Madame du Barry purchases the services of Marin thegazetteer—Louis XV and madame de Rumas—M. de Rumas and thecomtesse du Barry—An intrigue—Denouement—A presentupon the occasion—The duc de Richelieu in disgrace—100,000livres
This Marin, a provençal by birth, in his childhood one of the choristers, and afterwards organist of the village church, was, at the period of which I am speaking, one of the most useful men possible. Nominated by M. de St. Florentin to the post of censor royal, this friend to the philosophers was remarkable for the peculiar talent, with which he would alternately applaud and condemn the writings of these gentlemen. Affixing his sanction to two lines in a tragedy by Dorat had cost him twenty-four hours’ meditation within the walls of the Bastille; and for permitting the representation of some opera (the name of which I forget) he had been deprived of a pension of 2,000 francs; but, wedded to the delights of his snug post, Marin always contrived, after every storm, to find his way back to its safe harbor. He had registered a vow never to resign the office of censor, but to keep it in despite of danger and difficulty. I soon discovered that he passed from the patronage of Lebel to that of Chamilly, and I was not slow in conjecturing that he joined to his avocations of censor and gazetteer that of purveyor to his majesty’spetits amours.
Spite of my indefatigable endeavors to render Louis XV happy and satisfied with the pleasures of his own home, he would take occasional wandering fits, and go upon the ramble, sometimes in pursuit of a high-born dame, at others eager to obtain a poor and simplegrisette; and so long that the object of his fancy were but new to him, it mattered little what were her claims to youth, beauty, or rank in life. The maréchale de Mirepoix frequently said to me, “Do you know, my dear creature, that your royal admirer is but a very fickle swain, who is playing the gay gallant when he ought to be quietly seated at his own fireside. Have a care, he is growing old, and his intellect becomes more feeble each day; and what he would never have granted some few years back, may be easily wrung from him now. Chamilly aspires at governing his master, and Marin seconds him in his project.”
At length, roused to a sense of impending evil, by the constant reminding of the maréchale, I summoned Marin to my presence. “Now, sir,” said I, as he approached, “I would have you to know that I am apprised of all your tricks: you and your friend Chamilly are engaged in a very clever scheme to improve your own fortunes at the expense of the king your master.”
Marin burst into loud protestations of his innocence, declaring that he was as innocent as the lamb just born. I refused to believe this, and desired he would explain to me why he went so frequently to the apartments of M. Chamilly.
“Alas, madam!” replied Marin, “I go thither but to solicit his aid in craving the bounty of his majesty.”
“You are for ever pleading poverty, miserly being,” cried I; “you are far richer than I am; but since you want money I will supply you with it, and in return you shall be my secret newsman, and royal censor in my service. Now understand me clearly; every month that you faithfully bring me an account of certain goings on, I will count into your hand five and twentylouis d’or.”
I must confess that Marin only accepted my proposition with much reluctance, but still he did accept it, and withdrew, meditating, no doubt, how he should be enabled to satisfy both Chamilly and myself.
A long time elapsed before Marin brought me any news of importance, and I began to feel considerable doubts of his fidelity, when he came to communicate a very important piece of intelligence. He had just learned that Chamilly frequently went to Paris, the bearer of letters from the ‘king to a young and pretty female, named madame de Rumas, who resided in the old rue du Temple.
Here was a pretty discovery; the king actually engaged in a love affair, letters passing between him and his mistress, whilst the headvalet de chambrewas acting the part of Mercury to the lovers. This indeed required some speedy remedy, and I lost no time in summoning my privy counsellor, Comte Jean, whom I acquainted with what had occurred, and begged his advice as to the best measures to be pursued. “Indeed,” replied my brother-in-law, “what others would do in our place would be to throw M. Chamilly from one of the windows of the château, and treat this his friend Marin with a lodging in the Bastille; but, as we are persons of temper and moderation, we will go more gently to work. I will, in the first place, gain every information relative to the affair, that I may satisfy myself Marin is not seeking to show his honest claims to your gold, by imposing a forged tale upon your credulity; when that is ascertained we will decide upon our next best step.”
Comte Jean departed to seek the assistance of M. de Sartines, who was at that time entirely devoted to my interests; and, after having diligently searched the whole rue du Temple, he succeeded in discovering madame de Rumas. He learnt that this lady had recently married a person of her own rank, to whom she professed to be violently attached; that they lived together with great tranquillity, and had the reputation of conducting themselves as persons of extreme propriety and regularity; paid their debts, and avoided, by their air of neatness, order, and modest reserve, the scandal of even their most ill-natured neighbors. The husband was said to be a great religionist, which increased the suspicions of Comte Jean. With regard to the epistolary correspondence carried on by the lady, no information could be gleaned in in that quarter.
