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Title: Memoirs of the Courts of Louis XV and XVI. — Complete

Author: Mme. Du Hausset
princesse de Marie Thérèse Louise de Savoie-Carignan
Lamballe

Release date: August 25, 2004 [eBook #3883]
Most recently updated: January 27, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3883

Credits: Produced by David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF
THE COURTS OF LOUIS XV AND XVI. — COMPLETE ***

MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XV. AND
XVI.

Being Secret Memoirs of Madame du Hausset,
Lady’s Maid to Madame de Pompadour,
and of an unknown English Girl
and the Princess Lamballe.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Louis the Fifteenth

"It Was an Indigestion

Madame du Hausset

Madame de Pompadour

Madame Adelaide

Madame Sophie

Madame Elizabeth

Mirabeau and the Queen

Princess de Lamballe

Marie Antoinette in the Temple

Interviewing Little Louis

Marie Antoinette to the Guillotine

ADVERTISEMENT.
[FROM THE LONDON MAGAZINE, NO. III. NEW SERIES P.
439.]

We were obliged by circumstances, at one time, to read all the published
memoirs relative to the reign of Louis XV., and had the opportunity of
reading many others which may not see the light for a long time yet to come,
as their publication at present would materially militate against the interest of
the descendants of the writers; and we have no hesitation in saying that the
Memoirs of Madame du Hausset are the only perfectly sincere ones amongst
all those we know. Sometimes, Madame du Hausset mistakes, through
ignorance, but never does she wilfully mislead, like Madame Campan, nor
keep back a secret, like Madame Roland, and MM. Bezenval and Ferreires;
nor is she ever betrayed by her vanity to invent, like the Due de Lauzun, MM.
Talleyrand, Bertrand de Moleville, Marmontel, Madame d’Epinay, etc. When
Madame du Hausset is found in contradiction with other memoirs of the same
period, we should never hesitate to give her account the preference. Whoever
is desirous of accurately knowing the reign of Louis XV. should run over the
very wretched history of Lacretelle, merely for the dates, and afterwards read
the two hundred pages of the naive du Hausset, who, in every half page,
overturns half a dozen misstatements of this hollow rhetorician. Madame du
Hausset was often separated from the little and obscure chamber in the Palace
of Versailles, where resided the supreme power, only by a slight door or
curtain, which permitted her to hear all that was said there. She had for a
‘cher ami’ the greatest practical philosopher of that period, Dr. Quesnay, the
founder of political economy. He was physician to Madame de Pompadour,
and one of the sincerest and most single-hearted of men probably in Paris at
the time. He explained to Madame du Hausset many things that, but for his
assistance, she would have witnessed without understanding.

INTRODUCTION.

A friend of M. de Marigny (the brother of Madame de Pompadour) called
on him one day and found him burning papers. Taking up a large packet
which he was going to throw into the fire “This,” said he, “is the journal of a
waiting-woman of my sister’s. She was a very estimable person, but it is all
gossip; to the fire with it!” He stopped, and added, “Don’t you think I am a
little like the curate and the barber burning Don Quixote’s romances?”—“I
beg for mercy on this,” said his friend. “I am fond of anecdotes, and I shall be
sure to find some here which will interest me.” “Take it, then,” said M. de
Marigny, and gave it him.
The handwriting and the spelling of this journal are very bad. It abounds in
tautology and repetitions. Facts are sometimes inverted in the order of time;
but to remedy all these defects it would have been necessary to recast the
whole, which would have completely changed the character of the work. The
spelling and punctuation were, however, corrected in the original, and some
explanatory notes added.
Madame de Pompadour had two waiting-women of good family. The one,
Madame du Hausset, who did not change her name; and another, who
assumed a name, and did not publicly announce her quality. This journal is
evidently the production of the former.
The amours of Louis XV. were, for a long time, covered with the veil of
mystery. The public talked of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, but were acquainted with
none of its details. Louis XIV., who, in the early part of his reign, had
endeavoured to conceal his attachments, towards the close of it gave them a
publicity which in one way increased the scandal; but his mistresses were all
women of quality, entitled by their birth to be received at Court. Nothing can
better describe the spirit of the time and the character of the Monarch than
these words of Madame de Montespan:
“He does not love me,” said she, “but he thinks he owes it to his subjects
and to his own greatness to have the most beautiful woman in his kingdom as
his mistress.”

SECRET MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XV.,
AND MEMOIRS OF MADAME DU HAUSSET.

An early friend of mine, who married well at Paris, and who has the
reputation of being a very clever woman, has often asked me to write down
what daily passed under my notice; to please her, I made little notes, of three
or four lines each, to recall to my memory the most singular or interesting
facts; as, for instance—attempt to assassinate the King; he orders Madame de
Pompadour to leave the Court; M. de Machaudt’s ingratitude, etc.—I always
promised my friend that I would, some time or other, reduce all these
materials into the form of a regular narrative. She mentioned the
“Recollections of Madame de Caylus,” which were, however, not then
printed; and pressed me so much to produce a similar work, that I have taken
advantage of a few leisure moments to write this, which I intend to give her,
in order that she may arrange it and correct the style. I was for a long time
about the person of Madame de Pompadour, and my birth procured for me
respectful treatment from herself, and from some distinguished persons who
conceived a regard for me. I soon became the intimate friend of Doctor
Quesnay, who frequently came to pass two or three hours with me.
His house was frequented by people of all parties, but the number was
small, and restricted to those who were on terms of greatest intimacy with
him. All subjects were handled with the utmost freedom, and it is infinitely to
his honour and theirs that nothing was ever repeated.
The Countess D——- also visited me. She was a frank and lively woman,
and much liked by Madame de Pompadour. The Baschi family paid me great
attention. M. de Marigny had received some little services from me, in the
course of the frequent quarrels between him and his sister, and he had a great
friendship for me. The King was in the constant habit of seeing me; and an
accident, which I shall have occasion to relate, rendered him very familiar
with me. He talked without any constraint when I was in the room. During
Madame de Pompadour’s illness I scarcely ever left her chamber, and passed
the night there. Sometimes, though rarely, I accompanied her in her carriage

with Doctor Quesnay, to whom she scarcely spoke a word, though he was—a
man of great talents. When I was alone with her, she talked of many affairs
which nearly concerned her, and she once said to me, “The King and I have
such implicit confidence in you, that we look upon you as a cat, or a dog, and
go on talking as if you were not there.” There was a little nook, adjoining her
chamber, which has since been altered, where she knew I usually sat when I
was alone, and where I heard everything that was said in the room, unless it
was spoken in a low voice. But when the King wanted to speak to her in
private, or in the presence of any of his Ministers, he went with her into a
closet, by the side of the chamber, whither she also retired when she had
secret business with the Ministers, or with other important persons; as, for
instance, the Lieutenant of Police, the Postmaster-General, etc. All these
circumstances brought to my knowledge a great many things which probity
will neither allow me to tell or to record. I generally wrote without order of
time, so that a fact may be related before others which preceded it. Madame
de Pompadour had a great friendship for three Ministers; the first was M. de
Machault, to whom she was indebted for the regulation of her income, and
the payment of her debts. She gave him the seals, and he retained the first
place in her regard till the attempt to assassinate the King. Many people said
that his conduct on that occasion was not attributable to bad intentions; that
he thought it his duty to obey the King without making himself in any way a
party to the affair, and that his cold manners gave him the appearance of an
indifference which he did not feel. Madame de Pompadour regarded him in
the light of a faithless friend; and, perhaps, there was some justice on both
sides. But for the Abbe de Bernis; M. de Machault might, probably, have
retained his place.
The second Minister, whom Madame de Pompadour liked, was the Abbe
de Bernis. She was soon disgusted with him when she saw the absurdity of
his conduct. He gave a singular specimen of this on the very day of his
dismissal. He had invited a great many people of distinction to a splendid
entertainment, which was to have taken place on the very day when he
received his order of banishment, and had written in the notes of invitation—
M. Le Comte de Lusace will be there. This Count was the brother of the
Dauphine, and this mention of him was deservedly thought impertinent. The
King said, wittily enough, “Lambert and Moliere will be there.” She scarcely
ever spoke of the Cardinal de Bernis after his dismissal from the Court.

He was extremely ridiculous, but he was a good sort of man. Madame, the
Infanta, died a little time before, and, by the way, of such a complication of
putrid and malignant diseases, that the Capuchins who bore the body, and the
men who committed it to the grave, were overcome by the effluvia. Her
papers appeared no less impure in the eyes of the King. He discovered that
the Abbe de Bernis had been intriguing with her, and that they had deceived
him, and had obtained the Cardinal’s hat by making use of his name. The
King was so indignant that he was very near refusing him the barrette. He did
grant it—but just as he would have thrown a bone to a dog. The Abbe had
always the air of a protege when he was in the company of Madame de
Pompadour. She had known him in positive distress. The Due de Choiseul
was very differently situated; his birth, his air, his manners, gave him claims
to consideration, and he far exceeded every other man in the art of
ingratiating himself with Madame de Pompadour. She looked upon him as
one of the most illustrious nobles of the Court, as the most able Minister, and
the most agreeable man. M. de Choiseul had a sister and a wife, whom he had
introduced to her, and who sedulously cultivated her favourable sentiments
towards him. From the time he was Minister, she saw only with his eyes; he
had the talent of amusing her, and his manners to women, generally, were
extremely agreeable.
Two persons—the Lieutenant of Police and the Postmaster-General—were
very much in Madame de Pompadour’s confidence; the latter, however,
became less necessary to her from the time that the King communicated to M.
de Choiseul the secret of the post-office, that is to say, the system of opening
letters and extracting matter from them: this had never been imparted to M.
d’Argenson, in spite of the high favour he enjoyed. I have heard that M. de
Choiseul abused the confidence reposed in him, and related to his friends the
ludicrous stories, and the love affairs, contained in the letters which were
broken open. The plan they pursued, as I have heard, was very simple. Six or
seven clerks of the post-office picked out the letters they were ordered to
break open, and took the impression of the seals with a ball of quicksilver.
Then they put each letter, with the seal downwards, over a glass of hot water,
which melted the wax without injuring the paper. It was then opened, the
desired matter extracted, and it was sealed again, by means of the impression.
This is the account of the matter I have heard. The Postmaster-General
carried the extracts to the King on Sundays. He was seen coming and going
on this noble errand as openly as the Ministers. Doctor Quesnay often, in my
presence, flew in such a rage about that infamous Minister, as he called him,

that he foamed at the mouth. “I would as soon dine with the hangman as with
the Postmaster-General,” said the Doctor. It must be acknowledged that this
was astonishing language to be uttered in the apartments of the King’s
mistress; yet it went on for twenty years without being talked of. “It was
probity speaking with earnestness,” said M. de Marigny, “and not a mere
burst of spite or malignity.”
The Duc de Gontaut was the brother-in-law and friend of M. de Choiseul,
and was assiduous in his attendance on Madame de Pompadour. The sister of
M. de Choiseul, Madame de Grammont, and his wife were equally constant
in their attentions. This will sufficiently account for the ascendency of M. de
Choiseul, whom nobody would have ventured to attack. Chance, however,
discovered to me a secret correspondence of the King, with a man in a very
obscure station. This man, who had a place in the Farmers General, of from
two to three hundred a year, was related to one of the young ladies of the
Parc-aux-cerfs, by whom he was recommended to the King. He was also
connected in some way with M. de Broglie, in whom the King placed great
confidence. Wearied with finding that this correspondence procured him no
advancement, he took the resolution of writing to me, and requesting an
interview, which I granted, after acquainting Madame de Pompadour with the
circumstance. After a great deal of preamble and of flattery, he said to me,
“Can you give me your word of honour, and that of Madame de Pompadour,
that no mention whatever of what I am going to tell you will be made to the
King?”—“I think I can assure you that, if you require such a promise from
Madame de Pompadour, and if it can produce no ill consequence to the
King’s service, she will give it you.” He gave me his word that what he
requested would have no bad effect; upon which I listened to what he had to
say. He shewed me several memorials, containing accusations of M. de
Choiseul, and revealed some curious circumstances relative to the secret
functions of the Comte de Broglie. These, however, led rather to conjectures
than to certainty, as to the nature of the services he rendered to the King.
Lastly, he shewed me several letters in the King’s handwriting. “I request,”
said he, “that the Marquise de Pompadour will procure for me the place of
Receiver-General of Finances; I will give her information of whatever I send
the King; I will write according to her instructions, and I will send her his
answers.” As I did not choose to take liberties with the King’s papers, I only
undertook to deliver the memorials. Madame de Pompadour having given me
her word according to the conditions on which I had received the
communication, I revealed to her everything I had heard. She sent the

memorials to M. de Choiseul, who thought them very maliciously and very
cleverly written. Madame de Pompadour and he had a long conference as to
the reply that was to be given to the person by whom those disclosures were
made. What I was commissioned to say was this: that the place of Receiver-
General was at present too important, and would occasion too much surprise
and speculation; that it would not do to go beyond a place worth fifteen
thousand to twenty thousand francs a year; that they had no desire to pry into
the King’s secrets; and that his correspondence ought not to be communicated
to any one; that this did not apply to papers like those of which I was the
bearer, which might fall into his hands; that he would confer an obligation by
communicating them, in order that blows aimed in the dark, and directed by
malignity and imposture, might be parried. The answer was respectful and
proper, in what related to the King; it was, however, calculated to counteract
the schemes of the Comte de Broglie, by making M. de Choiseul acquainted
with his attacks, and with the nature of the weapons he employed. It was from
the Count that he received statements relating to the war and to the navy; but
he had no communication with him concerning foreign affairs, which the
Count, as it was said, transacted immediately with the King. The Duc de
Choiseul got the man who spoke to me recommended to the Controller-
General, without his appearing in the business; he had the place which was
agreed upon, and the hope of a still better, and he entrusted to me the King’s
correspondence, which I told him I should not mention to Madame de
Pompadour, according to her injunctions. He sent several memorials to M. de
Choiseul, containing accusations of him, addressed to the King. This timely
information enabled him to refute them triumphantly.
The King was very fond of having little private correspondences, very
often unknown to Madame de Pompadour: she knew, however, of the
existence of some, for he passed part of his mornings in writing to his family,
to the King of Spain, to Cardinal Tencin, to the Abbe de Broglie, and also to
some obscure persons. “It is, doubtless, from such people as these,” said she
to me, one day, “that the King learns expressions which perfectly surprise me.
For instance, he said to me yesterday, when he saw a man pass with an old
coat on, ‘il y a la un habit bien examine.’ He once said to me, when he meant
to express that a thing was probable, ‘il y a gros’; I am told this is a saying of
the common people, meaning, ‘il y a gros a parier’.” I took the liberty to say,
“But is it not more likely from his young ladies at the Parc, that he learns
these elegant expressions?” She laughed, and said, “You are right; ‘il y a

