*The royal astronomer—Gutenberg ed.
As far as I am concerned, after saying so many unfavorable things of the Messrs. de Duras, I must do them the justice to say, that their conduct towards me was everything that could be desired. I was always glad to see them; it gave my own imagination a sort of sedative dose to converse with these two simple-minded beings, whose interests I was always ready to promote by every means in my power, and I trust the memory of what I have done will be long remembered by the noble house of Duras.
This supper did not pass off so gaily as the former one. The duc de Duras spoke as little as possible, in the dread of making some unlucky speech, and the duc d’Ayen sat devouring the spleen he could not give vent to, and meditating fresh objects upon whom to exercise his malignity; he vainly endeavored to lead me on to make some ridiculous observation, but without success; happily for him, the king did not perceive his aim. My royal lover was indeed so entirely engrossed by me, that he lost all the duke’s manoeuvres; his transports appeared too much for his senses to sustain, and he vowed that I should never quit him more, but remain to be elevated by his power to the first place at court. At the monarch’s sign, the two guests withdrew.
When the duc d’Ayen quitted the room, “That nobleman is by no means to my taste,” said I to the king, “he has the air of a spy, who wishes me no good.”
“Do you really think so, my lovely comtesse?”
“I am certain of it; and I already shudder at the bare anticipation of an enemy having access to your majesty’s ear.”
“Reassure yourself,” said the king, with the utmost tenderness, “in me you have a sure defender, who will never forsake you; look upon me from this minute as your natural protector, and woe to him on whose head your displeasure shall fall.”
After this conversation the king and myself retired to rest, and when he quitted me in the morning, he entreated me not to return to Paris, but to give him my company for a whole week. Lebel made his appearance to beg I would consider myself mistress of the apartments I occupied, and that he had received orders to provide me with an establishment upon the most handsome scale.
That very day Henriette, whom I had sent for, and instituted as my head waiting-woman, informed me, that an old gentleman, attired as tho’ for a grand gala, but who refused to send in his name, begged to be permitted to pay his respects. I bade her admit him; it was the duc de Richelieu.
“Madame la comtesse,” said he, bowing low, “I come to complain of your want of condescension; unless, indeed, your memory has been at fault. Was it possible that when I had the honor of supping with you the other night, you did not recollect your former old friend?”
“If, indeed, my forgetfulness were a fault, monsieur le maréchal, it was one in which you bore an equal share; you were not more forward than myself in displaying marks of recognition.”
“That arose only from the dazzling increase of your beauty. You were but a nymph when last my eyes had beheld you, and now you are matured into a goddess.”
The duke then made some slight allusion to the family of madame Lagarde, but guessing with his admirable tact, that such reminiscences could not be particularly agreeable to me, he dexterously turned the conversation, by requesting permission to present to me his nephew, the duc d’Aiguillon, that he might leave a worthy substitute and champion near the king when state affairs called him into Gascony; he craved my kind offices to obtain the intimate acquaintance of comte Jean. They were subsequently at daggers drawn with each other, but this haughty overbearing lord conducted himself at first with the most abject servility. The third favor he had to solicit was that I would name him to the king as frequently as opportunities occurred to form one of our supper parties. All this I engaged to do, nor indeed could I refuse after the violent protestations of friendship he made me.
“You will, ere long,” said he, “see the whole court at your feet, but beware of considering them all as your friends; have a care, above all, of the duchesse de Grammont. She has been long endeavoring to obtain the king’s affections, and she will see with hatred and fury another more worthy engrossing the place she has so vainly contended for; she and her impertinent brother will call in the aid of the devil himself to dispossess you of your elevated seat; you are lost if you do not twist both their necks.”
“How, monsieur le maréchal, shall I mark my career by a murder?”
“You take me too literally; I only mean that in your place I would not be at the trouble of keeping any terms with them.”
“Ah, monsieur le duc, I understand you now; yet it seems a bad augury to have to begin my reign by cabals and intrigues.”
“Alas! my fair comtesse, you are too good, too guileless for a court life; between ourselves we are all hypocrites more or less; mistrust every one, even those make the finest protestations.”
“In that case the first object of my suspicion would be my old and esteemed friend the maréchal de Richelieu.”
