prevented by events unparalleled in

history from proving the most fortunate in my life as it is the most

cherished in my recollection.

It will be seen, in the course of the following pages, how often I was

employed on confidential missions, frequently by myself, and, in some

instances, as the attendant of the Princess. The nature of my situation,

the trust reposed in me, the commissions with which I was honoured, and

the affecting charges of which I was the bearer, flattered my pride and

determined me to make myself an exception to the rule that "no woman can

keep a secret." Few ever knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, and

much less the importance of my occupation. I had passed from England to

France, made two journeys to Italy and Germany, three to the Archduchess

Maria Christiana, Governess of the Low Countries, and returned back to

France, before any of my friends in England were aware of my retreat, or

of my ever having accompanied the Princess. Though my letters were

written and dated at Paris, they were all forwarded to England by way of

Holland or Germany, that no clue should be given for annoyances from idle

curiosity. It is to this discreetness, to this inviolable secrecy,

firmness, and fidelity, which I so early in life displayed to the august

personages who stood in need of such a person, that I owe the unlimited

confidence of my illustrious benefactress, through which I was furnished

with the valuable materials I am now submitting to the public.

I was repeatedly a witness, by the side of the Princesse de Lamballe, of

the appalling scenes of the bonnet rouge, of murders a la lanterne, and

of numberless insults to the unfortunate Royal Family of Louis XVI., when

the Queen was generally selected as the most marked victim of malicious

indignity. Having had the honour of so often beholding this much injured

Queen, and never without remarking how amiable in her manners, how

condescendingly kind in her deportment towards every one about her, how

charitably generous, and withal, how beautiful she was,--I looked upon

her as a model of perfection. But when I found the public feeling so

much at variance with my own, the difference became utterly

unaccountable. I longed for some explanation of the mystery. One day I

was insulted in the Tuileries, because I had alighted from my horse to

walk there without wearing the national ribbon. On this I met the

Princess: the conversation which grew out of my adventure emboldened me

to question her on a theme to me inexplicable.

"What," asked I, "can it be which makes the people so outrageous against

the Queen?"

Her Highness condescended to reply in the complimentary terms which I am

about to relate, but without answering my question.

"My dear friend!" exclaimed she, "for from this moment I beg you will

consider me in that light, never having been blessed with children of my

own, I feel there is no way of acquitting myself of the obligations you

have heaped upon me, by the fidelity with which you have executed the

various commissions entrusted to your charge, but by adopting you as one

of my own family. I am satisfied with you, yes, highly satisfied with

you, on the score of your religious principles; and as soon as the

troubles subside, and we have a little calm after them, my father-in-law

and myself will be present at the ceremony of your confirmation."

The goodness of my benefactress silenced me gratitude would not allow me

to persevere for the moment. But from what I had already seen of Her

Majesty the Queen, I was too much interested to lose sight of my

object,--not, let me be believed, from idle womanish curiosity, but from

that real, strong, personal interest which I, in common with all who ever

had the honour of being in her presence, felt for that much-injured, most

engaging sovereign.

A propitious circumstance unexpectedly occurred, which gave me an

opportunity, without any appearance of officious earnestness, to renew

the attempt to gain the end I had in view.

I was riding in the carriage with the Princesse de Lamballe, when a lady

drove by, who saluted my benefactress with marked attention and respect.

There was something in the manner of the Princess, after receiving the

salute, which impelled me, spite of myself, to ask who the lady was.

"Madame de Genlis," exclaimed Her Highness, with a shudder of disgust,

"that lamb's face with a wolf's heart, and a fog's cunning." Or, to

quote her own Italian phrase which I have here translated, "colla faccia

d'agnello, il cuore dun lupo, a la dritura della volpe."

In the course of these pages the cause of this strong feeling against

Madame de Genlis will be explained. To dwell on it now would only turn

me aside from my narrative. To pursue my story, therefore:

When we arrived at my lodgings (which were then, for private reasons, at

the Irish Convent, where Sacchini and other masters attended to further

me in the accomplishments of the fine arts), "Sing me something," said

the Princess, "'Cantate mi qualche cosa', for I never see that woman"

(meaning Madame de Genlis) "but I feel ill and out of humour. I wish it

may not be the foreboding of some great evil!"

I sang a little rondo, in which Her Highness and the Queen always

delighted, and which they would never set me free without making me sing,

though I had given them twenty before it.

[The rondo I allude to was written by Sarti for the celebrated Marches!

Lungi da to ben mio, and is the same in which he was so successful in

England, when he introduced it in London in the opera of Giulo Sabino.]

Her Highness honoured me with even more than usual praise. I kissed the

hand which had so generously applauded my infant talents, and said, "Now,

my dearest Princess, as you are so kind and good-humoured, tell me

something about the Queen!"

She looked at me with her eyes full of tears. For an instant they stood

in their sockets as if petrified: and then, after a pause, "I cannot,"

answered she in Italian, as she usually did, "I cannot refuse you

anything. 'Non posso neyarti niente'. It would take me an age to tell

you the many causes which have conspired against this much-injured Queen!

I fear none who are near her person will escape the threatening storm

that hovers over our heads. The leading causes of the clamour against

her have been, if you must know, Nature; her beauty; her power of

pleasing; her birth; her rank; her marriage; the King himself; her

mother; her imperfect education; and, above all, her unfortunate

partialities for the Abbe Vermond; for the Duchesse de Polignac; for

myself, perhaps; and last, but not least, the thorough, unsuspecting

goodness of her heart!