Marin was again sent for by my brother-in-law, who questioned and cross-questioned with so much address, that Marin found it impossible to conceal any longer the remaining part of the affair, of which he had before communicated but so much as his policy deemed advisable. He confessed that he had originally mentioned madame de Rumas (whom he himself had long known) to Chamilly, had shown him several of her letters; and, as he expected, the style of these epistles so pleased the head valet, that he expressed a wish to see the fair writer. Marin accordingly introduced him to the rue du Temple, where he was most graciously received, and returned home enchanted with the lady: he spoke of her to the king, strongly recommending his majesty to judge for himself. Accordingly his majesty wrote to madame de Rumas, who received the letter from the hands of her friend Chamilly with all pomp and state, talked first of her own virtue and honor, and afterwards of her dutiful respect for his majesty. She replied to the royal note in so prudent yet obliging a manner, that the king was enchanted. This effective billet was answered by a second letter from the king, which obtained a reply even more tenderly charming than the one which preceded it. An interview was next solicited and granted; for a visit was such a trifle to refuse. The royal guest became pressing and the lady more reserved, till the time was lost in attempts at convincing each other. At the next interview madame de Rumas freely confessed her sincere attachment for his majesty, but added, that such was her desire to possess his whole and undivided regard, that she could never give herself up to the hope of keeping him exclusively hers whilst I interposed between her and the king’s heart—in a few words then she demanded my dismissal. This was going too far; and Louis XV, who thought it no scandal to have a hundred mistresses, was alarmed at the thoughts of occasioning the bustle and confusion attendant upon disgracing his acknowledged favorite and recognised mistress; he therefore assured her, her request was beyond his power to grant.
Madame de Rumas now sought to compromise the affair, by talking of a share in his favor. She asked, she said, but the heart of her beloved monarch, and would freely leave me in possession of all power and influence. The king whose heart was regularly promised once a day, did not hesitate to assure her of his fidelity, and his wily enslaver flattered herself, that with time and clever management, she should succeed in inducing him to break off those ties which he now refused to break.
Things were in this state when Marin divulged to us the intrigue conducted by Chamilly, and directed, though in a covert manner, by the maréchal duc de Richelieu. This spiteful old man possessed no share of the talent of his family; and, not contented with the favor bestowed on his nephew, thought only of his personal credit and influence, which he fancied he should best secure by introducing a new mistress to the king. This well-concocted scheme threw both Comte Jean and myself into a perfect fury. We dismissed Marin with a present of fifty louis, and my brother-in-law besought of me to grant him four and twenty hours undisturbed reflection, whilst, on my side, I assured him I should not rest until we had completely discomfited our enemies.
On the following day Comte Jean laid before me several projects, which were far from pleasing in my eyes; too much time was required in their execution. I knew the king too well to be blind to the danger of allowing this mere whim of the moment to take root in his mind. One idea caught my fancy, and without mentioning it to Comte Jean, I determined upon carrying it into execution.
The maréchale de Mirepoix happened at this moment not to be at Paris at her hotel in the rue Bergere, but at her country house, situated au Port à l’Anglaise. I signified to the king my intention of passing a couple of days with the maréchale, and accordingly set out for that purpose. Upon my arrival at Paris I merely changed horses, and proceeded onwards with all possible despatch to rejoin the maréchale, who was quite taken by surprise at my unexpected arrival. After many mutual embraces and exchange of civilities, I explained to her the whole affair which had brought me from Versailles. The good-natured maréchale could not believe her ears. She soon, however, comprehended the nature of my alarms; and so far from seeking to dissipate them, urged me to lose no time in crushing an affair, which grew more threatening from each day’s delay. I was fully of her opinion, and only asked her assistance and co-operation in my plan of writing to M. de Rumas, and inviting him to come on the following day to the house of madame de Mirepoix.
That lady would doubtless have preferred my asking her to assist me in any other way, but still she could not refuse to serve me in the manner described: for I either bestowed on her all she desired, or caused others to gratify her slightest request; and how could she be sure, that were my reign to end, she might derive the same advantages from any new favorite? Self-interest therefore bound her to my service, and accordingly she wrote to M. de Rumas a very pressing letter, requesting to see him on the following day upon matters of the highest importance. This letter sent off, I dined with the maréchale, and then returned to sleep at Paris.
On the following day, at an early hour, I repaired to the Port à l’Anglaise; M. de Rumas arrived there a few minutes after myself. He had the air and look of an honest man, but perhaps no species of deceit is more easily detected than that quiet, subdued manner, compressed lips, and uplifted eye. Now-a-days such a mode of dissembling would be too flimsy to impose even on children; and hypocrites are ever greater proficients in their art than was even M. de Rumas.
Madame de Mirepoix left us alone together, in order that I might converse more freely with him. I knew not how to begin, but made many attempts to convey, in an indirect manner, the reasons for his being summoned to that day’s conference. However, hints and insinuations were alike thrown away upon one who had determined neither to use eye’s nor ears but as interest pointed out the reasonableness of so doing; and accordingly, unable longer to repress my impatience, I exclaimed abruptly,
“Pray, sir, do you know who I am?”
“Yes, madam,” replied he, with a profound bow, and look of the deepest humility, “you are the comtesse du Barry.”
“Well, sir,” added I, “and you are equally well aware, no doubt, of the relation in which I stand to the king?”
“But, madam—”
“Nay, sir, answer without hesitation; I wish you to be candid, otherwise my exceeding frankness may displease you.”
“I know, madam,” replied the hypocrite, “that his majesty finds great pleasure in your charming society.”
“And yet, sir,” answered I, “his majesty experiences equal delight in the company of your wife. How answer you that, M. de Rumas?”