gros’.” The King, however, used these expressions designedly, and with a
laugh.
The King knew a great many anecdotes, and there were people enough
who furnished him with such as were likely to mortify the self-love of others.
One day, at Choisy, he went into a room where some people were employed
about embroidered furniture, to see how they were going on; and looking out
of the window, he saw at the end of a long avenue two men in the Choisy
uniform. “Who are those two noblemen?” said he. Madame de Pompadour
took up her glass, and said, “They are the Duc d’Aumont, and ———” “Ah!”
said the King; “the Duc d’Aumont’s grandfather would be greatly astonished
if he could see his grandson arm in arm with the grandson of his valet de
chambre, L———, in a dress which may be called a patent of nobility!” He
went on to tell Madame de Pompadour a long history, to prove the truth of
what he said. The King went out to accompany her into the garden; and, soon
after, Quesnay and M. de Marigny came in. I spoke with contempt of some
one who was very fond of money. At this the Doctor laughed, and said, “I had
a curious dream last night: I was in the country of the ancient Germans; I had
a large house, stacks of corn, herds of cattle, a great number of horses, and
huge barrels of ale; but I suffered dreadfully from rheumatism, and knew not
how to manage to go to a fountain, at fifty leagues’ distance, the waters of
which would cure me. I was to go among a strange people. An enchanter
appeared before me, and said to me, ‘I pity your distress; here, I will give you
a little packet of the powder of “prelinpinpin”; whoever receives a little of
this from you will lodge you, feed you, and pay you all sorts of civilities.’ I
took the powder, and thanked him.” “Ah!” said I, “how I should like to have
some powder of prelinpinpin! I wish I had a chest full.”—“Well,” said the
Doctor, “that powder is money, for which you have so great a contempt. Tell
me who, of all the men who come hither, receives the greatest
attentions?”—“I do not know,” said I. “Why,” said he, “it is M. de
Monmartel, who comes four or five times a year.”—“Why does he enjoy so
much consideration?”—“Because his coffers are full of the powder of
prelinpinpin. Everything in existence,” said he, taking a handful of Louis
from his pocket, “is contained in these little pieces of metal, which will
convey you commodiously from one end of the world to the other. All men
obey those who possess this powder, and eagerly tender them their services.
To despise money, is to despise happiness, liberty, in short, enjoyments of
every kind.” A cordon bleu passed under the window. “That nobleman,” said
I, “is much more delighted with his cordon bleu than he would be with ten

thousand of your pieces of metal.”—“When I ask the King for a pension,”
replied Quesnay, “I say to him, ‘Give me the means of having a better dinner,
a warmer coat, a carriage to shelter me from the weather, and to transport me
from place to place without fatigue.’ But the man who asks him for that fine
blue ribbon would say, if he had the courage and the honesty to speak as he
feels, ‘I am vain, and it will give me great satisfaction to see people look at
me, as I pass, with an eye of stupid admiration, and make way, for me; I wish,
when I enter a room, to produce an effect, and to excite the attention of those
who may, perhaps, laugh at me when I am gone; I wish to be called
Monseigneur by the multitude.’ Is not all this mere empty air? In scarcely any
country will this ribbon be of the slightest use to him; it will give him no
power. My pieces of metal will give me the power of assisting the unfortunate
everywhere. Long live the omnipotent powder of prelinpinpin!” At these last
words, we heard a burst of laughter from the adjoining room, which was only
separated by a door from the one we were in. The door opened, and in came
the King, Madame de Pompadour, and M. de Gontaut. “Long live the powder
of prelinpinpin!” said the King. “Doctor, can you get me any of it?” It
happened that, when the King returned from his walk, he was struck with a
fancy to listen to our conversation. Madame de Pompadour was extremely
kind to the Doctor, and the King went out laughing, and talking with great
admiration of the powder. I went away, and so did the Doctor. I immediately
sat down to commit this conversation to writing. I was afterwards told that M.
Quesnay was very learned in certain matters relating to finance, and that he
was a great ‘economiste’. But I do not know very well what that means. What
I do know for certain is, that he was very clever, very gay and witty, and a
very able physician.
The illness of the little Duke of Burgundy, whose intelligence was much
talked of, for a long time occupied the attention of the Court. Great
endeavours were made to find out the cause of his malady, and ill-nature went
so far as to assert that his nurse, who had an excellent situation at Versailles,
had communicated to him a nasty disease. The King shewed Madame de
Pompadour the information he had procured from the province she came
from, as to her conduct. A silly Bishop thought proper to say she had been
very licentious in her youth. The poor nurse was told of this, and begged that
he might be made to explain himself. The Bishop replied, that she had been at
several balls in the town in which she lived, and that she had gone with her
neck uncovered. The poor man actually thought this the height of
licentiousness. The King, who had been at first uneasy, when he came to this,

called out, “What a fool!” After having long been a source of anxiety to the
Court, the Duke died. Nothing produces a stronger impression upon Princes,
than the spectacle of their equals dying. Everybody is occupied about them
while ill—but as soon as they are dead, nobody mentions them. The King
frequently talked about death—and about funerals, and places of burial.
Nobody could be of a more melancholy temperament. Madame de
Pompadour once told me that he experienced a painful sensation whenever he
was forced to laugh, and that he had often begged her to break off a droll
story. He smiled, and that was all. In general, he had the most gloomy ideas
concerning almost all events. When there was a new Minister, he used to say,
“He displays his wares like all the rest, and promises the finest things in the
world, not one of which will be fulfilled. He does not know this country—he
will see.” When new projects for reinforcing the navy were laid before him,
he said, “This is the twentieth time I have heard this talked of—France never
will have a navy, I think.” This I heard from M. de Marigny.
I never saw Madame de Pompadour so rejoiced as at the taking of Mahon.
The King was very glad, too, but he had no belief in the merit of his courtiers
—he looked upon their success as the effect of chance. Marechal Saxe was,
as I have been told, the only man who inspired him with great esteem. But he
had scarcely ever seen him in his closet, or playing the courtier.
M. d’Argenson picked a quarrel with M. de Richelieu, after his victory,
about his return to Paris. This was intended to prevent his coming to enjoy his
triumph. He tried to throw the thing upon Madame de Pompadour, who was
enthusiastic about him, and called him by no other name than the
“Minorcan.” The Chevalier de Montaign was the favourite of the Dauphin,
and much beloved by him for his great devotion. He fell ill, and underwent an
operation called ‘l’empieme’, which is performed by making an incision
between the ribs, in order to let out the pus; it had, to all appearance, a
favourable result, but the patient grew worse, and could not breathe. His
medical attendants could not conceive what occasioned this accident and
retarded his cure. He died almost in the arms of the Dauphin, who went every
day to see him. The singularity of his disease determined the surgeons to open
the body, and they found, in his chest, part of the leaden syringe with which
decoctions had, as was usual, been injected into the part in a state of
suppuration. The surgeon, who committed this act of negligence, took care
not to boast of his feat, and his patient was the victim. This incident was
much talked of by the King, who related it, I believe, not less than thirty

times, according to his custom; but what occasioned still more conversation
about the Chevalier de Montaign, was a box, found by his bed’s side,
containing haircloths, and shirts, and whips, stained with blood. This
circumstance was spoken of one evening at supper, at Madame de
Pompadour’s, and not one of the guests seemed at all tempted to imitate the
Chevalier. Eight or ten days afterwards, the following tale was sent to the
King, to Madame de Pompadour, to the Baschi, and to the Duc d’Ayen. At
first nobody could understand to what it referred: at last, the Duc d’Ayen
exclaimed, “How stupid we are; this is a joke on the austerities of the
Chevalier de Montaign!” This appeared clear enough—so much the more so,
as the copies were sent to the Dauphin, the Dauphine, the Abbe de St. Cyr,
and to the Duc de V—-. The latter had the character of a pretender to
devotion, and, in his copy, there was this addition, “You would not be such a
fool, my dear Duke, as to be a ‘faquir’—confess that you would be very glad
to be one of those good monks who lead such a jolly life.” The Duc de
Richelieu was suspected of having employed one of his wits to write the
story. The King was scandalised at it, and ordered the Lieutenant of Police to
endeavour to find out the author, but either he could not succeed or he would
not betray him.

Japanese Tale.

At a distance of three leagues from the capital of Japan, there is a temple
celebrated for the concourse of persons, of both sexes, and of all ranks, who
crowd thither to worship an idol believed to work miracles. Three hundred
men consecrated to the service of religion, and who can give proofs of
ancient and illustrious descent, serve this temple, and present to the idol the
offerings which are brought from all the provinces of the empire. They
inhabit a vast and magnificent edifice, belonging to the temple, and
surrounded with gardens where art has combined with nature to produce
enchantment. I obtained permission to see the temple, and to walk in the
gardens. A monk advanced in years, but still full of vigour and vivacity,
accompanied me. I saw several others, of different ages, who were walking
there. But what surprised me was to see a great many of them amusing
themselves by various agreeable and sportive games with young girls
elegantly dressed, listening to their songs, and joining in their dances. The
monk, who accompanied me, listened with great civility and kindness to the
questions I put to him concerning his order. The following is the sum of his

answers to my numerous interrogations. The God Faraki, whom we worship,
is so called from a word which signifies the fabricator. He made all that we
behold—the earth, the stars, the sun, etc. He has endowed men with senses,
which are so many sources of pleasure, and we think the only way of shewing
our gratitude is to use them. This opinion will, doubtless, appear to you much
more rational than that of the faquirs of India, who pass their lives in
thwarting nature, and who inflict upon themselves the most melancholy
privations and the most severe sufferings.
As soon as the sun rises, we repair to the mountain you see before us, at the
foot of which flows a stream of the most limpid water, which meanders in
graceful windings through that meadow-enamelled with the loveliest flowers.
We gather the most fragrant of them, which we carry and lay upon the altar,
together with various fruits, which we receive from the bounty of Faraki. We
then sing his praises, and execute dances expressive of our thankfulness, and
of all the enjoyments we owe to this beneficent deity. The highest of these is
that which love produces, and we testify our ardent gratitude by the manner
in which we avail ourselves of this inestimable gift of Faraki. Having left the
temple, we go into several shady thickets, where we take a light repast; after
which, each of us employs himself in some unoppressive labour. Some
embroider, others apply themselves to painting, others cultivate flowers or
fruits, others turn little implements for our use. Many of these little works are
sold to the people, who purchase them with eagerness. The money arising
from this sale forms a considerable part of our revenue. Our morning is thus
devoted to the worship of God and to the exercise of the sense of Sight,
which begins with the first rays of the sun. The sense of Taste is gratified by
our dinner, and we add to it the pleasure of Smell. The most delicious viands
are spread for us in apartments strewed with flowers. The table is adorned
with them, and the most exquisite wines are handed to us in crystal goblets.
When we have glorified God, by the agreeable use of the palate, and the
olfactory nerve, we enjoy a delightful sleep of two hours, in bowers of orange
trees, roses, and myrtles. Having acquired a fresh store of strength and spirits,
we return to our occupations, that we may thus mingle labour with pleasure,
which would lose its zest by long continuance. After our work, we return to
the temple, to thank God, and to offer him incense. From thence we go to the
most delightful part of the garden, where we find three hundred young girls,
some of whom form lively dances with the younger of our monks; the others
execute serious dances, which require neither strength nor agility, and which
only keep time to the sound of musical instruments.

We talk and laugh with our companions, who are dressed in a light gauze,
and whose tresses are adorned with flowers; we press them to partake of
exquisite sherbets, differently prepared. The hour of supper being arrived, we
repair to rooms illuminated with the lustre of a thousand tapers fragrant with
amber. The supper-room is surrounded by three vast galleries, in which are
placed musicians, whose various instruments fill the mind with the most
pleasurable and the softest emotions. The young girls are seated at table with
us, and, towards the conclusion of the repast, they sing songs, which are
hymns in honour of the God who has endowed us with senses which shed
such a charm over existence, and which promise us new pleasure from every
fresh exercise of them. After the repast is ended, we return to the dance, and,
when the hour of repose arrives, we draw from a kind of lottery, in which
every one is sure of a prize; that is, a young girl as his companion for the
night. They are allotted thus by chance, in order to avoid jealousy, and to
prevent exclusive attachments. Thus ends the day, and gives place to a night
of delights, which we sanctify by enjoying with due relish that sweetest of all
pleasures, which Faraki has so wisely attached to the reproduction of our
species. We reverently admire the wisdom and the goodness of Faraki, who,
desiring to secure to the world a continued population, has implanted in the
sexes an invincible mutual attraction, which constantly draws them towards
each other. Fecundity is the end he proposes, and he rewards with
intoxicating delights those who contribute to the fulfilment of his designs.
What should we say to the favourite of a King from whom he had received a
beautiful house, and fine estates, and who chose to spoil the house, to let it
fall in ruins, to abandon the cultivation of the land, and let it become sterile,
and covered with thorns? Such is the conduct of the faquirs of India, who
condemn themselves to the most melancholy privations, and to the most
severe sufferings. Is not this insulting Faraki? Is it not saying to him, I
despise your gifts? Is it not misrepresenting him and saying, You are
malevolent and cruel, and I know that I can no otherwise please you than by
offering you the spectacle of my miseries? “I am told,” added he, “that you
have, in your country, faquirs not less insane, not less cruel to themselves.” I
thought, with some reason, that he meant the fathers of La Trappe. The recital
of the matter afforded me much matter for reflection, and I admired how
strange are the systems to which perverted reason gives birth.
The Duc de V——- was a nobleman of high rank and great wealth. He said
to the King one evening at supper, “Your Majesty does me the favour to treat
me with great kindness: I should be inconsolable if I had the misfortune to

fall under your displeasure. If such a calamity were to befall me, I should
endeavour to divert my grief by improving some beautiful estates of mine in
such and such a province;” and he thereupon gave a description of three or
four fine seats. About a month after, talking of the disgrace of a Minister, he
said, “I hope your Majesty will not withdraw your favour from me; but if I
had the misfortune to lose it, I should be more to be pitied than anybody, for I
have no asylum in which to hide my head.” All those present, who had heard
the description of the beautiful country houses, looked at each other and
laughed. The King said to Madame de Pompadour, who sat next to him at
table, “People are very right in saying that a liar ought to have a good
memory.”

