SECTION I.

Produced by David Widger

MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XV. AND XVI.

Being Secret Memoirs of Madame du Hausset,

Lady’s Maid to Madame de Pompadour,

and of an unknown English Girl

and the Princess Lamballe.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Louis the Fifteenth

“It Was an Indigestion

Madame du Hausset

Madame de Pompadour

Madame Adelaide

Madame Sophie

Madame Elizabeth

Mirabeau and the Queen

Princess de Lamballe

Marie Antoinette in the Temple

Interviewing Little Louis

Marie Antoinette to the Guillotine

ADVERTISEMENT.

[FROM THE LONDON MAGAZINE, NO. III. NEW SERIES P. 439.]

We were obliged by circumstances, at one time, to read all the published

memoirs relative to the reign of Louis XV., and had the opportunity of

reading many others which may not see the light for a long time yet to

come, as their publication at present would materially militate against

the interest of the descendants of the writers; and we have no hesitation

in saying that the Memoirs of Madame du Hausset are the only perfectly

sincere ones amongst all those we know. Sometimes, Madame du Hausset

mistakes, through ignorance, but never does she wilfully mislead, like

Madame Campan, nor keep back a secret, like Madame Roland, and MM.

Bezenval and Ferreires; nor is she ever betrayed by her vanity to invent,

like the Due de Lauzun, MM. Talleyrand, Bertrand de Moleville, Marmontel,

Madame d’Epinay, etc. When Madame du Hausset is found in contradiction

with other memoirs of the same period, we should never hesitate to give

her account the preference. Whoever is desirous of accurately knowing

the reign of Louis XV. should run over the very wretched history of

Lacretelle, merely for the dates, and afterwards read the two hundred

pages of the naive du Hausset, who, in every half page, overturns half a

dozen misstatements of this hollow rhetorician. Madame du Hausset was

often separated from the little and obscure chamber in the Palace of

Versailles, where resided the supreme power, only by a slight door or

curtain, which permitted her to hear all that was said there. She had

for a ‘cher ami’ the greatest practical philosopher of that period, Dr.

Quesnay, the founder of political economy. He was physician to Madame de

Pompadour, and one of the sincerest and most single-hearted of men

probably in Paris at the time. He explained to Madame du Hausset many

things that, but for his assistance, she would have witnessed without

understanding.

INTRODUCTION.

A friend of M. de Marigny (the brother of Madame de Pompadour) called on

him one day and found him burning papers. Taking up a large packet which

he was going to throw into the fire “This,” said he, “is the journal of a

waiting-woman of my sister’s. She was a very estimable person, but it is

all gossip; to the fire with it!” He stopped, and added, “Don’t you

think I am a little like the curate and the barber burning Don Quixote’s

romances?”--“I beg for mercy on this,” said his friend. “I am fond of

anecdotes, and I shall be sure to find some here which will interest me.”

“Take it, then,” said M. de Marigny, and gave it him.

The handwriting and the spelling of this journal are very bad. It

abounds in tautology and repetitions. Facts are sometimes inverted in

the order of time; but to remedy all these defects it would have been

necessary to recast the whole, which would have completely changed the

character of the work. The spelling and punctuation were, however,

corrected in the original, and some explanatory notes added.

Madame de Pompadour had two waiting-women of good family. The one,

Madame du Hausset, who did not change her name; and another, who assumed

a name, and did not publicly announce her quality. This journal is

evidently the production of the former.

The amours of Louis XV. were, for a long time, covered with the veil of

mystery. The public talked of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, but were acquainted

with none of its details. Louis XIV., who, in the early part of his

reign, had endeavoured to conceal his attachments, towards the close of

it gave them a publicity which in one way increased the scandal; but his

mistresses were all women of quality, entitled by their birth to be

received at Court. Nothing can better describe the spirit of the time

and the character of the Monarch than these words of Madame de Montespan:

“He does not love me,” said she, “but he thinks he owes it to his

subjects and to his own greatness to have the most beautiful woman in his

kingdom as his mistress.”

SECRET MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XV.,

AND MEMOIRS OF MADAME DU HAUSSET.

An early friend of mine, who married well at Paris, and who has the

reputation of being a very clever woman, has often asked me to write down

what daily passed under my notice; to please her, I made little notes, of

three or four lines each, to recall to my memory the most singular or

interesting facts; as, for instance--attempt to assassinate the King; he

orders Madame de Pompadour to leave the Court; M. de Machaudt’s

ingratitude, etc.--I always promised my friend that I would, some time or

other, reduce all these materials into the form of a regular narrative.

She mentioned the “Recollections of Madame de Caylus,” which were,

however, not then printed; and pressed me so much to produce a similar

work, that I have taken advantage of a few leisure moments to write this,

which I intend to give her, in order that she may arrange it and correct

the style. I was for a long time about the person of Madame de

Pompadour, and my birth procured for me respectful treatment from

herself, and from some distinguished persons who conceived a regard for

me. I soon became the intimate friend of Doctor Quesnay, who frequently

came to pass two or three hours with me.

His house was frequented by people of all parties, but the number was

small, and restricted to those who were on terms of greatest intimacy

with him. All subjects were handled with the utmost freedom, and it is

infinitely to his honour and theirs that nothing was ever repeated.

The Countess D----- also visited me. She was a frank and lively woman,

and much liked by Madame de Pompadour. The Baschi family paid me great

attention. M. de Marigny had received some little services from me, in

the course of the frequent quarrels between him and his sister, and he

had a great friendship for me. The King was in the constant habit of

seeing me; and an accident, which I shall have occasion to relate,

rendered him very familiar with me. He talked without any constraint

when I was in the room. During Madame de Pompadour’s illness I scarcely

ever left her chamber, and passed the night there. Sometimes, though

rarely, I accompanied her in her carriage with Doctor Quesnay, to whom

she scarcely spoke a word, though he was--a man of great talents. When I

was alone with her, she talked of many affairs which nearly concerned

her, and she once said to me, “The King and I have such implicit

confidence in you, that we look upon you as a cat, or a dog, and go on

talking as if you were not there.” There was a little nook, adjoining

her chamber, which has since been altered, where she knew I usually sat

when I was alone, and where I heard everything that was said in the room,

unless it was spoken in a low voice. But when the King wanted to speak

to her in private, or in the presence of any of his Ministers, he went

with her into a closet, by the side of the chamber, whither she also

retired when she had secret business with the Ministers, or with other

important persons; as, for instance, the Lieutenant of Police, the

Postmaster-General, etc. All these circumstances brought to my knowledge

a great many things which probity will neither allow me to tell or to

record. I generally wrote without order of time, so that a fact may be

related before others which preceded it. Madame de Pompadour had a great

friendship for three Ministers; the first was M. de Machault, to whom she

was indebted for the regulation of her income, and the payment of her

debts. She gave him the seals, and he retained the first place in her

regard till the attempt to assassinate the King. Many people said that

his conduct on that occasion was not attributable to bad intentions; that

he thought it his duty to obey the King without making himself in any way

a party to the affair, and that his cold manners gave him the appearance

of an indifference which he did not feel. Madame de Pompadour regarded

him in the light of a faithless friend; and, perhaps, there was some

justice on both sides. But for the Abbe de Bernis; M. de Machault might,

probably, have retained his place.

The second Minister, whom Madame de Pompadour liked, was the Abbe de

Bernis. She was soon disgusted with him when she saw the absurdity of

his conduct. He gave a singular specimen of this on the very day of his

dismissal. He had invited a great many people of distinction to a

splendid entertainment, which was to have taken place on the very day

when he received his order of banishment, and had written in the notes of

invitation--M. Le Comte de Lusace will be there. This Count was the

brother of the Dauphine, and this mention of him was deservedly thought

impertinent. The King said, wittily enough, “Lambert and Moliere will be

there.” She scarcely ever spoke of the Cardinal de Bernis after his

dismissal from the Court.

He was extremely ridiculous, but he was a good sort of man. Madame, the

Infanta, died a little time before, and, by the way, of such a

complication of putrid and malignant diseases, that the Capuchins who

bore the body, and the men who committed it to the grave, were overcome

by the effluvia. Her papers appeared no less impure in the eyes of the

King. He discovered that the Abbe de Bernis had been intriguing with

her, and that they had deceived him, and had obtained the Cardinal’s hat

by making use of his name. The King was so indignant that he was very

near refusing him the barrette. He did grant it--but just as he would

have thrown a bone to a dog. The Abbe had always the air of a protege

when he was in the company of Madame de Pompadour. She had known him in

positive distress. The Due de Choiseul was very differently situated;

his birth, his air, his manners, gave him claims to consideration, and he

far exceeded every other man in the art of ingratiating himself with

Madame de Pompadour. She looked upon him as one of the most illustrious

nobles of the Court, as the most able Minister, and the most agreeable

man. M. de Choiseul had a sister and a wife, whom he had introduced to

her, and who sedulously cultivated her favourable sentiments towards him.

From the time he was Minister, she saw only with his eyes; he had the

talent of amusing her, and his manners to women, generally, were

extremely agreeable.

Two persons--the Lieutenant of Police and the Postmaster-General--were

very much in Madame de Pompadour’s confidence; the latter, however,

became less necessary to her from the time that the King communicated to

M. de Choiseul the secret of the post-office, that is to say, the system

of opening letters and extracting matter from them: this had never been

imparted to M. d’Argenson, in spite of the high favour he enjoyed. I have

heard that M. de Choiseul abused the confidence reposed in him, and

related to his friends the ludicrous stories, and the love affairs,

contained in the letters which were broken open. The plan they pursued,

as I have heard, was very simple. Six or seven clerks of the post-office

picked out the letters they were ordered to break open, and took the

impression of the seals with a ball of quicksilver. Then they put each

letter, with the seal downwards, over a glass of hot water, which melted

the wax without injuring the paper. It was then opened, the desired

matter extracted, and it was sealed again, by means of the impression.

This is the account of the matter I have heard. The Postmaster-General

carried the extracts to the King on Sundays. He was seen coming and

going on this noble errand as openly as the Ministers. Doctor Quesnay

often, in my presence, flew in such a rage about that infamous Minister,

as he called him, that he foamed at the mouth. “I would as soon dine

with the hangman as with the Postmaster-General,” said the Doctor. It

must be acknowledged that this was astonishing language to be uttered in

the apartments of the King’s mistress; yet it went on for twenty years

without being talked of. “It was probity speaking with earnestness,”

said M. de Marigny, “and not a mere burst of spite or malignity.”

The Duc de Gontaut was the brother-in-law and friend of M. de Choiseul,

and was assiduous in his attendance on Madame de Pompadour. The sister

of M. de Choiseul, Madame de Grammont, and his wife were equally constant

in their attentions. This will sufficiently account for the ascendency

of M. de Choiseul, whom nobody would have ventured to attack. Chance,

however, discovered to me a secret correspondence of the King, with a man

in a very obscure station. This man, who had a place in the Farmers

General, of from two to three hundred a year, was related to one of the

young ladies of the Parc-aux-cerfs, by whom he was recommended to the

King. He was also connected in some way with M. de Broglie, in whom the

King placed great confidence. Wearied with finding that this

correspondence procured him no advancement, he took the resolution of

writing to me, and requesting an interview, which I granted, after

acquainting Madame de Pompadour with the circumstance. After a great

deal of preamble and of flattery, he said to me, “Can you give me your

word of honour, and that of Madame de Pompadour, that no mention whatever

of what I am going to tell you will be made to the King?”--“I think I can

assure you that, if you require such a promise from Madame de Pompadour,

and if it can produce no ill consequence to the King’s service, she will

give it you.” He gave me his word that what he requested would have no

bad effect; upon which I listened to what he had to say. He shewed me

several memorials, containing accusations of M. de Choiseul, and revealed

some curious circumstances relative to the secret functions of the Comte

de Broglie. These, however, led rather to conjectures than to certainty,

as to the nature of the services he rendered to the King. Lastly, he

shewed me several letters in the King’s handwriting. “I request,” said

he, “that the Marquise de Pompadour will procure for me the place of

Receiver-General of Finances; I will give her information of whatever I

send the King; I will write according to her instructions, and I will

send her his answers.” As I did not choose to take liberties with the

King’s papers, I only undertook to deliver the memorials. Madame de

Pompadour having given me her word according to the conditions on which I

had received the communication, I revealed to her everything I had heard.

She sent the memorials to M. de Choiseul, who thought them very

maliciously and very cleverly written. Madame de Pompadour and he had a

long conference as to the reply that was to be given to the person by

whom those disclosures were made. What I was commissioned to say was

this: that the place of Receiver-General was at present too important,

and would occasion too much surprise and speculation; that it would not

do to go beyond a place worth fifteen thousand to twenty thousand francs

a year; that they had no desire to pry into the King’s secrets; and that

his correspondence ought not to be communicated to any one; that this did

not apply to papers like those of which I was the bearer, which might

fall into his hands; that he would confer an obligation by communicating

them, in order that blows aimed in the dark, and directed by malignity

and imposture, might be parried. The answer was respectful and proper,

in what related to the King; it was, however, calculated to counteract

the schemes of the Comte de Broglie, by making M. de Choiseul acquainted

with his attacks, and with the nature of the weapons he employed. It was

from the Count that he received statements relating to the war and to the

navy; but he had no communication with him concerning foreign affairs,

which the Count, as it was said, transacted immediately with the King.

The Duc de Choiseul got the man who spoke to me recommended to the

Controller-General, without his appearing in the business; he had the

place which was agreed upon, and the hope of a still better, and he

entrusted to me the King’s correspondence, which I told him I should not

mention to Madame de Pompadour, according to her injunctions. He sent

several memorials to M. de Choiseul, containing accusations of him,

addressed to the King. This timely information enabled him to refute

them triumphantly.

The King was very fond of having little private correspondences, very

often unknown to Madame de Pompadour: she knew, however, of the existence

of some, for he passed part of his mornings in writing to his family, to

the King of Spain, to Cardinal Tencin, to the Abbe de Broglie, and also

to some obscure persons. “It is, doubtless, from such people as these,”

said she to me, one day, “that the King learns expressions which

perfectly surprise me. For instance, he said to me yesterday, when he

saw a man pass with an old coat on, ‘il y a la un habit bien examine.’ He

once said to me, when he meant to express that a thing was probable, ‘il

y a gros’; I am told this is a saying of the common people, meaning, ‘il

y a gros a parier’.” I took the liberty to say, “But is it not more

likely from his young ladies at the Parc, that he learns these elegant

expressions?” She laughed, and said, “You are right; ‘il y a gros’.” The

King, however, used these expressions designedly, and with a laugh.

The King knew a great many anecdotes, and there were people enough who

furnished him with such as were likely to mortify the self-love of

others. One day, at Choisy, he went into a room where some people were

employed about embroidered furniture, to see how they were going on; and

looking out of the window, he saw at the end of a long avenue two men in

the Choisy uniform. “Who are those two noblemen?” said he. Madame de

Pompadour took up her glass, and said, “They are the Duc d’Aumont, and

------” “Ah!” said the King; “the Duc d’Aumont’s grandfather would be

greatly astonished if he could see his grandson arm in arm with the

grandson of his valet de chambre, L------, in a dress which may be called

a patent of nobility!” He went on to tell Madame de Pompadour a long

history, to prove the truth of what he said. The King went out to

accompany her into the garden; and, soon after, Quesnay and M. de Marigny

came in. I spoke with contempt of some one who was very fond of money.

At this the Doctor laughed, and said, “I had a curious dream last night:

I was in the country of the ancient Germans; I had a large house, stacks

of corn, herds of cattle, a great number of horses, and huge barrels of

ale; but I suffered dreadfully from rheumatism, and knew not how to

manage to go to a fountain, at fifty leagues’ distance, the waters of

which would cure me. I was to go among a strange people. An enchanter

appeared before me, and said to me, ‘I pity your distress; here, I will

give you a little packet of the powder of “prelinpinpin”; whoever

receives a little of this from you will lodge you, feed you, and pay you

all sorts of civilities.’ I took the powder, and thanked him.” “Ah!”

said I, “how I should like to have some powder of prelinpinpin! I wish I

had a chest full.”--“Well,” said the Doctor, “that powder is money, for

which you have so great a contempt. Tell me who, of all the men who come

hither, receives the greatest attentions?”--“I do not know,” said I.

“Why,” said he, “it is M. de Monmartel, who comes four or five times a

year.”--“Why does he enjoy so much consideration?”--“Because his coffers

are full of the powder of prelinpinpin. Everything in existence,” said

he, taking a handful of Louis from his pocket, “is contained in these

little pieces of metal, which will convey you commodiously from one end

of the world to the other. All men obey those who possess this powder,

and eagerly tender them their services. To despise money, is to despise

happiness, liberty, in short, enjoyments of every kind.” A cordon bleu

passed under the window. “That nobleman,” said I, “is much more

delighted with his cordon bleu than he would be with ten thousand of your

pieces of metal.”--“When I ask the King for a pension,” replied Quesnay,

“I say to him, ‘Give me the means of having a better dinner, a warmer

coat, a carriage to shelter me from the weather, and to transport me from

place to place without fatigue.’ But the man who asks him for that fine

blue ribbon would say, if he had the courage and the honesty to speak as

he feels, ‘I am vain, and it will give me great satisfaction to see

people look at me, as I pass, with an eye of stupid admiration, and make

way, for me; I wish, when I enter a room, to produce an effect, and to

excite the attention of those who may, perhaps, laugh at me when I am

gone; I wish to be called Monseigneur by the multitude.’ Is not all this

mere empty air? In scarcely any country will this ribbon be of the

slightest use to him; it will give him no power. My pieces of metal will

give me the power of assisting the unfortunate everywhere. Long live the

omnipotent powder of prelinpinpin!” At these last words, we heard a

burst of laughter from the adjoining room, which was only separated by a

door from the one we were in. The door opened, and in came the King,

Madame de Pompadour, and M. de Gontaut. “Long live the powder of

prelinpinpin!” said the King. “Doctor, can you get me any of it?” It

happened that, when the King returned from his walk, he was struck with a

fancy to listen to our conversation. Madame de Pompadour was extremely

kind to the Doctor, and the King went out laughing, and talking with

great admiration of the powder. I went away, and so did the Doctor. I

immediately sat down to commit this conversation to writing. I was

afterwards told that M. Quesnay was very learned in certain matters

relating to finance, and that he was a great ‘economiste’. But I do not

know very well what that means. What I do know for certain is, that he

was very clever, very gay and witty, and a very able physician.

The illness of the little Duke of Burgundy, whose intelligence was much

talked of, for a long time occupied the attention of the Court. Great

endeavours were made to find out the cause of his malady, and ill-nature

went so far as to assert that his nurse, who had an excellent situation

at Versailles, had communicated to him a nasty disease. The King shewed

Madame de Pompadour the information he had procured from the province she

came from, as to her conduct. A silly Bishop thought proper to say she

had been very licentious in her youth. The poor nurse was told of this,

and begged that he might be made to explain himself. The Bishop replied,

that she had been at several balls in the town in which she lived, and

that she had gone with her neck uncovered. The poor man actually thought

this the height of licentiousness. The King, who had been at first

uneasy, when he came to this, called out, “What a fool!” After having

long been a source of anxiety to the Court, the Duke died. Nothing

produces a stronger impression upon Princes, than the spectacle of their

equals dying. Everybody is occupied about them while ill--but as soon as

they are dead, nobody mentions them. The King frequently talked about

death--and about funerals, and places of burial. Nobody could be of a

more melancholy temperament. Madame de Pompadour once told me that he

experienced a painful sensation whenever he was forced to laugh, and that

he had often begged her to break off a droll story. He smiled, and that

was all. In general, he had the most gloomy ideas concerning almost all

events. When there was a new Minister, he used to say, “He displays his

wares like all the rest, and promises the finest things in the world, not

one of which will be fulfilled. He does not know this country--he will

see.” When new projects for reinforcing the navy were laid before him,

he said, “This is the twentieth time I have heard this talked of--France

never will have a navy, I think.” This I heard from M. de Marigny.

I never saw Madame de Pompadour so rejoiced as at the taking of Mahon.

The King was very glad, too, but he had no belief in the merit of his

courtiers--he looked upon their success as the effect of chance. Marechal

Saxe was, as I have been told, the only man who inspired him with great

esteem. But he had scarcely ever seen him in his closet, or playing the

courtier.

M. d’Argenson picked a quarrel with M. de Richelieu, after his victory,

about his return to Paris. This was intended to prevent his coming to

enjoy his triumph. He tried to throw the thing upon Madame de Pompadour,

who was enthusiastic about him, and called him by no other name than the

“Minorcan.” The Chevalier de Montaign was the favourite of the Dauphin,

and much beloved by him for his great devotion. He fell ill, and

underwent an operation called ‘l’empieme’, which is performed by making

an incision between the ribs, in order to let out the pus; it had, to all

appearance, a favourable result, but the patient grew worse, and could

not breathe. His medical attendants could not conceive what occasioned

this accident and retarded his cure. He died almost in the arms of the

Dauphin, who went every day to see him. The singularity of his disease

determined the surgeons to open the body, and they found, in his chest,

part of the leaden syringe with which decoctions had, as was usual, been

injected into the part in a state of suppuration. The surgeon, who

committed this act of negligence, took care not to boast of his feat, and

his patient was the victim. This incident was much talked of by the

King, who related it, I believe, not less than thirty times, according to

his custom; but what occasioned still more conversation about the

Chevalier de Montaign, was a box, found by his bed’s side, containing

haircloths, and shirts, and whips, stained with blood. This circumstance

was spoken of one evening at supper, at Madame de Pompadour’s, and not

one of the guests seemed at all tempted to imitate the Chevalier. Eight

or ten days afterwards, the following tale was sent to the King, to

Madame de Pompadour, to the Baschi, and to the Duc d’Ayen. At first

nobody could understand to what it referred: at last, the Duc d’Ayen

exclaimed, “How stupid we are; this is a joke on the austerities of the

Chevalier de Montaign!” This appeared clear enough--so much the more so,

as the copies were sent to the Dauphin, the Dauphine, the Abbe de St.

Cyr, and to the Duc de V---. The latter had the character of a pretender

to devotion, and, in his copy, there was this addition, “You would not be

such a fool, my dear Duke, as to be a ‘faquir’--confess that you would be

very glad to be one of those good monks who lead such a jolly life.” The

Duc de Richelieu was suspected of having employed one of his wits to

write the story. The King was scandalised at it, and ordered the

Lieutenant of Police to endeavour to find out the author, but either he

could not succeed or he would not betray him.

Japanese Tale.

At a distance of three leagues from the capital of Japan, there is a

temple celebrated for the concourse of persons, of both sexes, and of all

ranks, who crowd thither to worship an idol believed to work miracles.

Three hundred men consecrated to the service of religion, and who can

give proofs of ancient and illustrious descent, serve this temple, and

present to the idol the offerings which are brought from all the

provinces of the empire. They inhabit a vast and magnificent edifice,

belonging to the temple, and surrounded with gardens where art has

combined with nature to produce enchantment. I obtained permission to

see the temple, and to walk in the gardens. A monk advanced in years,

but still full of vigour and vivacity, accompanied me. I saw several

others, of different ages, who were walking there. But what surprised me

was to see a great many of them amusing themselves by various agreeable

and sportive games with young girls elegantly dressed, listening to their

songs, and joining in their dances. The monk, who accompanied me,

listened with great civility and kindness to the questions I put to him

concerning his order. The following is the sum of his answers to my

numerous interrogations. The God Faraki, whom we worship, is so called

from a word which signifies the fabricator. He made all that we

behold--the earth, the stars, the sun, etc. He has endowed men with

senses, which are so many sources of pleasure, and we think the only way

of shewing our gratitude is to use them. This opinion will, doubtless,

appear to you much more rational than that of the faquirs of India, who

pass their lives in thwarting nature, and who inflict upon themselves the

most melancholy privations and the most severe sufferings.

As soon as the sun rises, we repair to the mountain you see before us, at

the foot of which flows a stream of the most limpid water, which meanders

in graceful windings through that meadow-enamelled with the loveliest

flowers. We gather the most fragrant of them, which we carry and lay

upon the altar, together with various fruits, which we receive from the

bounty of Faraki. We then sing his praises, and execute dances

expressive of our thankfulness, and of all the enjoyments we owe to this

beneficent deity. The highest of these is that which love produces, and

we testify our ardent gratitude by the manner in which we avail ourselves

of this inestimable gift of Faraki. Having left the temple, we go into

several shady thickets, where we take a light repast; after which, each

of us employs himself in some unoppressive labour. Some embroider,

others apply themselves to painting, others cultivate flowers or fruits,

others turn little implements for our use. Many of these little works

are sold to the people, who purchase them with eagerness. The money

arising from this sale forms a considerable part of our revenue. Our

morning is thus devoted to the worship of God and to the exercise of the

sense of Sight, which begins with the first rays of the sun. The sense

of Taste is gratified by our dinner, and we add to it the pleasure of

Smell. The most delicious viands are spread for us in apartments strewed

with flowers. The table is adorned with them, and the most exquisite

wines are handed to us in crystal goblets. When we have glorified God,

by the agreeable use of the palate, and the olfactory nerve, we enjoy a

delightful sleep of two hours, in bowers of orange trees, roses, and

myrtles. Having acquired a fresh store of strength and spirits, we

return to our occupations, that we may thus mingle labour with pleasure,

which would lose its zest by long continuance. After our work, we return

to the temple, to thank God, and to offer him incense. From thence we go

to the most delightful part of the garden, where we find three hundred

young girls, some of whom form lively dances with the younger of our

monks; the others execute serious dances, which require neither strength

nor agility, and which only keep time to the sound of musical

instruments.

We talk and laugh with our companions, who are dressed in a light gauze,

and whose tresses are adorned with flowers; we press them to partake of

exquisite sherbets, differently prepared. The hour of supper being

arrived, we repair to rooms illuminated with the lustre of a thousand

tapers fragrant with amber. The supper-room is surrounded by three vast

galleries, in which are placed musicians, whose various instruments fill

the mind with the most pleasurable and the softest emotions. The young

girls are seated at table with us, and, towards the conclusion of the

repast, they sing songs, which are hymns in honour of the God who has

endowed us with senses which shed such a charm over existence, and which

promise us new pleasure from every fresh exercise of them. After the

repast is ended, we return to the dance, and, when the hour of repose

arrives, we draw from a kind of lottery, in which every one is sure of a

prize; that is, a young girl as his companion for the night. They are

allotted thus by chance, in order to avoid jealousy, and to prevent

exclusive attachments. Thus ends the day, and gives place to a night of

delights, which we sanctify by enjoying with due relish that sweetest of

all pleasures, which Faraki has so wisely attached to the reproduction of

our species. We reverently admire the wisdom and the goodness of Faraki,

who, desiring to secure to the world a continued population, has

implanted in the sexes an invincible mutual attraction, which constantly

draws them towards each other. Fecundity is the end he proposes, and he

rewards with intoxicating delights those who contribute to the fulfilment

of his designs. What should we say to the favourite of a King from whom

he had received a beautiful house, and fine estates, and who chose to

spoil the house, to let it fall in ruins, to abandon the cultivation of

the land, and let it become sterile, and covered with thorns? Such is

the conduct of the faquirs of India, who condemn themselves to the most

melancholy privations, and to the most severe sufferings. Is not this

insulting Faraki? Is it not saying to him, I despise your gifts? Is it

not misrepresenting him and saying, You are malevolent and cruel, and I

know that I can no otherwise please you than by offering you the

spectacle of my miseries? “I am told,” added he, “that you have, in your

country, faquirs not less insane, not less cruel to themselves.” I

thought, with some reason, that he meant the fathers of La Trappe. The

recital of the matter afforded me much matter for reflection, and I

admired how strange are the systems to which perverted reason gives

birth.

The Duc de V----- was a nobleman of high rank and great wealth. He said

to the King one evening at supper, “Your Majesty does me the favour to

treat me with great kindness: I should be inconsolable if I had the

misfortune to fall under your displeasure. If such a calamity were to

befall me, I should endeavour to divert my grief by improving some

beautiful estates of mine in such and such a province;” and he thereupon

gave a description of three or four fine seats. About a month after,

talking of the disgrace of a Minister, he said, “I hope your Majesty will

not withdraw your favour from me; but if I had the misfortune to lose it,

I should be more to be pitied than anybody, for I have no asylum in which

to hide my head.” All those present, who had heard the description of

the beautiful country houses, looked at each other and laughed. The King

said to Madame de Pompadour, who sat next to him at table, “People are

very right in saying that a liar ought to have a good memory.”

An event, which made me tremble, as well as Madame, procured me the

familiarity of the King. In the middle of the night, Madame came into my

chamber, en chemise, and in a state of distraction. “Here! Here!” said

she, “the King is dying.” My alarm may be easily imagined. I put on a

petticoat, and found the King in her bed, panting. What was to be

done?--it was an indigestion. We threw water upon him, and he came to

himself. I made him swallow some Hoffman’s drops, and he said to me, “Do

not make any noise, but go to Quesnay; say that your mistress is ill; and

tell the Doctor’s servants to say nothing about it.” Quesnay, who lodged

close by, came immediately, and was much astonished to see the King in

that state. He felt his pulse, and said, “The crisis is over; but, if

the King were sixty years old, this might have been serious.” He went to

seek some drug, and, on his return, set about inundating the King with

perfumed water. I forget the name of the medicine he made him take, but

the effect was wonderful. I believe it was the drops of General Lamotte.

I called up one of the girls of the wardrobe to make tea, as if for

myself. The King took three cups, put on his robe de chambre and his

stockings, and went to his own room, leaning upon the Doctor. What a

sight it was to see us all three half naked! Madame put on a robe as

soon as possible, and I did the same, and the King changed his clothes

behind the curtains, which were very decently closed. He afterwards

spoke of this short attack, and expressed his sense of the attentions

shown him. An hour after, I felt the greatest possible terror in

thinking that the King might have died in our hands. Happily, he quickly

recovered himself, and none of the domestics perceived what had taken

place. I merely told the girl of the wardrobe to put everything to

rights, and she thought it was Madame who had been indisposed. The King,

the next morning, gave secretly to Quesnay a little note for Madame, in

which he said, ‘Ma chere amie’ must have had a great fright, but let her

reassure herself--I am now well, which the Doctor will certify to you.

From that moment the King became accustomed to me, and, touched by the

interest I had shown for him, he often gave me one of his peculiarly

gracious glances, and made me little presents, and, on every New Year’s

Day, sent me porcelain to the amount of twenty louis d’or. He told

Madame that he looked upon me in the apartment as a picture or statue,

and never put any constraint upon himself on account of my presence.

Doctor Quesnay received a pension of a thousand crowns for his attention

and silence, and the promise of a place for his son. The King gave me an

order upon the Treasury for four thousand francs, and Madame had

presented to her a very handsome chiming-clock and the King’s portrait in

a snuffbox.

The King was habitually melancholy, and liked everything which recalled

the idea of death, in spite of the strongest fears of it. Of this, the

following is an instance: Madame de Pompadour was on her way to Crecy,

when one of the King’s grooms made a sign to her coachman to stop, and

told him that the King’s carriage had broken down, and that, knowing her

to be at no great distance, His Majesty had sent him forward to beg her

to wait for him. He soon overtook us, and seated himself in Madame de

Pompadour’s carriage, in which were, I think, Madame de Chateau-Renaud,

and Madame de Mirepoix. The lords in attendance placed themselves in

some other carriages. I was behind, in a chaise, with Gourbillon, Madame

de Pompadour’s valet de chambre. We were surprised in a short time by

the King stopping his carriage. Those which followed, of course stopped

also. The King called a groom, and said to him, “You see that little

eminence; there are crosses; it must certainly be a burying-ground; go

and see whether there are any graves newly dug.” The groom galloped up

to it, returned, and said to the King, “There are three quite freshly

made.” Madame de Pompadour, as she told me, turned away her head with

horror; and the little Marechale gaily said, “This is indeed enough to

make one’s mouth water.”