“My wife, madam!”
“Yes, sir, in the company of madame de Rumas; he pays her many private visits, secretly corresponds with her—”
“The confidence of his majesty must ever honor his subjects.”
“But,” replied I, quickly, “may dishonor a husband.”
“How, madam! What is it you would insinuate?”
“That your wife would fain supplant me, and that she is now the mistress of the king, although compelled to be such in secret.”
“Impossible,” exclaimed M. de Rumas, “and some enemy to my wife has thus aspersed her to you.”
“And do you treat it as a mere calumny?” said I. “No, sir, nothing can be more true; and if you would wish further confirmation, behold the letter which madame de Rumas wrote to the king only the day before yesterday; take it and read it.”
“Heaven preserve me, madam,” exclaimed the time-serving wretch, “from. presuming to cast my eyes over what is meant only for his majesty’s gracious perusal; it would be an act of treason I am not capable of committing.”
“Then, sir,” returned I, “I may reasonably conclude that it is with your sanction and concurrence your wife intrigues with the king?”
“Ah, madam,” answered the wily de Rumas, in a soft and expostulating tone, “trouble not, I pray you, the repose of my family. I know too well the virtue of madame de Rumas, her delicacy, and the severity of her principles; I know too well likewise the sentiments in which her excellent parents educated her, and I defy the blackest malice to injure her in my estimation.”
“Wonderfully, sir!” cried I; “so you determine to believe your wife’s virtue incorruptible, all the while you are profiting by her intrigues. However, I am too certain of what I assert to look on with the culpable indifference you are pleased to assume, whilst yourvirtuouswife is seeking to supplant me at the château; you shall hear of me before long. Adieu, sir.”
So saying, I quitted the room in search of the maréchale, to whom I related what had passed.
“And now, what think you of so base a hypocrite?” asked I, when I had finished my account.
“He well deserves having the mask torn from his face,” replied she; “but give yourself no further concern; return home, and depend upon it, that, one way or other, I will force him into the path of honor.”
I accordingly ordered my carriage and returned to Versailles, where, on the same evening, I received the following letter from the maréchale:—
“MY DEAR COUNTESS,—My efforts have been attended with no better success than yours. Well may the proverb say, ‘There is none so deaf as he who will not hear,’ and M. de Rumas perseveres in treating all I advanced respecting his wife as calumnious falsehoods. According to his version of the tale, madame de Rumas has no other motive in seeing Louis XV so frequently, but to implore his aid in favor of the poor in her neighborhood. I really lost all patience when I heard him attempting to veil his infamous conduct under the mask of charity; I therefore proceeded at once to menaces, telling him that you had so many advantages over his wife, that you scorned to consider her your rival: but that, nevertheless, you did not choose that any upstart pretender should dare ask to share his majesty’s heart. To all this he made no reply; and as the sight of him only increased my indignation, I at length desired him to quit me. I trust you will pardon me for having spoken in as queenlike a manner as you could have done yourself.
“Adieu, my sweet friend.”
This letter was far from satisfying me, and I determined upon striking a decisive blow. I sent for Chamilly, and treating him with all the contempt he deserved, I told him, that if the king did not immediately give up this woman he might prepare for his own immediate dismissal. At first Chamilly sought to appease my anger by eager protestations of innocence, but when he found I already knew the whole affair, and was firmly fixed in my determination, he became alarmed, threw himself at my knees, and promised to do all I would have him. We then agreed to tell Louis XV some tale of madame de Rumas that should effectually deter him from thinking further of her.
In pursuance with this resolution, Chamilly informed the king, that he had just been informed that madame de Rumas had a lover, who boasted of being able to turn his majesty which way he pleased, through the intervention of his mistress. Louis XV wrote off instantly to M. de Sartines, to have a watchful eye over the proceedings of the Rumas family. The lieutenant of police, who had some regard for me, and a still greater portion of fear, was faithful to my interests, and rendered to Louis XV the most horrible particulars of the profligate mode of life pursued by madame de Rumas; assuring him, that from every consideration of personal safety, his majesty should shun the acquaintance. The king, incensed at the trick put upon him by these seemingly virtuous people, was at first for confining both husband and wife in prison, but this measure I opposed with all my power; for, satisfied with the victory I had gained, I cared for no further hurt to my adversaries. I contrived, to insinuate to the worthy pair the propriety of their avoiding the impending storm by a timely retreat into the country, a hint they were wise enough to follow up, so that I was entirely freed from all further dread of their machinations.
All those who had served me in this affair I liberally rewarded; Marin received for his share 500 louis. It is true he lost the confidence of Chamilly, but he gained mine instead, so that it will easily be believed he was no sufferer by the exchange. I caused the maréchale to receive from the king a superb Turkey carpet, to which I added a complete service of Sèvres porcelain, with a beautiful breakfast set, on which were landscapes most delicately and skilfully drawn in blue and gold: I gave her also two large blue porcelain cots, as finely executed as those you have so frequently admired in my small saloon. These trifles cost me no less a sum than 2800 livres. I did not forget my good friend M. de Sartines, who received a cane, headed with gold, around which was a small band of diamonds. As for Chamilly, I granted him his pardon; and I think you will admit that was being sufficiently generous.