"But, since you seem to be so much concerned for her exalted, persecuted

Majesty, you shall have a Journal I myself began on my first coming to

France, and which I have continued ever since I have been honoured with

the confidence of Her Majesty, in graciously giving me that unlooked-for

situation at the head of her household, which honour and justice prevent

my renouncing under any difficulties, and which I never will quit but

with my life!"

She wept as she spoke, and her last words were almost choked with sobs.

Seeing her so much affected, I humbly begged pardon for having

unintentionally caused her tears, and begged permission to accompany her

to the Tuileries.

"No," said she, "you have hitherto conducted yourself with a profound

prudence, which has insured you my confidence. Do not let your curiosity

change your system. You shall have the Journal. But be careful. Read

it only by yourself, and do not show it to any one. On these conditions

you shall have it."

I was in the act of promising, when Her Highness stopped me.

"I want no particular promises. I have sufficient proofs of your

adherence to truth. Only answer me simply in the affirmative."

I said I would certainly obey her injunctions most religiously.

She then left me, and directed that I should walk in a particular part of

the private alleys of the Tuileries, between three and four o'clock in

the afternoon. I did so; and from her own hand I there received her

private Journal.

In the following September of this same year (1792) she was murdered!

Journalising copiously, for the purpose of amassing authentic materials

for the future historian, was always a favourite practice of the French,

and seems to have been particularly in vogue in the age I mention. The

press has sent forth whole libraries of these records since the

Revolution, and it is notorious that Louis XV. left Secret Memoirs,

written by his own hand, of what passed before this convulsion; and had

not the papers of the Tuileries shared in the wreck of royalty, it would

have been seen that Louis XVI. had made some progress in the memoirs of

his time; and even his beautiful and unfortunate Queen had herself made

extensive notes and collections for the record of her own disastrous

career. Hence it must be obvious how one so nearly connected in

situation and suffering with her much-injured mistress, as the Princesse

de Lamballe, would naturally fall into a similar habit had she even no

stronger temptation than fashion and example. But self-communion, by

means of the pen, is invariably the consolation of strong feeling, and

reflecting minds under great calamities, especially when their

intercourse with the world has been checked or poisoned by its malice.

The editor of these pages herself fell into the habit of which she

speaks; and it being usual with her benefactress to converse with all the

unreserve which every honest mind shows when it feels it can confide, her

humble attendant, not to lose facts of such importance, commonly made

notes of what she heard. In any other person's hands the Journal of the

Princess would have been incomplete; especially as it was written in a

rambling manner, and was never intended for publication. But connected

by her confidential conversations with me, and the recital of the events

to which I personally bear testimony, I trust it will be found the basis

of a satisfactory record, which I pledge myself to be a true one.

I do not know, however, that, at my time of life, and after a lapse of

thirty years, I should have been roused to the arrangement of the papers

which I have combined to form this narrative, had I not met with the work

of Madame Campan upon the same subject.

This lady has said much that is true respecting the Queen; but she has

omitted much, and much she has misrepresented: not, I dare say,

purposely, but from ignorance, and being wrongly informed. She was often

absent from the service, and on such occasions must have been compelled

to obtain her knowledge at second-hand. She herself told me, in 1803, at

Rouen, that at a very important epoch the peril of her life forced her

from the seat of action. With the Princesse de Lamballe, who was so much

about the Queen, she never had any particular connexion. The Princess

certainly esteemed her for her devotedness to the Queen; but there was a

natural reserve in the Princess's character, and a mistrust resulting

from circumstances of all those who saw much company, as Madame Campan

did. Hence no intimacy was encouraged. Madame Campan never came to the

Princess without being sent for.

An attempt has been made since the Revolution utterly to destroy faith in

the alleged attachment of Madame Campan to the Queen, by the fact of her

having received the daughters of many of the regicides for education into

her establishment at Rouen. Far be it from me to sanction so unjust a

censure. Although what I mention hurt her character very much in the

estimation of her former friends, and constituted one of the grounds of

the dissolution of her establishment at Rouen, on the restoration of the

Bourbons, and may possibly in some degree have deprived her of such aids

from their adherents as might have made her work unquestionable, yet what

else, let me ask, could have been done by one dependent upon her

exertions for support, and in the power of Napoleon's family and his

emissaries? On the contrary, I would give my public testimony in favour

of the fidelity of her feelings, though in many instances I must withhold

it from the fidelity of her narrative. Her being utterly isolated from

the illustrious individual nearest to the Queen must necessarily leave

much to be desired in her record. During the whole term of the Princesse

de Lamballe's superintendence of the Queen's household, Madame Campan

never had any special communication with my benefactress, excepting once,

about the things which were to go to Brussels, before the journey to

Varennes; and once again, relative to a person of the Queen's household,

who had received the visits of Petion, the Mayor of Paris, at her private

lodgings. This last communication I myself particularly remember,

because on that occasion the Princess, addressing me in her own native

language, Madame Campan, observing it, considered me as an Italian, till,

by a circumstance I shall presently relate, she was undeceived.

