La Martinière causes the king to be removed to Versailles—The young prophet appears again to madame du Barry—Prediction respecting cardinal de Richelieu—The joiner’sdaughter requests to see madame du Barry—Madame de Mirepoixand the 50,000 francs—Asoiréein the salon of madamedu Barry
We continued for some minutes silently gazing on the retreating figures of La Martinière and his companions.
“Come,” said the maréchale, “let us return to the house”; saying which, she supported herself by the arm of comte Jean, whilst I mechanically followed her example, and sadly and sorrowfully we bent our steps beneath the splendid colonnade which formed the entrance to the mansion.
When I reached my chamber, I found mademoiselle du Barry there, still ignorant of the alarming news I had just learned. She earnestly pressed me to return to bed, but this I refused; for my burning anxiety to learn every particular relative to the king would have prevented my sleeping. How different was the style of our present conversation to that of the preceding evening; no sound of gaiety was heard; hushed alike were the witty repartee, and the approving laugh which followed it. Now, we spoke but by fits and starts, with eye and ear on the watch to catch the slightest sound, whilst the most trifling noise, or the opening of a door, made us start with trepidation and alarm. The time appeared to drag on to an interminable length.
At last the duc de Richelieu made his appearance.
“Well, my friends,” said he, “the king is to be removed to Versailles, spite of your wishes, madam, spite of his own royal inclination, and against mine, likewise. La Martinière has thundered forth his edict, and poor Bordeu opposed him in vain. His majesty, who expresses a wish to remain here, stated his pleasure to La Martinière.”
“‘Sire,’ answered the obstinate physician, ‘it cannot be. You are too ill to be permitted to take your choice in the matter, and to the château at Versailles you must be removed.’
“‘Your words imply my being dangerously indisposed,’ said the king, inquiringly.
“‘Your majesty is sufficiently ill to justify every precaution, and to require our best cares. You must return to the château; Trianon is not healthy; you will be much better at Versailles.’
“‘Upon my word, doctor,’ replied the king, ‘your words are far from consoling; there must be danger, then, in my present sickness?’
“‘There would be considerable danger were you to remain here, whilst it is very probable you may avoid any chance of it by following my directions with regard to an immediate removal to Versailles.’
“‘I feel but little disposed for the journey,’ said his majesty.
“‘Still, your majesty must be removed, there is an absolute necessity for it, and I take all the responsibility upon myself.’
“‘What do you think of this determination, Bordeu?’
“‘I think, sire, that you may be permitted to please yourself.’
“‘You hear that, La Martinière?’
“‘Yes, sire, and your majesty heard my opinion likewise.’ Then turning towards Bordeu, ‘Sir,’ exclaimed he, ‘I call upon you in my capacity of head physician to the king, to state your opinion in writing, and to abide by the consequences of it; you who are not one of his majesty’s physicians.’
“At this direct appeal, your doctor, driven to extremities, adopted either the wise or cowardly resolution of maintaining a strict silence. The king, who was awaiting his reply with much impatience, perceiving his reluctance to speak, turned towards the duc de Duras, who was in attendance upon him, and said, ‘Let them take me when and where my head physician advises.’”
At this recital I shed fresh tears. The duke afterwards told us that when La Martinière had quitted his majesty, he went to ascertain the condition of the wretched girl who had introduced all this uneasiness among us, and after having attentively examined her, he exclaimed, “She is past all hope, God only knows what the consequences may be.” This gloomy prognostic added still more to my distress, and whilst those around me strove to communicate fresh hopes and confidence to my tortured mind, I remained in a state too depressed and dejected to admit one, even one ray of consolation.
The king was removed from Trianon, followed by all the persons belonging to his suite. The maréchale insisted upon deferring her departure till I quitted the place. We set out a few minutes after his majesty, and my coachman had orders to observe the same slow pace at which the royal carriage travelled. Scarcely had we reached Versailles, when mechanically directing my eyes towards the iron gate leading to the garden, a sudden paleness overspread my countenance, and a cry of terror escaped me, for, leaning against the gate in question, I perceived that singular being, who, after having foretold my elevation, had engaged to present himself before me, when a sudden reverse was about to overtake me. This unexpected fulfilment of his promise threw me into the most cruel agitation, and I could not refrain from explaining the cause of my alarm to those who were with me. No sooner had I made myself understood than Comte Jean stopped the carriage, and jumped out with the intention of questioning this mysterious visitor. We waited with extreme impatience the return of my brother-in-law, but he came back alone, nor had he been able to discover the least trace of the object of his search. In vain had he employed the two footmen from behind the carriage to examine the different avenues by which he might have retired. Nothing could be heard of him, and I remained, more than ever, convinced that the entire fulfilment of the prophecy was at hand, and that the fatal hour would shortly strike, which would witness my fall from all my pomp and greatness. We continued our route slowly and silently; the maréchale accompanied me to the door of my apartment, where I bade her adieu, spite of her wish to remain with me; but even her society was now fatiguing to me, and I longed to be alone with merely my own family.
My two sisters-in-law, the wife of comte d’Hargicourt and that of my nephew, were speedily assembled to talk over with me the events of the last twelve hours. I threw myself upon my bed in a state of mental and bodily fatigue, impossible to describe. I strove in vain to collect my ideas, and arm myself for what I well saw was approaching, and the exact appearance of the singular predicter of my destiny prepared me for the rapid accomplishing of all that had been promised.