After having thus recompensed the zeal of my friends, I had leisure to think of taking vengeance upon the duc de Richelieu for the part he had acted. He came of his own accord to throw himself into the very heat of my anger. He had been calling on the maréchale de Mirepoix, where he had seen with envious eyes the magnificent carpet I had presented her with; the cupidity of the duke induced him, after continually recurring to the subject, to say, that where my friends were concerned, no one could accuse me of want of liberality. “No, sir,” answered I, “I consider that no price can sufficiently repay the kind and faithful services of a true friend, nor can baseness and treachery be too generally exposed and punished.” From the tone in which I spoke the old maréchal easily perceived to what I was alluding. He was wise enough to be silent, whilst I followed up this first burst of my indignation, by adding,
“For instance, monsieur le duc, how can I sufficiently repay your friendly zeal to supply the king with a new mistress?”
“I, madam?”
“Yes, sir, you; I am aware of all your kind offices, and only lament my inability to reward them in a suitable manner.”
“In that case I shall not attempt to deny my share in the business.”
“You have then sufficient honor to avow your enmity towards me?”
“By no means enmity, madam. I merely admit my desire to contribute to the amusement of the king, and surely, when I see all around anxious to promote the gratification of their sovereign, I need not be withheld from following so loyal an example. The duc de Duras was willing to present his own relation for his majesty’s acceptance, the abbé Terray offers his own daughter, Comte Jean his sister-in-law, whilst I simply threw a humble and modest female in his majesty’s path. I cannot see in what my fault exceeds that of the gentlemen I have just mentioned.”
“You really are the most audacious of men,” replied I, laughing; “I shall be obliged to solicit alettre de cachetto hold you a prisoner in Guienne. Upon my word, your nephew and myself have a valuable and trustworthy friend in you.”
“Hark ye, madam,” rejoined the maréchal. “I know not, in the first place, whether his majesty would very easily grant you thislettre de cachet, which most certainly I do not deserve. You have served my nephew and neglected me; I wished to try the strength of my poor wings, and I find, like many others, that I must not hope to soar to any height.”
While we were thus talking the maréchale de Mirepoix was announced. I was still much agitated, and she immediately turned towards the duke, as if to inquire of him the cause of my distress: upon which, M. de Richelieu related all that had passed with a cool exactitude that enraged me still further. When he had finished, I said,
“Well, madame la maréchale, and what is your opinion of all this?”
“Upon my word, my dear countess,” answered madame de Mirepoix, “you have ample cause for complaint, but still this poor duke is not so culpable as you imagine him to be. He has large expenses to provide for: and to obtain the money requisite for them he is compelled to look to his majesty, whose favor he desires to win by administering to his pleasures.”
“Alas!” replied the duke, “can you believe that but for the pressure of unavoidable circumstances I would have separated myself from my nephew and my fair friend there?”
“Come, come,” cried the maréchale, “I must restore peace and harmony between you. As for you, my lord duke, be a true and loyal subject; and you, my sweet countess, use your best endeavors to prevail on the king to befriend and assist his faithful servant.”
I allowed myself to be managed like a child; and instead of scratching the face of M. de Richelieu, I obtained for him a grant of 100,000 livres, which the court banker duly counted out to him.
A prefatory remark—Madame Brillant—The maréchale deLuxembourg’s cat—Despair of the maréchale—The ambassador,Beaumarchais, and the duc de Chaulnes—the comte d’Aranda—Louis XV and his relics—The abbé de Beauvais—His sermons—He is appointed bishop
When I related to comte Jean my reconciliation with the duc de Richelieu, and the sum which this treaty had cost me, my brother-in-law flew into the most violent fury; he styled the maréchal a plunderer of the public treasury. Well may the scripture tell us we see the mote in our neighbor’s eye, but regard not the beam which is in our own eye. I was compelled to impose silence on comte Jean, or in the height of his rage he would have offered some insult to the old maréchal, who already most heartily disliked him for the familiarity of his tone and manner towards him. I did all in my power to keep these two enemies from coming in each other’s way, counselled to that by the maréchale de Mirepoix, whose line of politics was of the most pacific nature; besides I had no inclination for a war carried on in my immediate vicinity, and, for my own part, so far from wishing to harm any one, I quickly forgave every affront offered to myself.
But hold! I perceive I am running on quite smoothly in my own praise. Indeed, my friend, it is well I have taken that office upon myself, for I fear no one else would undertake it. The most atrocious calumnies have been invented against me; I have been vilified both in prose and verse; number of persons on whom I have conferred the greatest obligations, none has been found with sufficient courage or gratitude to stand forward and undertake my defence. I do not even except madame de Mirepoix, whose conduct towards me in former days was marked by the most studied attention. She came to me one evening, with a face of grief.
“Mercy upon me,” cried I, “what ails you?”
“Alas!” replied she, in a piteous tone, “I have just quitted a most afflicted family; their loss is heavy and irreparable. The maréchale de Luxembourg is well nigh distracted with grief.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed I, “can the duchesse de Lauzun be dead?”
“Alas! no.”
“Perhaps poor madame de Boufflers?”
“No, my friend.”
“Who then is the object of so much regret? Speak; tell me.”
