"Ah," I exclaimed, "because she has participated in your friendship you are ready to support her."

"Do not say so in a loud tone," he replied laughingly; "her joy would know no bounds if she could believe it was in her power to inspire you with jealousy."

"But," I said, "that insolent Guemenee; has she also to plume herself on your favors as an excuse for overpowering me with her hatred, and for tearing me to pieces in the way she does?"

"No," was the king's answer; "she is wrong, and I will desire her father-in-law to say so."

"And I will come to an explanation with the prince de Soubise on this point; and we will see whether or not I will allow myself to have my throat cut like an unresisting sheep."

I did not fail to keep my word. The prince de Soubise came the next morning; chance on that day induced him to be extraordinarily gallant towards me; never had he praised me so openly, or with so much exaggeration. I allowed him to go on; but when at length he had finished his panegyric, "Monsieur le marechal," said I to him, "you are overflowing with kindness towards me, and I wish that all the members of your family would treat me with the same indulgence."

Like a real courtier he pretended not to understand me, and made no reply, hoping, no doubt, that the warmth of conversation would lead me to some other subject; but this one occupied me too fully to allow me to divert my attention from it; and, seeing that he continued silent, I continued: "Far from treating me as well as you do, madame your daughter-in-law behaves towards me like a declared enemy; she assails me by all sorts of provocation, and at last will so act, that I shall find myself compelled to struggle against her with open force."

You must be a courtier, you must have been in the presence of a king who is flattered from morning to night in all his caprices, to appreciate the frightful state in which my direct attack placed the prince de Soubise. Neither his political instinct, nor the tone of pleasantry which he essayed to assume, nor the more dangerous resource of offended dignity, could extricate him from the embarrassment in which he was thrown by my words. He could do nothing but stammer out a few unintelligible phrases; and his confusion was so great and so visible, that the marquis de Chauvelin, his not over sincere friend, came to his assistance. The king, equally surprised at what I had just said, hastily turned and spoke to Chon, who told me afterwards, that the astonishment of Louis XV had been equal to that of the prince de Soubise, and that he had evinced it by the absence of mind which he had manifested in his discourse and manners.

M. de Chauvelin then turning towards me, said, "Well, madame, on what evil herb have you walked to-day? Can it be possible that you would make the prince, who is your friend, responsible for the hatred which ought to be flattering rather than painful to you, since it is a homage exacted towards your brilliant loveliness?"

"In the first place," I replied, "I have no intention to cast on monsieur le marechal, whom I love with all my heart, the least responsibility relative to the object of which I complain. I only wished to evince to him the regret I experienced at not seeing all the members of his family like him: this is all. I should be in despair if I thought I had said anything that would wound him; and if I have done so, I most sincerely ask his pardon."

On saying these words I presented my hand to the prince, who instantly kissed it.

"You are," said he, "at the same time cruel and yet most amiable: but if you have the painful advantage of growing old at court, you will learn that my children have not all the deference and respect towards me which they owe to their father; and I often am pained to see them act in a manner entirely opposite to my desires, however openly manifested. If my daughter does not love you, it is to me, most probably, that you must look for the and : it is because I love you so much that she is against you. I have committed an error in praising you before her, and her jealousy was not proof against it."

"That is very amiable in you," said I; "and now whatever may be my feelings against the princesse de Guemenee, I will endeavor to dissemble it out of regard for you; and, I assure you, that however little consideration your daughter-in-law may testify towards me, I will show her a fair side: endeavor to make peace between us. I only ask to be let alone, for I do not seek to become the enemy of any person."

Altho' M. de Soubise said that he had no influence over the princesse de Guemenee, I learned, subsequently, that the day after this scene he testified to the Guemenee some fears as to his future destiny at court. He begged her not to oppose herself to me; to be silent with respect to me, and to keep herself somewhat in the shade if she would not make some advances towards me. His daughter- in-law, whose arrogance equalled her dissipation and dissolute manners, replied, that she was too much above a woman of my sort to fear or care for me; that my reign at the chateau would be but brief, whilst hers would only terminate with her life: that she would never consent to an act of weakness that would be derogatory to her character and rank. In vain did the prince try to soften her, and make her consider that my influence over the king was immense: he preached to the desert, and was compelled to abandon his purpose without getting any thing by his endeavors.

I now return to my conversation with him. During the time it lasted the king did not cease talking to Chon, all the time listening with attention to what the prince and I were saying; and he did not approach us until the intervention of M. de Chauvelin had terminated this kind of a quarrel. He returned to his seat in front of the fire; and when we were alone, said to me,

"You have been very spiteful to the poor marechal, and I suffered for him."

"You are an excellent friend; and, no doubt, it is the affection you bear to M. de Soubise which makes you behave so harshly to me. Can I not, without displeasing you, defend myself when I am attacked?"

"I did not say so; but is it necessary that he must be responsible for the follies of his relations?"

"In truth, sire, so much the worse for the father who cannot make his children respect him. If the marechal was respected by the public, believe me he would be so by his family."

This retort was perhaps too severe. I found this by the silence of the king; but as, in fact, it imported little, and, by God's help, I was never under much constraint with him, I saw him blush, and then he said to me,

"Now, I undertake to bring madame de Guemenee into proper order. The favor I ask is, that you would not meddle. I have power enough to satisfy you, but, for heaven's sake, do not enter into more quarrels than you have already. It seems to me that you ought to avoid them instead of creating such disturbances."

He had assumed a grave tone in reading me this lecture: but as we were in a place in which majesty could not be committed, I began to laugh heartily, and to startle him, I said that henceforward I would pilot my bark myself, and defend myself by openly assailing all persons who testified an aversion to me. How laughable it was to see the comic despair in which this determination threw the king. It seemed to him that the whole court would be at loggerheads; and he could not restrain himself from exclaiming, that he would a hundred times rather struggle against the king of Prussia and the emperor of Germany united, than against three or four females of the chateau. In a word, I frightened him so completely, that he decided on the greatest act of courage he had ever essayed in my favor: it was, to desire the intervention of the duc de Choiseul in all these quarrels.

The credit of this minister was immense, and this credit was based on four powerful auxiliaries; namely the parliament, the philosophers, the , and the women. The high magistracy found in him a public and private protector. The parliaments had themselves a great many clients, and their voices, given to the duc de Choiseul, gave him great power in the different provinces. The philosophers, ranged under the banner of Voltaire, who was their god, and of d'Alembert, their patriarch, knew all his inclinations for them, and knew how far they might rely on his support in all attempts which they made to weaken the power of the clergy, and to diminish the gigantic riches which had been amassed by prelates and monasteries. The writers were equally devoted to him: they progressed with the age, and as on all sides they essayed to effect important reforms, it was natural that they should rally about him in whose hands was the power of their operations.

The ladies admired his gallantry: in fact, the duc de Choiseul was a man who understood marvellously well how to combine serious labors with pleasure. I was, perhaps, the only woman of the court whom he would not love, and yet I was not the least agreeable nor the most ugly. It was very natural for them to exalt his merit and take him under their especial protection. Thus was he supported in every quarter by them; they boasted of his measures, and by dint of repeating in the ears of every body that M. de Choiseul was a minister , and the support of monarchy, they had contrived to persuade themselves of the truth of their assertion. In fact, if France found herself freed from the Jesuits, it was to the duc de Choiseul that this was owing, and this paramount benefit assured to him universal gratitude.

The king was fully aware of this unanimity of public opinion in favor of his minister. He was, besides, persuaded, that in arranging the , and concluding the alliance with the imperial house, the duc de Choiseul had evinced admirable diplomatic talents, and rendered France real, and important, service. His attachment to him was incumbent, and rested on solid foundations. If, at a subsequent period, he dismissed him, it was because he was deceived by a shameful intrigue which it will cost me pain to develop to you, because I took by far too much a leading part in it, which now causes me the deepest regret.

Now, by the act of my presentation, the duc de Choiseul would be compelled to meet me often, which would render our mutual situation very disagreeable. On this account the king sought to reconcile us, and would have had no difficulty in effecting his wishes had he only had the resistance of the minister and his wife to encounter. The lady had not much influence over her husband, and besides she had too much good sense to struggle against the wishes of the king: but the duchesse de Grammont was there, and this haughty and imperious dame had so great an ascendancy with her brother, and behaved with so little caution, that the most odious reports were in circulation about their intimacy.

It could scarcely be hoped that we could tame this towering spirit, which saw in me an odious rival. Louis XV did not flatter himself that he could effect this prodigy, but he hoped to have a greater ascendancy over his minister. It was to the duc de Choiseul, therefore, that he first addressed himself, desirous of securing the husband and wife before he attacked the redoubtable sister. The next morning, after my warm assault on the prince de Soubise, he profited by an audience which the duke requested at an unusual hour to introduce this negotiation of a new kind, and the details I give you of this scene are the more faithful, as the king gave them to me still warm immediately after the conversation had terminated.

The state affairs having been concluded, the king, seeking to disguise his voluntary embarrassment, said to the duke, smiling,

"Duc de Choiseul, I have formed for my private hours a most delightful society: the most attached of my subjects consider themselves highly favored when I invite them to these evening parties so necessary for my amusement. I see with pain that you have never yet asked me to admit you there."

"Sire," replied the duke, "the multiplicity of the labors with which your majesty has charged me, scarcely allows me time for my pleasures."