Louis XV, during this fatal illness, was placed under the care of Bordeu and Lemonnier. No particularly alarming symptoms appeared during that day, and we remained in a state of suspense more difficult to bear than even the most dreadful certainty. As soon as the king felt himself sufficiently recovered from the fatigues of his removal he requested to see me. After bestowing on me the most gratifying marks of the sincerest attachment, he said,
“I am well punished, my dear countess, for my inconstancy towards you, but forgive me. I pray and believe that, however my fancy may wander, my heart is all your own.”
“Is that quite true?” said I, smiling. “Have you not some reservations? Does not a noble female in theParc-aux-Cerfscome in for a share as well as the baroness de New——k?”
The king pressed my hand, and replied,
“You must not believe all those idle tales; I met the baroness by chance, and, for a time, I thought her pretty. As for the other, if she renders you in any way uneasy, let her be married at once, and sent where we need never see her again.”
“This is, indeed, the language of sincerity,” cried I, “and from this moment I shall have the fullest confidence in you.”
The conversation was carried on for a long while in this strain. The physicians had made so light of the complaint, that the king believed his illness to be merely of a temporary nature, and his gaiety and good spirits returned almost to their natural height. He inquired after madame de Mirepoix, and whether my sisters-in-law were uneasy respecting his state of health. You may imagine that my reply was worded with all the caution necessary to keep him in profound ignorance as to his real condition. When I returned to my apartment I found Bordeu there, who appeared quite at a loss what to say respecting the king’s malady, the symptoms still remained too uncertain to warrant any person in calling it the small-pox.
“And should it prove that horrible complaint?” inquired I.
“There would, in that case, be considerable danger,” replied Bordeu, not without extreme embarrassment..
“Perhaps even to the extinction of all hope?” asked I.
“God alone can tell,” returned Bordeu.
“I understand,” interrupted I, quickly, “and, spite of the mystery with which you would fain conceal the extent of his majesty’s danger, I know, and venture to assert, that you consider him already as dead.”
“Have a care, madam,” exclaimed Bordeu, “how you admit such an idea, and still more of proclaiming it. I pledge you my word that I do not consider the king is in danger; I have seen many cures equally extraordinary with his.”
I shook my head in token of disbelief. I had uttered what I firmly supposed the truth, and the sight of my evil genius in the person of the prophet who had awaited my return to Versailles, turned the encouraging words of Bordeu into a cold, heavy chill, which struck to my heart. Bordeu quitted me to resume his attendance upon the king. After him came the duc d’Aiguillon, whose features bore the visible marks of care and disquiet. He met me with the utmost tenderness and concern, asked of me the very smallest details of the disastrous events of the morning. I concealed nothing from him, and he listened to my recital with the most lively interest; and the account of the apparition of the wonderful being who seemed destined to follow me throughout my career was not the least interesting part of our conversation.
“There are,” said the duke, “many very extraordinary things in this life, reason questions them, philosophy laughs at them, and yet it is impossible to deny that there are various hidden causes, or sudden inspirations, which have the greatest effect upon our destiny. As a proof, I will relate to you the following circumstance. You are aware,” continued the duke, “that the cardinal de Richelieu, the author of our good fortune, spite of the superiority of his mind, believed in judicial astrology. When his own immediate line became extinct by the unexpected death of his family and relatives, he wished to ascertain what would be the fate of those children belonging to his sister, whom he had adopted as the successors of his name, arms, and fortune. The planets were consulted, and the answer received was, that two centuries from the day on which Providence had so highly elevated himself, the family, upon whom rested all his hopes of perpetuating his name, should fail entirely in its male descent. You see that the duc de Fronsac has only one child, an infant not many days old. I also have but one, and these two feeble branches seem but little calculated to falsify the prediction. Judge, my dear countess, how great must be my paternal anxiety!”
This relation on the part of the duc d’Aiguillon was but ill calculated to restore my drooping spirits, and although I had no reason for concluding that the astrologer had spoken prophetically to the grand cardinal, I was not the less inclined to believe, with increased confidence, the predictions uttered respecting myself by my inexplicable visitor of the morning. My ever kind friend, the duchesse d’Aiguillon, was not long ere she too made her appearance, with the view, and in the hope of consoling me. I could not resist her earnest endeavours to rouse me from my grief, and a grateful sense of her goodness obliged me to deck my features with at least the semblance of cheerfulness. Every hour fresh accounts of the king’s health were brought me, of a most encouraging nature; by these bulletins one might naturally suppose him rapidly recovering, and we all began to smile at our folly in having been so soon alarmed; in fact, my spirits rose in proportion as the mysterious visit of my evil genius gradually faded from my recollection.