“Madame Brillant.”
“A friend of the old maréchale ‘s?”
“More than a friend,” replied madame de Mirepoix; “her faithful companion; her only companion; her only beloved object, since her lovers and admirers ceased to offer their homage—in a word, her cat.”
“Bless me!” cried I, “how you frightened me! But what sort of a cat could this have been to cause so many tears?”
“Is it possible that you do not know madame Brillant, at least by name?”
“I assure you,” said I, “this is the very first time I ever heard her name.”
“Well, if it be so, I will be careful not to repeat such a thing to madame de Luxembourg; she would never pardon you for it. Listen, my dear countess,” continued madame de Mirepoix; “under the present circumstances it will be sufficient for you to write your name in her visiting-book.”
I burst into a fit of laughter.
“It is no joke, I promise you,” exclaimed the maréchale; “the death of madame Brillant is a positive calamity to madame de Luxembourg. Letters of condolence will arrive from Chanteloup; madame du Deffant will be in deep affliction, and the virtues and amiable qualities of the deceased cat will long furnish subjects of conversation.”
“It was then a singularly engaging animal, I presume?”
“On the contrary, one of the most stupid, disagreeable, and dirty creatures of its kind; but still it was the cat of madame de Luxembourg.”
And after this funeral oration the maréchale and myself burst into a violent fit of laughter.
When the king joined us, I acquainted him with this death, and my conversation with the maréchale. Louis XV listened to my recital with an air of gravity; when I had finished, he said, “The present opportunity is admirably adopted for satisfying the request of one of my retinue, one of the best-hearted creatures, and at the same time one of the silliest men in the kingdom.”
“I beg your pardon, sire,” cried I, “but what is his name? For the description is so general, that I fear lest I should be at a loss to recollect of whom you are speaking.”
“You are very ill-natured,” cried Louis XV, “and I hardly know whether you deserve to be gratified by hearing the name of the poor gentleman: however, I will tell it to you; he is called Corbin de la Chevrollerie. A few days since this simple young man, having solicited an audience, informed me, that he was desirous of marrying a rich heiress, but that the young lady’s family were resolved she should marry no one who was not previously employed as an ambassador. I expressed my surprise at so strange a caprice, but the poor fellow endeavored to vindicate his bride’s relations, by stating that that they were willing to consider him as my ambassador if I would only commission him to carry some message of compliment or condolence. Accordingly I promised to employ him upon the occasion of the first death or marriage which should take place in a ducal family. Now, I think I cannot do better than make him the bearer of my inquiries after the maréchale de Luxembourg.”
This idea struck me as highly amusing, and I immediately dispatched a servant to summon M. de la Chevrollerie to the presence of the king. This being done, that gentleman presented himself with all the dignity and importance of one who felt that a mission of high moment was about to be entrusted to him.
His majesty charged him to depart immediately to the house of madame de Luxembourg, and to convey his royal master’s sincere condolences for the heavy loss she had sustained in madame Brillant.
M. Corbin de la Chevrollerie departed with much pride and self-complacency upon his embassy: he returned in about half an hour.
“Sire,” cried he, “I have fulfilled your royal pleasure to madame de Luxembourg. She desires me to thank you most humbly for your gracious condescension: she is in violent distress for the severe loss she has experienced, and begged my excuse for quitting me suddenly, as she had to superintend the stuffing of the deceased.”
“The stuffing!” exclaimed the king; “surely you mean the embalming?”
“No, sire,” replied the ambassador, gravely, “the stuffing.”
“Monsieur de la Chevrollerie,” cried I, bursting into a violent fit of laughter, “do you know in what degree of relationship the deceased madame Brillant stood to madame de Luxembourg?”
“No, madam,” replied the ambassador, gravely, “but I believe she was her aunt, for I heard one of the females in waiting say, that this poor madame Brillant was very old, and that she had lived with her mistress during the last fourteen years.”
Thus finished this little jest. However, Louis XV, who was extremely kind to all about him, especially those in his service, shortly after recompensed his simple-minded ambassador, by intrusting him with a commission at once profitable and honorable.
Another event which took place at this period, caused no less noise than the death of madame Brillant. At this time, mademoiselle Mesnard was, for her many charms of mind and person, the general rage throughout Paris. Courtiers, lawyers, bankers, and citizens crowded alike to offer their homage. Frail as fair, mademoiselle Mesnard received all kindly, and took with gracious smiles the rich gifts showered upon her by her various adorers. The first noblemen of the court, knights of the different orders, farmers-general, all aspired to the honor of ruining themselves for her. She had already satisfied the ruinous propensities of at least a dozen of lovers, when the duc de Chaulnes entered the lists, and was fortunate enough to eclipse all his rivals. He might long have enjoyed the preference thus obtained, but for an act of the greatest imprudence of which a lover could be guilty. He was so indiscreet as to invite several of his most intimate friends to sup with himself and Mademoiselle Mesnard. Amongst the number was Caron de Beaumarchais, a man possessed of the grace of a prince and the generous profusion of a highwayman. Caron de Beaumarchais attracted the fancy of the fickle mademoiselle Mesnard, a mutual understanding was soon established between them, and in a snug little cottage surrounded by beautiful grounds in the environs of Pere la Chaise, the enamored lovers frequently met to exchange their soft vows.