I should anticipate the order of events, and incur the necessity of

speaking twice of the same things, were I here to specify the express

errors in the work of Madame Campan. Suffice it now that I observe

generally her want of knowledge of the Princesse de Lamballe; her

omission of many of the most interesting circumstances of the Revolution;

her silence upon important anecdotes of the King, the Queen, and several

members of the first assembly; her mistakes concerning the Princesse de

Lamballe's relations with the Duchesse de Polignac, Comte de Fersan,

Mirabeau, the Cardinal de Rohan, and others; her great miscalculation of

the time when the Queen's confidence in Barnave began, and when that of

the Empress-mother in Rohan ended; her misrepresentation of particulars

relating to Joseph II.; and her blunders concerning the affair of the

necklace, and regarding the libel Madame Lamotte published in England,

with the connivance of Calonne:--all these will be considered, with

numberless other statements equally requiring correction in their turn.

What she has omitted I trust I shall supply; and where she has gone

astray I hope to set her right; that, between the two, the future

biographer of my august benefactresses may be in no want of authentic

materials to do full justice to their honoured memories.

I said in a preceding paragraph that I should relate a circumstance about

Madame Campan, which happened after she had taken me for an Italian and

before she was aware of my being in the service of the Princess.

Madame Campan, though she had seen me not only at the time I mention but

before and after, had always passed me without notice. One Sunday, when

in the gallery of the Tuileries with Madame de Stael, the Queen, with her

usual suite, of which Madame Campan formed one, was going, according to

custom, to hear Mass, Her Majesty perceived me and most graciously

addressed me in German. Madame Campan appeared greatly surprised at

this, but walked on and said nothing. Ever afterwards, however, she

treated me whenever we met with marked civility.

Another edition of Boswell to those who got a nod from Dr. Johnson!

The reader will find in the course of this work that on the 2nd of

August, 1792, from the kindness and humanity of my, august

benefactresses, I was compelled to accept a mission to Italy, devised

merely to send me from the sanguinary scenes of which they foresaw they

and theirs must presently become victims. Early in the following month

the Princesse de Lamballe was murdered. As my history extends beyond the

period I have mentioned, it is fitting I should explain the indisputable

authorities whence I derived such particulars as I did not see.

A person, high in the confidence of the Princess, through the means of

the honest coachman of whom I shall have occasion to speak, supplied me

with regular details of whatever took place, till she herself, with the

rest of the ladies and other attendants, being separated from the Royal

Family, was immured in the prison of La Force. When I returned to Paris

after this dire tempest, Madame Clery and her friend, Madame de Beaumont,

a natural daughter of Louis XV., with Monsieur Chambon of Rheims, who

never left Paris during the time, confirmed the correctness of my papers.

The Madame Clery I mention is the same who assisted her husband in his

faithful attendance upon the Royal Family in the Temple; and this

exemplary man added his testimony to the rest, in the presence of the

Duchesse de Guiche Grammont, at Pyrmont in Germany, when I there met him

in the suite of the late sovereign of France, Louis XVIII., at a concert.

After the 10th of August, I had also a continued correspondence: with

many persons at Paris, who supplied me with thorough accounts of the

succeeding horrors, in letters directed to Sir William Hamilton, at

Naples, and by him forwarded to me. And in addition to all these high

sources, many particular circumstances: have been disclosed to me by

individuals, whose authority, when I have used it, I have generally

affixed to the facts they have enabled me to communicate.

It now only remains for me to mention that I have endeavoured to arrange

everything, derived either from the papers of the Princesse de Lamballe,

or from her remarks, my own observation, or the intelligence of others,

in chronological order. It will readily be seen by the reader where the

Princess herself speaks, as I have invariably set apart my own

recollections and remarks in paragraphs and notes, which are not only

indicated by the heading of each chapter, but by the context of the

passages themselves. I have also begun and ended what the Princess says

with inverted commas. All the earlier part, of the work preceding her

personal introduction proceeds principally from her pen or her lips: I

have done little more than change it from Italian into English, and

embody thoughts and sentiments that were often disjointed and detached.

And throughout, whether she or others speak, I may safely say this work

will be found the most circumstantial, and assuredly the most authentic,

upon the subject of which it treats, of all that have yet been presented

to the public of Great Britain. The press has been prolific in fabulous

writings upon these times, which have been devoured with avidity. I hope

John Bull is not so devoted to gilded foreign fictions as to spurn the

unadorned truth from one of his downright countrywomen: and let me advise

him en passant, not to treat us beauties of native growth with

indifference at home; for we readily find compensation in the regard,

patronage, and admiration of every nation in Europe. I am old now, and

may speak freely.

I have no interest whatever in the work I submit but that of endeavouring

to redeem the character of so many injured victims. Would to Heaven my

memory were less acute, and that I could obliterate from the knowledge of

the world and posterity the names of their infamous destroyers; I mean,

not the executioners who terminated their mortal existence for in their

miserable situation that early martyrdom was an act of grace--but I mean

some, perhaps still living, who with foul cowardice, stabbing like

assassins in the dark, undermined their fair fame, and morally murdered

them, long before their deaths, by daily traducing virtues the slanderers

never possessed, from mere jealousy of the glory they knew themselves

incapable of deserving.

Montesquieu says, "If there be a God, He must be just!" That divine

justice, after centuries, has been fully established on the descendants

of the cruel, sanguinary conquerers of South America and its butchered

harmless Emperor Montezuma and his innocent offspring, who are now

teaching Spain a moral lesson in freeing themselves from its insatiable

thirst for blood and wealth, while God Himself has refused that blessing

to the Spaniards which they denied to the Americans! Oh, France! what

hast thou not already suffered, and what hast thou not yet to suffer,

when to thee, like Spain, it shall visit their descendants even unto the

fourth generation?