"Oh, you are not so fully occupied but that you have still some time to spend with the ladies, and I think that I used to meet you frequently at the marquise de Pompadour's."

"Sire, she was my friend."

"Well, and why, is not the comtesse du Barry? Who has put it into your head that she was opposed to you? You do not know her: she is an excellent woman: not only has she no dislike to you, but even desires nothing more than to be on good terms with you."

"I must believe so since your majesty assures me of it; but, sire, the vast business with which I am overwhelmed—"

"Is not a sufficing plea; I do not allow that without a special motive, you should declare yourself against a person whom I honor with my protection. As you do not know her, and cannot have any thing to urge against her but prejudices founded on false rumors and scandalous fabrications, I engage you to sup with me at her apartments this evening, and I flatter myself that when I wish it you will not coin a parcel of reasons in opposition to my desire."

"I know the obedience that is due to your majesty," said de Choiseul, bowing low.

"Well, then, do first from duty what I flatter myself you will afterwards do from inclination. Duc de Choiseul, do not allow yourself to be influenced by advice that will prove injurious to you. What I ask cannot compromise you; but I should wish that with you all should be quiet, that no one should struggle against me, and that too with the air of contending against a person's station. Do not reply, you know perfectly what I would say, and I know what belongs to myself."

Here the conversation terminated. The duc de Choiseul did not become my friend any the more, but behaved towards me with all due consideration. He used grace and in his proceedings, without mingling with it anything approaching to nonsense. He never allowed himself, whatever has been said, to dart out in my face any of those epigrams which public malignity has attributed to him. Perhaps like many other persons in the world, he has said many pleasantries of me which have been reported as said in my presence, but I repeat that he never uttered in my society a single word with which I had cause to be offended.

At this juncture I received a letter of which I had the folly to be proud, altho' a little reflection should have made me think that my situation alone inspired it: it was from M. de Voltaire. This great genius was born a courtier. Whether he loved the protection of the great, or whether he thought it necessary to him, he was constantly aiming, from his youth upwards, at obtaining the countenance of persons belonging to a high rank, which made him servile and adulatory whilst they were in power, and full of grimace towards them when the wind favor ceased to swell their sails. It was in this way that mesdames de Chateauroux and de Pompadour had had his homage. He had sung their praises, and, of course, he could not forget me. You will recall to mind the letter which he wrote to the duc d'Aiguillon, on occasion of the piece of poetry entitled "<La Cour du Roi Petaud>." He had denied having composed it, but this denial had not been addressed directly to me. Having learnt, no doubt, that my credit was increasing, he thought himself obliged to write to me, that he might rank me with his party. He might have availed himself of the intermediation of the duc d'Aiguillon, but preferred putting the duc de Richelieu into his confidence, and begged him to fulfil the delicate function of literary Mercury. I was alone when the marechal came to me with an assumed air of mystery. His first care was to look around him without saying a word; and it was not until after he had shaken the curtains, and peeped into every corner of the apartment, that he approached me, who was somewhat surprised at his monkey tricks.

"I am the bearer," he said, in a low voice, "of a secret and important communication, which I have been entreated to deliver after five or six hundred cautions at least: it is a, defection from the enemy's camp, and not the least in value."

Fully occupied by my quarrel with the ladies of the court, I imagined that he had brought me a message of peace from some great lady; and, full of this idea, I asked him in haste the name of her whose friendship I had acquired.

"Good," said he, "it is about a lady, is it? It is from a personage fully as important, a giant in power, whose words resound from one extremity of Europe to another, and whom the Choiseuls believe their own entirely."

"It is M. de Voltaire," I said.

"Exactly so: your perspicacity has made you guess it."

"But what does he want with me?"

"To be at peace with you; to range himself under your banner, secretly at first, but afterwards openly."

"Is he then afraid openly to evince himself my friend?" I replied, in a tone of some pique.

"Rather so, and yet you must not feel offended at that. The situation of this sarcastic and talented old man is very peculiar; his unquiet petulance incessantly gives birth to fresh perils. He, of necessity, must make friends in every quarter, left and right, in France and foreign countries. The necessary consequence is, that he cannot follow a straight path. The Choiseuls have served him with perfect zeal: do not be astonished if he abandon them when they can no longer serve him. If they fall, he will bid them good evening, and will sport your cockade openly." "But," I replied, "this is a villainous character."

"Ah, I do not pretend to introduce to you an Aristides or an Epaminondas, or any other soul of similar stamp. He is a man of letters, full of wit, a deep thinker, a superior genius, and our reputations are in his hands. If he flatters us, posterity will know it; if he laugh at us, it will know it also. I counsel you therefore to use him well, if you would have him behave so towards you."

"I will act conformably to your advice," said I to the marechal; "at the same time I own to you that I fear him like a firebrand."

"I, like you, think that there is in him something of the infernal stone: he burns you on the slightest touch. But now, to this letter; you will see what he says to you. He begs me most particularly to conceal from every body the step he has taken with you. What he most dreads is, lest you should proclaim from the housetops that he is in correspondence with you. I conjure you, on his behalf, to exercise the greatest discretion, and I think that you are interested in doing so; for, if what he has done should be made public, he will not fail to exercise upon you the virulence of his biting wit."

Our conversation was interrupted by a stir which we heard in the chateau, and which announced to us the king. The marechal hastily desired me not to show Voltaire's letter to the king until I had read it previously to myself. "He does not like this extraordinary man," he added, "and accuses him of having failed in respect, and perhaps you will find in this paper some expression which may displease him."

Scarcely had I put the epistle in my pocket, when the king entered.

"What are you talking about," said he, "you seem agitated?"

"Of M. de Voltaire, sire," I replied, with so much presence of mind as to please the duc de Richelieu.

"What, is he at his tricks again? Have you any cause of complaint against him?"

"Quite the reverse; he has charged M. d'Argental to say to M. de Richelieu, that he was sorry that he could not come and prostrate himself at my feet."

"Ah," said the king, remembering the letter to the duc d'Aiguillon, "he persists in his coquetries towards you: that is better than being lampooned by him. But do not place too much confidence in this gentleman of the chamber: he weighs every thing in two scales; and I doubt much whether he will spare you when he evinces but little consideration for me."

Certainly Richelieu had a good opportunity of undertaking the defence of his illustrious friend. He did no such thing; and I have always thought that Voltaire was the person whom the duke detested more heartily than any other person in the world. He did, in fact, dread him too much to esteem him as a real friend.

"M. d'Argental," said the king, "unites then at my court the double function of minister of Parma and steward of Ferney.* Are these two offices compatible?"

*The name of Voltaire's residence- TRANS

"Yes, sire," replied the duke, laughing, "since he has not presented officially to your majesty the letters of his creation as comte de Tournay."

The king began to laugh. This was the name of an estate which Voltaire had, and which he sometimes assumed.



CHAPTER XVI

Unpublished letter of Voltaire to madame du Barry—Reply of the countess—The marechale de Mirepoix—Her first interview with madame du Barry—Anecdote of the diamonds of madame de Mirepoix— The king pays for them—Singular gratitude of the marechale—The portfolio, and an unpublished letter of the marquise de Pompadour

By the way in which the king continued to speak to me of M. de Voltaire, I clearly saw how right the duke was in advising me to read the letter myself before I showed it to my august protector. I could not read it until the next day, and found it conceived in the following terms:—

"MADAME LA COMTESSE:—I feel myself urged by an extreme desire to have an explanation with you, after the receipt of a letter which M. the duc d'Aiguillon wrote to me last year. This nobleman, nephew of a gentleman, as celebrated for the name he bears as by his own reputation, and who has been my friend for more than sixty years, has communicated to me the pain which had been caused you by a certain piece of poetry, of my writing as was stated, and in which my style was recognised. Alas! madame, ever since the most foolish desire in the world has excited me to commit a great deal of idle trash to paper, not a month, a week, nay, even a day passes in which I am not accused and convicted of some great enormity; that is to say, the malicious author of all sorts of turpitudes and extravagancies. Eh! , the entire life-time of ten men would not be sufficient to write all with which I am charged, to my unutterable despair in this world, and to my eternal damnation in that which is to come.

"It is no doubt, much to die in final impenitence; altho' hell may contain all the honest men of antiquity and a great portion of those of our times; and paradise would not be much to hope for if we must find ourselves face to face with messieurs Freron, Nonatte, Patouillet, Abraham Chauneix, and other saints cut out of the same cloth. But how much more severe would it be to sustain your anger! The hatred of the Graces brings down misfortune on men of letters; and when he embroils himself with Venus and the Muses he is a lost being; as, for instance, M. Dorat, who incessantly slanders his mistresses, and writes nothing but puerilities.

"I have been very cautious, in my long career, how I committed such a fault. If perchance I have lightly assailed the common cry of scribblers or pendants who were worthless, I have never ceased to burn incense on the altars of the ladies; them I have always sung when I—could not do otherwise. Independently, madame, of the profound respect I bear all your sex I profess a particular regard towards all those who approach our sovereign, and whom he invests with his confidence: in this I prove myself no less a faithful subject than a gallant Frenchman; and I venerate the God I serve in his constant friendships as I would do in his caprices. Thus I was far from outraging and insulting you still more grievously by composing a hateful work which I detest with my whole heart, and which makes me shed tears of blood when I think that people did not blush to attribute it to me.