“Ah, madame! this is not fair usage, thus to turn my weapons against myself, and to fight me with my own arms.”
Upon this the duke quitted me, and scarcely had he left the room, when the duc la Vauguyon entered. This gentleman offered me no advice; he contented himself by styling the Jesuits his “very good friends,” and continually turning the conversation upon their merits. I allowed him to express his attachment, without interruption, for these disagreeable men, whom I determined in my own mind to have nothing to do with, recollecting all I had heard of their dislike to our sex. After an hour passed in amusing talk, the duc de la Vauguyon retired, well pleased with his visit, and his place was immediately supplied by comte Jean, to whom I communicated all that had passed between my late visitors and myself.
“For heaven’s sake,” said he, “let us not be the dupes of these great lords; before we range ourselves under the banners of either of them let us secure our own footing; let us wait till you are presented.”
“But, my good friend, I must be a married lady to obtain that honor.”
“And so you will be shortly, do not be uneasy about that. I have written to my brother William to set out without delay for Paris. Your swain will be easily induced to marry you. What do you think of that?”
I gave comte Jean to comprehend, by signs, that I left my destiny in his hands, and he kissed my hands and withdrew. The king managed to steal a few minutes to converse with me.
“You did not intrust me, my sweet friend,” said he, “with the circumstance of your having formerly known the duc de Richelieu; less reserved on the subject than you were, he told me he had seen you at the house of madame Lagarde, who considered you one of her dearest friends.”
“Sire,” replied I, “I was too much occupied with your majesty, to think of any other person in the world.”
My answer delighted him, he looked at me in the most gracious manner.
“You would almost persuade me that you love me,” said he, smiling.
“Indeed, your majesty,” said I, “I only pray that you desire the continuance of my affection.”
“In that case,” replied he, kissing my hand with fervor, “you do but partake of my tenderness for you.”
These words flattered my vanity, and here I must declare that if I never felt for the king that violent attachment which is termed love, I ever entertained for him the warmest esteem. He was so attentive, so kind to me, that I must have been a monster of ingratitude could I have looked upon him with indifference.
Our supper on this night was again lively as the first had been. The duc de Richelieu entertained us with several amusing anecdotes; not that they contained any thing very piquant, but the duke related them well, and we were all in the humor to be pleased, and laughed heartily at what he said. Comte Jean, whose eye constantly followed me, appeared perfectly satisfied with all I said or did. As for the king, he seemed enchanted with me, and seemed wholly occupied in watching my looks, that he might anticipate my wants. After supper, in thetête-à-têtewhich followed, he explained himself in terms which left me no doubt how securely my empire over him was established. Had he been less explicit on the subject, the flattering marks of favor, and the adulatory compliments I received from all on the following day, would well have assured me of it. I was no longer an obscure and friendless individual, but the beloved mistress of the king; I was, to use the expression of Lebel, a new sun which had arisen to illumine horizon of Versailles. I could no longer doubt my power when I saw noble personages present themselves to solicit the most servile employments about my person. Amongst others, I might instance a certain lady de St. Benoit, who continued first lady of my chamber, during the whole time of my regency;—my justly-valued Henriette being contented to take the second place of honor.
The duc d’Aiguillon—The duc de Fronsac—The duchesse deGrammont—The meeting—Sharp words on both sides—The duc deChoiseul—Mesdames d’Aiguillon—Letter from the ducd’Aiguillon—Reply of madame du Barry—Mademoiselle Guimard—The prince de Soubise—Explanation—The Rohans—Madame deMarsan—Court friendships
The duc de Richelieu, who was in haste to go to Guienne, lost no time in presenting to me the duc d’Aiguillon. He was not young, but handsome and well made, with much amiability and great courage. A sincere friend, no consideration could weaken his regard; an adversary to be dreaded, no obstacle could repress his boldness. His enemies—and amongst them he included the whole magistracy—his enemies, I say, have used him shamefully, but he treated them too ill for them to be believed in any thing they say of him. If he were ambitious, he had the excuse of superior merit, and if he showed himself too severe in one particular, it proceeded from an energy of mind which did not allow him to have more pity for others than they had for him. Do not, my friend, think that the attachment I had for him can transport me beyond just limits. Since he is in his grave, my illusions, if I had any, have dissipated. I only give to my deceased friends the tribute due to them—truth and tears. But really, without thinking of it, I am attributing to myself these virtues without necessity, forgetting that you are not one of those who would fain render me as black as possible in the eyes of posterity.