To my insignificant losses in so mighty a ruin perhaps I ought not to

allude. I should not presume even to mention that fatal convulsion which

shook all Europe and has since left the nations in that state of agitated

undulation which succeeds a tempest upon the ocean, were it not for the

opportunity it gives me to declare the bounty of my benefactresses. All

my own property went down in the wreck; and the mariner who escapes only

with his life can never recur to the scene of his escape without a

shudder. Many persons are still living, of the first respectability, who

well remember my quitting this country, though very young, on the budding

of a brilliant career. Had those prospects been followed up they would

have placed me beyond the caprice of fickle fortune. But the dazzling

lustre of crown favours and princely patronage outweighed the slow,

though more solid hopes of self-achieved independence. I certainly was

then almost a child, and my vanity, perhaps, of the honour of being

useful to two such illustrious personages got the better of every other

sentiment. But now when I reflect, I look back with consternation on the

many risks I ran, on the many times I stared death in the face with no

fear but that of being obstructed in my efforts to serve, even with my

life, the interests dearest to my heart--that of implicit obedience to

these truly benevolent and generous Princesses, who only wanted the means

to render me as happy and independent as their cruel destiny has since

made me wretched and miserable! Had not death deprived me of their

patronage I should have had no reason to regret any sacrifice I could

have made for them, for through the Princess, Her Majesty, unasked, had

done me the honour to promise me the reversion of a most lucrative as

well as highly respectable post in her employ. In these august

personages I lost my best friends; I lost everything--except the tears,

which bathe the paper as I write tears of gratitude, which will never

cease to flow to the memory of their martyrdom.

SECTION II.

JOURNAL COMMNENCED:

"The character of Maria Theresa, the Empress-mother of Marie Antoinette,

is sufficiently known. The same spirit of ambition and enterprise which

had already animated her contentions with France in the latter part of

her career impelled her to wish for its alliance. In addition to other

hopes she had been encouraged to imagine that LOUIS XV. might one day aid

her in recovering the provinces which the King of Prussia had violently

wrested from her ancient dominions. She felt the many advantages to be

derived from a union with her ancient enemy, and she looked for its

accomplishment by the marriage of her daughter.

"Policy, in sovereigns, is paramount to every other consideration. They

regard beauty as a source of profit, like managers of theatres, who, when

a female candidate is offered, ask whether she is young and

handsome,--not whether she has talent. Maria Theresa believed that her

daughter's beauty would prove more powerful over France than her own

armies. Like Catharine II., her envied contemporary, she consulted no

ties of nature in the disposal of her children,--a system more in

character where the knout is the logician than among nations boasting

higher civilization: indeed her rivalry with Catharine even made her

grossly neglect their education. Jealous of the rising power of the

North, she saw that it was the purpose of Russia to counteract her views

in Poland and Turkey through France, and so totally forgot her domestic

duties in the desire to thwart the ascendency of Catharine that she often

suffered eight or ten days to go by without even seeing her children,

allowing even the essential sources of instruction to remain unprovided.

Her very caresses were scarcely given but for display, when the children

were admitted to be shown to some great personage; and if they were

overwhelmed with kindness, it was merely to excite a belief that they

were the constant care and companions of her leisure hours. When they

grew up they became the mere instruments of her ambition. The fate of

one of them will show how their mother's worldliness was rewarded.

"A leading object of Maria Theresa's policy was the attainment of

influence over Italy. For this purpose she first married one of the

Archduchesses to the imbecile Duke of Parma. Her second manoeuvre was to

contrive that Charles III. should seek the Archduchess Josepha for his

younger son, the King of Naples. When everything had been settled, and

the ceremony by proxy had taken place, it was thought proper to sound the

Princess as to how far she felt inclined to aid her mother's designs in

the Court of Naples. 'Scripture says,' was her reply, 'that when a woman

is married she belongs to the country of her husband.'

"'But the policy of State?' exclaimed Maria Theresa.

"'Is that above religion?' cried the Princess.

"This unexpected answer of the Archduchess was so totally opposite to the

views of the Empress that she was for a considerable time undecided

whether she would allow her daughter to depart, till, worn out by

perplexities, she at last consented, but bade the Archduchess, previous

to setting off for this much desired country of her new husband, to go

down to the tombs, and in the vaults of her ancestors offer up to Heaven

a fervent prayer for the departed souls of those she was about to leave.

"Only a few days before that a Princess had been buried in the vaults--I

think Joseph the Second's second wife, who had died of the small-pox.

"The Archduchess Josepha obeyed her Imperial mother's cruel commands,

took leave of all her friends and relatives, as if conscious of the

result, caught the same disease, and in a few days died!

"The Archduchess Carolina was now tutored to become her sister's

substitute, and when deemed adequately qualified was sent to Naples,

where she certainly never forgot she was an Austrian nor the interest of

the Court of Vienna. One circumstance concerning her and her mother

fully illustrates the character of both. On the marriage, the

Archduchess found that Spanish etiquette did not allow the Queen to have

the honour of dining at the same table as the King. She apprised her

mother. Maria Theresa instantly wrote to the Marchese Tenucei, then

Prime Minister at the Court of Naples, to say that, if her daughter, now

Queen of Naples, was to be considered less than the King her husband, she

would send an army to fetch her back to Vienna, and the King might

purchase a Georgian slave, for an Austrian Princess should not be thus

humbled. Maria Theresa need not have given herself all this trouble, for

before, the letter arrived the Queen of Naples had dismissed all the

Ministry, upset the Cabinet of Naples, and turned out even the King

himself from her bedchamber! So much for the overthrow of Spanish

etiquette by Austrian policy. The King of Spain became outrageous at the

influence of Maria Theresa, but there was no alternative.