"Believe in my respectful attachment, madame, no less than in my cruel destiny, which renders me odious to those by whom I would be loved. My enemies, a portion of whom are amongst yours, certainly succeed each other with frightful eagerness to try my wind. Now they have just published under my name some attacks on the poor president Henault, whom I love with sincere affection. What have they not attributed to me to inculpate me with my friends, with my illustrious protectors, M. le marechal duc de Richelieu and their majesties the king of Prussia and the czarina of Russia!

"I could excuse them for making war upon strangers in my name, altho' that would be a pirate's method; but to attack, under my banner, my master, my sovereign lord, this I can never pardon, and I will raise against them even a dying voice; particularly when they strike you with the same blows; you, who love literature; you, who do me the honor to charge your memory with my feeble productions. It is an infamy to pretend that I fire on my own troops.

"Under any circumstances, madame, I am before you in a very delicate situation. There is in Versailles a family which overwhelms me with marks of their friendship. Mine ought to appertain to it to perpetuity; yet I learn that it is so unfortunate as to have no conception of your merit, and that envious talebearers place themselves between you and it. I am told that there is a kind of declared war; it is added, that I have furnished supplies to this camp, the chiefs of which I love and esteem. More wise, more submissive, I keep myself out of the way of blows; and my reverence for the supreme master is such, that I turn away my very eyes that they may not be spectators of the fight.

"Do not then, madame, think that any sentiment of affection has compelled, or can compel me to take arms against you. I would refuse any proposition which should rank me as hostile to you, if the natural generosity of your enemies could so far forget it. In reality they are as incapable of ordering a bad action as I am of listening to those who should show themselves so devoid of sense as to propose such a thing to me.

"I am persuaded that you have understood me, and I am fully cleared in your eyes. It would be delightful to me to ascertain this with certainty. I charge M. le marechal duc de Richelieu to explain to you my disquietude on this head, and the favor I seek at your hands, from you who command France, whilst I, I ought to die in peace, not to displease any person, and live wisely with all. I conclude, madame la comtesse, this long and stupid epistle, which is, in fact, less a letter than a real case for consideration, by begging you to believe me, etc., "VOLTAIRE

", April 28, 1769. Gentleman in ordinary to the king.

"P. S. My enemies say everywhere that I am not a Christian. I have just given them the lie direct, by performing my Easter devotions () publicly; thus proving to all my lively desire to terminate my long career in the religion in which I was born; and I have fulfilled this important act after a dozen consecutive attacks of fever, which made me fear I should die before I could assure you of my respect and my devotion."

This apology gave me real pleasure. I pretended to believe the sincerity of him who addressed me, altho' he had not convinced me of his innocence; and I wrote the following reply to M. de Voltaire, which a silly pride dictates to me to communicate to you, in conjunction with the letter of the philosopher:

"MONSIEUR:—Even were you culpable from too much friendship towards those you cherish, I would pardon you as a recompense for the letter you address to me. This ought the more to charm me, as it gives me the certainty that you had been unworthily calumniated. Could you have said, under the veil of secrecy, things disagreeable to a great king, for whom, in common with all France, you profess sincere love? It is impossible. Could you, with gaiety of heart, wound a female who never did you harm, and who admires your splendid genius? In fact, could those you call your friends have stooped so low as not to have feared to compromise you, by making you play a part unworthy of your elevated reputation? All these suppositions were unreasonable: I could not for a moment admit them, and your two letters have entirely justified you. I can now give myself up without regret to my enthusiasm for you and your works. It would have been too cruel for me to have learnt with certainty that he whom I regarded as the first writer of the age had become my detractor without motive, without provocation. That it is not so I give thanks to Providence.

"M. the duc d'Aiguillon did not deceive you when he told you that I fed on your sublime poetry. I am in literature a perfect novice, and yet am sensible of the true beauties which abound in your works. I am to be included amongst the stones which were animated by Amphion: this is one of your triumphs; but to this you must be accustomed.

"Believe also that all your friends are not in the enemy's camp. There are those about me who love you sincerely, M. de Chauvelin, for instance, MM. de Richelieu and d'Aiguillon: this latter eulogizes you incessantly; and if all the world thought as he does, you would be here in your place. But there are terrible prejudices which my candor will not allow me to dissemble, which you have to overcome. There is who complains of you, and this one must be won over to your interests. He wishes you to testify more veneration for what he venerates himself; that your attacks should not be so vehement nor so constant. Is it then impossible for you to comply his wishes in this particular? Be sure that you only, in setting no bounds in your attacks on religion, do yourself a vast mischief with the person in question.

"It will appear strange that I should hold such language to you: I only do it to serve you: do not take my statements unkindly. I have now a favor to ask of you; which is, to include me in the list of those to whom you send the first fruits of the brilliant productions of your pen. There is none who is more devoted to you, and who has a more ardent desire to convince you of this.

"I am, <monsieur le gentilhomme ordinaire>, with real attachment, etc."

I showed this letter to M. de Richelieu.

"Why," he inquired, 'have you not assured him as to your indiscretion, which he fears?"



"Because his fear seemed to me unjust, and I leave you to represent me to him as I am; and now," I added, "it does not appear to me necessary for the king to know anything of this."

"You think wisely, madame; what most displeased him was to see madame de Pompadour in regular correspondence with M. de Voltaire."

I have related to you this episode of my history, that it may recompense you for the tiresome details of my presentation. I resume my recital. I told you that M. de Maupeou had told me that he would endeavor to bring madame la marechale de Mirepoix, and introduce her to me, trusting to the friendship she had evinced for madame de Pompadour during, the whole time of the favor and life of her who preceded me in the affections of Louis XV. I found, to my surprise, that he said nothing to me concerning it for several days, when suddenly madame la marechale de Mirepoix was announced.

At this name and this title I rose quite in a fluster, without clearly knowing what could be the object of this visit, for which I was unprepared. The marechale, who followed closely on the valet's heels, did not give me time for much reflection. She took me really , and I had not time to go and meet her.

"Madame la marechale," said I, accosting her, "what lucky chance brings you to a place where the desire to have your society is so great?"

"It is the feeling of real sympathy," she replied, with a gracious smile; "for I also have longed for a considerable time to visit you, and have yielded to my wishes as soon as I was certain that my advances would not be repulsed."

"Ah, madame.," said I, "had you seriously any such fear? That tells me much less of the mistrust you had of yourself than of the bad opinion you had conceived of me. The honor of your visits—"

"The honor of my visits! That's admirable! I wish to obtain a portion of your friendship, and to testify to the king that I am sincerely attached to him."

"You overwhelm me, madame," cried I, much delighted, "and I beg you to give me your confidence."

"Well, now, all is arranged between us: I suit you and you please me. It is long since I was desirous of coming to you, but we are all under the yoke of the must absurd tyranny: soon we shall have no permission to go, to come, to speak, to hold our tongues, without first obtaining the consent of a certain family. This yoke has wearied me; and on the first word of the chancellor of France I hastened to you."

"I had begged him, madame, to express to you how much I should be charmed to have you when the king graced me with his presence. He likes you, he is accustomed to the delights of your society; and I should have been deeply chagrined had I come here only to deprive him of that pleasure."

"He is a good master," said the marechale, "he is worthy of all our love. I have had opportunities of knowing him thoroughly, for I was most intimate with madame de Pompadour; and I believe that my advice will not be useless to you."

"I ask it of you, madame la marechale, for it will be precious to me."

"Since we are friends, madame," said she, seating herself in a chair, "do not think ill of me if I establish myself at my ease, and take my station as in the days of yore. The king loves you: so much the better. You will have a double empire over him. He did not love the marquise, and allowed himself to be governed by her; for with him—I ask pardon of your excessive beauty—custom does all. It is necessary, my dear countess, to use the double lever you have, of your own charms and his constant custom to do to-morrow what he does to-day because he did it yesterday, and for this you lack neither grace nor wit."

I had heard a great deal concerning madame de Mirepoix; but I own to you, that before I heard her speak I had no idea what sort of a person she would prove. She had an air of so much frankness and truth, that it was impossible not to be charmed by it. The greater part of the time I did not know how to defend myself from her—at once so natural and so perfidious; and occasionally I allowed myself to love her with all my heart, so much did she seem to cherish me with all enthusiasm. She had depth of wit, a piquancy of expression, and knew how to disguise those interested adulations with turns so noble and beautiful that I have never met, neither before nor since, any woman worthy of being compared with her. She was, in her single self, a whole society; and certainly there was no possibility of being wearied when she was there. Her temper was most equable, a qualification rarely obtained without a loss of warmth of feeling. She always pleased because her business was to please and not to love; and it always sufficed her to render others enthusiastic and ardent. Except this tendency to egotism, she was the charm of society, the life of the party whom she enlivened by her presence. She knew precisely when to mourn with the afflicted, and joke with the merry-hearted. The king had much pleasure in her company: he knew that she only thought how to amuse him; and, moreover, as he had seen her from morning till evening with the marquise de Pompadour, her absence from my parties was insupportable to him, and almost contrary to the rules of etiquette at the chateau.

I cannot tell you how great was his satisfaction, when, at the first supper which followed our intimacy, he saw her enter. He ran to meet her like a child, and gave a cry of joy, which must have been very pleasing to the marechale.

"You are a dear woman," he said to her, with an air which accorded with his words, "I always find you when I want you; and you can nowhere be more in place than here. I ask your friendship for our dear countess."

"She has it already, sire, from the moment I saw her; and I consider my intimacy with her as one of the happiest chances of my life."