An event, which made me tremble, as well as Madame, procured me the
familiarity of the King. In the middle of the night, Madame came into my
chamber, en chemise, and in a state of distraction. “Here! Here!” said she,
“the King is dying.” My alarm may be easily imagined. I put on a petticoat,
and found the King in her bed, panting. What was to be done?—it was an
indigestion. We threw water upon him, and he came to himself. I made him
swallow some Hoffman’s drops, and he said to me, “Do not make any noise,
but go to Quesnay; say that your mistress is ill; and tell the Doctor’s servants
to say nothing about it.” Quesnay, who lodged close by, came immediately,
and was much astonished to see the King in that state. He felt his pulse, and
said, “The crisis is over; but, if the King were sixty years old, this might have
been serious.” He went to seek some drug, and, on his return, set about
inundating the King with perfumed water. I forget the name of the medicine
he made him take, but the effect was wonderful. I believe it was the drops of
General Lamotte. I called up one of the girls of the wardrobe to make tea, as
if for myself. The King took three cups, put on his robe de chambre and his
stockings, and went to his own room, leaning upon the Doctor. What a sight it
was to see us all three half naked! Madame put on a robe as soon as possible,
and I did the same, and the King changed his clothes behind the curtains,
which were very decently closed. He afterwards spoke of this short attack,
and expressed his sense of the attentions shown him. An hour after, I felt the
greatest possible terror in thinking that the King might have died in our
hands. Happily, he quickly recovered himself, and none of the domestics
perceived what had taken place. I merely told the girl of the wardrobe to put
everything to rights, and she thought it was Madame who had been
indisposed. The King, the next morning, gave secretly to Quesnay a little note
for Madame, in which he said, ‘Ma chere amie’ must have had a great fright,
but let her reassure herself—I am now well, which the Doctor will certify to
you. From that moment the King became accustomed to me, and, touched by
the interest I had shown for him, he often gave me one of his peculiarly
gracious glances, and made me little presents, and, on every New Year’s Day,
sent me porcelain to the amount of twenty louis d’or. He told Madame that he
looked upon me in the apartment as a picture or statue, and never put any
constraint upon himself on account of my presence. Doctor Quesnay received
a pension of a thousand crowns for his attention and silence, and the promise
of a place for his son. The King gave me an order upon the Treasury for four

thousand francs, and Madame had presented to her a very handsome chiming-
clock and the King’s portrait in a snuffbox.
The King was habitually melancholy, and liked everything which recalled
the idea of death, in spite of the strongest fears of it. Of this, the following is
an instance: Madame de Pompadour was on her way to Crecy, when one of
the King’s grooms made a sign to her coachman to stop, and told him that the
King’s carriage had broken down, and that, knowing her to be at no great
distance, His Majesty had sent him forward to beg her to wait for him. He
soon overtook us, and seated himself in Madame de Pompadour’s carriage, in
which were, I think, Madame de Chateau-Renaud, and Madame de Mirepoix.
The lords in attendance placed themselves in some other carriages. I was
behind, in a chaise, with Gourbillon, Madame de Pompadour’s valet de
chambre. We were surprised in a short time by the King stopping his carriage.
Those which followed, of course stopped also. The King called a groom, and
said to him, “You see that little eminence; there are crosses; it must certainly
be a burying-ground; go and see whether there are any graves newly dug.”
The groom galloped up to it, returned, and said to the King, “There are three
quite freshly made.” Madame de Pompadour, as she told me, turned away her
head with horror; and the little Marechale gaily said, “This is indeed enough
to make one’s mouth water.”

[The Marechale de Mirepois died at Brussels in 1791, at a
very advanced age, but preserving her wit and gaiety to the
last. The day of her death, after she had received the
Sacrament, the physician told her that he thought her a good
deal better. She replied, “You tell me bad news: having
packed up, I had rather go.” She was sister of the Prince de
Beauveau. The Prince de Ligne says, in one of his printed
letters: “She had that enchanting talent which supplies the
means of pleasing everybody. You would have sworn that she
had thought of nothing but you all her life.”—En.]

Madame de Pompadour spoke of it when I was undressing her in the
evening. “What a strange pleasure,” said she, “to endeavour to fill one’s mind
with images which one ought to endeavour to banish, especially when one is
surrounded by so many sources of happiness! But that is the King’s way; he
loves to talk about death. He said, some days ago, to M. de Fontanieu, who
was, seized with a bleeding at the nose, at the levee: ‘Take care of yourself; at

your age it is a forerunner of apoplexy.’ The poor man went home frightened,
and absolutely ill.”
I never saw the King so agitated as during the illness of the Dauphin. The
physicians came incessantly to the apartments of Madame de Pompadour,
where the King interrogated them. There was one from Paris, a very odd man,
called Pousse, who once said to him, “You are a good papa; I like you for
that. But you know we are all your children, and share your distress. Take
courage, however; your son will recover.” Everybody’s eyes were upon the
Duc d’Orleans, who knew not how to look. He would have become heir to
the crown, the Queen being past the age to have children. Madame de ——-
said to me, one day, when I was expressing my surprise at the King’s grief,
“It would annoy him beyond measure to have a Prince of the blood heir
apparent. He does not like them, and looks upon their relationship to him as
so remote, that he would feel humiliated by it.” And, in fact, when his son
recovered, he said, “The King of Spain would have had a fine chance.” It was
thought that he was right in this, and that it would have been agreeable to
justice; but that, if the Duc d’Orleans had been supported by a party, he might
have supported his pretensions to the crown. It was, doubtless, to remove this
impression that he gave a magnificent fete at St. Cloud on the occasion of the
Dauphin’s recovery. Madame de Pompadour said to Madame de Brancas,
speaking of this fete, “He wishes to make us forget the chateau en Espagne he
has been dreaming of; in Spain, however, they build them of solider
materials.” The people did not shew so much joy at the Dauphin’s recovery.
They looked upon him as a devotee, who did nothing but sing psalms. They
loved the Duc d’Orleans, who lived in the capital, and had acquired the name
of the King of Paris. These sentiments were not just; the Dauphin only sang
psalms when imitating the tones of one of the choristers of the chapel. The
people afterwards acknowledged their error, and did justice to his virtues. The
Duc d’Orleans paid the most assiduous court to Madame de Pompadour: the
Duchess, on the contrary, detested her. It is possible that words were put into
the Duchess’s mouth which she never uttered; but she, certainly, often said
most cutting things. The King would have sent her into exile, had he listened
only to his resentment; but he feared the eclat of such a proceeding, and he
knew that she would only be the more malicious. The Duc d’Orleans was,
just then, extremely jealous of the Comte de Melfort; and the Lieutenant of
Police told the King he had strong reasons for believing that the Duke would
stick at nothing to rid himself of this gallant, and that he thought it his duty to
give the Count notice, that he ought to be upon his guard. The King said, “He

would not dare to attempt any such violence as you seem to apprehend; but
there is a better way: let him try to surprise them, and he will find me very
well inclined to have his cursed wife shut up; but if he got rid of this lover,
she would have another to-morrow.
“Nay, she has others at this moment; for instance, the Chevalier de Colbert,
and the Comte de l’Aigle.” Madame de Pompadour, however, told me these
two last affairs were not certain.
An adventure happened about the same time, which the Lieutenant of
Police reported to the King. The Duchesse d’Orleans had amused herself one
evening, about eight o’clock, with ogling a handsome young Dutchman,
whom she took a fancy to, from a window of the Palais Royal. The young
man, taking her for a woman of the town, wanted to make short work, at
which she was very much shocked. She called a Swiss, and made herself
known. The stranger was arrested; but he defended himself by affirming that
she had talked very loosely to him. He was dismissed, and the Duc d’Orleans
gave his wife a severe reprimand.
The King (who hated her so much that he spoke of her without the slightest
restraint) one day said to Madame de Pompadour, in my presence, “Her
mother knew what she was, for, before her marriage, she never suffered her to
say more than yes and no. Do you know her joke on the nomination of
Moras? She sent to congratulate him upon it: two minutes after, she called
back the messenger she had sent, and said, before everybody present, ‘Before
you speak to him, ask the Swiss if he still has the place.’” Madame de
Pompadour was not vindictive, and, in spite of the malicious speeches of the
Duchesse d’Orleans, she tried to excuse her conduct. “Almost all women,”
she said, “have lovers; she has not all that are imputed to her: but her free
manners, and her conversation, which is beyond all bounds, have brought her
into general disrepute.”
My companion came into my room the other day, quite delighted. She had
been with M. de Chenevieres, first Clerk in the War-office, and a constant
correspondent of Voltaire, whom she looks upon as a god. She was, by the
bye, put into a great rage one day, lately, by a print-seller in the street, who
was crying, “Here is Voltaire, the famous Prussian; here you see him, with a
great bear-skin cap, to keep him from the cold! Here is the famous Prussian,
for six sous!”—“What a profanation!” said she. To return to my story: M. de
Chenevieres had shewn her some letters from Voltaire, and M. Marmontel
had read an ‘Epistle to his Library’.

M. Quesnay came in for a moment; she told him all this: and, as he did not
appear to take any great interest in it, she asked him if he did not admire great
poets. “Oh, yes; just as I admire great bilboquet players,” said he, in that tone
of his, which rendered everything he said diverting. “I have written some
verses, however,” said he, “and I will repeat them to you; they are upon a
certain M. Rodot, an Intendant of the Marine, who was very fond of abusing
medicine and medical men. I made these verses to revenge AEsculapius and
Hippocrates.
“What do you say to them?” said the Doctor. My companion thought them
very pretty, and the Doctor gave me them in his handwriting, begging me, at
the same time, not to give any copies.
Madame de Pompadour joked my companion about her ‘bel-esprit’, but
sometimes she reposed confidence in her. Knowing that she was often
writing, she said to her, “You are writing a novel, which will appear some day
or other; or, perhaps, the age of Louis XV.: I beg you to treat me well.” I have
no reason to complain of her. It signifies very little to me that she can talk
more learnedly than I can about prose and verse.
She never told me her real name; but one day I was malicious enough to
say to her, “Some one was maintaining, yesterday, that the family of Madame
de Mar—— was of more importance than many of good extraction. They say
it is the first in Cadiz. She had very honourable alliances, and yet she has
thought it no degradation to be governess to Madame de Pompadour’s
daughter. One day you will see her sons or her nephews Farmers General, and
her granddaughters married to Dukes.” I had remarked that Madame de
Pompadour for some days had taken chocolate, ‘a triple vanille et ambre’, at
her breakfast; and that she ate truffles and celery soup: finding her in a very
heated state, I one day remonstrated with her about her diet, to which she paid
no attention. I then thought it right to speak to her friend, the Duchesse de
Brancas. “I had remarked the same thing,” said she, “and I will speak to her
about it before you.” After she was dressed, Madame de Brancas,
accordingly, told her she was uneasy about her health. “I have just been
talking to her about it,” said the Duchess, pointing to me, “and she is of my
opinion.” Madame de Pompadour seemed a little displeased; at last, she burst
into tears. I immediately went out, shut the door, and returned to my place to
listen. “My dear friend,” she said to Madame de Brancas, “I am agitated by
the fear of losing the King’s heart by ceasing to be attractive to him. Men,
you know, set great value on certain things, and I have the misfortune to be of

a very cold temperament. I, therefore, determined to adopt a heating diet, in
order to remedy this defect, and for two days this elixir has been of great
service to me, or, at least, I have thought I felt its good effects.”
The Duchesse de Brancas took the phial which was upon the toilet, and
after having smelt at it, “Fie!” said she, and threw it into the fire. Madame de
Pompadour scolded her, and said, “I don’t like to be treated like a child.” She
wept again, and said, “You don’t know what happened to me a week ago. The
King, under pretext of the heat of the weather, lay down upon my sofa, and
passed half the night there. He will take a disgust to me and have another
mistress.”—“You will not avoid that,” replied the Duchess, “by following
your new diet, and that diet will kill you; render your company more and
more precious to the King by your gentleness: do not repulse him in his fond
moments, and let time do the rest; the chains of habit will bind him to you for
ever.” They then embraced; Madame de Pompadour recommended secrecy to
Madame de Brancas, and the diet was abandoned.
A little while after, she said to me, “Our master is better pleased with me.
This is since I spoke to Quesnay, without, however, telling him all. He told
me, that to accomplish my end, I must try to be in good health, to digest well,
and, for that purpose, take exercise. I think the Doctor is right. I feel quite a
different creature. I adore that man (the King), I wish so earnestly to be
agreeable to him! But, alas! sometimes he says I am a macreuse (a cold-
blooded aquatic bird). I would give my life to please him.”

One day, the King came in very much heated. I withdrew to my post,
where I listened. “What is the matter?” said Madame de Pompadour. “The
long robes and the clergy,” replied he, “are always at drawn daggers, they
distract me by their quarrels. But I detest the long robes the most. My clergy,
on the whole, is attached and faithful to me; the others want to keep me in a
state of tutelage.”—“Firmness,” said Madame de Pompadour, “is the only
thing that can subdue them.”—“Robert Saint Vincent is an incendiary, whom
I wish I could banish, but that would make a terrible tumult. On the other

hand, the Archbishop is an iron-hearted fellow, who tries to pick quarrels.
Happily, there are some in the Parliament upon whom I can rely, and who
affect to be very violent, but can be softened upon occasion. It costs me a few
abbeys, and a few secret pensions, to accomplish this. There is a certain V—-
who serves me very well, while he appears to be furious on the other
side.”—“I can tell you some news of him, Sire,” said Madame de Pompadour.
“He wrote to me yesterday, pretending that he is related to me, and begging
for an interview.”—“Well,” said the King, “let him come. See him; and if he
behaves well, we shall have a pretext for giving him something.” M. de
Gontaut came in, and seeing that they were talking seriously, said nothing.
The King walked about in an agitated manner, and suddenly exclaimed, “The
Regent was very wrong in restoring to them the right of remonstrating; they
will end in ruining the State.”—“All, Sire,” said M. de Gontaut, “it is too
strong to be shaken by a set of petty justices.” “You don’t know what they do,
nor what they think. They are an assembly of republicans; however, here is
enough of the subject. Things will last as they are as long as I shall. Talk
about this on Sunday, Madame, with M. Berrien.” Madame d’Amblimont and
Madame d’Esparbes came in. “Ah! here come my kittens,” said Madame de
Pompadour; “all that we are about is Greek to them; but their gaiety restores
my tranquility, and enables me to attend again to serious affairs. You, Sire,
have the chase to divert you—they answer the same purpose to me.” The
King then began to talk about his morning’s sport, and Lansmatte.

[See the “Memoirs of Madame Campan,” vol. iii., p. 24.
Many traits of original and amusing bluntness are related of
Lansmatte, one of the King’s grooms.]

It was necessary to let the King go on upon these subjects, and even,
sometimes, to hear the same story three or four times over, if new persons
came into the room. Madame de Pompadour never betrayed the least ennui.
She even sometimes persuaded him to begin his story anew.
I one day said to her, “It appears to me, Madame, that you are fonder than
ever of the Comtesse d’Amblimont.”—“I have reason to be so,” said she.
“She is unique, I think, for her fidelity to her friends, and for her honour.
Listen, but tell nobody—four days ago, the King, passing her to go to supper,
approached her, under the pretence of tickling her, and tried to slip a note into
her hand. D’Amblimont, in her madcap way, put her hands behind her back,
and the King was obliged to pick up the note, which had fallen on the ground.

