The prince des Deux Ponts--Prince Max--The dauphin and Marie
Antoinette--The comtesse du Barry and Bridget Rupert--The countess and
Geneviève Mathon--Noël--Fresh amours--Nocturnal adventure--Conclusion of
this intrigue
All my friends were not treacherous as the duc de Villeroi; and I may
gratefully assert I have possessed many true and sincere ones who
have ever faithfully adhered to my fortunes. One in particular I shall
mention here, that I may recommend him to your warmest esteem; for,
although of high and distinguished rank, he did not despise the good
opinion of the meanest citizen. I speak of the prince de Deux Ponts,
Charles Auguste Christian. This prince, who chanced to visit France
during the zenith of my court favour, was very desirous of seeing me,
and both he and his brother were presented to me by the comte de
la Marche, their friend, and they quickly requested the honor of my
friendship. Auguste Christian pleased me most by his gentle and amiable
manners, although most persons gave the preference to his brother,
Maximilian Joseph, better known by the name of prince Max. Auguste
Christian, in the fervour of his attachment, speaking openly to me of
the delicacy of the situation, proposed to me, in case of any reverse,
that I should seek an asylum in his dominions; and I must do him the
justice to say, that at the death of the king, far from forgetting his
proffer, he lost no time in reminding me of it. Fidelity and attachment
such as his, is sufficiently rare to merit a place in my journal. The
prince des Deux Pouts was presumptive heir to an immense inheritance,
that of the electorate of Bavaria, and the electorate Palatine, to the
latter of which he was direct heir after the decease of his cousin, the
present elector. I could almost wish that he had already succeeded to
these possessions: he can never reign too soon for the happiness of his
subjects.
Prince Max had served in France; he was extremely well looked upon
at court both by the king and the princesses. As for the dauphiness,
prejudiced against him as she was by her mother, she naturally regarded
him with an eye of cool mistrust, and manifested her open dislike by
never inviting him to any of her parties. Prince Max spoke of this
pointed neglect to the king, who immediately summoned the dauphin. "My
son," said he to him, "I see with regret that prince Max is never an
invited guest at any of your balls and fêtes. Remember, he belongs to
a family which has been our most ancient ally, and do not take up the
quarrels of a house which, until your marriage, has ever been disposed
in deadly hatred to us."
If the dauphin was not gifted with a very extensive capacity, he was
possessed of sufficient plain sense to comprehend, and to enter into the
views of his grandfather, to whom he pledged his word, that henceforward
prince Max should be treated with more respect; and he kept his word,
for the instant he returned to his apartments, he commanded the duc
de la Vauguyon to add the name of prince Max to the list of invited
persons. When the paper was drawn out it was carried to the dauphiness,
who was with her husband. She read on till she came to the name
of prince Max, which she desired might be erased; but the dauphin
interfered. "Oblige me," cried he, "by suffering this name to remain;
his ancestors have for ages been the friends of our family, and his
alliance may one day be useful to us in Germany."
The dauphiness comprehended the signification of these words, and her
fine eyes were filled with tears. However, she no longer insisted upon
the erasure, when her husband, who most tenderly loved her, further
declared it to be the king's desire that nothing should be done which
could in any way displease the prince des Deux Ponts. He was, therefore,
from that period invited to the house of Marie Antoinette, who
indemnified herself for this compulsory civility, by refusing to bestow
upon him one single smile or gracious word. It must indeed be agreed
that the dauphiness had brought with her into France too many Austrian
notions, which she was long in losing for those of a wife and mother;
but now at the moment of my writing this, she is much changed, and is
as true a French woman as though she had been born and bred in Paris.
Unfortunately, the people appear slow in giving her credit for her
altered opinions, and to this mistake will she owe the loss of that
general love and popularity to which she has such just claims.
Prince Auguste Christian entertained for me a sincere regard, which I
returned with the truest friendship. My feelings were as pure and simple
as his own, spite of the odious calumnies with which my enemies have
attacked this harmless acquaintance; but their slander in this matter
was no worse than the manner in which they spoke of every person who
visited me. According to their report, I was the mistress of all who
presented themselves. 'Tis well for you, ye courtly dames, that you may
convert friends into lovers with impunity; be the number ever so
large none dares arraign your conduct; but for those of more humble
pretensions it is indeed considered atrocious to number more than two
admirers; should we ask to swell the list to a third--what comments,
what scandal, what vilifying reports are in circulation! In this letter,
my friend, I shall speak to you exclusively of myself. You will find
little in my conduct to praise, and I fear, much to blame. You will
easily perceive my heart was better than my head; and dear as your
opinion is to me, I write on in the hope, that should my candid avowal
lose me any portion of your esteem, it will yet obtain me a larger share
of your friendship. The dismissal of Sophie from my service occasioned a
vacancy in my household. Immediately her departure was known, I
received numberless solicitations from all who heard of it. Three days
afterwards, Henriette came to inform me that the wife of an attorney of
Chatelet solicited the task of serving me in Sophie's stead; that she
was a well-looking and respectable person, and might very probably suit
me.
