A prefatory remark--Madame Brillant--The maréchale de Luxembourg's
cat--Despair of the maréchale--The ambassador, Beaumarchais, and the duc
de Chaulnes--the comte d'Aranda--Louis XV and his relics--The abbé de
Beauvais--His sermons--He is appointed bishop
When I related to comte Jean my reconciliation with the duc de
Richelieu, and the sum which this treaty had cost me, my brother-in-law
flew into the most violent fury; he styled the maréchal a plunderer of
the public treasury. Well may the scripture tell us we see the mote in
our neighbor's eye, but regard not the beam which is in our own eye. I
was compelled to impose silence on comte Jean, or in the height of his
rage he would have offered some insult to the old maréchal, who already
most heartily disliked him for the familiarity of his tone and manner
towards him. I did all in my power to keep these two enemies from coming
in each other's way, counselled to that by the maréchale de Mirepoix,
whose line of politics was of the most pacific nature; besides I had no
inclination for a war carried on in my immediate vicinity, and, for my
own part, so far from wishing to harm any one, I quickly forgave every
affront offered to myself.
But hold! I perceive I am running on quite smoothly in my own praise.
Indeed, my friend, it is well I have taken that office upon myself, for
I fear no one else would undertake it. The most atrocious calumnies
have been invented against me; I have been vilified both in prose
and verse; number of persons on whom I have conferred the greatest
obligations, none has been found with sufficient courage or gratitude to
stand forward and undertake my defence. I do not even except madame de
Mirepoix, whose conduct towards me in former days was marked by the most
studied attention. She came to me one evening, with a face of grief.
"Mercy upon me," cried I, "what ails you?"
"Alas!" replied she, in a piteous tone, "I have just quitted a most
afflicted family; their loss is heavy and irreparable. The maréchale de
Luxembourg is well nigh distracted with grief."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed I, "can the duchesse de Lauzun be dead?"
"Alas! no."
"Perhaps poor madame de Boufflers?"
"No, my friend."
"Who then is the object of so much regret? Speak; tell me."
"Madame Brillant."
"A friend of the old maréchale 's?"
"More than a friend," replied madame de Mirepoix; "her faithful
companion; her only companion; her only beloved object, since her lovers
and admirers ceased to offer their homage--in a word, her cat."
"Bless me!" cried I, "how you frightened me! But what sort of a cat
could this have been to cause so many tears?"
"Is it possible that you do not know madame Brillant, at least by name?"
"I assure you," said I, "this is the very first time I ever heard her
name."
"Well, if it be so, I will be careful not to repeat such a thing to
madame de Luxembourg; she would never pardon you for it. Listen, my
dear countess," continued madame de Mirepoix; "under the present
circumstances it will be sufficient for you to write your name in her
visiting-book."
I burst into a fit of laughter.
"It is no joke, I promise you," exclaimed the maréchale; "the death of
madame Brillant is a positive calamity to madame de Luxembourg. Letters
of condolence will arrive from Chanteloup; madame du Deffant will be in
deep affliction, and the virtues and amiable qualities of the deceased
cat will long furnish subjects of conversation."
"It was then a singularly engaging animal, I presume?"
"On the contrary, one of the most stupid, disagreeable, and dirty
creatures of its kind; but still it was the cat of madame de
Luxembourg."
And after this funeral oration the maréchale and myself burst into a
violent fit of laughter.
When the king joined us, I acquainted him with this death, and my
conversation with the maréchale. Louis XV listened to my recital with an
air of gravity; when I had finished, he said, "The present opportunity
is admirably adopted for satisfying the request of one of my retinue,
one of the best-hearted creatures, and at the same time one of the
silliest men in the kingdom."
"I beg your pardon, sire," cried I, "but what is his name? For the
description is so general, that I fear lest I should be at a loss to
recollect of whom you are speaking."
"You are very ill-natured," cried Louis XV, "and I hardly know whether
you deserve to be gratified by hearing the name of the poor gentleman:
however, I will tell it to you; he is called Corbin de la Chevrollerie.
A few days since this simple young man, having solicited an audience,
informed me, that he was desirous of marrying a rich heiress, but that
the young lady's family were resolved she should marry no one who was
not previously employed as an ambassador. I expressed my surprise at
so strange a caprice, but the poor fellow endeavored to vindicate his
bride's relations, by stating that that they were willing to consider
him as my ambassador if I would only commission him to carry some
message of compliment or condolence. Accordingly I promised to employ
him upon the occasion of the first death or marriage which should take
place in a ducal family. Now, I think I cannot do better than make him
the bearer of my inquiries after the maréchale de Luxembourg."
This idea struck me as highly amusing, and I immediately dispatched a
servant to summon M. de la Chevrollerie to the presence of the king.
This being done, that gentleman presented himself with all the dignity
and importance of one who felt that a mission of high moment was about
to be entrusted to him.
