Extraordinary anecdote of Louis XIV and madame de Maintenon—The comtesse du Barry at Chantilly—Opinion of king andcomte de la Marche respecting the “Iron Mask”—Madame duBarry visits madame de Lagarde
My acquaintance with the singular being I was speaking of in the last chapter did not end here, as you will find in the sequel. I will now give you an account of an equally strange affair, in nearly the same words as Louis XV himself related it to me. Altho’ strongly recommended by my sister-in-law and M. de Sartines to conceal the whole story of my mysterious friend from the king, yet, unaccustomed to the prudential observation of court reserve, I, one fine evening, in order to fill up a long blank in the conversation, related the story from beginning to end. His majesty listened with attention until I had concluded.
“This is indeed,” said he, “a most singular history; and I think you have acted very wisely in putting an end to all such interference on the part of the police; for in such cases you frequently run great risks to procure a trifling gratification. We have seen something of the same sort in our family.”
This discourse excited my curiosity; and I entreated of him to explain himself more fully. “I ought not to do so,” replied he; “such transactions should be kept for ever concealed; but as more than half a century has elapsed since the event I allude to took place, I think I may venture to break the silence I have religiously observed until now. You are the only person I have ever mentioned it to, and I must bind you to the strictest secrecy.”
This I faithfully promised; and so long as Louis XV lived I kept my word.
“At the conclusion of the last century, during the month of September,” resumed the king, “it happened that Louis XIV, and madame de Maintenon formed the wish of consulting together some learned astrologer, in order to ascertain whether the coming age would be productive of good or ill to them. As neither of them knew to whom to apply, in order to attain their object, madame de Maintenon was compelled to confide her wishes to her friend, madame de Montchevreuil, who readily engaged to find for her the person she required; for, spite of the severity with which the law visited such practices, there was no scarcity of dealers in augury, who promised good or bad fortune accordingly as they were paid for it.
“Whilst this lady was making diligent search after one perfectly competent to satisfy madame de Maintenon, this latter, in conjunction with the king, despite the superiority of their minds, was greatly disturbed at the probable consequences of the step they meditated. Their desire to penetrate into futurity appeared to them as ridiculous as it was criminal, but their weaker feelings triumphed; and the result of their deliberations was that far from relinquishing their intention of searching the book of fate, they should lose neither pains nor trouble to attain their object; and to encourage each other, they reckoned upon their fingers the names of every person of their acquaintance, or even belonging to the court, who had derived profit and advantage from the predictions of fortune-tellers.
“The minds of all at this period were still imbued with those superstitious feelings, of which many of the most illustrious persons had given ample proof even in the preceding reign. We have become either more wicked or more sceptical, whichever you please to term it; but this is certain, that many of the things predicted were accomplished with an exact punctuality, which might serve to overthrow the finest arguments of the greatest philosophers, and which has indeed destroyed many ingenious theories. Doubtless the hidden laws of nature have reference to other beings than ourselves; and, beyond dispute, may be said to govern the creatures of an unknown world as well as exercising control over poor mortals like us.” After this short digression, of which I give you the precise wording, the king continued as follows:
“On the following day madame de Montchevreuil paid a visit to madame de Maintenon, in which she declared, that upon mature reflection, she could not proceed with the commission she had undertaken: that it was tempting Providence, and had better be abandoned. This remonstrance had no effect upon madame de Maintenon, who shielded herself from any necessity of retracting, by repeating to herself, that she had pledged herself to join Louis XIV in the undertaking, and it would never do for her to forfeit her character for firmness and good sense by now appearing trifling and capricious. However, she feigned a seeming compliance with the advice of madame de Montchevreuil, whilst, in reality, her mind was resolved upon executing her project.
“There was in her household a female who was not immediately one of her establishment, altho’ generally ranking as such; one of those active, stirring persons, who thrust themselves into a noble family under the equivocal title of half servant, half lady. This one had charge of all the necessary purchases of linen, Engaged the servants, kept watch over their conduct, procured for the marchioness whatever particulars she might require upon any subject; and took upon herself, in a word, any piece of service by which she could more firmly plant herself in the family of her employers. She received no fixed wages, but their absence was abundantly compensated in the numerous rich presents that were continually made her. Her sleeping apartment was always immediately adjoining that of madame de Maintenon in the castle. A person of this description (as may be readily supposed) knew the world too well to find any difficulty in procuring a mere fortune-teller; and as her discretion might be confidently relied on, it was resolved by her mistress to intrust her with the design.
“Two days after, she had removed all difficulties by discovering an Italian priest, famed as the most skilful necromancer of his day, one who undertook to reveal the decrees of fate to all those who should consult him, as clearly and readily as tho’ its leaves lay open, as a book before his eyes. But this gifted person lived in the utmost dread of attracting the notice of parliament, and exercised his art only under the strictest assurances of secrecy, in the most retired and secluded manner, with every precaution to prevent the possibility of a surprise.
