First proceedings of the council--The dauphin receives the prelates with
great coolness--Situation of the archbishop of Paris--Richelieu evades
the project for confessing the king--The friends of madame du Barry
come forward--The English physician--The abbé Terray--Interview with the
prince de Soubise--The prince and the courtiers--La Martinière informs
the king of France the true nature of his complaint--Consequences of
this disclosure
The different members of this _concile impromptu_ declared themselves
in favour of this advice, much to the grief and chagrin of the princess
Adélaïde. She easily perceived by this proposition that the court would
very shortly change masters, and could she hope to preserve the same
influence during the reign of her nephew she had managed to obtain
whilst her father held the sceptre? However, she made no opposition to
the resolution of the prelates, who forthwith proceeded to the dauphin,
who received them with considerable coolness. As yet, but ill-assured
in the new part he had to play, the prince showed himself fearful and
embarrassed. The dauphiness would willingly have advised him, but that
prudence would not permit her to do, so that the dauphin, left wholly to
himself, knew not on what to determine.
This was precisely what the grand almoner had hoped and expected, and
he laughed in his sleeve at the useless trouble taken by the archbishop;
and whilst he openly affected to promote his desires as much as was in
his power, he secretly took measures to prevent their success. M.
de Beaumont, who was of a most open and upright nature, was far from
suspecting these intrigues; indeed, his simple and pious character but
ill-qualified him for the corrupt and deceitful atmosphere of a court,
especially such a one as Versailles. His situation now became one of
difficulty; abandoned by the bishops and the grand almoner, disappointed
in his hopes of finding a supporter in the dauphin, what could he do
alone with the princesses, who, in their dread of causing an emotion,
which might be fatal to their parent, knew not what to resolve upon. As
a last resource, they summoned the abbé Mandaux, the king's confessor.
The prelate excited his zeal in all its fervour, and this simple and
obscure priest determined to undertake that which many more eminent
personages had shrunk from attempting.
He therefore sought admittance into the chamber of the king, where he
found the ducs de Duras and de Richelieu, to whom he communicated the
mission upon which he was come.
At this declaration, the consequences of which he plainly foresaw, the
duc de Duras hesitated to reply, scarcely knowing how to ward off a
blow the responsibility of which must fall upon him alone. The duc
de Richelieu, with greater self-command, extricated him from his
difficulty.
"Sir," said he to the abbé, "your zeal is highly praise-worthy, both
the duke and myself are aware of all that should be done upon such an
occasion as the present; and although I freely admit that the sacred act
you speak of is of an imperative nature, yet I would observe, that the
king being still in ignorance of his fatal malady, neither your duties
nor ours can begin, until the moment when the physicians shall have
thought proper to reveal the whole truth to his majesty. This is a
matter of form and etiquette to which all must submit who have any
functions to fulfil in the château."
The duc de Duras could have hugged his colleague for this well-timed
reply. The abbé Mandaux felt all the justness of the observation, yet
with all the tenacity of his profession, he replied,
"That since it rested with the physicians to apprize the king of his
being ill with the small-pox, they ought to be summoned and consulted as
to the part to take."
At these words the duc de Duras slipped away from the group, and went
himself in search of Doctor Bordeu, whom he brought into an angle of
the chamber out of sight of the king's bed. The duc de Duras having
explained to him what the abbé had just been saying to them, as well as
the desire he had manifested of preparing the king to receive the last
sacraments, the doctor regarded the abbé fixedly for some instance, in a
severe tone, "Whether he had promised any person to murder the king?"
This abrupt and alarming question made the priest change colour, whilst
he asked for an explanation of such a singular charge.
"I say, sir," replied Bordeu, "that whoever speaks at present to his
majesty of small-pox, confession, or extreme unction, will have to
answer for his life."
"Do you, indeed, believe," asked the duc de Richelieu, "that the mention
of these things would produce so fatal a result?"
"Most assuredly I do; and out of one hundred sick persons it would have
the same effect upon sixty, perhaps eighty; indeed, I have known the
shock produce instantaneous death. This I am willing to sign with my
own blood if it be necessary, and my professional brother there will not
dispute its truth."
At these words he made a sign for Lemonnier to advance, and after having
explained to him the subject of conversation, begged of him to speak his
opinion openly and candidly. Lemonnier was somewhat of a courtier, and
one glance at the two noblemen before whom he stood, was sufficient to
apprize him what opinion was expected from him. He, therefore, fully and
unhesitatingly confirmed all that Bordeu had previously advanced.