In proportion as the first sight of the uncle had prejudiced me against him, so much more did it propitiate me towards the nephew. I saw in him a generous heart, and a genius capable of lofty actions which you would vainly have sought for in the maréchal de Richelieu. No doubt at the beginning of ourliaisonthe duc d’Aiguillon only saw in me a woman who could be useful to his projects and plans; but soon his heart joined the alliance, and a devotion of calculation was succeeded by a vehement passion, of which I was justly proud, as it subdued to my chains the most accomplished of courtiers.
Our first interview was lively. The maréchal and he supported the conversation with much gaiety. M. de Richelieu, as I have already told you, had neither wit nor information, but possessed that ease of the first circles, those manners of high breeding, those courtly graces, which often surpass wit and information.
“My nephew,” said he to the duke, “madame can do much for us, but we must first do something for her. Without support, without friends, she will be lost at Versailles; let us be her partisans if she will allow it, and let her youth have the benefit of our experience.”
The tone in which the duc d’Aiguillon replied delighted me. He said he was but too happy to serve me, and begged me to rely on him as I would on myself.
“But,” he continued, “but we have to struggle with a powerful party. The duchesse de Grammont and her brother are not the persons to give up the field without striking a blow. But, madame, by the assistance of your happy and lovely star, I will enter the lists with pleasure, and if a glance of your eyes will recompense a conqueror, I shall be he.”
“Oh,” exclaimed the duke, “my nephew’s a second Amadis in gallantry, and of undaunted courage. You will be satisfied with him, madame, much more than with my son, who only resembles the family in his defects.”
The duc de Fronsac was justly hated by his father; he was what is called a decided scamp, without one redeeming point or virtue. Dissipated without agreeableness, a courtier without address, a soldier without courage, he thoroughly deserved his bad reputation. He was not hated, because hatred implies a species of honor, but he was universally despised. His father hated him; he hated his father. The reciprocity was edifying. I have often seen the duc de Fronsac, and always with disgust. He had incurred the extremity of punishment; when trying to carry off a butcher’s daughter, he rendered himself guilty of the triple crimes of arson, rape, and robbery. This was the most splendid deed of his life, at least his father said so, the only one in which he had shown—guess what for, my friend, I will not pen the cynical word made use of by his father. It must be confessed that we sometimes kept very bad company at Versailles. The king, who abhorred degrading actions, did not like the duc de Fronsac, but was full of kindly feeling towards the duc d’Aiguillon. The latter experienced the extent of his favor in his long and obstinate struggle with the parliament of Bretagne. It must be owned, that if he gained the victory at court, he decidedly lost it in the city, and I was publicly insulted on this account in the most brutal manner. However, the friendship which his first interview inspired me with, I have always preserved unaltered.
The week glided away, and each day my fortune seemed more fully assured. The love of the king increased, he heaped presents on me perpetually, and seemed to think he never could do enough for me. The bounties of Louis XV were known, and instantly aroused against me the two enemies with whom I had been threatened—the duc de Choiseul and the duchesse de Grammont, his sister. I must say, however, that, at first, the brother contented himself with despising me, but the duchesse was furious; I had offended her feminine self-love, and she could not forgive me. I have told you that she obtained possession of the king by stratagem. This is fact. She was in a place of concealment during a regal debauch, and when Louis left the table, with his head heated by wine, she awaited him in his bed to commit a sort of violence on him. What curious ambition! As soon as this noble lady learned my position, she was desirous of knowing who I was, and I have been told since all the measures she took to learn this. She did not confine her search to the circle of Versailles, but hastened to prosecute her inquiries in Paris with M. de Sartines. The lieutenant of police not suspecting the favor that awaited me, as well as that which I already enjoyed, and on the other hand persuaded of that of the Choiseul family, set all his bloodhounds on my traces. They did not fail to bring him back a thousand horrible tales about me, with which he gratified the duchesse, who, thinking thereby to do me a severe injury, spread in the château a multitude of prejudicial tales against me, hoping that they would reach the ears of the king and disgust him with his amour. It was at this juncture that appeared in the “Nouvelles a la Main” those infamous articles, collected in what they call the Collection of Bachaumont. From the same source proceeded the songsà la Bourbonnaisewhich filled Paris, and were sung about everywhere. These scandals produced no other effect than increasing the attachment which the king had for me, and to diminish that which he felt for the duc de Choiseul.