Gontaut was the only person who saw all this, and, after supper, he went up to
the little lady, and said, ‘You are an excellent friend.’—‘I did my duty,’ said
she, and immediately put her finger on her lips to enjoin him to be silent. He,
however, informed me of this act of friendship of the little heroine, who had
not told me of it herself.” I admired the Countess’s virtue, and Madame de
Pompadour said, “She is giddy and headlong; but she has more sense and
more feeling than a thousand prudes and devotees. D’Esparbes would not do
as much most likely she would meet him more than half-way. The King
appeared disconcerted, but he still pays her great attentions.”—“You will,
doubtless, Madame,” said I, “show your sense of such admirable
conduct.”—“You need not doubt it,” said she, “but I don’t wish her to think
that I am informed of it.” The King, prompted either by the remains of his
liking, or from the suggestions of Madame de Pompadour, one morning went
to call on Madame d’Amblimont, at Choisy, and threw round her neck a
collar of diamonds and emeralds, worth between fifty thousand and seventy-
five thousand francs. This happened a long time after the circumstance I have
just related.
There was a large sofa in a little room adjoining Madame de Pompadour’s,
upon which I often reposed.
One evening, towards midnight, a bat flew into the apartment where the
Court was; the King immediately cried out, “Where is General Crillon?” (He
had just left the room.) “He is the General to command against the bats.” This
set everybody calling out, “Ou etais tu, Crillon?” M. de Crillon soon after
came in, and was told where the enemy was. He immediately threw off his
coat, drew his sword, and commenced an attack upon the bat, which flew into
the closet where I was fast asleep. I started out of sleep at the noise, and saw
the King and all the company around me. This furnished amusement for the
rest of the evening. M. de Crillon was a very excellent and agreeable man,
but he had the fault of indulging in buffooneries of this kind, which, however,
were the result of his natural gaiety, and not of any subserviency of character.
Such, however, was not the case with another exalted nobleman, a Knight of
the Golden Fleece, whom Madame saw one day shaking hands with her valet
de chambre. As he was one of the vainest men at Court, Madame could not
refrain from telling the circumstance to the King; and, as he had no
employment at Court, the King scarcely ever after named him on the Supper
List.

I had a cousin at Saint Cyr, who was married. She was greatly distressed at
having a relation waiting woman to Madame de Pompadour, and often treated
me in the most mortifying manner. Madame knew this from Colin, her
steward, and spoke of it to the King. “I am not surprised at it,” said he; “this
is a specimen of the silly women of Saint Cyr. Madame de Maintenon had
excellent intentions, but she made a great mistake. These girls are brought up
in such a manner, that, unless they are all made ladies of the palace, they are
unhappy and impertinent.”
Some time after, this relation of mine was at my house. Colin, who knew
her, though she did not know him, came in. He said to me, “Do you know that
the Prince de Chimay has made a violent attack upon the Chevalier d’Henin
for being equerry to the Marquise.” At these words, my cousin looked very
much astonished, and said, “Was he not right?”—“I don’t mean to enter into
that question,” said Colin—“but only to repeat his words, which were these:
‘If you were only a man of moderately good family and poor, I should not
blame you, knowing, as I do, that there are hundreds such, who would quarrel
for your place, as young ladies of family would, to be about your mistress.
But, recollect, that your relations are princes of the Empire, and that you bear
their name.”—“What, sir,” said my relation, “the Marquise’s equerry of a
princely house?”—“Of the house of Chimay,” said he; “they take the name of
Alsace “—witness the Cardinal of that name. Colin went out delighted at
what he had said.
“I cannot get over my surprise at what I have heard,” said my relation. “It
is, nevertheless, very true,” replied I; “you may see the Chevalier d’Henin
(that is the family name of the Princes de Chimay), with the cloak of Madame
upon his arm, and walking alongside her sedan-chair, in order that he may be
ready, on her getting in, to cover her shoulders with her cloak, and then
remain in the antechamber, if there is no other room, till her return.”
From that time, my cousin let me alone; nay, she even applied to me to get
a company of horse for her husband, who was very loath to come and thank
me. His wife wished him to thank Madame de Pompadour; but the fear he
had lest she should tell him, that it was in consideration of his relationship to
her waiting-woman that he commanded fifty horse, prevented him. It was,
however, a most surprising thing that a man belonging to the house of
Chimay should be in the service of any lady whatever; and, the commander
of Alsace returned from Malta on purpose to get him out of Madame de
Pompadour’s household. He got him a pension of a hundred louis from his

family, and the Marquise gave him a company of horse. The Chevalier
d’Henin had been page to the Marechal de Luxembourg, and one can hardly
imagine how he could have put his relation in such a situation; for, generally
speaking, all great houses keep up the consequence of their members. M. de
Machault, the Keeper of the Seals, had, at the same time, as equerry, a Knight
of St. Louis, and a man of family—the Chevalier de Peribuse—who carried
his portfolio, and walked by the side of the chair.
Whether it was from ambition, or from tenderness, Madame de Pompadour
had a regard for her daughter,—[The daughter of Madame de Pompadour and
her husband, M. d’Atioles. She was called Alexandrine.]—which seemed to
proceed from the bottom of her heart. She was brought up like a Princess,
and, like persons of that rank, was called by her Christian name alone. The
first persons at Court had an eye to this alliance, but her mother had, perhaps,
a better project. The King had a son by Madame de Vintimille, who
resembled him in face, gesture, and manners. He was called the Comte du
——-. Madame de Pompadour had him brought: to Bellevue. Colin, her
steward, was employed to find means to persuade his tutor to bring him
thither. They took some refreshment at the house of the Swiss, and the
Marquise, in the course of her walk, appeared to meet them by accident. She
asked the name of the child, and admired his beauty. Her daughter came up at
the same moment, and Madame de Pompadour led them into a part of the
garden where she knew the King would come. He did come, and asked the
child’s name. He was told, and looked embarrassed when Madame, pointing
to them, said they would be a beautiful couple. The King played with the girl,
without appearing to take any notice of the boy, who, while he was eating
some figs and cakes which were brought, his attitudes and gestures were so
like those of the King, that Madame de Pompadour was in the utmost
astonishment. “Ah!” said she, “Sire, look at ————.” —“At what?” said
he. “Nothing,” replied Madame, “except that one would think one saw his
father.”
“I did not know,” said the King, smiling, “that you were so intimately
acquainted with the Comte du L——— .”—“You ought to embrace him,”
said she, “he is very handsome.”—“I will begin, then, with the young lady,”
said the King, and embraced them in a cold, constrained manner. I was
present, having joined Mademoiselle’s governess. I remarked to Madame, in
the evening, that the King had not appeared very cordial in his caresses.
“That is his way,” said she; “but do not those children appear made for each

other? If it was Louis XIV., he would make a Duc du Maine of the little boy; I
do not ask so much; but a place and a dukedom for his son is very little; and it
is because he is his son that I prefer him to all the little Dukes of the Court.
My grandchildren would blend the resemblance of their grandfather and
grandmother; and this combination, which I hope to live to see, would, one
day, be my greatest delight.” The tears came into her eyes as she spoke. Alas!
alas! only six months elapsed, when her darling daughter, the hope of her
advanced years, the object of her fondest wishes, died suddenly. Madame de
Pompadour was inconsolable, and I must do M. de Marigny the justice to say
that he was deeply afflicted. His niece was beautiful as an angel, and destined
to the highest fortunes, and I always thought that he had formed the design of
marrying her. A dukedom would have given him rank; and that, joined to his
place, and to the wealth which she would have had from her mother, would
have made him a man of great importance. The difference of age was not
sufficient to be a great obstacle. People, as usual, said the young lady was
poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons who command a large portion
of public attention always gives birth to these rumours. The King shewed
great regret, but more for the grief of Madame than on account of the loss
itself, though he had often caressed the child, and loaded her with presents. I
owe it, also, to justice, to say that M. de Marigny, the heir of all Madame de
Pompadour’s fortune, after the death of her daughter, evinced the sincerest
and deepest regret every time she was seriously ill. She, soon after, began to
lay plans for his establishment. Several young ladies of the highest birth were
thought of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a Duke, but his turn of
mind indisposed him for schemes either of marriage or ambition. Ten times
he might have been made Prime Minister, yet he never aspired to it. “That is a
man,” said Quesnay to me, one day, “who is very little known; nobody talks
of his talents or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient patronage of
the arts: no man, since Colbert, has done so much in his situation: he is,
moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will not see in him
anything but the brother of the favourite; and, because he is fat, he is thought
dull and heavy.” This was all perfectly true. M. de Marigny had travelled in
Italy with very able artists, and had acquired taste, and much more
information than any of his predecessors had possessed. As for the heaviness
of his air, it only came upon him when he grew fat; before that, he had a
delightful face. He was then as handsome as his sister. He paid court to
nobody, had no vanity, and confined himself to the society of persons with
whom he was at his ease. He went rather more into company at Court after

the King had taken him to ride with him in his carriage, thinking it then his
duty to shew himself among the courtiers.
Madame called me, one day, into her closet, where the King was walking
up and down in a very serious mood. “You must,” said she, “pass some days
in a house in the Avenue de St. Cloud, whither I shall send you. You will
there find a young lady about to lie in.” The King said nothing, and I was
mute from astonishment. “You will be mistress of the house, and preside, like
one of the fabulous goddesses, at the accouchement. Your presence is
necessary, in order that everything may pass secretly, and according to the
King’s wish. You will be present at the baptism, and name the father and
mother.” The King began to laugh, and said, “The father is a very honest
man;” Madame added, “beloved by every one, and adored by those who
know him.” Madame then took from a little cupboard a small box, and drew
from it an aigrette of diamonds, at the same time saying to the King, “I have
my reasons for it not being handsomer.”—“It is but too much so,” said the
King; “how kind you are;” and he then embraced Madame, who wept with
emotion, and, putting her hand upon the King’s heart, said, “This is what I
wish to secure.” The King’s eyes then filled with tears, and I also began
weeping, without knowing why. Afterwards, the King said, “Guimard will
call upon you every day, to assist you with his advice, and at the critical
moment you will send for him. You will say that you expect the sponsors, and
a moment after you will pretend to have received a letter, stating that they
cannot come. You will, of course, affect to be very much embarrassed; and
Guimard will then say that there is nothing for it but to take the first comers.
You will then appoint as godfather and godmother some beggar, or chairman,
and the servant girl of the house, and to whom you will give but twelve
francs, in order not to attract attention.”—“A louis,” added Madame, “to
obviate anything singular, on the other hand.”—“It is you who make me
economical, under certain circumstances,” said the King. “Do you remember
the driver of the fiacre? I wanted to give him a LOUIS, and Duc d’Ayen said,
‘You will be known;’ so that I gave him a crown.” He was going to tell the
whole story. Madame made a sign to him to be silent, which he obeyed, not
without considerable reluctance. She afterwards told me that at the time of
the fetes given on occasion of the Dauphin’s marriage, the King came to see
her at her mother’s house in a hackney-coach. The coachman would not go
on, and the King would have given him a LOUIS. “The police will hear of it,
if you do,” said the Duc d’Ayen, “and its spies will make inquiries, which
will, perhaps, lead to a discovery.”

“Guimard,” continued the King, “will tell you the names of the father and
mother; he will be present at the ceremony, and make the usual presents. It is
but fair that you also should receive yours;” and, as he said this, he gave me
fifty LOUIS, with that gracious air that he could so well assume upon certain
occasions, and which no person in the kingdom had but himself. I kissed his
hand and wept. “You will take care of the accouchee, will you not? She is a
good creature, who has not invented gunpowder, and I confide her entirely to
your direction; my chancellor will tell you the rest,” he said, turning to
Madame, and then quitted the room. “Well, what think you of the part I am
playing?” asked Madame. “It is that of a superior woman, and an excellent
friend,” I replied. “It is his heart I wish to secure,” said she; “and all those
young girls who have no education will not run away with it from me. I
should not be equally confident were I to see some fine woman belonging to
the Court, or the city, attempt his conquest.”
I asked Madame, if the young lady knew that the King was the father of
her child? “I do not think she does,” replied she; “but, as he appeared fond of
her, there is some reason to fear that those about her might be too ready to tell
her; otherwise,” said she, shrugging her shoulders, “she, and all the others,
are told that he is a Polish nobleman, a relation of the Queen, who has
apartments in the castle.” This story was contrived on account of the cordon
bleu, which the King has not always time to lay aside, because, to do that, he
must change his coat, and in order to account for his having a lodging in the
castle so near the King. There were two little rooms by the side of the chapel,
whither the King retired from his apartment, without being seen by anybody
but a sentinel, who had his orders, and who did not know who passed through
those rooms. The King sometimes went to the Parc-aux-cerfs, or received
those young ladies in the apartments I have mentioned.
I must here interrupt my narrative, to relate a singular adventure, which is
only known to six or seven persons, masters or valets. At the time of the
attempt to assassinate the King, a young girl, whom he had seen several
times, and for whom he had manifested more tenderness than for most, was
distracted at this horrible event. The Mother-Abbess of the Parc-aux-cerfs
perceived her extraordinary grief, and managed so as to make her confess that
she knew the Polish Count was the King of France. She confessed that she
had taken from his pocket two letters, one of which was from the King of
Spain, the other from the Abbe de Brogue. This was discovered afterwards,
for neither she nor the Mother-Abbess knew the names of the writers. The girl

was scolded, and M. Lebel, first valet de chambre, who had the management
of all these affairs, was called; he took the letters, and carried them to the
King, who was very much embarrassed in what manner to meet a person so
well informed of his condition. The girl in question, having perceived that the
King came secretly to see her companion, while she was neglected, watched
his arrival, and, at the moment he entered with the Abbess, who was about to
withdraw, she rushed distractedly into the room where her rival was. She
immediately threw herself at the King’s feet. “Yes,” said she, “you are King
of all France; but that would be nothing to me if you were not also monarch
of my heart: do not forsake me, my beloved sovereign; I was nearly mad
when your life was attempted!” The Mother-Abbess cried out, “You are mad
now.” The King embraced her, which appeared to restore her to tranquility.
They succeeded in getting her out of the room, and a few days afterwards the
unhappy girl was taken to a madhouse, where she was treated as if she had
been insane, for some days. But she knew well enough that she was not so,
and that the King had really been her lover. This lamentable affair was related
to me by the Mother-Abbess, when I had some acquaintance with her at the
time of the accouchement I have spoken of, which I never had before, nor
since.
To return to my history: Madame de Pompadour said to me, “Be constantly
with the ‘accouchee’, to prevent any stranger, or even the people of the house,
from speaking to her. You will always say that he is a very rich Polish
nobleman, who is obliged to conceal himself on account of his relationship to
the Queen, who is very devout. You will find a wet-nurse in the house, to
whom you will deliver the child. Guimard will manage all the rest. You will
go to church as a witness; everything must be conducted as if for a substantial
citizen. The young lady expects to lie in in five or six days; you will dine with
her, and will not leave her till she is in a state of health to return to the Parc-
aux-cerfs, which she may do in a fortnight, as I imagine, without running any
risk.” I went, that same evening, to the Avenue de Saint Cloud, where I found
the Abbess and Guimard, an attendant belonging to the castle, but without his
blue coat. There were, besides, a nurse, a wet-nurse, two old men-servants,
and a girl, who was something between a servant and a waiting-woman. The
young lady was extremely pretty, and dressed very elegantly, though not too
remarkably. I supped with her and the Mother-Abbess, who was called
Madame Bertrand. I had presented the aigrette Madame de Pompadour gave
me before supper, which had greatly delighted the young lady, and she was in
high spirits.