"The other daughter of the Empress was married, as I have observed

already, to the Duke of Parma for the purpose of promoting the Austrian

strength in Italy against that of France, to which the Court of, Parma,

as well as that of Modena, had been long attached.

"The fourth Archduchess, Marie Antoinette, being the youngest and most

beautiful of the family, was destined for France. There were three older

than Marie Antoinette; but she, being much lovelier than her sisters, was

selected on account of her charms. Her husband was never considered by

the contrivers of the scheme: he was known to have no sway whatever, not

even in the choice of his own wife! But the character of Louis XV. was

recollected, and calculations drawn from it, upon the probable power

which youth and beauty might obtain over such a King and Court.

"It was during the time when Madame de Pompadour directed, not only the

King, but all France with most despotic sway, that the union of the

Archduchess Marie Antoinette with the grandson of Louis XV. was

proposed. The plan received the warmest support of Choiseul, then

Minister, and the ardent co-operation of Pompadour. Indeed it was to

her, the Duc de Choiseul, and the Comte de Mercy, the whole affair may be

ascribed. So highly was she flattered by the attention with which Maria

Theresa distinguished her, in consequence of her zeal, by presents and by

the title 'dear cousin,' which she used in writing to her, that she left

no stone unturned till the proxy of the Dauphin was sent to Vienna, to

marry Marie Antoinette in his name.

"All the interest by which this union was supported could not, however,

subdue a prejudice against it, not only among many of the Court, the

Cabinet, and the nation, but in the Royal Family itself. France has

never looked with complacency upon alliances with the House of Austria:

enemies to this one avowed themselves as soon as it was declared. The

daughters of Louis XV. openly expressed their aversion; but the stronger

influence prevailed, and Marie Antoinette became the Dauphine.

"Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, and afterwards of Sens, suggested the

appointment of the Librarian of the College des Quatre Nations, the Abbe

Vermond, as instructor to the Dauphine in French. The Abbe Vermond was

accordingly despatched by Louis XV. to Vienna. The consequences of this

appointment will be seen in the sequel. Perhaps not the least fatal of

them arose from his gratitude to the Archbishop, who recommended him.

Some years afterwards, in influencing his pupil, when Queen, to help

Brienne to the Ministry, he did her and her kingdom more injury than

their worst foes. Of the Abbe's power over Marie Antoinette there are

various opinions; of his capacity there is but one--he was superficial

and cunning. On his arrival at Vienna he became the tool of Maria

Theresa. While there, he received a salary as the daughter's tutor, and

when he returned to France, a much larger one as the mother's spy. He was

more ambitious to be thought a great man, in his power over his pupil,

than a rich one. He was too Jesuitical to wish to be deemed rich. He

knew that superfluous emoluments would soon have overthrown the authority

he derived from conferring, rather than receiving favours; and hence he

never soared to any higher post. He was generally considered to be

disinterested. How far his private fortunes benefited by his station has

never appeared; nor is it known whether, by the elevation of his friend

and patron to the Ministry in the time of Louis XVI., he gained anything

beyond the gratification of vanity, from having been the cause: it is

probable he did not, for if he had, from the general odium against that

promotion, no doubt it would have been exposed, unless the influence of

the Queen was his protection, as it proved in so many cases where he

grossly erred. From the first he was an evil to Marie Antoinette; and

ultimately habit rendered him a necessary evil.

"The education of the Dauphine was circumscribed; though very free in her

manners, she was very deficient in other respects; and hence it was she

so much avoided all society of females who were better informed than

herself, courting in preference the lively tittle-tattle of the other

sex, who were, in turn, better pleased with the gaieties of youth and

beauty than the more substantial logical witticisms of antiquated

Court-dowagers. To this may be ascribed her ungovernable passion for

great societies, balls, masquerades, and all kinds of public and private

amusements, as well as her subsequent attachment to the Duchesse de

Polignac, who so much encouraged them for the pastime of her friend and

sovereign. Though naturally averse to everything requiring study or

application, Marie Antoinette was very assiduous in preparing herself for

the parts she performed in the various comedies, farces, and cantatas

given at her private theatre; and their acquirement seemed to cost her no

trouble. These innocent diversions became a source of calumny against

her; yet they formed almost the only part of her German education, about

which Maria Theresa had been particular: the Empress-mother deemed them

so valuable to her children that she ordered the celebrated Metastasio to

write some of his most sublime cantatas for the evening recreations of

her sisters and herself. And what can more conduce to elegant literary

knowledge, or be less dangerous to the morals of the young, than domestic

recitation of the finest flights of the intellect? Certain it is that

Marie Antoinette never forgot her idolatry of her master Metastasio; and

it would have been well for her had all concerned in her education done

her equal justice. The Abbe Vermond encouraged these studies; and the

King himself afterwards sanctioned the translation of the works of his

Queen's revered instructor, and their publication at her own expense, in

a superb edition, that she might gratify her fondness the more

conveniently by reciting them in French. When Marie Antoinette herself

became a mother, and oppressed from the change of circumstances, she

regretted much that she had not in early life cultivated her mind more

extensively. 'What a resource,' would she exclaim, is a mind well stored

against human casualties!' She determined to avoid in her own offspring

the error, of which she felt herself the victim, committed by her

Imperial mother, for whose fault, though she suffered, she would invent

excuses. 'The Empress,' she would say, was left a young widow with ten

or twelve children; she had been accustomed, even during the Emperor's

life, to head her vast empire, and she thought it would be unjust to

sacrifice to her own children the welfare of the numerous family which

afterwards devolved upon her exclusive government and protection.'