Passion never reasons; if it had common sense, it would perceive that it cannot disgust a lover by vilifying his mistress, but, on the contrary, interests his self-love in supporting her. Thus all these intrigues scathed me not; I did not mention to my counsellor comte Jean an insult which I met with in the park at Versailles from madame de Grammont. I did not tell it to the king, not wishing to create any disturbance at court. I avenged myself by myself, and think I conducted myself remarkably well in this adventure, which was as follows:
I was walking in the garden with Henriette, who had given me her arm; it was early in the morning, and the walks appeared solitary. We walked towards towards the side of the Ile d’Amour, when we heard the steps of two persons who came behind us. Henriette turned her head and then said to me, “Here are mesdames de Brionne and de Grammont.” I knew the latter but very slightly, and the former not at all. Certainly she could not have been there by chance; they knew I should be there, and wished to see me closely. Not suspecting what was to follow, I was delighted at the rencontre. They passed us with head erect, haughty air; looked at me with a disdainful stare, laughed rudely and walked away. Altho’ such behavior offended me, it did not put me out of humor; I thought it very natural for madame de Grammont to be irritated against me. Henriette had less magnanimity. She repeated so often how impertinent it was thus to insult a female honored by the bounties of the king, and so far excited my feelings, that instead of returning as prudence suggested, I followed the steps of these ladies. I did not proceed far before I rejoined them; they were seated on a bench, awaiting my arrival as it appeared. I passed close to them, and at that moment the duchesse de Grammont, raising her voice, said,
“It must be a profitable business to sleep with every body.”
I was excessively nettled, and instantly retorted, “At least I cannot be accused of making a forcible entry into any person’s bed.” The arrow went to the mark and penetrated deeply. The whole countenance of the duchesse turned pale, except her lips, which became blue. She would have said something foolish, but madame de Brionne, more cool because touched less nearly, placed her hand over her companion’s mouth. I in my turn walked away with Henriette, laughing till tears came into my eyes at this pleasing victory.
The duchesse de Grammont, who had no further inclination to laugh, told the whole to her brother. He, who loved her excessively, too much so perhaps, reprimanded her, nevertheless, and pointed out to her the disadvantage in an open struggle with me. Madame de Brionne was enjoined to secrecy, but that did not prevent her from confiding the affair to the dowager duchesse d’Aiguillon.
This latter was a lady of most superior merit, uniting to much wit more solid acquirements. She spoke English like a native. Her death, which happened in 1772, was a great misfortune to her son, to whom she gave the most excellent counsel. She told my adventure to her daughter-in-law, who, excessively ambitious, saw, without any pain, the increasing attachment of her husband for me. I must tell you, in a parenthesis, that I always lived on the best terms with her, and that, in my disgrace, her friendship did not weaken. I must do her this justice. All myfaithful friendshave not been equally faithful towards me.
These two ladies knowing this occurrence, the duc d’Aiguillon was not long kept in ignorance that something had happened. He came in haste to see me, and inquired what it was. But he asked in vain, I would not tell him. My secrecy hurt him, and on his return home he wrote to me. As I have great pleasure in telling you all that recalls this amiable gentleman to my mind, I will transcribe his letter, which will give you an opportunity of judging of the turn of his mind.
I am very unhappy, madame. I had flattered myself with having obtained your confidence, but the obstinate silence which you have kept with me has cruelly informed me of my mistake. Allow the deep interest with which you have inspired me to offer a suggestion. You know nothing of forms, you are unacquainted with our usages: you require a friend who shall direct and counsel you. Why should you not select a man entirely devoted to you, and as equally so to the king, the king whose affections you possess—and who could refuse them to you? I pause. Nothing is more dangerous than to use a pen where we have a heart overflowing like mine. Be more gracious towards me, I ask it of you in charity, and take no pleasure in driving me to twofold desperation. Adieu, madame, etc.