[The Marechale de Mirepois died at Brussels in 1791, at a very advanced

age, but preserving her wit and gaiety to the last. The day of her

death, after she had received the Sacrament, the physician told her that

he thought her a good deal better. She replied, “You tell me bad news:

having packed up, I had rather go.” She was sister of the Prince de

Beauveau. The Prince de Ligne says, in one of his printed letters: “She

had that enchanting talent which supplies the means of pleasing

everybody. You would have sworn that she had thought of nothing but you

all her life.”--En.]

Madame de Pompadour spoke of it when I was undressing her in the

evening. “What a strange pleasure,” said she, “to endeavour to fill

one’s mind with images which one ought to endeavour to banish,

especially when one is surrounded by so many sources of happiness! But

that is the King’s way; he loves to talk about death. He said, some

days ago, to M. de Fontanieu, who was, seized with a bleeding at the

nose, at the levee: ‘Take care of yourself; at your age it is a

forerunner of apoplexy.’ The poor man went home frightened, and

absolutely ill.”

I never saw the King so agitated as during the illness of the Dauphin.

The physicians came incessantly to the apartments of Madame de Pompadour,

where the King interrogated them. There was one from Paris, a very odd

man, called Pousse, who once said to him, “You are a good papa; I like

you for that. But you know we are all your children, and share your

distress. Take courage, however; your son will recover.” Everybody’s

eyes were upon the Duc d’Orleans, who knew not how to look. He would

have become heir to the crown, the Queen being past the age to have

children. Madame de ----- said to me, one day, when I was expressing my

surprise at the King’s grief, “It would annoy him beyond measure to have

a Prince of the blood heir apparent. He does not like them, and looks

upon their relationship to him as so remote, that he would feel

humiliated by it.” And, in fact, when his son recovered, he said, “The

King of Spain would have had a fine chance.” It was thought that he was

right in this, and that it would have been agreeable to justice; but

that, if the Duc d’Orleans had been supported by a party, he might have

supported his pretensions to the crown. It was, doubtless, to remove

this impression that he gave a magnificent fete at St. Cloud on the

occasion of the Dauphin’s recovery. Madame de Pompadour said to Madame

de Brancas, speaking of this fete, “He wishes to make us forget the

chateau en Espagne he has been dreaming of; in Spain, however, they build

them of solider materials.” The people did not shew so much joy at the

Dauphin’s recovery. They looked upon him as a devotee, who did nothing

but sing psalms. They loved the Duc d’Orleans, who lived in the capital,

and had acquired the name of the King of Paris. These sentiments were

not just; the Dauphin only sang psalms when imitating the tones of one of

the choristers of the chapel. The people afterwards acknowledged their

error, and did justice to his virtues. The Duc d’Orleans paid the most

assiduous court to Madame de Pompadour: the Duchess, on the contrary,

detested her. It is possible that words were put into the Duchess’s

mouth which she never uttered; but she, certainly, often said most

cutting things. The King would have sent her into exile, had he listened

only to his resentment; but he feared the eclat of such a proceeding, and

he knew that she would only be the more malicious. The Duc d’Orleans

was, just then, extremely jealous of the Comte de Melfort; and the

Lieutenant of Police told the King he had strong reasons for believing

that the Duke would stick at nothing to rid himself of this gallant, and

that he thought it his duty to give the Count notice, that he ought to be

upon his guard. The King said, “He would not dare to attempt any such

violence as you seem to apprehend; but there is a better way: let him try

to surprise them, and he will find me very well inclined to have his

cursed wife shut up; but if he got rid of this lover, she would have

another to-morrow.

“Nay, she has others at this moment; for instance, the Chevalier de

Colbert, and the Comte de l’Aigle.” Madame de Pompadour, however, told

me these two last affairs were not certain.

An adventure happened about the same time, which the Lieutenant of Police

reported to the King. The Duchesse d’Orleans had amused herself one

evening, about eight o’clock, with ogling a handsome young Dutchman, whom

she took a fancy to, from a window of the Palais Royal. The young man,

taking her for a woman of the town, wanted to make short work, at which

she was very much shocked. She called a Swiss, and made herself known.

The stranger was arrested; but he defended himself by affirming that she

had talked very loosely to him. He was dismissed, and the Duc d’Orleans

gave his wife a severe reprimand.

The King (who hated her so much that he spoke of her without the

slightest restraint) one day said to Madame de Pompadour, in my presence,

“Her mother knew what she was, for, before her marriage, she never

suffered her to say more than yes and no. Do you know her joke on the

nomination of Moras? She sent to congratulate him upon it: two minutes

after, she called back the messenger she had sent, and said, before

everybody present, ‘Before you speak to him, ask the Swiss if he still

has the place.’” Madame de Pompadour was not vindictive, and, in spite

of the malicious speeches of the Duchesse d’Orleans, she tried to excuse

her conduct. “Almost all women,” she said, “have lovers; she has not all

that are imputed to her: but her free manners, and her conversation,

which is beyond all bounds, have brought her into general disrepute.”

My companion came into my room the other day, quite delighted. She had

been with M. de Chenevieres, first Clerk in the War-office, and a

constant correspondent of Voltaire, whom she looks upon as a god. She

was, by the bye, put into a great rage one day, lately, by a print-seller

in the street, who was crying, “Here is Voltaire, the famous Prussian;

here you see him, with a great bear-skin cap, to keep him from the cold!

Here is the famous Prussian, for six sous!”--“What a profanation!” said

she. To return to my story: M. de Chenevieres had shewn her some letters

from Voltaire, and M. Marmontel had read an ‘Epistle to his Library’.

M. Quesnay came in for a moment; she told him all this: and, as he did

not appear to take any great interest in it, she asked him if he did not

admire great poets. “Oh, yes; just as I admire great bilboquet players,”

said he, in that tone of his, which rendered everything he said

diverting. “I have written some verses, however,” said he, “and I will

repeat them to you; they are upon a certain M. Rodot, an Intendant of the

Marine, who was very fond of abusing medicine and medical men. I made

these verses to revenge AEsculapius and Hippocrates.

“What do you say to them?” said the Doctor. My companion thought them

very pretty, and the Doctor gave me them in his handwriting, begging me,

at the same time, not to give any copies.

Madame de Pompadour joked my companion about her ‘bel-esprit’, but

sometimes she reposed confidence in her. Knowing that she was often

writing, she said to her, “You are writing a novel, which will appear

some day or other; or, perhaps, the age of Louis XV.: I beg you to treat

me well.” I have no reason to complain of her. It signifies very little

to me that she can talk more learnedly than I can about prose and verse.

She never told me her real name; but one day I was malicious enough to

say to her, “Some one was maintaining, yesterday, that the family of

Madame de Mar---- was of more importance than many of good extraction.

They say it is the first in Cadiz. She had very honourable alliances,

and yet she has thought it no degradation to be governess to Madame de

Pompadour’s daughter. One day you will see her sons or her nephews

Farmers General, and her granddaughters married to Dukes.” I had

remarked that Madame de Pompadour for some days had taken chocolate, ‘a

triple vanille et ambre’, at her breakfast; and that she ate truffles and

celery soup: finding her in a very heated state, I one day remonstrated

with her about her diet, to which she paid no attention. I then thought

it right to speak to her friend, the Duchesse de Brancas. “I had remarked

the same thing,” said she, “and I will speak to her about it before you.”

After she was dressed, Madame de Brancas, accordingly, told her she was

uneasy about her health. “I have just been talking to her about it,”

said the Duchess, pointing to me, “and she is of my opinion.” Madame de

Pompadour seemed a little displeased; at last, she burst into tears. I

immediately went out, shut the door, and returned to my place to listen.

“My dear friend,” she said to Madame de Brancas, “I am agitated by the

fear of losing the King’s heart by ceasing to be attractive to him. Men,

you know, set great value on certain things, and I have the misfortune to

be of a very cold temperament. I, therefore, determined to adopt a

heating diet, in order to remedy this defect, and for two days this

elixir has been of great service to me, or, at least, I have thought I

felt its good effects.”

The Duchesse de Brancas took the phial which was upon the toilet, and

after having smelt at it, “Fie!” said she, and threw it into the fire.

Madame de Pompadour scolded her, and said, “I don’t like to be treated

like a child.” She wept again, and said, “You don’t know what happened

to me a week ago. The King, under pretext of the heat of the weather,

lay down upon my sofa, and passed half the night there. He will take a

disgust to me and have another mistress.”--“You will not avoid that,”

replied the Duchess, “by following your new diet, and that diet will kill

you; render your company more and more precious to the King by your

gentleness: do not repulse him in his fond moments, and let time do the

rest; the chains of habit will bind him to you for ever.” They then

embraced; Madame de Pompadour recommended secrecy to Madame de Brancas,

and the diet was abandoned.

A little while after, she said to me, “Our master is better pleased with

me. This is since I spoke to Quesnay, without, however, telling him all.

He told me, that to accomplish my end, I must try to be in good health,

to digest well, and, for that purpose, take exercise. I think the Doctor

is right. I feel quite a different creature. I adore that man (the

King), I wish so earnestly to be agreeable to him! But, alas! sometimes

he says I am a macreuse (a cold-blooded aquatic bird). I would give my

life to please him.”

One day, the King came in very much heated. I withdrew to my post, where

I listened. “What is the matter?” said Madame de Pompadour. “The long

robes and the clergy,” replied he, “are always at drawn daggers, they

distract me by their quarrels. But I detest the long robes the most. My

clergy, on the whole, is attached and faithful to me; the others want to

keep me in a state of tutelage.”--“Firmness,” said Madame de Pompadour,

“is the only thing that can subdue them.”--“Robert Saint Vincent is an

incendiary, whom I wish I could banish, but that would make a terrible

tumult. On the other hand, the Archbishop is an iron-hearted fellow, who

tries to pick quarrels. Happily, there are some in the Parliament upon

whom I can rely, and who affect to be very violent, but can be softened

upon occasion. It costs me a few abbeys, and a few secret pensions, to

accomplish this. There is a certain V--- who serves me very well, while

he appears to be furious on the other side.”--“I can tell you some news

of him, Sire,” said Madame de Pompadour. “He wrote to me yesterday,

pretending that he is related to me, and begging for an

interview.”--“Well,” said the King, “let him come. See him; and if he

behaves well, we shall have a pretext for giving him something.” M. de

Gontaut came in, and seeing that they were talking seriously, said

nothing. The King walked about in an agitated manner, and suddenly

exclaimed, “The Regent was very wrong in restoring to them the right of

remonstrating; they will end in ruining the State.”--“All, Sire,” said M.

de Gontaut, “it is too strong to be shaken by a set of petty justices.”

“You don’t know what they do, nor what they think. They are an assembly

of republicans; however, here is enough of the subject. Things will last

as they are as long as I shall. Talk about this on Sunday, Madame, with

M. Berrien.” Madame d’Amblimont and Madame d’Esparbes came in. “Ah! here

come my kittens,” said Madame de Pompadour; “all that we are about is

Greek to them; but their gaiety restores my tranquility, and enables me

to attend again to serious affairs. You, Sire, have the chase to divert

you--they answer the same purpose to me.” The King then began to talk

about his morning’s sport, and Lansmatte.

[See the “Memoirs of Madame Campan,” vol. iii., p. 24. Many traits of

original and amusing bluntness are related of Lansmatte, one of the

King’s grooms.]

It was necessary to let the King go on upon these subjects, and even,

sometimes, to hear the same story three or four times over, if new

persons came into the room. Madame de Pompadour never betrayed the least

ennui. She even sometimes persuaded him to begin his story anew.

I one day said to her, “It appears to me, Madame, that you are fonder

than ever of the Comtesse d’Amblimont.”--“I have reason to be so,” said

she. “She is unique, I think, for her fidelity to her friends, and for

her honour. Listen, but tell nobody--four days ago, the King, passing

her to go to supper, approached her, under the pretence of tickling her,

and tried to slip a note into her hand. D’Amblimont, in her madcap way,

put her hands behind her back, and the King was obliged to pick up the

note, which had fallen on the ground. Gontaut was the only person who

saw all this, and, after supper, he went up to the little lady, and said,

‘You are an excellent friend.’--‘I did my duty,’ said she, and

immediately put her finger on her lips to enjoin him to be silent. He,

however, informed me of this act of friendship of the little heroine, who

had not told me of it herself.” I admired the Countess’s virtue, and

Madame de Pompadour said, “She is giddy and headlong; but she has more

sense and more feeling than a thousand prudes and devotees. D’Esparbes

would not do as much most likely she would meet him more than half-way.

The King appeared disconcerted, but he still pays her great

attentions.”--“You will, doubtless, Madame,” said I, “show your sense of

such admirable conduct.”--“You need not doubt it,” said she, “but I don’t

wish her to think that I am informed of it.” The King, prompted either

by the remains of his liking, or from the suggestions of Madame de

Pompadour, one morning went to call on Madame d’Amblimont, at Choisy, and

threw round her neck a collar of diamonds and emeralds, worth between

fifty thousand and seventy-five thousand francs. This happened a long

time after the circumstance I have just related.

There was a large sofa in a little room adjoining Madame de Pompadour’s,

upon which I often reposed.

One evening, towards midnight, a bat flew into the apartment where the

Court was; the King immediately cried out, “Where is General Crillon?”

(He had just left the room.) “He is the General to command against the

bats.” This set everybody calling out, “Ou etais tu, Crillon?” M. de

Crillon soon after came in, and was told where the enemy was. He

immediately threw off his coat, drew his sword, and commenced an attack

upon the bat, which flew into the closet where I was fast asleep. I

started out of sleep at the noise, and saw the King and all the company

around me. This furnished amusement for the rest of the evening. M. de

Crillon was a very excellent and agreeable man, but he had the fault of

indulging in buffooneries of this kind, which, however, were the result

of his natural gaiety, and not of any subserviency of character. Such,

however, was not the case with another exalted nobleman, a Knight of the

Golden Fleece, whom Madame saw one day shaking hands with her valet de

chambre. As he was one of the vainest men at Court, Madame could not

refrain from telling the circumstance to the King; and, as he had no

employment at Court, the King scarcely ever after named him on the Supper

List.

I had a cousin at Saint Cyr, who was married. She was greatly distressed

at having a relation waiting woman to Madame de Pompadour, and often

treated me in the most mortifying manner. Madame knew this from Colin,

her steward, and spoke of it to the King. “I am not surprised at it,”

said he; “this is a specimen of the silly women of Saint Cyr. Madame de

Maintenon had excellent intentions, but she made a great mistake. These

girls are brought up in such a manner, that, unless they are all made

ladies of the palace, they are unhappy and impertinent.”

Some time after, this relation of mine was at my house. Colin, who knew

her, though she did not know him, came in. He said to me, “Do you know

that the Prince de Chimay has made a violent attack upon the Chevalier

d’Henin for being equerry to the Marquise.” At these words, my cousin

looked very much astonished, and said, “Was he not right?”--“I don’t mean

to enter into that question,” said Colin--“but only to repeat his words,

which were these: ‘If you were only a man of moderately good family and

poor, I should not blame you, knowing, as I do, that there are hundreds

such, who would quarrel for your place, as young ladies of family would,

to be about your mistress. But, recollect, that your relations are

princes of the Empire, and that you bear their name.”--“What, sir,” said

my relation, “the Marquise’s equerry of a princely house?”--“Of the house

of Chimay,” said he; “they take the name of Alsace “--witness the

Cardinal of that name. Colin went out delighted at what he had said.

“I cannot get over my surprise at what I have heard,” said my relation.

“It is, nevertheless, very true,” replied I; “you may see the Chevalier

d’Henin (that is the family name of the Princes de Chimay), with the

cloak of Madame upon his arm, and walking alongside her sedan-chair, in

order that he may be ready, on her getting in, to cover her shoulders

with her cloak, and then remain in the antechamber, if there is no other

room, till her return.”

From that time, my cousin let me alone; nay, she even applied to me to

get a company of horse for her husband, who was very loath to come and

thank me. His wife wished him to thank Madame de Pompadour; but the fear

he had lest she should tell him, that it was in consideration of his

relationship to her waiting-woman that he commanded fifty horse,

prevented him. It was, however, a most surprising thing that a man

belonging to the house of Chimay should be in the service of any lady

whatever; and, the commander of Alsace returned from Malta on purpose to

get him out of Madame de Pompadour’s household. He got him a pension of

a hundred louis from his family, and the Marquise gave him a company of

horse. The Chevalier d’Henin had been page to the Marechal de

Luxembourg, and one can hardly imagine how he could have put his relation

in such a situation; for, generally speaking, all great houses keep up

the consequence of their members. M. de Machault, the Keeper of the

Seals, had, at the same time, as equerry, a Knight of St. Louis, and a

man of family--the Chevalier de Peribuse--who carried his portfolio, and

walked by the side of the chair.

Whether it was from ambition, or from tenderness, Madame de Pompadour had

a regard for her daughter,--[The daughter of Madame de Pompadour and her

husband, M. d’Atioles. She was called Alexandrine.]--which seemed to

proceed from the bottom of her heart. She was brought up like a

Princess, and, like persons of that rank, was called by her Christian

name alone. The first persons at Court had an eye to this alliance, but

her mother had, perhaps, a better project. The King had a son by Madame

de Vintimille, who resembled him in face, gesture, and manners. He was

called the Comte du -----. Madame de Pompadour had him brought: to

Bellevue. Colin, her steward, was employed to find means to persuade his

tutor to bring him thither. They took some refreshment at the house of

the Swiss, and the Marquise, in the course of her walk, appeared to meet

them by accident. She asked the name of the child, and admired his

beauty. Her daughter came up at the same moment, and Madame de Pompadour

led them into a part of the garden where she knew the King would come. He

did come, and asked the child’s name. He was told, and looked

embarrassed when Madame, pointing to them, said they would be a beautiful

couple. The King played with the girl, without appearing to take any

notice of the boy, who, while he was eating some figs and cakes which

were brought, his attitudes and gestures were so like those of the King,

that Madame de Pompadour was in the utmost astonishment. “Ah!” said she,

“Sire, look at --------.” --“At what?” said he. “Nothing,” replied

Madame, “except that one would think one saw his father.”

“I did not know,” said the King, smiling, “that you were so intimately

acquainted with the Comte du L------ .”--“You ought to embrace him,” said

she, “he is very handsome.”--“I will begin, then, with the young lady,”

said the King, and embraced them in a cold, constrained manner. I was

present, having joined Mademoiselle’s governess. I remarked to Madame,

in the evening, that the King had not appeared very cordial in his

caresses. “That is his way,” said she; “but do not those children appear

made for each other? If it was Louis XIV., he would make a Duc du Maine

of the little boy; I do not ask so much; but a place and a dukedom for

his son is very little; and it is because he is his son that I prefer him

to all the little Dukes of the Court. My grandchildren would blend the

resemblance of their grandfather and grandmother; and this combination,

which I hope to live to see, would, one day, be my greatest delight.” The

tears came into her eyes as she spoke. Alas! alas! only six months

elapsed, when her darling daughter, the hope of her advanced years, the

object of her fondest wishes, died suddenly. Madame de Pompadour was

inconsolable, and I must do M. de Marigny the justice to say that he was

deeply afflicted. His niece was beautiful as an angel, and destined to

the highest fortunes, and I always thought that he had formed the design

of marrying her. A dukedom would have given him rank; and that, joined

to his place, and to the wealth which she would have had from her mother,

would have made him a man of great importance. The difference of age was

not sufficient to be a great obstacle. People, as usual, said the young

lady was poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons who command a

large portion of public attention always gives birth to these rumours.

The King shewed great regret, but more for the grief of Madame than on

account of the loss itself, though he had often caressed the child, and

loaded her with presents. I owe it, also, to justice, to say that M. de

Marigny, the heir of all Madame de Pompadour’s fortune, after the death

of her daughter, evinced the sincerest and deepest regret every time she

was seriously ill. She, soon after, began to lay plans for his

establishment. Several young ladies of the highest birth were thought

of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a Duke, but his turn of mind

indisposed him for schemes either of marriage or ambition. Ten times he

might have been made Prime Minister, yet he never aspired to it. “That

is a man,” said Quesnay to me, one day, “who is very little known; nobody

talks of his talents or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient

patronage of the arts: no man, since Colbert, has done so much in his

situation: he is, moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will

not see in him anything but the brother of the favourite; and, because he

is fat, he is thought dull and heavy.” This was all perfectly true. M.

de Marigny had travelled in Italy with very able artists, and had

acquired taste, and much more information than any of his predecessors

had possessed. As for the heaviness of his air, it only came upon him

when he grew fat; before that, he had a delightful face. He was then as

handsome as his sister. He paid court to nobody, had no vanity, and

confined himself to the society of persons with whom he was at his ease.

He went rather more into company at Court after the King had taken him to

ride with him in his carriage, thinking it then his duty to shew himself

among the courtiers.

Madame called me, one day, into her closet, where the King was walking up

and down in a very serious mood. “You must,” said she, “pass some days

in a house in the Avenue de St. Cloud, whither I shall send you. You

will there find a young lady about to lie in.” The King said nothing,

and I was mute from astonishment. “You will be mistress of the house,

and preside, like one of the fabulous goddesses, at the accouchement.

Your presence is necessary, in order that everything may pass secretly,

and according to the King’s wish. You will be present at the baptism,

and name the father and mother.” The King began to laugh, and said, “The

father is a very honest man;” Madame added, “beloved by every one, and

adored by those who know him.” Madame then took from a little cupboard a

small box, and drew from it an aigrette of diamonds, at the same time

saying to the King, “I have my reasons for it not being handsomer.”--“It

is but too much so,” said the King; “how kind you are;” and he then

embraced Madame, who wept with emotion, and, putting her hand upon the

King’s heart, said, “This is what I wish to secure.” The King’s eyes

then filled with tears, and I also began weeping, without knowing why.

Afterwards, the King said, “Guimard will call upon you every day, to

assist you with his advice, and at the critical moment you will send for

him. You will say that you expect the sponsors, and a moment after you

will pretend to have received a letter, stating that they cannot come.

You will, of course, affect to be very much embarrassed; and Guimard will

then say that there is nothing for it but to take the first comers. You

will then appoint as godfather and godmother some beggar, or chairman,

and the servant girl of the house, and to whom you will give but twelve

francs, in order not to attract attention.”--“A louis,” added Madame, “to

obviate anything singular, on the other hand.”--“It is you who make me

economical, under certain circumstances,” said the King. “Do you

remember the driver of the fiacre? I wanted to give him a LOUIS, and Duc

d’Ayen said, ‘You will be known;’ so that I gave him a crown.” He was

going to tell the whole story. Madame made a sign to him to be silent,

which he obeyed, not without considerable reluctance. She afterwards

told me that at the time of the fetes given on occasion of the Dauphin’s

marriage, the King came to see her at her mother’s house in a

hackney-coach. The coachman would not go on, and the King would have

given him a LOUIS. “The police will hear of it, if you do,” said the Duc

d’Ayen, “and its spies will make inquiries, which will, perhaps, lead to

a discovery.”

“Guimard,” continued the King, “will tell you the names of the father and

mother; he will be present at the ceremony, and make the usual presents.

It is but fair that you also should receive yours;” and, as he said this,

he gave me fifty LOUIS, with that gracious air that he could so well

assume upon certain occasions, and which no person in the kingdom had but

himself. I kissed his hand and wept. “You will take care of the

accouchee, will you not? She is a good creature, who has not invented

gunpowder, and I confide her entirely to your direction; my chancellor

will tell you the rest,” he said, turning to Madame, and then quitted the

room. “Well, what think you of the part I am playing?” asked Madame. “It

is that of a superior woman, and an excellent friend,” I replied. “It is

his heart I wish to secure,” said she; “and all those young girls who

have no education will not run away with it from me. I should not be

equally confident were I to see some fine woman belonging to the Court,

or the city, attempt his conquest.”

I asked Madame, if the young lady knew that the King was the father of

her child? “I do not think she does,” replied she; “but, as he appeared

fond of her, there is some reason to fear that those about her might be

too ready to tell her; otherwise,” said she, shrugging her shoulders,

“she, and all the others, are told that he is a Polish nobleman, a

relation of the Queen, who has apartments in the castle.” This story was

contrived on account of the cordon bleu, which the King has not always

time to lay aside, because, to do that, he must change his coat, and in

order to account for his having a lodging in the castle so near the King.

There were two little rooms by the side of the chapel, whither the King

retired from his apartment, without being seen by anybody but a sentinel,

who had his orders, and who did not know who passed through those rooms.

The King sometimes went to the Parc-aux-cerfs, or received those young

ladies in the apartments I have mentioned.

I must here interrupt my narrative, to relate a singular adventure, which

is only known to six or seven persons, masters or valets. At the time of

the attempt to assassinate the King, a young girl, whom he had seen

several times, and for whom he had manifested more tenderness than for

most, was distracted at this horrible event. The Mother-Abbess of the

Parc-aux-cerfs perceived her extraordinary grief, and managed so as to

make her confess that she knew the Polish Count was the King of France.

She confessed that she had taken from his pocket two letters, one of

which was from the King of Spain, the other from the Abbe de Brogue. This

was discovered afterwards, for neither she nor the Mother-Abbess knew the

names of the writers. The girl was scolded, and M. Lebel, first valet de

chambre, who had the management of all these affairs, was called; he took

the letters, and carried them to the King, who was very much embarrassed

in what manner to meet a person so well informed of his condition. The

girl in question, having perceived that the King came secretly to see her

companion, while she was neglected, watched his arrival, and, at the

moment he entered with the Abbess, who was about to withdraw, she rushed

distractedly into the room where her rival was. She immediately threw

herself at the King’s feet. “Yes,” said she, “you are King of all

France; but that would be nothing to me if you were not also monarch of

my heart: do not forsake me, my beloved sovereign; I was nearly mad when

your life was attempted!” The Mother-Abbess cried out, “You are mad

now.” The King embraced her, which appeared to restore her to

tranquility. They succeeded in getting her out of the room, and a few

days afterwards the unhappy girl was taken to a madhouse, where she was

treated as if she had been insane, for some days. But she knew well

enough that she was not so, and that the King had really been her lover.

This lamentable affair was related to me by the Mother-Abbess, when I had

some acquaintance with her at the time of the accouchement I have spoken

of, which I never had before, nor since.

To return to my history: Madame de Pompadour said to me, “Be constantly

with the ‘accouchee’, to prevent any stranger, or even the people of the

house, from speaking to her. You will always say that he is a very rich

Polish nobleman, who is obliged to conceal himself on account of his

relationship to the Queen, who is very devout. You will find a wet-nurse

in the house, to whom you will deliver the child. Guimard will manage

all the rest. You will go to church as a witness; everything must be

conducted as if for a substantial citizen. The young lady expects to lie

in in five or six days; you will dine with her, and will not leave her

till she is in a state of health to return to the Parc-aux-cerfs, which

she may do in a fortnight, as I imagine, without running any risk.” I

went, that same evening, to the Avenue de Saint Cloud, where I found the

Abbess and Guimard, an attendant belonging to the castle, but without his

blue coat. There were, besides, a nurse, a wet-nurse, two old

men-servants, and a girl, who was something between a servant and a

waiting-woman. The young lady was extremely pretty, and dressed very

elegantly, though not too remarkably. I supped with her and the

Mother-Abbess, who was called Madame Bertrand. I had presented the

aigrette Madame de Pompadour gave me before supper, which had greatly

delighted the young lady, and she was in high spirits.

Madame Bertrand had been housekeeper to M. Lebel, first valet de chambre

to the King. He called her Dominique, and she was entirely in his

confidence. The young lady chatted with us after supper; she appeared to

be very naive. The next day, I talked to her in private. She said to

me, “How is the Count?” (It was the King whom she called by this title.)

“He will be very sorry not to be with me now; but he was obliged to set

off on a long journey.” I assented to what she said. “He is very

handsome,” said she, “and loves me with all his heart. He promised me an

allowance; but I love him disinterestedly; and, if he would let me, I

would follow him to Poland.” She afterwards talked to me about her

parents, and about M. Lebel, whom she knew by the name of Durand. “My

mother,” said she, “kept a large grocer’s shop, and my father was a man

of some consequence; he belonged to the Six Corps, and that, as everybody

knows, is an excellent thing. He was twice very near being

head-bailiff.” Her mother had become bankrupt at her father’s death, but

the Count had come to her assistance, and settled upon her fifteen

hundred francs a year, besides giving her six thousand francs down. On

the sixth day, she was brought to bed, and, according to my instructions,

she was told the child was a girl, though in reality it was a boy; she

was soon to be told that it was dead, in order that no trace of its

existence might remain for a certain time. It was eventually to be

restored to its mother. The King gave each of his children about ten

thousand francs a year. They inherited after each other as they died

off, and seven or eight were already dead. I returned to Madame de

Pompadour, to whom I had written every day by Guimard. The next day, the

King sent for me into the room; he did not say a word as to the business

I had been employed upon; but he gave me a large gold snuff-box,

containing two rouleaux of twenty-five louis each. I curtsied to him,

and retired. Madame asked me a great many questions of the young lady,

and laughed heartily at her simplicity, and at all she had said about the

Polish nobleman. “He is disgusted with the Princess, and, I think, will

return to Poland for ever, in two months.”--“And the young lady?” said I.

“She will be married in the country,” said she, “with a portion of forty

thousand crowns at the most and a few diamonds.” This little adventure,

which initiated me into the King’s secrets, far from procuring for me

increased marks of kindness from him, seemed to produce a coldness

towards me; probably because he was ashamed of my knowing his obscure

amours. He was also embarrassed by the services Madame de Pompadour had

rendered him on this occasion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

deserving it that she has got that character.”

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

She often received anonymous letters, threatening her with poison or

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

don’t know him,” said she; “if he were going to lodge her this very night

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

showing the King extracts from the letters broken open at the

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

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

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

as reasonable that the King should have a female friend and

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

overawe the Ministers.’”

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

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

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

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

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

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

like Mademoiselle Deschamps, and she is turned off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

venture upon.]

This was not Madame’s only subject of alarm. A relation of Madame

d’Estrades, wife to the Marquis de C----, had made the most pointed

advances to the King, much more than were necessary for a man who justly

thought himself the handsomest man in France, and who was, moreover, a

King.

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

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

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

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

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

perfidiousness he liberally paid.]

He was perfectly persuaded that every woman would yield to the slightest

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

matter of course that women fell in love with him. M. de Stainville had

a hand in marring the success of that intrigue; and, soon afterwards,

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

her relations, escaped through a closet to a rendezvous, and was caught

with a young man in a corridor. The Spanish Ambassador, coming out of

his apartments with flambeaux, was the person who witnessed this scene.

Madame d’Estrades affected to know nothing of her cousin’s intrigues,

and kept up an appearance of the tenderest attachment to Madame de

Pompadour, whom she was habitually betraying. She acted as spy for M.

d’Argenson, in the cabinets, and in Madame de Pompadour’s apartments;

and, when she could discover nothing, she had recourse to her invention,

in order that she might not lose her importance with her lover. This

Madame d’Estrades owed her whole existence to the bounties of Madame,

and yet, ugly as she was, she had tried to get the King away from her.