“These conditions were too gratifying to madame de Maintenon to cause much delay in subscribing to them; and it was finally arranged, that the prophet and his new applicants should meet at a house in Sévres belonging to the royal family, then in the occupation of madame Cerfol (the lady of whom mention has been already made). The marchioness was to repair thither at one o’clock in the morning with a single friend. To have taken such a measure in open daylight would have been to proclaim their secret to all Paris. One person besides madame de Cerfol was necessarily admitted into their confidence, and that was the duc de Noailles, who was charged, by the king’s express orders, to take every possible precaution to ensure their safety, as far as it could be done without attracting public attention to so extraordinary an affair.
“At the hour appointed madame de Maintenon and the duc de Noailles ascended a carriage which awaited them at one of the park gates, and soon conveyed them to Sévres, whither the Italian priest had gone the preceding night. This wretched man had celebrated alone the sacrifice of the mass, and had consecrated several wafers.
“Everything confirmed the opinion, that the conjuror, up to the present moment, merely supposed himself sent for to satisfy the curiosity of some country nobleman and his lady, who were both anxious and eager to read their future fortune thro’ his assistance. I can only suppose, if he had been in ignorance of the real rank of those who addressed him, the sight of the king must have quickly undeceived him, as the conclusion of the story proves he well knew to whom he spoke when he delivered his prediction. However this may have been, he was no sooner alone with the marchioness, than he commenced the necessary preparations for the performance of his sorceries and enchantments; he burned perfumes, offered prayers, and with loud invocations adjured the powers of hell to answer him; and in the midst of a wild and agitating sound which pervaded the whole building, during the heavy swell of noises too dreadful to have arisen from mortal sources, and whilst a thousand visions were flitting to and fro, he drew the horoscope of the king and madame de Maintenon. He promised Louis XIV that he should succeed in all his undertakings; and that, on the very day on which he spoke the words (the 2nd of October) one of his children had been called to the inheritance of an immense fortune. Then giving him a small packet, wrapped in new parchment, ‘The day in which you form the fatal resolution of acquainting yourself with the contents of this packet,’ said he, ‘will be the last of your prosperity; but if you desire to carry your good fortune to the highest pitch, be careful upon every great festival, that is to say, Easter, Whit-Sunday, the Assumption, and Christmas, to plunge a pin in this talisman, so that the point shall pass directly thro’ it; observe to do this, and you will live perfectly happy.’
“The king accepted this fatal present, and swore upon the Gospel never to open the packet; he richly rewarded the priest, who from that period lived in a retreat so well concealed as to evade the most diligent researches of those who sought to discover it.
“Some time after news was received, that on the very 2nd of October, 1700, named by the priest, Charles II, king of Spain, had appointed in his will Philip of France, son of the dauphin, his successor and heir, an inheritance truly immense, as the astrologer had foretold. You may well think how highly this realization of the prediction inspired the king with confidence as to the fulfilment of the remainder: and, on his part, he never failed upon any saint’s day or other solemn festival to stick the mysterious pin in the talisman upon which so much depended.
“Nevertheless, spite of all these observances, his undertakings d id not invariably succeed, which astonished him greatly; when one day the great Bossuet, happening to be at madame de Maintenon’s, the conversation turned upon magic and sorcery, necromancy and their horrible profanations; and he expressed himself with so much force and energy, that the king and madame de Maintenon looked at each other without knowing what to say, and began, for the first time, to feel compunction for what they had done, and to regret their imprudence. They talked of it much together, and at length resolved to reveal their crime to their confessors. The punishment imposed on the king by his spiritual adviser was, that he should evince his contempt for the talismanic properties of the parchment packet, by immediately opening it.
“Louis XIV did not by any means admire this method of expiating his fault; and a sort of involuntary dread took possession of him, as, in obedience to the command of his confessor, he went to procure the magic parcel, which he tore open in the presence of madame de Maintenon and father la Chaise. The packet contained nothing but a consecrated wafer, pierced thro’ with as many pins as there had been saints’ days since the king had received it. At the sight of this horrible sacrilege my grandfather was filled with deep remorse and consternation, from which it was a long time ere he recovered; and it was not until he had undergone many severe penances, fastings, and caused numberless masses to be said, that he felt himself at all relieved from the weight of his crime.
“But all this was only the commencement of the divine vengeance: and those in the secret of this unfortunate affair remarked, that this great monarch lost from that time as many male descendants in a direct line as he had stuck pins into the holy wafer.”
Louis XV here terminated his singular history, which struck my mind with a sort of religious terror. I strove by every possible effort to dissimulate, concealing from the king the emotions to which his narration had given rise. I contented myself with observing, “that after hearing his marvelous recital, I should only be more confirmed in my determination to leave my young prophet to the tranquillity he desired.”