“Signed, the Duc D’A.”
I read and read again this epistle: it delighted me from beginning to end. I found in it a depth of passion which did not displease me: I perfectly comprehended the obscurity of the latter phrase. I needed a sort of mentor superior to comte Jean, and I preferred the duc d’Aiguillon to any other, because he pleased me. This feeling decided me, and I replied to him in these terms:—
“You are wrong, monsieur, to be annoyed, and to think that I am not disposed to grant you my confidence. It seems to me that I cannot place myself in better hands. However, we do not know each other well enough for me to repose in you at once: see me frequently, and then, with the habit of being in your company, I will allow myself to glide quietly into that state of confidence which you desire. Yes, I am indeed a stranger to all that passes around me; my only support is the protection with which the king honors me. That is all-powerful, but I will not employ it unseasonably or improperly. I know that I need the counsels of an honorable, prudent, and well-informed man. I accept, therefore, of yours; I even ask them from you, if your friendship go along with them. Adieu, monsieur. My regards are due to your uncle, the maréchal, the first time you write to him.”
This letter filled the duc d’Aiguillon with joy. Some days afterwards, the prince de Soubise, who also wished to give me his advice, did not attain the same success. It must be owned, that, for a man of the world, he went about it in a very clumsy way. He committed the extreme error of selecting mademoiselle Guimard as mediatrix between himself and me. This lady came to me on the strength of our former acquaintance; she had so little sense as not to perceive the immense distance between us which a few days had caused, and that the opera-dancer kept by the prince de Soubise could have no relation with the favorite of the king of France. I endeavored, in vain, to make her perceive it, without mortifying her too much. She always called me her dear friend, and fairly slaughtered me with saying thatherprince would protect me. It was singular for her to speak thus to me; to me from whomherprince solicited protection. She did not confine herself to this, she even insinuated to me that I should be a gainer in some way. I laughed outright at this, and said to thevalet de chambre, who was stationed at the door, “Call mademoiselle’s servants.” This annoyed her excessively; all the muscles of her face were contracted with rage; but she restrained her wrath, saluted me with an assumed respect, and went away, after having so worthily acquitted herself of her foolish embassy.
She had quitted me for an hour, when I received a letter from him who had sent her. The prince de Soubise begged me to grant him an interview, in which he could enter into an explanation. I replied that I would receive him, and he came the same day.
“I am much pained, madame,” said he, on entering, “that mademoiselle Guimard has communicated with so little address what I wished to say to you.”
“Prince, I think you would have done better to have been the bearer of your own message. You know my station here, and would not have ridiculed me as she has done.”
M. de Soubise, much puzzled to know what she had said, asked me the question.
“Why,” I replied, “she said, that if I would follow your counsels, you would pay me for my condescension.”
“Ah! madame,” he exclaimed, “she has completely murdered me. I only charged her to offer my services to you, and throw myself at your feet, as I do now.”
“Rise, prince, I do not accuse you of such folly, and promise not to mention it: it is necessary, however, that you should know I have but one part to play here, that of pleasing the king. Any other character will not suit me. Honor me with your friendship, and accept mine in return. I cannot, must not, have any other union with you.”
Thus terminated this interview; it did not suit me to give the prince de Soubise any hopes. He and all the Rohans would have lived on it; they would have turned my confidence to their gain, and as they were for the most part sharpers, or something akin to it, my name would soon have been mixed up with some dirty transaction. His family was a hydra of avarice, and would alone have swallowed up all the wealth of France. If the king had taken one of the Rohan family for his mistress, I believe that the finance department would not have sufficed for one year’s expenditure of this prodigal family. I had no objection to the prince de Soubise coming to supper with me, but I did not feel myself disposed to give him any control over my mind. I should have been ill-guided by a man who had no government of himself.