The king showed the utmost good humor in the world during the rest of the evening. He scolded me, however, for the mystery I had made in concealing from him the agreeable visit of the marechale. I justified myself easily by the pleasure which this surprise caused him; and, on my side, gave my sincere thanks to the chancellor.

"You owe me none," said he; "the good marechale felt herself somewhat ill at ease not to be on close terms with her who possesses the affections of the king. It is an indispensable necessity that she should play a part in the lesser apartments; and as the principal character no longer suits her, she is contented to perform that of confidante, and ran here on my first intimation."

"Never mind the motive that brought her," I said; "she is a companion for me much more desirable than madame de Bearn."

"First from her rank," said the chancellor, smiling maliciously, "and then by virtue of her cousinship with the Holy Virgin."

I confess that I was ignorant of this incident in the house of Levi; and I laughed heartily at the description of the picture, in which one of the lords of this house is represented on his knees before the mother of God, who says to him, "<Rise, cousin"; to which he replies, "<I know my duty too well, cousin.>" I took care, however, how I joked on this point with the marechale, who listened to nothing that touched on the nobility of the ancestors of her husband or on those of her own family.

Great had been the outcry in the palace against the duc de la Vauguyon and madame de Bearn, but how much louder did it become on the defection of the marquise de Mirepoix. The cabal was destroyed; for a woman of rank and birth like the marechale was to me a conquest of the utmost importance. The princesse de Guemenee and the duchesse de Grammont were wofully enraged. This they manifested by satirical sneers, epigrams, and verses, which were put forth in abundance. All these inffictions disturbed her but little; the main point in her eyes was to possess the favor of the master; and she had it, for he felt that he was bound to her by her complaisance.

He was not long in giving her an unequivocal proof of his regard. The duc de Duras asked her, in presence of the king and myself, why she did not wear her diamonds as usual.

"They are my representatives," was her reply.

"What do you mean by representatives?" said I.

"Why, my dear countess, they are with a Jew instead of my sign-manual. The rogue had no respect for the word of a relation of the Holy Virgin and the daughter of the Beauvau. I was in want of thirty thousand francs; and to procure it I have given up my ornaments, not wishing to send to the Jew the old plate of my family, altho' the hunks wanted it."

We all laughed at her frankness, and the gaiety with which she gave this statement, but we went no further; to her great regret, no doubt, for I believe that the scene had been prepared between her and M. de Duras, either to let her profit in time of need, or else that she wished to pluck a feather from our wing. When I was alone with the king, he said,

"The poor marechale pains me; I should like to oblige her and think I will give her five hundred louis."

"What will such a petty sum avail her? You know what she wants; either send her the whole or none. A king should do nothing by halves."

Louis XV answered me nothing; he only made a face, and began to walk up and down the room. "Ah," said I, "this excellent woman loves your majesty so much, that you ought to show your gratitude to her, were it only to recompense her for her intimacy with me."

"Well, you shall carry her the sum yourself, which Lebel shall bring you from me. But thirty thousand francs, that makes a large pile of crown-pieces."

"Then I must take it in gold."

"No, but in good notes. We must not, even by a look, intimate that she has her visits to us. There are such creatures in the world!"

The next morning Lebel brought me a very handsome rose-colored portfolio, embroidered with silver and auburn hair: it contained the thirty thousand francs in notes. I hastened to the marechale. We were then at Marly.

"What good wind blows you hither?" said madame de Mirepoix.

"A royal gallantry," I replied; "you appeared unhappy, and our excellent prince sends you the money necessary to redeem your jewels."

The eyes of the lady became animated, and she embraced me heartily. "It is to you that I owe this bounty of the king."

"Yes, partly, to make the present entire; he would only have given you half the sum."

"I recognize him well in that he does not like to empty his casket. He would draw on the public treasury without hesitation for double the revenue of France, and would not make a division of a single crown of his own private ."

I give this speech ; and this was all the gratitude which madame de Mirepoix manifested towards Louis XV. I was pained at it, but made no remark. She took up the portfolio, examined it carefully, and, bursting into a fit of laughter, said, while she flung herself into an arm-chair,

"Ah! ah! ah! this is an unexpected rencontre! Look at this portfolio, my dear friend: do you see the locks with which it is decorated? Well, they once adorned the head of madame de Pompadour. She herself used them to embroider this garland of silver thread; she gave it to the king on his birthday. Louis XV swore never to separate from it, and here it is in my hands."

Then, opening the portfolio, and rummaging it over, she found in a secret pocket a paper, which she opened, saying, "I knew he had left it."

It was a letter of madame de Pompadour, which I wished to have, and the marechale gave me it instantly; the notes remained with her. I copy the note, to give you an idea of the sensibility of the king.

"SIRE,—I am ill; dangerously so, perhaps. In the melancholy feeling which preys upon me, I have formed a desire to leave you a souvenir, which will always make me present to your memory. I have embroidered this portfolio with my own hair; accept it; never part with it. Enclose in it your most important papers, and let its contents prove your estimation of it. Will you not accord my prayer? Sign it, I beseech you; it is the caprice, the wish of a dying woman."

Beneath it was written,

"This token of love shall never quit me. Louis."



CHAPTER XVII

Conversation of the marechale de Mirepoix with the comtesse du Barry on court friendship—Intrigues of madame de Bearn—Preconcerted meeting with madame de Flaracourt—-Rage of madame de Bearn— Portrait and conversation of madame de Flaracourt with the comtesse du Barry—Insult from the princesse de Guemenee—Her banishment—Explanation of the king and the duc de Choiseul relative to madame du Barry—The comtesse d'Egmont

However giddy I was I did not partake in the excessive gaiety of madame de Mirepoix. I was pained to see how little reliance could be placed on the sensibility of the king, as well as how far I could esteem the consideration of the marechale for madame de Pompadour, from whom she had experienced so many marks of friendship. This courtier baseness appeared to me so villainous, that I could not entirely conceal how I was affected with displeasure. Madame de Mirepoix saw it, and, looking at me attentively, said,

"Do you feel any desire to become pathetical in the country we live in? I warn you that it will be at your own expense. We must learn to content ourselves here with appearances, and examine nothing thoroughly."

"'There is then no reality?" said I to her.

"Yes," she answered me, "but only two things, power and money: the rest is 'leather and prunella' (): no person has time to love sincerely; it is hatred only that takes deep root and never dies. To hope to give birth to a real passion, an Orestean and Pyladean friendship, is a dream from which you must be awakened."

'Then you do not love me?"

"You ask me a very awkward question, my darling, I can tell you. I do love you, and very much, too: I have proved it by ranging myself on your side, and by declaring, with the utmost frankness, that I would rather see you in the situation in which you are, than any other woman of the court. But there is a long space between this and heroical friendship: I should deceive you if I were to affirm the contrary, and there would be no common sense in giving faith to my words. Every one has too much business, too much intrigue, too many quarrels on hand, to have any leisure to think of others: every one lives for himself alone. Mesdames de Guemenee and de Grammont appear very intimate: that is easily explained, they unite against a common enemy. But were your station left vacant, no sooner would the king have thrown the apple to one of them, but the other would detest her instantly."

Contrary to custom I made no reply: I was absorbed in painful reflections to which this conversation had given rise. The marechale perceived it, and said,

"We should fall into philosophy if we probed this subject too deeply. Let us think no more of this: besides, I have a new defection to tell you of. Madame de Flaracourt told me yesterday that she much regretted having misunderstood you, and that you were worth more than all those who persecute you. She appeared to me disposed to ally herself to you for the least encouragement which you might be induced to hold out to her."

"You know very well," I replied, "that I am willing to adopt your advice. The house of Flaracourt is not to be despised, and I ask no better than to be on amicable terms with the lady."

"Well, then, come this morning and walk in the grove nearest the pavilion, I shall be there with madame de Flaracourt: we will meet by chance, compliments will follow, and the alliance will be formed."

The marechale and I had scarcely separated when madame de Bearn was announced. This lady besieged me night and day. Gifted with a subtle and penetrating spirit—that talent which procures advancement at court, she saw, with pain, that I sought to attract other females about me: she would fain have remained my only friend, that she might, unopposed, influence me in all I did. She saw, therefore, the appearance of madame de Mirepoix in my drawing-room with uneasiness: her bad humor was sufficiently apparent to attract the notice of the marechale, who laughed at it: her social position as a titled woman, and the king's friendship, giving her confidence that her credit would always exceed that of my godmother.

Madame de Bearn was compelled to submit to the ascendancy of the marechale, but yet did not the less relax in her efforts to keep from me all other female society, she hoped that at last the king would distinguish her, and call her into his intimacy as my friend; she was not more fond of the comtesse d'Aloigny, altho' the nullity of this lady need not have alarmed her much. For me, I began to resent the irksomeness of having incessantly at my side a person who manifested too openly her desire to compel me to submit to her wishes, and I waited, to secure my freedom, only until the circle of females I could admit to my society should be extended.

Such were our reciprocal feelings during our stay at Marly. The madame de Bearn watched me with more care than at Versailles, fearing, no doubt, that the freedom of the country might facilitate connections prejudicial to her interests. Little did she anticipate on this day the stroke which was in preparation for her. I asked her spitefully to take a turn with me into the park, and I took care not to announce the meeting which we had arranged.