“It will be far best so,” added Louis; “I know so many fatal results which have followed any indiscreet curiosity, that I am persuaded you had much better leave such mysterious affairs to work their own solution.”
I promised to follow his advice, and we then conversed upon other subjects. Since then this anecdote has recurred to my memory; and without wishing to impeach the sincerity of Louis XV, I have asked myself, whether, by the opportune relation of this adventure, probably invented by himself, he did not seek to destroy the confidence I appeared to entertain in the predictions of my prophet. I say invented, because the king had a peculiar readiness and facility in composing these sort of wonderful tales, carefully noting down every circumstance which fell under his knowledge deviating from the ordinary course of things. He had a large collection of these legends, which he delighted in narrating; and this he did with an ease and grace of manner I have never seen equalled.
About this period the prince de Condé, whose gallantry never failed, entreated the king to pay a second visit to Chantilly: and it was upon this occasion that Louis erased from the list of court ladies all those whose presence would be disagreeable to me during our stay at Chantilly. One scene of pleasure followed another, and one fête succeeded another. I accompanied his majesty without ever quitting him; and if hitherto there had existed any doubts as to the sincerity of the king’s attachment, the most sceptical person would now have been convinced of the fact. Louis XV was never from my side, and appeared solely occupied in gratifying my slightest wish; the princes of the court carefully followed his example; and such a life as I then led was abundant compensation for all the pains and anxieties I had endured from the malice and jealousy of certain females, as well as the sarcastic bitterness of men, who feared lest my influence should destroy theirs.
I may, with truth, affirm that I received the honors and attention of a queen; verses, plays, all written to convey some praise or compliment to me; and the king testified the lively gratification it afforded him to see me thus an object of general solicitude, as well as of the most flattering distinction. His conduct towards the prince de Condé became more gracious than it had ever been observed to be to the princes of the blood; for there existed a singular coolness in the royal family towards all the princes of this branch. The king looked upon it as vastly inferior to his own, because it had been separated from the throne before the accession of Henry IV to the crown; he even asserted, that there was much to be said upon this subject, and prudence compels me to pass over the many histories and circumstances related by him to me of this brilliant portion of his noble race.
Neither the prince de Condé, whom I knew well, nor the prince de la Marche, entertained much regard for their relations; and they had always some spiteful story in store respecting the posterity of Louis XIII. There is one historical fact which has never been cleared up.
One day I was conversing with the comte de la Marche upon the disputes concerning the parliaments, and expressing my fear, that, if driven to desperate measures, the people would rise in open rebellion in favor of the magistracy. “They would be still more clamourous,” replied he, “if they knew all I could tell them.”
“And what do you know more than myself?’” asked I; “your highness alarms me by speaking thus.”
“Amongst events now passed and gone is one that would materially affect the public peace, if known.”
“You must explain yourself, my lord,” said I. He refused; but I persisted in pressing the matter with so much earnestness, that at last he said, in a low voice,
“Did you ever hear of the man who wore the iron mask?”
“Yes, certainly,” replied I, “who was he?”
“A great prince, and a most unfortunate man.”
“But who was he really?”
“In the eyes of the law the crown of France should have been his; but in the conscientious view of things he certainly had no claim.”
The comte de la Marche stopped here; and, as I was not very deeply read in history, I did not exactly comprehend the distinction he had just made. I had frequently heard talk of the “Iron Mask,” whom people reported to be either allied to, or sprung from, the royal family; but all these particulars were confused in my memory. However, I was much struck with the conversation I had had with the comte de la Marche; and when next the conversation fell on this mysterious personage, I asked the duc de Richelieu what he thought of him.
“Upon my honor,” replied he, “I never could find out who he really was; not that I did not try,” added he, assuming an air of modest vanity, which well became his green old age. “I had a mistress of tolerably high birth, mademoiselle d’Orleans, as indeed I had the honor of having the princesses, her august sisters. However, the former, known under the name of mademoiselle de Charollais, was dying to do some act of kindness that should be agreeable to me. Well, I requested she would obtain from the regent, her father, the solution of the secret relative to the ‘Iron Mask.’ She used every possible device, but nothing could she obtain from her father, who protested that the mystery should never escape his lips; and he kept his word, he never did divulge it. I even imagine that the king himself is ignorant of it, unless indeed the cardinal de Fleury informed him of it.” The maréchal told me afterwards that he thought the opinion adopted by Voltaire the most probable, viz: that this unknown person was the son of the queen Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV. These last words helped, in a measure, to resolve the enigma which comte de la Marche had left me to unravel; and, with a view to satisfy myself more positively on the subject, I availed myself of the first time I was alone with the king, to lead the conversation to this story.