One day, when he, had got rather drunk at Choisy (I think, the only time

that, ever happened to him), he went on board a beautiful barge, whither

Madame, being ill of an indigestion, could not accompany him. Madame

d’Estrades seized this opportunity. She got into the barge, and, on

their return, as it was dark, she followed the King into a private

closet, where he was believed to be sleeping on a couch, and there went

somewhat beyond any ordinary advances to him. Her account of the matter

to Madame was, that she had gone into the closet upon her own affairs,

and that the King, had followed her, and had tried to ravish her. She

was at full liberty to make what story she pleased, for the King knew

neither what he had said, nor what he had done. I shall finish this

subject by a short history concerning a young lady. I had been, one

day, to the theatre at Compiegne. When I returned, Madame asked me

several questions about the play; whether there was much company, and

whether I did not see a very beautiful girl. I replied, “That there

was, indeed, a girl in a box near mine, who was surrounded by all the

young men about the Court.” She smiled, and said, “That is Mademoiselle

Dorothee; she went, this evening, to see the King sup in public, and

to-morrow she is to be taken to the hunt. You are surprised to find me

so well informed, but I know a great deal more about her. She was

brought here by a Gascon, named Dubarre or Dubarri, who is the greatest

scoundrel in France. He founds all his hopes of advancement on

Mademoiselle Dorothee’s charms, which he thinks the King cannot resist.

She is, really, very beautiful.. She was pointed out to me in my little

garden, whither she was taken to walk on purpose. She is the daughter

of a water-carrier, at Strasbourg, and her charming lover demands to be

sent Minister to Cologne, as a beginning.”--“Is it possible, Madame,

that you can have been rendered uneasy by such a creature as

that?”--“Nothing is impossible,” replied she; “though I think the King

would scarcely dare to give such a scandal. Besides, happily, Lebel, to

quiet his conscience, told the King that the beautiful Dorothee’s lover

is infected with a horrid disease;” and, added he, “Your Majesty would

not get rid of that as you have done of the scrofula.” This was quite

enough to keep the young lady at a distance.

“I pity you sincerely, Madame,” said I, “while everybody else envies

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

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

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

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

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

because she could not believe her friend perfidious. Madame de

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

does to you, it would be just the same to him in three days.’”

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

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

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

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

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

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

us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

permission to shoot in the more remote parts, and in the great park.’”

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

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

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

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

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

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

under the King’s windows,”--and enlarged much on the airs he gave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If that hypocritical Bishop,” said she, speaking of the Bishop of

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

cast his eyes over it, and said “‘central point,’--that is to say

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of administration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Queen received her very graciously. The devotees flattered

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the theatre. The Marquis de Mirabeau came in, and the conversation was,

for some time, extremely tedious to me, running entirely on ‘net

produce’; at length, they talked of other things.

[The author of “L’Ami des Hommes,” one of the leaders of the sect of

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

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

unanimously elected his successor. Mirabeau was not deficient in a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

both sides.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in the Dauphin,” said Mirabeau, “is, that, notwithstanding the devotion

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

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

told it to me, ‘Our friend Pompignan thinks that he is something.’” On

returning home, I wrote down this conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” said she; “his ‘Ami des Hommes’ did him great honour.” At this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

myself all that is calculated to allay it.’”

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

that I might not forget it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

show it to the Doctor. It is as follows:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vital parts of the commonwealth. Would a corrupted Parliament have

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

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

understood the danger of confiding the administration to noblemen, you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Encyclopedists, under pretence of enlightening mankind, are sapping the

foundations of religion. All the different kinds of liberty are

connected; the Philosophers and the Protestants tend towards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

approbation of useful services, and your displeasure of errors and

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

rewards and punishments, appointments and dismissals, proceed from

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nevertheless, ignorant of everything which the discharge of their

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

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

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

a burthen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People were extremely assiduous in telling either unpleasant truths, or

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

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

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

former.

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

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

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

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

distinguished writer appears to betray a consciousness that the subject

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

discovered the cause.

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

recollected that the Boileaus and Racines had been protected by that

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Montesquieu, the Cardinal Polignac. “Your Majesty forgets,” said some

one, “D’Alembert and Clairaut.”--“And Crebillon,” said he. “And la

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

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

and d’Olivet.”--“Pretty well,” said the King; “and for the last twenty

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

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

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

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

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

political mission, the first time he visited Prussia.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tell me you are going.”--“Alas! my dear friend, such is our Master’s

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

the Marechale. “That I should go without delay.” During this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

received. “He is the more arrogant,” said he, “on account of Machault’s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

rendered the dismissal of two such Ministers extremely imprudent. This

was the universal opinion at the time.

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

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

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

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

masters of the field.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she is well, and appears happy.

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

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

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

“I have just seen the Comte d’Argenson’s baggage set out.” When the King

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

immediately the cock crew.”

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

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

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

ingratitude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to confess that her brother had been perfectly right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

severity than circumstances absolutely demand. Favour and partiality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

particularly, one Father Frey, guided this lady’s conduct. “What a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ensue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

however, protected her from the pursuit of the Police.

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

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

have it believed that he had lived several centuries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

serving you for five hundred years.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

witnesses.

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

regretted Paris, where his miracles were never questioned.

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

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

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

destiny.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising. She declares that

for a long time she has felt as if she was only four-and-twenty years of

age; why don’t you give some to the King?”--“Ah! Madame,” said he, with a

sort of terror, “I must be mad to think of giving the King an unknown

drug.” I went into my room to write down this conversation. Some days

afterwards, the King, Madame de Pompadour, some Lords of the Court, and

the Comte de St. Germain, were talking about his secret for causing the

spots in diamonds to disappear. The King ordered a diamond of middling

size, which had a spot, to be brought. It was weighed; and the King said

to the Count, “It is valued at two hundred and forty louis; but it would

be worth four hundred if it had no spot. Will you try to put a hundred

and sixty louis into my pocket?” He examined it carefully, and said, “It

may be done; and I will bring it you again in a month.” At the time

appointed, the Count brought back the diamond without a spot, and gave it

to the King. It was wrapped in a cloth of amianthus, which he took off.

The King had it weighed, and found it but very little diminished. The

King sent it to his jeweller by M. de Gontaut, without telling him

anything of what had passed. The jeweller gave three hundred and eighty

louis for it. The King, however, sent for it back again, and kept it as

a curiosity. He could not overcome his surprise, and said that M. de St.

Germain must be worth millions, especially if he had also the secret of

making large diamonds out of a number of small ones. He neither said

that he had, nor that he had not; but he positively asserted that he

could make pearls grow, and give them the finest water. The King, paid

him great attention, and so did Madame de Pompadour. It was from her I

learnt what I have just related. M. Queanay said, talking of the pearls,

“They are produced by a disease in the oyster. It is possible to know

the cause of it; but, be that as it may, he is not the less a quack,

since he pretends to have the elixir vitae, and to have lived several

centuries. Our master is, however, infatuated by him, and sometimes

talks of him as if his descent were illustrious.”

I have seen him frequently: he appeared to be about fifty; he was neither

fat nor thin; he had an acute, intelligent look, dressed very simply, but

in good taste; he wore very fine diamonds in his rings, watch, and

snuff-box. He came, one day, to visit Madame de Pompadour, at a time

when the Court was in full splendour, with knee and shoe-buckles of

diamonds so fine and brilliant that Madame said she did not believe the

King had any equal to them. He went into the antechamber to take them

off, and brought them to be examined; they were compared with others in

the room, and the Duc de Gontaut, who was present, said they were worth

at least eight thousand louis. He wore, at the same time, a snuff-box of

inestimable value, and ruby sleeve-buttons, which were perfectly

dazzling. Nobody could find out by what means this man became so rich

and so remarkable; but the King would not suffer him to be spoken of with

ridicule or contempt. He was said to be a bastard son of the King of

Portugal.

I learnt, from M. de Marigny, that the relations of the good little

Marechale (de Mirepoix) had been extremely severe upon her, for what they

called the baseness of her conduct, with regard to Madame de Pompadour.

They said she held the stones of the cherries which Madame ate in her

carriage, in her beautiful little hands, and that she sate in the front

of the carriage, while Madame occupied the whole seat in the inside. The

truth was, that, in going to Crecy, on an insupportably hot day, they

both wished to sit alone, that they might be cooler; and as to the matter

of the cherries, the villagers having brought them some, they ate them to

refresh themselves, while the horses were changed; and the Marechal

emptied her pocket-handkerchief, into which they had both thrown the

cherry-stones, out of the carriage window. The people who were changing

the horses had given their own version of the affair.

I had, as you know, a very pretty room at Madame’s hotel, whither I

generally went privately. I had, one day, had visits from two or three

Paris representatives, who told me news; and Madame, having sent for me,

I went to her, and found her with M. de Gontaut. I could not help

instantly saying to her, “You must be much pleased, Madame, at the noble

action of the Marquis de ------.” Madame replied, drily, “Hold your

tongue, and listen to what I have to say to you.” I returned to my

little room, where I found the Comtesse d’Amblimont, to whom I mentioned

Madame’s reception of me. “I know what is the matter,” said she; “it has

no relation to you. I will explain it to you. The Marquis de -------has

told all Paris, that, some days ago, going home at night, alone, and on

foot, he heard cries in a street called Ferou, which is dark, and, in

great part, arched over; that he drew his sword, and went down the

street, in which he saw, by the light of a lamp, a very handsome woman,

to whom some ruffians were offering violence; that he approached, and

that the woman cried out, ‘Save me! save me!’ that he rushed upon the

wretches, two of whom fought him, sword in hand, whilst a third held the

woman, and tried to stop her mouth; that he wounded one in the arm; and

that the ruffians, hearing people pass at the end of the street, and

fearing they might come to his assistance, fled; that he went up to the

lady, who told him that they were not robbers, but villains, one of whom

was desperately in love with her; and that the lady knew not how to

express her gratitude; that she had begged him not to follow her, after

he had conducted her to a fiacre; that she would not tell him her name,

but that she insisted on his accepting a little ring, as a token of

remembrance; and that she promised to see him again, and to tell him her

whole history, if he gave her his address; that he complied with this

request of the lady, whom he represented as a charming person, and who,

in the overflowing of her gratitude, embraced him several times. This is

all very fine, so far,” said Madame d’Amblimont, “but hear the rest. The

Marquis de exhibited himself everywhere the next day, with a black ribbon

bound round his arm, near the wrist, in which part he said he had

received a wound. He related his story to everybody, and everybody

commented upon it after his own fashion. He went to dine with the

Dauphin, who spoke to him of his bravery, and of his fair unknown, and

told him that he had already complimented the Duc de C---- on the affair.

I forgot to tell you,” continued Madame d’Amblimont, “that, on the very

night of the adventure, he called on Madame d’Estillac, an old gambler,

whose house is open till four in the morning; that everybody there was

surprised at the disordered state in which he appeared; that his bagwig

had fallen off, one skirt of his coat was cut, and his right hand

bleeding. That they instantly bound it up, and gave him some Rota wine.

Four days ago, the Duc de C---- supped with the King, and sat near M. de

St. Florentin. He talked to him of his relation’s adventure, and asked

him if he had made any inquiries concerning the lady. M. de St.

Florentin coldly answered, ‘No!’ and M. de C---- remarked, on asking him

some further questions, that he kept his eyes firmed on his plate,

looking embarrassed, and answered in monosyllables. He asked him the

reason of this, upon which M. de Florentin told him that it was extremely

distressing to him to see him under such a mistake. ‘How can you know

that, supposing it to be the fact?’ said M. de ------, ‘Nothing is more

easy to prove,’ replied M. de St. Florentin. ‘You may imagine that, as

soon as I was informed of the Marquis de ------‘s adventure, I set on

foot inquiries, the result of which was, that, on the night when this

affair was said to have taken place, a party of the watch was set in

ambuscade in this very street, for the purpose of catching a thief who

was coming out of the gaming house; that this party was there four hours,

and heard not the slightest noise.’ M. de C was greatly incensed at this

recital, which M. de St. Florentin ought, indeed, to have communicated to

the King. He has ordered, or will order, his relation to retire to his

province.

“After this, you will judge, my dear, whether you were very likely to be

graciously received when you went open-mouthed with your compliment to

the Marquise. This adventure,” continued she, “reminded the King of one

which occurred about fifteen years ago. The Comte d’E----, who was what

is called ‘enfant d’honneur’ to the Dauphin, and about fourteen years of

age, came into the Dauphin’s apartments, one evening, with his bag-wig

snatched off, and his ruffles torn, and said that, having walked rather

late near the piece of water des Suisses, he had been attacked by two

robbers; that he had refused to give them anything, drawn his sword, and

put himself in an attitude of defence; that one of the robbers was armed

with a sword, the other with a large stick, from which he had received

several blows, but that he had wounded one in the arm, and that, hearing

a noise at that moment, they had fled. But unluckily for the little

Count, it was known that people were on the spot at the precise time he

mentioned, and had heard nothing. The Count was pardoned, on account of

his youth. The Dauphin made him confess the truth, and it was looked

upon as a childish freak to set people talking about him.”

The King disliked the King of Prussia because he knew that the latter was

in the habit of jesting upon his mistress, and the kind of life he led.

It was Frederick’s fault, as I have heard it said, that the King was not

his most steadfast ally and friend, as much as sovereigns can be towards

each other; but the jestings of Frederick had stung him, and made him

conclude the treaty of Versailles. One day, he entered Madame’s

apartment with a paper in his hand, and said, “The King of Prussia is

certainly a great man; he loves men of talent, and, like Louis XIV., he

wishes to make Europe ring with his favours towards foreign savans. There

is a letter from him, addressed to Milord Marshal, ordering him to

acquaint a ‘superieur’ man of my kingdom (D’Alembert) that he has

granted him a pension;” and, looking at the letter, he read the

following words: “You must know that there is in Paris a man of the

greatest merit, whose fortune is not proportionate to his talents and

character. I may serve as eyes to the blind goddess, and repair in some

measure the injustice, and I beg you to offer on that account. I

flatter myself that he will accept this pension because of the pleasure

I shall feel in obliging a man who joins beauty of character to the most

sublime intellectual talents.”

[George Keith, better known under the name of Milord Marshal, was the

eldest son of William Keith, Earl Marshal of Scotland. He was an avowed

partisan of the Stuarts, and did not lay down the arms he had taken up in

their cause until it became utterly desperate, and drew upon its

defenders useless dangers. When they were driven from their country, he

renounced it, and took up his residence successively in France, Prussia,

Spain, and Italy. The delicious country and climate of Valencia he

preferred above any other.

Milord Marshal died in the month of May, 1778. It was he who said to

Madame Geoffrin, speaking of his brother, who was field-marshal in the

Prussian service, and died on the field of honour, “My brother leaves me

the most glorious inheritance” (he had just laid the whole of Bohemia

under contribution); “his property does not amount to seventy ducats.” A

eulogium on Milord Marshal, by D’Alembert, is extant. It is the most

cruelly mangled of all his works, by Linguet]

The King here stopped, on seeing MM. de Ayen and de Gontaut enter, and

then recommenced reading the letter to them, and added, “It was given me

by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, to whom it was confided by Milord

Marshal, for the purpose of obtaining my permission for this sublime

genius to accept the favour. But,” said the King, “what do you think is

the amount?” Some said six, eight, ten thousand livres. “You have not

guessed,” said the King; “it is twelve hundred livres.”--“For sublime

talents,” said the Duc d’Ayen, “it is not much. But the philosophers

will make Europe resound with this letter, and the King of Prussia will

have the pleasure of making a great noise at little expense.”

The Chevalier de Courten,--[The Chevalier de Courten was a Swiss, and a

man of talent.]--who had been in Prussia, came in, and, hearing this

story told, said, “I have seen what is much better than that: passing

through a village in Prussia, I got out at the posthouse, while I was

waiting for horses; and the postmaster, who was a captain in the Prussian

service, showed me several letters in Frederick’s handwriting, addressed

to his uncle, who was a man of rank, promising him to provide for his

nephews; the provision he made for this, the eldest of these nephews, who

was dreadfully wounded, was the postmastership which he then held.” M.

de Marigny related this story at Quesnay’s, and added, that the man of

genius above mentioned was D’Alembert, and that the King had permitted

him to accept the pension. He added, that his sister had suggested to

the King that he had better give D’Alembert a pension of twice the value,

and forbid him to take the King of Prussia’s. This advice he would not

take, because he looked upon D’Alembert as an infidel. M. de Marigny

took a copy of the letter, which he lent me.

A certain nobleman, at one time, affected to cast tender glances on

Madame Adelaide. She was wholly unconscious of it; but, as there are

Arguses at Court, the King was, of course, told of it, and, indeed, he

thought he had perceived it himself. I know that he came into Madame de

Pompadour’s room one day, in a great passion, and said, “Would you

believe that there is a man in my Court insolent enough to dare to raise

his eyes to one of my daughters?” Madame had never seen him so

exasperated, and this illustrious nobleman was advised to feign a

necessity for visiting his estates. He remained there two months. Madame

told me, long after, that she thought that there were no tortures to

which the King would not have condemned any man who had seduced one of

his daughters. Madame Adelaide, at the time in question, was a charming

person, and united infinite grace, and much talent, to a most agreeable

face.

A courier brought Madame de Pompadour a letter, on reading which she

burst into tears. It contained the intelligence of the battle of

Rosbach, which M. de Soubise sent her, with all the details. I heard her

say to the Marechal de Belle-Isle, wiping her eyes, “M. de Soubise is

inconsolable; he does not try to excuse his conduct, he sees nothing but

the disastrous fortune which pursues him.”--“M. de Soubise must, however,

have many things to urge in his own behalf,” said M. de Belle-Isle, “and

so I told the King.”--“It is very noble in you, Marshal, not to suffer an

unfortunate man to be overwhelmed; the public are furious against him,

and what has he done to deserve it?”--“There is not a more honourable nor

a kinder man in the world. I only fulfil my duty in doing justice to the

truth, and to a man for whom I have the most profound esteem. The King

will explain to you, Madame, how M. de Soubise was forced to give battle

by the Prince of Sage-Hildbourgshausen, whose troops fled first, and

carried along the French troops.” Madame would have embraced the old

Marshal if she had dared, she was so delighted with him.

M. de Soubise, having gained a battle, was made Marshal of France: Madame

was enchanted with her friend’s success. But, either it was unimportant,

or the public were offended at his promotion; nobody talked of it but

Madame’s friends. This unpopularity was concealed from her, and she said

to Colin, her steward, at her toilet, “Are you not delighted at the

victory M. de Soubise has gained? What does the public say of it? He

has taken his revenge well.” Colin was embarrassed, and knew not what to

answer. As she pressed him further, he replied that he had been ill, and

had seen nobody for a week.

M. de Marigny came to see me one day, very much out of humour. I asked

him the cause. “I have,” said he, “just been intreating my sister not to

make M. le Normand-de-Mezi Minister of the Marine. I told her that she

was heaping coals of fire upon her own head. A favourite ought not to

multiply the points of attack upon herself.” The Doctor entered. “You,”

said the Doctor, “are worth your weight in gold, for the good sense and

capacity you have shewn in your office, and for your moderation, but you

will never be appreciated as you deserve; your advice is excellent; there

will never be a ship taken but Madame will be held responsible for it to

the public, and you are very wise not to think of being in the Ministry

yourself.”

One day, when I was at Paris, I went to dine with the Doctor, who

happened to be there at the same time; there were, contrary to his usual

custom, a good many people, and, among others, a handsome young Master of

the Requests, who took a title from some place, the name of which I have

forgotten, but who was a son of M. Turgot, the ‘prevot des marchands’.

They talked a great deal about administration, which was not very amusing

to me; they then fell upon the subject of the love Frenchmen bear to

their Kings. M. Turgot here joined in the conversation, and said, “This

is not a blind attachment; it is a deeply rooted sentiment, arising from

an indistinct recollection of great benefits. The French nation--I may

go farther--Europe, and all mankind, owe to a King of France” (I have

forgotten his name)--[Phillip the Long]--“whatever liberty they enjoy. He

established communes, and conferred on an immense number of men a civil

existence. I am aware that it may be said, with justice, that he served

his own interests by granting these franchises; that the cities paid him

taxes, and that his design was to use them as instruments of weakening

the power of great nobles; but what does that prove, but that this

measure was at once useful, politic, and humane?” From Kings in general

the conversation turned upon Louis XV., and M. Turgot remarked that his

reign would be always celebrated for the advancement of the sciences, the

progress of knowledge, and of philosophy. He added that Louis XV. was

deficient in the quality which Louis XIV. possessed to excess; that is

to say, in a good opinion of himself; that he was well-informed; that

nobody was more perfectly master of the topography of France; that his

opinion in the Council was always the most judicious; and that it was

much to be lamented that he had not more confidence in himself, or that

he did not rely upon some Minister who enjoyed the confidence of the

nation. Everybody agreed with him. I begged M. Quesnay to write down

what young Turgot had said, and showed it to Madame. She praised this

Master of the Requests greatly, and spoke of him to the King. “It is a

good breed,” said he.

One day, I went out to walk, and saw, on my return, a great many people

going and coming, and speaking to each other privately: it was evident

that something extraordinary had happened. I asked a person of my

acquaintance what was the matter. “Alas!” said he, with tears in his

eyes, “some assassins, who had formed the project of murdering the King,

have inflicted several wounds on a garde-du-corps, who overheard them in

a dark corridor; he is carried to the hospital: and as he has described

the colour of these men’s coats, the Police are in quest of them in all

directions, and some people, dressed in clothes of that colour, are

already arrested.” I saw Madame with M. de Gontaut, and I hastened home.

She found her door besieged by a multitude of people, and was alarmed:

when she got in, she found the Comte de Noailles. “What is all this,

Count?” said she. He said he was come expressly to speak to her, and

they retired to her closet together. The conference was not long. I had

remained in the drawing-room, with Madame’s equerry, the Chevalier de

Solent, Gourbillon, her valet de chambre, and some strangers. A great

many details were related; but, the wounds being little more than

scratches, and the garde-du-corps having let fall some contradictions, it

was thought that he was an impostor, who had invented all this story to

bring himself into favour. Before the night was over, this was proved to

be the fact, and, I believe, from his own confession. The King came,

that evening, to see Madame de Pompadour; he spoke of this occurrence

with great sang froid, and said, “The gentleman who wanted to kill me was

a wicked madman; this is a low scoundrel.”

When he spoke of Damiens, which was only while his trial lasted, he never

called him anything but that gentleman.

I have heard it said that he proposed having him shut up in a dungeon for

life; but that the horrible nature of the crime made the judges insist

upon his suffering all the tortures inflicted upon like occasions. Great

numbers, many of them women, had a barbarous curiosity to witness the

execution; amongst others, Madame de P------, a very beautiful woman, and

the wife of a Farmer General. She hired two places at a window for

twelve Louis, and played a game of cards in the room whilst waiting for

the execution to begin. On this being told to the King, he covered his

eyes with his hands and exclaimed, “Fi, la Vilaine!” I have been told

that she, and others, thought to pay their court in this way, and

signalise their attachment to the King’s person.

Two things were related to me by M. Duclos at the time of the attempt on

the King’s life.

The first, relative to the Comte de Sponheim, who was the Duc de

Deux-Ponts, and next in succession to the Palatinate and Electorate of

Bavaria. He was thought to be a great friend to the King, and had made

several long sojourns in France. He came frequently to see Madame. M.

Duclos told us that the Duc de Deux-Ponts, having learned, at Deux-Ponts,

the attempt on the King’s life, immediately set out in a carriage for

Versailles: “But remark,” said he, “the spirit of ‘courtisanerie’ of a

Prince, who may be Elector of Bavaria and the Palatinate tomorrow. This

was not enough. When he arrived within ten leagues of Paris, he put on

an enormous pair of jack-boots, mounted a post-horse, and arrived in the

court of the palace cracking his whip. If this had been real impatience,

and not charlatanism, he would have taken horse twenty leagues from

Paris.”--“I don’t agree with you,” said a gentleman whom I did not know;

“impatience sometimes seizes one towards the end of an undertaking, and

one employs the readiest means then in one’s power. Besides, the Duc de

Deux-Ponts might wish, by showing himself thus on horseback, to serve the

King, to whom he is attached, by proving to Frenchmen how greatly he is

beloved and honoured in other countries.” Duclos resumed: “Well,” said

he, “do you know the story of M. de C-----? The first day the King saw

company, after the attempt of Damiens, M. de C----- pushed so vigorously

through the crowd that he was one of the first to come into the King’s

presence, but he had on so shabby a black coat that it caught the King’s

attention, who burst out laughing, and said, ‘Look at C-----, he has had

the skirt of his coat torn off.’ M. de C----- looked as if he was only

then first conscious of his loss, and said, ‘Sire, there is such a

multitude hurrying to see Your Majesty, that I was obliged to

fight my way through them, and, in the effort, my coat has been

torn.’--‘Fortunately it was not worth much,’ said the Marquis de Souvre,

‘and you could not have chosen a worse one to sacrifice on the

occasion.’”

Madame de Pompadour had been very judiciously advised to get her husband,

M. le Normand, sent to Constantinople, as Ambassador. This would have a

little diminished the scandal caused by seeing Madame de Pompadour, with

the title of Marquise, at Court, and her husband Farmer General at Paris.

But he was so attached to a Paris life, and to his opera habits, that he

could not be prevailed upon to go. Madame employed a certain M.

d’Arboulin, with whom she had been acquainted before she was at Court, to

negotiate this affair. He applied to a Mademoiselle Rem, who had been an

opera-dancer, and who was M. le Normand’s mistress. She made him very

fine promises; but she was like him, and preferred a Paris life. She

would do nothing in it.

At the time that plays were acted in the little apartments, I obtained a

lieutenancy for one of my relations, by a singular means, which proves

the value the greatest people set upon the slightest access to the Court.

Madame did not like to ask anything of M. d’Argenson, and, being pressed

by my family, who could not imagine that, situated as I was, it could be

difficult for me to obtain a command for a good soldier, I determined to

go and ask the Comte d’Argenson. I made my request, and presented my

memorial. He received me coldly, and gave me vague answers. I went out,

and the Marquis de V-----, who was in his closet, followed me. “You wish

to obtain a command,” said he; “there is one vacant, which is promised me

for one of my proteges; but if you will do me a favour in return, or

obtain one for me, I will give it to you. I want to be a police officer,

and you have it in your power to get me a place.” I told him I did not

understand the purport of his jest. “I will tell you,” said he;

“Tartuffe is going to be acted in the cabinets, and there is the part of

a police officer, which only consists of a few lines. Prevail upon

Madame de Pompadour to assign me that part, and the command is yours.” I

promised nothing, but I related the history to Madame, who said she would

arrange it for me. The thing was done, and I obtained the command, and

the Marquis de V----- thanked Madame as if she had made him a Duke.

The King was often annoyed by the Parliaments, and said a very remarkable

thing concerning them, which M. de Gontaut repeated to Doctor Quesnay in

my presence. “Yesterday,” said he, “the King walked up and down the room

with an anxious air. Madame de Pompadour asked him if he was uneasy

about his health, as he had been, for some time, rather unwell. ‘No,’

replied he; ‘but I am greatly annoyed by all these remonstrances.’--‘What

can come of them,’ said she, ‘that need seriously disquiet Your Majesty?

Are you not master of the Parliaments, as well as of all the rest of the

kingdom?’--‘That is true,’ said the King; ‘but, if it had not been for

these counsellors and presidents, I should never have been stabbed by

that gentleman’ (he always called Damiens so). ‘Ah! Sire,’ cried Madame

de Pompadour. ‘Read the trial,’ said he. ‘It was the language of those

gentlemen he names which turned his head.’--‘But,’ said Madame, ‘I have

often thought that, if the Archbishop--[M. de Beaumont]--could be sent to

Rome--’--‘Find anybody who will accomplish that business, and I will give

him whatever he pleases.’” Quesnay said the King was right in all he had

uttered. The Archbishop was exiled shortly after, and the King was

seriously afflicted at being driven to take such a step. “What a pity,”

he often said, “that so excellent a man should be so obstinate.”--“And so

shallow,” said somebody, one day. “Hold your tongue,” replied the King,

somewhat sternly. The Archbishop was very charitable, and liberal to

excess, but he often granted pensions without discernment.

[The following is a specimen of the advantages taken of his natural

kindness. Madame la Caille, who acted the Duennas at the Opera Comique,

was recommended to him as the mother of a family, who deserved his

protection, The worthy prelate asked what he could do for her.

“Monseigneur,” said the actress, “two words from your hand to the Duc de

Richelieu would induce him to grant me a demi-part.” M. de Beaumont, who

was very little acquainted with the language of the theatre, thought that

a demi-part meant a more liberal portion of the Marshal’s alms, and the

note was written in the most pressing manner. The Marshal answered, that

he thanked the Archbishop for the interest he took in the Theatre

Italien, and in Madame la Caille, who was a very useful person at that

theatre; that, nevertheless, she had a bad voice; but that the

recommendation of the Archbishop was to be preferred to the greatest

talents, and that the demi-part was granted.]

He granted one of an hundred louis to a pretty woman, who was very poor,

and who assumed an illustrious name, to which she had no right. The fear

lest she should be plunged into vice led him to bestow such excessive

bounty upon her; and the woman was an admirable dissembler. She went to

the Archbishop’s, covered with a great hood, and, when she left him, she

amused herself with a variety of lovers.

Great people have the bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before their

servants. M. de Gontaut once said these words, covertly, as he thought,

to the Duc de ------, “That measures had been taken which would,

probably, have the effect of determining the Archbishop to go to Rome,

with a Cardinal’s hat; and that, if he desired it, he was to have a

coadjutor.”

A very plausible pretext had been found for making this proposition, and

for rendering it flattering to the Archbishop, and agreeable to his

sentiments. The affair had been very adroitly begun, and success

appeared certain. The King had the air, towards the Archbishop, of

entire unconsciousness of what was going on. The negotiator acted as if

he were only following the suggestions of his own mind, for the general

good. He was a friend of the Archbishop, and was very sure of a liberal

reward. A valet of the Duc de Gontaut, a very handsome young fellow, had

perfectly caught the sense of what was spoken in a mysterious manner. He

was one of the lovers of the lady of the hundred Louis a year, and had

heard her talk of the Archbishop, whose relation she pretended to be. He

thought he should secure her good graces by informing her that great

efforts were being made to induce her patron to reside at Rome, with a

view to get him away from Paris. The lady instantly told the Archbishop,

as she was afraid of losing her pension if he went. The information

squared so well with the negotiation then on foot, that the Archbishop

had no doubt of its truth. He cooled, by degrees, in his conversations

with the negotiator, whom he regarded as a traitor, and ended by breaking

with him. These details were not known till long afterwards. The lover

of the lady having been sent to the Bicetre, some letters were found

among his papers, which gave a scent of the affair, and he was made to

confess the rest.

In order not to compromise the Duc de Gontaut, the King was told that the

valet had come to a knowledge of the business from a letter which he had

found in his master’s clothes. The King took his revenge by humiliating

the Archbishop, which he was enabled to do by means of the information he

had obtained concerning the conduct of the lady, his protege. She was

found guilty of swindling, in concert with her beloved valet; but, before

her punishment was inflicted, the Lieutenant of Police was ordered to lay

before Monseigneur a full account of the conduct of his relation and

pensioner. The Archbishop had nothing to object to in the proofs which

were submitted to him; he said, with perfect calmness, that she was not

his relation; and, raising his hands to heaven, “She is an unhappy

wretch,” said he, “who has robbed me of the money which was destined for

the poor. But God knows that, in giving her so large a pension, I did

not act lightly. I had, at that time, before my eyes the example of a

young woman who once asked me to grant her seventy louis a year,

promising me that she would always live very virtuously, as she had

hitherto done. I refused her, and she said, on leaving me, ‘I must turn

to the left, Monseigneur, since the way on the right is closed against

me: The unhappy creature has kept her word but too well. She found means

of establishing a faro-table at her house, which is tolerated; and she

joins to the most profligate conduct in her own person the infamous trade

of a corrupter of youth; her house is the abode of every vice. Think,

sir, after that, whether it was not an act of prudence, on my part, to

grant the woman in question a pension, suitable to the rank in which I

thought her born, to prevent her abusing the gifts of youth, beauty, and

talents, which she possessed, to her own perdition, and the destruction

of others.” The Lieutenant of Police told the King that he was touched

with the candour and the noble simplicity of the prelate. “I never

doubted his virtues,” replied the King, “but I wish he would be quiet.”