If M, de Soubise did not depart satisfied, madame de Marsan, his relative, to whom he related the bad success of his attempt, was not more so. She was a woman to have governed a kingdom, had she been allowed to do so. There was in her woman’s head a capacity superior to that of all the men of her family. She had a great deal of ambition, and all her actions were the results of a premeditated plan. She would have ruled the king, the princes, the princesses, favorites, mistresses, the court, the city, the parliaments, and the army! Nothing would have been impossible to her; she was adequate to any thing. Circumstances did not give her the opportunity of displaying her genius. With great talents and keen perception, she was reduced to the government of her own family alone; that was but a trifling matter! In spite of her discontent, madame de Marsan preserved a sort of neutrality towards me. She allowed all sorts of ill to be spoken of me without ever repressing a word. She was then mute and motionless. She saw me torn to pieces without any emotion. However, when we were together she tried to cajole me in a thousand ways, all the time detesting me in her heart; and I, who could scarcely endure the sight of her, paid her a like number of little attentions. Thus surrounded by hypocrites, I became one myself. We learn to howl in the society of wolves.
The duc de la Vauguyon and the comtesse du Barry—Themarquis de Chauvelin and the comtesse—M. de Montbarrey andthe comtesse—Intrigues—Lebel—Arrival of the du Barryfamily—The comte d’Hargicourt—The demoiselles du Barry—Marriage of the comtesse—The marquis de Bonrepos—Correspondences—The broken glass
The prince de Soubise was not the only person who wished to act in the capacity of mentor to me. M. the duc de la Vauguyon attempted also to be the guide of my youth. This nobleman was too much of a Jesuit not to have a nose of prodigiously fine scent. He perceived that the wind was in my favor, and approached me in consequence. I have mentioned to you his first visit, and he made me a second a few days afterwards. He appeared very affable, very conciliating, and insisted particularly several times, and that without any apparent motive, that the king, not being now engaged in the ties of wedlock, he should choose some agreeable companion, and assuredly could not do better than select me. The day after this visit, early in the morning, the duke sent me a splendid bouquet, a homage which he afterwards repeated, and then called on me a third time.
During this visit after a conversation on the embarrassments of an introduction at Versailles, he proposed that I should avoid them.
“You cannot conceal from yourself,” he said, “how powerful will be the cabal against you; and, without including the Choiseuls, you will have especially to fear the pious party, who will only see in your intimacy with the king, allow me to say, a crying scandal, and one not profitable for religion.”
“If the pious party unite with those who are not so to destroy me,” I rejoined, laughing, “I shall have all France against me.”
“No; but perhaps all the château. But there is a way of averting the storm. Attach yourself to the party of honest men who have been so greatly calumniated—the Jesuits. Philosophy, supported by the duc de Choiseul, has repressed them; but the high clergy and themesdames royalesare attached strongly to them, and you would interest them in your fortune by favoring these worthy fathers.”
“What! monsieur le duc,” cried I, “willmesseigneursthe clergy of France, andmesdames royalesand their suite be favorable to me, if I use my influence with the king in espousing the cause of the society of Jesus?”
“Certainly, madame, and I am authorized to promise you. I give you my word for this. Endeavor to re-establish the order, and there will not be one of us but will be zealous in supporting you.”
“I certainly am desirous of pleasing your friends; but I can see that, from the first moment of my appearance at court, I shall be at open war with the Choiseuls and the parliaments.”
“What matters it? I confess that the victory will not be easy at first, but there is no need to exaggerate the difficulties. It is true that the king has esteem for the duc de Choiseul, but he has much affection for you, which avails much more.
“As for the parliaments, he hates them, and for many years has been desirous of ridding himself of them entirely, and he will effect this by the help of God and your interference.”
“This will be hard work for one so weak as I am.”
“Oh, you are sufficiently powerful, I assure you. Only confide in me, the intermediary between you and my friends, let me guide you, and I will steer to the right port. What do you think of this, madame?”
“Oh! monsieur le duc, it is not at a moment that we can give a positive reply to such grave matters. I content myself in assuring you, that I have for you as much confidence as respect, and should be very happy to obtain your protection.”
“My protection! Oh, heaven, madame, you are jesting. It is I who should be honored by your friendship.”
“It is yours; but as yet I am nothing at court, and can do nothing there until I have been presented. It is for my speedy presentation that my friends should labor now.”
“We will not fail, madame; and if you will allow me to come from time to time to converse with you, we can take our measures.”
“Your visits will always be agreeable.”