In this manner the day passed away. I visited the king from time to time, and he, although evidently much oppressed and indisposed, conversed with me without any painful effort. His affection for me seemed to gain fresh strength as his bodily vigour declined, and the fervent attachment he expressed for me, at a time when self might reasonably have been expected to hold possession of his mind, filled me with regret at not being able more fully to return so much tenderness. wished to be alone, the maréchale de Mirepoix had sent to request a private interview, and I awaited her arrival in my chamber, whilst an immense concourse of visitors filled my salons. The king’s danger was not yet sufficiently decided for the courtiers to abandon me, and the favour to warrant any one of them in withdrawing from me their usual attentions. Comte Jean, however, presented himself before me, spite of the orders I had given to exclude every person but the maréchale.
“My dear sister,” cried he, as he entered, “Chamilly has just told me that he has received the royal command to have Julie married off without delay; now this is a piece of delicacy towards yourself on the part of the king for which you owe him many thanks. But I have another communication to make you, of a less pleasing nature. The unfortunate girl who has been left at Trianon, has called incessantly for you the whole of this day; she asserts that she has matters of importance to communicate to you.”
Whatever surprise I experienced at this intelligence, it was impossible it could be otherwise than true, for was it likely that, at a time like the present, comte Jean would attempt to impose such a tale upon me.
“What would you have me do?” asked I of my brother-in-law.
“Hark ye, sister,” replied he, “we are both of us in a very critical situation just now, and should spare no endeavour to extricate ourselves from it. Very possibly this girl may be in possession of facts more important than you at present conceive possible; the earnestness with which she perseveres in her desire of seeing you, and her repeated prayers to those around her to beg your attendance, proves that it is something more than the mere whim of a sick person, and in your place, I should not hesitate to comply with her wishes.”
“And how could we do so?” said I.
“To-night,” returned he, “when all your guests have retired, and Versailles is in a manner deserted, I will fetch you; we have keys which open the various gates in the park, and walking through which, and the gardens, we can reach Trianon unobserved. No person will be aware of our excursion, and we shall return with the same caution with which we went. We will, after our visit, cause our clothes to be burnt, take a bath, and use every possible precaution to purify ourselves from all chance of infection. When that is done you may venture into the apartment of his majesty, even if that malady which at present hangs over him should turn out to be the small-pox.”
I thought but little of the consequences of our scheme, or of the personal danger I incurred, and I promised my brother-in-law that I would hold myself in readiness to accompany him. We then conversed together upon the state of the king, and, what you will have some difficulty in crediting, not one word escaped either of us relative to our future plans or prospects; still it was the point to which the thoughts of comte Jean must naturally have turned.
We were interrupted in ourtête-à-têteby the arrival of the maréchale, whose exactitude I could not but admire. Comte Jean, having hastily paid his compliments, left us together.
“Well, my dear countess,” said she, taking my hand with a friendly pressure, “and how goes on the dear invalid?”
“Better, I hope,” replied I, “and indeed, this illness, at first so alarming to me, seems rather calculated to allay my former fears and anxieties by affording the king calm and impartial reflection; the result of it is that my dreaded rival of theParc-aux-Cerfsis dismissed.”
“I am delighted to hear this,” replied madame de Mirepoix, “but, my dear soul, let me caution you against too implicitly trusting these deceitful appearances, to-morrow may destroy these flattering hopes, and the next day—”
“Indeed!” cried I, interrupting her, “the physicians answer for his recovery.”
“And suppose they should chance to be mistaken,” returned my cautious friend, “what then? But, my dear countess, my regard or you compels me to speak out, and to warn you of reposing in tranquillity when you ought to be acting. Do not deceive yourself, leave nothing to chance; and if you have any favour to ask of the king, lose no time in so doing while yet you have the opportunity.”
“And what favour would you advise me to ask?” said I
“You do not understand me, then?” exclaimed the maréchale, “I say that it is imperatively necessary for you to accept whatever the king may feel disposed to offer you as a future provision, and as affording you the means of passing the remainder of your days in ease and tranquillity. What would become of you in case of the worst? Your numerous creditors would besiege you with a rapacity, still further excited by the support they would receive from court. You look at me with surprise because I speak the language of truth; be a reasonable creature I implore of you once in your life, and do not thus sacrifice the interests of your life to a romantic disregard of self.”
I could not feel offended with the maréchale for addressing me thus, but I could not help fancying the moment was ill chosen, and unable to frame an answer to my mind, I remained silent. Mistaken as to the cause of my taciturnity, she continued,
“Come, I am well pleased to see you thus reflecting upon what I have said; but lose no time, strike the iron while it is hot. Do as I have recommended either to-night or early to-morrow; possibly, after that time it may be too late. May I venture also to remind you of your friends, my dear countess. I am in great trouble just now, and I trust you will not refuse to obtain for me, from his majesty, a favour of which I stand in the utmost need—50,000 francs would come very seasonably; I have lost that sum at cards, and must pay it, but how I know not.”
“Let not that distress you,” said I, “for I can relieve you of that difficulty until the king’s convalescence enables him to undertake the pleasing office of assisting your wishes. M. de Laborde has orders to honour all my drafts upon him, I will therefore draw for the sum you require.” So saying, I hastily scrawled upon a little tumbled piece of paper those magic words, which had power to unlock the strong coffers of a court banker. The maréchale embraced me several times with the utmost vivacity.
“You are my guardian angel,” cried she, “you save me from despair. But, tell me, my generous friend, do you think M. de Laborde will make any difficulty?”
“Why,” said I, “should you suppose it possible he will do so?”