This same Archbishop gave a pension of fifty louis a year to the greatest

scoundrel in Paris. He is a poet, who writes abominable verses; this

pension is granted on condition that his poems are never printed. I

learned this fact from M. de Marigny, to whom he recited some of his

horrible verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with

some people of quality. He chinked the money in his pocket. “This is my

good Archbishop’s,” said he, laughing; “I keep my word with him: my poem

will not be printed during my life, but I read it. What would the good

prelate say if he knew that I shared my last quarter’s allowance with a

charming little opera-dancer? ‘It is the Archbishop, then, who keeps

me,’ said she to me; ‘Oh, la! how droll that is!’” The King heard this,

and was much scandalised at it. “How difficult it is to do good!” said

he.

The King came into Madame de Pompadour’s room, one day, as she was

finishing dressing. “I have just had a strange adventure,” said he:

“would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom into my bedroom, I

met a gentleman face to face?”--“My God! Sire,” cried Madame, terrified.

“It was nothing,” replied he; “but I confess I was greatly surprised: the

man appeared speechless with consternation. ‘What do you do here?’ said

I, civilly. He threw himself on his knees, saying, ‘Pardon me, Sire;

and, above all, have me searched: He instantly emptied his pockets

himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and terror: at

last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend of Beccari, whom

he came to visit; that he had mistaken the staircase, and, finding all

the doors open, he had wandered into the room in which I found him, and

which he would have instantly left: I rang; Guimard came, and was

astonished enough at finding me tete-a-tete with a man in his shirt. He

begged Guimard to go with him into another room, and to search his whole

person. After this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat.

Guimard said to me, ‘He is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth;

this may, besides, be easily ascertained.’ Another of the servants of

the palace came in, and happened to know him. ‘I will answer for this

good man,’ said, he, ‘who, moreover, makes the best ‘boeuf a carlate’ in

the world.’ As I saw the man was so agitated that he could not stand

steady, I took fifty louis out of my bureau, and said, Here, sir, are

fifty Louis, to quiet your alarms: He went out, after throwing himself at

my feet.” Madame exclaimed on the impropriety of having the King’s

bedroom thus accessible to everybody. He talked with great calmness of

this strange apparition, but it was evident that he controlled himself,

and that he had, in fact, been much frightened, as, indeed, he had reason

to be. Madame highly approved of the gift; and she was the more right in

applauding it, as it was by no means in the King’s usual manner. M. de

Marigny said, when I told him of this adventure, that he would have

wagered a thousand louis against the King’s making a present of fifty, if

anybody but I had told him of the circumstance. “It is a singular fact,”

continued he, “that all of the race of Valois have been liberal to

excess; this is not precisely the case with the Bourbons, who are rather

reproached with avarice. Henri IV. was said to be avaricious. He gave

to his mistresses, because he could refuse them nothing; but he played

with the eagerness of a man whose whole fortune depends on the game.

Louis XIV. gave through ostentation. It is most astonishing,” added he,

“to reflect on what might have happened. The King might actually have

been assassinated in his chamber, without anybody knowing anything of the

matter and without a possibility of discovering the murderer.” For more

than a fortnight Madame could not get over this incident.

About that time she had a quarrel with her brother, and both were in the

right. Proposals were made to him to marry the daughter of one of the

greatest noblemen of the Court, and the King consented to create him a

Duke, and even to make the title hereditary. Madame was right in wishing

to aggrandise her brother, but he declared that he valued his liberty

above all things, and that he would not sacrifice it except for a person

he really loved. He was a true Epicurean philosopher, and a man of great

capacity, according to the report of those who knew him well, and judged

him impartially. It was entirely at his option to have had the reversion

of M. de St. Florentin’s place, and the place of Minister of Marine, when

M. de Machault retired; he said to his sister, at the time, “I spare you

many vexations, by depriving you of a slight satisfaction. The people

would be unjust to me, however well I might fulfil the duties of my

office. As to M. de St. Florentin’s place, he may live five-and-twenty

years, so that I should not be the better for it. Kings’ mistresses are

hated enough on their own account; they need not also draw upon,

themselves the hatred which is directed against Ministers.” M. Quesnay

repeated this conversation to me.

The King had another mistress, who gave Madame de Pompadour some

uneasiness. She was a woman of quality, and the wife of one of the most

assiduous courtiers.

A man in immediate attendance on the King’s person, and who had the care

of his clothes, came to me one day, and told me that, as he was very much

attached to Madame, because she was good and useful to the King, he

wished to inform me that, a letter having fallen out of the pocket of a

coat which His Majesty had taken off, he had had the curiosity to read

it, and found it to be from the Comtesse de ----- who had already yielded

to the King’s desires. In this letter, she required the King to give her

fifty thousand crowns in money, a regiment for one of her relations, and

a bishopric for another, and to dismiss Madame in the space of fifteen

days, etc. I acquainted Madame with what this man told me, and she acted

with singular greatness of mind. She said to me, “I ought to inform the

King of this breach of trust of his servant, who may, by the same means,

come to the knowledge of, and make a bad use of, important secrets; but I

feel a repugnance to ruin the man: however, I cannot permit him to remain

near the King’s person, and here is what I shall do: Tell him that there

is a place of ten thousand francs a year vacant in one of the provinces;

let him solicit the Minister of Finance for it, and it shall be granted

to him; but, if he should ever disclose through what interest he has

obtained it, the King shall be made acquainted with his conduct. By this

means, I think I shall have done all that my attachment and duty

prescribe. I rid the King of a faithless domestic, without ruining the

individual.” I did as Madame ordered me: her delicacy and address

inspired me with admiration. She was not alarmed on account of the lady,

seeing what her pretentions were. “She drives too quick,” remarked

Madame, “and will certainly be overturned on the road.” The lady died.

“See what the Court is; all is corruption there, from the highest to the

lowest,” said I to Madame, one day, when she was speaking to me of some

facts, that had come to my knowledge. “I could tell you many others,”

replied Madame; “but the little chamber, where you often remain, must

furnish you with a sufficient number.” This was a little nook, from,

whence I could hear a great part of what passed in Madame’s apartment.

The Lieutenant of Police sometimes came secretly to this apartment, and

waited there. Three or four persons, of high consideration, also found

their way in, in a mysterious, manner, and several devotees, who were, in

their hearts, enemies of Madame de Pompadour. But these men had not

petty objects in view: one: required the government of a province;

another, a seat in the Council; a third, a Captaincy of the Guards; and

this man would have obtained it if the Marechale de Mirepoix had not

requested it for her brother, the Prince de Beauvan. The Chevalier du

Muy was not among these apostates; not even the promise of being High

Constable would have tempted him to make up to Madame, still less to

betray his master, the Dauphin. This Prince was, to the last degree,

weary of the station he held. Sometimes, when teased to death by

ambitious people, who pretended to be Catos, or wonderfully devout, he

took part against a Minister against whom he was prepossessed; then

relapsed into his accustomed state of inactivity and ennui.

The King used to say, “My son is lazy; his temper is Polonese--hasty and

changeable; he has no tastes; he cares nothing for hunting, for women, or

for good living; perhaps he imagines that if he were in my place he would

be happy; at first, he would make great changes, create everything anew,

as it were. In a short time he would be as tired of the rank of King as

he now is of his own; he is only fit to live ‘en philosophe’, with clever

people about him.” The King added, “He loves what is right; he is truly

virtuous, and does not want under standing.”

M. de St. Germain said, one day, to the King, “To think well of mankind,

one must be neither a Confessor, nor a Minister, nor a Lieutenant of

Police.”--“Nor a King,” said His Majesty. “Ah! Sire,” replied he, “you

remember the fog we had a few days ago, when we could not see four steps

before us. Kings are commonly surrounded by still thicker fogs,

collected around them by men of intriguing character, and faithless

Ministers--all, of every class, unite in endeavouring to make things

appear to Kings in any, light but the true one.” I heard this from the

mouth of the famous Comte de St. Germain, as I was attending upon Madame,

who was ill in bed. The King was there; and the Count, who was a welcome

visitor, had been admitted. There were also present, M. de Gontaut,

Madame de Brancas, and the Abbe de Bernis. I remember that the very same

day, after the Count was gone out, the King talked in a style which gave

Madame great pain. Speaking of the King of Prussia, he said, “That is a

madman, who will risk all to gain all, and may, perhaps, win the game,

though he has neither religion, morals, nor principles. He wants to make

a noise in the world, and he will succeed. Julian, the Apostate, did the

same.”--“I never saw the King so animated before,” observed Madame, when

he was gone out; “and really the comparison with Julian, the Apostate, is

not amiss, considering the irreligion of the King of Prussia. If he gets

out of his perplexities, surrounded as he is by his enemies, he will be

one of the greatest men in history.”

M. de Bernis remarked, “Madame is correct in her judgment, for she has no

reason to pronounce his praises; nor have I, though I agree with what she

says.” Madame de Pompadour never enjoyed so much influence as at the

time when M. de Choiseul became one of the Ministry. From the time of

the Abbe de Bernis she had afforded him her constant support, and he had

been employed in foreign affairs, of which he was said to know but

little. Madame made the Treaty of Sienna, though the first idea of it

was certainly furnished her by the Abbe. I have been informed by several

persons that the King often talked to Madame upon this subject; for my

own part, I never heard any conversation relative to it, except the high

praises bestowed by her on the Empress and the Prince de Kaunitz, whom

she had known a good deal of. She said that he had a clear head, the

head of a statesman. One day, when she was talking in this strain, some

one tried to cast ridicule upon the Prince on account of the style in

which he wore his hair, and the four valets de chambre, who made the

hair-powder fly in all directions, while Kaunitz ran about that he might

only catch the superfine part of it. “Aye,” said Madame, “just as

Alcibiades cut off his dog’s tail in order to give the Athenians

something to talk about, and to turn their attention from those things he

wished to conceal.”

Never was the public mind so inflamed against Madame de Pompadour as when

news arrived of the battle of Rosbach. Every day she received anonymous

letters, full of the grossest abuse; atrocious verses, threats of poison

and assassination. She continued long a prey to the most acute sorrow,

and could get no sleep but from opiates. All this discontent was excited

by her protecting the Prince of Soubise; and the Lieutenant of Police had

great difficulty in allaying the ferment of the people. The King

affirmed that it was not his fault. M. du Verney was the confidant of

Madame in everything relating to war; a subject which he well understood,

though not a military man by, profession. The old Marechal de Noailles

called him, in derision, the General of the flour, but Marechal Saxe, one

day, told Madame that Du Verney knew more of military matters than the

old Marshal. Du Verney once paid a visit to Madame de Pompadour, and

found her in company with the King, the Minister of War, and two

Marshals; he submitted to them the plan of a campaign, which was

generally applauded. It was through his influence that M. de Richelieu

was appointed to the command of the army, instead of the Marechal

d’Estrdes. He came to Quesnay two days after, when I was with him. The

Doctor began talking about the art of war, and I remember he said,

“Military men make a great mystery of their art; but what is the reason

that young Princes have always the most brilliant success? Why, because

they are active and daring. When Sovereigns command their troops in

person what exploits they perform! Clearly, because they are at liberty

to run all risks.” These observations made a lasting impression on my

mind.

The first physician came, one day, to see Madame he was talking of madmen

and madness. The King was present, and everything relating to disease of

any kind interested him. The first physician said that he could

distinguish the symptoms of approaching madness six months beforehand.

“Are there any persons about the Court likely to become mad?” said the

King.--“I know one who will be imbecile in less than three months,”

replied he. The King pressed him to tell the name. He excused himself

for some time. At last he said, “It is M. de Sechelles, the

Controller-General.”--“You have a spite against him,” said Madame,

“because he would not grant what you asked”--“That is true,” said he,

“but though that might possibly incline me to tell a disagreeable truth,

it would not make me invent one. He is losing his intellects from

debility. He affects gallantry at his age, and I perceive the connection

in his ideas is becoming feeble and irregular.”--The King laughed; but

three months afterwards he came to Madame, saying, “Sechelles gives

evident proofs of dotage in the Council. We must appoint a successor to

him.” Madame de Pompadour told me of this on the way to Choisy. Some

time afterwards, the first physician came to see Madame, and spoke to her

in private. “You are attached to M. Berryer, Madame,” said he, “and I am

sorry to have to warn you that he will be attacked by madness, or by

catalepsy, before long. I saw him this morning at chapel, sitting on one

of those very low little chairs, which are only, meant to kneel upon.

His knees touched his chin. I went to his house after Mass; his eyes

were wild, and when his secretary spoke to him, he said, ‘Hold your

tongue, pen. A pen’s business is to write, and not to speak.’” Madame,

who liked the Keeper of the Seals, was very much concerned, and begged

the first physician not to mention what he had perceived. Four days

after this, M. Berryer was seized with catalepsy, after having talked

incoherently. This is a disease which I did not know even by name, and

got it written down for me. The patient remains in precisely the same

position in which the fit seizes him; one leg or arm elevated, the eyes

wide open, or just as it may happen. This latter affair was known to all

the Court at the death of the Keeper of the Seals.

When the Marechal de Belle-Isle’s son was killed in battle, Madame

persuaded the King to pay his father a visit. He was rather reluctant,

and Madame said to him, with an air half angry, half playful:

--------“Barbare! don’t l’orgueil

Croit le sang d’un sujet trop pays d’un coup d’oeil.”

The King laughed, and said, “Whose fine verses are those?”--“Voltaire’s,”

said Madame ------.

“As barbarous as I am, I gave him the place of gentleman in ordinary, and

a pension,” said the King.

The King went in state to call on the Marshal, followed by all the Court;

and it certainly appeared that this solemn visit consoled the Marshal for

the loss of his son, the sole heir to his name.

When the Marshal died, he was carried to his house on a common

hand-barrow, covered with a shabby cloth. I met the body. The bearers

were laughing and singing. I thought it was some servant, and asked who

it was. How great was my surprise at learning that these were the

remains of a man abounding in honours and in riches. Such is the Court;

the dead are always in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon.

The King said, “M. Fouquet is dead, I hear.”--“He was no longer Fouquet,”

replied the Duc d’Ayen; “Your Majesty had permitted him to change that

name, under which, however, he acquired all his reputation.” The King

shrugged his shoulders. His Majesty had, in fact, granted him letters

patent, permitting him not to sign Fouquet during his Ministry. I heard

this on the occasion in question. M. de Choiseul had the war department

at his death. He was every day more and more in favour.

Madame treated him with greater distinction than any previous Minister,

and his manners towards her were the most agreeable it is possible to

conceive, at once respectful and gallant. He never passed a day without

seeing her. M. de Marigny could not endure M. de Choiseul, but he never

spoke of him, except to his intimate friends. Calling, one day, at

Quesnay’s, I found him there. They were talking of M. de Choiseul. “He

is a mere ‘petit maitre’,” said the Doctor, “and, if he were handsome

just fit to be one of Henri the Third’s favourites.” The Marquis de

Mirabeau and M. de La Riviere came in. “This kingdom,” said Mirabeau,

“is in a deplorable state. There is neither national energy, nor the

only substitute for it--money.”--“It can only be regenerated,” said La

Riviere, “by a conquest, like that of China, or by some great internal

convulsion; but woe to those who live to see that! The French people do

not do things by halves.” These words made me tremble, and I hastened

out of the room. M. de Marigny did the same, though without appearing at

all affected by what had been said. “You heard De La Riviere,” said

he,--“but don’t be alarmed, the conversations that pass at the Doctor’s

are never repeated; these are honourable men, though rather chimerical.

They know not where to stop. I think, however, they are in the right

way; only, unfortunately, they go too far.” I wrote this down

immediately.

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, 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.”

[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.]

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.’

“Du Barry was by when this was said, and she never forgave it. To this,

and to the letter, her rancour may principally be ascribed. To all those

of the Court party who owed their places and preferments to her exclusive

influence, and who held them subject to her caprice, she, of course,

communicated the venom.

“Meanwhile, the Dauphin saw Marie Antoinette mimicking the monkey tricks

with which this low Sultana amused her dotard, without being aware of the

cause. He was not pleased; and this circumstance, coupled with his

natural coolness and indifference for a union he had been taught to deem

impolitic and dangerous to the interests of France, created in his

virtuous mind that sort of disgust which remained so long an enigma to

the Court and all the kingdom, excepting his royal aunts, who did the

best they could to confirm it into so decided an aversion as might induce

him to impel his grandfather to annul the marriage and send the Dauphine

back to Vienna.”

“After the Dauphin’s marriage, the Comte d’Artois and his brother

Monsieur--[Afterwards Louis XVIII., and the former the present Charles

X.]--returned from their travels to Versailles. The former was delighted

with the young Dauphine, and, seeing her so decidedly neglected by her

husband, endeavoured to console her by a marked attention, but for which

she would have been totally isolated, for, excepting the old King, who

became more and more enraptured with the grace, beauty, and vivacity of

his young granddaughter, not another individual in the Royal Family was

really interested in her favour. The kindness of a personage so

important was of too much weight not to awaken calumny. It was, of

course, endeavoured to be turned against her. Possibilities, and even

probabilities, conspired to give a pretext for the scandal which already

began to be whispered about the Dauphine and D’Artois. It would have

been no wonder had a reciprocal attachment arisen between a virgin wife,

so long neglected by her husband, and one whose congeniality of character

pointed him out as a more desirable partner than the Dauphin. But there

is abundant evidence of the perfect innocence of their intercourse. Du

Barry was most earnest in endeavouring, from first to last, to establish

its impurity, because the Dauphine induced the gay young Prince to join

in all her girlish schemes to tease and circumvent the favourite. But

when this young Prince and his brother were married to the two Princesses

of Piedmont, the intimacy between their brides and the Dauphine proved

there could have been no doubt that Du Barry had invented a calumny, and

that no feeling existed but one altogether sisterly. The three stranger

Princesses were indeed inseparable; and these marriages, with that of the

French Princess, Clotilde, to the Prince of Piedmont, created

considerable changes in the coteries of Court.

“The machinations against Marie Antoinette could not be concealed from

the Empress-mother. An extraordinary Ambassador was consequently sent

from Vienna to complain of them to the Court of Versailles, with

directions that the remonstrance should be supported and backed by the

Comte de Mercy, then Austrian Ambassador at the Court of France. Louis

XV. was the only person to whom the communication was news. This old

dilettanti of the sex was so much engaged between his seraglio of the

Parc-aux-cerfs and Du Barry that he knew less of what was passing in his

palace than those at Constantinople. On being informed by the Austrian

Ambassador, he sent an Ambassador of his own to Vienna to assure the

Empress that he was perfectly satisfied of the innocent conduct of his

newly acquired granddaughter.

“Among the intrigues within intrigues of the time I mention, there was

one which shows that perhaps Du Barry’s distrust of the constancy of her

paramour, and apprehension from the effect on him of the charms of the

Dauphine, in whom he became daily more interested, were not utterly

without foundation. In this instance even her friend, the Duc de

Richelieu, that notorious seducer, by lending himself to the secret

purposes of the King, became a traitor to the cause of the King’s

favourite, to which he had sworn allegiance, and which he had supported

by defaming her whom he now became anxious to make his Queen.

“It has already been said, that the famous Duchesse de Grammont was one

of the confidential friends of Louis XV. before he took Du Barry under

his especial protection. Of course, there can be no difficulty in

conceiving how likely a person she would be, to aid any purpose of the

King which should displace the favourite, by whom she herself had been

obliged to retire, by ties of a higher order, to which she might prove

instrumental.

“Louis XV. actually flattered himself with the hope of obtaining

advantages from the Dauphin’s coolness towards the Dauphine. He

encouraged it, and even threw many obstacles in the way of the

consummation of the marriage. The apartments of the young couple were

placed at opposite ends of the palace, so that the Dauphin could not

approach that of his Dauphine without a publicity which his bashfulness

could not brook.

“Louis XV. now began to act upon his secret passion to supplant his

grandson, and make the Dauphine his own Queen, by endeavouring to secure

her affections to himself. His attentions were backed by gifts of

diamonds, pearls, and other valuables, and it was at this period that

Boehmer, the jeweller, first received the order for that famous necklace,

which subsequently produced such dreadful consequences, and which was

originally meant as a kingly present to the intended Queen, though

afterwards destined for Du Barry, had not the King died before the

completion of the bargain for it.

“The Queen herself one day told me, ‘Heaven knows if ever I should have

had the blessing of being a mother had I not one evening surprised the

Dauphin, when the subject was adverted to, in the expression of a sort of

regret at our being placed so far asunder from each other. Indeed, he

never honoured me with any proof of his affection so explicit as that you

have just witnessed’--for the King had that moment kissed her, as he left

the apartment--‘from the time of our marriage till the consummation. The

most I ever received from him was a squeeze of the hand in secret. His

extreme modesty, and perhaps his utter ignorance of the intercourse with

woman, dreaded the exposure of crossing the palace to my bedchamber; and

no doubt the accomplishment would have occurred sooner, could it have

been effectuated in privacy. The hint he gave emboldened me with

courage, when he next left me, as usual, at the door of my apartment, to

mention it to the Duchesse de Grammont, then the confidential friend of

Louis XV., who laughed me almost out of countenance; saying, in her gay

manner of expressing herself, “If I were as young and as beautiful a wife

as you are I should certainly not trouble myself to remove the obstacle

by going to him while there were others of superior rank ready to supply

his place.” Before she quitted me, however, she said: “Well, child, make

yourself easy: you shall no longer be separated from the object of your

wishes: I will mention it to the King, your grandpapa, and he will soon

order your husband’s apartment to be changed for one nearer your own.”

And the change shortly afterwards took place.

“‘Here,’ continued the Queen, ‘I accuse myself of a want of that courage

which every virtuous wife ought to exercise in not having complained of

the visible neglect shown me long, long before I did; for this, perhaps,

would have spared both of us the many bitter pangs originating in the

seeming coldness, whence have arisen all the scandalous stories against

my character--which have often interrupted the full enjoyment I should

have felt had they not made me tremble for the security of that

attachment, of which I had so many proofs, and which formed my only

consolation amid all the malice that for yearn had been endeavouring to

deprive me of it! So far as regards my husband’s estimation, thank fate,

I have defied their wickedness! Would to Heaven I could have been

equally secure in the estimation of my people--the object nearest to my

heart, after the King and my dear children!’”

[The Dauphine could not understand the first allusion of the Duchess; but

it is evident that the vile intriguer took this opportunity of sounding

her upon what she was commissioned to carry on in favour of Louis XV.,

and it is equally apparent that when she heard Marie Antoinette express

herself decidedly in favour of her young husband, and distinctly saw how

utterly groundless were the hopes of his secret rival, she was led

thereby to abandon her wicked project; and perhaps the change of

apartments was the best mask that could have been devised to hide the

villany.]

“The present period appears to have been one of the happiest in the life

of Marie Antoinette. Her intimate society consisted of the King’s

brothers, and their Princesses, with the King’s saint-like sister

Elizabeth; and they lived entirely together, excepting when the Dauphine

dined in public. These ties seemed to be drawn daily closer for some

time, till the subsequent intimacy with the Polignacs. Even when the

Comtesse d’Artois lay-in, the Dauphine, then become Queen, transferred

her parties to the apartments of that Princess, rather than lose the

gratification of her society.

“During all this time, however, Du Barry, the Duc d’Aiguillon, and the

aunts-Princesses, took special care to keep themselves between her and

any tenderness on the part of the husband Dauphin, and, from different

motives uniting in one end, tried every means to get the object of their

hatred sent back to Vienna.”

SECTION IV.

“The Empress-mother was thoroughly aware of all that was going on. Her

anxiety, not only about her daughter, but her State policy, which it may

be apprehended was in her mind the stronger motive of the two, encouraged

the machinations of an individual who must now appear upon the stage of

action, and to whose arts may be ascribed the worst of the sufferings of

Marie Antoinette.

“I allude to the Cardinal Prince de Rohan.

“At this time he was Ambassador at the Court of Vienna. The reliance the

Empress placed on him favoured his criminal machinations against her

daughter’s reputation. He was the cause of her sending spies to watch

the conduct of the Dauphine, besides a list of persons proper for her to

cultivate, as well as of those it was deemed desirable for her to exclude

from her confidence.

“As the Empress knew all those who, though high in office in Versailles,

secretly received pensions from Vienna, she could, of course, tell,

without much expense of sagacity, who were in the Austrian interest. The

Dauphine was warned that she was surrounded by persons who were not her

friends.

“The conduct of Maria Theresa towards her daughter, the Queen of Naples,

will sufficiently explain how much the Empress must have been chagrined

at the absolute indifference of Marie Antoinette to the State policy

which was intended to have been served in sending her to France. A less

fitting instrument for the purpose could not have been selected by the

mother. Marie Antoinette had much less of the politician about her than

either of her surviving sisters; and so much was she addicted to

amusement, that she never even thought of entering into State affairs

till forced by the King’s neglect of his most essential prerogatives, and

called upon by the Ministers themselves to screen them from

responsibility. Indeed, the latter cause prevailed upon her to take her

seat in the Cabinet Council (though she took it with great reluctance)

long before she was impelled thither by events and her consciousness of

its necessity. She would often exclaim to me: ‘How happy I was during

the lifetime of Louis XV.! No cares to disturb my peaceful slumbers! No

responsibility to agitate my mind! No fears of erring, of partiality, of

injustice, to break in upon my enjoyments! All, all happiness, my dear

Princess, vanishes from the bosom of a woman if she once deviate from the

prescribed domestic character of her sex! Nothing was ever framed more

wise than the Salique Laws, which in France and many parts of Germany

exclude women from reigning, for few of us have that masculine capacity

so necessary to conduct with impartiality and justice the affairs of

State!’

“To this feeling of the impropriety of feminine interference in masculine

duties, coupled with her attachment to France, both from principle and

feeling, may be ascribed the neglect of her German connexions, which led

to many mortifying reproaches, and the still more galling espionage to

which she was subjected in her own palace by her mother. These are,

however, so many proofs of the falsehood of the allegations by which she

suffered so deeply afterwards, of having sacrificed the interests of her

husband’s kingdom to her predilection for her mother’s empire.

“The subtle Rohan designed to turn the anxiety of Maria Theresa about the

Dauphine to account, and he was also aware that the ambition of the

Empress was paramount in Maria Theresa’s bosom to the love for her child.

He was about to play a deep and more than double game. By increasing the

mother’s jealousy of the daughter, and at the same time enhancing the

importance of the advantages afforded by her situation, to forward the

interests of the mother, he, no doubt, hoped to get both within his

power: for who can tell what wild expectation might not have animated

such a mind as Rohan’s at the prospect of governing not only the Court of

France but that of Austria?--the Court of France, through a secret

influence of his own dictation thrown around the Dauphine by the mother’s

alarm; and that of Austria, through a way he pointed out, in which the

object that was most longed for by the mother’s ambition seemed most

likely to be achieved! While he endeavoured to make Maria Theresa beset

her daughter with the spies I have mentioned, and which were generally of

his own selection, he at the same time endeavoured to strengthen her

impression of how important it was to her schemes to insure the

daughter’s co-operation. Conscious of the eagerness of Maria Theresa for

the recovery of the rich province which Frederick the Great of Prussia

had wrested from her ancient dominions, he pressed upon her credulity the

assurance that the influence of which the Dauphine was capable over Louis

XV., by the youthful beauty’s charms acting upon the dotard’s admiration,

would readily induce that monarch to give such aid to Austria as must

insure the restoration of what it lost. Silesia, it has been before

observed, was always a topic by means of which the weak side of Maria

Theresa could be attacked with success. There is generally some peculiar

frailty in the ambitious, through which the artful can throw them off

their guard. The weak and tyrannical Philip II., whenever the recovery

of Holland and the Low Countries was proposed to him, was always ready to

rush headlong into any scheme for its accomplishment; the bloody Queen

Mary, his wife, declared that at her death the loss of Calais would be

found engraven on her heart; and to Maria Theresa, Silesia was the

Holland and the Calais for which her wounded pride was thirsting.

“But Maria Theresa was wary, even in the midst of the credulity of her

ambition. The Baron de Neni was sent by her privately to Versailles to

examine, personally, whether there was anything in Marie Antoinette’s

conduct requiring the extreme vigilance which had been represented as

indispensable. The report of the Baron de Neni to his royal mistress was

such as to convince her she had been misled and her daughter

misrepresented by Rohan. The Empress instantly forbade him her presence.

“The Cardinal upon this, unknown to the Court of Vienna, and indeed, to

every one, except his factotum, principal agent, and secretary, the Abbe

Georgel, left the Austrian capital, and came to Versailles, covering his

disgrace by pretended leave of absence. On seeing Marie Antoinette he

fell enthusiastically in love with her. To gain her confidence he

disclosed the conduct which had been observed towards her by the Empress,

and, in confirmation of the correctness of his disclosure, admitted that

he had himself chosen the spies which had been set on her. Indignant at

such meanness in her mother, and despising the prelate, who could be base

enough to commit a deed equally corrupt and uncalled for, and even thus

wantonly betrayed when committed, the Dauphine suddenly withdrew from his

presence, and gave orders that he should never be admitted to any of her

parties.

“But his imagination was too much heated by a guilty passion of the

blackest hue to recede; and his nature too presumptuous and fertile in

expedients to be disconcerted. He soon found means to conciliate both

mother and daughter; and both by pretending to manage with the one the

self-same plot which, with the other, he was recommending himself by

pretending to overthrow. To elude detection he interrupted the regular

correspondence between the Empress and the Dauphine, and created a

coolness by preventing the communications which would have unmasked him,

that gave additional security to the success of his deception.

“By the most diabolical arts he obtained an interview with the Dauphine,

in which he regained her confidence. He made her believe that he had

been commissioned by her mother, as she had shown so little interest for

the house of Austria, to settle a marriage for her sister, the

Archduchess Elizabeth, with Louis XV. The Dauphine was deeply affected

at the statement. She could not conceal her agitation. She

involuntarily confessed how much she should deplore such an alliance. The

Cardinal instantly perceived his advantage, and was too subtle to let it

pass. He declared that, as it was to him the negotiation had been

confided, if the Dauphine would keep her own counsel, never communicate

their conversation to the Empress, but leave the whole matter to his

management and only assure him that he was forgiven, he would pledge

himself to arrange things to her satisfaction. The Dauphine, not wishing

to see another raised to the throne over her head and to her scorn, under

the assurance that no one knew of the intention or could prevent it but

the Cardinal, promised him her faith and favour; and thus rashly fell

into the springs of this wily intriguer.

“Exulting to find Marie Antoinette in his power, the Cardinal left

Versailles as privately as he arrived there, for Vienna. His next object

was to ensnare the Empress, as he had done her daughter; and by a

singular caprice, fortune, during his absence, had been preparing for him

the means.