At the mention of the “Iron Mask,” Louis XV started. “And do you really credit such a fable?” asked he.
“Is it then entirely untrue?” inquired I.
“Certainly not,” he replied; “all that has been said on the matter is destitute of even common sense.”
“Well,” cried I, “what your majesty says only confirms what I heard from the maréchal de Richelieu.”
“And what has he been telling you?”
“Very little, sire; he told me only, that the secret of who the ‘Iron Mask’ really was had not been communicated to you.”
“The maréchal is a simpleton if he tells you so. I know the whole affair, and was well acquainted with the unhappy business.”
“Ah!” exclaimed I, clapping my hands in triumph, “just now you affected perfect ignorance; you knew nothing at all about it, and now—”
“You are a very dangerous woman,” cried the king, interrupting me by loud fits of laughter, “and you are cunning enough even to surprise the secrets of the state.”
“‘Tis you, rather, who could not resist the inclination to let me see that you knew what the maréchal had declared you ignorant of. Which of us two is the more to blame, I wonder?”
“Myself, I think,” answered the king; “for after all, you did but act with the candor and curiosity of your sex: it was for me to have employed more of the prudence of a king in my replies to your interrogatories.”
“Well, but,” said I, “since you really do know all about this man with the iron mask, you will tell it to me, will you not?”
“I should be very careful how I gratified your curiosity,” said he; “this is a point of history which must never be cleared up; state reasons require that it should for ever remain a matter of doubt.”
“AndImust have you tell me,” returned I; “do pray tell, and I will love you with all my heart.”
“It cannot be.”
“And why not? This unfortunate person has been long dead without leaving any posterity.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” inquired the king, in a serious tone.
“But what signifies,” said I, “whether he be dead or alive? I entreat of you to bestow upon me this proof of your confidence. Who of all those who have spoken of him have told the truth?”
“Nobody; but Voltaire has approached it more nearly than any one else.”
After this partial confession the king implored of me to change the conversation, which I could easily perceive was extremely disagreeable to him. Nevertheless, it seemed to me quite clear, that this celebrated person belonged to the royal family, but by what title I could not devise. It was in vain that I afterwards revived the subject; not even during the most tender confidences could I obtain the information I desired. Possibly had I lived with him some years more I might have succeeded in drawing from him all he knew respecting the object of my curiosity. Old men, like children, can conceal nothing from those they love, and who have obtained over them an influence they willingly submit to.
Before I proceed to more important events, I would fain speak of persons with whom I lived before my elevation. My godfather, M. Billard du Monceau, was still living, as well as madame Lagarde, with whom I had resided as companion. My interview with the former is well known; and the authors of “Anecdotes of My Life,” published thirteen years since, have strictly adhered to the truth, with the exception of some vulgarisms they have put into the mouth of that excellent man which he never uttered.
As to madame Lagarde, she was strangely surprised to see me arrive at her house; and the evident embarrassment my presence occasioned her was a sufficient revenge on my part for the many unkind things she had said and done respecting me. I would not prolong her uncomfortable situation, but studied to conduct myself with the same unaffected simplicity of former days. I talked over the past, inquired after her family, and offered my best services and protection without malice for what was gone by, and with perfect sincerity for the future. But spite of all my endeavors to spare her feelings, it was evident that rage and humiliation at the advantage my altered fortunes gave me over her, struggled within her, and the conflict of her mind was but too plainly depicted in her countenance. However, that was the least of my troubles; I soon restored her to comparative calmness; and before I quitted her, made her promise she would come and see me.
She would gladly have evaded this request; but her son, the master of requests, who sufficiently misjudged me to fear my resentment, and who possessed great influence over her, induced her to present herself at my house. She accordingly came to call upon me, with a mind bursting with spite and jealousy; yet she choked down her angry passions, and so far humbled herself, as to entreat my pardon for her own sake and that of her family, for all her unkindness towards me. I would not allow her to finish; “Madame,” said I, “I only allow agreeable recollections to find a place in my memory; had I entertained the slightest resentment against either you or yours, you may be quite certain I should not have again entered your dwelling; and I again repeat the offer I made the other day, of gladly seizing the first opportunity of being useful to you.”
Each of these words expressive of the kindest feelings towards her was like the stab of a poniard. She, however, extolled them with the most exaggerated praise, imploring me to believe how deeply she regretted her behavior, and talked so long and so much about it, that when she quitted me, it was with the most certain impression on my mind, that in her I possessed a most violent and implacable enemy, and in this conclusion I was quite correct. M. Dudelay, her son, had the effrontery to request to be presented to me, and charged the excellent M. de Laborde to make known his wishes to me. I begged he would inform M. Dudelay, that I admitted into the circle of my acquaintance only such as were known to the king; and that if he thought proper to apply to his majesty, I should obey his royal will on the subject, whatever it might be. He justly considered this repulse as a biting raillery, for which he never forgave me. I entertained no ill will against him for his past perfidy, but I considered it strange that he should presume to approach me with familiarity. I should not have adopted the same line of conduct towards the farmer-general, his brother, who, less assuming, contented himself with assuring me of his devotion, and the sincere regret with which he contemplated the past, without ever seeking to introduce himself into my presence.