Madame Bertrand had been housekeeper to M. Lebel, first valet de
chambre to the King. He called her Dominique, and she was entirely in his
confidence. The young lady chatted with us after supper; she appeared to be
very naive. The next day, I talked to her in private. She said to me, “How is
the Count?” (It was the King whom she called by this title.) “He will be very
sorry not to be with me now; but he was obliged to set off on a long journey.”
I assented to what she said. “He is very handsome,” said she, “and loves me
with all his heart. He promised me an allowance; but I love him
disinterestedly; and, if he would let me, I would follow him to Poland.” She
afterwards talked to me about her parents, and about M. Lebel, whom she
knew by the name of Durand. “My mother,” said she, “kept a large grocer’s
shop, and my father was a man of some consequence; he belonged to the Six
Corps, and that, as everybody knows, is an excellent thing. He was twice very
near being head-bailiff.” Her mother had become bankrupt at her father’s
death, but the Count had come to her assistance, and settled upon her fifteen
hundred francs a year, besides giving her six thousand francs down. On the
sixth day, she was brought to bed, and, according to my instructions, she was
told the child was a girl, though in reality it was a boy; she was soon to be
told that it was dead, in order that no trace of its existence might remain for a
certain time. It was eventually to be restored to its mother. The King gave
each of his children about ten thousand francs a year. They inherited after
each other as they died off, and seven or eight were already dead. I returned
to Madame de Pompadour, to whom I had written every day by Guimard. The
next day, the King sent for me into the room; he did not say a word as to the
business I had been employed upon; but he gave me a large gold snuff-box,
containing two rouleaux of twenty-five louis each. I curtsied to him, and
retired. Madame asked me a great many questions of the young lady, and
laughed heartily at her simplicity, and at all she had said about the Polish
nobleman. “He is disgusted with the Princess, and, I think, will return to
Poland for ever, in two months.”—“And the young lady?” said I. “She will be
married in the country,” said she, “with a portion of forty thousand crowns at
the most and a few diamonds.” This little adventure, which initiated me into
the King’s secrets, far from procuring for me increased marks of kindness
from him, seemed to produce a coldness towards me; probably because he
was ashamed of my knowing his obscure amours. He was also embarrassed
by the services Madame de Pompadour had rendered him on this occasion.
Besides the little mistresses of the Parc-aux-cerfs, the King had sometimes
intrigues with ladies of the Court, or from Paris, who wrote to him. There was

a Madame de L——-, who, though married to a young and amiable man,
with two hundred thousand francs a year, wished absolutely to become his
mistress. She contrived to have a meeting with him: and the King, who knew
who she was, was persuaded that she was really madly in love with him.
There is no knowing what might have happened, had she not died. Madame
was very much alarmed, and was only relieved by her death from inquietude.
A circumstance took place at this time which doubled Madame’s friendship
for me. A rich man, who had a situation in the Revenue Department, called on
me one day very secretly, and told me that he had something of importance to
communicate to Madame la Marquise, but that he should find himself very
much embarrassed in communicating it to her personally, and that he should
prefer acquainting me with it. He then told me, what I already knew, that he
had a very beautiful wife, of whom he was passionately fond; that having on
one occasion perceived her kissing a little ‘porte feuille’, he endeavoured to
get possession of it, supposing there was some mystery attached to it. One
day that she suddenly left the room to go upstairs to see her sister, who had
been brought to bed, he took the opportunity of opening the porte feuille, and
was very much surprised to find in it a portrait of the King, and a very tender
letter written by His Majesty. Of the latter he took a copy, as also of an
unfinished letter of his wife, in which she vehemently entreated the King to
allow her to have the pleasure of an interview—the means she pointed out.
She was to go masked to the public ball at Versailles, where His Majesty
could meet her under favour of a mask. I assured M. de ——— that I should
acquaint Madame with the affair, who would, no doubt, feel very grateful for
the communication. He then added, “Tell Madame la Marquise that my wife
is very clever and very intriguing. I adore her, and should run distracted were
she to be taken from me.” I lost not a moment in acquainting Madame with
the affair, and gave her the letter. She became serious and pensive, and I since
learned that she consulted M. Berrier, Lieutenant of Police, who, by a very
simple but ingeniously conceived plan, put an end to the designs of this lady.
He demanded an audience of the King, and told him that there was a lady in
Paris who was making free with His Majesty’s name; that he had been given
the copy of a letter, supposed to have been written by His Majesty to the lady
in question. The copy he put into the King’s hands, who read it in great
confusion, and then tore it furiously to pieces. M. Berrier added, that it was
rumoured that this lady was to meet His Majesty at the public ball, and, at
this very moment, it so happened that a letter was put into the King’s hand,
which proved to be from the lady, appointing the meeting; at least, M. Berrier

judged so, as the King appeared very much surprised on reading it, and said,
“It must be allowed, M. le Lieutenant of Police, that you are well informed.”
M. Berrier added, “I think it my duty to tell Your Majesty that this lady passes
for a very intriguing person.” “I believe,” replied the King, “that it is not
without deserving it that she has got that character.”
Madame de Pompadour had many vexations in the midst of all her
grandeur. She often received anonymous letters, threatening her with poison
or assassination: her greatest fear, however, was that of being supplanted by a
rival. I never saw her in a greater agitation than, one evening, on her return
from the drawing-room at Marly. She threw down her cloak and muff, the
instant she came in, with an air of ill-humour, and undressed herself in a
hurried manner. Having dismissed her other women, she said to me, “I think I
never saw anybody so insolent as Madame de Coaslin. I was seated at the
same table with her this evening, at a game of ‘brelan’, and you cannot
imagine what I suffered. The men and women seemed to come in relays to
watch us. Madame de Coaslin said two or three times, looking at me, ‘Va
tout’, in the most insulting manner. I thought I should have fainted, when she
said, in a triumphant tone, I have the ‘brelan’ of kings. I wish you had seen
her courtesy to me on parting.”—“Did the King,” said I, “show her particular
attention?” “You don’t know him,” said she; “if he were going to lodge her
this very night in my apartment, he would behave coldly to her before people,
and would treat me with the utmost kindness. This is the effect of his
education, for he is, by nature, kind-hearted and frank.” Madame de
Pompadour’s alarms lasted for some months, when she, one day, said to me,
“That haughty Marquise has missed her aim; she frightened the King by her
grand airs, and was incessantly teasing him for money. Now you, perhaps,
may not know that the King would sign an order for forty thousand LOUIS
without a thought, and would give a hundred out of his little private treasury
with the greatest reluctance. Lebel, who likes me better than he would a new
mistress in my place, either by chance or design had brought a charming little
sultana to the Parc-aux-cerfs, who has cooled the King a little towards the
haughty Vashti, by giving him occupation, has received a hundred thousand
francs, some jewels, and an estate. Jannette—[The Intendant of Police.]—has
rendered me great service, by showing the King extracts from the letters
broken open at the post-office, concerning the report that Madame de Coaslin
was coming into favour: The King was much impressed by a letter from an
old counsellor of the Parliament, who wrote to one of his friends as follows:
‘It is quite as reasonable that the King should have a female friend and

confidante—as that we, in our several degrees, should so indulge ourselves;
but it is desirable that he should keep the one he has; she is gentle, injures
nobody, and her fortune is made. The one who is now talked of will be as
haughty as high birth can make her. She must have an allowance of a million
francs a year, since she is said to be excessively extravagant; her relations
must be made Dukes, Governors of provinces, and Marshals, and, in the end,
will surround the King, and overawe the Ministers.’”
Madame de Pompadour had this passage, which had been sent to her by M.
Jannette, the Intendant of the Police, who enjoyed the King’s entire
confidence. He had carefully watched the King’s look, while he read the
letter, and he saw that the arguments of this counsellor, who was not a
disaffected person, made a great impression upon him. Some time afterwards,
Madame de Pompadour said to me, “The haughty Marquise behaved like
Mademoiselle Deschamps, and she is turned off.” This was not Madame’s
only subject of alarm. A relation of Madame d’Estrades,

[A courtesan, distinguished for her charms, and still more
so for an extraordinary proof of patriotism. At a time when
the public Treasury was exhausted, Mademoiselle Deschamps
sent all her plate to the Mint. Louis XIV. boasted of this act of
generous devotion to her country. The Duc d’Ayen made it the
subject of a pleasantry, which detracted nothing from the
merit of the sacrifice—but which is rather too gay for us to
venture upon.]

[The Comtesse d’Estrades, a relative of M. Normand, and a
flatterer of Madame de Pompadour, who brought her to
Court, was secretly in the pay of the Comte d’Argenson. That
Minister, who did not disdain la Fillon, from whom he
extracted useful information, knew all that passed at the
Court of the favourite, by means of Madame d’Estrades,
whose ingratitude and perfidiousness he liberally paid.]

wife to the Marquis de C——, had made the most pointed advances to the
King, much more than were necessary for a man who justly thought himself
the handsomest man in France, and who was, moreover, a King. He was
perfectly persuaded that every woman would yield to the slightest desire he
might deign to manifest. He, therefore, thought it a mere matter of course that

women fell in love with him. M. de Stainville had a hand in marring the
success of that intrigue; and, soon afterwards, the Marquise de C——-, who
was confined to her apartments at Marly, by her relations, escaped through a
closet to a rendezvous, and was caught with a young man in a corridor. The
Spanish Ambassador, coming out of his apartments with flambeaux, was the
person who witnessed this scene. Madame d’Estrades affected to know
nothing of her cousin’s intrigues, and kept up an appearance of the tenderest
attachment to Madame de Pompadour, whom she was habitually betraying.
She acted as spy for M. d’Argenson, in the cabinets, and in Madame de
Pompadour’s apartments; and, when she could discover nothing, she had
recourse to her invention, in order that she might not lose her importance with
her lover. This Madame d’Estrades owed her whole existence to the bounties
of Madame, and yet, ugly as she was, she had tried to get the King away from
her. One day, when he, had got rather drunk at Choisy (I think, the only time
that, ever happened to him), he went on board a beautiful barge, whither
Madame, being ill of an indigestion, could not accompany him. Madame
d’Estrades seized this opportunity. She got into the barge, and, on their return,
as it was dark, she followed the King into a private closet, where he was
believed to be sleeping on a couch, and there went somewhat beyond any
ordinary advances to him. Her account of the matter to Madame was, that she
had gone into the closet upon her own affairs, and that the King, had followed
her, and had tried to ravish her. She was at full liberty to make what story she
pleased, for the King knew neither what he had said, nor what he had done. I
shall finish this subject by a short history concerning a young lady. I had
been, one day, to the theatre at Compiegne. When I returned, Madame asked
me several questions about the play; whether there was much company, and
whether I did not see a very beautiful girl. I replied, “That there was, indeed,
a girl in a box near mine, who was surrounded by all the young men about the
Court.” She smiled, and said, “That is Mademoiselle Dorothee; she went, this
evening, to see the King sup in public, and to-morrow she is to be taken to the
hunt. You are surprised to find me so well informed, but I know a great deal
more about her. She was brought here by a Gascon, named Dubarre or
Dubarri, who is the greatest scoundrel in France. He founds all his hopes of
advancement on Mademoiselle Dorothee’s charms, which he thinks the King
cannot resist. She is, really, very beautiful.. She was pointed out to me in my
little garden, whither she was taken to walk on purpose. She is the daughter
of a water-carrier, at Strasbourg, and her charming lover demands to be sent
Minister to Cologne, as a beginning.”—“Is it possible, Madame, that you can

have been rendered uneasy by such a creature as that?”—“Nothing is
impossible,” replied she; “though I think the King would scarcely dare to
give such a scandal. Besides, happily, Lebel, to quiet his conscience, told the
King that the beautiful Dorothee’s lover is infected with a horrid disease;”
and, added he, “Your Majesty would not get rid of that as you have done of
the scrofula.” This was quite enough to keep the young lady at a distance.
“I pity you sincerely, Madame,” said I, “while everybody else envies you.”
“Ah!” replied she, “my life is that of the Christian, a perpetual warfare. This
was not the case with the woman who enjoyed the favour of Louis XIV.
Madame de La Valliere suffered herself to be deceived by Madame de
Montespan, but it was her own fault, or, rather, the effect of her extreme good
nature. She was entirely devoid of suspicion at first, because she could not
believe her friend perfidious. Madame de Montespan’s empire was shaken by
Madame de Fontanges, and overthrown by Madame de Maintenon; but her
haughtiness, her caprices, had already alienated the King. He had not,
however, such rivals as mine; it is true, their baseness is my security. I have,
in general, little to fear but casual infidelities, and the chance that they may
not all be sufficiently transitory for my safety. The King likes variety, but he
is also bound by habit; he fears eclats, and detests manoeuvring women. The
little Marechale (de Mirepoig) one day said to me, ‘It is your staircase that
the King loves; he is accustomed to go up and down it. But, if he found
another woman to whom he could talk of hunting and business as he does to
you, it would be just the same to him in three days.’”
I write without plan, order, or date, just as things come into my mind; and I
shall now go to the Abbe de Bernis, whom I liked very much, because he was
good-natured, and treated me kindly. One day, just as Madame de Pompadour
had finished dressing, M. de Noailles asked to speak to her in private. I,
accordingly, retired. The Count looked full of important business. I heard
their conversation, as there was only the door between us.
“A circumstance has taken place,” said he, “which I think it my duty to
communicate to the King; but I would not do so without first informing you
of it, since it concerns one of your friends for whom I have the utmost regard
and respect. The Abbe de Bernis had a mind to shoot, this morning, and went,
with two or three of his people, armed with guns, into the little park, where
the Dauphin would not venture to shoot without asking the King’s
permission. The guards, surprised at hearing the report of guns, ran to the
spot, and were greatly astonished at the sight of M. de Bernis. They very