“The Abbe Georgel, his secretary, by underhand manoeuvres, to which he

was accustomed, had obtained access to all the secret State

correspondence, in which the Empress had expressed herself fully to the

Comte de Mercy relative to the views of Russia and Prussia upon Poland,

whereby her own plans were much thwarted. The acquirement of copies of

these documents naturally gave the Cardinal free access to the Court and

a ready introduction once more to the Empress. She was too much

committed by his possession of such weapons not to be most happy to make

her peace with him; and he was too sagacious not to make the best use of

his opportunity. To regain her confidence, he betrayed some of the

subaltern agents, through whose treachery he had procured his evidences,

and, in farther confirmation of his resources, showed the Empress several

dispatches from her own Ministers to the Courts of Russia and Prussia. He

had long, he said, been in possession of similar views of aggrandisement,

upon which these Courts were about to act; and had, for a while, even

incurred Her Imperial Majesty’s displeasure, merely because he was not in

a situation fully to explain; but that he had now thought of the means to

crush their schemes before they could be put in practice. He apprised her

of his being aware that Her Imperial Majesty’s Ministers were actively

carrying on a correspondence with Russia, with a view of joining her in

checking the French co-operation with the Grand Signior; and warned her

that if this design were secretly pursued, it would defeat the very views

she had in sharing in the spoliation of Poland; and if openly, it would

be deemed an avowal of hostilities against the Court of France, whose

political system would certainly impel it to resist any attack upon the

divan of Constantinople, that the balance of power in Europe might be

maintained against the formidable ambition of Catherine, whose gigantic

hopes had been already too much realised.

“Maria Theresa was no less astonished at these disclosures of the

Cardinal than the Dauphine had been at his communication concerning her.

She plainly saw that all her plans were known, and might be defeated from

their detection.

“The Cardinal, having succeeded in alarming the Empress, took from his

pocket a fabulous correspondence, hatched by his secretary, the Abbe

Georgel. ‘There, Madame,’ said he, ‘this will convince Your Majesty that

the warm interest I have taken in your Imperial house has carried me

farther than I was justified in having gone; but seeing the sterility of

the Dauphine, or, as it is reported by some of the Court, the total

disgust the Dauphin has to consummate the marriage, the coldness of your

daughter towards the interest of your Court, and the prospect of a race

from the Comtesse d’Artois, for the consequences of which there is no

answering, I have, unknown to Your Imperial Majesty, taken upon myself to

propose to LOUIS XV. a marriage with the Archduchess Elizabeth, who, on

becoming Queen of France, will immediately have it in her power to

forward the Austrian interest; for LOUIS XV., as the first proof of his

affection to his young bride, will at once secure to your Empire the aid

you stand so much in need of against the ambition of these two rising

States. The recovery of Your Imperial Majesty’s ancient dominions may

then be looked upon as accomplished from the influence of the French

Cabinet.

“The bait was swallowed. Maria Theresa was so overjoyed at this scheme

that she totally forgot all former animosity against the Cardinal. She

was encouraged to ascribe the silence of Marie Antoinette (whose letters

had been intercepted by the Cardinal himself) to her resentment of this

project concerning her sister; and the deluded Empress, availing herself

of the pretended zeal of the Cardinal for the interest of her family,

gave him full powers to return to France and secretly negotiate the

alliance for her daughter Elizabeth, which was by no means to be

disclosed to the Dauphine till the King’s proxy should be appointed to

perform the ceremony at Vienna. This was all the Cardinal wished for.

“Meanwhile, in order to obtain a still greater ascendency over the Court

of France, he had expended immense sums to bribe secretaries and

Ministers; and couriers were even stopped to have copies taken of all the

correspondence to and from Austria.

“At the same crisis the Empress was informed by Prince Kaunitz that the

Cardinal and his suite at the palace of the French Ambassador carried on

such an immense and barefaced traffic of French manufactures of every

description that Maria Theresa thought proper, in order to prevent future

abuse, to abolish the privilege which gave to Ministers and Ambassadors

an opportunity of defrauding the revenue. Though this law was levelled

exclusively at the Cardinal, it was thought convenient under the

circumstances to avoid irritating him, and it was consequently made

general. But, the Comte de Mercy now obtaining some clue to his

duplicity, an intimation was given to the Court at Versailles, to which

the King replied, ‘If the Empress be dissatisfied with the French

Ambassador, he shall be recalled.’ But though completely unmasked, none

dared publicly to accuse him, each party fearing a discovery of its own

intrigue. His official recall did not in consequence take place for some

time; and the Cardinal, not thinking it prudent to go back till Louis XV.

should be no more, lest some unforeseen discovery of his project for

supplying her royal paramour with a Queen should rouse Du Barry to get

his Cardinalship sent to the Bastille for life, remained fixed in his

post, waiting for events.

“At length Louis XV. expired, and the Cardinal returned to Versailles. He

contrived to obtain a private audience of the young Queen. He presumed

upon her former facility in listening to him, and was about to betray the

last confidence of Maria Theresa; but the Queen, shocked at the knowledge

which she had obtained of his having been equally treacherous to her and

to her mother, in disgust and alarm left the room without receiving a

letter he had brought her from Maria Theresa, and without deigning to

address a single word to him. In the heat of her passion and resentment,

she was nearly exposing all she knew of his infamies to the King, when

the coolheaded Princesse Elizabeth opposed her, from the seeming

imprudence of such an abrupt discovery; alleging that it might cause an

open rupture between the two Courts, as it had already been the source of

a reserve and coolness, which had not yet been explained. The Queen was

determined never more to commit herself by seeing the Cardinal. She

accordingly sent for her mother’s letter, which he himself delivered into

the hands of her confidential messenger, who advised the Queen not to

betray the Cardinal to the King, lest, in so doing, she should never be

able to guard herself against the domestic spies, by whom, perhaps, she

was even yet surrounded! The Cardinal, conceiving, from the impunity of

his conduct, that he still held the Queen in check, through the influence

of her fears of his disclosing her weakness upon the subject of the

obstruction she threw in the way of her sister’s marriage, did not resign

the hope of converting that ascendency to his future profit.

“The fatal silence to which Her Majesty was thus unfortunately advised I

regret from the bottom of my soul! All the successive vile plots of the

Cardinal against the peace and reputation of the Queen may be attributed

to this ill-judged prudence! Though it resulted from an honest desire of

screening Her Majesty from the resentment or revenge to which she might

have subjected herself from this villain, who had already injured her in

her own estimation for having been credulous enough to have listened to

him, yet from this circumstance it is that the Prince de Rohan built the

foundation of all the after frauds and machinations with which he

blackened the character and destroyed the comfort of his illustrious

victim. It is obvious that a mere exclusion from Court was too mild a

punishment for such offences, and it was but too natural that such a mind

as his, driven from the royal presence, and, of course, from all the

noble societies to which it led (the anti-Court party excepted), should

brood over the means of inveigling the Queen into a consent for his

reappearance before her and the gay world, which was his only element,

and if her favour should prove unattainable to revenge himself by her

ruin.

“On the Cardinal’s return to France, all his numerous and powerful

friends beset the King and Queen to allow of his restoration to his

embassy; but though on his arrival at Versailles, finding the Court had

removed to Compiegne, he had a short audience there of the King, all

efforts in his favour were thrown away. Equally unsuccessful was every

intercession with the Empress-mother. She had become thoroughly awakened

to his worthlessness, and she declared she would never more even receive

him in her dominions as a visitor. The Cardinal, being apprised of this

by some of his intimates, was at last persuaded to give up the idea of

further importunity; and, pocketing his disgrace, retired with his hey

dukes and his secretary, the Abbe Georgel, to whom may be attributed all

the artful intrigues of his disgraceful diplomacy.

“It is evident that Rohan had no idea, during all his schemes to supplant

the Dauphine by marrying her sister to the King, that the secret hope of

Louis XV. had been to divorce the Dauphin and marry the slighted bride

himself. Perhaps it is fortunate that Rohan did not know this. A brain

so fertile in mischief as his might have converted such a circumstance to

baneful uses. But the death of Louis XV. put an end to all the then

existing schemes for a change in her position. It was to her a real,

though but a momentary triumph. From the hour of her arrival she had a

powerful party to cope with; and the fact of her being an Austrian,

independent of the jealousy created by her charms, was, in itself, a

spell to conjure up armies, against which she stood alone, isolated in

the face of embattled myriads! But she now reared her head, and her foes

trembled in her presence. Yet she could not guard against the moles busy

in the earth secretly to undermine her. Nay, had not Louis XV. died at

the moment he did, there is scarcely a doubt, from the number and the

quality of the hostile influences working on the credulity of the young

Dauphin, that Marie Antoinette would have been very harshly dealt

with,--even the more so from the partiality of the dotard who believed

himself to be reigning. But she has been preserved from her enemies to

become their sovereign; and if her crowned brow has erewhile been stung

by thorns in its coronal, let me not despair of their being hereafter

smothered in yet unblown roses.”

SECTION V.

“The accession of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette to the crown of France

took place (May 10, 1774) under the most propitious auspices!

“After the long, corrupt reign of an old debauched Prince, whose vices

were degrading to himself and to a nation groaning under the lash of

prostitution and caprice, the most cheering changes were expected from

the known exemplariness of his successor and the amiableness of his

consort. Both were looked up to as models of goodness. The virtues of

Louis XVI. were so generally known that all France hastened to

acknowledge them, while the Queen’s fascinations acted like a charm on

all who had not been invincibly prejudiced against the many excellent

qualities which entitled her to love and admiration. Indeed, I never

heard an insinuation against either the King or Queen but from those

depraved minds which never possessed virtue enough to imitate theirs, or

were jealous of the wonderful powers of pleasing that so eminently

distinguished Marie Antoinette from the rest of her sex.

“On the death of Louis XV. the entire Court removed from Versailles to

the palace of La Muette, situate in the Bois de Boulogne, very near

Paris. The confluence of Parisians, who came in crowds joyfully to hail

the death of the old vitiated Sovereign, and the accession of his adored

successors, became quite annoying to the whole Royal Family. The

enthusiasm with which the Parisians hailed their young King, and in

particular his amiable young partner, lasted for many days. These

spontaneous evidences of attachment were regarded as prognostics of a

long reign of happiness. If any inference can be drawn from public

opinion, could there be a stronger assurance than this one of

uninterrupted future tranquility to its objects?

“To the Queen herself it was a double triumph. The conspirators, whose

depravity had been labouring to make her their victim, departed from the

scene of power. The husband, who for four years had been callous to her

attractions, became awakened to them. A complete change in the domestic

system of the palace was wrought suddenly. The young King, during the

interval which elapsed between the death and the interment of his

grandfather, from Court etiquette was confined to his apartments. The

youthful couple therefore saw each other with less restraint. The

marriage was consummated. Marie Antoinette from this moment may date

that influence over the heart (would I might add over the head and

policy!) of the King, which never slackened during the remainder of their

lives.

“Madame du Barry was much better dealt with by the young King, whom she

had always treated with the greatest levity, than she, or her numerous

courtiers, expected. She was allowed her pension, and the entire

enjoyment of all her ill-gotten and accumulated wealth; but, of course,

excluded from ever appearing at Court, and politically exiled from Paris

to the Chateau aux Dames.

“This implacable foe and her infamous coadjutors being removed from

further interference in matters of State by the expulsion of all their

own Ministers, their rivals, the Duc de Choiseul and his party, by whom

Marie Antoinette had been brought to France, were now in high expectation

of finding the direction of the Government, by the Queen’s influence,

restored to that nobleman. But the King’s choice was already made. He

had been ruled by his aunts, and appointed Ministers suggested by them

and his late grandfather’s friends, who feared the preponderance of the

Austrian influence. The three ladies, Madame la Marechale de Beauveau,

the Duchesse de Choiseul, and the Duchesse de Grammont, who were all

well-known to Louis XVI. and stood high in his opinion for many excellent

qualities, and especially for their independent assertion of their own

and the Dauphine’s dignity by retiring from Court in consequence of the

supper at which Du Barry was introduced these ladies, though received on

their return thither with peculiar welcome, in vain united their efforts

with those of the Queen and the Abbe Vermond, to overcome the prejudice

which opposed Choiseul’s reinstatement. It was all in vain. The royal

aunts, Adelaide especially, hated Choiseul for the sake of Austria, and

his agency in bringing Marie Antoinette to France; and so did the King’s

tutor and governor, the Duc de Vauguyon, who had ever been hostile to any

sort of friendship with Vienna; and these formed a host impenetrable even

to the influence of the Queen, which was opposed by all the leaders of

the prevailing party, who, though they were beginning externally to

court, admire, and idolize her, secretly surrounded her by their noxious

and viperous intrigues, and, while they lived in her bosom, fattened on

the destruction of her fame!

“One of the earliest of the paltry insinuations against Marie Antoinette

emanated from her not counterfeiting deep affliction at the decease of

the old King. A few days after that event, the Court received the

regular visits of condolence and congratulation of the nobility, whose

duty prescribes their attendance upon such occasions; and some of them,

among whom were the daughters of Louis XV., not finding a young Queen of

nineteen hypocritically bathed in tears, on returning to their abodes

declared her the most indecorous of Princesses, and diffused a strong

impression of her want of feeling. At the head of these detractors were

Mesdames de Guemenee and Marsan, rival pretenders to the favours of the

Cardinal de Rohan, who, having by the death of Louis XV. lost their

influence and their unlimited power to appoint and dismiss Ministers,

themselves became ministers to their own evil geniuses, in calumniating

her whose legitimate elevation annihilated their monstrous pretensions!

“The Abbe Vermond, seeing the defeat of the party of the Duc de Choiseul,

by whom he had been sent to the Court of Vienna on the recommendation of

Brienne, began to tremble for his own security. As soon as the Court had

arrived at Choisy, and he was assured of the marriage having been

consummated, he obtained, with the Queen’s consent, an audience of the

King, for the purpose of soliciting his sanction to his continuing in his

situation. On submitting his suit to the King, His Majesty merely gave a

shrug of the shoulders, and turned to converse with the Duc d’Aiguillon,

who at that moment entered the room. The Abbe stood stupefied, and the

Queen, seeing the crestfallen humour of her tutor, laughed and cheered

him by remarking, ‘There is more meaning in the shrug of a King than in

the embrace of a Minister. The one always promises, but is seldom

sincere; the other is generally sincere, but never promises.’ The Abbe,

not knowing how to interpret the dumb answer, finding the King’s back

turned and his conversation with D’Aiguillon continuing, was retiring

with a shrug of his own shoulders to the Queen, when she exclaimed,

good-humouredly, to Louis, laughing and pointing to the Abbe, ‘Look!

look! see how readily a Church dignitary can imitate the good Christian

King, who is at the head of the Church.’ The King, seeing the Abbe still

waiting, said, dryly, ‘Monsieur, you are confirmed in your situation,’

and then resumed his conversation with the Duke.

“This anecdote is a sufficient proof that LOUIS XVI. had no

prepossession in favour of the Abbe Vermond, and that it was merely not

to wound the feelings of the Queen that he was tolerated. The Queen

herself was conscious of this, and used frequently to say to me how much

she was indebted to the King for such deference to her private choice, in

allowing Vermond to be her secretary, as she did not remember the King’s

ever having held any communication with the Abbe during the whole time he

was attached to the service, though the Abbe always expressed himself

with the greatest respect towards the King.

“The decorum of Marie Antoinette would not allow her to endure those

public exhibitions of the ceremony, of dressing herself which had been

customary at Court. This reserve was highly approved by His Majesty; and

one of the first reforms she introduced, after the accession, was in the

internal discipline of her own apartment.

“It was during one of the visits, apart from Court etiquette, to the

toilet of the Queen, that the Duchesse de Chartres, afterwards Duchesse

d’Orleans, introduced the famous Mademoiselle Bertin, who afterwards

became so celebrated as the Queen’s milliner--the first that was ever

allowed to approach a royal palace; and it was months before Marie

Antoinette had courage to receive her milliner in any other than the

private apartment which, by the alteration Her Majesty had made in the

arrangements of the household, she set apart for the purpose of dressing

in comfort by herself and free from all intruders.

“Till then the Queen was not only very plain in her attire, but very,

economical--a circumstance which, I have often heard her say, gave great

umbrage to the other Princesses of the Court of Versailles, who never

showed themselves, from the moment they rose till they returned to bed,

except in full dress; while she herself made all her morning visits in a

simple white cambric gown and straw hat. This simplicity, unfortunately,

like many other trifles, whose consequences no foresight would have

predicted, tended much to injure Marie Antoinette, not only with the

Court dandies, but the nation; by whom, though she was always censured,

she was as suddenly imitated in all she wore or did.

“From the private closet, which Marie Antoinette reserved to herself, and

had now opened to her milliner, she would retire, after the great points

of habiliment were accomplished, to those who were waiting with memorials

at her public toilet, where the hairdresser would finish putting the

ornaments in Her Majesty’s hair.

“The King made Marie Antoinette a present of Le Petit Trianon. Much has

been said of the extravagant expense lavished by her upon this spot. I

can only declare that the greater part of the articles of furniture which

had not been worn out by time or were not worm or moth-eaten, and her own

bed among them, were taken from the apartments of former Queens, and some

of them had actually belonged to Anne of Austria, who, like Marie

Antoinette, had purchased them out of her private savings. Hence it is

clear that neither of the two Queens were chargeable to the State even

for those little indulgences which every private lady of property is

permitted from her husband, without coming under the lash of censure.

“Her allowance as Queen of France was no more than 300,000 francs. It is

well known that she was generous, liberal, and very charitable; that she

paid all her expenses regularly respecting her household, Trianon, her

dresses, diamonds, millinery, and everything else; her Court

establishment excepted, and some few articles, which were paid by the

civil list. She was one of the first Queens in Europe, had the first

establishment in Europe, and was obliged to keep up the most refined and

luxurious Court in Europe; and all upon means no greater than had been

assigned to many of the former bigoted Queens, who led a cloistered life,

retired from the world without circulating their wealth among the nation

which supplied them with so large a revenue; and yet who lived and died

uncensured for hoarding from the nation what ought at least to have been

in part expended for its advantage.

“And yet of all the extra expenditure which the dignity and circumstances

of Marie Antoinette exacted, not a franc came from the public Treasury;

but everything out of Her Majesty’s private purse and savings from the

above three hundred thousand francs, which was an infinitely less sum

than Louis XIV. had lavished yearly on the Duchesse de Montespan, and

less than half what Louis XV. had expended on the last two favourites, De

Pompadour and Du Barry. These two women, as clearly appeared from the

private registers, found among the papers of Louis XV. after his death,

by Louis XVI. (but which, out of respect for the memory of his

grandfather, he destroyed), these two women had amassed more property in

diamonds and other valuables than all the Queens of France from the days

of Catherine de Medicis up to those of Marie Antoinette.

“Such was the goodness of heart of the excellent Queen of Louis XVI.,

such the benevolence of her character, that not only did she pay all the

pensions of the invalids left by her predecessors, but she distributed in

public and private charities greater sums than any of the former Queens,

thus increasing her expenses without any proportionate augmentation of

her resources.”

[Indeed, could Louis XVI. have foreseen--when, in order not to expose the

character of his predecessor and to honour the dignity of the throne and

monarchy of France, he destroyed the papers of his grandfather--what an

arm of strength he would have possessed in preserving them, against the

accusers of his unfortunate Queen and himself, he never could have thrown

away such means of establishing a most honourable contrast between his

own and former reigns. His career exhibits no superfluous expenditure.

Its economy was most rigid. No sovereign was ever more scrupulous with

the public money. He never had any public or private predilection; no

dilapidated Minister for a favourite: no courtesan intrigue. For gaming

he had no fondness; and, if his abilities were not splendid, he certainly

had no predominating vices.]

NOTE:

[I must once more quit the journal of the Princess. Her Highness here

ceases to record particulars of the early part of the reign of Louis

XVI., and everything essential upon those times is too well known to

render it desirable to detain the reader by an attempt to supply the

deficiency. It is enough to state that the secret unhappiness of the

Queen at not yet having the assurance of an heir was by no means weakened

by the impatience of the people, nor by the accouchement of the Comtesse

d’Artois of the Duc d’Angouleme. While the Queen continued the intimacy,

and even held her parties at the apartments of the Duchess that she might

watch over her friend, even in this triumph over herself, the poissardes

grossly insulted her in her misfortune, and coarsely called on her to

give heirs to the throne!

A consolation, however, for the unkind feeling of the populace was about

to arise in the delights of one of her strongest friendships. I am come

to the epoch when Her Majesty first formed an acquaintance with the

Princesse de Lamballe.

After a few words of my own on the family of Her Highness, I shall leave

her to pursue her beautiful and artless narrative of her parentage, early

sorrows, and introduction to Her Majesty, unbroken.

The journal of the history of Marie Antoinette, after this slight

interruption for the private history of her friend, will become blended

with the journal of the Princesse de Lamballe, and both thenceforward

will proceed in their course together, like their destinies, which from

that moment never became disunited.]

SECTION VI.

[MARIA THERESA LOUISA CARIGNAN, Princess of Savoy, was born at Turin on

the 8th September, 1749. She had three sisters; two of them were married

at Rome, one to the Prince Doria Pamfili, the other to the Prince

Colonna; and the third at Vienna, to the Prince Lobkowitz, whose son was

the great patron of the immortal Haydn, the celebrated composer.

The celebrated Haydn was, even at the age of 74, when I last saw him at

Vienna, till the most good-humoured bon vivant of his age. He delighted

in telling the origin of his good fortune, which he said he entirely owed

to a bad wife.

When he was first married, he said, finding no remedy against domestic

squabbles, he used to quit his bad half and go and enjoy himself with his

good friends, who were Hungarians and Germans, for weeks together. Once,

having returned home after a considerable absence, his wife, while he was

in bed next morning, followed her husband’s example: she did even more,

for she took all his clothes, even to his shoes, stockings, and small

clothes, nay, everything he had, along with her! Thus situated, he was

under the necessity of doing something to cover his nakedness; and this,

he himself acknowledged, was the first cause of his seriously applying

himself to the profession which has since made his name immortal.

He used to laugh, saying, “I was from that time so habituated to study

that my wife, often fearing it would injure me, would threaten me with

the same operation if I did not go out and amuse myself; but then,” added

he, “I was grown old, and she was sick and no longer jealous.” He spoke

remarkably good Italian, though he had never been in Italy, and on my

going to Vienna to hear his “Creation,” he promised to accompany me back

to Italy; but he unfortunately died before I returned to Vienna from

Carlsbad.

She had a brother also, the Prince Carignan, who, marrying against the

consent of his family, was no longer received by them; but the

unremitting and affectionate attention which the Princesse de Lamballe

paid to him and his new connexions was an ample compensation for the loss

he sustained in the severity of his other sisters.

With regard to the early life of the Princesse de Lamballe, the arranger

of these pages must now leave her to pursue her own beautiful and artless

narrative unbroken, up to the epoch of her appointment to the household

of the Queen. It will be recollected that the papers of which the

reception has been already described in the introduction formed the

private journal of this most amiable Princess; and those passages

relating to her own early life being the most connected part of them, it

has been thought that to disturb them would be a kind of sacrilege.

After the appointment of Her Highness to the superintendence of the

Queen’s household, her manuscripts again become confused, and fall into

scraps and fragments, which will require to be once more rendered clear

by the recollections of events and conversations by which the preceding

chapters have been assisted.]

“I was the favourite child of a numerous family, and intended, almost at

my birth--as is generally the case among Princes who are nearly allied to

crowned heads--to be united to one of the Princes, my near relation, of

the royal house of Sardinia.

“A few years after this, the Duc and Duchesse de Penthievre arrived at

Turin, on their way to Italy, for the purpose of visiting the different

Courts, to make suitable marriage contracts for both their infant

children.

“These two children were Mademoiselle de Penthievre, afterwards the

unhappy Duchesse d’Orleans, and their idolised son, the Prince de

Lamballe.

[The father of Louis Alexander Joseph Stanislaus de Bourbon Penthievre,

Prince de Lamballe, was the son of Comte de Toulouse, himself a natural

son of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan, who was considered as the most

wealthy of all the natural children, in consequence of Madame de

Montespan having artfully entrapped the famous Mademoiselle de

Moutpensier to make over her immense fortune to him as her heir after her

death, as the price of liberating her husband from imprisonment in the

Bastille, and herself from a ruinous prosecution, for having contracted

this marriage contrary to the express commands of her royal cousin, Louis

XIV.--Vide Histoire de Louis XIV. par Voltaire.]

“Happy would it have been both for the Prince who was destined to the

former and the Princess who was given to the latter, had these

unfortunate alliances never taken place.

“The Duc and Duchesse de Penthievre became so singularly attached to my

beloved parents, and, in particular, to myself, that the very day they

first dined at the Court of Turin, they mentioned the wish they had

formed of uniting me to their young son, the Prince de Lamballe.

“The King of Sardinia, as the head of the house of Savoy and Carignan,

said there had been some conversation as to my becoming a member of his

royal family; but as I was so very young at the time, many political

reasons might arise to create motives for a change in the projected

alliance. ‘If, therefore, the Prince de Carignan,’ said the King, ‘be

anxious to settle his daughter’s marriage, by any immediate matrimonial

alliance, I certainly shall not avail myself of any prior engagement, nor

oppose any obstacle in the way of its solemnisation.’

“The consent of the King being thus unexpectedly obtained by the Prince,

so desirable did the arrangement seem to the Duke and Duchess that the

next day the contract was concluded with my parents for my becoming the

wife of their only son, the Prince de Lamballe.

“I was too young to be consulted. Perhaps had I been older the result

would have been the same, for it generally happens in these great family

alliances that the parties most interested, and whose happiness is most

concerned, are the least thought of. The Prince was, I believe, at

Paris, under the tuition of his governess, and I was in the nursery,

heedless, and totally ignorant of my future good or evil destination!

“So truly happy and domestic a life as that led by the Duc and Duchesse

de Penthievre seemed to my family to offer an example too propitious not

to secure to me a degree of felicity with a private Prince, very rarely

the result of royal unions! Of course, their consent was given with

alacrity. When I was called upon to do homage to my future parents, I

had so little idea, from my extreme youthfulness, of what was going on

that I set them all laughing, when, on being asked if I should like to

become the consort of the Prince de Lamballe, I said, ‘Yes, I am very

fond of music!’ No, my dear,’ resumed the good and tender-hearted Duc de

Penthievre, ‘I mean, would you have any objection to become his

wife?’--‘No, nor any other person’s!’ was the innocent reply, which

increased the mirth of all the guests at my expense.

“Happy, happy days of youthful, thoughtless innocence, luxuriously felt

and appreciated under the thatched roof of the cottage, but unknown and

unattainable beneath the massive pile of a royal palace and a gemmed

crown! Scarcely had I entered my teens when my adopted parents strewed

flowers of the sweetest fragrance to lead me to the sacred altar, that

promised the bliss of busses, but which, too soon, from the foul

machinations of envy, jealousy, avarice, and a still more criminal

passion, proved to me the altar of my sacrifice!

“My misery and my uninterrupted grief may be dated from the day my

beloved sister-in-law, Mademoiselle de Penthievre, sullied her hand by

its union with the Duc de Chartres.--[Afterwards Duc d’Orleans, and the

celebrated revolutionary Philippe Egalite.]--From that moment all

comfort, all prospect of connubial happiness, left my young and

affectionate heart, plucked thence by the very roots, never more again to

bloom there. Religion and philosophy were the only remedies remaining.

“I was a bride when an infant, a wife before I was a woman, a widow

before I was a mother, or had the prospect of becoming one! Our union

was, perhaps, an exception to the general rule. We became insensibly the

more attached to each other the more we were acquainted, which rendered

the more severe the separation, when we were torn asunder never to meet

again in this world!

“After I left Turin, though everything for my reception at the palaces of

Toulouse and Rambouillet had been prepared in the most sumptuous style of

magnificence, yet such was my agitation that I remained convulsively

speechless for many hours, and all the affectionate attention of the

family of the Duc de Penthievre could not calm my feelings.

“Among those who came about me was the bridegroom himself, whom I had

never yet seen. So anxious was he to have his first acquaintance

incognito that he set off from Paris the moment he was apprised of my

arrival in France and presented himself as the Prince’s page. As he had

outgrown the figure of his portrait, I received him as such; but the

Prince, being better pleased with me than he had apprehended he should

be, could scarcely avoid discovering himself. During our journey to

Paris I myself disclosed the interest with which the supposed page had

inspired me. ‘I hope,’ exclaimed I, ‘my Prince will allow his page to

attend me, for I like him much.’

“What was my surprise when the Duc de Penthievre presented me to the

Prince and I found in him the page for whom I had already felt such an

interest! We both laughed and wanted words to express our mutual

sentiments. This was really love at first sight.

[The young Prince was enraptured at finding his lovely bride so superior

in personal charms to the description which had been given of her, and

even to the portrait sent to him from Turin. Indeed, she must have been

a most beautiful creature, for when I left her in the year 1792, though

then five-and-forty years of age, from the freshness of her complexion,

the elegance of her figure, and the dignity of her deportment, she

certainly did not appear to be more than thirty. She had a fine head of

hair, and she took great pleasure in showing it unornamented. I remember

one day, on her coming hastily from the bath, as she was putting on her

dress, her cap falling off, her hair completely covered her!

The circumstances of her death always make me shudder at the recollection

of this incident! I have been assured by Mesdames Mackau, de Soucle, the

Comtesse de Noailles (not Duchesse, as Mademoiselle Bertin has created

her in her Memoirs of that name), and others, that the Princesse de

Lamballe was considered the most beautiful and accomplished Princess at

the Court of Louis XV., adorned with all the grace, virtue, and elegance

of manner which so eminently distinguished her through life.]

“The Duc de Chartres, then possessing a very handsome person and most

insinuating address, soon gained the affections of the amiable

Mademoiselle Penthievre. Becoming thus a member of the same family, he

paid me the most assiduous attention. From my being his sister-in-law,

and knowing he was aware of my great attachment to his young wife, I

could have no idea that his views were criminally levelled at my honour,

my happiness, and my future peace of mind. How, therefore, was I

astonished and shocked when he discovered to me his desire to supplant

the legitimate object of my affections, whose love for me equalled mine

for him! I did not expose this baseness of the Duc de Chartres, out of

filial affection for my adopted father, the Duc de Penthievre; out of the

love I bore his amiable daughter, she being pregnant; and, above all, in

consequence of the fear I was under of compromising the life of the

Prince, my husband, who I apprehended might be lost to me if I did not

suffer in silence. But still, through my silence he was lost--and oh,

how dreadfully! The Prince was totally in the dark as to the real

character of his brother-in-law. He blindly became every day more and

more attached to the man, who was then endeavouring by the foulest means

to blast the fairest prospects of his future happiness in life! But my

guardian angel protected me from becoming a victim to seduction,

defeating every attack by that prudence which has hitherto been my

invincible shield.

“Guilt, unpunished in its first crime, rushes onward, and hurrying from

one misdeed to another, like the flood-tide, drives all before it! My

silence, and his being defeated without reproach, armed him with courage

for fresh daring, and he too well succeeded in embittering the future

days of my life, as well as those of his own affectionate wife, and his

illustrious father-in-law, the virtuous Duc de Penthievre, who was to all

a father.

“To revenge himself upon me for the repulse he met with, this man

inveigled my young, inexperienced husband from his bridal bed to those

infected with the nauseous poison of every vice! Poor youth! he soon

became the prey of every refinement upon dissipation and studied

debauchery, till at length his sufferings made his life a burthen, and he

died in the most excruciating agonies both of mind and body, in the arms

of a disconsolate wife and a distracted father--and thus, in a few short

months, at the age of eighteen, was I left a widow to lament my having

become a wife!