The chevalier de la Morlière—Portrait of the duc deChoiseul—The duc de Choiseul and the comtesse du Barry—No reconciliation effected—Madame du Barry and the ducd’Aiguillon—Madame du Barry and Louis XV
About this period I received a piece of attention, any thing but gratifying if considered in a strictly honourable sense. The contemptible chevalier de la Morlière, who detested me, and subsequently pursued me with rage, presumed to dedicate to me some wretched collection of his compositions, and I had the weakness to accept the dedication; I had even the still greater folly to receive its author at my house; this piece of condescension injured me greatly. Until that period I had not, like madame de Pompadour, shown myself the protectress and patroness of men of letters; and even my warmest friends could not deny, that in stepping forwards as the encourager of literature, I had made a very unfortunate choice in selecting the chevalier de la Morlière as the first object of my patronage. But how could I have done otherwise? The prince de Soubise, who found this man serviceable upon many occasions, would have sacrificed any thing to promote his advancement; and I have been assured, that had the maréchal taken half the pains on the day previous to the battle of Rasbach, we should not have left it so disgracefully.
The king well knew the unfortunate chevalier for a man as destitute of modesty as merit; when therefore he saw his book upon the mantel-piece of my drawing-room, he said,
“So! you are the inspiring muse of the chevalier de la Morlière; I only warn you, when the day comes for him to be hanged, not to ask me to pardon him.”
“Be assured,” replied I, “that I will never deprive the Place de Grêve of one so formed to do honour to it.”
In fact, the chevalier was within an ace of reaching it before his friends anticipated; for, very shortly after this conversation, he was guilty of the most detestable piece of knavery I ever heard of. He learned that an unfortunate young man from the country, into whose confidence he had wormed himself, was to receive 15,000 livres on his father’s account; he invited him to supper, and, by the aid of two villains like himself, stripped him of his last sous. Not satisfied with this, he wrote the father such an exaggerated account of his son’s loss and general bad habits, that the enraged and irritated parent procured an order to confine his son at Saint Lazare! Did you ever hear of a more infamous and accomplished rogue than my honourableprotégé? However, I shall give him up to his fate, be it good or bad, and proceed with the relation of my affair with duc de Choiseul.
I had named to madame de l’Hôpital the hour at which I could receive the duke. She had requested, in pursuance of her directions, no doubt, that the conversation between us should take place either amidst the groves of Versailles or in the labyrinth of Marly;—the self-love of M. de Choiseul inducing him to desire that this interview should be so contrived, as to wear the air of a mere chance rencontre. To this I would not consent; saying, that it did not suit my pleasure to quit the house; and that when a gentleman solicited the favour of speaking to a lady, it became his business to wait upon her, without expecting she should come in search of him; and, spite of all the arguments of madame de l’Hôpital, I persisted in my determination: she had no alternative but to submit, and I awaited the coming of M. de Choiseul on the following day.
The duc de Choiseul possessed a greater reputation than his talents were entitled to; and his advancement was more attributable to his good fort powerful assistants in both philosophers and women; he was a confirmed egotist, yet passed for a man who cared little for self. He was quick at matters of business, and he obtained the character of a deep and profound politician. It must, however, be admitted, that he was witty, gallant, and gifted with manners so elegant and fascinating, that they never failed to remove the first unfavourable impression caused by his excessive plainness. The tide of public favour was with him; and, in order to contest it, it required all the influence of a woman, and that woman to be no less than the beloved mistress of the king of France.
He presented himself before me tastefully and magnificently dressed, both look and voice wearing the stamp of high-born pride and haughtiness. Nevertheless, amidst all this pomp, it was evident that he did not entirely feel the ease he assumed, and that a species of remorse rankled at his heart, spite of the courtier-like gallantry with which he had invested himself.
“Madam,” said he, bowing twice most profoundly, “the moment has arrived which I have long most ardently desired.”
“The fault has not been mine, my lord,” said I, “that it has been delayed until now. My door has never been shut against any visit you might have honoured me with.”
“Ah, madam! why have I not known this sooner? Some evil planet ruled my thoughts when it occurred to me that I might not be so happy as to meet with a favourable reception.”
“There, my lord, you were indeed in error; for though I might not feel a very tender friendship towards you whilst supposing I had many causes for complaint, I could not refuse you those marks of respect your rank and station entitle you to receive.”