Strong in these decisions, the duc de Duras expressed his regret to the
confessor at being unable to accord his request. "But," added he, "You
perceive the thing is impossible, unless to him who would become a
regicide."
This terrible expression renewed the former terror of the abbé, who,
satisfied with having shown his zeal, was, perhaps, not very sorry for
having met with such insurmountable obstacles. He immediately returned
to the apartment of madame Sophie, where the council was still
assembled, and related the particulars of his visit; whilst the poor
archbishop of Paris, thus foiled in every attempt, was compelled to
leave Versailles wholly unsuccessful.
I heard all these things from the duc de Richelieu; he told me that
nothing could have been more gratifying than the conduct of Bordeu and
Lemonnier, and that I had every reason for feeling satisfied with the
conduct of all around me. "It is in the moment of peril," said he, "that
we are best able to know our true friends."
"I see it," replied I; "and since our danger is a mutual one ought we
not to forget our old subjects of dispute?"
"For my own part, madam," returned he, "I do not remember that any ever
existed; besides, is not my cause yours likewise? A new reign will
place me completely in the background. The present king looks upon me as
almost youthful; while, on the contrary, his grandson will consider me
as a specimen of the days of Methuselah. The change of masters can be
but to my disadvantage; let us, therefore, stand firmly together, that
we may be the better enabled to resist the attacks of our enemies."
"Do you consider," inquired I, "that we may rely upon the firmness of
the duc de Duras?"
"As safely as you may on mine," answered he, "so long as he is not
attacked face to face; but if they once assail him with the arms of
etiquette, he is a lost man, he will capitulate. It is unfortunate for
him that I am not likely to be near him upon such an occasion."
Comte Jean, who never left me, then took up the conversation, and
advised M. de Richelieu to leave him to himself as little as possible;
it was, therefore, agreed that we should cause the duc de Duras to be
constantly surrounded by persons of our party, who should keep those of
our adversaries at a distance.
We had not yet lost all hope of seeing his majesty restored to health;
nature, so languid and powerless in the case of poor Anne, seemed
inclined to make a salutary effort on the part of the king.
Every instant of this day and the next, that I did not spend by the
sick-bed of Louis XV, were engrossed by most intimate friends, the ducs
d'Aiguillon, de Cossé, etc., mesdames de Mirepoix, de Forcalquier, de
Valentinois, de l'Hôpital, de Montmorency, de Flaracourt, and others.
As yet, none of my party had abandoned me; the situation of affairs
was not, up to the present, sufficiently clear to warrant an entire
defeat. Mathon, whom chance had conducted to Versailles during the last
week, came to share with Henriette, my sisters-in-law, and my niece, the
torments and uncertainties which distracted my mind. We were continually
in a state of mortal alarm, dreading every instant to hear that the king
was aware of his malady, and the danger which threatened, and our fears
but too well proclaimed our persuasion that such a moment would be the
death-blow to our hopes. It happened that in this exigency, as it most
commonly occurs in affairs of great importance, all our apprehensions
had been directed towards the ecclesiastics, while we entirely
overlooked the probability that the abrupt la Martinière might, in one
instant, become the cause of our ruin. All this so entirely escaped us,
that we took not the slightest precaution to prevent it.
No sooner was the news of the king being attacked with small-pox
publicly known, than a doctor Sulton, an English physician, the
pretended professor of an infallible cure for this disease, presented
himself at Versailles, and tendered his services. The poor man was
simple enough to make his first application to those medical attendants
already intrusted with the management of his majesty, but neither of
them would give any attention to his professions of skill to overcome
so fatal a malady. On the contrary, they treated him as a mere quack,
declared that they would never consent to confide the charge of their
august patient to the hands of a stranger whatever he might be. Sulton
returned to Paris, and obtaining an audience of the duc d'Orleans,
related to him what had passed between himself and the king's
physicians. The prince made it his business the following day to call
upon the princesses, to whom he related the conversation he had held
with doctor Sulton the preceding evening.
In their eagerness to avail themselves of every chance for promoting
the recovery of their beloved parent, the princesses blamed the duke for
having bestowed so little attention upon the Englishman, and conjured
him to return to Paris, see Sulton, and bring him to Versailles on the
following day. The duc d'Orleans acted in strict conformity with their
wishes; and although but little satisfied with the replies made by
Sulton to many of his questions relative to the measures he should
pursue in his treatment of the king, he caused him to accompany him to
Versailles, in order that the princesses might judge for themselves.