“Oh, merely on account of present circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“The illness—no, I mean the indisposition of his majesty.”
“He is an excellent man,” said I, “and I doubt not but he will act nobly and honourably.”
“If we could but procure his majesty’s signature—”
“But that is quite impossible to-night.”
“I know it is, and, therefore, I will tell you what I think of doing. Perhaps, if I were to set out for Paris immediately, I might be able to present this cheque before Laborde is acquainted with our misfortune. It is not late, so farewell, my dearest countess. I shall return to-morrow before you are up, but do not forget what I have said to you; and remember, that under any circumstances, the king should secure you a safe and ample independence. If his death finds you well provided for, you will still have a court, friends, relatives, partisans, in a word, the means of gratifying every inclination. Be guided by me, and follow my advice.”
And after this lesson of practical morality, the maréchale quitted me to hurry to Paris; and I, wearied and heartsick, flew to my crowded salons as a remedy against the gloomy ideas her conversation had given rise to.
On this evening my guests were more numerous and brilliant than usual, for no person entertaining the least suspicion of the king’s danger, all vied with each other in evincing, by their presence, the desire they felt of expressing their regard for me. My friends, acquaintances, people whom I scarcely knew at all, were collected together in my drawing-rooms; this large assemblage of joyous and cheerful faces, drove away for a moment all the gloom which had bung over me. I even forgot the morning’s visitor, and if the health of the king were at all alluded to, it was onlyen passant. It seemed a generally understood thing not to believe him seriously ill; in fact, to deny all possibility of such a thing being the case. Thus all went on as usual, scandal, slander, epigrams,jeux d’esprits, all the lively nonsense usually circulated upon such occasions, went round, and were laughed at and admired according to the tastes of those to whom they were addressed.
Could a stranger have seen us, so careless, thoughtless, and gay, he would have been far from suspecting that we were upon the eve of a catastrophe which must change the whole face of affairs in France. For my own part, my spirits rose to a height with the giddy crowd around me, and in levity and folly, I really believe I exceeded them.
At a late hour my rooms were at length forsaken, and I retired to my chamber where, having dismissed my other attendants, I remained alone (as was frequently my custom) with my faithful Henriette, whom I caused to exchange my evening dress for a dark robe, which I covered with a large Spanish mantle I had never before worn, and thus equipped, I waited the arrival of comte Jean. Henriette, surprised at these preparations, pressed me with so many questions, that at last I explained my whole purpose to her. The attached creature exerted all her eloquence to point out the dangers of the enterprise, which she implored of me to abandon, but I refused to listen to her remonstrances, and she ceased urging me further, only protesting she should await my return with the most lively impatience.
At length, comte Jean appeared, armed with a small sword-stick and pistols in his pocket, with every other precaution necessary for undertaking so perilous an adventure. We descended into the garden with many smiles at the singular figures we made, but no sooner were we in the open air, than the sight of the clear heavens sparkling with sta lined with statues, which resembled a troop of white phantoms, the gentle waving of the branches, as the evening breeze stirred their leaves, with that feeling of awe and solemnity generally attendant upon the midnight hour, awoke in our minds ideas more suitable to our situation. We ceased speaking and walked slowly down the walk past the basin of the dragon, in order, by crossing the park, to reach the château de Trianon.
Fortune favoured us, for we met only one guard in the park, this man having recognised us as we drew near, saluted us, and was about to retire, when my brother-in-law called him back an desired him to take our key, and open with it the nearest gates to the place which we wished to go to. He also commanded him to await our return. The soldier was accustomed to these nocturnal excursions even on the part of the most scrupulous and correct gentlemen and ladies of the court. He, therefore, assured us of his punctuality, and opened for us a great iron gate, which it would have cost my brother-in-law much trouble to have turned upon its hinges.
The nearer we approached the end of our journey, the more fully did our minds become impressed with new and painful disquietudes. At length, we reached the place of our destination.
My brother-in-law desired he might be announced but said nothing of who I was. We were expected, for a Swiss belonging to the palace conducted us to a chamber at one end of the château, where, stretched on a bed of loathsome disease, was the creature who, but a few hours before, had been deemed worthy the embraces of a powerful monarch. Beside her were an elderly female, her mother, and an aged priest, who had been likewise summoned by the unfortunate girl, and her brother, a young man of about twenty-four years of age, with an eye of fire, and a frame of Herculean power. He was sitting with his back turned towards the door; the mother, half reclining on the bed, held in her hand a handkerchief steeped in her tears, while the ecclesiastic read prayers to them from a book which he held. A nurse, whom we had not before perceived, answered the call of the Swiss, and inquired of him what he wanted.
“I want nothing, myself,” answered he, “but here is comte Jean du Barry with a lady from Versailles; they say they come at the request of mademoiselle Anne.”
We were now on the threshold of the door, and the nurse, crossing the chamber, spoke to the mother, who hastily rose, while the priest discontinued his prayers. The mother looked at us, then whispered some words to her daughter. The patient stirred in her bed, and the nurse returning to us, said to comte Jean that he might approach the bed of the invalid.
He advanced and I followed him, although the noisome effluvia with which the air was loaded produced a sickness I scarcely could surmount. The gloom of the place was still further increased by the dim light of two wax candles placed in a nook of the room.