Happily the deity who presided over the honor of the duke was carefully watching their proceedings. This guardian angel was no other than madame Duverger, his former mistress, who, unable to bear the desertion of her noble admirer, had vowed, in the first burst of rage and disappointment, to have revenge sooner or later upon her triumphant rival. With this view she spied out all the proceedings of mademoiselle Mesnard, whose stolen interviews and infidelity she was not long in detecting; she even contrived to win over afemme de chambre, by whose connivance she was enabled to obtain possession of several letters containing irrefragable proofs of guilt, and these she immediately forwarded to the duc de Chaulnes.
This proud and haughty nobleman might have pardoned his mistress had she quitted him for a peer of the realm and his equal, but to be supplanted by a mere man of business, an author, too!—the disgrace was too horrible for endurance. The enraged lover flew to Beaumarchais, and reproached him bitterly with his treachery; the latter sought to deny the charge, but the duke, losing all self-possession, threw the letters in his face, calling him a base liar. At this insult, Beaumarchais, who, whatever his enemies may say of him, was certainly not deficient in courage, demanded instant satisfaction. The duke, by way of answer, seized the man of letters by the collar, Beaumarchais called his servants, who, in their turn, summoned the guard, which speedily arrived accompanied by the commissary, and with much difficulty they succeeded in removing M. de Chaulnes (who appeared to have entirely lost his reason) from the room.
The conduct of the duke appeared to us completely out of place, and he would certainly have answered for it within the walls of the Bastille, had not his family made great intercession for him. On the other hand, Beaumarchais, who eagerly availed himself of every opportunity of writing memorials, composed one on the subject of his quarrel with M. de Chaulnes, complaining that a great nobleman had dared to force himself into his house, and lay forcible hands on him, as though he were a thief or a felon. The whole of the pamphlet which related to this affair was admirably written, and, like the “Barber of Seville,” marked by a strongly sarcastic vein. However, the thing failed, and the duc de la Vrillière, the sworn enemy of men of wit and talent, caused Beaumarchais to be immediately confined within Fort l’Eveque. So that the offended party was made to suffer the penalty of the offence.
In the same year the comte de Fuentes, ambassador from Spain to the court of Louis XV, took leave of us. He was replaced by the comte d’Aranda, who was in a manner in disgrace with his royal master: this nobleman arrived preceded by a highly flattering reputation. In the first place, he had just completed the destruction of the Jesuits, and this was entitling him to no small thanks and praises from encyclopedists. Every one knows those two lines of Voltaire’s—
“Aranda dans l’Espagne instruisant les fidèles,A l’inquisition vient de rogner les ailes.” ** “Aranda in Spain instructing the faithfulat the Inquisition has just clipped wings.”—Gutenberg ed.
The simplicity of comte d’Aranda indemnified us in some degree for the haughty superciliousness of his predecessor. Although no longer young, he still preserved all the tone and vigor of his mind, and only the habit which appeared to have been born with him of reflecting, gave him a slow and measured tone in speaking. His reserved and embarrassed manners were but ill-calculated to show the man as he really was, and it required all the advantages of intimacy to see him in his true value. You may attach so much more credit to what I say of this individual, as I can only add, that he was by no means one of my best friends.
When Louis XV heard of the nomination of the comte d’Aranda to the embassy from Spain to France, he observed to me,
“The king of Spain gets rid of his Choiseul by sending him to me.”
“Then why not follow so excellent an example, sire?” replied I; “and since your Choiseul is weary of Chanteloup, why not command him upon some political errand to the court of Madrid.”
“Heaven preserve me from such a thing,” exclaimed Louis XV. “Such a man as he is ought never to quit the kingdom, and I have been guilty of considerable oversight to leave him the liberty of so doing. But to return to comte d’Aranda; he has some merit I understand; still I like not that class of persons around me; they are inexorable censors, who condemn alike every action of my life.”
However, not the king’s greatest enemy could have found fault with his manner of passing his leisure hours. A great part of each day was occupied in a mysterious manufacture of cases for relics, and one of hisvalets de chambre, named Turpigny, was intrusted with the commission of purchasing old shrines and reliquaries; he caused the sacred bones, or whatever else they contain, to be taken out by Grandelatz, one of his almoners, re-adjusted, and then returned to new cases. These reliquaries were distributed by him to his daughters, or any ladies of the court of great acknowledged piety. When I heard of this I mentioned it to the king, who wished at first to conceal the fact; but, as he was no adept at falsehood or disguise, he was compelled to admit the fact.
“I trust, sire,” said I, “that you will bestow one of your prettiest and best-arranged reliquaries on me.”
“No, no,” returned he, hastily, “that cannot be.”“And why not?” asked I.
“Because,” answered he, “it would be sinful of me. Ask anything else in my power to bestow, and it shall be yours.”
This was no hypocrisy on the part of Louis XV, who, spite of his somewhat irregular mode of life, professed to hold religion in the highest honor and esteem; to all that it proscribed he paid the submission of a child. We had ample proofs of this in the sermons preached at Versailles by the abbé de Beauvais, afterwards bishop of Senetz.