His majesty charged him to depart immediately to the house of madame de
Luxembourg, and to convey his royal master's sincere condolences for the
heavy loss she had sustained in madame Brillant.
M. Corbin de la Chevrollerie departed with much pride and
self-complacency upon his embassy: he returned in about half an hour.
"Sire," cried he, "I have fulfilled your royal pleasure to madame de
Luxembourg. She desires me to thank you most humbly for your gracious
condescension: she is in violent distress for the severe loss she has
experienced, and begged my excuse for quitting me suddenly, as she had
to superintend the stuffing of the deceased."
"The stuffing!" exclaimed the king; "surely you mean the embalming?"
"No, sire," replied the ambassador, gravely, "the stuffing."
"Monsieur de la Chevrollerie," cried I, bursting into a violent fit
of laughter, "do you know in what degree of relationship the deceased
madame Brillant stood to madame de Luxembourg?"
"No, madam," replied the ambassador, gravely, "but I believe she was
her aunt, for I heard one of the females in waiting say, that this poor
madame Brillant was very old, and that she had lived with her mistress
during the last fourteen years."
Thus finished this little jest. However, Louis XV, who was extremely
kind to all about him, especially those in his service, shortly after
recompensed his simple-minded ambassador, by intrusting him with a
commission at once profitable and honorable.
Another event which took place at this period, caused no less noise than
the death of madame Brillant. At this time, mademoiselle Mesnard was,
for her many charms of mind and person, the general rage throughout
Paris. Courtiers, lawyers, bankers, and citizens crowded alike to offer
their homage. Frail as fair, mademoiselle Mesnard received all kindly,
and took with gracious smiles the rich gifts showered upon her by
her various adorers. The first noblemen of the court, knights of the
different orders, farmers-general, all aspired to the honor of ruining
themselves for her. She had already satisfied the ruinous propensities
of at least a dozen of lovers, when the duc de Chaulnes entered the
lists, and was fortunate enough to eclipse all his rivals. He might
long have enjoyed the preference thus obtained, but for an act of
the greatest imprudence of which a lover could be guilty. He was so
indiscreet as to invite several of his most intimate friends to sup
with himself and Mademoiselle Mesnard. Amongst the number was Caron de
Beaumarchais, a man possessed of the grace of a prince and the generous
profusion of a highwayman. Caron de Beaumarchais attracted the fancy
of the fickle mademoiselle Mesnard, a mutual understanding was soon
established between them, and in a snug little cottage surrounded by
beautiful grounds in the environs of Pere la Chaise, the enamored lovers
frequently met to exchange their soft vows.
Happily the deity who presided over the honor of the duke was carefully
watching their proceedings. This guardian angel was no other than madame
Duverger, his former mistress, who, unable to bear the desertion of her
noble admirer, had vowed, in the first burst of rage and disappointment,
to have revenge sooner or later upon her triumphant rival. With this
view she spied out all the proceedings of mademoiselle Mesnard, whose
stolen interviews and infidelity she was not long in detecting; she even
contrived to win over a _femme de chambre_, by whose connivance she was
enabled to obtain possession of several letters containing irrefragable
proofs of guilt, and these she immediately forwarded to the duc de
Chaulnes.
This proud and haughty nobleman might have pardoned his mistress had she
quitted him for a peer of the realm and his equal, but to be supplanted
by a mere man of business, an author, too!--the disgrace was too
horrible for endurance. The enraged lover flew to Beaumarchais, and
reproached him bitterly with his treachery; the latter sought to deny
the charge, but the duke, losing all self-possession, threw the letters
in his face, calling him a base liar. At this insult, Beaumarchais,
who, whatever his enemies may say of him, was certainly not deficient
in courage, demanded instant satisfaction. The duke, by way of answer,
seized the man of letters by the collar, Beaumarchais called his
servants, who, in their turn, summoned the guard, which speedily arrived
accompanied by the commissary, and with much difficulty they succeeded
in removing M. de Chaulnes. (who appeared to have entirely lost his
reason) from the room.
The conduct of the duke appeared to us completely out of place, and he
would certainly have answered for it within the walls of the Bastille,
had not his family made great intercession for him. On the other hand,
Beaumarchais, who eagerly availed himself of every opportunity of
writing memorials, composed one on the subject of his quarrel with M. de
Chaulnes, complaining that a great nobleman had dared to force himself
into his house, and lay forcible hands on him, as though he were a thief
or a felon. The whole of the pamphlet which related to this affair
was admirably written, and, like the "Barber of Seville," marked by a
strongly sarcastic vein. However, the thing failed, and the duc de la
Vrillière, the sworn enemy of men of wit and talent, caused Beaumarchais
to be immediately confined within Fort l'Eveque. So that the offended
party was made to suffer the penalty of the offence.