The priest, having recognised my brother-in-law, and suspecting doubtless who I was, was preparing to withdraw, but the sick girl made signs for him to remain. He obeyed, but removing to a distance, he took his place beside the young man, who, understanding only that strangers had arrived, rose from his seat and displayed his tall gigantic height to the fullest advantage.
Interview with the joiner’s daughter—Consultation of thephysicians respecting the king—The small-pox declaresitself—the comte de Muy—The princesses—Extremesensibility of madame de Mirepoix—The king is kept inignorance of his real condition—The archbishop of Parisvisits Versailles
The gloomy and mysterious air scattered over the group which presented itself to our eyes filled us with desponding thoughts. There appeared throughout the party a kind of concentrated grief and silent despair which struck us with terror. We remained motionless in the same spot without any persons quitting their f ixed attitude to offer us a seat. After some minutes of a deep silence, which I durst not interrupt any more than comte Jean, whose accustomed hardihood seemed effectually checked, the suffering girl raised herself in her bed, and in a hollow voice exclaimed,
“Comtesse du Barry, what brings you here?”
The sound of her hoarse and grating voice made me start, spite of myself.
“My poor child,” answered I, tenderly, “I come to see you at your request.”
“Yes, yes,” replied she, bursting into a frightful fit of laughter, “I wished to see you to thank you for my dishonour, and for the perdition into which you have involved me.”
“My daughter,” said the priest, approaching her, “is this what you promised me?”
“And what did I promise to God when I vowed to hold myself chaste and spotless? Perjured wretch that I am, I have sold my honour for paltry gold; wheedled by the deceitful flattery of that man who stands before me, I joined his infamous companion in the path of guilt and shame. But the just vengeance of heaven has overtaken me, and I am rightly punished.”
Whether this language was the result of a previously studied lesson I know not, but it was ill-calculated to raise my failing spirits.
“My child, my beloved child!” exclaimed the weeping mother, “fear not, God is merciful and will accept your sincere abhorrence of your fault. I have this day offered in your name a fine wax taper to your patroness, St. Anne, who will, no doubt, intercede for you.”
“No, no!” replied the unhappy girl, “there is no longer any hope for me; and the torments I now suffer are but the preludes to those which I am doomed to endure everlastingly.”
This singular scene almost convulsed me with agitation. I seized the arm of my brother-in-law with the intention of escaping from so miserable a spot; the invalid perceived my design and vehemently exclaimed,
“Stay, comtesse du Barry; I have not yet finished with you, I have not yet announced the full revenge I shall take for your share in my present hopeless condition; your infamous exaltation draws to a close, the same poison which is destroying me, circulates in the veins of him you have too long governed; but your reign is at an end. He will soon quit his earthly crown, and my hand strikes the blow which sends him hence. But still, dying a victim to a cruel and loathsome complaint, I go to my grave triumphing over my haughty rival, for I shall die the last possessor of the king’s affections. Heavens! what agonies are these?” cried she; then, after a short silence, she continued, extending to me her arms hideous with the leprous blotches of her disgusting malady, “yes, you have been my destruction; your accursed example led me to sell myself for the wages of infamy, and to the villainous artifices of the man who brought you here I owe all my sufferings. I am dying more young, more beautiful, more beloved than you; I am hurried to an untimely end. God of heaven! die I did I say die? I cannot, will not—Mother, save your child!—Brother, help me, save me!”
“My daughter, my darling child!” cried the despairing mother, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly.
“My dearest sister Anne, what can I do for you?” inquired the young man, whose stern features were melted into mere womanish tenderness.
“Daughter,” interrupted the priest, “God is good; he can and will forgive you if you heartily turn to him, with a sincere desire to atone for your fault.”
All this took place in less time than it has taken in the recital. My brother-in-law seemed completely deprived of his usual self-possession by this burst of frightful raving; his feet appeared rooted to the floor of the chamber; his colour changed from white to red, and a cold perspiration covered his brows. For my own part, I was moved beyond description; but my faculties seemed spell-bound, and when I strove to speak, my tongue cleaved to my mouth.
The delirium of poor Anne continued for some time to find utterance, either by convulsive gesticulation, half-uttered expressions, and, occasionally, loud and vehement imprecations. At length, quite exhausted with her violence, which required all the efforts of her brother to subdue by positive force, she sunk into a state of insensibility. The priest, on his knees, implored in a loud voice the mercy of Providence for the king and all his subjects. Had any person conceived the design of working on my fears so far as to induce me to abandon a life at court, they could not have succeeded more entirely than by exhibiting to me the scene I have been describing. Had not many contending ideas enabled me to bear up under all I saw and heard, my senses must have forsaken me; under common circumstances, the aspect of the brother alone would have terrified me exceedingly; and even now, I cannot recollect without a shudder, the looks of dark and sinister meaning he alternately directed at me and at comte Jean. At this moment, the doctor who had the charge of the unhappy girl arrived. The warmth and eagerness of manner with which he addressed me directly he perceived my presence, might have proved to all around that I was not the hateful creature I had been described. This well-timed interruption restored me to the use of my faculties, and repulsing the well-meant attentions of my medical friend, I exclaimed, “Do not heed me, I conjure you, I am only temporarily indisposed. But hasten to that poor girl whose dangererous state requires all your care.”