respectfully asked to see his permission, when they found, to their
astonishment, that he had none. They begged of him to desist, telling him
that, if they did their duty, they should arrest him; but they must, at all events,
instantly acquaint me with the circumstance, as Ranger of the Park of
Versailles. They added, that the King must have heard the firing, and that they
begged of him to retire. The Abbe apologized, on the score of ignorance, and
assured them that he had my permission. ‘The Comte de Noailles,’ said they,
‘could only grant permission to shoot in the more remote parts, and in the
great park.’” The Count made a great merit of his eagerness to give the
earliest information to Madame. She told him to leave the task of
communicating it to the King to her, and begged of him to say nothing about
the matter. M. de Marigny, who did not like the Abbe, came to see me in the
evening; and I affected to know nothing of the story, and to hear it for the first
time from him. “He must have been out of his senses,” said he, “to shoot
under the King’s windows,”—and enlarged much on the airs he gave himself.
Madame de Pompadour gave this affair the best colouring she could the King
was, nevertheless, greatly disgusted at it, and twenty times, since the Abbe’s
disgrace, when he passed over that part of the park, he said, “This is where
the Abbe took his pleasure.” The King never liked him; and Madame de
Pompadour told me one night, after his disgrace, when I was sitting up with
her in her illness, that she saw, before he had been Minister a week, that he
was not fit for his office. “If that hypocritical Bishop,” said she, speaking of
the Bishop of Mirepoix, “had not prevented the King from granting him a
pension of four hundred louis a year, which he had promised me, he would
never have been appointed Ambassador. I should, afterwards, have been able
to give him an income of eight hundred louis a year, perhaps the place of
master of the chapel. Thus he would have been happier, and I should have
had nothing to regret.” I took the liberty of saying that I did not agree with
her. That he had yet remaining advantages, of which he could not be
deprived; that his exile would terminate; and that he would then be a
Cardinal, with an income of eight thousand louis a year. “That is true,” she
replied; “but I think of the mortifications he has undergone, and of the
ambition which devours him; and, lastly, I think of myself. I should have still
enjoyed his society, and should have had, in my declining years, an old and
amiable friend, if he had not been Minister.” The King sent him away in
anger, and was strongly inclined to refuse him the hat. M. Quesnay told me,
some months afterwards, that the Abbe wanted to be Prime Minister; that he
had drawn up a memorial, setting forth that in difficult crises the public good

required that there should be a central point (that was his expression),
towards which everything should be directed. Madame de Pompadour would
not present the memorial; he insisted, though she said to him, “You will rain
yourself.” The King cast his eyes over it, and said “‘central point,’—that is to
say himself, he wants to be Prime Minister.” Madame tried to apologize for
him, and said, “That expression might refer to the Marechal de Belle-
Isle.”—“Is he not just about to be made Cardinal?” said the King. “This is a
fine manoeuvre; he knows well enough that, by means of that dignity, he
would compel the Ministers to assemble at his house, and then M. l’Abbe
would be the central point. Wherever there is a Cardinal in the council, he is
sure, in the end, to take the lead. Louis XIV., for this reason, did not choose to
admit the Cardinal de Janson into the council, in spite of his great esteem for
him. The Cardinal de Fleury told me the same thing. He had some desire that
the Cardinal de Tencin should succeed him; but his sister was such an
intrigante that Cardinal de Fleury advised me to have nothing to do with the
matter, and I behaved so as to destroy all his hopes, and to undeceive others.
M. d’Argenson has strongly impressed me with the same opinion, and has
succeeded in destroying all my respect for him.” This is what the King said,
according to my friend Quesnay, who, by the bye, was a great genius, as
everybody said, and a very lively, agreeable man. He liked to chat with me
about the country. I had been bred up there, and he used to set me a talking
about the meadows of Normandy and Poitou, the wealth of the farmers, and
the modes of culture. He was the best-natured man in the world, and the
farthest removed from petty intrigue. While he lived at Court, he was much
more occupied with the best manner of cultivating land than with anything
that passed around him. The man whom he esteemed the most was M. de la
Riviere, a Counsellor of Parliament, who was also Intendant of Martinique;
he looked upon him as a man of the greatest genius, and thought him the only
person fit for the financial department of administration.
The Comtesse d’Estrades, who owed everything to Madame de
Pompadour, was incessantly intriguing against her. She was clever enough to
destroy all proofs of her manoeuvres, but she could not so easily prevent
suspicion. Her intimate connection with M. d’Argenson gave offence to
Madame, and, for some time, she was more reserved with her. She,
afterwards, did a thing which justly irritated the King and Madame. The
King, who wrote a great deal, had written to Madame de Pompadour a long
letter concerning an assembly of the Chambers of Parliament, and had
enclosed a letter of M. Berrien. Madame was ill, and laid those letters on a

little table by her bedside. M. de Gontaut came in, and gossipped about
trifles, as usual. Madame d’Amblimont also came, and stayed but very little
time. Just as I was going to resume a book which I had been reading to
Madame, the Comtesse d’Estrades entered, placed herself near Madame’s
bed, and talked to her for some time. As soon as she was gone, Madame
called me, asked what was o’clock, and said, “Order my door to be shut, the
King will soon be here.” I gave the order, and returned; and Madame told me
to give her the King’s letter, which was on the table with some other papers. I
gave her the papers, and told her there was nothing else. She was very uneasy
at not finding the letter, and, after enumerating the persons who had been in
the room, she said, “It cannot be the little Countess, nor Gontaut, who has
taken this letter. It can only be the Comtesse d’Estrades;—and that is too
bad.” The King came, and was extremely angry, as Madame told me. Two
days afterwards, he sent Madame d’Estrades into exile. There was no doubt
that she took the letter; the King’s handwriting had probably awakened her
curiosity. This occurrence gave great pain to M. d’Argenson, who was bound
to her, as Madame de Pompadour said, by his love of intrigue. This redoubled
his hatred of Madame, and she accused him of favouring the publication of a
libel, in which she was represented as a worn-out mistress, reduced to the vile
occupation of providing new objects to please her lover’s appetite. She was
characterised as superintendent of the Parc-aux-cerfs, which was said to cost
hundreds of thousands of louis a year. Madame de Pompadour did, indeed,
try to conceal some of the King’s weaknesses, but she never knew one of the
sultanas of that seraglio. There were, however, scarcely ever more than two at
once, and often only one. When they married, they received some jewels, and
four thousand louis. The Parc-aux-cerfs was sometimes vacant for five or six
months. I was surprised, some time after, at seeing the Duchesse de Luynes,
Lady of Honour to the Queen, come privately to see Madame de Pompadour.
She afterwards came openly. One evening, after Madame was in bed, she
called me, and said, “My dear, you will be delighted; the Queen has given me
the place of Lady of the Palace; tomorrow I am to be presented to her: you
must make me look well.” I knew that the King was not so well pleased at
this as she was; he was afraid that it would give rise to scandal, and that it
might be thought he had forced this nomination upon the Queen. He had,
however, done no such thing. It had been represented to the Queen that it was
an act of heroism on her part to forget the past; that all scandal would be
obliterated when Madame de Pompadour was seen to belong to the Court in
an honourable manner; and that it would be the best proof that nothing more

than friendship now subsisted between the King and the favourite. The Queen
received her very graciously. The devotees flattered themselves they should
be protected by Madame, and, for some time, were full of her praises. Several
of the Dauphin’s friends came in private to see her, and some obtained
promotion. The Chevalier du Muy, however, refused to come. The King had
the greatest possible contempt for them, and granted them nothing with a
good grace. He, one day, said of a man of great family, who wished to be
made Captain of the Guards, “He is a double spy, who wants to be paid on
both sides.” This was the moment at which Madame de Pompadour seemed
to me to enjoy the most complete satisfaction. The devotees came to visit her
without scruple, and did not forget to make use of every opportunity of
serving themselves. Madame de Lu——- had set them the example. The
Doctor laughed at this change in affairs, and was very merry at the expense of
the saints. “You must allow, however, that they are consistent,” said I, “and
may be sincere.” “Yes,” said he; “but then they should not ask for anything.”
One day, I was at Doctor Quesnay’s, whilst Madame de Pompadour was at
the theatre. The Marquis de Mirabeau came in, and the conversation was, for
some time, extremely tedious to me, running entirely on ‘net produce’; at
length, they talked of other things.

[The author of “L’Ami des Hommes,” one of the leaders of
the sect of Economistes, and father of the celebrated
Mirabeau. After the death of Quesnay, the Grand Master of
the Order, the Marquis de Mirabeau was unanimously elected
his successor. Mirabeau was not deficient in a certain
enlargement of mind, nor in acquirements, nor even in
patriotism; but his writings are enthusiastical, and show that
he had little more than glimpses of the truth. The Friend of
Man was the enemy of all his family. He beat his servants,
and did not pay them. The reports of the lawsuit with his wife,
in 1775, prove that this philosopher possessed, in the highest
possible degree, all the anti-conjugal qualities. It is said that
his eldest son wrote two contradictory depositions, and was
paid by both sides.]

Mirabeau said, “I think the King looks ill, he grows old.”—“So much the
worse, a thousand times so much the worse,” said Quesnay; “it would be the
greatest possible loss to France if he died;” and he raised his hands, and

sighed deeply. “I do not doubt that you are attached to the King, and with
reason,” said Mirabeau: “I am attached to him too; but I never saw you so
much moved.”—“Ah!” said Quesnay, “I think of what would
follow.”—“Well, the Dauphin is virtuous.”—“Yes; and full of good
intentions; nor is he deficient in understanding; but canting hypocrites would
possess an absolute empire over a Prince who regards them as oracles. The
Jesuits would govern the kingdom, as they did at the end of Louis XIV.‘s
reign: and you would see the fanatical Bishop of Verdun Prime Minister, and
La Vauguyon all-powerful under some other title. The Parliaments must then
mind how they behave; they will not be better treated than my friends the
philosophers.”—“But they go too far,” said Mirabeau; “why openly attack
religion?”—“I allow that,” replied the Doctor; “but how is it possible not to
be rendered indignant by the fanaticism of others, and by recollecting all the
blood that has flowed during the last two hundred years? You must not then
again irritate them, and revive in France the time of Mary in England. But
what is done is done, and I often exhort them to be moderate; I wish they
would follow the example of our friend Duclos.”—“You are right,” replied
Mirabeau; “he said to me a few days ago, ‘These philosophers are going on at
such a rate that they will force me to go to vespers and high mass;’ but, in
fine, the Dauphin is virtuous, well-informed, and intellectual.”—“It is the
commencement of his reign, I fear,” said Quesnay, “when the imprudent
proceedings of our friends will be represented to him in the most
unfavourable point of view; when the Jansenists and Molinists will make
common cause, and be strongly supported by the Dauphine. I thought that M.
de Muy was moderate, and that he would temper the headlong fury of the
others; but I heard him say that Voltaire merited condign punishment. Be
assured, sir, that the times of John Huss and Jerome of Prague will return; but
I hope not to live to see it. I approve of Voltaire having hunted down the
Pompignans: were it not for the ridicule with which he covered them, that
bourgeois Marquis would have been preceptor to the young Princes, and,
aided by his brother, would have succeeded in again lighting the faggots of
persecution.”—“What ought to give you confidence in the Dauphin,” said
Mirabeau, “is, that, notwithstanding the devotion of Pompignan, he turns him
into ridicule. A short time back, seeing him strutting about with an air of
inflated pride, he said to a person, who told it to me, ‘Our friend Pompignan
thinks that he is something.’” On returning home, I wrote down this
conversation.

I, one day, found Quesnay in great distress. “Mirabeau,” said he, “is sent to
Vincennes, for his work on taxation. The Farmers General have denounced
him, and procured his arrest; his wife is going to throw herself at the feet of
Madame de Pompadour to-day.” A few minutes afterwards, I went into
Madame’s apartment, to assist at her toilet, and the Doctor came in. Madame
said to him, “You must be much concerned at the disgrace of your friend
Mirabeau. I am sorry for it too, for I like his brother.” Quesnay replied, “I am
very far from believing him to be actuated by bad intentions, Madame; he
loves the King and the people.” “Yes,” said she; “his ‘Ami des Hommes’ did
him great honour.” At this moment the Lieutenant of Police entered, and
Madame said to him, “Have you seen M. de Mirabeau’s book?”—“Yes,
Madame; but it was not I who denounced it?”—“What do you think of
it?”—“I think he might have said almost all it contains with impunity, if he
had been more circumspect as to the manner; there is, among other
objectionable passages, this, which occurs at the beginning: Your Majesty has
about twenty millions of subjects; it is only by means of money that you can
obtain their services, and there is no money.”—“What, is there really that,
Doctor?” said Madame. “It is true, they are the first lines in the book, and I
confess that they are imprudent; but, in reading the work, it is clear that he
laments that patriotism is extinct in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, and that
he desires to rekindle it.” The King entered: we went out, and I wrote down
on Quesnay’s table what I had just heard. I them returned to finish dressing
Madame de Pompadour: she said to me, “The King is extremely angry with
Mirabeau; but I tried to soften him, and so did the Lieutenant of Police. This
will increase Quesnay’s fears. Do you know what he said to me to-day? The
King had been talking to him in my room, and the Doctor appeared timid and
agitated. After the King was gone, I said to him, ‘You always seem so
embarrassed in the King’s presence, and yet he is so good-natured.’—‘I
Madame,’ said he, ‘I left my native village at the age of forty, and I have very
little experience of the world, nor can I accustom myself to its usages without
great difficulty. When I am in a room with the King, I say to myself, This is a
man who can order my head to be cut off; and that idea embarrasses
me.’—‘But do not the King’s justice and kindness set you at ease?’—‘That is
very true in reasoning,’ said he; ‘but the sentiment is more prompt, and
inspires me with fear before I have time to say to myself all that is calculated
to allay it.’”
I got her to repeat this conversation, and wrote it down immediately, that I
might not forget it.