The task of receiving him was undertaken by madame Adélaïde. Sulton
underwent a rigorous examination, and was offered an immense sum for
the discovery of his secret, provided he would allow his remedy to be
subjected to the scrutiny of some of the most celebrated chemists of the
time. Sulton declared that the thing was impossible; in the first place,
it was too late, the disease was too far advanced for the application
of the remedy to possess that positive success it would have obtained
in the earlier stage of the malady; in the next place, he could not
of himself dispose of a secret which was the joint property of several
members of his family.
Prayers, promises, entreaties were alike uselessly employed to change
the resolution of Sulton; the fact was evidently this, he knew himself
to be a mere pretender to his art, for had he been certain of what he
advanced, had he even conceived the most slender hopes of saving the
life of the king, he would not have hesitated for a single instant to
have done all that was asked.
This chance of safety was, therefore, at an end, and spite of the
opinion I entertained of Sulton, I could not but feel sorry Bordeu had
not given him a better reception when he first made known his professed
ability to surmount this fatal disorder. However, I was careful not to
express my dissatisfaction, for it was but too important for me to
avoid any dispute at a time when the support of my friends had become so
essentially necessary to me.
In proportion as the king became worse, my credit also declined. Two
orders, addressed to the comptroller-general and M. de la Borde,
for money, met with no attention. The latter replied, with extreme
politeness, that the 100,000 francs received by comte Jean a few days
before the king was taken ill, and the 50,000 paid to madame de Mirepoix
recently, must be a convincing proof, in my eyes, of his friendly
intentions towards me, but that he had no money at present in his
possession, the first he received should be at my disposal.
The abbé Terray acted with less ceremony, for he came himself to say,
that, so long as the king remained ill, he would pay no money without
his majesty's signature, for which my brother-in-law might either ask or
wait till there no longer existed any occasion for such a precaution; and
that, for his own part, he could not conceive how he could have consumed
the enormous sums he had already drawn from the treasury.
This manner of speaking stung me to the quick.
"I find you," said I to him, "precisely the mean, contemptible wretch
you were described to me; but you are premature. I am not yet an exile
from court, and yet you seem already to have forgotten all you owe to
me."
"I have a very good memory, madam," replied he, "and if you wish it, I
can count upon my fingers the money you and your family have received of
me. You will see--"
"What shall I see?" interrupted I, "unless, indeed, it be an amount of
your regrets that such a sum was not left in your hands to be pillaged
by your mistresses and their spurious offspring. Really, to hear you
talk, any one would suppose you a Sully for integrity, and a Colbert in
financial talent."
This vigorous reply staggered the selfish and coarse-minded abbé, who
easily perceived that he had carried matters too far, and had reckoned
erroneously upon the feebleness and timidity of my natural disposition;
he attempted to pacify me, but his cowardly insolence had exasperated me
too highly to admit of any apology or peace-making.
"Have a care what you do," said I, "or rather employ yourself in packing
up whatever may belong to you, for you shall quit your post whatever may
befall. In the event of the king's death you will certainly be turned
out by his successor, and if he regain his health, he must then choose
between you and me, there can be no medium. Henceforward, you may
consider me only in the light of your mortal enemy."
He wished to insist upon my hearing him, but I exclaimed, "Quit the
room, I wish neither to see nor hear more of you."
The abbé saw that it was necessary to obey, he therefore bowed and
retired. Two hours afterwards he sent me the sum which I had asked of
him for my brother-in-law, accompanied by a most humble and contrite
letter. Certainly, had I only listened to the inspiration of my heart,
I should have sent back the money without touching it, and the epistle
without reading it; but my heroism did not suit comte Jean, who chanced
to be present. "Take it, take it," cried he; "the only way of punishing
the miscreant, is to break his purse-strings. He would, indeed, have the
laugh on his side were your fit of anger to change into a fit of
generosity; besides, this may be the last we shall ever see."
My brother-in-law and the comptroller-general were an excellent pair.
I treated the latter with silent contempt, not even replying to his
letter; this was, however, my first and only stroke of vengeance, the
disastrous events which followed did not permit me to pursue my plans
for revenging this treacherous and contemptible conduct.