My brother-in-law, recovering himself by a strong effort, profited by the present opportunity to remove me into another apartment, the pure air of which contributed to cool my fevered brain; but my trembling limbs refused to support me, and it was necessary to apply strong restoratives ere I was sufficiently recovered to quit the fatal spot. At Trianon, as well as at Versailles, I was considered absolute mistress; those of the royal household, who were aware of my being at the former, earnestly solicited me to retire to the chamber I had occupied on the preceding night, but to this arrangement the comte and myself were equally opposed. A sedan chair was therefore procured, in which I was rapidly transported back to Versailles.
You may easily conceive in what a state I arrived there. My good Henriette was greatly alarmed, and immediately summoned Bordeu, who, not venturing to bleed me, contented himself with administering some cordials which revived me in some degree. But the events of the last few hours seemed indelibly fixed in my mind; and I heard, almost with indifference, the bulletin issued respecting the state of the king’s health during the fatal night which had just passed. One object alone engrossed my thoughts;—eyes seemed still to behold the miserable girl stretched on her dying bed, whose ravings of despair and threatening words yet rung in my ears, and produced a fresh chill of horror, as with painful tenacity my mind dwelt upon them to the utter exclusion of every other consideration. The unfortunate creature expired on the third day, a victim to the rapid progress of the most virulent species of small-pox. She died more calmly and resigned than I had seen her. For my own part, I freely pardoned her injustice towards myself, and sincerely forgive the priest if he (as I have been told) excited her bitterness against me.
The severe shock I had experienced might have terminated fatally for me, had not my thoughts been compelled to rouse themselves for the contemplation of the alarming prospect before me. It was more than four o’clock in the morning when I returned to the château, and at nine I rose again without having obtained the least repose. The king had inquired for me several times. I instantly went to him, and my languid frame, pale countenance and heavy eyes, all which he took as the consequences of my concern for his indisposition, appeared greatly to affect him; and he sought to comfort me by the assurance of his being considerably better. This was far from being true, but he was far from suspecting the nature of the malady to which his frame was about to become a prey. The physicians had now pronounced with certainty on the subject, nor was it possible to make any mystery of it with me, who had seen Anne on her sick-bed.
In common with all who knew the real nature of the complaint, I sought to conceal it from the king, and in this deception the physicians themselves concurred. In the course of the morning a consultation took place; when called upon for their opinion, each of them endeavoured to evade a direct answer, disguising the name of his majesty’s disease under the appellation of a cutaneous eruption, chicken-pox, etc., etc., none daring to give it its true denomination. Bordeu and Lemonnier pursued this cautious plan, but La Martinière, who had first of all pronounced his decision on the subject, impatient of so much circumlocution on the part of those around him, could no longer repress his indignation.
“How is this, gentlemen!” exclaimed he, “is science at a standstill with you? Surely, you cannot be in any doubt on the subject of the king’s illness. His majesty has the small-pox, with a complication of other diseases equally dangerous, and I look upon him as a dead man.”
“Monsieur de la Martinière,” cried the duc de Duras, who, in quality of his office of first gentleman of the bed-chamber, was present at this conference, “allow me to remind you that you are expressing yourself very imprudently.”
“Duc de Duras,” replied the abrupt La Martinier, “my business is not to flatter the king, but to tell him the truth with regard to his health. None of the medical gentlemen present can deny the truth of what I have asserted; they are all of my opinion, although I alone have the courage to act with that candour which my sense of honour dictates.”
The unbroken silence preserved by those who heard this address, clearly proved the truth of all La Martinière advanced. The duc de Duras was but too fully convinced of the justice of his opinion.
“The king is then past all hope,” repeated he, “and what remains to be done?”
“To watch over him, and administer every aid and relief which art suggests,” was the brief reply of La Martinière.
The different physicians, when separately questioned, hesitated no longer to express their concurrence in the opinion that his majesty’s case was entirely hopeless, unless, indeed, some crisis, which human foresight could not anticipate, should arise in his favour.
This opinion changed the moral face of the château. The duc de Duras, who had not previously suspected even the existence of danger, began to feel how weighty a burthen reposed on his shoulders; he recommended to the medical attendants the utmost caution and silence, pointing out, at the same time, all the ill consequences which might arise, were any imprudent or sudden explanation of his real malady made to the august sufferer. Unable to attend to everything himself, and not inclined to depend upon his son, whose natural propensity he was fully aware of, he recalled to his recollection that the comte de Muy, the sincere and attached friend of the dauphin, son to Louis XV, was then in Versailles. He immediately sought him out in the apartments he occupied in the château, and communicated to him the result of the consultation respecting the king’s illness.
The comte de Muy was one of those rare characters reserved by Providence for the happiness of a state, when kings are wise enough to employ them. He thought not of personal interest or advantage, but dictated to the duke the precise line of conduct he himself would have pursued under similar circumstances.
“The first thing to be done,” said he, “is to remember that the king is a Christian, and to conform in every respect to the customs of his predecessors. You are aware, my lord duke, that directly any member of the royal family is attacked by the small-pox, he ought immediately to receive extreme unction; you will, therefore, make the necessary arrangements, and apprize those whose duty it becomes to administer it.”