"Will you see her, madam?" continued Henriette. "She is recommended by
the marchioness de Montmorency."
"Willingly," answered I; "desire her to come in." Henriette left me and
quickly returned, introducing the new candidate.
At the first glimpse I recognised Brigitta Rupert, that haughty girl,
who had been my early friend and companion at Saint Aure, but who
found it impossible to continue her friendship and favour to a humble
milliner's girl. The sight of her occasioned me a surprise by no means
of a pleasing nature; and the involuntary start I gave, evidently
recalled me to her recollection. In a moment her cheeks assumed the
paleness of death, and her self-love seemed to suffer the most horrible
torments at the light in which our rencontre mutually placed us. As soon
as she could command herself sufficiently to speak, she cried,
"Ah! madam, do I then appear in your presence?"
"Yes," replied I, "before the poor and humble milliner to whom you so
harshly refused your friendship."
"Fortune has well avenged you, madam," said Brigitta, in a melancholy
tone; "and as I can easily imagine how unpleasant the sight of me must
be, I will hasten to relieve you from it."
These last words touched me, and restored me in a degree to my natural
good temper.
"Brigitta," said I to her, "after the little affection you have ever
manifested for me, it would be impossible as well as unwise to take
you into my service; but let me know in what way I can best promote the
interest of yourself and husband, and I pledge myself to accomplish it
for you."
"I thank you, madam," answered she, resuming her accustomed haughtiness,
"I came to solicit a situation near the person of the comtesse du Barry.
Since that is refused me, I have nothing more to request."
"Be it as you please," replied I. Brigitta made a low courtesy, and
quitted the room.
Henriette, who had been the witness of this scene, expressed her
apprehensions that I should be displeased with her for introducing an
unwelcome visitor to me. "No," cried I, "'tis not with you I am vexed.,
but myself."
"And why so, dear madam?"
"Because I reproach myself with having in my own prosperity forgotten
one of my earliest and dearest friends, who loved me with the tenderest
affection. Possibly she may now be in trouble or difficulties, from
which I might have a thousand ways of relieving her; but it is never
too late to do good. To-morrow, early, you shall set out for Paris; when
there, go to the rue Saint Martin, inquire for the sign of la Bonne Foi;
it is kept by a pastrycook, named M. Mathon, of whom I wish you to learn
every particular relative to his daughter Geneviève."
My wishes were laws to Henriette, who instantly retired to prepare for
her journey. I had not ventured to desire her to glean any information
concerning the brother of Geneviève, and yet at the recollection of the
handsome Nicolas my heart beat impetuously. With what impatience did I
await the return of Henriette! at length she came.
"Well!" said I.
"I have found out M. Mathon," answered Henriette.
"Which, the father?"
"Yes, madam."
"And what is his present occupation?"
"As usual, madam, superintending his kitchen and shop."
"Is he alone in his business?"
"Oh, no! madam; he is assisted by his son, a fine dark handsome young
man."
"His son then lives with him?"
"Yes, madam, and he is married."
"Married!--but it is not of this young man I wish to speak, but of his
sister, of Geneviève; tell me of her."
"I only learned, madam, that she had married a tailor, named
Guérard--who, after having been very unsuccessful in business, died
suddenly, leaving her wholly destitute with two young children."
I immediately wrote the following note to my early friend:--
"The comtesse du Barry having heard of the misfortunes of madame
Guérard, and knowing how much she is deserving of a better fate, is
desirous of being useful to her. She therefore requests madame Guérard
will call next Monday, at two o'clock, on her at her hotel, rue de la
Pussienne."
Poor Geneviève nearly fainted when she received this note, which was
conveyed to her by a footman wearing my livery. She could not imagine to
whom she was indebted for procuring her such exalted patronage, and
she and her family spent the intervening hours before her appointed
interview in a thousand conjectures on the subject. On Monday,
punctually at two o'clock, she was at the hotel dressed in her best,
her lovely countenance setting off the humble style of even her holiday
garb. She knew me the instant she saw me; and, in the frank simplicity
of her own heart imagining she could judge of mine, she ran to me, and
threw herself into my arms, exclaiming,
"Oh, my dear Jeannette, what pleasure does it afford me to meet you
again. Oh! I see how it is; you are the friend of the comtesse du
Barry, and it is to you I shall owe my future good fortune, as I do this
present mark of her favor."