Behold us then walking this way and that, quite by chance, without however going any distance from the pavilion. Madame de Bearn, not liking the vicinity of the chateau, was desirous to go into the wood. I declined this under vain excuses, when suddenly madame de Mirepoix and madame de Flaracourt appeared at the end of a very short walk.

"Let us turn this way," said the countess to me, "here comes one of our enemies, whom it would be as well to avoid."

"Why turn away?" I replied; "she is alone, we are two, and then the marechale de Mirepoix is not opposed to us."

Saying this, I advanced towards them. Madame de Flaracourt appeared very gracious: I replied to her advances with due politeness, and instead of separating, we continued to walk about together. Madame de Bearn saw clearly that chance was not the sole cause of this meeting: she dissembled as well as she could. I afterwards learnt that she owed me a spite, particularly for the mystery which I had made of this occurrence. The marked silence, and the sullen air she assumed during this interview, and which her sense and knowledge of the world should have prevented her from manifesting, proved to me, on this occasion, as on many other others, that temper cannot always be conquered, and that at times it will burst forth in spite of the experience and caution of the courtier.

I did not give myself much trouble on this subject: I had well recompensed the good offices of the countess: I had ample proof that in serving me she had acted on the impulse of self-interest: we were quits, I thought, and I saw no reason why I should remain isolated just to serve her pleasure.

When we returned to my apartments I saw plainly, by her mutterings, her sighs, and the shrugging of her shoulders, that she was deeply irritated at what had just taken place. She was desirous of provoking an explanation, but as that could only tend to her disadvantage, she contented herself with leaving me earlier than her usual want, without saying anything disagreeable. Her custom was not to leave me alone, and her abrupt departure confirmed me in the idea I had imbibed, that this sort of comedy had much thwarted her.

In the course of the same day I received a visit from the comtesse de Flaracourt. This lady, whose sparkling eyes shone with an air of mischief, presented herself to me with an appearance of openness and confidence which completely cloaked the malignity and treachery of her character. She threw her arms round my neck with as much grace as tenderness, and taking my hand, as if to arrest my attention, said:

"I ought, madame, to explain to you the delay that I have made before I introduce myself to you, as well as the promptitude of this my first visit. I was prejudiced against you, and had formed a false estimate of you. My with mesdames d'Egmont, de Brionne, and de Grammont naturally placed me in the rank opposed to you: so much for what has passed. But I have seen you: I have studied you at a distance, as well as close, and I have recognised, without difficulty, the injustice of your enemies. I have been enraged with myself for having been deceived regarding you: I wish to repair my wrongs. Enlightened by the opinion of the marechale de Mirepoix, I have not hesitated to approach you under her auspices, and our first meeting has so happily furnished me with an opportunity of appreciating you, that I would not delay any longer the pleasure of making you a personal avowal of my past sentiments, and of those with which you now inspire me."

The tone in which madame de Flaracourt uttered these words was so gracious and so persuasive, that I could not resist the pleasure of embracing her. She returned my kiss with the same eagerness, and would not listen to my thanks.

"All is explained between us," she continued, "let us forget the past, and let us do as if meeting for the first time to-day; we henceforward date this as the first of our acquaintance."

"The affability with which you have presented yourself to me," I replied, "does not permit me to believe that I have only known you from this morning; I am in an illusion which will only allow me to look on our recent alliance as an ancient friendship."

After having exchanged some conversation of the same tenor, we talked of my situation as regarded the other females of the court.

"They hate you for two reasons," said the countess: "in the first place, because you have made a conquest which all the world envies you; secondly because you are not one of us. There is not one family who can lean on you in virtue of the rights of blood, or alliances which stand instead of it. You have superseded a woman who more than any other could have a claim to your good fortune: she is sister to the prime minister, who has in her train, like Lucifer, more than a third part of heaven, for all the courtiers hang on her brother.

"On the other hand, we are not accustomed to remain so long in opposition to the will of the king. Such a resistance is not natural to us; it weighs upon us, it harms us, the favor of our master being our chief good. We are only something thro' him, and when combatting against him we have neither the courage nor the perseverance. Thus you may be very certain that the majority of women who oppose you do it against the grain: and if you add to this that they are incessantly exposed to the murmurs and complaints of their husbands, sons, brothers, and lovers, you will easily be convinced that they only aspire to finding a means of reconciling the regard they owe to the Choiseuls and the terror which they inspire, with the desire they have to seek your protection and the friendship of the king. The cabal only flies on one wing, and I cannot divine its situation at the commencement of the next winter. Do not disquiet yourself any more with what it can do: keep yourself quiet; continue to please the 'master,' and you will triumph over the multitude as easily as you have conquered the resistance of mesdames."

Such was the language of the comtesse de Flaracourt: it agreed, as you will perceive, with that of madame de Mirepoix, and I ought the more to believe it, as it was the fruit of their experience and profound knowledge of court manners. Their example proved to me, as well as their words, that all those who approached the king could not bear for a long time the position in which he placed those whom he did not look upon with pleasure. However, Louis XV evinced more plainly from day to day the ascendancy I had over his mind. He assisted publicly at my toilet*, he walked out with me, left me as little as possible, and sought by every attention to console me for the impertinences with which my enemies bespattered me. The following anecdote will prove to you how little consideration he had for those persons who dared to insult me openly.

One day at Marly, I entered the drawing-room; there was a vacant seat near the princesse de Guemenee, I went to it, and scarcely was seated when my neighbor got up, saying, "What horror!" and betook herself to the further end of the room. I was much confused: the offence was too public for me to restrain my resentment, and even when I wished to do so the thing was scarcely possible. The comte Jean, who had witnessed it, and my sisters-in-law, who learnt it from him, were enraged. I was compelled to complain to the king, who instantly sent the princesse de Guemenee an order to quit Marly forthwith, and betake herself to the princesse de Marsan, of the children of the royal family of France, of whose post she had the reversion.

Never did a just chastisement produce a greater effect. The outcry against me was louder than ever, it seemed as tho' the whole nobility of France was immolated at "one fell swoop." To have heard the universal clamor, it would have been thought that the princess had been sent to the most obscure prison in the kingdom. This proof of the king's regard for me did much mischief, no doubt, as it furnished my enemies with a pretext to accuse me of a vindictive spirit. Could I do otherwise? Ought I to have allowed myself to be overwhelmed with impunity, and was it consistent with the dignity of my august protector, that I should be insulted thus openly by his subjects, his courtiers, his guests, even in the private apartments of his palace?

However, this wrath of the nobility did not prevent the Choiseul family from experiencing a feeling of fright. They had just received a signal favor. The government of Strasbourg, considered as the key of France and Alsace, had been given in reversion to the comte de Stainville, brother of the duc de Choiseul. Certainly this choice was a very great proof of the indulgence of the king, and the moment was badly chosen to pay with ingratitude a benefit so important. This did not hinder the duchesse de Grammont, and all the women of her house, or who were her allies, from continuing to intrigue against me. It was natural to believe that the king would not permit such doing for a long time, and that should he become enraged at them, that I should attempt to soothe his anger.

Matters were in this state, when one morning, after his accustomed routine, the duc de Choiseul requested a private audience of the king. "I grant it this moment," said the prince, "what have you to say to me?"

"I wish to explain to your majesty how excessively painful is the situation in which I am placed with regard to some of the members of my family. All the females, and my sister at their head, attack me about a quarrel which is strange to me, and with which I have declared I would not meddle."

"You do well, monsieur le duc," said the king, with cool gravity, "I am much vexed at all that is going on, and have resolved not to suffer it any longer."

The decision of this discourse made a deep impression M. de Choiseul: he sought to conceal it whilst he replied:

"It is difficult, sire, to make women listen to reason."

"All are not unreasonable," rejoined the king: "your wife, for instance, is a model of reason and wisdom: she has perfect control of herself. She is the wise woman of scripture."

This flattery and justly merited eulogium, which the king made of the duchess whenever he found an opportunity, was the more painful to M. de Choiseul, as his conduct was not irreproachable towards a woman whose virtues he alone did not justly appreciate. It was a direct satire against his sister's conduct, whose ascendancy over him, her brother, the king well knew. He replied that the good behavior of his wife was the safeguard of his family, and he greatly regretted that the duchesse de Grammont had not a right to the same eulogium.

"I beg you," said the prince, "to engage her to change her language, and to conduct herself with less boldness, if she would not have me force her to repent."

"That, sire, is a mission painful to fulfil, and words very hard to convey to her."

"So much the worse for her," replied the king, elevating his voice, "if she bear any friendship for you, let her prove it in this particular: your interests should keep her mouth shut."

The duke had no difficulty to comprehend the indirect menace implied: he instantly renewed his regrets for the disturbances that had occurred.

"Add ," said Louis XV. "I am content with you and your services, duke. I have just proved this to you, by giving your brother more than he could expect from me; but have not I the right to have my intimacies respected? It appears to me that if you spoke more decidedly in your family you would command more attention."

"This makes me fear, sire, that your majesty does not believe me sincere in my expression of the regret which I just took the liberty to utter to your majesty."

", monsieur le duc, you certainly do not like madame du Barry."

"I neither like nor hate her, sire; but I see with trouble that she receives at her house all my enemies."

"Whose fault is that if it be so? Your own; you, who would never visit her; she would have received you with pleasure, and I have not concealed from you the satisfaction I should have experienced."

