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.