"Most unfortunately for Marie Antoinette, her great supporter, Madame de

Pompadour, died before the Archduchess came to France. The pilot who was

to steer the young mariner safe into port was no more, when she arrived

at it. The Austrian interest had sunk with its patroness. The

intriguers of the Court no sooner saw the King without an avowed

favourite than they sought to give him one who should further their own

views and crush the Choiseul party, which had been sustained by

Pompadour. The licentious Duc de Richelieu was the pander on this

occasion. The low, vulgar Du Barry was by him introduced to the King,

and Richelieu had the honour of enthroning a successor to Pompadour, and

supplying Louis XV. with the last of his mistresses. Madame de Grammont,

who had been the royal confidante during the interregnum, gave up to the

rising star. The effect of a new power was presently seen in new events.

All the Ministers known to be attached to the Austrian interest were

dismissed; and the time for the arrival of the young bride, the

Archduchess of Austria, who was about to be installed Dauphine of France,

was at hand, and she came to meet scarcely a friend, and many foes--of

whom even her beauty, her gentleness, and her simplicity, were doomed to

swell the phalanx."

SECTION III.

"On the marriage night, Louis XV. said gaily to the Dauphin, who was

supping with his usual heartiness, 'Don't overcharge your stomach

to-night'

"'Why, I always sleep best after a hearty supper,' replied the Dauphin,

with the greatest coolness.

"The supper being ended, he accompanied his Dauphine to her chamber, and

at the door, with the greatest politeness, wished her a good night. Next

morning, upon his saying, when he met her at breakfast, that he hoped she

had slept well, Marie Antoinette replied, 'Excellently well, for I had no

one to disturb me!'

"The Princesse de Guemenee, who was then at the head of the household, on

hearing the Dauphine moving very early in her apartment, ventured to

enter it, and, not seeing the Dauphin, exclaimed, 'Bless me! he is risen

as usual!'--'Whom do you mean?' asked Marie Antoinette. The Princess

misconstruing the interrogation, was going to retire, when the Dauphine

said, 'I have heard a great deal of French politeness, but I think I am

married to the most polite of the nation!'--'What, then, he is

risen?'--'No, no, no!' exclaimed the Dauphine, 'there has been no rising;

he has never lain down here. He left me at the door of my apartment with

his hat in his hand, and hastened from me as if embarrassed with my

person!'

"After Marie Antoinette became a mother she would often laugh and tell

Louis XVI. of his bridal politeness, and ask him if in the interim

between that and the consummation he had studied his maiden aunts or his

tutor on the subject. On this he would laugh most excessively.

"Scarcely was Marie Antoinette seated in her new country before the

virulence of Court intrigue against her became active. She was beset on

all sides by enemies open and concealed, who never slackened their

persecutions. All the family of Louis XV., consisting of those maiden

aunts of the Dauphin just adverted to (among whom Madame Adelaide was

specially implacable), were incensed at the marriage, not only from their

hatred to Austria, but because it had accomplished the ambition of an

obnoxious favourite to give a wife to the Dauphin of their kingdom. On

the credulous and timid mind of the Prince, then in the leading strings

of this pious sisterhood, they impressed the misfortunes to his country

and to the interest of the Bourbon family, which must spring from the

Austrian influence through the medium of his bride. No means were left

unessayed to steel him against her sway. I remember once to have heard

Her Majesty remark to Louis XVI., in answer to some particular

observations he made, 'These, Sire, are the sentiments of our aunts, I am

sure.' And, indeed, great must have been their ascendency over him in

youth, for up to a late date he entertained a very high respect for their

capacity and judgment. Great indeed must it have been to have prevailed

against all the seducing allurements of a beautiful and fascinating young

bride, whose amiableness, vivacity, and wit became the universal

admiration, and whose graceful manner of address few ever equalled and

none ever surpassed; nay, even so to have prevailed as to form one of the

great sources of his aversion to consummate the marriage! Since the

death of the late Queen, their mother, these four Princesses (who, it was

said, if old maids, were not so from choice) had received and performed

the exclusive honours of the Court. It could not have diminished their

dislike for the young and lovely new-comer to see themselves under the

necessity of abandoning their dignities and giving up their station. So

eager were they to contrive themes of complaint against her, that when

she visited them in the simple attire in which she so much delighted,

'sans ceremonie', unaccompanied by a troop of horse and a squadron of

footguards, they complained to their father, who hinted to Marie

Antoinette that such a relaxation of the royal dignity would be attended

with considerable injury to French manufactures, to trade, and to the

respect due to her rank. 'My State and Court dresses,' replied she,

'shall not be less brilliant than those of any former Dauphine or Queen

of France, if such be the pleasure of the King,--but to my grandpapa I

appeal for some indulgence with respect to my undress private costume of

the morning.

"It was dangerous for one in whose conduct so many prying eyes were

seeking for sources of accusation to gratify herself even by the

overthrow of an absurdity, when that overthrow might incur the stigma of

innovation. The Court of Versailles was jealous of its Spanish

inquisitorial etiquette. It had been strictly wedded to its pageantries

since the time of the great Anne of Austria. The sagacious and prudent

provisions of this illustrious contriver were deemed the ne plus ultra of

royal female policy. A cargo of whalebone was yearly obtained by her to

construct such stays for the Maids of Honour as might adequately conceal

the Court accidents which generally--poor ladies!--befell them in

rotation every nine months.