These last words made the duke start, his eyes became animated. After a moment's reflection he said to the king,

"Sire, is it indispensably necessary for the service of the state that I endeavor to attain the good-will of madame la comtesse du Barry?"

"No."

"Well, then, sire, allow matters to remain as they are. It would cost me much to quarrel with my whole family, the more so as this sacrifice is not useful to you, and would in no wise alter my position with your majesty."

However painful to the king such a determination might be, he did not allow the duke to perceive it; he dissembled the resentment he felt, and contented himself with saying,

"Duc de Choiseul, I do not pretend to impose chains on you; I have spoken to you as a friend rather than as a sovereign. Now I return to what was said at first, and accept with confidence the promise you make me not to torment a lady whom I love most sincerely."

Thus ended a conversation from which the duke, with a less haughty disposition, might have extracted greater advantages and played a surer game. It was the last plank of safety offered in the shipwreck which menaced him. He disdained it: the opportunity of seizing it did not present itself again. I doubt not but that if he would have united himself freely and sincerely with me I should not have played him false. Louis XV, satisfied with his condescension in my behalf, would have kept him at the head of his ministry: but his pride ruined him, he could not throw off the yoke which the duchesse de Grammont had imposed on him: he recoiled from the idea of telling her that he had made a treaty of peace with me, and that was not one of the least causes of his disgrace.

The journey to Marly gave birth to a multitude of intrigues of persons who thought to wrap themselves up in profound mystery, and all whose actions we knew. The police were very active about the royal abodes, especially since the fatal deed of the regicide Damiens. To keep them perpetually on the watch, they were ordered to watch attentively the amours of the lords and ladies of the court.

The daughter of the duc de Richelieu, the comtesse d'Egmont, whose age was no pretext for her follies, dearly liked low love adventures. She used to seek them out in Paris, when she could find none at Versailles. She was not, however, the more indulgent towards me. This lady was not always content with noble lovers, but sought them in all classes, and more than once, simple mortals, men of low order, obtained preference over demi-gods. Her conduct in this respect was the result of long experience. She used to go out alone, and traverse the streets of Paris. She entered the shops, and when her eye rested on a good figure, having wide shoulders, sinewy limbs, and a good looking face, she then called up all the resources of her mind to form and carry on an intrigue, of which the consequences, at first agreeable to him who was the object of it, terminated most frequently fatally. The following adventure will give you an idea of the talent of madame d'Egmont in this way, and how she got rid of her adorers when she had exhausted with them the cup of pleasure.



CHAPTER XVIII

Intrigue of the comtesse d'Egmont with a shopman—His unhappy fate—The comtesse du Barry protects him—Conduct of Louis XV upon the occasion—The young man quits France—Madame du Barry's letter to the comtesse d'Egmont—Quarrel with the marechal de Richelieu

The comtesse d'Egmont was one day observed to quit her house attired with the most parsimonious simplicity; her head being covered by an enormously deep bonnet, which wholly concealed her countenance, and the rest of her person enveloped in a pelisse, whose many rents betrayed its long service. In this strange dress she traversed the streets of Paris in search of adventures. She was going, she said, wittily enough, "to return to the cits what her father and brother had so frequently robbed them of." Chance having led her steps to the rue St. Martin, she was stopped there by a confusion of carriages, which compelled her first to shelter herself against the wall, and afterwards to take refuge in an opposite shop, which was one occupied by a linen-draper.

She looked around her with the eye of a connoisseur, and perceived beneath the modest garb of a shopman one of those broad-shouldered youths, whose open smiling countenance and gently tinged complexion bespoke a person whose simplicity of character differed greatly from the vast energy of his physical powers: he resembled the Farnese Hercules upon a reduced scale. The princess approached him, and requested to see some muslins, from which she selected two gowns, and after having paid for them, requested the master of the shop to send his shopman with them, in the course of half an hour, to an address she gave as her usual abode.

The comtesse d'Egmont had engaged an apartment on the third floor of a house in the rue Tiquetonne, which was in the heart of Paris. The porteress of the dwelling knew her only as madame Rossin: her household consisted of a housekeeper and an old man, both devoted to a mistress whose character they well understood, and to whom they had every motive to be faithful.

Here it was, then, that the lady hastened to await the arrival of the new object of her plebeian inclinations. Young Moireau (for such was the shopman's name) was not long ere he arrived with his parcel. Madame d'Egmont was ready to receive him: she had had sufficient time to exchange her shabby walking dress for one which bespoke both coquetry and voluptuousness; the softness of her smile, and the turn of her features announced one whose warmth of passions would hold out the most flattering hopes of success to him who should seek her love.

Madame Rossin and the young shopman were soon engaged in conversation, further animated by the bright glances sent direct from the eyes of madame to the unguarded heart of her admiring visitor. Emboldened by the graciousness of her manner, he presumed to touch her fair hand: the lady, in affected anger, rose, and commanded him to quit the house. The terrified youth fell at her feet, imploring pardon for his boldness, and then hastily quitted the room ere the feigned madame Rossin could pronounce the forgiveness he demanded. 'The fool," was (doubtless) the princess's exclamation, "had he been brought up at court he would have conducted himself very differently."

This silliness of proceeding was, however, far from being displeasing to the princess: on the contrary, it seemed to increase her determination to prosecute the adventure. Accordingly, on the following day she hastened to resume her former walking dress, and in it to take the road which led to the rue St. Martin, and again to present herself as a customer at the linen-draper's shop. This time she purchased cloth for chemises. Indescribable and unspeakable was the joy of young Moireau, when, after having served the mistress of his thoughts, he heard her request of his master to allow the goods she had selected to be sent to her residence; and equally was he surprised that she omitted to name him as the person she wished should convey them. Nevertheless, as may be imagined, Moireau obtained possession of the parcel, and was soon on his way to the rue Tiquetonne, where he found the lady more languishing and attractive than before; and soon they were deep in the most earnest and interesting conversation. Moireau, who now saw that his boldness was not displeasing to the lady, became more and more presuming: true, his overtures were refused, but so gently, that it only fanned his flame; nor was it till after reiterated prayers that be succeeded in obtaining her promise to meet him on the following Sunday. The princess, like a skilful manoeuvrer, reckoned upon the additional violence his ardor would receive from this delay. The affection with which she had inspired him would only gain strength by thus deferring the day for their next meeting, whilst he would have time to meditate upon the virtue as well as the charms of her he had won.

The long looked for Sunday at length arrived, and Moireau was first at the place of rendezvous. His simple dress augmented his natural good looks, whilst the countess had spared no pains to render her appearance calculated to captivate and seduce. All reserve was thrown aside; and to satisfy the eager curiosity of her lover, she stated herself to be the widow of a country lawyer, who had come to Paris to carry on a lawsuit. It would be useless to follow the princess during the further course of this meeting. Suffice it to say, that Moirreau and madame d'Egmont separated mutually happy and satisfied with each other.

The youth, who was now ages gone in love, had only reached his twenty-second year, and madame Rossin was his first attachment. So ardent and impetuous did his passion hourly grow, that it became a species of insanity. On the other hand, the high-born dame, who had thus captivated him, felt all the attractions of his simple and untutored love, further set off by the fine manly figure of the young shopman. Indeed, so much novelty and interest did she experience in her new amour, that, far from finding herself, as she had expected, disposed to relinquish the affair (as she had anticipated) at the end of two or three interviews, which she had imagined would have satisfied her capricious fancy, she put off, to an indefinite period, her original project of ending the affair by feigning a return to the country.

This resolution, however, she did not feel courage to carry into effect; and two or three months rolled rapidly away without any diminution of their reciprocal flame, when one fine Sunday evening Moireau, whose time hung heavily on his hands, took it into his head to visit the opera. This species of amusement constitutes the of the delights of a French cit. Moireau seated himself in the pit, just opposite the box of the gentlemen in waiting. The performance was "Castor and Pollux." At the commencement of the second act a sudden noise and bustle drew Moireau from the contemplative admiration into which the splendor of the piece had thrown him. The disturbance arose from a general move, which was taking place in the box belonging to the gentlemen in waiting. Madame d'Egmont had just arrived, attended by four or five grand lords of the court covered with gold, and decorated with the order of the Holy Ghost, and two ladies richly dressed, from whom she was distinguished as much by the superior magnificence of her attire as by her striking beauty.

Moireau could not believe his eyes; he felt assured he beheld madame Rossin, yet he fancied he must be under the influence of some fantastic dream; but every look, every gesture of the princess, a thousand trifles, which would have escaped the notice of a common observer, but which were engraved in indelible characters on the heart of her admirer, all concurred to assure him that he recognised in this lovely and dazzling female, so splendidly attired and so regally attended, the cherished mistress of his affections; she whom that very morning he had held in his embrace. He addressed a thousand questions to those about him, from whom he learnt his own good fortune and the exalted rank of her he had won. Scarcely could he restrain the burst of joy, when informed that the fair object, glittering with jewels and radiant in beauty, was the daughter of Richelieu, and the wife of one of the princes of the noble houses of Egmont.