This ecclesiastic, filled with an inconsiderate zeal, feared not openly to attack the king in his public discourses; he even went so far as to interfere with many things of which he was not a competent judge, and which by no means belonged to his jurisdiction: in fact, there were ample grounds for sending the abbé to the Bastille. The court openly expressed its dissatisfaction at this audacity, and for my own part I could not avoid evincing the lively chagrin it caused me. Yet, would you believe it, Louis XV declared, in a tone from which there was no appeal abbé had merely done his duty, and that those who had been less scrupulous in the performance of theirs, would do well to be silent on the subject. This was not all; the cardinal de la Roche Aymon, his grand almoner, refused to sanction the nomination of M. de Beauvais to the bishopric, under the pretext of his not being nobly descended.
M. de Beyons, bishop of Carcassone, a prelate of irreproachable character, was deeply distressed to find that the want of birth would exclude M. de Beauvais from the dignities of his holy profession. He went to discuss the matter with the grand almoner, who again advanced his favorite plea for excluding M. de Beauvais. “My lord,” replied M. de Beyons, “if I believed that nobility of descent were the chief requisite for our advancement in our blessed calling, I would trample my crosier under foot, and renounce for ever all church dignities.”
M. de Beyons sought the king, and loudly complained to him of the infatuation and obstinacy of M. de la Roche Aymon. Louis XV however commanded that M. de Beauvais should be appointed to the first vacant see, and when the grand almoner repeated his objections to the preferment, the king answered, “Monsieur le cardinal, in the days of our blessed Saviour the apostles had no need to present their genealogical tree, duly witnessed and attested. It is my pleasure to make M. de Beauvais a bishop; let that end the discussion of the matter.”
The command was too peremptory to admit of any course but instant and entire submission.
M. D——n and madame de Blessac—Anecdote—The rendezvousand the Ball—The wife of Gaubert—They wish to give her tothe king—Intrigues—Their results—Letter from the duc dela Vrillière to the countess—Reply—Reconciliation
Amongst the pages of the chapel was one whom the king distinguished so greatly, that he raised him to the rank of a gentleman of the bedchamber, and confided to his charge the cabinet of medals, for which he had imbibed a taste since his liaison with madame de Pompadour. This esteemed page was named M. D——-n, who united to the most amiable wit a varied and deep knowledge of men and things. He had had adventures at an age when they are usually just understood, and talked of them with the utmost indiscretion. But this so far from doing him any injury in the eyes of the world only served to make him the more admired; for women in general have an inclination for those who do not respect their reputation.
At the period I allude to a madame de Blessac, a very well-looking woman, took upon herself to be very kindly disposed towards the gentleman-in-waiting. She told him so, and thereupon M. de D———n ranged himself under her banner, and swore eternal constancy. However, the lady, by some accident, became greatly smitten with the prince de la Trimouille, and without quitting the little keeper of medals, gave him a lord for a substitute. M. D———n soon learnt this fact, that he was not the sole possessor of a heart which formed all his joy and glory. He found he was deceived, and he swore to be revenged.
Now the prince de la Trimouille had for his mistress mademoiselle Lubert, an opera-dancer, very pretty and extraordinarily silly. M. D———n went to her; “Mademoiselle,” said he, “I come to offer my services to you in the same way that M. de la Trimouille has offered his to madame de Blessac, with whom I was on exceedingly intimate terms.”
The services of young D———n were accepted, and he was happy. He then wrote to his former mistress, saying, that anxious to give her a proof of his sincere attachment he had visited mademoiselle Lubert, that he might leave her at leisure to receive the visits of the prince de la Trimouille.
Madame de Blessac, stung to the quick, quarrelled with the prince, who was excessively enraged with his rival; and there certainly would have been an affair between these two gentlemen, had not the king preserved the peace by sending his gentleman to St. Petersburg asattachéto the embassy. M. D———n went to Russia, therefore, and on his return came to see me, and is now one of the most welcome and agreeable of the men of my private circle.
As to madame de Blessac, she continued to carry on the war in grand style. Her husband dying she married again a foolish count, three parts ruined, and who speedily dissipated the other quarter of his own fortune and the whole of his wife’s. Madame Ramosky then attacked the rich men of the day one after another. One alone stood out against her; it was M. de la Garde, who had been one of my admirers. Madame Ramoski wrote to him; he did not answer. At length she determined on visiting him, and wrote him a note, to say that she should call upon him about six o’clock in the evening. What did M. de la Garde? Why he gave a ball on that very evening; and, when madame Ramoski reached his hotel, she found it illuminated. As she had come quite unprepared she was compelled to return as she came, very discontentedly.
But to leave madame de Blessac and M. D———n, and to talk of my own matters. We had at this period a very great alarm at the château, caused by the crime of a man, who preferred rather to assassinate his wife than to allow her to dishonor him. It is worthy of narration.
A pretty shopkeeper of Paris, named Gaubert, who lived in the rue de la Montagne Sainte-Geneviève, had recently married a woman much younger than himself. From the Petit Pont to the rue Mouffetard, madame Gaubert was talked of for her lovely face and beautiful figure; she was the Venus of the quarter. Everybody paid court to her, but she listened to none of her own rank, for her vanity suggested that she deserved suitors of a loftier rank.