“I was in this situation, retired from the world and absorbed in grief,

with the ever beloved and revered illustrious father of my murdered lord,

endeavouring to sooth his pangs for the loss of those comforts in a child

with which my cruel disappointment forbade my ever being blest--though,

in the endeavour to soothe, I often only aggravated both his and my own

misery at our irretrievable loss--when a ray of unexpected light burst

upon my dreariness. It was amid this gloom of human agony, these

heartrending scenes of real mourning, that the brilliant star shone to

disperse the clouds which hovered over our drooping heads,--to dry the

hot briny tears which were parching up our miserable vegetating

existence--it was in this crisis that Marie Antoinette came, like a

messenger sent down from Heaven, graciously to offer the balm of comfort

in the sweetest language of human compassion. The pure emotions of her

generous soul made her unceasing, unremitting, in her visits to two

mortals who must else have perished under the weight of their

misfortunes. But for the consolation of her warm friendship we must have

sunk into utter despair!

“From that moment I became seriously attached to the Queen of France. She

dedicated a great portion of her time to calm the anguish of my poor

heart, though I had not yet accepted the honour of becoming a member of

Her Majesty’s household. Indeed, I was a considerable time before I

could think of undertaking a charge I felt myself so completely incapable

of fulfilling. I endeavoured to check the tears that were pouring down

my cheeks, to conceal in the Queen’s presence the real feelings of my

heart, but the effort only served to increase my anguish when she had

departed. Her attachment to me, and the cordiality with which she

distinguished herself towards the Duc de Penthievre, gave her a place in

that heart, which had been chilled by the fatal vacuum left by its first

inhabitant; and Marie Antoinette was the only rival through life that

usurped his pretensions, though she could never wean me completely from

his memory.

“My health, from the melancholy life I led, had so much declined that my

affectionate father, the Duc de Penthievre, with whom I continued to

reside, was anxious that I should emerge from my retirement for the

benefit of my health. Sensible of his affection, and having always

honoured his counsels, I took his advice in this instance. It being in

the hard winter, when so many persons were out of bread, the Queen, the

Duchesse d’Orleans, the Duc de Penthievre, and myself, introduced the

German sledges, in which we were followed by most of the nobility and the

rich citizens. This afforded considerable employment to different

artificers. The first use I made of my own new vehicle was to visit, in

company with the Duc de Penthievre, the necessitous poor families and our

pensioners. In the course of our rounds we met the Queen.

“‘I suppose,’ exclaimed Her Majesty, ‘you also are laying a good

foundation for my work! Heavens! what must the poor feel! I am wrapped

up like a diamond in a box, covered with furs, and yet I am chilled with

cold!’

“‘That feeling sentiment,’ said the Duke, ‘will soon warm many a cold

family’s heart with gratitude to bless Your Majesty!’

“‘Why, yes,’ replied Her Majesty, showing a long piece of paper

containing the names of those to whom she intended to afford relief, ‘I

have only collected two hundred yet on my list, but the cure will do the

rest and help me to draw the strings of my privy purse! But I have not

half done my rounds. I daresay before I return to Versailles I shall

have as many more, and, since we are engaged in the same business, pray

come into my sledge and do not take my work out of my hands! Let me have

for once the merit of doing something good!’

“On the coming up of a number of other vehicles belonging to the sledge

party, the Queen added, ‘Do not say anything about what I have been

telling you!’ for Her Majesty never wished what she did in the way of

charity or donations should be publicly known, the old pensioners

excepted, who, being on the list, could not be concealed; especially as

she continued to pay all those she found of the late Queen of Louis XV.

She was remarkably delicate and timid with respect to hurting the

feelings of any one; and, fearing the Duc de Penthievre might not be

pleased at her pressing me to leave him in order to join her, she said,

‘Well, I will let you off, Princess, on your both promising to dine with

me at Trianon; for the King is hunting, not deer, but wood for the poor,

and he will see his game off to Paris before he comes back:

“The Duke begged to be excused, but wished me to accept the invitation,

which I did, and we parted, each to pursue our different sledge

excursions.

“At the hour appointed, I made my appearance at Trianon, and had the

honour to dine tete-a-tete with Her Majesty, which was much more

congenial to my feelings than if there had been a party, as I was still

very low-spirited and unhappy.

“After dinner, ‘My dear Princess,’ said the Queen to me, ‘at your time of

life you must not give yourself up entirely to the dead. You wrong the

living. We have not been sent into the world for ourselves. I have felt

much for your situation, and still do so, and therefore hope, as long as

the weather permits, that you will favour me with your company to enlarge

our sledge excursions. The King and my dear sister Elizabeth are also

much interested about your coming on a visit to Versailles. What think

you of our plan.

“I thanked Her Majesty, the King, and the Princess, for their kindness,

but I observed that my state of health and mind could so little

correspond in any way with the gratitude I should owe them for their

royal favours that I trusted a refusal would be attributed to the fact of

my consciousness how much rather my society must prove an annoyance and a

burthen than a source of pleasure.

“My tears flowing down my cheeks rapidly while I was speaking, the Queen,

with that kindness for which she was so eminently distinguished, took me

by the hand, and with her handkerchief dried my face.

“‘I am,’ said the Queen, I about to renew a situation which has for some

time past lain dormant; and I hope, my dear Princess, therewith to

establish my own private views, in forming the happiness of a worthy

individual.’

“I replied that such a plan must insure Her Majesty the desired object

she had in view, as no individual could be otherwise than happy under the

immediate auspices of so benevolent and generous a Sovereign.

“The Queen, with great affability, as if pleased with my observation,

only said, ‘If you really think as you speak, my views are accomplished.’

“My carriage was announced, and I then left Her Majesty, highly pleased

at her gracious condescension, which evidently emanated from the kind

wish to raise my drooping spirits from their melancholy.

“Gratitude would not permit me to continue long without demonstrating to

Her Majesty the sentiments her kindness had awakened in my heart.

“I returned next day with my sister-in-law, the Duchesse d’Orleans, who

was much esteemed by the Queen, and we joined the sledge parties with Her

Majesty.

“On the third or fourth day of these excursions I again had the honour to

dine with Her Majesty, when, in the presence of the Princesse Elizabeth,

she asked me if I were still of the same opinion with respect to the

person it was her intention to add to her household?

“I myself had totally forgotten the topic and entreated Her Majesty’s

pardon for my want of memory, and begged she would signify to what

subject she alluded.

“The Princesse Elizabeth laughed. ‘I thought,’ cried she, ‘that you had

known it long ago! The Queen, with His Majesty’s consent, has nominated

you, my dear Princess (embracing me), superintendent of her household.’

“The Queen, also embracing me, said, ‘Yes; it is very true. You said the

individual destined to such a situation could not be otherwise than

happy; and I am myself thoroughly happy in being able thus to contribute

towards rendering you so.’

“I was perfectly at a loss for a moment or two, but, recovering myself

from the effect of this unexpected and unlooked for preferment, I thanked

Her Majesty with the best grace I was able for such an unmerited mark of

distinction.

“The Queen, perceiving my embarrassment, observed, ‘I knew I should

surprise you; but I thought your being established at Versailles much

more desirable for one of your rank and youth than to be, as you were,

with the Duc de Penthievre; who, much as I esteem his amiable character

and numerous great virtues, is by no means the most cheering companion

for my charming Princess. From this moment let our friendships be united

in the common interest of each other’s happiness.’

“The Queen took me by the hand. The Princesse Elizabeth, joining hers,

exclaimed to the Queen, ‘Oh, my dear sister! let me make the trio in

this happy union of friends!’

“In the society of her adored Majesty and of her saint-like sister

Elizabeth I have found my only balm of consolation! Their graciously

condescending to sympathise in the grief with which I was overwhelmed

from the cruel disappointment of my first love, filled up in some degree

the vacuum left by his loss, who was so prematurely ravished from me in

the flower of youth, leaving me a widow at eighteen; and though that loss

is one I never can replace or forget, the poignancy of its effect has

been in a great degree softened by the kindnesses of my excellent

father-in-law, the Duc de Penthievre, and the relations resulting from my

situation with, and the never-ceasing attachment of my beloved royal

mistress.”

SECTION VII.

[The connexion of the Princesse de Lamballe with the Queen, of which she

has herself described the origin in the preceding chapter, proved so

important in its influence upon the reputation and fate of both these

illustrious victims, that I must once more withdraw the attention of the

reader, to explain, from personal observation and confidential

disclosures, the leading causes of the violent dislike which was kindled

in the public against an intimacy that it would have been most fortunate

had Her Majesty preferred through life to every other.

The selection of a friend by the Queen, and the sudden elevation of that

friend to the highest station in the royal household, could not fail to

alarm the selfishness of courtiers, who always feel themselves injured by

the favour shown to others. An obsolete office was revived in favour of

the Princesse de Lamballe. In the time of Maria Leckzinska, wife of

Louis XV., the office of superintendent, then held by Mademoiselle de

Clermont, was suppressed when its holder died. The office gave a control

over the inclinations of Queens, by which Maria Leckzinska was sometimes

inconvenienced; and it had lain dormant ever since. Its restoration by a

Queen who it was believed could be guided by no motive but the desire to

seek pretexts for showing undue favour, was of course eyed askance, and

ere long openly calumniated.

The Comtesse de Noailles, who never could forget the title the Queen gave

her of Madame Etiquette, nor forgive the frequent jokes which Her Majesty

passed upon her antiquated formality, availed herself of the opportunity

offered by her husband’s being raised to the dignity of Marshal of

France, to resign her situation on the appointment of the Princesse de

Lamballe as superintendent. The Countess retired with feelings

embittered against her royal mistress, and her annoyance in the sequel

ripened into enmity. The Countess was attached to a very powerful party,

not only at Court but scattered throughout the kingdom. Her discontent

arose from the circumstance of no longer having to take her orders from

the Queen direct, but from her superintendent. Ridiculous as this may

seem to an impartial observer, it created one of the most powerful

hostilities against which Her Majesty had afterwards to contend.

Though the Queen esteemed the Comtesse de Noailles for her many good

qualities, yet she was so much put out of her way by the rigour with

which the Countess enforced forms which to Her Majesty appeared puerile

and absurd, that she felt relieved, and secretly gratified, by her

retirement. It will be shown hereafter to what an excess the Countess

was eventually carried by her malice.

One of the popular objections to the revival of the office of

superintendent in favour of the Princesse de Lamballe arose from its

reputed extravagance. This was as groundless as the other charges

against the Queen. The etiquettes of dress, and the requisite increase

of every other expense, from the augmentation of every article of the

necessaries as well as the luxuries of life, made a treble difference

between the expenditure of the circumscribed Court of Maria Leckzinska

and that of Louis XVI.; yet the Princesse de Lamballe received no more

salary than had been allotted to Mademoiselle de Clermont in the selfsame

situation half a century before.

(And even that salary she never appropriated to any private use of her

own, being amply supplied through the generous bounty of her

father-in-law, the Duc de Penthievre; and latterly, to my knowledge, so

far from receiving any pay, she often paid the Queen’s and Princesse

Elizabeth’s bills out of her own purse.)

So far from possessing the slightest propensity either to extravagance in

herself or to the encouragement of extravagance in others, the Princesse

de Lamballe was a model of prudence, and upon those subjects, as indeed

upon all others, the Queen could not have had a more discreet counsellor.

She eminently contributed to the charities of the Queen, who was the

mother of the fatherless, the support of the widow, and the general

protectress and refuge of suffering humanity. Previously to the purchase

of any article of luxury, the Princess would call for the list of the

pensioners: if anything was due on that account, it was instantly paid,

and the luxury dispensed with.

She never made her appearance in the Queen’s apartments except at

established hours. This was scrupulously observed till the Revolution.

Circumstances then obliged her to break through forms. The Queen would

only receive communications, either written or verbal, upon the subjects

growing out of that wretched crisis, in the presence of the Princess; and

hence her apartments were open to all who had occasion to see Her

Majesty. This made their intercourse more constant and unceremonious.

But before this, the Princess only went to the royal presence at fixed

hours, unless she had memorials to present to the King, Queen, or

Ministers, in favour of such as asked for justice or mercy. Hence,

whenever the Princess entered before the stated times, the Queen would

run and embrace her, and exclaim: “Well, my dear Princesse de Lamballe!

what widow, what orphan, what suffering or oppressed petitioner am I to

thank for this visit? for I know you never come to me empty-handed when

you come unexpectedly!” The Princess, on these occasions, often had the

petitioners waiting in an adjoining apartment, that they might instantly

avail themselves of any inclination the Queen might show to see them.

Once the Princess was deceived by a female painter of doubtful character,

who supplicated her to present a work she had executed to the Queen. I

myself afterwards returned that work to its owner. Thenceforward, the

Princess became very rigid in her inquiries, previous to taking the least

interest in any application, or consenting to present any one personally

to the King or Queen. She required thoroughly to be informed of the

nature of the request, and of the merit and character of the applicant,

before she would attend to either. Owing to this caution Her Highness

scarcely ever after met with a negative. In cases of great importance,

though the Queen’s compassionate and good heart needed no stimulus to

impel her to forward the means of justice, the Princess would call the

influence of the Princesse Elizabeth to her aid; and Elizabeth never sued

in vain.

Marie Antoinette paid the greatest attention to all memorials. They were

regularly collected every week by Her Majesty’s private secretary, the

Abbe Vermond. I have myself seen many of them, when returned from the

Princesse de Lamballe, with the Queen’s marginal notes in her own

handwriting, and the answers dictated by Her Majesty to the different,

officers of the departments relative to the nature of the respective

demands. She always recommended the greatest attention to all public

documents, and annexed notes to such as passed through her hands to

prevent their being thrown aside or lost.

One of those who were least satisfied with the appointment of the

Princesse de Lamballe to the office of superintendent was her

brother-in-law, the Duc d’Orleans, who, having attempted her virtue on

various occasions and been repulsed, became mortified and alarmed at her

situation as a check to his future enterprise.

At one time the Duc and Duchesse d’Orleans were most constant and

assiduous in their attendance on Marie Antoinette. They were at all her

parties. The Queen was very fond of the Duchess. It is supposed that

the interest Her Majesty took in that lady, and the steps to which some

time afterwards that interest led, planted the first seeds of the

unrelenting and misguided hostility which, in the deadliest times of the

Revolution, animated the Orleanists against the throne.

The Duc d’Orleans, then Duc de Chartres, was never a favourite of the

Queen. He was only tolerated at Court on account of his wife and of the

great intimacy which subsisted between him and the Comte d’Artois. Louis

XVI. had often expressed his disapprobation of the Duke’s character,

which his conduct daily justified.

The Princesse de Lamballe could have no cause to think of her

brother-in-law but with horror. He had insulted her, and, in revenge at

his defeat, had, it was said, deprived her, by the most awful means, of

her husband. The Princess was tenderly attached to her sister-in-law,

the Duchess. Her attachment could not but make her look very

unfavourably upon the circumstance of the Duke’s subjecting his wife to

the humiliation of residing in the palace with Madame de Genlis, and

being forced to receive a person of morals so incorrect as the guardian

of her children. The Duchess had complained to her father, the Duc de

Penthievre, in the presence of the Princesse de Lamballe, of the very

great ascendency Madame de Genlis exercised over her husband; and had

even requested the Queen to use her influence in detaching the Duke from

this connexion.

(It was generally understood that the Duke had a daughter by Madame de

Genlis. This daughter, when grown up, was married to the late Irish Lord

Robert Fitzgerald.)

But she had too much gentleness of nature not presently to forget her

resentment. Being much devoted to her husband, rather than irritate him

to further neglect by personal remonstrance, she determined to make the

best of a bad business, and tolerated Madame de Genlis, although she made

no secret among her friends and relations of the reason why she did so.

Nay, so far did her wish not to disoblige her husband prevail over her

own feelings as to induce her to yield at last to his importunities by

frequently proposing to present Madame de Genlis to the Queen. But

Madame de Genilis never could obtain either a public or a private

audience. Though the Queen was a great admirer of merit and was fond of

encouraging talents, of which Madame de Genlis was by no means deficient,

yet even the account the Duchess herself had given, had Her Majesty

possessed no other means of knowledge, would have sealed that lady’s

exclusion from the opportunities of display at Court which she sought so

earnestly.

There was another source of exasperation against the Duc d’Orleans; and

the great cause of a new and, though less obtrusive, yet perhaps an

equally dangerous foe under all the circumstances, in Madame de Genlis.

The anonymous slander of the one was circulated through all France by the

other; and spleen and disappointment feathered the venomed arrows shot at

the heart of power by malice and ambition. Be the charge true or false,

these anonymous libels were generally considered as the offspring of this

lady: they were industriously scattered by the Duc d’Orleans; and their

frequent refutation by the Queen’s friends only increased the malignant

industry of their inventor.

An event which proved the most serious of all that ever happened to the

Queen, and the consequences of which were distinctly foreseen by the

Princesse de Lamballe and others of her true friends, was now growing to

maturity.

The deposed Court oracle, the Comtesse de Noailles, had been succeeded as

literary leader by the Comtesse Diane de Polignac. She was a favourite of

the Comte d’Artois, and was the first lady in attendance upon the

Countess, his wife.

(The Comtesse Diane de Polignac had a much better education, and

considerably more natural capacity, than her sister-in-law, the Duchess,

and the Queen merely disliked her for her prudish affectation. The

Comtesse d’Artois grew jealous of the Count’s intimacy with the Comtesse

Diane. While she considered herself as the only one of the Royal Family

likely to be mother of a future sovereign, she was silent, or perhaps too

much engrossed by her castles in the air to think of anything but

diadems; but when she saw the Queen producing heirs, she grew out of

humour at her lost popularity, and began to turn her attention to her

husband’s Endymionship to this now Diana! When she had made up her mind

to get her rival out of her house, she consulted one of the family; but

being told that the best means for a wife to keep her husband out of

harm’s way was to provide him with a domestic occupation for his leisure

hours at home, than which nothing could be better than a handmaid under

the same roof, she made a merit of necessity and submitted ever after to

retain the Comtesse Diane, as she had been prudently advised. The

Comtesse Diane, in consequence, remained in the family even up to the

17th October, 1789, when she left Versailles in company with the De

Polignacs and the D’Artois, who all emigrated together from France to

Italy and lived at Stria on the Brenta, near Venice, for some time, till

the Comtesse d’Artois went to Turin.)

The Queen’s conduct had always been very cool to her. She deemed her a

self-sufficient coquette. However, the Comtesse Diane was a constant

attendant at the gay parties which were then the fashion of the Court,

though not greatly admired.

The reader will scarcely need to be informed that the event to which I

have just alluded is the introduction by the Comtesse Diane of her

sister-in-law, the Comtesse Julie de Polignac, to the Queen; and having

brought the record up to this point I here once more dismiss my own pen

for that of the Princesse de Lamballe.

It will be obvious to every one that I must have been indebted to the

conversations of my beloved patroness for most of the sentiments and

nearly all the facts I have just been stating; and had the period on

which she has written so little as to drive me to the necessity of

writing for her been less pregnant with circumstances almost entirely

personal to herself, no doubt I should have found more upon that period

in her manuscript. But the year of which Her Highness says so little was

the year of happiness and exclusive favour; and the Princess was above

the vanity of boasting, even privately in the self-confessional of her

diary. She resumes her records with her apprehensions; and thus

proceeds, describing the introduction of the Comtesse Julie de Polignac,

regretting her ascendency over the Queen, and foreseeing its fatal

effects.]

“I had been only a twelvemonth in Her Majesty’s service, which I believe

was the happiest period of both our lives, when, at one of the Court

assemblies, the Comtesse Julie de Polignac was first introduced by her

sister-in-law, the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, to the Queen.

“She had lived in the country, quite a retired life, and appeared to be

more the motherly woman, and the domestic wife, than the ambitious Court

lady, or royal sycophant. She was easy of access, and elegantly plain in

her dress and deportment.

“Her appearance at Court was as fatal to the Queen as it was propitious

to herself!

“She seemed formed by nature to become a royal favourite, unassuming,

remarkably complaisant, possessing a refined taste, with a good-natured

disposition, not handsome, but well formed, and untainted by haughtiness

or pomposity.

“It would appear, from the effect her introduction had on the Queen, that

her domestic virtues were written in her countenance; for she became a

royal favourite before she had time to become a candidate for royal

favour.

“The Queen’s sudden attachment to the Comtesse Julie produced no

alteration in my conduct, while I saw nothing extraordinary to alarm me

for the consequences of any particular marked partiality, by which the

character and popularity of Her Majesty might be endangered.

“But, seeing the progress this lady made in the feelings of the Queen’s

enemies, it became my duty, from the situation I held, to caution Her

Majesty against the risks she ran in making her favourites friends; for

it was very soon apparent how highly the Court disapproved of this

intimacy and partiality: and the same feeling soon found its way to the

many-headed monster, the people, who only saw the favourite without

considering the charge she held. Scarcely had she felt the warm rays of

royal favour, when the chilling blasts of envy and malice began to nip it

in the bud of all its promised bliss. Even long before she touched the

pinnacle of her grandeur as governess of the royal children the blackest

calumny began to show itself in prints, caricatures, songs, and pamphlets

of every description.

“A reciprocity of friendship between a Queen and a subject, by those who

never felt the existence of such a feeling as friendship, could only be

considered in a criminal point of view. But by what perversion could

suspicion frown upon the ties between two married women, both living in

the greatest harmony with their respective husbands, especially when both

became mothers and were so devoted to their offspring? This boundless

friendship did glow between this calumniated pair calumniated because the

sacredness and peculiarity of the sentiment which united them was too

pure to be understood by the grovelling minds who made themselves their

sentencers. The friend is the friend’s shadow. The real sentiment of

friendship, of which disinterested sympathy is the sign, cannot exist

unless between two of the same sex, because a physical difference

involuntarily modifies the complexion of the intimacy where the sexes are

opposite, even though there be no physical relations. The Queen of

France had love in her eyes and Heaven in her soul. The Duchesse de

Polignac, whose person beamed with every charm, could never have been

condemned, like the Friars of La Trappe, to the mere memento mori.

“When I had made the representations to Her Majesty which duty exacted

from me on perceiving her ungovernable partiality for her new favourite,

that I might not importune her by the awkwardness naturally arising from

my constant exposure to the necessity of witnessing an intimacy she knew

I did not sanction, I obtained permission from my royal mistress to visit

my father-in-law, the Duc de Penthievre, at Rambouillet, his

country-seat.

“Soon after I arrived there, I was taken suddenly ill after dinner with

the most excruciating pains in my stomach. I thought myself dying.

Indeed, I should have been so but for the fortunate and timely discovery

that I was poisoned certainly, not intentionally, by any one belonging to

my dear father’s household; but by some execrable hand which had an

interest in my death.

“The affair was hushed up with a vague report that some of the made

dishes had been prepared in a stew-pan long out of use, which the clerk

of the Duke’s kitchen had forgotten to get properly tinned.

“This was a doubtful story for many reasons. Indeed, I firmly believe

that the poison given me had been prepared in the salt, for every one at

table had eaten of the same dish without suffering the smallest

inconvenience.

“The news of this accident had scarcely arrived at Versailles, when the

Queen, astounded, and, in excessive anxiety, instantly sent off her

physician, and her private secretary, the Abbe Vermond, to bring me back

to my apartments at Versailles, with strict orders not to leave me a

moment at the Duke’s, for fear of a second attempt of the same nature.

Her Majesty had imputed the first to the earnestness I had always shown

in support of her interests, and she seemed now more ardent in her

kindness towards me from the idea of my being exposed through her means

to the treachery of assassins in the dark. The Queen awaited our coming

impatiently, and, not seeing the carriages return so quickly as she

fancied they ought to arrive, she herself set off for Rambouillet, and

did not leave me till she had prevailed on me to quit my father-in-law’s,

and we both returned together the same night to Versailles, where the

Queen in person dedicated all her attention to the restoration of my

health.

“As yet, however, nothing in particular had discovered that splendour for

which the De Polignacs were afterwards so conspicuous.

“Indeed, so little were their circumstances calculated for a Court life,

that when the friends of Madame de Polignac perceived the growing

attachment of the young Queen to the palladium of their hopes, in order

to impel Her Majesty’s friendship to repair the deficiencies of fortune,

they advised the magnet to quit the Court abruptly, assigning the want of

means as the motive of her retreat. The story got wind, and proved

propitious.

“The Queen, to secure the society of her friend, soon supplied the

resources she required and took away the necessity for her retirement.

But the die was cast. In gaining one friend she sacrificed a host. By

this act of imprudent preference she lost forever the affections of the

old nobility. This was the gale which drove her back among the breakers.

“I saw the coming storm, and endeavoured to make my Sovereign feel its

danger. Presuming that my example would be followed, I withdrew from the

De Polignac society, and vainly flattered myself that prudence would

impel others not to encourage Her Majesty’s amiable infatuation till the

consequences should be irretrievable. But Sovereigns are always

surrounded by those who make it a point to reconcile them to their

follies, however flagrant, and keep them on good terms with themselves,

however severely they may be censured by the world.

“If I had read the book of fate I could not have seen more distinctly the

fatal results which actually took place from this unfortunate connexion.

The Duchess and myself always lived in the greatest harmony, and equally

shared the confidence of the Queen; but it was my duty not to sanction

Her Majesty’s marked favouritism by my presence. The Queen often

expressed her discontent to me upon the subject. She used to tell me how

much it grieved her to be denied success in her darling desire of uniting

her friends with each other, as they were already united in her own

heart. Finding my resolution unalterable, she was mortified, but gave up

her pursuit. When she became assured that all importunity was useless,

she ever after avoided wounding my feelings by remonstrance, and allowed

me to pursue the system I had adopted, rather than deprive herself of my

society, which would have been the consequence had I not been left at

liberty to follow the dictates of my own sense of propriety in a course

from which I was resolved that even Her Majesty’s displeasure should not

make me swerve.

“Once in particular, at an entertainment given to the Emperor Joseph at

Trianon, I remember the Queen took the opportunity to repeat how much she

felt herself mortified at the course in which I persisted of never making

my appearance at the Duchesse de Polignac’s parties.

“I replied, ‘I believe, Madame, we are both of us disappointed; but Your

Majesty has your remedy, by replacing me by a lady less scrupulous.’

“‘I was too sanguine,’ said the Queen, ‘in having flattered myself that I

had chosen two friends who would form, from their sympathising and

uniting their sentiments with each other, a society which would embellish

my private life as much as they adorn their public stations.’

“I said it was by my unalterable friendship and my loyal and dutiful

attachment to the sacred person of Her Majesty that I had been prompted

to a line of conduct in which the motives whence it arose would impel me

to persist while I had the honour to hold a situation under Her Majesty’s

roof.

“The Queen, embracing me, exclaimed, ‘That will be for life, for death

alone can separate us!’

“This is the last conversation I recollect to have had with the Queen

upon this distressing subject.

“The Abbe Vermond, who had been Her Majesty’s tutor, but who was now her

private secretary, began to dread that his influence over her, from

having been her confidential adviser from her youth upwards, would suffer

from the rising authority of the all-predominant new favourite.

Consequently, he thought proper to remonstrate, not with Her Majesty, but

with those about her royal person. The Queen took no notice of these

side-wind complaints, not wishing to enter into any explanation of her

conduct. On this the Abbe withdrew from Court. But he only retired for

a short time, and that to make better terms for the future. Here was a

new spring for those who were supplying the army of calumniators with

poison. Happy had it been, perhaps, for France and the Queen if Vermond

had never returned. But the Abbe was something like a distant country

cousin of an English Minister, a man of no talents, but who hoped for

employment through the power of his kinsman. ‘There is nothing on hand

now,’ answered the Minister, ‘but a Bishop’s mitre or a Field-marshal’s

staff.’--‘Oh, very well,’ replied the countryman; ‘either will do for me

till something better turns up.’ The Abbe, in his retirement finding

leisure to reflect that there was no probability of anything ‘better

turning up’ than his post of private secretary, tutor, confidant, and

counsellor (and that not always the most correct) of a young and amiable

Queen of France, soon made his reappearance and kept his jealousy of the

De Polignacs ever after to himself.

“The Abbe Vermond enjoyed much influence with regard to ecclesiastical

preferments. He was too fond of his situation ever to contradict or

thwart Her Majesty in any of her plans; too much of a courtier to assail

her ears with the language of truth; and by far too much a clergyman to

interest himself but for Mother Church.

“In short, he was more culpable in not doing his duty than in the

mischief he occasioned, for he certainly oftener misled the Queen by his

silence than by his advice.”

SECTION VIII.

“I have already mentioned that Marie Antoinette had no decided taste for

literature. Her mind rather sought its amusements in the ball-room, the

promenade, the theatre, especially when she herself was a performer, and

the concert-room, than in her library and among her books. Her coldness

towards literary men may in, some degree be accounted for by the disgust

which she took at the calumnies and caricatures resulting from her

mother’s partiality for her own revered teacher, the great Metastasio.

The resemblance of most of Maria Theresa’s children to that poet was

coupled with the great patronage he received from the Empress; and much

less than these circumstances would have been quite enough to furnish a

tale for the slanderer, injurious to the reputation of any exalted

personage.

“The taste of Marie Antoinette for private theatricals was kept up till

the clouds of the Revolution darkened over all her enjoyments.

“These innocent amusements were made subjects of censure against her by

the many courtiers who were denied access to them; while some, who were

permitted to be present, were too well pleased with the opportunity of

sneering at her mediocrity in the art, which those, who could not see

her, were ready to criticise with the utmost severity. It is believed

that Madame de Genlis found this too favourable an opportunity to be

slighted. Anonymous satires upon the Queen’s performances, which were

attributed to the malice of that authoress, were frequently shown to Her

Majesty by good-natured friends. The Duc de Fronsac also, from some

situation he held at Court, though not included in the private household

of Her Majesty at Trianon, conceiving himself highly injured by not being

suffered to interfere, was much exasperated, and took no pains to prevent

others from receiving the infection of his resentment.

“Of all the arts, music was the only one which Her Majesty ever warmly

patronised. For music she was an enthusiast. Had her talents in this

art been cultivated, it is certain from her judgment in it that she would

have made very considerable progress. She sang little French airs with

great taste and feeling. She improved much under the tuition of the

great composer, her master, the celebrated Sacchini. After his death,

Sapio was named his successor; but, between the death of one master and

the appointment of another, the revolutionary horrors so increased that

her mind was no longer in a state to listen to anything but the howlings

of the tempest.

“In her happier days of power, the great Gluck was brought at her request

from Germany to Paris. He cost nothing to the public Treasury, for Her

Majesty paid all his expenses out of her own purse, leaving him the

profits of his operas, which attracted immense sums to the theatre.

“Marie Antoinette paid for the musical education of the French singer,

Garat, and pensioned him for her private concerts.

“Her Majesty was the great patroness of the celebrated Viotti, who was

also attached to her private musical parties. Before Viotti began to

perform his concertos, Her Majesty, with the most amiable condescension,

would go round the music saloon, and say, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I

request you will be silent, and very attentive, and not enter into

conversation, while Mr. Viotti is playing, for it interrupts him in the

execution of his fine performance.

“Gluck composed his Armida in compliment to the personal charms of Marie

Antoinette. I never saw Her Majesty more interested about anything than

she was for its success. She became a perfect slave to it. She had the

gracious condescension to hear all the pieces through, at Gluck’s

request, before they were submitted to the stage for rehearsal. Gluck

said he always improved his music after he saw the effect it had upon Her

Majesty.

“He was coming out of the Queen’s apartment one day, after he had been

performing one of these pieces for Her Majesty’s approbation, when I

followed and congratulated him on the increased success he had met with

from the whole band of the opera at every rehearsal. ‘O my dear

Princess!’ cried he, ‘it wants nothing to make it be applauded up to the

seven skies but two such delightful heads as Her Majesty’s and your

own.’--‘Oh, if that be all,’ answered I, ‘we’ll have them painted for

you, Mr. Gluck!’--‘No, no, no! you do not understand me,’ replied Gluck,

‘I mean real, real heads. My actresses are very ugly, and Armida and her

confidential lady ought to be very handsome:

“However great the success of the opera of Armida, and certainly it was

one of the best productions ever exhibited on the French stage, no one

had a better opinion of its composition than Gluck himself. He was quite

mad about it. He told the Queen that the air of France had invigorated

his musical genius, and that, after having had the honour of seeing Her

Majesty, his ideas were so much inspired that his compositions resembled

her, and became alike angelic and sublime!