This quarrel, and the defection of the _worthy_ abbé, had the effect of
rendering me much indisposed. My illness was attributed to an excess of
sorrow for the dangerous condition of his majesty, nor did I contradict
the report; for, in truth, I did most sincerely lament the malady with
which the king was suffering, and my regrets arose far more from a
feeling of gratitude and esteem, than any self-interested calculations.
It was, therefore, in no very excellent humour that I saw the prince
de Soubise enter my apartment. You may remember that this nobleman had
quitted Trianon without saying one word to me, and since that period I
had never seen him, although he had punctually made his inquiries
after the king. When I perceived him, I could not help inquiring,
with something of a sarcastic expression, whether his majesty had been
pronounced convalescent? The prince comprehended the bitterness of the
question.
"You are severe, madam," replied he, "yet I can solemnly affirm that
circumstances, and not inclination, have kept me from your presence
until now."
"May I believe you?" said I. "Are you quite sure you have not been
imitating the policy of the abbé Terray?" Upon which I related the
behaviour of the comptroller-general.
"Priest-like," answered the prince.
"And is it not _courtier_-like also?" inquired I.
"Perhaps it may," rejoined M. de Soubise; "for the two species of priest
and courtier so nearly resemble each other in many particulars, as to
have become well nigh amalgamated into one; but I claim your indulgence
to make me an exception to the general rule, and to class me as a
soldier and a man of honour; besides which, you are too lovely ever to
be forgotten, and your past goodness to me will ensure you my services
let what may occur."
"Well, then," said I, extending my hand, "as a reward for your candour,
which I receive as genuine, I will request your forgiveness for any
annoyance I may have caused you on your family's account, I ought never
to have resented any thing they have done. My presence here could not
fail of being highly disagreeable to them; however, they will soon be
relieved from that source of uneasiness, my stay draws rapidly to a
close."
The prince de Soubise, with a ready grace and obliging manner, for which
I shall ever remember him with a grateful recollection, endeavoured
to dispel my apprehensions as to the state of the king; but whilst I
acknowledged the kindness of his intention, my heart refused all comfort
in a case, which I too well knew was utterly hopeless.
The state of affairs was now so manifest, that already an obsequious
crowd beseiged the doors of the dauphin, anxious to be first in the
demonstration of their adoration of the rising sun; but the young
prince, aided by the clear-minded advice of his august spouse, refused,
with admirable prudence, to receive such premature homage; and since he
was interdicted by the physicians from visiting the royal invalid, he
confined himself within his apartments, admitting no person but a select
few who possessed his confidence.
The disappointed satellites, frustrated in their endeavours to in
gratiate themselves with the dauphin, turned their thoughts towards
the comte de Provence, imagining that this prince, spite of his extreme
youth, might have considerable influence over the mind of his brother,
the dauphin. But this idea, however plausible, was by no means correct;
it was too much the interest of ambitious and mercenary men to create a
want of harmony between the royal pair, and up to the moment in which
I am writing, no attempts have been made to produce a kinder and more
fraternal feeling between two such near relatives.
I quitted the king as little as possible, watching with deep concern the
progress of a malady, the nature of which was a secret to himself alone;
for, in the dread of incurring my displeasure, no person had ventured to
acquaint him with the awful fact. By the aid of the grand almoner, I had
triumphed over the wishes of the archbishop of Paris, and those of the
confessor. The princes and princesses awaited the event; all was calm
composure; when, all at once, the barriers I had been so carefully
erecting were crushed beneath my feet, at one sudden and unexpected
blow.
The king was by no means easy in his own mind with regard to his
illness. The many messages that were continually whispered around him,
the remedies administered, and, above all, the absence of his grandsons,
all convinced him that something of a very unusual and alarming nature
was progressing. His own feelings might, likewise, well assure him that
he was attacked by an illness of no ordinary nature. Tortured beyond
further bearing by the suggestions of his fancy, Louis XV at length
resolved to ascertain the truth, and, with this intent, closely
questioned Bordeu and Lemonnier, who did their best to deceive
him. Still, dissatisfied with their evasive replies, he watched an
opportunity, when they were both absent, to desire La Martinière would
at once explain the true malady with which he was then suffering. La
Martinière puzzled and confused, could only exclaim,
"I entreat of you, sire, not to fatigue yourself with conversation;
remember how strongly you have been forbidden all exertion."