Her husband was very jealous. Unfortunately M. Gaubert had for cousin one of the valets of the king: this man, who knew the taste of his master, thought how he could best turn his pretty cousin to account. He spoke to her of the generosity of Louis XV, of the grandeur of Versailles, and of the part which her beauty entitled her to play there. In fact, he so managed to turn the head of this young woman, that she begged him to obtain for her a place in the king’s favor. Consequently Girard (that was his name) went to madame de Laugeac, and told her the affair as it was. She pleased with an opportunity of injuring me, went to Paris, and betook herselfincog.to the shop of madame Gaubert. She found her charming, and spoke of her to the duc de la Vrillière, and both agreed to show her portrait to his majesty. But how to procure this portrait? Her husband was her very shadow, and never left her.Le petit saint, who was never at a loss, issued alettre de cachetagainst him, and the unfortunate man was shut up in Fort l’Evéque. It was not until the portrait was finished that he was set at liberty.
He returned to his home without guessing at the motives of his detention, but he learned that his wife had had her portrait painted during his absence, and his jealousy was set to work. Soon a letter from Girard, a fatal letter, which fell into his hands, convinced him of the injury done him. He took his wife apart, and, feigning a resignation which he did not feel, “My love,” he said, “I loved thee, I love thee still: I thought, too, that thou wert content with our competence, and wouldst not have quitted thine husband for any other in the world: I have been convinced otherwise. A letter from Girard informs me, that with thine own consent the king, whom thy portrait has pleased, desires to see thee this very day. It is a misfortune, but we must submit. Only before thou art established at Versailles, I should wish thee to dine with me once more. You can invite cousin Girard, too, for I owe him something for what he has done for thee.”
The young wife promised to return and see her husband. That evening at the performance at the court she was seated in the same box with the marquise de Laugeac; the king’s glass was directed towards her the whole time, and at the termination of the spectacle it was announced to her, that she was to sleep at the château the next evening. The project was never realized.
The next day, according to promise, the young wife went to Paris with the valet. She informed her husband of the success which had befallen her, and he appeared delighted. Dinner being ready, they seated themselves at table, ate and drank. Girard began to laugh at his cousin for his complaisance, when suddenly all desire to jest left him. He experienced most horrible pains, and his cousin suffered as well as himself. “Wretches!” said Gaubert to them, “did you think I would brook dishonor? No, no! I have deceived you both the better to wreak my vengeance. I am now happy. Neither king nor valet shall ever possess my wife. I have poisoned you, and you must die.” The two victims implored his pity. “Yes,” said he to his wife, “thy sufferings pain me, and I will free you from them.” e then plunged a knife to her heart; and, turning to Girard, said, “As for thee, I hate thee too much to kill thee; die.” And he left him.
The next day M. de Sartines came and told me the whole story. He had learnt them from the valet, who had survived his poisoning for some hours. Gaubert could not be found, and it was feared that he would attempt some desperate deed. No one dared mention it to the king, but the captain of the guards and the first gentleman in waiting took every possible precaution; and when Louis XV asked for the young female who was to be brought to him, they told him that she had died of a violent distemper. It was not until some days afterwards that the terror which pervaded the château ceased. They had found the body of the unfortunate Gaubert on the banks of the Seine.
In spite of what had passed, the duc de la Vrillière had the impudence to present himself to me. I treated him with disdain, reproaching him and Laugeac for their conduct. He left me in despair, and wrote me the following letter:—
“MADAME LA COMTESSE,-Your anger kills me. I am guilty, but not so much so as you may imagine. The duty of my office compels me to do many things which are disagreeable to me. In the affair for which you have so slightingly treated me there was no intent to injure you, but only to procure for the king an amusement which should make him the more estimate your charms and your society. Forgive a fault in which my heart bore no share; I am sufficiently miserable, and shall not know repose until I be reinstated in your good graces.
“As for the poor marchioness she is no more to blame than myself. She feels for you as much esteem as attachment, and is anxious to prove it at any opportunity. I beseech you not to treat her rigorously. Think that we only work together for the good of the king, and that it would be unjust of you to hate us because we have endeavored to please this excellent prince. I hope that, contented with this justification, you will not refuse to grant me the double amnesty which I ask of your goodness.”
I replied thus:—
“Your letter, monsieur le duc, seduces me no more than your words. I know you well, and appreciate you fully. I was ignorant up to this time, that amongst the duties of your office, certain such functions were imposed upon you. It appears that you attend to them as well as to others, and I sincerely compliment you thereupon; I beg of you to announce it in the ‘Court Kalendar.’ It will add, I am convinced, to the universal esteem in which you are held.
“As to madame de Laugeac, she is even more insignificant than you, and that is not saying much. I thank her for her esteem and attachment, but can dispense with any marks of them; no good can come from such an one as she. Thus, M. le duc, keep quiet both of you, and do not again attempt measures which may compromise me. Do your business and leave me to mine.
“I am, with all due consideration,
“Your servant,
“COMTESSE DU BARRY”
I mentioned this to the king, who insisted on reconciling me withle petit saint, who came and knelt to me. I granted the pardon sought, out of regard for Louis XV; but from that moment the contempt I felt for the duke increased an hundredfold.