“The first artist who undertook the part of Armida was Madame Saint

Huberti. The Queen was very partial to her. She was principal female

singer at the French opera, was a German by birth, and strongly

recommended by Gluck for her good natural voice. At Her Majesty’s

request, Gluck himself taught Madame Saint Huberti the part of Armida.

Sacchini, also, at the command of Marie Antoinette, instructed her in the

style and sublimity of the Italian school, and Mdlle. Benin, the Queen’s

dressmaker and milliner, was ordered to furnish the complete dress for

the character.

“The Queen, perhaps, was more liberal to this lady than to any other

actress upon the stage. She had frequently paid her debts, which were

very considerable, for she dressed like a Queen whenever she represented

one.

“Gluck’s consciousness of the merit of his own works, and of their

dignity, excited no small jealousy, during the getting up of Armida, in

his rival with the public, the great Vestris, to whom he scarcely left

space to exhibit the graces of his art; and many severe disputes took

place between the two rival sharers of the Parisian enthusiasm. Indeed,

it was at one time feared that the success of Armida would be endangered,

unless an equal share of the performance were conceded to the dancers.

But Gluck, whose German obstinacy would not give up a note, told Vestris

he might compose a ballet in which he would leave him his own way

entirely; but that an artist whose profession only taught him to reason

with his heels should not kick about works like Armida at his pleasure.

‘My subject,’ added Gluck, ‘is taken from the immortal Tasso. My music

has been logically composed, and with the ideas of my head; and, of

course, there is very little room left for capering. If Tasso had

thought proper to make Rinaldo a dancer he never would have designated

him a warrior.’

“Rinaldo was the part Vestris wished to be allotted to his son. However,

through the interference of the Queen, Vestris prudently took the part as

it had been originally finished by Gluck.

“The Queen was a great admirer and patroness of Augustus Vestris, the god

of dance, as he was styled. Augustus Vestris never lost Her Majesty’s

favour, though he very often lost his sense of the respect he owed to the

public, and showed airs and refused to dance. Once he did so when Her

Majesty was at the opera. Upon some frivolous pretext he refused to

appear. He was, in consequence, immediately arrested. His father,

alarmed at his son’s temerity, flew to me, and with the most earnest

supplications implored I would condescend to endeavour to obtain the

pardon of Her Majesty. ‘My son,’ cried he, ‘did not know that Her

Majesty had honoured the theatre with her presence. Had he been aware of

it, could he have refused to dance for his most bounteous benefactress?

I, too, am grieved beyond the power of language to describe, by this mal

apropos contretemps between the two houses of Vestris and Bourbon, as we

have always lived in the greatest harmony ever since we came from

Florence to Paris. My son is very sorry and will dance most bewitchingly

if Her Majesty will graciously condescend to order his release!’

“I repeated the conversation verbatim, to Her Majesty, who enjoyed the

arrogance of the Florentine, and sent her page to order young Vestris to

be set immediately at liberty.

“Having exerted all the wonderful powers of his art, the Queen applauded

him very much. When Her Majesty was about leaving her box, old Vestris

appeared at the entrance, leading his son to thank the Queen.

“‘Ah, Monsieur Vestris,’ said the Queen to the father, you never danced

as your son has done this evening.’

“‘That’s very natural, Madame,’ answered old Vestris, ‘I never had a

Vestris, please Your Majesty, for a master.’

“‘Then you have the greater merit,’ replied the Queen, turning round to

old Vestris--‘Ah, I shall never forget you and Mademoiselle Guimard

dancing the minuet de la cour.’

“On this old Vestris held up his head with that peculiar grace for which

he was so much distinguished. The old man, though ridiculously vain, was

very much of a gentleman in his manners. The father of Vestris was a

painter of some celebrity at Florence, and originally from Tuscany.”

SECTION IX.

“The visit of the favourite brother of Marie Antoinette, the Emperor

Joseph the Second, to France, had been long and anxiously expected, and

was welcomed by her with delight. The pleasure Her Majesty discovered at

having him with her is scarcely credible; and the affectionate tenderness

with which the Emperor frequently expressed himself on seeing his

favourite sister evinced that their joys were mutual.

“Like everything else, however, which gratified and obliged the Queen,

her evil star converted even this into a misfortune. It was said that

the French Treasury, which was not overflowing, was still more reduced by

the Queen’s partiality for her brother. She was accused of having given

him immense sums of money; which was utterly false.

“The finances of Joseph were at that time in a situation too superior to

those of France to admit of such extravagance, or even to render it

desirable. The circumstance which gave a colour to the charge was this:

“The Emperor, in order to facilitate the trade of his Brabant subjects,

had it in contemplation to open the navigation of the Scheldt. This

measure would have been ruinous to many of the skippers, as well as to

the internal commerce of France. It was considered equally dangerous to

the trade and navigation of the North Hollanders. To prevent it,

negotiations were carried on by the French Minister, though professedly

for the mutual interest of both countries, yet entirely at the

instigation and on account of the Dutch. The weighty argument of the

Dutch to prevent the Emperor from accomplishing a purpose they so much

dreaded was a sum of many millions, which passed by means of some monied

speculation in the Exchange through France to its destination at Vienna.

It was to see this affair settled that the Emperor declared in Vienna his

intention of taking France in his way from Italy, before he should go

back to Austria.

“The certainty of a transmission of money from France to Austria was

quite enough to awaken the malevolent, who would have taken care, even

had they inquired into the source whence the money came, never to have

made it public. The opportunity was too favourable not to be made the

pretext to raise a clamour against the Queen for robbing France to favour

and enrich Austria.

“The Emperor, who had never seen me, though he had often heard me spoken

of at the Court of Turin, expressed a wish, soon after his arrival, that

I should be presented to him. The immediate cause of this let me

explain.

“I was very much attached to the Princesse Clotilde, whom I had caused to

be united to Prince Charles Emanuel of Piedmont. Our family had, indeed,

been principally instrumental in the alliances of the two brothers of the

King of France with the two Piedmontese Princesses, as I had been in the

marriage of the Piedmontese Prince with the Princess of France. When the

Emperor Joseph visited the Court of Turin he was requested when he saw me

in Paris to signify the King of Sardinia’s satisfaction at my good

offices. Consequently, the Emperor lost no time in delivering his

message.

“When I was just entering the Queen’s apartment to be presented, ‘Here,’

said Her Majesty, leading me to the Emperor, ‘is the Princess,’ and, then

turning to me, exclaimed, ‘Mercy, how cold you are!’ The Emperor answered

Her Majesty in German, ‘What heat can you expect from the hand of one

whose heart resides with the dead?’ and subjoined, in the same language,

‘What a pity that so charming a head should be fixed on a dead body.’

“I affected to understand the Emperor literally, and set him and the

Queen laughing by thanking His Imperial Majesty for the compliment.

“The Emperor was exceedingly affable and full of anecdote. Marie

Antoinette resembled him in her general manners. The similitude in their

easy openness of address towards persons of merit was very striking. Both

always endeavoured to encourage persons of every class to speak their

minds freely, with this difference, that Her Majesty in so doing never

forgot her dignity or her rank at Court. Sometimes, however, I have seen

her, though so perfect in her deportment with inferiors, much intimidated

and sometimes embarrassed in the presence of the Princes and Princesses,

her equals, who for the first time visited Versailles: indeed, so much as

to give them a very incorrect idea of her capacity. It was by no means an

easy matter to cause Her Majesty to unfold her real sentiments or

character on a first acquaintance.

“I remember the Emperor one evening at supper when he was exceedingly

good-humoured, talkative, and amusing. He had visited all his Italian

relations, and had a word for each, man, woman, or child--not a soul was

spared. The King scarcely once opened his mouth, except to laugh at some

of the Emperor’s jokes upon his Italian relations.

“He began by asking the Queen if she punished her husband by making him

keep as many Lents in the same year as her sister did the King of Naples.

The Queen not knowing what the Emperor meant, he explained himself, and

said, ‘When the King of Naples offends his Queen she keeps him on short

commons and ‘soupe maigre’ till he has expiated the offence by the

penance of humbling himself; and then, and not till then, permits him to

return and share the nuptial rights of her bed.’

“‘This sister of mine,’ said the Emperor, ‘is a proficient Queen in the

art of man training. My other sister, the Duchess of Parma, is equally

scientific in breaking-in horses; for she is constantly in the stables

with her grooms, by which she ‘grooms’ a pretty sum yearly in buying,

selling, and breaking-in; while the simpleton, her husband, is ringing

the bells with the Friars of Colorno to call his good subjects to Mass.

“‘My brother Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany, feeds his subjects with

plans of economy, a dish that costs nothing, and not only saves him a

multitude of troubles in public buildings and public institutions, but

keeps the public money in his private coffers; which is one of the

greatest and most classical discoveries a Sovereign can possibly

accomplish, and I give Leopold much credit for his ingenuity.

“‘My dear brother Ferdinand, Archduke of Milan, considering he is only

Governor of Lombardy, is not without industry; and I am told, when out of

the glimpse of his dragon the holy Beatrice, his Archduchess, sells his

corn in the time of war to my enemies, as he does to my friends in the

time of peace. So he loses nothing by his speculations!’

“The Queen checked the Emperor repeatedly, though she could not help

smiling at his caricatures.

“‘As to you, my dear Marie Antoinette,’ continued the Emperor, not

heeding her, ‘I see you have made great progress in the art of painting.

You have lavished more colour on one cheek than Rubens would have

required for all the figures in his cartoons.’ Observing one of the

Ladies of Honour still more highly rouged than the Queen, he said, ‘I

suppose I look like a death’s head upon a tombstone, among all these

high-coloured furies.’

“The Queen again tried to interrupt the Emperor, but he was not to be put

out of countenance.

“He said he had no doubt, when he arrived at Brussels, that he should

hear of the progress of his sister, the Archduchess Maria Christina, in

her money negotiations with the banker Valkeers, who made a good stock

for her husband’s jobs.

“‘If Maria Christina’s gardens and palace at Lakin could speak,’ observed

he, ‘what a spectacle of events would they not produce! What a number of

fine sights my own family would afford!

“‘When I get to Cologne,’ pursued the Emperor, there I shall see my great

fat brother Maximilian, in his little electorate, spending his yearly

revenue upon an ecclesiastical procession; for priests, like opposition,

never bark but to get into the manger; never walk empty-handed; rosaries

and good cheer always wind up their holy work; and my good Maximilian, as

head of his Church, has scarcely feet to waddle into it. Feasting and

fasting produce the same effect. In wind and food he is quite an

adept--puffing, from one cause or the other, like a smith’s bellows!’

“Indeed, the Elector of Cologne was really grown so very fat, that, like

his Imperial mother, he could scarcely walk. He would so over-eat

himself at these ecclesiastical dinners, to make his guests welcome,

that, from indigestion, he would be puffing and blowing, an hour

afterwards, for breath.

“‘As I have begun the family visits,’ continued the Emperor, ‘I must not

pass by the Archduchess Mariana and the Lady Abbess at Clagenfurt; or,

the Lord knows, I shall never hear the end of their klagens.--[A German

word which signifies complaining.]--The first, I am told, is grown so

ugly, and, of course, so neglected by mankind, that she is become an

utter stranger to any attachment, excepting the fleshy embraces of the

disgusting wen that encircles her neck and bosom, and makes her head

appear like a black spot upon a large sheet of white paper. Therefore

klagen is all I can expect from that quarter of female flesh, and I dare

say it will be levelled against the whole race of mankind for their want

of taste in not admiring her exuberance of human craw!

“‘As to the Lady Abbess, she is one of my best recruiting sergeants. She

is so fond of training cadets for the benefit of the army that they learn

more from her system in one month than at the military academy at

Neustadt in a whole year. She is her mother’s own daughter. She

understands military tactics thoroughly. She and I never quarrel, except

when I garrison her citadel with invalids. She and the canoness,

Mariana, would rather see a few young ensigns than all the staffs of the

oldest Field-marshals!’

“The Queen often made signs to the Emperor to desist from thus exposing

every member of his family, and seemed to feel mortified; but the more

Her Majesty endeavoured to check his freedom, and make him silent, the

more he enlarged upon the subject. He did not even omit Maria Theresa,

who, he said, in consequence of some papers found on persons arrested as

spies from the Prussian camp, during the seven years’ war, was reported

to have been greatly surprised to have discovered that her husband, the

Emperor Francis I., supplied the enemy’s army with all kinds of provision

from her stores.

“The King scarcely ever answered excepting when the Emperor told the

Queen that her staircase and antechamber at Versailles resembled more the

Turkish bazars of Constantinople than a royal palace. ‘But,’ added he,

laughing, ‘I suppose you would not allow the nuisance of hawkers and

pedlars almost under your nose, if the sweet perfumes of a handsome

present did not compensate for the disagreeable effluvia exhaling from

their filthy traffic.’

[It was an old custom, in the passages and staircase of all the royal

palaces, for tradespeople to sell their merchandise for the accommodation

of the Court.]

“On this, Louis XVI., in a tone of voice somewhat varying from his usual

mildness, assured the Emperor that neither himself nor the Queen derived

any advantage from the custom, beyond the convenience of purchasing

articles inside the palace at any moment they were wanted, without being

forced to send for them elsewhere.

“‘That is the very reason, my dear brother,’ replied Joseph, ‘why I would

not allow these shops to be where they are. The temptation to lavish

money to little purpose is too strong; and women have not philosophy

enough to resist having things they like, when they can be obtained

easily, though they may not be wanted.’

“‘Custom,’ answered the King--

“‘True,’ exclaimed the Queen, interrupting him; custom, my dear brother,

obliges us to tolerate in France many things which you, in Austria, have.

long since abolished; but the French are not to be: treated like the

Germans. A Frenchman is a slave to habit. His very caprice in the

change of fashion proceeds more from habit than genius or invention. His

very restlessness of character is systematic; and old customs and

national habits in a nation virtually spirituelle must not be trifled

with. The tree torn up by the roots dies for want of nourishment; but,

on the contrary, when lopped carefully only of its branches the pruning

makes it more valuable to the cultivator and more pleasing to the

beholder. So it is with national prejudices, which are often but the

excrescences of national virtues. Root them out and you root out virtue

and all. They must only be: pruned and turned to profit. A Frenchman is

more easily killed than subdued. Even his follies generally spring from

a high sense of national dignity and honour, which foreigners cannot but

respect.’

“The Emperor Joseph while in France mixed in all sorts of society, to

gain information with respect, to the popular feeling towards his sister,

and instruction as to the manners and modes of life and thinking of the

French. To this end he would often associate with the lowest of the

common people, and generally gave them a louis for their loss of time in

attending to him.

“One day, when he was walking with the young Princesse Elizabeth and

myself in the public gardens at Versailles and in deep conversation with

us, two or three of these louis ladies came up to my side and, not

knowing who I was, whispered, ‘There’s no use in paying such attention to

the stranger: after all, when he has got what he wants, he’ll only give

you a louis apiece and then send you about your business.’”

SECTION X.

“I remember an old lady who could not bear to be told of deaths. ‘Psha!

Pshaw!’ she would exclaim. ‘Bring me no tales of funerals! Talk of

births and of those who are likely to be blest with them! These are the

joys which gladden old hearts and fill youthful ones with ecstasy! It is

our own reproduction in children which makes us quit the world happy and

contented; because then we only retire to make room for another race,

bringing with them all those faculties which are in us decayed; and

capable, which we ourselves have ceased to be, of taking our parts and

figuring on the stage of life so long as it may please the Supreme

Manager to busy them in earthly scenes! Then talk no more to me of weeds

and mourning, but show me christenings and all those who give employ to

the baptismal font!’

“Such also was the exulting feeling of Marie Antoinette when she no

longer doubted of her wished-for pregnancy. The idea of becoming a

mother filled her soul with an exuberant delight, which made the very

pavement on which she trod vibrate with the words, ‘I shall be a mother!

I shall be a mother!’ She was so overjoyed that she not only made it

public throughout France but despatches were sent off to all her royal

relatives. And was not her rapture natural? so long as she had waited

for the result of every youthful union, and so coarsely as she had been

reproached with her misfortune! Now came her triumph. She could now

prove to the world, like all the descendants of the house of Austria,

that there was no defect with her. The satirists and the malevolent were

silenced. Louis XVI., from the cold, insensible bridegroom, became the

infatuated admirer of his long-neglected wife. The enthusiasm with which

the event was hailed by all France atoned for the partial insults she had

received before it. The splendid fetes, balls, and entertainments,

indiscriminately lavished by all ranks throughout the kingdom on this

occasion, augmented those of the Queen and the Court to a pitch of

magnificence surpassing the most luxurious and voluptuous times of the

great and brilliant Louis XIV. Entertainments were given even to the

domestics of every description belonging to the royal establishments.

Indeed, so general was the joy that, among those who could do no more,

there could scarcely be found a father or mother in France who, before

they took their wine, did not first offer up a prayer for the prosperous

pregnancy of their beloved Queen.

“And yet, though the situation of Marie Antoinette was now become the

theme of a whole nation’s exultation, she herself, the owner of the

precious burthen, selected by Heaven as its special depositary, was the

only one censured for expressing all her happiness!

“Those models of decorum, the virtuous Princesses, her aunts, deemed it

highly indelicate in Her Majesty to have given public marks of her

satisfaction to those deputed to compliment her on her prosperous

situation. To avow the joy she felt was in their eyes indecent and

unqueenly. Where was the shrinking bashfulness of that one of these

Princesses who had herself been so clamorous to Louis XV. against her

husband, the Duke of Modena, for not having consummated her own marriage?

“The party of the dismissed favourite Du Barry were still working

underground. Their pestiferous vapours issued from the recesses of the

earth, to obscure the brightness of the rising sun, which was now rapidly

towering to its climax, to obliterate the little planets which had once

endeavoured to eclipse its beautiful rays, but were now incapable of

competition, and unable to endure its lustre. This malignant nest of

serpents began to poison the minds of the courtiers, as soon as the

pregnancy was obvious, by innuendoes on the partiality of the Comte

d’Artois for the Queen; and at length, infamously, and openly, dared to

point him out as the cause?

“Thus, in the heart of the Court itself, originated this most atrocious

slander, long before it reached the nation, and so much assisted to

destroy Her Majesty’s popularity with a people, who now adored her

amiableness, her general kind-heartedness, and her unbounded charity.

“I have repeatedly seen the Queen and the Comte d’Artois together under

circumstances in which there could have been no concealment of her real

feelings; and I can firmly and boldly assert the falsehood of this

allegation against my royal mistress. The only attentions Marie

Antoinette received in the earlier part of her residence in France were

from her grandfather and her brothers-in-law. Of these, the Comte

d’Artois was the only one who, from youth and liveliness of character,

thoroughly sympathised with his sister. But, beyond the little freedoms

of two young and innocent playmates, nothing can be charged upon their

intimacy,--no familiarity whatever farther than was warranted by their

relationship. I can bear witness that Her Majesty’s attachment for the

Comte d’Artois never differed in its nature from what she felt for her

brother the Emperor Joseph.

[When the King thought proper to be reconciled to the Queen after the

death of his grandfather, Louis XV., and when she became a mother, she

really was very much attached to Louis XVI., as may be proved from her

never quitting him, and suffering all the horrid sacrifices she endured,

through the whole period of the Revolution, rather than leave her

husband, her children, or her sister. Marie Antoinette might have saved

her life twenty times, had not the King’s safety, united with her own and

that of her family, impelled her to reject every proposition of

self-preservation.]

“It is very likely that the slander of which I speak derived some colour

of probability afterwards with the million, from the Queen’s

thoughtlessness, relative to the challenge which passed between the Comte

d’Artois and the Duc de Bourbon. In right of my station, I was one of

Her Majesty’s confidential counsellors, and it became my duty to put

restraint upon her inclinations, whenever I conceived they led her wrong.

In this instance, I exercised my prerogative decidedly, and even so much

so as to create displeasure; but I anticipated the consequences, which

actually ensued, and preferred to risk my royal mistress’s displeasure

rather than her reputation. The dispute, which led to the duel, was on

some point of etiquette; and the Baron de Besenval was to attend as

second to one of the parties. From the Queen’s attachment for her royal

brother, she wished the affair to be amicably arranged, without the

knowledge either of the King, who was ignorant of what had taken place,

or of the parties; which could only be effected by her seeing the Baron

in the most private manner. I opposed Her Majesty’s allowing any

interview with the Baron upon any terms, unless sanctioned by the King.

This unexpected and peremptory refusal obliged the Queen to transfer her

confidence to the librarian, who introduced the Baron into one of the

private apartments of Her Majesty’s women, communicating with that of the

Queen, where Her Majesty could see the Baron without the exposure of

passing any of the other attendants. The Baron was quite gray, and

upwards of sixty years of age! But the self-conceited dotard soon caused

the Queen to repent her misplaced confidence, and from his unwarrantable

impudence on that occasion, when he found himself alone with the Queen,

Her Majesty, though he was a constant member of the societies of the De

Polignacs, ever after treated him with sovereign contempt.

“The Queen herself afterwards described to me the Baron’s presumptuous

attack upon her credulity. From this circumstance I thenceforward totally

excluded him from my parties, where Her Majesty was always a regular

visitor.

“The coolness to which my determination not to allow the interview gave

rise between Her Majesty and myself was but momentary. The Queen had too

much discernment not to appreciate the basis upon which my denial was

grounded, even before she was convinced by the result how correct had

been my reflection. She felt her error, and, by the mediation of the

Duke of Dorset, we were reunited more closely than ever, and so, I trust,

we shall remain till death!

“There was much more attempted to be made of another instance, in which I

exercised the duty of my office, than the truth justified--the nightly

promenades on the terrace at Versailles, or at Trianon. Though no

amusement could have been more harmless or innocent for a private

individual, yet I certainly, disapproved it for a Queen, and therefore

withheld the sanction of my attendance. My sole objection was on the

score of dignity. I well knew that Du Barry and her infamous party were

constant spies upon the Queen on every occasion of such a nature; and

that they would not fail to exaggerate her every movement to her

prejudice. Though Du Barry could not form one of the party, which was a

great source of heartburning, it was easy for her, under the

circumstances, to mingle with the throng. When I suggested these

objections to the Queen, Her Majesty, feeling no inward cause of

reproach, and being sanctioned in what she did by the King himself,

laughed at the idea of these little excursions affording food for

scandal. I assured Her Majesty that I had every reason to be convinced

that Du Barry was often in disguise, not far from the seat where Her

Majesty and the Princesse Elizabeth could be overheard in their most

secret conversations with each other. ‘Listeners,’ replied the Queen,

‘never hear any good of themselves.’

“‘My dear Lamballe,’ she continued, ‘you have taken such a dislike to

this woman that you cannot conceive she can be occupied but in mischief.

This is uncharitable. She certainly has no reason to be dissatisfied

with either the King or myself. We have both left her in the full

enjoyment of all she possessed, except the right of appearing at Court or

continuing in the society her conduct had too long disgraced.’

“I said it was very true, but that I should be happier to find Her

Majesty so scrupulous as never to give an opportunity even for the

falsehoods of her enemies.

“Her Majesty turned the matter off, as usual, by saying she had no idea

of injuring others, and could not believe that any one would wantonly

injure her, adding, ‘The Duchess and the Princesse Elizabeth, my two

sisters, and all the other ladies, are coming to hear the concert this

evening, and you will be delighted.’

“I excused myself under the plea of the night air disagreeing with my

health, and returned to Versailles without ever making myself one of the

nocturnal members of Her Majesty’s society, well knowing she could

dispense with my presence, there being more than enough ever ready to

hurry her by their own imprudence into the folly of despising criticisms,

which I always endeavoured to avoid, though I did not fear them. Of

these I cannot but consider her secretary as one. The following

circumstance connected with the promenades is a proof:

“The Abbe Vermond was present one day when Marie Antoinette observed that

she felt rather indisposed. I attributed it to Her Majesty’s having

lightened her dress and exposed herself too much to the night air.

‘Heavens, madame!’ cried the Abbe, ‘would you always have Her Majesty

cased up in steel armour, and not take the fresh air, without being

surrounded by a troop of horse and foot, as a Field-marshal is when going

to storm a fortress? Pray, Princess, now that Her Majesty, has freed

herself from the annoying shackles of Madame Etiquette (the Comtesse de

Noailles), let her enjoy the pleasure of a simple robe and breathe freely

the fresh morning dew, as has been her custom all her life (and as her

mother before her, the Empress Maria Theresa, has done and continues to

do, even to this day), unfettered by antiquated absurdities! Let me be

anything rather than a Queen of France, if I must be doomed to the

slavery of such tyrannical rules!’

“‘True; but, sir,’ replied I, ‘you should reflect that if you were a

Queen of France, France, in making you mistress of her destinies, and

placing you at the head of her nation, would in return look for respect

from you to her customs and manners. I am born an Italian, but I

renounced all national peculiarities of thinking and acting the moment I

set my foot on French ground.’

“‘And so did I,’ said Marie Antoinette.

“‘I know you did, Madame,’ I answered; but I am replying to your

preceptor; and I only wish he saw things in the same light I do. When we

are at Rome, we should do as Rome does. You have never had a regicide

Bertrand de Gurdon, a Ravillac or a Damiens in Germany; but they have

been common in France, and the Sovereigns of France cannot be too

circumspect in their maintenance of ancient etiquette to command the

dignified respect of a frivolous and versatile people.’

“The Queen, though she did not strictly adhere to my counsels or the

Abbe’s advice, had too much good sense to allow herself to be prejudiced

against me by her preceptor; but the Abbe never entered on the propriety

or impropriety of the Queen’s conduct before me, and from the moment I

have mentioned studiously avoided, in my presence, anything which could

lead to discussion on the change of dress and amusements introduced by

Her Majesty.

“Although I disapproved of Her Majesty’s deviations from established

forms in this, or, indeed, any respect, yet I never, before or after,

expressed my opinion before a third person.

“Never should I have been so firmly and so long attached to Marie

Antoinette, had I not known that her native thorough goodness of heart

had been warped and misguided, though acting at the same time with the

best intentions, by a false notion of her real innocence being a

sufficient shield against the public censure of such innovations upon

national prejudices, as she thought prayer to introduce,--the fatal error

of conscious rectitude, encouraged in its regardlessness of appearances

by those very persons who well knew that it is only by appearances a

nation can judge of its rulers.

“I remember a ludicrous circumstance arising from the Queen’s innocent

curiosity, in which, if there were anything to blame, I myself am to be

censured for lending myself to it so heartily to satisfy Her Majesty.

“When the Chevalier d’Eon was allowed to return to France, Her Majesty

expressed a particular inclination to see this extraordinary character.

From prudential as well as political motives, she was at first easily

persuaded to repress her desire. However, by a most ludicrous

occurrence, it was revived, and nothing would do but she must have a

sight of the being who had for some time been the talk of every society,

and at the period to which I allude was become the mirth of all Paris.

“The Chevalier being one day in a very large party of both sexes, in

which, though his appearance had more of the old soldier in it than of

the character he was compelled ‘malgre lui’, to adopt, many of the

guests having no idea to what sex this nondescript animal really

belonged, the conversation after dinner happened to turn on the manly

exercise of fencing.

[It may be necessary to observe here that the Chevalier, having for some

particular motives been banished from France, was afterwards permitted to

return only on condition of never appearing but in the disguised dress of

a female, though he was always habited in the male costume underneath

it.]

Heated by a subject to him so interesting, the Chevalier, forgetful of

the respect due to his assumed garb, started from his seat, and, pulling

up his petticoats, threw himself on guard. Though dressed in male

attire underneath, this sudden freak sent all the ladies--and many of

the gentlemen out of the room in double--quick time. The Chevalier,

however, instantly recovering from the first impulse, quietly pat down

his, upper garment, and begged pardon in, a gentlemanly manner for

having for a moment deviated from the forma of his imposed situation.

All, the gossips of Paris were presently amused with the story, which,

of coarse, reached the Court, with every droll particular of the pulling

up and clapping down the cumbrous paraphernalia of a hoop petticoat.

“The King and Queen, from the manner in which they enjoyed the tale when

told them (and certainly it lost nothing in the report), would not have

been the least amused of the party had they been present. His Majesty

shook the room with laughing, and the Queen, the Princesse Elizabeth, and

the other ladies were convulsed at the description.

“When we were alone, ‘How I should like,’ said the Queen, ‘to see this

curious man-woman!’--‘Indeed,’ replied I, ‘I have not less curiosity than

yourself, and I think we may contrive to let Your Majesty have a peep at

him--her, I mean!--without compromising your dignity, or offending the

Minister who interdicted the Chevalier from appearing in your presence. I

know he has expressed the greatest mortification, and that his wish to

see Your Majesty is almost irrepressible.’

“‘But how will you be able to contrive this without its being known to

the King, or to the Comte de Vergennes, who would never forgive me?’

exclaimed Her Majesty.

“‘Why, on Sunday, when you go to chapel, I will cause him, by some means

or other, to make his appearance, en grande costume, among the group of

ladies who are generally waiting there to be presented to Your Majesty.’

“‘Oh, you charming creature!’ said the Queen. ‘But won’t the Minister

banish or exile him for it?’

“‘No, no! He has only been forbidden an audience of Your Majesty at

Court,’ I replied.

“In good earnest, on the Sunday following, the Chevalier was dressed en

costume, with a large hoop, very long train, sack, five rows of ruffles,

an immensely high powdered female wig, very beautiful lappets, white

gloves, an elegant fan in his hand, his beard closely shaved, his neck

and ears adorned with diamond rings and necklaces, and assuming all the

airs and graces of a fine lady!

“But, unluckily, his anxiety was so great, the moment the Queen made her

appearance, to get a sight of Her Majesty, that, on rushing before the

other ladies, his wig and head-dress fell off his head; and, before they

could be well replaced, he made so, ridiculous a figure, by clapping

them, in his confusion, hind part before, that the King, the Queen, and

the whole suite, could scarcely refrain from laughing; aloud in the

church.

“Thus ended the long longed for sight of this famous man-woman!

“As to me, it was a great while before I could recover myself. Even now,

I laugh whenever I think of this great lady deprived of her head

ornaments, with her bald pate laid bare, to the derision of such a

multitude of Parisians, always prompt to divert themselves at the expense

of others. However, the affair passed off unheeded, and no one but the

Queen and myself ever knew that we ourselves had been innocently the

cause of this comical adventure. When we met after Mass, we were so

overpowered, that neither of us could speak for laughing. The Bishop who

officiated said it was lucky he had no sermon to preach that day, for it

would have been difficult for him to have recollected himself, or to have

maintained his gravity. The ridiculous appearance of the Chevalier, he

added, was so continually presenting itself before him during the service

that it was as much as he could do to restrain himself from laughing, by

keeping his eyes constantly riveted on the book. Indeed, the oddity of

the affair was greatly heightened when, in the middle of the Mass, some

charitable hand having adjusted the wig of the Chevalier, he re-entered

the chapel as if nothing had happened, and, placing himself exactly

opposite the altar, with his train upon his arm, stood fanning himself, a

la coquette, with an inflexible self-possession which only rendered it

the more difficult for those around him to maintain their composure.

“Thus ended the Queen’s curiosity. The result only made the Chevalier’s

company in greater request, for every one became more anxious than ever

to know the masculine lady who had lost her wig!”