A thousand tumultuous and flattering ideas rushed in crowds to the brain of young Moireau, and he saw in anticipation a long and brilliant vista opening before him. Poor inexperienced youth! He mistook the wisest and safest path, which would have been to have appeared ignorant of the high rank of his mistress, and to have induced her, from motives of affection, to preside over his fortunes, and to rise by her means without allowing her to suspect he guessed her ability to bestow riches and preferment. He, on the contrary, hastened to her with the account of his having discovered her real rank and station. Madame d'Egmont, whose self-possession enabled her to conceal the terror and uneasiness his recital inspired her with, listened calmly and silently till he had ceased speaking, and then asked him, with a playful smile, if he was quite sure of being in his right senses? "For how otherwise could you," said she, "confuse a poor obscure widow like myself with the rich and powerful princess you speak of? My friend, you are under the influence of a dream; believe me, I am neither more nor less than poor widow Rossin, and can boast of no claim to the illustrious name of Egmont or Richelieu."

But the more she spoke the less she persuaded, and young Moireau was not to be reasoned out of his conviction. of her identity with the high-born princess of Egmont, and he alternately employed threats and promises to induce her to confess the fact; but the lady was firm and immovable. Resolved at all risk to preserve her incognito, she found herself compelled to bring the affair to a conclusion, by feigning extreme anger at the pertinacity with which Moireau importuned her upon a subject which she protested she knew nothing: her lover retaliated, and a desperate quarrel ensued. Moireau rushed angrily from her presence, vowing that he would publish his adventure thro'out Paris; an empty threat, which his devotion to the princess would never have permitted him to carry into execution.

Madame d'Egmont, however, was not so sure that her secret was safe, and she lost not an instant in repairing to the house of M. de Sartines, to obtain from him a against the aspiring shopman, who, seized in the street, was conveyed away, and confined as a maniac in a madhouse, where, but for a circumstance you shall hear, he would doubtless be still.

I happened to be with the king when the lieutenant of police arrived upon matters connected with his employment. According to custom, Louis inquired whether he had anything very amusing to communicate to him? "Many things, sire," replied he, "and amongst others an anecdote of madame d'Egmont"; and he began to relate to us, word for word, what I have written you. The king laughed till he cried; as for me, altho' I could not help finding the tale sufficiently comic to induce risibility, I listened with more coolness; and when it was completed, I exclaimed,

"Can it be, sire, that you will permit this unfortunate young man to be the eternal victim of so unprincipled a woman?"

"What would you have me do?" said Louis; "how can I interfere without compromising the reputation of madame d'Egmont?"

"Allow me to say," replied I, "that this fear ought not to prevent your majesty's interference. You are father of your subjects; and the respect you entertain for madame d'Egmont should not outweigh your duty, which imperatively calls upon you to command the release of this wretched young man."

"But," argued the king, "by such a step I shall for ever disoblige the duc de Richelieu and his family."

"Fear it not," cried I, "if your majesty will trust to me, I will undertake to bring the marechal and his nephew to approve of your proceedings; and as for the rest of his family, let them go where they will; for the empire of the world I should be sorry to bear them company."

This manner of speaking pleased the king; and, turning to M. de Sartines, "Lieutenant of police," said he, "you have heard my fair chancellor; you will act in strict conformity with the orders she will transmit you from me."

"Then take these orders now, sir," said I: "in the first place, this ill-treated young Moireau must immediately be set at liberty, and my own police (for I must tell you I had them) will give me the faithful account of all your proceedings in this affair."

The king comprehended my meaning. "You will keep a careful watch," added he to M. de Sartines, "that no harm befalls this unfortunate youth, whom, I beg, you will discreetly recommend to quit France ere the malice of those who have reason to fear his reappearance works him some evil."

"And who, sire," asked I, "shall dare injure one whom your majesty deigns to honor with your protection?"

"Madame," replied M. de Sartines, "even his majesty's high patronage cannot prevent a secret blow from some daring hand; a quarrel purposely got up; a beverage previously drugged; a fall from any of the bridges into the river; or, even the supposition of one found dead, having destroyed himself."

"You make me shudder," said I, "in thus unveiling the extent of human depravity. So, then, this young man, whose only fault appears to have been that captivating the eyes of a noble lady, should perish in a dungeon, or save his life at the sacrifice of country, friends, connections; and all this for having listened to the passion of a woman, as licentious in manners as illustrious by birth: this frightful injustice rouses all my indignation. Well, then, since the power of the monarch of France is insufficient to protect his oppressed subject in his own realms, let him shield him from want in a foreign land, by allowing him a pension of one hundred louis. I will take upon myself to defray the expenses of his journey."

Thus saying, I was hastening to the adjoining room, where stood my , to take from it a thousand crowns I wished to give for the purpose. The king held me back by my arm, saying to me,

"You are the most excellent creature I know of, but you see I am always master. I will undertake to provide for this young man. M. de Sartines," pursued he, "I wish to secure to him a thousand crowns yearly; and, further, you will supply him with six thousand francs ready money, which M. de la Borde will repay to your order. <Now are you satisfied, Couci?>" said the king, turning to me.

My only reply was to throw my arms around his neck without ceremony, spite of the presence of a witness, who might blush at my familiarity. "You are indeed," said I, "a really good prince; it is only a pity you will not assert your right to rule alone."

"You are a little rebel," cried he, "to doubt my absolute power." This tone of playful gaiety was kept up some time after the departure of the lieutenant of police.

M. de Sartines returned next day to tell me that everything had been accomplished to my desire. "M. Moireau," said he, "has left prison, and departs for Spain to-morrow morning: his intention is to join some friends of his at Madrid. He is informed of all he owes you, and entreats your acceptance of his most grateful and respectful acknowledgments. Will you see him?"

"That would be useless," answered I; "say to him only, that I request he will write to me upon his arrival at Madrid, and give me the history of his late adventure in its fullest details."

Moireau did not disappoint me; and so soon as his letter reached me I hastened to copy it, merely suppressing the date of the place from which it was written, and forwarded it immediately to the comtesse d'Egmont, with the following note:—

"The many proofs of tender attachment with which the widow Rossin honored young Moireau make me believe that she will learn with pleasure of my having the good fortune to rescue the ill-fated youth from the cruelty of the comtesse d'Egmont. This interesting young man no longer groans a wretched prisoner in the gloomy abode that haughty lady had selected for him, but is at this minute safe in a neighboring kingdom, under the powerful patronage of king of France, who is in possession of every circumstance relative to the affair. I likewise know the whole of the matter, and have in my keeping the most irrefragable proofs of all that took place and should I henceforward have any reason to complain of the comtesse d'Egmont, I shall publish these documents with permission of those concerned.

"The public will then be enabled to judge of the virtue and humanity of one who affects to treat me with a ridiculous disdain. There exists no law against a fair lady having lovers and admirers, but a stern one forbids her to command or procure their destruction. I KNOW ALL; and madame d'Egmont's future conduct will decide my silence and discretion. The affair with Moireau is not the only one, others of even a graver sin preceded it. I can publish the whole together; and, I repeat, my determination on this head depends wholly and entirely upon the manner in which madame d'Egmont shall henceforward conduct herself towards me. I beg madame de Rossin will allow me to subscribe myself, with every feeling she so well, merits,

"Her very humble and most obedient servant,

"THE COMTESSE DU BARRY"

I had communicated to no one the secret of this vengeance; I wished to keep the delight of thus exciting the rage of the princesse d'Egmont all to myself. I was certain, that whatever might henceforward be her line of conduct towards me, that whenever she found herself in my presence, she would bitterly feel the stings of an accusing conscience, and the gnawings of that worm which dieth not in the heart of hypocritical and wicked persons, more especially when compelled to meet the eye of those who could unmask them in a minute.

On the following day I received a visit from the duc de Richelieu. Spite of the many endeavors he made to appear smiling and good humored, a deep rage kept its station round his mouth, and contracted his lips even in the midst of the artificial smile with which he sought to dissimulate his wrath.

"Madame, good morning," said he to me, "I come to offer my congratulations, you really are become quite one of us; upon my word, the most experienced courtier has nothing more to teach you."

"I am as yet in ignorance of the cause to which I may ascribe these compliments, M. le marechal, which I greatly fear surpass my poor merits; and which even you will be compelled to retract them when I am better known to you."

"Fear it not, madame," said he, "your commencement is a master-stroke; and the letter you yesterday addressed to the comtesse d'Egmont—"

"Ah, sir," exclaimed I, with unfeigned astonishment, "in her place I certainly should not have selected you as my confidant in the affair."

"And who could she better have selected than her father? But that is not the matter in hand. My daughter is filled with anger against you; and if I must speak the truth, I do not think your behavior towards her quite what it should have been."

"Really, monsieur, I was not prepared for a reproach of this kind; and what can madame d'Egmont allege against me? 'Tis she who has pursued me with the most bitter sarcasms, the most determined malice; and, I may add, the most impertinent behavior. I entreat your pardon for using such strong expressions, but her behavior allows of none milder. And what have I done in my turn? snatched from a lingering death an unfortunate young man, whose only crime consisted in having pleased this unreasonable madame d'Egmont. I procured the king's protection for the miserable object of the princess's affection; I obtained his safe removal to another country; and, having done all this, I communicated my knowledge of the transaction to the comtesse d'Egmont. Does this bear any comparison with her line of conduct towards me?"

"But your letter, madame; your letter—"

"Would bear alterations and amendments, sir, I am aware: I admit I did not sufficiently insist upon the atrocity of such an abuse of power."

"You are then resolved, madame, to make us your enemies."

"I should be very sorry, monsieur le duc, to be compelled to such extremities; but if your friendship can only be purchased at the price of my submitting to continually receive the insults of your family, I should be the first to cease to aspire to it. If Madame d'Egmont holds herself aggrieved by me, let her carry her complaint before the parliament; we shall then see what redress she will get. She has compromised the king's name by an arbitrary act; and since you thus attack me, you must not take it amiss if I make the king acquainted with the whole business."