"No, my good Geneviève," cried I, weeping for joy, "she who now embraces
you is the comtesse du Barry."
After we had a little recovered ourselves, I took my friend by the hand,
and led her to a sofa, where we seated ourselves side by side. Returning
to the scenes of our early youth, I related to Geneviève all that had
occurred since--my adventures, faults, and favour. When I had concluded
my recital, Geneviève commenced hers, but it was soon told. There is
little to relate in the life of a woman who has passed her days in the
virtuous discharge of her duties.
Our mutual confidences being over, and having again exchanged a most
affectionate embrace, I put into the hands of my companion a portfolio,
containing 30,000 livres in bank bills. I promised her likewise to
obtain for her some lucrative situation. "Do more than this for me!"
cried Geneviève. "Since you will still grant me your friendship, secure
for me the happiness of occasionally meeting you. I can with truth
declare, that of all your proofs of kindness and regard, that which I
prefer is the pleasure of seeing you."
This ingenuous request touched my heart, and I replied to it by fondly
caressing the warm-hearted Geneviève, and assuring her that my purse
and my house should be ever open to her. We then resumed our interesting
reminiscences, and Geneviève was the first to speak of her brother. At
the name of Nicolas I felt the blood mount to my very forehead, and
an indefinable sensation passed over me at the mention of him who had
possessed my virgin love. I strove, however, to conceal from my friend
the powerful emotion which agitated me, and I replied, with apparent
tranquillity, that I should be happy to assist her brother with the best
of my credit and influence; and I kept my word by obtaining for him,
at the solicitation, of his sister, some lucrative situation, the exact
nature of which I do not now recollect, where they resided together in
ease and comfort. I had only to recommend them to the notice of M. de
Boulogne, who felt himself much flattered at being selected by me to
make the fortunes of my two friends.
From this time Geneviève visited me as frequently as she could, and her
society delighted me; whilst, in her conversation I found a frankness
and sincerity which I had vainly sought for at court. She had loved me
when a simple milliner, and she cherished the same fond regard for me
in my improved situation. Her friendship has not forsaken me in my
reverses; and I feel quite assured that death only will dissolve the
tender friendship which still subsists between us. As for her brother,
he spared me much shame and confusion by never seeking my presence;
a meeting with him would indeed have overwhelmed me with painful
recollections.
And now, my friend, I am about to relate to you an adventure, the bare
mention of which covers my cheek with guilty blushes; fain would I
conceal it from you, but my promise is given to lay my whole heart
before you, and it shall be done, cost what it may.
I know not why it should ever have been permitted you gentlemen to
frame laws, which, while they permit you, in the gratification of your
passions, to descend ever so low in the scale of society without any
disgrace attaching itself to you from the obscure condition of the
object of your search, to us females it is prohibited, under penalty
of incurring the utmost degradation, to gratify the inclination of our
hearts when awakened by one of more humble rank than our own. A great
lord may love a kitchen maid, a noble duke, like M. de Villeroi, may
indulge his fancy for a waiting-woman, and yet lose no portion of his
dignity, or of the esteem in which the world holds him; but, on the
other hand, woe to the high-born dame who should receive the homage of
an obscure citizen, or the noble countess who should lend a favourable
ear to the sighs of her _valet de chambre_; the public voice would loud
and angrily inveigh against so flagrant a breach of decorum. And why
should this be? But, my friend, do you not see in my seeking to defend
so weak a cause sufficient intimation that such a justification involves
a consciousness of requiring it? Alas! I plead guilty, and will no
longer delay the painful confession I have to make.
Do you remember a singularly handsome young man, who, during my abode
with madame Lagarde, fascinated me till my very senses seemed bewildered
by my passion. You know how he betrayed me, and how, through him, I
was expelled the house, as well as the termination of this foolish
adventure. You are now to pass over seven or eight years, and take
your place with me in the drawing-room, in which I stood when I rang
to summon a servant to convey a letter to the duc de Villeroi. You may
remember what I told you in the last chapter of the person who entered,
of his agitation and his blushes, and of his fixing his eyes with deep
meaning upon me till he quitted the room-this servant was Noël!