“Then, madam, I may flatter myself that I should have been kindly received?”
“Yes, sir, you would ever have been welcome, but not those belonging to you, for I will be perfectly candid; always excepting the duchesse de Choiseul, for whom I entertain the greatest veneration and respect.”
“She is indeed well worthy the exalted opinion you express of her; and had I followed her advice, I should not have been found amongst the ranks of your enemies.”
“You confess the fact then, monsieur le duc?” said I.
“I trust, madam, you will not take advantage of an inadvertent expression to turn it against myself. What I fear is, that without ever having been your enemy, I may have passed for such in your estimation; and such indeed is the cruel position in which I am placed.”
“Stay, my lord duke,” cried I; “be candid, and acknowledge that you are my enemy as you have ever been; and that it is only because there has been war between us that you are now come to conclude a treaty of peace—”
“Peace or war, madam,” replied he, “as you please to will it; all I will admit is, that things have turned out most unfavourably for my wishes. Your arrival at Versailles, your grace, beauty, and wit, excited universal jealousy; and, amidst the general panic caused by your all-excelling merit, was it not necessary I too should keep myself on my guard? For the first time in my life a beautiful woman became an object of alarm to me; you may further believe me, when I protest that, at the outset, I warmly defended you; but how could I wage war against so many—how oppose the general torrent? It bore me down.”
“And you fear lest it should carry you beyond your depth, and would fain return toterra firma; is it not so, my lord duke?”
At this ironical speech an expression of heavy displeasure rose to the countenance of M. de Choiseul, and he remained for several minutes like a man who fears to trust himself to reply. Then he added,
“Madam, when I solicited the favour of this conversation, it was with the sincerest desire of adjusting all differences between us, and it would but ill advance that purpose were I now to reply to you with warmth and petulance; condescend, on your part, to lay aside sarcasm and raillery. You have already too many advantages over me, and it would ill accord with your wonted generosity to insult a half-conquered foe.”
“You are right, my lord,” answered I; “jests and recrimination will effect nothing; let us rather proceed at once to consider what is best for the interest of both.”
“Willingly,” replied he. “Now you speak to the purpose; and as I was prepared to hear you—are you inclined for a serious discussion of our business?”
“Pray begin, my lord, I am all attention.”
“Well, madam, I deeply regret all that has passed, and deplore that my friends and part of my family should be disagreeable to you; I take upon myself to engage that their hostility shall end, and am willing to afford you the most perfect satisfaction upon this point. Impressed with highest respect for his majesty, and the most lively desire to serve him, I ask for nothing more than to be on good terms with those he loves; and as for the future, my unshrinking loyalty may be relied on.”
“I am well assured of it, my lord duke; and likewise you have never taken any part in the calumnies which have been aimed at me. Let us then forgive the and since we are agreed as to the future, let us speak but of the present. I have friends fitted to serve the king, whose ambition leads them to aspire to that honour. What will you do to assist them?”
“Ere I promise that, madam, it is necessary I should be acquainted with them.”
“What would it avail to name them to you? You perfectly well comprehend to whom I allude. I am resolutely decided to support them, and to employ for this purpose the friendship with which his majesty deigns to honour me.”
The duke coloured deeply at these words.
“Then, madam,” said he, “you would fain strip me to enrich others?”
“No, my lord, I ask but a division of your possessions. You cannot have every thing; and it would not be fair that our reconciliation should be profitable to you only.” “I did not anticipate, madam, in coming hither, that you would command me to offer up myself as a sacrifice upon an altar raised by you to the interests of your friends.”
“Meaning to say, my lord duke, that you will keep every thing to yourself. I cannot compliment you upon your liberality, however I may for your candour.”
“Madam, I have never since my entry into the ministry sought to live at the expense of my country, and let me resign office when I may, I shall retire loaded only with debts, whilst you and your friends draw large revenues from the nation.”
The conversation became warm and angry, the duke and myself, with crimson cheeks and inflamed countenances, surveyed each other with haughty defiance. At length he added,
“I had hoped that I should have quitted you more kindly disposed towards me.”
“And I, my lord, fancied that you were coming with an ardent desire for peace; but no, the spirit of your sister leads you astray, and you would fain punish me for her absence from court.”
“Madam, I beseech you to leave my sister in peace; she has gone, that ought to satisfy you. We will not, if you please, speak of her.”
“I only wish that she would likewise do me the honour to be silent respecting me. I am not ignorant that she continues to aim her slanders at me from afar as she did when near me. One might suppose that the sole object of her journeyings was but to excite all France against me.”
“Madam, you are mistaken. My sister—”
“Continues to play the same part in the country she did in Paris. She detests me because I happen to have youth and beauty on my side. May her hatred last forever.”