“This is, indeed, an unpleasant commission,” replied the duke; “to administer extreme unction to his majesty, is to announce to him cruelly and abruptly that his last hour has arrived, and to bid him prepare for death.”
“The duty is nevertheless imperative,” answered the comte de Muy, “and you incur no slight responsibility by neglecting it.”
The consequence of this conversation was, that the duke sent off two couriers immediately, one to madame Louise, and the other to the archbishop of Paris. He also apprized the ministers of the result of the consultation which had taken place, whilst the comte de Muy took upon himself the painful office of acquainting the dauphin with the dangerous state of his grandfather. This young prince, whose first impulses were always amiable, immediately burst into tears; the dauphiness endeavoured to console him. But from that moment her royal highness appeared to show by her lofty and dignified bearing, her consciousness of the fresh importance she had necessarily acquired in the eyes of the nation. Meanwhile, the dauphin hastened to the sick room of his beloved relative, anxious to bestow upon him the cares and attentions of a son; but in the anteroom his progress was stopped by the duc de la Vrillière, who informed him, that the interests of the throne would not permit his royal highness to endanger his life by inhaling the contagious atmosphere of a room loaded with the venom of the small-pox. He adjured him, in the name of the king and his country, not to risk such fearful chances. The lords in attendance, who did not partake the heroism the young prince, added their entreaties to those ofle petit saint, and succeeded, at length, in prevailing upon him to return to his apartments, to the great joy of Marie Antoinette, who could not endure the prospect of being separated from her husband at so important a juncture.
No sooner had the princesses learned the danger of their august parent, than without an instant’s hesitation they hurried to him. I was in his chamber when they arrived; they saluted me with great gentleness and affability. When the king saw them, he inquired what had brought them thither at so unusual an hour.
“We are come to see you, my dearest father,” replied madame Adélaïde; “we have heard of your indisposition, and trifling as it is said to be, we could not rest without satisfying our anxious wish to know how you found yourself.”
The other sisters expressed themselves in similar terms.
“It is all very well, my children,” said Louis XV, with a pleasing smile, “and you are all three very excellent girls, but I would rather you should keep away from this close room; it can do you no good, and I promise to let you know if I find myself getting any worse.”
After a slight resistance the princesses feigned an obedience to his will; but, in reality, they merely retired into an adjoining chamber, concealed from the sight of their parent, where they remained, until the moment when they undertook the charge of the patient. Their heroic devotion was the admiration of all France and Europe.
Much as their presence constrained me, I still kept my place beside the sick-bed of his majesty, who would not suffer me to leave him for a minute.
At an early hour the maréchale de Mirepoix returned, according to her promise. I met her in the corridor as I was passing along on my way to the king’s apartment; her face was full of cheerful smiles.
“How greatly am I obliged to you for your prompt succour,” said she, without even inquiring after my health or that of the king. “Do you know, I was but just in time; ten minutes later, and I should have been refused payment for your cheque. M. de Laborde, who was so devotedly your friend only yesterday, counted out to me the glittering coin I was so anxious to obtain. He even accompanied me to my carriage, when behold, just at the moment, when, with his hat in his hand, he was most gallantly bowing, and wishing me a pleasant journey, a courier arrived from Versailles bringing him the news of the king’s illness. He looked so overwhelmed with consternation and alarm, that I could not prevent myself from bursting into a hearty fit of laughter, nor has my gaiety forsaken me up to the present moment.”
“You are very fortunate,” said I, “to be enabled thus to preserve your good spirits.”
“My dear creature, I would fain cheat time of some of his claims upon me. But now I think of it, what is the matter since I was here? Is the king worse, and what is this I hear whispered abroad of the small-pox?”
“Alas, madam,” answered I, much hurt at the insensibility she displayed, “we run but too great danger of losing our friend and benefactor for ever.”
“Dear me, how very shocking! But what has he settled on you? What have you asked him for?”
“Nothing!” replied I, coolly.
“Nothing! very admirable, indeed; but, my good soul, these fine sentiments sometimes leave people to eat the bread of charity. So, then, you have not followed my advice. Once more, I repeat, lose not the present opportunity, and, in your place, I would set about securing my own interest without one instant’s delay.”
“That I could not do, madam,” said I; “it is wholly foreign to my nature to take advantage of the weakness of a dying man.”
“Dying man!” repeated the maréchale incredulously, “come, come, he is not dead yet; and whilst there is life there is hope; and I suppose you have carried your ideas of disinterestedness so far as to omit mentioning your friends, likewise. You will never have any worldly sense, I believe. My dear soul,” said she, stooping down and whispering in my ear, “you are surrounded by a set of selfish wretches, who care nothing for you unless you can forward their interests.”
“I see it, I know it,” exclaimed I impatiently; “but though I beg my bread, I will not importune the king.”
“As you please,” cried madame de Mirepoix, “pray do not let me disturb your intentions. Silly woman that you are, leave others to act the sublime and grand, your part should be that of a reasonable creature. Look at myself, suppose I had not seized the ball at the bound.”
“You were born at Versailles,” answered I, smiling in spite of myself.