Had I listened to the dictates of prudence, I should, without loss of
time, have obtained against him a _lettre de cachet_, which would have
freed me from all chance of discovery through his means; but I could not
listen to such cool-blooded, though cautious, suggestions. One idea only
took possession of my mind--the absurd desire to know what had become of
Noël since we separated, and by what accident I now found him wearing
my livery in the castle. With this intent I availed myself of the first
moment I was secure from interruption, to summon him to my presence. He
threw himself at my feet, imploring of me to pardon his audacity. "Alas,
madam!" said he, "I am more unfortunate than guilty. I saw you walking
some time since, and I could obtain no rest or peace till I was
fortunate enough to obtain admission to your establishment. Punish me
for my temerity if you will; expel me from the castle, have me confined
in a prison, I deserve it all; but, voluntarily, I cannot leave this
house; and if you will only permit my stay, I solemnly vow you shall
see nothing in my conduct but the zeal of an attached and respectful
servant."
I was weak enough to pardon Noël and shortly after to raise him to the
rank of _valet de chambre_, which brought him infinitely too much about
me.
Yes, my friend, the woman is, after all attempts to excuse it, blamable
for bestowing her affection on one below herself in the scale of
society. Nature herself appears to have planted in our bosoms a kind of
instinct, which warns us from it, and a prejudice against all those who
so degrade themselves. It is different with men; they can confer rank
and elevation on the beloved object. A woman should always have reason
to look up to and feel proud of the man to whom she consigns her heart;
this species of vanity is mixed with the noblest love, and the woman who
can overlook it, acts from passion of the lowest, basest kind. How easy
is it to reason! Alas! Why have I not always acted as well as I speak.
I was thus again a second time enthralled by Noël, and much more so,
too, than I will now tell you. My faithful Henriette, whose devoted
attachment for me kept her ever watchful of my safety and reputation,
was thunderstruck at perceiving what I vainly strove to conceal from
her; and, as she has since told me, was long in deciding whether to
speak to me of the affair, when an unexpected incident arose, which
determined her, at every risk of my displeasure, to use her endeavors
to put an end to so disgraceful a connexion, which must infallibly have
ended in my disgrace.
One night, or rather midnight, all was at rest in the castle, and I was
sleeping peacefully in the arms of Noël, when all at once I was awakened
by the sudden opening of an outer door, which announced to me the
approach of the king, who had merely one more door to open ere he would
be in my apartment. Noël, terrified, leaped quickly out of bed, and
ran to seek refuge in a small chamber adjoining where Henriette
slept. Happily she was yet awake; and, by the light of a night-lamp or
_veilleuse_ recognized Noël, who, with clasped hands, conjured her to
take pity upon him. Henriette saw the danger, and putting out her hand,
seized him, and drawing him rapidly towards her, made him lie down
beside her. Noël, struck with her goodness, was preparing to offer her
the same marks of his gratitude he had shown me of his respect; but
repulsing him, she said in a low voice, "Wretch, think not it is on your
account I thus expose my reputation; 'tis to save that of my beloved
mistress; either conduct yourself with silent respect or you are
lost." At this threat Noël 's courage melted away and he lay still as
a frightened child. "Listen," said Henriette, "if you do not quit this
place to-morrow at break of day, without seeking to see madame again,
I will denounce you to the king, who will inflict upon you the most
dreadful punishment."
Whilst these things were passing in the chamber of Henriette, I did not
feel perfectly at ease on my side, and many were the wise reflections I
made upon my folly, as well as the promises I gave never again to expose
myself to such imminent danger. Nor did my terrors abate till after the
king had quitted me. At the sound of my bell Henriette hastened to my
bed-side.
"My good Henriette," said I to her, trembling from head to foot, "what a
night of anxiety have I passed, I must indeed confess--"
"Fear not, my beloved mistress," replied she; "I will watch over your
safety, and trust to be enabled fully to provide for it."
I durst not then ask for any further explanation of her words, for such
was the ascendancy her good and steady conduct had given her over me,
that she would certainly have blamed me for my glaring imprudence. I
pressed her hand in mute thankfulness; she comprehended my silence and
left me to myself.
At the end of some days, seeing nothing of Noël, I ventured to question
her as to his fate: she then related to me all you have been told, and
added, that the day following this shameful and unfortunate night she
had lost no time in apprizing the comte Jean of all that had occurred,
who had quickly despatched Noël out of the kingdom, furnishing him with
a purse of ten thousand livres to defray his travelling expenses. Such
was the fortunate termination of this disgraceful affair; and now,
having completed my painful confession, I will change the subject to
others doubtless more calculated to interest you than the recital of
such lapses.