An anonymous letter was addressed to the King and Madame de
Pompadour; and, as the author was very anxious that it should not miscarry,
he sent copies to the Lieutenant of Police, sealed and directed to the King, to
Madame de Pompadour, and to M. de Marigny. This letter produced a strong
impression on Madame, and on the King, and still more, I believe, on the Duc
de Choiseul, who had received a similar one. I went on my knees to M. de
Marigny, to prevail on him to allow me to copy it, that I might show it to the
Doctor. It is as follows:

“Sire—It is a zealous servant who writes to Your Majesty.
Truth is always better, particularly to Kings; habituated to
flattery, they see objects only under those colours most likely
to please them. I have reflected, and read much; and here is
what my meditations have suggested to me to lay before Your
Majesty. They have accustomed you to be invisible, and
inspired you with a timidity which prevents you from
speaking; thus all direct communication is cut off between the
master and his subjects. Shut up in the interior of your palace,
you are becoming every day like the Emperors of the East; but
see, Sire, their fate! ‘I have troops,’ Your Majesty will say;
such, also, is their support: but, when the only security of a
King rests upon his troops; when he is only, as one may say, a
King of the soldiers, these latter feel their own strength, and
abuse it. Your finances are in the greatest disorder, and the
great majority of states have perished through this cause. A
patriotic spirit sustained the ancient states, and united all
classes for the safety of their country. In the present times,
money has taken the place of this spirit; it has become the
universal lever, and you are in want of it. A spirit of finance
affects every department of the state; it reigns triumphant at
Court; all have become venal; and all distinction of rank is
broken up. Your Ministers are without genius and capacity
since the dismissal of MM. d’Argenson and de Machault. You
alone cannot judge of their incapacity, because they lay
before you what has been prepared by skilful clerks, but which
they pass as their own. They provide only for the necessity of
the day, but there is no spirit of government in their acts. The
military changes that have taken place disgust the troops, and

cause the most deserving officers to resign; a seditious flame
has sprung up in the very bosom of the Parliaments; you seek
to corrupt them, and the remedy is worse than the disease. It
is introducing vice into the sanctuary of justice, and gangrene
into the vital parts of the commonwealth. Would a corrupted
Parliament have braved the fury of the League, in order to
preserve the crown for the legitimate sovereign? Forgetting
the maxims of Louis XIV., who well understood the danger of
confiding the administration to noblemen, you have chosen
M. de Choiseul, and even given him three departments; which
is a much heavier burden than that which he would have to
support as Prime Minister, because the latter has only to
oversee the details executed by the Secretaries of State. The
public fully appreciate this dazzling Minister. He is nothing
more than a ‘petit-maitre’, without talents or information,
who has a little phosphorus in his mind. There is a thing well
worthy of remark, Sire; that is, the open war carried on
against religion. Henceforward there can spring up no new
sects, because the general belief has been shaken, that no one
feels inclined to occupy himself with difference of sentiment
upon some of the articles. The Encyclopedists, under pretence
of enlightening mankind, are sapping the foundations of
religion. All the different kinds of liberty are connected; the
Philosophers and the Protestants tend towards republicanism,
as well as the Jansenists. The Philosophers strike at the root,
the others lop the branches; and their efforts, without being
concerted, will one day lay the tree low. Add to these the
Economists; whose object is political liberty, as that of the
others is liberty of worship, and the Government may find
itself, in twenty or thirty years, undermined in every direction,
and will then fall with a crash. If Your Majesty, struck by this
picture, but too true, should ask me for a remedy, I should say,
that it is necessary to bring back the Government to its
principles, and, above all, to lose no time in restoring order to
the state of the finances, because the embarrassments incident
to a country in a state of debt necessitate fresh taxes, which,
after grinding the people, induce them towards revolt. It is my
opinion that Your Majesty would do well to appear more

among your people; to shew your approbation of useful
services, and your displeasure of errors and prevarications,
and neglect of duty: in a word, to let it be seen that rewards
and punishments, appointments and dismissals, proceed from
yourself. You will then inspire gratitude by your favours, and
fear by your reproaches; you will then be the object of
immediate and personal attachment, instead of which,
everything is now referred to your Ministers. The confidence
in the King, which is habitual to your people, is shewn by the
exclamation, so common among them, ‘Ah! if the King knew
it’ They love to believe that the King would remedy all their
evils, if he knew of them. But, on the other hand, what sort of
ideas must they form of kings, whose duty it is to be informed
of everything, and to superintend everything, that concerns
the public, but who are, nevertheless, ignorant of everything
which the discharge of their functions requires them to know?
‘Rex, roi, regere, regar, conduire’—to rule, to conduct—these
words sufficiently denote their duties. What would be said of a
father who got rid of the charge of his children as of a
burthen?
“A time will come, Sire, when the people shall be
enlightened—and that time is probably approaching. Resume
the reins of government, hold them with a firm hand, and act,
so that it cannot be said of you, ‘Faeminas et scorta volvit
ammo et haec principatus praemia putat’:—Sire, if I see that
my sincere advice should have produced any change, I shall
continue it, and enter into more details; if not, I shall remain
silent.”

Now that I am upon the subject of anonymous letters to the King, I must
just mention that it is impossible to conceive how frequent they were. People
were extremely assiduous in telling either unpleasant truths, or alarming lies,
with a view to injure others. As an instance, I shall transcribe one concerning
Voltaire, who paid great court to Madame de Pompadour when he was in
France. This letter was written long after the former.

“Madame—M. de Voltaire has just dedicated his tragedy of
Tancred to you; this ought to be an offering of respect and

gratitude; but it is, in fact, an insult, and you will form the
same opinion of it as the public has done if you read it with
attention. You will see that this distinguished writer appears
to betray a consciousness that the subject of his encomiums is
not worthy of them, and to endeavour to excuse himself for
them to the public. These are his words: ‘I have seen your
graces and talents unfold themselves from your infancy. At all
periods of your life I have received proofs of your uniform
and unchanging kindness. If any critic be found to censure the
homage I pay you, he must have a heart formed for
ingratitude. I am under great obligations to you, Madame,
and these obligations it is my duty to proclaim.’
“What do these words really signify, unless that Voltaire
feels it may be thought extraordinary that he should dedicate
his work to a woman who possesses but a small share of the
public esteem, and that the sentiment of gratitude must plead
his excuse? Why should he suppose that the homage he pays
you will be censured, whilst we daily see dedications
addressed to silly gossips who have neither rank nor celebrity,
or to women of exceptional conduct, without any censure
being attracted by it?”

M. de Marigny, and Colin, Madame de Pompadour’s steward, were of the
same opinion as Quesnay, that the author of this letter was extremely
malicious; that he insulted Madame, and tried to injure Voltaire; but that he
was, in fact, right. Voltaire, from that moment, was entirely out of favour with
Madame, and with the King, and he certainly never discovered the cause.
The King, who admired everything of the age of Louis XIV., and
recollected that the Boileaus and Racines had been protected by that
monarch, who was indebted to them, in part, for the lustre of his reign, was
flattered at having such a man as Voltaire among his subjects. But still he
feared him, and had but little esteem for him. He could not help saying,
“Moreover, I have treated him as well as Louis XIV. treated Racine and
Boileau. I have given him, as Louis XIV. gave to Racine, some pensions, and
a place of gentleman in ordinary. It is not my fault if he has committed
absurdities, and has had the pretension to become a chamberlain, to wear an
order, and sup with a King. It is not the fashion in France; and, as there are
here a few more men of wit and noblemen than in Prussia, it would require

that I should have a very large table to assemble them all at it.” And then he
reckoned upon his fingers, Maupertuis, Fontenelle, La Mothe, Voltaire, Piron,
Destouches, Montesquieu, the Cardinal Polignac. “Your Majesty forgets,”
said some one, “D’Alembert and Clairaut.”—“And Crebillon,” said he. “And
la Chaussee, and the younger Crebillon,” said some one. “He ought to be
more agreeable than his father.”—“And there are also the Abbes Prevot and
d’Olivet.”—“Pretty well,” said the King; “and for the last twenty years all
that (tout cela) would have dined and supped at my table.”
Madame de Pompadour repeated to me this conversation, which I wrote
down the same evening. M. de Marigny, also, talked to me about it.
“Voltaire,” said he, “has always had a fancy for being Ambassador, and he did
all he could to make the people believe that he was charged with some
political mission, the first time he visited Prussia.”
The people heard of the attempt on the King’s life with transports of fury,
and with the greatest distress. Their cries were heard under the windows of
Madame de Pompadour’s apartment. Mobs were collected, and Madame
feared the fate of Madame de Chateauroux. Her friends came in, every
minute, to give her intelligence. Her room was, at all times, like a church;
everybody seemed to claim a right to go in and out when he chose. Some
came, under pretence of sympathising, to observe her countenance and
manner. She did nothing but weep and faint away. Doctor Quesnay never left
her, nor did I. M. de St. Florentin came to see her several times, so did the
Comptroller-General, and M. Rouilld; but M. de Machault did not come. The
Duchesse de Brancas came very frequently. The Abbe de Bernis never left us,
except to go to enquire for the King. The tears came in his eyes whenever he
looked at Madame. Doctor Quesnay saw the King five or six times a day.
“There is nothing to fear,” said he to Madame. “If it were anybody else, he
might go to a ball.” My son went the next day, as he had done the day the
event occurred, to see what was going on at the Castle. He told us, on his
return, that the Keeper of the Seals was with the King. I sent him back, to see
what course he took on leaving the King. He came running back in half an
hour, to tell me that the Keeper of the Seals had gone to his own house,
followed by a crowd of people. When I told this to Madame, she burst into
tears, and said, “Is that a friend?” The Abbe de Bernis said, “You must not
judge him hastily, in such a moment as this.” I returned into the drawing-
room about an hour after, when the Keeper of the Seals entered. He passed
me, with his usual cold and severe look. “How is Madame de Pompadour?”

said he. “Alas!” replied I, “as you may imagine!” He passed on to her closet.
Everybody retired, and he remained for half an hour. The Abbe returned and
Madame rang. I went into her room, the Abbe following me. She was in tears.
“I must go, my dear Abbe,” said she. I made her take some orange-flower
water, in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered. She then told me to call her
equerry. He came in, and she calmly gave him her orders, to have everything
prepared at her hotel, in Paris; to tell all her people to get ready to go; and to
desire her coachman not to be out of the way. She then shut herself up, to
confer with the Abbe de Bernis, who left her, to go to the Council. Her door
was then shut, except to the ladies with whom she was particularly intimate,
M. de Soubise, M. de Gontaut, the Ministers, and some others. Several ladies,
in the greatest distress, came to talk to me in my room: they compared the
conduct of M. de Machault with that of M. de Richelieu, at Metz. Madame
had related to them the circumstances extremely to the honour of the Duke,
and, by contrast, the severest satire on the Keeper of the Seals. “He thinks, or
pretends to think,” said she, “that the priests will be clamorous for my
dismissal; but Quesnay and all the physicians declare that there is not the
slightest danger.” Madame having sent for me, I saw the Marechale de
Mirepoix coming in. While she was at the door, she cried out, “What are all
those trunks, Madame? Your people tell me you are going.”—“Alas! my dear
friend, such is our Master’s desire, as M. de Machault tells me.”—“And what
does he advise?” said the Marechale. “That I should go without delay.”
During this conversation, I was undressing Madame, who wished to be at her
ease on her chaise-longue. “Your Beeper of the Seals wants to get the power
into his own hands, and betrays you; he who quits the field loses it.” I went
out. M. de Soubise entered, then the Abbe and M. de Marigny. The latter, who
was very kind to me, came into my room an hour afterwards. I was alone.
“She will remain,” said he; “but, hush!—she will make an appearance of
going, in order not to set her enemies at work. It is the little Marechale who
prevailed upon her to stay: her keeper (so she called M. de Machault) will
pay for it.” Quesnay came in, and, having heard what was said, with his
monkey airs, began to relate a fable of a fox, who, being at dinner with other
beasts, persuaded one of them that his enemies were seeking him, in order
that he might get possession of his share in his absence. I did not see Madame
again till very late, at her going to bed. She was more calm. Things improved,
from day to day, and de Machault, the faithless friend, was dismissed. The
King returned to Madame de Pompadour, as usual. I learnt, by M. de
Marigny, that the Abbe had been, one day, with M. d’Argenson, to endeavour

to persuade him to live on friendly terms with Madame, and that he had been
very coldly received. “He is the more arrogant,” said he, “on account of
Machault’s dismissal, which leaves the field clear for him, who has more
experience, and more talent; and I fear that he will, therefore, be disposed to
declare war till death.” The next day, Madame having ordered her chaise, I
was curious to know where she was going, for she went out but little, except
to church, and to the houses of the Ministers. I was told that she was gone to
visit M. d’Argenson. She returned in an hour, at farthest, and seemed very
much out of spirits. She leaned on the chimneypiece, with her eyes fixed on
the border of it. M. de Bernis entered. I waited for her to take off her cloak
and gloves. She had her hands in her muff. The Abbe stood looking at her for
some minutes; at last he said, “You look like a sheep in a reflecting mood.”
She awoke from her reverie, and, throwing her muff on the easy-chair,
replied, “It is a wolf who makes the sheep reflect.” I went out: the King
entered shortly after, and I heard Madame de Pompadour sobbing. The Abbe
came into my room, and told me to bring some Hoffman’s drops: the King
himself mixed the draught with sugar, and presented it to her in the kindest
manner possible. She smiled, and kissed the King’s hands. I left the room.
Two days after, very early in the morning, I heard of M. d’Argenson’s exile.
It was her doing, and was, indeed, the strongest proof of her influence that
could be given. The King was much attached to M. d’Argenson, and the war,
then carrying on, both by sea and land, rendered the dismissal of two such
Ministers extremely imprudent. This was the universal opinion at the time.
Many people talk of the letter of the Comte d’Argenson to Madame
d’Esparbes. I give it, according to the most correct version:

“The doubtful is, at length, decided. The Keeper of the
Seals is dismissed. You will be recalled, my dear Countess,
and we shall be masters of the field.”

It is much less generally known that Arboulin, whom Madame calls Bou-
bou, was supposed to be the person who, on the very day of the dismissal of
the Keeper of the Seals, bribed the Count’s confidential courier, who gave
him this letter. Is this report founded on truth? I cannot swear that it is; but it
is asserted that the letter is written in the Count’s style. Besides, who could so
immediately have invented it? It, however, appeared certain, from the
extreme displeasure of the King, that he had some other subject of complaint
against M. d’Argenson, besides his refusing to be reconciled with Madame.