Such was the conversation which I had with the duc de la Vauguyon. I have given it somewhat at length, because it was the preface to a deep intrigue which made a vast noise. I think I extricated myself very well from the net in which the duke sought to catch me. I knew that his situation at Versailles compelled me to act with caution towards him. He was in good odor withmesdames, had the ear of the young dauphin and the princes his brothers. He deceived me like a true Jesuit as he was, in telling me that themesdameswere well disposed towards me; and on my side I cheated him with a promise of confidence and, friendship which I never bestowed. Ah! my friend, again and again must I exclaim, what a villainous place is a court!
Whilst the duc de la Vauguyon was seeking to enlist me under the banners of heaven or the Jesuits, the marquis of Chauvelin also essayed to make me his pupil; but as frank as he was amiable, this nobleman did not go to work in a roundabout manner. He came to me loyally, requesting me to consider his interests and mine.
“The king likes me,” said he, “and I am attached to him body and soul. He tenderly loves you, and I should have no difficulty in doing the same thing; but as I am no longer of an age to inspire you with the passion which I should feel towards you, I content myself with your friendship. I have no enemy here, and no wish to hurt any person. Thus you need not fear that I shall urge you to any measures that might compromise you. It is the hatred of the kingdom that you will have to fear. France is about to march in a better track, and the best plan is to follow its lead. It pains me, madame, to use language which may appear severe to you; we ought only to talk to you of your beauty and the love which it inspires. But in your situation, even that beauty may serve the interests of France, and it is for that motive that I come to solicit you.”
I replied to M. de Chauvelin with equal frankness. I told him that my sole intentions were to confine myself to the circle of my duties; that I had none but to please the king, and no intention of mixing myself up with state affairs. This was my plan I can assure you. I flattered myself that I could follow it, not dreaming of those political nuisances into which I was precipitated in spite of myself. I added, nevertheless, that in my situation, which was delicate, I would not refuse the counsels of a faithful servant of the king, and that under this title M. de Chauvelin should be consulted on important occasions.
The marquis de Chauvelin had too much good sense, too much knowledge of the world, not to perceive a refusal concealed under this politeness. The secret inclination of my heart had already led me to select the duc d’Aiguillon for my director, and I could not reconcile myself to any other. He contented himself with asking me again for my friendship, which I willingly accorded him, and I have always found myself fortunate in his. Thus did I accept the offers of service from the prince de Soubise, the duc de la Vauguyon, and the marquis de Chauvelin.
A fourth sought to swell the ranks; the comte, afterwards prince, de Montbarrey. This gentleman made up in pretensions for what he lacked in talent. He was weak, self-important, selfish, fond of women, and endeavored to preserve all the airs of a man of good breeding in the midst of the grossest debauchery. He was full of respect for himself and his house, of which in time of need he could cite the whole genealogy. His nomination was a real scandal; no one dreamt of his ever being minister of war. It was one of the thousand follies of old Maurepas, whom the late king knew well, and called the ballad-maker of the council.
The comte de Montbarrey, whom I had known at Paris, came to me one fine day, fully powdered, performed, and apparelled. He had a smile on his lip, a loud tone, and an insolent look. He came not to ask my friendship, but my obedience. He told me that he loved me to distraction, and of course my head must be equally towards him. He amused me. I let him run out the full length of his line; and when he had spun it all out, I said to him, “Monsieur, be so good as to call me to the recollection of madame de Merfort.”
She was one of the gambling ladies, and at her house I had formerly met the chevalier de Montbarrey. My reply confounded him: he saw that he had gone the wrong way to work with me; and, raising the siege, he left me excessively embarrassed.
Figure to yourself, my friend, what confidence a man, lost in the crowd of lower courtiers, could inspire me with; for to judge of the proceedings of the comte de Montbarrey, it would have been necessary to have seen him as he then was, and not what he became since the imbecility of M. de Maurepas. When I told comte Jean of his visit, he would not believe such insolence. You must know that my brother-in-law also wished to direct me, but I did not consider him sufficiently clever. His marvellous genius was eclipsed in politics. He swore at my ingratitude, and I could only appease him by an offering of plenty of money.