“Ah, madam, say not so; for with your charms you are indeed too formidable an antagonist; and the more so, as I clearly perceive you are not inclined for peace.”
“At least,” said I, “the war on my side shall be fair and open, and those belonging to you have not always waged it with me upon those terms.”
The duke merely warded off this last assertion by some unmeaning compliment, and we separated greater enemies than ever.
The first person to whom I could communicate what had passed was the duc d’Aiguillon. He listened to my recital without any decided expression of his opinion; but no sooner had I concluded, than he took me by the hand, and pressing it with a friendly grasp,
“How I congratulate you,” said he, “upon the good fortune which has extricated you from this affair. Do you know that a reconciliation with the duc de Choiseul would have involved your inevitable disgrace? What evil genius counselled you to act in such a manner?”
“I fancied I was doing right,” said I, “in thus proving to the king that I was not an unreasonable woman.”
“The Choiseuls,” replied he, “would have entangled you in their nets, and, separated from your real friends, would have made you the innocent author of your own destruction. Tell the king just so much, that the duc de Choiseul has been to see you, that you conversed together some time, and that he has offended you more than ever.”
“I promise you, my kind friend,” said I, “to follow your advice.”
When I next saw the king, I apprized him of the visit.
“That does not astonish me,” said Louis XV, “the duke is anxious to be on friendly terms with you.”
“He has then taken a very contrary road to arrive at my friendship,” said I; “if he really desires that we should be on good terms, he must conduct himself very differently”; and there the conversation ended. But several days afterwards, having sent away mymâitre d’hôtel, with whom I had reason to be dissatisfied, and the king appearing surprised at seeing a fresh countenance amongst my household, I said to him, “Sir, I have got rid ofmyChoiseul, when will it please you to get rid of yours?” The king, without replying to me, began to laugh; in which, for want of a better termination to my remark, I was constrained to join.
Dorine—Mademoiselle Choin and the maréchal d’Uxelles—Zamor—M. de Maupeou’s wig—Henriette—The duc de Villeroiand Sophie—Letter from the comtesse du Barry to the duc deVilleroi—His reply—The countess writes again—Madame duBarry and Sophie—Louis XV and the comtesse du Barry
Among the number which composed my household were three beings who played conspicuous parts in my family, and who received the kindest caresses in honour of their mistress. These three favoured objects were Dorine, Zamor, and Henriette. Following the order or disorder in which I have written thus far, I will first introduce my dear Dorine to your notice.
Sweet, beautiful Dorine! how amiably affectionate and attached to thy mistress wert thou! The poor animal still exists; for I would have you know that I am speaking of a most faithful little dog; now indeed grown old, asthmatic and snappish; but fifteen years since, distinguished for her lightness, swiftness, and grace, for her pretty little countenance, white teeth, large sparkling eyes, long tufted tail, and above all, for her snow-white coat, spotted here and there with the most beautiful brown.
Dorine was just three months old when madame de Montmorency brought her to me in her muff; her throat was adorned with a rich gold collar, bearing the arms of the du Barrys, and clasped with a large sapphire surrounded with diamonds. The moment she saw me Dorine leaped upon my lap with the most endearing familiarity, and from that period has never quitted me. My train of courtiers hastened to become those of the new favourite likewise; and pastrycooks and confectioners racked their brains to procure tempting morsels for the gentle Dorine. She sipped her coffee daily from a golden saucer, and Zamor (between whom and Dorine a mutual dislike existed) was appointed her cupbearer. The wonderful instinct of the highly gifted animal soon taught her, that although she had free permission to bark at all the rest of the world, there was one person in it to whom it behoved her to show herself in her most gracious and smiling moods; who this person was I leave it to your sagacity to divine. She, however, indemnified herself for this extra complaisance by barking and biting at all who approached; and the handsomest, best turned leg in the court was not secure from the sharp teeth of mademoiselle Dorine. Nevertheless, all vied in praising and fondling her, and I was enchanted with the general admiration she excited, as well as the attention she received. One day that I was exultingly relating to the duc d’Aguillon the cares and praises lavished on my dog, he replied, “The grand dauphin, son of Louis XIV, after the death of his wife, Marie Christine of Bavaria, secretly espoused mademoiselle Choin. The maréchal d’Uxelles, who was not ignorant of this marriage, professed himself the most devoted friend of the lady; he visited her regularly morning and evening, and even carried his desire to please her so far, as to send a servant with a dish of grilled hare for the house dog, who had a particular fancy for game dressed in that manner! These attentions and assiduities were faithfully continued for several years, till the grand dauphin died, and then no more morning and evening visits, no more presents to either mistress or dog. Apply the story well,” added the duke, as he terminated his recital. Unfortunately the application of the tale presented itself but too soon, and I have experienced the sad truth of the history of mademoiselle Choin. At the death of the king so, did my visitors disappear; and poor Dorine has partaken of the disgrace of the comtesse du Barry.