"I am no child, La Martinière," cried Louis XV, his cheeks glowing
with increased fire; "and I insist upon being made acquainted with the
precise nature of my present illness. You have always served me loyally
and faithfully, and from you I expect to receive that candid statement
every one about me seems bent upon concealing."
"Endeavour to get some sleep, sire," rejoined La Martinière, "and do not
exhaust yourself by speaking at present."
"La Martinière, you irritate me beyond all endurance. If you love
me, speak out, I conjure you, and tell me, frankly, the name of my
complaint."
"Do you insist upon it, sire?"
"I do, my friend, I do."
"Then, sire, you have the small-pox; but be not alarmed, it is a disease
as frequently cured as many others."
"The small-pox!" exclaimed the king, in a voice of horror; "have I
indeed that fatal disease? and do you talk of curing it?"
"Doubtless, sire; many die of it as well as other disorders, but we are
sanguine in our hopes and expectations of saving your majesty."
The king made no reply, but, turned heavily in his bed and threw the
coverlet over his face. A silence ensued, which lasted until the return
of the physicians, when, finding they made no allusion to his condition,
the king addressed them in a cool and offended tone.
"Why," said he, "have you concealed from me the fact of my having the
small-pox?" This abrupt inquiry petrified them with astonishment, and
unable to frame a proper reply, they stood speechless with alarm and
apprehension. "Yes," resumed the king, "but for La Martinière, I should
have died in ignorance of my danger. I know now the state in which I am,
and before long I shall be gathered to my forefathers."
All around him strove to combat this idea, and exerted their utmost
endeavours to persuade the royal patient that his disorder had
assumed the most favourable shape, and that not a shadow of danger was
perceptible, but in vain; for the blow had fallen, and the hapless king,
struck with a fatal presentiment of coming ill, turned a deaf ear to all
they could advance.
Bordeu, deeply concerned for what had transpired, hastened to announce
to the duc de Richelieu the turn which had taken place in the face of
affairs. Nothing could exceed the rage with which the news was received.
The duke hurried to the king's bedside.
"Is it, indeed, true, sire," inquired he, "that your majesty doubts of
your perfect restoration to health? May I presume to inquire whether any
circumstance has occurred to diminish your confidence in your medical
attendants?"
"Duc de Richelieu," replied the king, looking as though he would search
into his very soul, "I have the small-pox."
"Well," returned the duke, "and, as I understand, of a most favourable
sort; perhaps, it might have been better that La Martinière had said
nothing about it. However, it is a malady as readily subdued by art as
any other; you must not allow yourself to feel any uneasiness respecting
it, science has now so much improved in the treatment of this malady."
"I doubt not its ability to cure others, but me! Indeed, duc de
Richelieu, I would much rather face my old parliament than this
inveterate disease."
"Your majesty's being able to jest is a good sign."
At this moment, ignorant of all that had taken place, I entered the
room; for, in the general confusion, no person had informed me of it.
The moment Louis XV perceived me, he exclaimed in a hollow tone,
"Dearest countess, I have the small-pox."
At these words a cry of terror escaped me.
"Surely, sire," exclaimed I, "this is some wandering of your
imagination, and your medical attendants are very wrong to permit you to
indulge it for a minute."
"Peace!" returned Louis XV; "you know not what you say. I have the
small-pox, I repeat; and, thanks to La Martinière, I now know my real
state."
I now perceived whose hand had dealt the blow, and seeing at once all
the consequences of the disclosure, exclaimed in my anger, turning
towards La Martinière,
"You have achieved a noble work, indeed, sir; you could not restrain
yourself within the bounds of prudence, and you see the state to which
you have reduced his majesty."
La Martinière knew not what to reply; the king undertook his defence.
"Blame him not," said he; "but for him I should have quitted this world
like a heathen, without making my peace with an offended God."
At these words I fainted in the arms of doctor Bordeu, who, with the aid
of my attendants, carried me to my chamber, and, at length, succeeded in
restoring me. My family crowded around me, and sought to afford me that
consolation they were in equal need of themselves.
Spite of the orders I had given to admit no person, the duc d'Aiguillon
would insist upon seeing me. He exerted his best endeavours to persuade
me to arm myself with courage, and, like a true and attached friend,
appeared to lose sight of his own approaching fall from power in his
ardent desire to serve me.
In this mournful occupation an hour passed away, and left my dejected
companions sighing over the present, and, anticipating even worse
prospects than those now before them.