The marechal, surprised at so severe a reply, could no longer restrain the rage which filled him. "I should have thought, madame," said he, "that my daughter, in whose veins flows royal blood, might have merited some little consideration from the comtesse du Barry."

"It is well, then, monsieur le duc," replied I, "to point out to you your error. I see in my enemies their works and actions alone, without any reference to their birth, be it high or low; and the conduct of madame d'Egmont has been so violent and unceasing towards me, that it leaves me without the smallest regret for that I have pursued towards her."

I had imagined that this reply would still further irritate the angry feelings of the duc de Richelieu, but it did not: he easily guessed that nothing but the king's support could have inspired me to express myself with so much energy; and, if paternal vanity strove in his heart, personal interests spoke there with even a louder voice. He therefore sought to lay aside his anger, and, like a skilful courtier, changing his angry look and tone for one of cheerfulness:

"Madame," said he, "I yield; I see it will not do to enter the lists against you. I confess I came this morning but to sound your courage, and already you have driven me off the field vanquished. There is one favor I would implore of your generosity, and that is, to be silent as to all that has transpired."

"I shall not speak of it, monsieur le duc," replied I, much moved, "unless you or madame d'Egmont set me the example."

"In that case the affair will for ever remain buried in oblivion; but, madame, I will not conceal from you, that my daughter has become your most bitter and irreconcilable enemy. "

"The motives which have actuated me, monsieur le marechal, are such as to leave me very little concern upon that subject. I flatter myself this affair will not keep you away from me, who would fain reckon as firmly on your friendship as yon may do on mine."

The marechal kissed my hand in token of amity, and from that moment the matter was never mentioned.

A similar scene had already occurred with the prince de Soubise, relative to the exile of his daughter. Was it not somewhat strange, as well as unjust, that all the noblemen of the day wished to preserve to their relations the right of offending me with impunity, without permitting me even the right of defending myself.



CHAPTER XIX

Madame du Barry separates from madame de Bearn—Letters between these ladies—Portrait of madame de l'Hopital—The ladder—The bell—Conversation with madame de Mirepoix—First visit to Chantilly— Intrigues to prevent the countess from going thither—The king's Displeasure towards the princesses—The archbishop de Senlis The spoiled child of fortune, I had now attained the height of my wishes. The king's passion augmented daily, and my empire became such as to defy the utmost endeavors of my enemies to undermine it. Another woman in my place would have employed her power in striking terror amongst all who were opposed to her, but for my own part I contented myself with repulsing their attempts to injure me, and in proceeding to severity only when my personal interests were too deeply concerned to admit of my passing the matter over in silence.

There was no accusation too infamous to be laid to my charge; amongst other enormities they scrupled not to allege that I had been the murderess of Lebel, the king's , who died by poison! Was it likely, was it probable that I should seek the destruction of him to whom I owed my elevation, the most devoted of friends, and for whom my heart cherished the most lively sense of gratitude? What interest could I possibly derive from the perpetration of such a crime? The imputation was too absurd for belief, but slander cares little for the seeming improbability of such an event. The simple fact remained that Lebel was dead, of course the cruel and unjust consequence became in the hands of my enemies, that I had been the principal accessory to it.

My most trifling actions were misrepresented with the same black malignity. They even made it a crime in me to have written to madame de Bearn, thanking her for her past kindnesses, and thus setting her at liberty to retire from the mercenary services she pretended to have afforded me. And who could blame me for seeking to render myself independent of her control, or for becoming weary of the tyrannical guidance of one who had taken it into her head that I had become her sole property, and who, in pursuance of this idea, bored and tormented me to death with her follies and exactions, and even took upon herself to be out of humor at the least indication of my attaching myself to any other lady of the court. According to her view of things, gratitude imposed on me the rigorous law of forming an intimacy with her alone; in a word, she exercised over me the most galling dominion, which my family had long counselled me to shake off; in truth, I was perfectly tired of bearing the yoke her capricious and overbearing temper imposed upon me, but I determined, if possible, to do nothing hastily, and to endure it with patience as long as I could. But now that the number of my female friends was augmented by the addition of the marquise de Montmorency and the comtesse de l'Hopital I determined no longer to bear the constant display of madame de Bearn's despotic sway, and finding no chance of accommodating our tastes and humors, I resolved to free myself from her thraldom. Another powerful reason for this measure was the dislike with which the king regarded her; not that she was deficient in birth or good breeding, but amidst the polish of high life she occasionally introduced the most vulgar and provincial manners, a fault of all others most offensive to the king, whose disgust was further excited by the undisguised avidity with which, at every opportunity, she sought to turn her admission to the king's private society to account, by preferring some request or soliciting some particular favor. Instead of giving herself up to the joy and hilarity that reigned around, she seemed always on the watch to seize every possible advantage to herself. Immediately that the king was apprized of my intention of dismissing her from any further cares for me, "You are quite right," said he, "to get rid of this troublesome woman, who never visits us without calculating the degree of interest she can derive from it, and seems to me, whenever she approaches me, as tho' she were devising some fresh petition to obtain from me. And now, too, that the first ladies of the court fill your drawing-rooms, why should you endure her importunate presence?"

Strengthened by these sentiments on the king's part, I lost no time in writing to madame de Bearn a letter, of which many false copies were circulated; however, I subjoin the following as the veritable epistle addressed by me to the countess:—

"MADAME,—It would be the height of selfishness on my part to tax further the kindness and attention you have been pleased to show me. I am well aware how many public and private duties claim your care, and I therefore (with much regret) beg to restore to you that liberty you have so generously sacrificed to my interests. Conscious of the ennui which oppresses you in this part of the country, I write to entreat that you will allow no consideration connected with me to detain you longer in a place so irksome, but, since our visit to Marly is concluded, fly upon the wings of impatience to the gay scenes of Paris and Luxembourg. Be assured that it will at all times afford me much pleasure to evince the gratitude with which I shall ever remain,

"Madame, yours sincerely,

"THE COMTESSE Du Barry."

"P. S. I am commissioned to entreat your acceptance of the accompanying casket; it is the gift of one whose favors are never refused; you will easily guess, to whom I allude, and I doubt not bring yourself to conform to the usual custom."

The jewels sent were a pair of ear-rings and an of emeralds encircled with diamonds. The king was desirous of bestowing upon madame de Bearn this particular mark of his recollection of her services towards me, but it did not allay the indignation with which she expressed her sense of my bitter ingratitude, as she termed it, as tho' her interested cooperation had not been sufficiently repaid . Nevertheless, she forbore to come to a decided quarrel with me, but satisfied herself with loading me with every reproach in private, whilst she wrote to thank me for all the favors I had bestowed upon her, and entreated I would keep her remembrance alive in the mind of my royal protector. As there was nothing offensive in the style of the letter I showed it to the king; when he came to the part where madame de Bearn recommended herself to his kind recollection, and expressed her desire to be permitted to throw herself once more at his feet, "Heaven preserve me," cried he, "from receiving this mark of the lady's respect. No, no, she is bad enough at a distance; I should be bored to death were she so near to me as she prays for. Thank God we have got rid of her, and now trust to your own guidance; try the powers of your own wings to bear you in safety, I feel persuaded you will never be at a loss."

About this time the prince de Soubise, anxious to evince that he no longer retained any feelings of coolness towards me, requested his mistress, madame de l'Hopital, to call upon me. This lady, without being a regular beauty, was yet very attractive. She was past the meridian of her charms, but what she wanted in youth she amply compensated for by the vivacity and brilliancy of her conversation, as well as the freedom of her ideas, which made her the idol of all the old libertines of the court. The prince de Soubise was greatly attached to her, and preferred her in reality, to mademoiselle Guimard, whom he only retained for form's sake, and because he thought it suitable to his dignity to have an opera dancer in his pay; this nobleman (as you will find) had rather singular ideas of the duties attached to his station.

Madame de l'Hopital had had a vast number of gallant adventures, which she was very fond of relating. I shall mention two of the most amusing, which will serve to convey an idea of the skilfulness and ready wit with which she extricated herself from the most embarrassing circumstances.

A young man, whose love she permitted, whose name was the chevalier de Cressy, was obliged, in order to visit her, to scale a terrace upon which a window opened, which conducted to the sleeping-room of his mistress. He was generally accompanied by his valet, a good-looking youth, who, disliking a state of idleness, had contrived to insinuate himself into the good graces of the lady's maid. The valet, during his master's stay with madame, had likewise ascended the terrace, and penetrated, by the aid of another window, into the chamber where reposed the object of his tender love. All this was accomplished with as little noise as possible, in order to prevent the mischance of awakening the marquis de l'Hopital, who was quietly asleep in an adjoining room.

One clear moonlight night, at the very instant when M. de Cressy was about to step out of the window, in order to return to his own apartment, a terrible crash of broken glass was heard. The terrified chevalier sought the aid of his ladder, but it had disappeared. Not knowing what to do, the chevalier returned to madame de l'Hopital, who, seized with terror, had only just time to conceal him in her chamber, when the marquis opened his window to ascertain the cause of all this confusion. In an instant the alarm spread, and heads were popped out of the different windows of the castle, each vieing with the other in vociferating "Thieves! thieves! murder! fire!"