“True, and I confess that with me the greatest of all sense is common sense, which produces that instinctive feeling of self-preservation implanted even in animals. But is the king indeed so very ill?”
“He is, indeed, dangerously ill.”
“I am very sorry,” answered she, “his majesty and myself were such old friends and companions; but things will now be very different, and we shall soon see the court filled with new faces, whilst you and I, my poor countess, may hide our diminished heads. A set of hungry wretches will drive us away from the princely banquet at which we have so long regaled, and scarcely will their eagerness leave us a few scattered crumbs—how dreadful! Yes, I repeat that for many reasons, we shall have just cause for regretting the late king.”
“Thelateking!” exclaimed I. “His majesty is not yet dead, madame la maréchale.”
“I know that, but he will die; and by speaking of the event as if it had already taken place, we prepare our minds to meet the blow with greater resignation when it does fall. I am much concerned, I can assure you; but let us quit the close confined air of this corridor, and go where we may breathe a purer atmosphere.”
She took me by the arm with a greater familiarity than she had ever before assumed, and led the way to my chamber, where I found the duc de la Vrillière awaiting me, to request I would return to the king, who had asked for me more than once. This consummate hypocrite seized the present opportunity of renewing his assurances of an unalterable attachment to me, vowing an eternal friendship. I was weak enough to believe him, and when I gave him my hand in token of reconciliation, I espied the maréchale standing behind him, making signals to me to distrust his professions.
I know not the reason of this conduct on the part of the duc de l a Vrillière, but I can only suppose it originated in his considering the king in less danger than he was said to be; however, I suffered him to lead me to the chamber of the invalid. When Louis XV saw me return, he inquired why I had quitted him? I replied, because I was fearful of wearying him; upon which he assured me, that he only felt easy and comfortable so long as I was with him.
“But, perhaps, there is some contagion in my present complaint?” exclaimed he, as though labouring under some painful idea.
“Certainly not,” replied I; “it is but a temporary eruption of the skin, which will, no doubt, carry off the fever you have suffered with.”
“I feared it was of a more dangerous nature,” answered the king.
“You torment yourself needlessly, sire,” said I; “why should you thus create phantoms for your own annoyance and alarm? Tranquillize yourself, and leave the task of curing you to us.”
I easily penetrated the real import of his words; he evidently suspected the truth, and was filled with the most cruel dread of having his suspicions confirmed. During the whole of this day he continued in the same state of uncertainty; the strictest watch was set around him that no imprudent confession should reveal to him the real nature of his situation. I continued sitting beside him in a state of great constraint, from the knowledge of my being closely observed by the princesses, of whose vicinity we durst not inform him, in the fear of exciting his fears still more.
The courier, who had been despatched to madame Louise, returned, bringing a letter from that princess to her sisters, under cover to madame Adélaïde, in which she implored of them not to suffer any consideration to prevent their immediately acquainting their father with the dangerous condition he was in. The duty, she added, was imperative, and the greatest calamity that could befall them, would be to see this dearly loved parent expire in a state of sinful indifference as to his spiritual welfare.
The august recluse, detached from all sublunary considerations, saw nothing but the glorious hereafter, where she would fain join company with all her beloved friends and connexions of this world.
The archbishop of Paris, M. de Beaumont, a prelate highly esteemed for his many excellent private qualities, but who had frequently embarrassed the king by his pertinacity, did not forget him on this occasion; for no sooner did the account of his majesty’s illness reach him, than, although suffering with a most painful complaint, he hastened to Versailles, where his presence embarrassed every one, particularly the grand almoner, who, a better courtier than priest, was excessively careful never to give offence to any person, even though the king’s salvation depended upon it; he, therefore, kept his apartment, giving it out that he was indisposed, and even took to his bed, the better to avoid any disagreeable or inconvenient request. The sight of the archbishop of Paris was far from being agreeable to him. This prelate went first in search of the princesses who were not to be seen on account of their being with their father. A message was despatched to them, and mesdames Adélaïde and Sophie, after having a long conference with him, by his advice, summoned the bishops of Meaux, Goss, and de Senlis, and held a species of council, in which it was unanimously agreed that nothing ought to prevent their entering upon an explanation with the king, and offering him spiritual succour.
Who was to undertake the delicate commission, became the next point to consider. M. de Roquelaire declined, not wishing, as he said, to infringe upon the rights of the grand almoner, who was now at Versailles. M. de la Roche Aymon was therefore sent for, requesting his immediate attendance. Never did invitation arrive moremal à propos, or more cruelly disturb any manoeuvring soul. However, to refuse was impossible, and the cardinal arrived, execrating the zeal of his reverend brother of Paris; who, after having explained the state of affairs to him, informed him that he was sent for the purpose of discharging his office by preparing the king for confession.
The grand almoner replied, that the sacred duty by no means belonged to him; that his place at court was of a very different nature, and had nothing at all to do with directing the king’s conscience. His majesty, he said, had a confessor, who ought to be sent for, and the very sight of him in the royal chamber would be sufficient to apprize the illustrious invalid of the motives which brought him thither. In a word, the grand almoner got rid of the affair, by saying, “that, as it was one of the utmost importance, it would be necessary to confer with his royal highness, the dauphin, respecting it.”