"But Marie Antoinette could not sacrifice her predilection for a

simplicity quite English, to prudential considerations. Indeed, she was

too young to conceive it even desirable. So much did she delight in

being unshackled by finery that she would hurry from Court to fling off

her royal robes and ornaments, exclaiming, when freed from them, 'Thank

Heaven, I am out of harness!'

"But she had natural advantages, which gave her enemies a pretext for

ascribing this antipathy to the established fashion to mere vanity. It

is not impossible that she might have derived some pleasure from

displaying a figure so beautiful, with no adornment except its native

gracefulness; but how great must have been the chagrin of the Princesses,

of many of the Court ladies, indeed, of all in any way ungainly or

deformed, when called to exhibit themselves by the side of a bewitching

person like hers, unaided by the whalebone and horse-hair paddings with

which they had hitherto been made up, and which placed the best form on a

level with the worst? The prudes who practised illicitly, and felt the

convenience of a guise which so well concealed the effect of their

frailties, were neither the least formidable nor the least numerous of

the enemies created by this revolution of costume; and the Dauphine was

voted by common consent--for what greater crime could there be in

France?--the heretic Martin Luther of female fashions! The four

Princesses, her aunts, were as bitter against the disrespect with which

the Dauphine treated the armour, which they called dress, as if they

themselves had benefited by the immunities it could, confer.

"Indeed, most of the old Court ladies embattled themselves against Marie

Antoinette's encroachments upon their habits. The leader of them was a

real medallion, whose costume, character, and notions spoke a genealogy

perfectly antediluvian; who even to the latter days of Louis XV., amid a

Court so irregular, persisted in her precision. So systematic a

supporter of the antique could be no other than the declared foe of any

change, and, of course, deemed the desertion of large sack gowns,

monstrous Court hoops, and the old notions of appendages attached to

them, for tight waists and short petticoats, an awful demonstration of

the depravity of the time!--[The editor needs scarcely add, that the

allusion of the Princess is to Madame de Noailles.]

"This lady had been first lady to the sole Queen of Louis XV. She was

retained in the same station for Marie Antoinette. Her motions were

regulated like clock-work. So methodical was she in all her operations

of mind and body, that, from the beginning of the year to its end, she

never deviated a moment. Every hour had its peculiar occupation. Her

element was etiquette, but the etiquette of ages before the flood. She

had her rules even for the width of petticoats, that the Queens and

Princesses might have no temptation to straddle over a rivulet, or

crossing, of unroyal size.

"The Queen of Louis XV. having been totally subservient in her movements

night and day to the wishes of the Comtesse de Noailles, it will be

readily conceived how great a shock this lady must have sustained on

being informed one morning that the Dauphine had actually risen in the

night, and her ladyship not by to witness a ceremony from which most

ladies would have felt no little pleasure in being spared, but which, on

this occasion, admitted of no delay! Notwithstanding the Dauphine

excused herself by the assurance of the urgency allowing no time to call

the Countess, she nearly fainted at not having been present at that,

which others sometimes faint at, if too near! This unaccustomed

watchfulness so annoyed Marie Antoinette, that, determined to laugh her

out of it, she ordered an immense bottle of hartshorn to be placed upon

her toilet. Being asked what use was to be made of the hartshorn, she

said it was to prevent her first Lady of Honour from falling into

hysterics when the calls of nature were uncivil enough to exclude her

from being of the party. This, as may be presumed, had its desired

effect, and Marie Antoinette was ever afterwards allowed free access at

least to one of her apartments, and leave to perform that in private

which few individuals except Princesses do with parade and publicity.

"These things, however, planted the seeds of rancour against Marie

Antoinette, which Madame de Noailles carried with her to the grave. It

will be seen that she declared against her at a crisis of great

importance. The laughable title of Madame Etiquette, which the Dauphine

gave her, clung to her through life; though conferred only in merriment,

it never was forgiven.

"The Dauphine seemed to be under a sort of fatality with regard to all

those who had any power of doing her mischief either with her husband or

the Court. The Duc de Vauguyon, the Dauphin's tutor, who both from

principle and interest hated everything Austrian, and anything whatever

which threatened to lessen his despotic influence so long exercised over

the mind of his pupil, which he foresaw would be endangered were the

Prince once out of his leading-strings and swayed by a young wife, made

use of all the influence which old courtiers can command over the minds

they have formed (more generally for their own ends than those of

uprightness) to poison that of the young Prince against his bride.