In the same year the comte de Fuentes, ambassador from Spain to the
court of Louis XV, took leave of us. He was replaced by the comte
d'Aranda, who was in a manner in disgrace with his royal master: this
nobleman arrived preceded by a highly flattering reputation. In the
first place, he had just completed the destruction of the Jesuits,
and this was entitling him to no small thanks and praises from
encyclopedists. Every one knows those two lines of Voltaire's--
"Aranda dans l'Espagne instruisant les fidèles,
A l'inquisition vient de rogner les ailes." *
* "Aranda in Spain instructing the faithful
at the Inquisition has just clipped wings."
--Transcriber.
The simplicity of comte d'Aranda indemnified us in some degree for the
haughty superciliousness of his predecessor. Although no longer young,
he still preserved all the tone and vigor of his mind, and only the
habit which appeared to have been born with him of reflecting, gave
him a slow and measured tone in speaking. His reserved and embarrassed
manners were but ill-calculated to show the man as he really was, and
it required all the advantages of intimacy to see him in his true value.
You may attach so much more credit to what I say of this individual, as
I can only add, that he was by no means one of my best friends.
When Louis XV heard of the nomination of the comte d'Aranda to the
embassy from Spain to France, he observed to me,
"The king of Spain gets rid of his Choiseul by sending him to me."
"Then why not follow so excellent an example, sire?" replied I; "and
since your Choiseul is weary of Chanteloup, why not command him upon
some political errand to the court of Madrid."
"Heaven preserve me from such a thing," exclaimed Louis XV. "Such a
man as he is ought never to quit the kingdom, and I have been guilty
of considerable oversight to leave him the liberty of so doing. But to
return to comte d'Aranda; he has some merit I understand; still I like
not that class of persons around me; they are inexorable censors, who
condemn alike every action of my life."
However, not the king's greatest enemy could have found fault with
his manner of passing his leisure hours. A great part of each day was
occupied in a mysterious manufacture of cases for relics, and one of his
_valets de chambre_, named Turpigny, was intrusted with the commission
of purchasing old shrines and reliquaries; he caused the sacred bones,
or whatever else they contain, to be taken out by Grandelatz, one of his
almoners, re-adjusted, and then returned to new cases. These reliquaries
were distributed by him to his daughters, or any ladies of the court
of great acknowledged piety. When I heard of this I mentioned it to the
king, who wished at first to conceal the fact; but, as he was no adept
at falsehood or disguise, he was compelled to admit the fact.
"I trust, sire," said I, "that you will bestow one of your prettiest and
best-arranged reliquaries on me."
"No, no," returned he, hastily, "that cannot be."
"And why not?" asked I.
"Because," answered he, "it would be sinful of me. Ask anything else in
my power to bestow, and it shall be yours."
This was no hypocrisy on the part of Louis XV, who, spite of his
somewhat irregular mode of life, professed to hold religion in the
highest honor and esteem; to all that it proscribed he paid the
submission of a child. We had ample proofs of this in the sermons
preached at Versailles by the abbé de Beauvais, afterwards bishop of
Senetz.
This ecclesiastic, filled with an inconsiderate zeal, feared not openly
to attack the king in his public discourses; he even went so far as to
interfere with many things of which he was not a competent judge, and
which by no means belonged to his jurisdiction: in fact, there were
ample grounds for sending the abbé to the Bastille. The court openly
expressed its dissatisfaction at this audacity, and for my own part I
could not avoid evincing the lively chagrin it caused me. Yet, would
you believe it, Louis XV declared, in a tone from which there was no
appealabbé had merely done his duty, and that those who had been less
scrupulous in the performance of theirs, would do well to be silent on
the subject. This was not all; the cardinal de la Roche Aymon, his grand
almoner, refused to sanction the nomination of M. de Beauvais to the
bishopric, under the pretext of his not being nobly descended.
M. de Beyons, bishop of Carcassone, a prelate of irreproachable
character, was deeply distressed to find that the want of birth would
exclude M. de Beauvais from the dignities of his holy profession. He
went to discuss the matter with the grand almoner, who again advanced
his favorite plea for excluding M. de Beauvais. "My lord," replied M. de
Beyons, "if I believed that nobility of descent were the chief requisite
for our advancement in our blessed calling, I would trample my crosier
under foot, and renounce for ever all church dignities."
M. de Beyons sought the king, and loudly complained to him of the
infatuation and obstinacy of M. de la Roche Aymon. Louis XV however
commanded that M. de Beauvais should be appointed to the first
vacant see, and when the grand almoner repeated his objections to the
preferment, the king answered, "Monsieur le cardinal, in the days of our
blessed Saviour the apostles had no need to present their genealogical
tree, duly witnessed and attested. It is my pleasure to make M. de
Beauvais a bishop; let that end the discussion of the matter."
The command was too peremptory to admit of any course but instant and
entire submission.