BOOK 2.

SECTION I.

[From the time that the Princesse de Lamballe saw the ties between the

Queen and her favourite De Polignac drawing closer she became less

assiduous in her attendance at Court, being reluctant to importune the

friends by her presence at an intimacy which she did not approve. She

could not, however, withhold her accustomed attentions, as the period of

Her Majesty’s accouchement approached; and she has thus noted the

circumstance of the birth of the Duchesse d’Angouleme, on the 19th of

December, 1778.]

“The moment for the accomplishment of the Queen’s darling hope was now at

hand: she was about to become a mother.

“It had been agreed between Her Majesty and myself, that I was to place

myself so near the accoucheur, Vermond, as to be the first to

distinguish the sex of the new-born infant, and if she should be

delivered of a Dauphin to say, in Italian, ‘Il figlio e nato.’

[Brother to the Abbe, whose pride was so great at this honour conferred

on his relative, that he never spoke of him without denominating him

Monsieur mon frere, d’accoucher de sa Majeste, Vermond.]

“Her Majesty was, however, foiled even in this the most blissful of her

desires. She was delivered of a daughter instead of a Dauphin.

“From the immense crowd that burst into the apartment the instant Vermond

said, The Queen is happily delivered, Her Majesty was nearly suffocated.

I had hold of her hand, and as I said ‘La regina e andato’, mistaking

‘andato’ for ‘nato’, between the joy of giving birth to a son and the

pressure of the crowd, Her Majesty fainted. Overcome by the dangerous

situation in which I saw my royal mistress, I myself was carried out of

the room in a lifeless state. The situation of Her Majesty was for some

time very doubtful, till the people were dragged with violence from about

her, that she might have air. On her recovering, the King was the first

person who told her that she was the mother of a very fine Princess.

“‘Well, then,’ said the Queen, ‘I am like my mother, for at my birth she

also wished for a son instead of a daughter; and you have lost your

wager:’ for the King had betted with Maria Theresa that it would be a

son.

“The King answered her by repeating the lines Metastasio had written on

that occasion.

“‘Io perdei: l’augusta figlia

A pagar, m’a condemnato;

Ma s’e ver the a voi somiglia

Tutto il moudo ha guadagnato.’”

[The Princesse de Lamballe again ceased to be constantly about the Queen.

Her danger was over, she was a mother, and the attentions of

disinterested friendship were no longer indispensable. She herself about

this time met with a deep affliction. She lost both of her own parents;

and to her sorrows may, in a great degree, be ascribed her silence upon

the events which intervened between the birth of Madame and that of the

Dauphin. She was as assiduous as ever in her attentions to Her Majesty

on her second lying-in. The circumstances of the death of Maria Theresa,

the Queen’s mother, in the interval which divided the two accouchements,

and Her Majesty’s anguish, and refusal to see any but De Lamballe and De

Polignac, are too well known to detain us longer from the notes of the

Princess. It is enough for the reader to know that the friendship of Her

Majesty for her superintendent seemed to be gradually reviving in all its

early enthusiasm, by her unremitting kindness during the confinements of

the Queen, till, at length, they became more attached than ever. But, not

to anticipate, let me return to the narrative.]

“The public feeling had undergone a great change with respect to Her

Majesty from the time of her first accouchement. Still, she was not the

mother of a future King. The people looked upon her as belonging to them

more than she had done before, and faction was silenced by the general

delight. But she had not yet attained the climax of her felicity. A

second pregnancy gave a new excitement to the nation; and, at length, on

the 22nd October, 1781, dawned the day of hope.

“In consequence of what happened on the first accouchement, measures were

taken to prevent similar disasters on the second. The number admitted

into the apartment was circumscribed. The silence observed left the

Queen in uncertainty of the sex to which she had given birth, till, with

tears of joy, the King said to her: ‘Madame, the hopes of the nation, and

mine, are fulfilled. You are the mother of a Dauphin.’

“The Princesse Elizabeth and myself were so overjoyed that we embraced

every one in the room.

“At this time Their Majesties were adored. Marie Antoinette, with all

her beauty and amiableness, was a mere cipher in the eyes of France

previous to her becoming the mother of an heir to the Crown; but her

popularity now arose to a pitch of unequalled enthusiasm.

“I have heard of but one expression to Her Majesty upon this occasion in

any way savouring of discontent. This came from the royal aunts. On

Marie Antoinette’s expressing to them her joy in having brought a Dauphin

to the nation, they replied, ‘We will only repeat our father’s

observation on a similar subject. When one of our sisters complained to

his late Majesty that, as her Italian husband had copied the Dauphin’s

whim, she could not, though long a bride, boast of being a wife, or hope

to become a mother--“a prudent Princess,” replied Louis XV., “never wants

heirs!”’ But the feeling of the royal aunts was an exception to the

general sentiment, which really seemed like madness.

“I remember a proof of this which happened at the time. Chancing to

cross the King’s path as he was going to Marly and I coming from

Rambouillet, my two postillions jumped from their horses, threw

themselves on the high road upon their knees, though it was very dirty,

and remained there, offering up their benedictions, till he was out of

sight.

“The felicity of the Queen was too great not to be soon overcast. The

unbounded influence of the De Polignacs was now at its zenith. It could

not fail of being attacked. Every engine of malice, envy, and detraction

was let loose; and, in the vilest calumnies against the character of the

Duchess, her royal mistress was included.

“It was, in truth, a most singular fatality, in the life of Marie

Antoinette that she could do nothing, however beneficial or

disinterested, for which she was not either criticised or censured. She

had a tenacity, of character which made her cling more closely to

attachments from which she saw others desirous of estranging her; and

this firmness, however excellent in principle, was, in her case, fatal in

its effects. The Abbe Vermond, Her Majesty’s confessor and tutor, and,

unfortunately, in many respects, her ambitious guide, was really alarmed

at the rising favour of the Duchess; and, though he knew the very

obstacles thrown in her way only strengthened her resolution as to any

favourite object, yet he ventured to head an intrigue to destroy the

great influence of the De Polignacs, which, as he might have foreseen,

only served to hasten their aggrandisement.

“At this crisis the dissipation of the Duc de Guemenee caused him to

become a bankrupt. I know not whether it can be said in principle, but

certainly it may in property, ‘It is an ill wind that blows no one any

good.’ The Princess, his wife, having been obliged to leave her

residence at Versailles, in consequence of the Duke’s dismissal from the

King’s service on account of the disordered state of his pecuniary

circumstances, the situation of governess to the royal children became

necessarily vacant, and was immediately transferred to the Duchesse de

Polignac. The Queen, to enable her friend to support her station with

all the eclat suitable to its dignity, took care to supply ample means

from her own private purse. A most magnificent suite of apartments was

ordered to be arranged, under the immediate inspection of the Queen’s

maitre d’hotel, at Her Majesty’s expense.

“Is there anything on earth more natural than the lively interest which

inspires a mother towards those who have the care of her offspring? What,

then, must have been the feelings of a Queen of France who had been

deprived of that blessing for which connubial attachments are formed, and

which, vice versa, constitutes the only real happiness of every young

female, what must have been, I say, the ecstasy of Marie Antoinette when

she not only found herself a mother, but the dear pledges of all her

future bliss in the hands of one whose friendship allowed her the

unrestrained exercise of maternal affection,--a climax of felicity

combining not only the pleasures of an ordinary mother, but the

greatness, the dignity, and the flattering popularity of a Queen of

France.

“Though the pension of the Duchesse de Polignac was no more than that

usually allotted to all former governesses of the royal children of

France, yet circumstances tempted her to a display not a little injurious

to her popularity as well as to that of her royal mistress. She gave too

many pretexts to imputations of extravagance. Yet she had neither

patronage, nor sinecures, nor immunities beyond the few inseparable from

the office she held, and which had been the same for centuries under the

Monarchy of France. But it must be remembered, as an excuse for the

splendour of her establishment, that she entered her office upon a

footing very different from that of any of her predecessors. Her mansion

was not the quiet, retired, simple household of the governess of the

royal children, as formerly: it had become the magnificent resort of the

first Queen in Europe; the daily haunt of Her Majesty. The Queen

certainly visited the former governess, as she had done the Duchesse de

Duras and many other frequenters of her Court parties; but she made the

Duchesse de Polignac’s her Court; and all the courtiers of that Court,

and, I may say, the great personages of all France, as well as the

Ministers and all foreigners of distinction, held there their usual

rendezvous; consequently, there was nothing wanting but the guards in

attendance in the Queen’s apartments to have made it a royal residence

suitable for the reception of the illustrious personages that were in the

constant habit of visiting these levees, assemblies, balls, routs,

picnics, dinner, supper, and card parties.

[I have seen ladies at the Princesse de Lamballe’s come from these card

parties with their laps so blackened by the quantities of gold received

in them, that they have been obliged to change their dresses to go to

supper. Many a chevalier d’industree and young military spendthrift has

made his harvest here. Thousands were won and lost, and the ladies were

generally the dupes of all those who were the constant speculative

attendants. The Princease de Lamballe did not like play, but when it was

necessary she did play, and won or lost to a limited extent; but the

prescribed sum once exhausted or gained she left off. In set parties,

such as those of whist, she never played except when one was wanted,

often excusing herself on the score of its requiring more attention than

it was in her power to give to it and her reluctance to sacrifice her

partner; though I have heard Beau Dillon, the Duke of Dorset, Lord Edward

Dillon, and many others say that she understood and played the game much

better than many who had a higher opinion of their skill in it. Lord

Edward Fitzgerald was admitted to the parties at the Duchesse de

Polignac’s on his first coming to Paris; but when his connection with the

Duc d’Orleans and Madame de Genlis became known he was informed that his

society would be dispensed with. The famous, or rather the infamous,

Beckford was also excluded.]

“Much as some of the higher classes of the nobility felt aggrieved at the

preference given by the Queen to the Duchesse de Polignac, that which

raised against Her Majesty the most implacable resentment was her

frequenting the parties of her favourite more than those of any other of

the ‘haut ton’. These assemblies, from the situation held by the

Duchess, could not always be the most select. Many of the guests who

chanced to get access to them from a mere glimpse of the Queen--whose

general good-humour, vivacity, and constant wish to please all around her

would often make her commit herself unconsciously and

unintentionally--would fabricate anecdotes of things they had neither

seen nor heard; and which never had existence, except in their own wicked

imaginations. The scene of the inventions, circulated against Her

Majesty through France, was, in consequence, generally placed at the

Duchess’s; but they were usually so distinctly and obviously false that

no notice was taken of them, nor was any attempt made to check their

promulgation.

“Exemplary as was the friendship between this enthusiastic pair, how much

more fortunate for both would it have been had it never happened! I

foresaw the results long, long before they took place; but the Queen was

not to be thwarted. Fearful she might attribute my anxiety for her

general safety to unworthy personal views, I was often silent, even when

duty bade me speak. I was, perhaps, too scrupulous about seeming

officious or jealous of the predilection shown to the Duchess.

Experience had taught me the inutility of representing consequences, and

I had no wish to quarrel with the Queen. Indeed, there was a degree of

coldness towards me on the part of Her Majesty for having gone so far as

I had done. It was not until after the birth of the Duc de Normandie,

her third child, in March, 1785, that her friendship resumed its

primitive warmth.

“As the children grew, Her Majesty’s attachment for their governess grew

with them. All that has been said of Tasso’s Armida was nothing to this

luxurious temple of maternal affection. Never was female friendship more

strongly cemented, or less disturbed by the nauseous poison of envy,

malice, or mean jealousy. The Queen was in the plenitude of every

earthly enjoyment, from being able to see and contribute to the education

of the children she tenderly loved, unrestrained by the gothic etiquette

with which all former royal mothers had been fettered, but which the kind

indulgence of the Duchesse de Polignac broke through, as unnatural and

unworthy of the enlightened and affectionate. The Duchess was herself an

attentive, careful mother. She felt for the Queen, and encouraged her

maternal sympathies, so doubly endeared by the long, long disappointment

which had preceded their gratification. The sacrifice of all the cold

forms of state policy by the new governess, and the free access she gave

the royal mother to her children, so unprecedented in the Court of

France, rendered Marie Antoinette so grateful that it may justly be said

she divided her heart between the governess and the governed. Habit soon

made it necessary for her existence that she should dedicate the whole of

her time, not taken up in public ceremonies or parties, to the

cultivation of the minds of her children. Conscious of her own

deficiency in this respect, she determined to redeem this error in her

offspring. The love of the frivolous amusements of society, for which

the want of higher cultivation left room in her mind, was humoured by the

gaieties of the Duchesse de Polignac’s assemblies; while her nobler

dispositions were encouraged by the privileges of the favourite’s

station. Thus, all her inclinations harmonising with the habits and

position of her friend, Marie Antoinette literally passed the greatest

part of some years in company with the Duchesse de Polignac,--either

amidst the glare and bustle of public recreation, or in the private

apartment of the governess and her children, increasing as much as

possible the kindness of the one for the benefit and comfort of the

others. The attachment of the Duchess to the royal children was returned

by the Queen’s affection for the offspring of the Duchess. So much was

Her Majesty interested in favour of the daughter of the Duchess, that,

before that young lady was fifteen years of age, she herself contrived

and accomplished her marriage with the Duc de Guiche, then ‘maitre de

ceremonie’ to Her Majesty, and whose interests were essentially, promoted

by this alliance.

[The Duc de Guiche, since Duc de Grammont, has proved how much he merited

the distinction he received, in consequence of the attachment between the

Queen and his mother-in-law, by the devotedness with which he followed

the fallen fortunes of the Bourbons till their restoration, since which

he has not been forgotten. The Duchess, his wife, who at her marriage

was beaming with all the beauties of her age, and adorned by art and

nature with every accomplishment, though she came into notice at a time

when the Court had scarcely recovered itself from the debauched morals by

which it had been so long degraded by a De Pompadour and a Du Barry, has

yet preserved her character, by the strictness of her conduct, free from

the censorious criticisms of an epoch in which some of the purest could

not escape unassailed. I saw her at Pyrmont in 1803; and even then,

though the mother of many children, she looked as young and beautiful as

ever. She was remarkably well educated and accomplished, a profound

musician on the harp and pianoforte, graceful in her conversation, and a

most charming dancer. She seemed to bear the vicissitudes of fortune

with a philosophical courage and resignation not often to be met with in

light-headed French women. She was amiable in her manners, easy of

access, always lively and cheerful, and enthusiastically attached to the

country whence she was then excluded. She constantly accompanied the

wife of the late Louis XVIII. during her travels in Germany, as her

husband the Duke did His Majesty during his residence at Mittau, in

Courland, etc. I have had the honour of seeing the Duke twice since the

Revolution; once, on my coming from Russia, at General Binkingdroff’s,

Governor of Mittau, and since, in Portland Place, at the French

Ambassador’s, on his coming to England in the name of his Sovereign, to

congratulate the King of England on his accession to the throne.]

“The great cabals, which agitated the Court in consequence of the favour

shown to the De Polignacs, were not slow in declaring themselves. The

Comtesse de Noailles was one of the foremost among the discontented. Her

resignation, upon the appointment of a superintendent, was a sufficient

evidence of her real feeling; but when she now saw a place filled, to

which she conceived her family had a claim, her displeasure could not be

silent, and her dislike to the Queen began to express itself without

reserve.

“Another source of dissatisfaction against the Queen was her extreme

partiality for the English. After the peace of Versailles, in 1783, the

English flocked into France, and I believe if a poodle dog had come from

England it would have met with a good reception from Her Majesty. This

was natural enough. The American war had been carried on entirely

against her wish; though, from the influence she was supposed to exercise

in the Cabinet, it was presumed to have been managed entirely by herself.

This odious opinion she wished personally to destroy; and it could only

be done by the distinction with which, after the peace, she treated the

whole English nation.’

[The daughter of the Duchesse de Polignac (of my meeting with whom I have

already spoken in a note), entering with me upon the subject of France

and of old times, observed that had the Queen limited her attachment to

the person of her mother, she would not have given all the annoyance

which she did to the nobility. It was to these partialities to the

English, the Duchesse de Guiche Grammont alluded. I do not know the

lady’s name distinctly, but I am certain I have heard the beautiful Lady

Sarah Bunbury mentioned by the Princesse de Lamballe as having received

particular attention from the Queen; for the Princess had heard much

about this lady and “a certain great personage” in England; but, on

discovering her acquaintance with the Duc de Lauzun, Her Majesty withdrew

from the intimacy, though not soon enough to prevent its having given

food for scandal. “You must remember,” added the Duchesse de Guiche

Grammont, “how much the Queen was censured for her enthusiasm about Lady

Spencer.” I replied that I did remember the much-ado about nothing there

was regarding some English lady, to whom the Queen took a liking, whose

name I could not exactly recall; but I knew well she studied to please

the English in general. Of this Lady Spencer it is that the Princess

speaks in one of the following pages of this chapter.]

“Several of the English nobility were on a familiar footing at the

parties of the Duchesse de Polignac. This was quite enough for the

slanderers. They were all ranked, and that publicly, as lovers of Her

Majesty. I recollect when there were no less than five different private

commissioners out, to suppress the libels that were in circulation over

all France, against the Queen and Lord Edward Dillon, the Duke of Dorset,

Lord George Conway, Arthur Dillon, as well as Count Fersen, the Duc de

Lauzun, and the Comte d’Artois, who were all not only constant

frequenters of Polignac’s but visitors of Marie Antoinette.

“By the false policy of Her Majesty’s advisers, these enemies and

libellers, instead of being brought to the condign punishment their

infamy deserved, were privately hushed into silence, out of delicacy to

the Queen’s feelings, by large sums of money and pensions, which

encouraged numbers to commit the same enormity in the hope of obtaining

the same recompense.

“But these were mercenary wretches, from whom no better could have been

expected. A legitimate mode of robbery had been pressed upon their

notice by the Government itself, and they thought it only a matter of

fair speculation to make the best of it. There were some libellers,

however, of a higher order, in comparison with whose motives for slander,

those of the mere scandal-jobbers were white as the driven snow. Of

these, one of the worst was the Duc de Lauzun.

“The first motive of the Queen’s strong dislike to the Duc de Lauzun

sprang from Her Majesty’s attachment to the Duchesse d’Orleans, whom she

really loved. She was greatly displeased at the injury inflicted upon

her valued friend by De Lauzun, in estranging the affection of the Duc

d’Orleans from his wife by introducing him to depraved society. Among

the associates to which this connection led the Duc d’Orleans were a

certain Madame Duthee and Madame Buffon.

“When De Lauzun, after having been expelled from the drawing-room of the

Queen for his insolent presumption,--[The allusion here is to the affair

of the heron plume.]--meeting with coolness at the King’s levee, sought

to cover his disgrace by appearing at the assemblies of the Duchesse de

Polignac, Her Grace was too sincerely the friend of her Sovereign and

benefactress not to perceive the drift of his conduct. She consequently

signified to the self-sufficient coxcomb that her assemblies were not

open to the public. Being thus shut out from Their Majesties, and, as a

natural result, excluded from the most brilliant societies of Paris, De

Lauzun, from a most diabolical spirit of revenge, joined the nefarious

party which had succeeded in poisoning the mind of the Duc d’Orleans, and

from the hordes of which, like the burning lava from Etna, issued

calumnies which swept the most virtuous and innocent victims that ever

breathed to their destruction!

“Among the Queen’s favourites, and those most in request at the De

Polignac parties, was the good Lady Spencer, with whom I became most

intimately acquainted when I first went to England; and from whom, as

well as from her two charming daughters, the Duchess of Devonshire and

Lady Duncannon, since Lady Besborough, I received the greatest marks of

cordial hospitality. In consequence, when her ladyship came to France, I

hastened to present her to the Queen. Her Majesty, taking a great liking

to the amiable Englishwoman, and wishing to profit by her private

conversations and society, gave orders that Lady Spencer should pass to

her private closet whenever she came to Versailles, without the formal

ceremony of waiting in the antechamber to be announced.

“One day, Her Majesty, Lady Spencer, and myself were observing the

difficulty there was in acquiring a correct pronunciation of the English

language, when Lady Spencer remarked that it only required a little

attention.

“‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Queen, ‘that’s not all, because there are

many things you do not call by their proper names, as they are in the

dictionary.’

“‘Pray what are they, please Your Majesty?’

“‘Well, I will give you an instance. For example, ‘les culottes’--what

do you call them?’

“‘Small clothes,’ replied her ladyship.

“‘Ma foi! how can they be called small clothes for one large man? Now I

do look in the dictionary, and I find, for the word culottes--breeches.’

“‘Oh, please Your Majesty, we never call them by that name in England.’

“‘Voila done, j’ai raison!’

“‘We say “inexpressibles”!’

“‘Ah, c’est mieux! Dat do please me ver much better. Il y a du bon sens

la dedans. C’est une autre chose!’

“In the midst of this curious dialogue, in came the Duke of Dorset, Lord

Edward Dillon, Count Fersen, and several English gentlemen, who, as they

were going to the King’s hunt, were all dressed in new buckskin breeches.

“‘I do not like,’ exclaimed the Queen to them, dem yellow irresistibles!’

“Lady Spencer nearly fainted. ‘Vat make you so frightful, my dear lady?’

said the Queen to her ladyship, who was covering her face with her hands.

‘I am terrified at Your Majesty’s mistake’--‘Comment? did you no tell me

just now, dat in England de lady call les culottes

“irresistibles”?’--‘Oh, mercy! I never could have made such a mistake,

as to have applied to that part of the male dress such a word. I said,

please Your Majesty, inexpressibles.’

“On this the gentlemen all laughed most heartily.

“‘Vell, vell,’ replied the Queen, ‘do, my dear lady, discompose yourself.

I vill no more call de breeches irresistibles, but say small clothes, if

even elles sont upon a giant!’

“At the repetition of the naughty word breeches, poor Lady Spencer’s

English delicacy quite overcame her. Forgetting where she was, and also

the company she was in, she ran from the room with her cross stick in her

hand, ready to lay it on the shoulders of any one who should attempt to

obstruct her passage, flew into her carriage, and drove off full speed,

as if fearful of being contaminated,--all to the no small amusement of

the male guests.

“Her Majesty and I laughed till the very tears ran down our cheeks. The

Duke of Dorset, to keep up the joke, said there really were some counties

in England where they called ‘culottes irresistibles.

“Now that I am upon the subject of England, and the peace of 1783, which

brought such throngs of English over to France, there occurs to me a

circumstance, relating to the treaty of commerce signed at that time,

which exhibits the Comte de Vergennes to some advantage; and with that

let me dismiss the topic.

“The Comte de Vergennes, was one of the most distinguished Ministers of

France. I was intimately acquainted with him. His general character for

uprightness prompted his Sovereign to govern in a manner congenial to his

own goodness of heart, which was certainly most for the advantage of his

subjects. Vergennes cautioned Louis against the hypocritical adulations

of his privileged courtiers. The Count had been schooled in State policy

by the great Venetian senator, Francis Foscari, the subtlest politician

of his age, whom he consulted during his life on every important matter;

and he was not very easily to be deceived.

“When the treaty of commerce took place, at the period I mention, the

experienced Vergennes foresaw--what afterwards really happened--that

France would be inundated with British manufactures; but Calonne

obstinately maintained the contrary, till he was severely reminded of the

consequence of his misguided policy, in the insults inflicted on him by

enraged mobs of thousands of French artificers, whenever he appeared in

public. But though the mania for British goods had literally caused an

entire stagnation of business in the French manufacturing towns, and

thrown throngs upon the ‘pave’ for want of employment, yet M. de Calonne

either did not see, or pretended not to see, the errors he had committed.

Being informed that the Comte de Vergennes had attributed the public

disorders to his fallacious policy, M. de Calonne sent a friend to the

Count demanding satisfaction for the charge of having caused the riots.

The Count calmly replied that he was too much of a man of honour to take

so great an advantage, as to avail himself of the opportunity offered, by

killing a man who had only one life to dispose of, when there were so

many with a prior claim, who were anxious to destroy him ‘en societe’. I

Bid M. de Calonne,’ continued the Count, ‘first get out of that scrape,

as the English boxers do when their eyes are closed up after a pitched

battle. He has been playing at blind man’s buff, but the poverty to

which he has reduced so many of our tradespeople has torn the English

bandage from his eyes!’ For three or four days the Comte de Vergennes

visited publicly, and showed himself everywhere in and about Paris; but

M. de Calonne was so well convinced of the truth of the old fox’s satire

that he pocketed his annoyance, and no more was said about fighting.

Indeed, the Comte de Vergennes gave hints of being able to show that M.

de Calonne had been bribed into the treaty.”

[The Princesse de Lamballe has alluded in a former page to the happiness

which the Queen enjoyed during the visits of the foreign Princes to the

Court of France. Her papers contain a few passages upon the opinions Her

Majesty entertained of the royal travellers; which, although in the order

of time they should have been mentioned before the peace with England,

yet, not to disturb the chain of the narrative, respecting the connection

with the Princesse de Lamballe, of the prevailing libels, and the

partiality shown towards the English, I have reserved them for the

conclusion of the present chapter. The timidity of the Queen in the

presence of the illustrious strangers, and her agitation when about to

receive them, have, I think, been already spoken of. Upon the subject of

the royal travellers themselves, and other personages, the Princess

expresses herself thus:]

“The Queen had never been an admirer of Catharine II. Notwithstanding

her studied policy for the advancement of civilization in her internal

empire, the means which, aided by the Princess Dashkoff, she made use of

to seat herself on the imperial throne of her weak husband, Peter the

Third, had made her more understood than esteemed. Yet when her son, the

Grand Duke of the North,--[Afterwards the unhappy Emperor Paul.]--and the

Grand Duchess, his wife, came to France, their description of Catharine’s

real character so shocked the maternal sensibility of Marie Antoinette

that she could scarcely hear the name of the Empress without shuddering.

The Grand Duke spoke of Catharine without the least disguise. He said he

travelled merely for the security of his life from his mother, who had

surrounded him with creatures that were his sworn enemies, her own spies

and infamous favourites, to whose caprices they were utterly subordinate.

He was aware that the dangerous credulity of the Empress might be every

hour excited by these wretches to the destruction of himself and his

Duchess, and, therefore, he had in absence sought the only refuge. He

had no wish, he said, ever to return to his native country, till Heaven

should check his mother’s doubts respecting his dutiful filial affection

towards her, or till God should be pleased to take her into His sacred

keeping.

“The King was petrified at the Duke’s description of his situation, and

the Queen could not refrain from tears when the Duchess, his wife,

confirmed all her husband had uttered on the subject. The Duchess said

she had been warned by the untimely fate of the Princess d’Armstadt, her

predecessor, the first wife of the Grand Duke, to elude similar jealousy

and suspicion on the part of her mother-in-law, by seclusion from the

Court, in a country residence with her husband; indeed, that she had made

it a point never to visit Petersburg, except on the express invitation of

the Empress, as if she had been a foreigner.

“In this system the Grand Duchess persevered, even after her return from

her travels. When she became pregnant, and drew near her accouchement,

the Empress-mother permitted her to come to Petersburg for that purpose;

but, as soon as the ceremony required by the etiquette of the Imperial

Court on those occasions ended, the Duchess immediately returned to her

hermitage.

“This Princess was remarkably well-educated; she possessed a great deal

of good, sound sense, and had profited by the instructions of some of the

best German tutors during her very early years. It was the policy of her

father, the Duke of Wirtemberg, who had a large family, to educate his

children as ‘quietists’ in matters of religion. He foresaw that the

natural charms and acquired abilities of his daughters would one day call

them to be the ornaments of the most distinguished Courts in Europe, and

he thought it prudent not to instil early prejudices in favour of

peculiar forms of religion which might afterwards present an obstacle to

their aggrandisement.

[The first daughter of the Duke of Wirtemberg was the first wife of the

present Emperor of Austria. She embraced the Catholic faith and died

very young, two days before the Emperor Joseph the Second, at Vienna.

The present Empress Dowager, late wife to Paul, became a proselyte to the

Greek religion on her arrival at Petersburg. The son of the Duke of

Wirtemburg, who succeeded him in the Dukedom, was a Protestant, it being

his interest to profess that religion for the security of his

inheritance. Prince Ferdinand, who was in the Austrian service, and a

long time Governor of Vienna, was a Catholic, as he could not otherwise

have enjoyed that office. He was of a very superior character to the

Duke, his brother. Prince Louis, who held a commission under the

Prussian Monarch, followed the religion of the country where he served,

and the other Princes, who were in the employment of Sweden and other

countries, found no difficulty in conforming themselves to the religion

of the Sovereigns under whom they served. None of them having any

established forms of worship, they naturally embraced that which conduced

most to their aggrandisement, emolument, or dignity.]

“The notorious vices of the King of Denmark, and his total neglect both

of his young Queen, Carolina Matilda, and of the interest of his distant

dominions, while in Paris, created a feeling in the Queen’s mind towards

that house which was not a little heightened by her disgust at the King

of Sweden, when he visited the Court of Versailles. This King, though

much more crafty than his brother-in-law, the King of Denmark, who

revelled openly in his depravities, was not less vicious. The deception

he made use of in usurping part of the rights of his people, combined

with the worthlessness and duplicity, of his private conduct, excited a

strong indignation in the mind of Marie Antoinette, of which she was

scarcely capable of withholding the expression in his presence.

“It was during the visit of the Duke and Duchess of the North, that the

Cardinal de Rohan again appeared upon the scene. For eight or ten years

he had never been allowed to show himself at Court, and had been totally

shut out of every society where the Queen visited. On the arrival of the

illustrious, travellers at Versailles, the Queen, at her own expense,

gave them a grand fete at her private palace, in the gardens of Trianon,

similar to the one given by the Comte de Provence--[Afterwards Louis

XVIII.]--to Her Majesty, in the gardens of Brunoi.

“On the eve of the fete, the Cardinal waited upon, me to know if he would

be permitted to appear there in the character he had the honour to hold

at Court, I replied that I had made it a rule never to interfere in the

private or public amusements of the Court, and that His Eminence must be

the best judge how far he, could obtrude himself upon the Queen’s private

parties, to which only a select number had been invited, in consequence

of the confined spot where the fete was to be given.

“The Cardinal left me, not much satisfied at his reception. Determined

to follow, as usual, his own misguided passion, he immediately went too

Trianon, disguised with a large cloak. He saw the porter, and bribed

him. He only wished, he said, to be placed in a situation whence he

might see the Duke and Duchess of the North without being seen; but no

sooner did he perceive the porter engaged at some distance than he left

his cloak at the lodge, and went forward in his Cardinal’s dress, as if

he had been one of the invited guests, placing himself purposely in the

Queen’s path to attract her attention as she rode by in the carriage with

the Duke and Duchess.

“The Queen was shocked and thunderstruck at seeing him. But, great as

was her annoyance, knowing the Cardinal had not been invited and ought

not to have been there, she only discharged the porter who had been

seduced to let him in; and, though the King, on being made acquainted

with his treachery, would have banished His Eminence a hundred leagues

from the capital, yet the Queen, the royal aunts, the Princesse

Elizabeth, and myself, not to make the affair public, and thereby

disgrace the high order of his ecclesiastical dignity, prevented the King

from exercising his authority by commanding instant exile.

“Indeed, the Queen could never get the better of her fears of being some

day, or in some way or other, betrayed by the Cardinal, for having made

him the confidant of the mortification she would have suffered if the

projected marriage of Louis XV. and her sister had been solemnized. On

this account she uniformly opposed whatever harshness the King at any

time intended against the Cardinal.

“Thus was this wicked prelate left at leisure to premeditate the horrid

plot of the famous necklace, the ever memorable fraud, which so fatally

verified the presentiments of the Queen.”