"Never were there more intrigues among the female slaves in the Seraglio

of Constantinople for the Grand Signior's handkerchief than were

continually harassing one party against the other at the Court of

Versailles. The Dauphine was even attacked through her own tutor, the

Abbe Vermond. A cabal was got up between the Abbe and Madame Marsan,

instructress of the sisters of Louis XVI. (the Princesses Clotilde and

Elizabeth) upon the subject of education. Nothing grew out of this

affair excepting a new stimulus to the party spirit against the Austrian

influence, or, in other words, the Austrian Princess; and such was

probably its purpose. Of course every trifle becomes Court tattle. This

was made a mighty business of, for want of a worse. The royal aunts

naturally took the part of Madame Marsan. They maintained that their

royal nieces, the French Princesses, were much better educated than the

German Archduchesses had been by the Austrian Empress. They attempted to

found their assertion upon the embonpoint of the French Princesses. They

said that their nieces, by the exercise of religious principles, obtained

the advantage of solid flesh, while the Austrian Archduchesses, by

wasting themselves in idleness and profane pursuits, grew thin and

meagre, and were equally exhausted in their minds and bodies! At this

the Abbe Vermond, as the tutor of Marie Antoinette, felt himself highly

offended, and called on Comte de Mercy, then the Imperial Ambassador, to

apprise him of the insult the Empire had received over the shoulders of

the Dauphine's tutor. The Ambassador gravely replied that he should

certainly send off a courier immediately to Vienna to inform the Empress

that the only fault the French Court could find with Marie Antoinette was

her being not so unwieldy as their own Princesses, and bringing charms

with her to a bridegroom, on whom even charms so transcendent could make

no impression! Thus the matter was laughed off, but it left, ridiculous

as it was, new bitter enemies to the cause of the illustrious stranger.

"The new favourite, Madame du Barry, whose sway was now supreme, was of

course joined by the whole vitiated intriguing Court of Versailles. The

King's favourite is always that of his parasites, however degraded. The

politics of the De Pompadour party were still feared, though De Pompadour

herself was no more, for Choiseul had friends who were still active in

his behalf. The power which had been raised to crush the power that was

still struggling formed a rallying point for those who hated Austria,

which the deposed Ministry had supported; and even the King's daughters,

much as they abhorred the vulgarity of Du Barry, were led, by dislike for

the Dauphine, to pay their devotions to their father's mistress. The

influence of the rising sun, Marie Antoinette, whose beauteous rays of

blooming youth warmed every heart in her favour, was feared by the new

favourite as well as by the old maidens. Louis XV. had already expressed

a sufficient interest for the friendless royal stranger to awaken the

jealousy of Du Barry, and she was as little disposed to share the King's

affections with another, as his daughters were to welcome a future Queen

from Austria in their palace. Mortified at the attachment the King daily

evinced, she strained every nerve to raise a party to destroy his

predilections. She called to her aid the strength of ridicule, than

which no weapon is more false or deadly. She laughed at qualities she

could not comprehend, and underrated what she could not imitate. The Duc

de Richelieu, who had been instrumental to her good fortune, and for whom

(remembering the old adage: when one hand washes the other both are made

clean) she procured the command of the army--this Duke, the triumphant

general of Mahon and one of the most distinguished noblemen of France,

did not blush to become the secret agent of a depraved meretrix in the

conspiracy to blacken the character of her victim! The Princesses, of

course, joined the jealous Phryne against their niece, the daughter of

the Caesars, whose only faults were those of nature, for at that time she

could have no other excepting those personal perfections which were the

main source of all their malice. By one considered as an usurper, by the

others as an intruder, both were in consequence industrious in the quiet

work of ruin by whispers and detraction.

"To an impolitic act of the Dauphine herself may be in part ascribed the

unwonted virulence of the jealousy and resentment of Du Barry. The old

dotard, Louis XV., was so indelicate as to have her present at the first

supper of the Dauphine at Versailles. Madame la Marechale de Beaumont,

the Duchesse de Choiseul, and the Duchesse de Grammont were there also;

but upon the favourite taking her seat at table they expressed themselves

very freely to Louis XV. respecting the insult they conceived offered to

the young Dauphine, left the royal party, and never appeared again at

Court till after the King's death. In consequence of this scene, Marie

Antoinette, at the instigation of the Abbe Vermond, wrote to her mother,

the Empress, complaining of the slight put upon her rank, birth, and

dignity, and requesting the Empress would signify her displeasure to the

Court of France, as she had done to that of Spain on a similar occasion

in favour of her sister, the Queen of Naples.

"This letter, which was intercepted, got to the knowledge of the Court

and excited some clamour. To say the worst, it could only be looked upon

as an ebullition of the folly of youth. But insignificant as such

matters were in fact, malignity converted them into the locust, which

destroyed the fruit she was sent to cultivate.

"Maria Theresa, old fox that she was, too true to her system to retract

the policy, which formerly, laid her open to the criticism of all the

civilised Courts of Europe for opening the correspondence with De

Pompadour, to whose influence she owed her daughter's footing in

France--a correspondence whereby she degraded the dignity of her sex and

the honour of her crown--and at the same time suspecting that it was not

her daughter, but Vermond, from private motives, who complained, wrote

the following laconic reply to the remonstrance:

"'Where the sovereign himself presides, no guest can be exceptionable.'

"Such sentiments are very much in contradiction with the character of

Maria Theresa. She was always solicitous to impress the world with her

high notion of moral rectitude. Certainly, such advice, however politic,

ought not to have proceeded from a mother so religious as Maria Theresa

wished herself to be thought; especially to a young Princess who, though

enthusiastically fond of admiration, at least had discretion to see and

feel the impropriety of her being degraded to the level of a female like

Du Barry, and, withal, courage to avow it. This, of itself, was quite

enough to shake the virtue of Marie Antoinette; or, at least, Maria

Theresa's letter was of a cast to make her callous to the observance of

all its scruples. And in that vitiated, depraved Court, she too soon,

unfortunately, took the hint of her maternal counsellor in not only

tolerating, but imitating, the object she despised. Being one day told

that Du Barry was the person who most contributed to amuse Louis XV.,

'Then,' said she, innocently, 'I declare myself her rival; for I will try

who can best amuse my grandpapa for the future. I will exert all my

powers to please and divert him, and then we shall see who can best

succeed.'