The second object of my regard was Zamor, a young African boy, full of intelligence and mischief; simple and independent in his nature, yet wild as his country. Zamor fancied himself the equal of all he met, scarcely deigning to acknowledge the king himself as his superior. This son of Africa was presented to me by the duc de Richelieu, clad in the picturesque costume of his native land; his head ornamented with feathers of every colour, a short petticoat of plaited grass around his waist, while the richest bracelets adorned his wrists, and chains of gold, pearls, and rubies, glittered over his neck and hung from his ears. Never would any one have suspected the old maréchal, whose parsimony was almost proverbial, of making such a magnificent present.
In honour of the tragedy of Alzire, I christened my little negro Zamor, to whom by degrees I became attached with all the tenderness of a mother. You ask me why? Indeed that is more than I can tell; perhaps at first I looked upon him as a sort of puppet or plaything, but, imperceptibly to myself, I became passionately fond of my little page, nor was the young urchin slow in perceiving the ascendancy he had gained over me, and, in the end, to abuse his influence, and attained, as I have before said, an almost incredible degree of insolence and effrontery. Still I pardoned all his folly, and amused myself from morning to night with watching his nimble fingers perform a thousand tricks of jugglery. Even now that I have lost the gaiety of my happy days, when I recall his irresistibly comic ways, I catch myself laughing, like an old simpleton, at the bare recollection of his monkey feats. I could relate twenty of his mischievous pranks, each more amusing than the other. I will, however, excuse you from hearing nineteen of them, upon condition that you shall listen to the twentieth, which I select as being the shortest.
One day, upon which I had invited some select friends to dinner, a superb pie was brought to table as a present which the ungallant M. de Maupeou had had the politeness to send me in the morning. One of the company proceeded to cut it, when scarcely had he pierced the crust, than its perfidious contents proved to be an immense swarm of cockchafers, which spread humming and buzzing all over the chamber. Zamor, who had never before seen these insects, began to pursue them all over the room, buzzing and humming as loudly as they did. The chase lasted a long time; but at last the poor cockchafers weary of carrying on the war, and mistaking the peruke of M. de Maupeou for an impregnable fortress, flew to take refuge there. What did Zamor do, but run to the chancellor, snatch off his wig, and carry it in triumph to a corner of the room with its colony of cockchafers, leaving us all to admire the bald head of the chief magistrate. I could willingly have enjoyed a hearty laugh at this scene, but, out of respect for M. de Maupeou, I feigned to be much displeased with Zamor, whom I desired one of the attendants to flog for his rudeness. However, the guests and the chancellor uniting in entreaties that I would pardon him, I was obliged to allow my assumed anger to give way to their request, and the culprit received a pardon.
There was but one person in the world whom Zamor really feared; he was however on good terms with all my friends, and did not disdain the society of the king. You have heard that the latter, by way of amusement, bestowed on my little negro the title of governor of the Pavillon de Lucienne, with a revenue arising therefrom of a thousand crowns, and that the chancellor caused the necessary papers to be prepared and delivered to him sealed with the state seal.
But of all the persons who visited me, the one most beloved by Zamor was madame de Mirepoix, who never came without bringing him amusing presents or some sweetmeats. The sight of her threw him into ecstasies of delight; and the moment he caught sight of her, he would clap his hands, leap with joy, dance around her, and kiss her hand, exclaiming, “Ah! mame la chale!” (“Ah! Madame la maréchale “). The poor maréchale always dreaded meeting the king when she came to visit me and Zamor; for the great delight of his majesty was to make my little negro repeat a name of Israelitish origin, which he did in so ridiculous a manner, that the modesty of my fair friend was most shockingly put to the blush.
One person alone never vouchsafed to bestow the slightest glance of encouragement upon my little imp of Africa, and this was comte Jean, who even went so far as to awe him into silence either by a frown or a gesture of impatience; his most lively tricks could not win a smile from the count, who was either thoughtful or preoccupied with some ambitious scheme of fortune. Zamor soon felt a species of instinctive dread of this overpowering and awe-inspiring genius, whose sudden appearance would chill him in his wildest fits of mirthful mischief, and send him cowering to a corner of the room; where he would remain huddled together, and apparently stupefied and motionless, till the count quitted the apartment.
At the moment of my writing this, Zamor still resides under my roof. During the years he has passed with me he has gained in height, but in none of the intellectual qualities does he seem to have made any progress; age has only stripped him of the charms of infancy without supplying others in their place; nor can I venture to affirm, that his gratitude and devotion to me are such as I have reason to expect they should be;* for I can with truth affirm, that I have never ceased to lavish kindness on him, and to be, in every sense of the word, a good mistress to him.