It is said that the King of Sicily is always in ill humour, and that he
is always quarrelling with his mistresses. He and Madame de Verrue have
quarrelled, they say, for whole days together. I wonder how the good
Queen can love him with such constancy; but she is a most virtuous person
and patience itself. Since the King had no mistresses he lives upon
better terms with her. Devotion has softened his heart and his temper.
Madame de Verrue is, I dare say, forty-eight years of age (1718). I
shared some of the profits of her theft by buying of her 160 medals of
gold, the half of those which she stole from the King of Sicily. She had
also boxes filled with silver medals, but they were all sold in England.
[The Comtesse de Verrue was married at the age of thirteen years.
Victor Amadeus, then King of Sardinia, fell in love with her. She
would have resisted, and wrote to her mother and her husband, who
were both absent. They only joked her about it. She then took that
step which all the world knows. At the age of eighteen, being at a
dinner with a relation of her husband's, she was poisoned. The
person she suspected was the same that was dining with her; he did
not quit her, and wanted to have her blooded. Just at this time the
Spanish Ambassador at Piedmont sent her a counter-poison which had a
happy effect: she recovered, but never would mention whom she
suspected. She got tired of the King, and persuaded her brother,
the Chevalier de Lugner, to come and carry her off, the King being
then upon a journey. The rendezvous was in a chapel about four
leagues distant from Turin. She had a little parrot with her. Her
brother arrived, they set out together, and, after having proceeded
four leagues on her journey, she remembered that she had forgotten
her parrot in the chapel. Without regarding the danger to which she
exposed her brother, she insisted upon returning to look for her
parrot, and did so. She died in Paris in the beginning of the reign
of Louis XV. She was fond of literary persons, and collected about
her some of the best company of that day, among whom her wit and
grace enabled her to cut a brilliant figure. She was the intimate
friend of the poet La Faye, whom she advised in his compositions,
and whose life she made delightful. Her fondness for the arts and
pleasure procured for her the appellation of 'Dame de Volupte', and
she wrote this epitaph upon herself:
"Ci git, dans un pais profonde,
Cette Dame de Volupte,
Qui, pour plus grande surete,
Fit son Paradis dans ce monde."]