In the midst of this cross-fire of intrigues, one was devised against me which might have terminated in my ruin; but, thanks to the indefatigable activity of comte Jean, only served to fix me more firmly in my situation. Lebel, of whom I have said nothing for this age, came to me one day: his face was sad, and his look serious. By his manner I augured that my reign had passed, and that I must quit my post. I awaited what he should say with mortal impatience. At length he began thus:
“Madame, you have many bitter enemies, who are laboring to effect your ruin with a blood-thirstiness which nothing can assuage. They have now spread a report that you are not married. This infamous calumny—”
“Ah, is that all?” said I with joy; “no, my dear Lebel, this time they do not calumniate me. The worthy creatures for once are right.”
“What,” said Lebel, in a tone of alarm almost comic, “what, are you really not married?”
“No.”
“Are you not the wife of the comte Guillaume du Barry?”
“No.”
“Then you have deceived the king, and played with me.”
“Lebel, my friend, take another tone. No one has any right to complain. You have given me to the king as a person to please him; I do so. The rest can be no matter of yours.”
“Pardon me, madame; it is a matter of the greatest consequence to me. I am terribly compromised in this affair, and you with me.”
Lebel told me that the duchesse de Grammont had begged him to call upon her, and had bitterly reproached him about the mistress he had procured for the king; the duchesse affirmed that I was a nameless and unmarried creature; and added, that it was his duty to make the king acquainted with these particulars, unless I, the pretended wife of du Barry, would consent to go to England when a large pension should be assured to me.
“No, my dear Lebel, I will not go to England; I will remain in France, at Versailles, at the château. If I am not married I will be; the thing is easily managed.”
Lebel, somewhat assured, begged me to send for comte Jean, and when he came he (Lebel) recommenced his tale of grief.
“You are drowning yourself in a glass of water,” said my future brother-in-law to him, beginning to treat him with less ceremony; “go back to the duchesse de Grammont, and tell her that madame was married at Toulouse. She will have an inquiry set on foot; in the mean while my brother will arrive, and the marriage will take place. Then we will show the rebels a real comtesse du Barry; and whether my sister-in-law be a lady of six months’ standing or only of yesterday, that is of no consequence to the king of France.”
After this conversation Lebel delivered the message to the duchesse de Grammont, who told him that she should write to Toulouse to the attorney-general. This was what the comte Jean wished and he was prepared for her.
But, you will say to me, was it certain that your asserted husband would marry you? Were there no difficulties to fear? None. Comte Guillaume was poor, talented, and ambitious; he liked high living, and would have sold himself to the devil for riches. He was happy in marrying me. Comte Jean would not have ventured such a proposal to his other brother, the comte d’Hargicourt, who had much good sense and great notions of propriety, and who at Versailles was called thehonnéte homme; a distinction not over flattering to his two brothers.
The same evening the whole family arrived, and was presented to me the next day. My two future sisters-in-law frightened me at first with their provincial manners and southern accent; but, after a few minutes, I found that this Gascon pronunciation had many charms with it. Mesdemoiselles du Barry were not handsome but very agreeable. One was called Isabelle, whom they had nicknamedBischi, the other’s name was Fanchon, and her name had been abbreviated to “Chon.” The latter had much talent, and even brought to Versailles with her, an instinctive spirit of diplomacy which would have done honor to a practised courtier. She would have been thought simple, unsophisticated, and yet was full of plot and cunning.
I was soon much pleased with her, and the king became equally so. He was always very much amused at hearing her talkpatois(provincially), or recite the verses of one Gondouli, a poet of Languedoc. He used to make her jump upon his knees; and altho’ she had passed the first bloom of youth, he played with her like a child. But what most particularly diverted the king, was calling my sister-in-law by her nickname; “Petite Chon, grande Chon,” he was always saying, “do this, go there, come here.” Louis XV did the same with his own daughters: he had amongst them aLoque, aGraille, aChiffe, and they were the ladies Victoire, Adélaïde, and Sophie, whom he thus elegantly designated. I so soon saw the taste of the king for nicknames that I gave him one, it was Lafrance. So far from being angry with me, he laughed to tears every time that I called him so. I must confess,en passant, that the anecdote about the coffee is true.* I will only justify myself by saying, that if I expressed myself coarsely it was not in consequence of my vulgar education, but because the king liked such modes of expression.