Nobody dares to show the slightest attachment to the disgraced Minister. I
asked the ladies who were most intimate with Madame de Pompadour, as
well as my own friends, what they knew of the matter; but they knew
nothing. I can understand why Madame did not let them into her confidence
at that moment. She will be less reserved in time. I care very little about it,
since I see that she is well, and appears happy.
The King said a thing, which did him honour, to a person whose name
Madame withheld from me. A nobleman, who had been a most assiduous
courtier of the Count, said, rubbing his hands with an air of great joy, “I have
just seen the Comte d’Argenson’s baggage set out.” When the King heard
him, he went up to Madame, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “And
immediately the cock crew.”
“I believe this is taken from Scripture, where Peter denies Our Lord. I
confess, this circumstance gave me great pleasure. It showed that the King is
not the dupe of those around him, and that he hates treachery and
ingratitude.”
Madame sent for me yesterday evening, at seven o’clock, to read
something to her; the ladies who were intimate with her were at Paris, and M.
de Gontaut ill. “The King,” said she, “will stay late at the Council this
evening; they are occupied with the affairs of the Parliament again.” She bade
me leave off reading, and I was going to quit the room, but she called out,
“Stop.” She rose; a letter was brought in for her, and she took it with an air of
impatience and ill-humour. After a considerable time she began to talk
openly, which only happened when she was extremely vexed; and, as none of
her confidential friends were at hand, she said to me, “This is from my
brother. It is what he would not have dared to say to me, so he writes. I had
arranged a marriage for him with the daughter of a man of title; he appeared
to be well inclined to it, and I, therefore, pledged my word. He now tells me
that he has made inquiries; that the parents are people of insupportable
hauteur; that the daughter is very badly educated; and that he knows, from
authority not to be doubted, that when she heard this marriage discussed, she
spoke of the connection with the most supreme contempt; that he is certain of
this fact; and that I was still more contemptuously spoken of than himself. In
a word, he begs me to break off the treaty. But he has let me go too far; and
now he will make these people my irreconcilable enemies. This has been put
in his head by some of his flatterers; they do not wish him to change his way
of living; and very few of them would be received by his wife.” I tried to

soften Madame, and, though I did not venture to tell her so, I thought her
brother right. She persisted in saying these were lies, and, on the following
Sunday, treated her brother very coldly. He said nothing to me at that time; if
he had, he would have embarrassed me greatly. Madame atoned for
everything by procuring favours, which were the means of facilitating the
young lady’s marriage with a gentleman of the Court. Her conduct, two
months after marriage, compelled Madame to confess that her brother had
been perfectly right.
I saw my friend, Madame du Chiron. “Why,” said she, “is the Marquise so
violent an enemy to the Jesuits? I assure you she is wrong. All powerful as
she is, she may find herself the worse for their enmity.” I replied that I knew
nothing about the matter. “It is, however, unquestionably a fact; and she does
not feel that a word more or less might decide her fate.”—“How do you
mean?” said I. “Well, I will explain myself fully,” said she. “You know what
took place at the time the King was stabbed: an attempt was made to get her
out of the Castle instantly. The Jesuits have no other object than the salvation
of their penitents; but they are men, and hatred may, without their being
aware of it, influence their minds, and inspire them with a greater degree of
severity than circumstances absolutely demand. Favour and partiality may, on
the other hand, induce the confessor to make great concessions; and the
shortest interval may suffice to save a favourite, especially if any decent
pretext can be found for prolonging her stay at Court.” I agreed with her in all
she said, but I told her that I dared not touch that string. On reflecting on this
conversation afterwards, I was forcibly struck with this fresh proof of the
intrigues of the Jesuits, which, indeed, I knew well already. I thought that, in
spite of what I had replied to Madame du Chiron, I ought to communicate
this to Madame de Pompadour, for the ease of my conscience; but that I
would abstain from making any reflection upon it. “Your friend, Madame du
Chiron,” said she, “is, I perceive, affiliated to the Jesuits, and what she says
does not originate with herself. She is commissioned by some reverend
father, and I will know by whom.” Spies were, accordingly, set to watch her
movements, and they discovered that one Father de Saci, and, still more
particularly, one Father Frey, guided this lady’s conduct. “What a pity,” said
Madame to me, “that the Abbe Chauvelin cannot know this.” He was the
most formidable enemy of the reverend fathers. Madame du Chiron always
looked upon me as a Jansenist, because I would not espouse the interests of
the good fathers with as much warmth as she did.

Madame is completely absorbed in the Abbe de Bernis, whom she thinks
capable of anything; she talks of him incessantly. Apropos, of this Abbe, I
must relate an anecdote, which almost makes one believe in conjurors. A
year, or fifteen months, before her disgrace, Madame de Pompadour, being at
Fontainebleau, sat down to write at a desk, over which hung a portrait of the
King. While she was, shutting the desk, after she had finished writing, the
picture fell, and struck her violently on the head.. The persons who saw the
accident were alarmed, and sent for Dr. Quesnay. He asked the circumstances
of the case, and ordered bleeding and anodynes. Just, as she had been bled,
Madame de Brancas entered, and saw us all in confusion and agitation, and
Madame lying on her chaise-longue. She asked what was the matter, and was
told. After having expressed her regret, and having consoled her, she said, “I
ask it as a favour of Madame, and of the King (who had just come in), that
they will instantly send a courier to the Abbe de Bernis, and that the Marquise
will have the goodness to write a letter, merely requesting him to inform her
what his fortune-tellers told him, and to withhold nothing from the fear of
making her uneasy.” The thing was, done as she desired, and she then told us
that La Bontemps had predicted, from the dregs in the coffee-cup, in which
she read everything, that the head of her best friend was in danger, but that no
fatal consequences would ensue.
The next day, the Abbe wrote word that Madame Bontemps also said to
him, “You came into the world almost black,” and that this was the fact. This
colour, which lasted for some time, was attributed to a picture which hung at
the foot of his, mother’s bed, and which she often looked at. It represented a
Moor bringing to Cleopatra a basket of flowers, containing the asp by whose
bite she destroyed herself. He said that she also told him, “You have a great
deal of money about you, but it does not belong to you;” and that he had
actually in his pocket two hundred Louis for the Duc de La Valliere. Lastly,
he informed us that she said, looking in the cup, “I see one of your friends—
the best—a distinguished lady, threatened with an accident;” that he
confessed that, in spite of all his philosophy, he turned pale; that she
remarked this, looked again into the cup, and continued, “Her head will be
slightly in danger, but of this no appearance will remain half an hour
afterwards.” It was impossible to doubt the facts. They appeared so surprising
to the King, that he desired some inquiry to be made concerning the fortune-
teller. Madame, however, protected her from the pursuit of the Police.

A man, who was quite as astonishing as this fortune-teller, often visited
Madame de Pompadour. This was the Comte de St. Germain, who wished to
have it believed that he had lived several centuries.

[St. Germain was an adept—a worthy predecessor of
Cagliostro, who expected to live five hundred years. The
Count de St. Germain pretended to have already lived two
thousand, and, according to him, the account was still
running. He went so far as to claim the power of transmitting
the gift of long life. One day, calling upon his servant to, bear
witness to a fact that went pretty far back, the man replied, “I
have no recollection of it, sir; you forget that I have only had
the honour of serving you for five hundred years.”
St. Germain, like all other charlatans of this sort, assumed
a theatrical magnificence, and an air of science calculated to
deceive the vulgar. His best instrument of deception was the
phantasmagoria; and as, by means of this abuse of the
science of optics, he called up shades which were asked for,
and almost always recognised, his correspondence with the
other world was a thing proved by the concurrent testimony of
numerous witnesses.
He played the same game in London, Venice, and Holland,
but he constantly regretted Paris, where his miracles were
never questioned.
St. Germain passed his latter days at the Court of the
Prince of Hesse Cassel, and died at Plewig, in 1784, in the
midst of his enthusiastic disciples, and to their infinite
astonishment at his sharing the common destiny.]

One day, at her toilet, Madame said to him, in my presence, “What was the
personal appearance of Francis I.? He was a King I should have liked.”—“He
was, indeed, very captivating,” said St. Germain; and he proceeded to
describe his face and person as one does that of a man one has accurately
observed. “It is a pity he was too ardent. I could have given him some good
advice, which would have saved him from all his misfortunes; but he would
not have followed it; for it seems as if a fatality attended Princes, forcing
them to shut their ears, those of the mind, at least, to the best advice, and
especially in the most critical moments.”—“And the Constable,” said

Madame, “what do you say of him?”—“I cannot say much good or much
harm of him,” replied he. “Was the Court of Francis I. very
brilliant?”—“Very brilliant; but those of his grandsons infinitely surpassed it.
In the time of Mary Stuart and Margaret of Valois it was a land of
enchantment—a temple, sacred to pleasures of every kind; those of the mind
were not neglected. The two Queens were learned, wrote verses, and spoke
with captivating grace and eloquence.” Madame said, laughing, “You seem to
have seen all this.”—“I have an excellent memory,” said he, “and have read
the history of France with great care. I sometimes amuse myself, not by
making, but by letting it be believed that I lived in old times.”—“You do not
tell me your age, however, and you give yourself out for very old. The
Comtesse de Gergy, who was Ambassadress to Venice, I think, fifty years
ago, says she knew you there exactly what you are now.”—“It is true,
Madame, that I have known Madame de Gergy a long time.”—“But,
according to what she says, you would be more than a hundred”—“That is
not impossible,” said he, laughing; “but it is, I allow, still more possible that
Madame de Gergy, for whom I have the greatest respect, may be in her
dotage.”—“You have given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising.
She declares that for a long time she has felt as if she was only four-and-
twenty years of age; why don’t you give some to the King?”—“Ah!
Madame,” said he, with a sort of terror, “I must be mad to think of giving the
King an unknown drug.” I went into my room to write down this
conversation. Some days afterwards, the King, Madame de Pompadour, some
Lords of the Court, and the Comte de St. Germain, were talking about his
secret for causing the spots in diamonds to disappear. The King ordered a
diamond of middling size, which had a spot, to be brought. It was weighed;
and the King said to the Count, “It is valued at two hundred and forty louis;
but it would be worth four hundred if it had no spot. Will you try to put a
hundred and sixty louis into my pocket?” He examined it carefully, and said,
“It may be done; and I will bring it you again in a month.” At the time
appointed, the Count brought back the diamond without a spot, and gave it to
the King. It was wrapped in a cloth of amianthus, which he took off. The
King had it weighed, and found it but very little diminished. The King sent it
to his jeweller by M. de Gontaut, without telling him anything of what had
passed. The jeweller gave three hundred and eighty louis for it. The King,
however, sent for it back again, and kept it as a curiosity. He could not
overcome his surprise, and said that M. de St. Germain must be worth
millions, especially if he had also the secret of making large diamonds out of

a number of small ones. He neither said that he had, nor that he had not; but
he positively asserted that he could make pearls grow, and give them the
finest water. The King, paid him great attention, and so did Madame de
Pompadour. It was from her I learnt what I have just related. M. Queanay
said, talking of the pearls, “They are produced by a disease in the oyster. It is
possible to know the cause of it; but, be that as it may, he is not the less a
quack, since he pretends to have the elixir vitae, and to have lived several
centuries. Our master is, however, infatuated by him, and sometimes talks of
him as if his descent were illustrious.”
I have seen him frequently: he appeared to be about fifty; he was neither
fat nor thin; he had an acute, intelligent look, dressed very simply, but in good
taste; he wore very fine diamonds in his rings, watch, and snuff-box. He
came, one day, to visit Madame de Pompadour, at a time when the Court was
in full splendour, with knee and shoe-buckles of diamonds so fine and
brilliant that Madame said she did not believe the King had any equal to
them. He went into the antechamber to take them off, and brought them to be
examined; they were compared with others in the room, and the Duc de
Gontaut, who was present, said they were worth at least eight thousand louis.
He wore, at the same time, a snuff-box of inestimable value, and ruby sleeve-
buttons, which were perfectly dazzling. Nobody could find out by what
means this man became so rich and so remarkable; but the King would not
suffer him to be spoken of with ridicule or contempt. He was said to be a
bastard son of the King of Portugal.
I learnt, from M. de Marigny, that the relations of the good little Marechale
(de Mirepoix) had been extremely severe upon her, for what they called the
baseness of her conduct, with regard to Madame de Pompadour. They said
she held the stones of the cherries which Madame ate in her carriage, in her
beautiful little hands, and that she sate in the front of the carriage, while
Madame occupied the whole seat in the inside. The truth was, that, in going
to Crecy, on an insupportably hot day, they both wished to sit alone, that they
might be cooler; and as to the matter of the cherries, the villagers having
brought them some, they ate them to refresh themselves, while the horses
were changed; and the Marechal emptied her pocket-handkerchief, into which
they had both thrown the cherry-stones, out of the carriage window. The
people who were changing the horses had given their own version of the
affair.

I had, as you know, a very pretty room at Madame’s hotel, whither I
generally went privately. I had, one day, had visits from two or three Paris
representatives, who told me news; and Madame, having sent for me, I went
to her, and found her with M. de Gontaut. I could not help instantly saying
to her, “You must be much pleased, Madame, at the noble action of the
Marquis de ———.” Madame replied, drily, “Hold your tongue, and listen
to what I have to say to you.” I returned to my little room, where I found the
Comtesse d’Amblimont, to whom I mentioned Madame’s reception of me.
“I know what is the matter,” said she; “it has no relation to you. I will
explain it to you. The Marquis de ———- has told all Paris, that, some days

ago, going home at night, alone, and on foot, he heard cries in a street called
Ferou, which is dark, and, in great part, arched over; that he drew his sword,
and went down the street, in which he saw, by the light of a lamp, a very
handsome woman, to whom some ruffians were offering violence; that he
approached, and that the woman cried out, ‘Save me! save me!’ that he
rushed upon the wretches, two of whom fought him, sword in hand, whilst a
third held the woman, and tried to stop her mouth; that he wounded one in
the arm; and that the ruffians, hearing people pass at the end of the street,
and fearing they might come to his assistance, fled; that he went up to the
lady, who told him that they were not robbers, but villains, one of whom
was desperately in love with her; and that the lady knew not how to express
her gratitude; that she had begged him not to follow her, after he had
conducted her to a fiacre; that she would not tell him her name, but that she
insisted on his accepting a little ring, as a token of remembrance; and that
she promised to see him again, and to tell him her whole history, if he gave
her his address; that he complied with this request of the lady, whom he
represented as a charming person, and who, in the overflowing of her
gratitude, embraced him several times. This is all very fine, so far,” said
Madame d’Amblimont, “but hear the rest. The Marquis de exhibited
himself everywhere the next day, with a black ribbon bound round his arm,
near the wrist, in which part he said he had received a wound. He related his
story to everybody, and everybody commented upon it after his own
fashion. He went to dine with the Dauphin, who spoke to him of his
bravery, and of his fair unknown, and told him that he had already
complimented the Duc de C—— on the affair. I forgot to tell you,”
continued Madame d’Amblimont, “that, on the very night of the adventure,
he called on Madame d’Estillac, an old gambler, whose house is open till
four in the morning; that everybody there was surprised at the disordered
state in which he appeared; that his bagwig had fallen off, one skirt of his
coat was cut, and his right hand bleeding. That they instantly bound it up,
and gave him some Rota wine. Four days ago, the Duc de C—— supped
with the King, and sat near M. de St. Florentin. He talked to him of his
relation’s adventure, and asked him if he had made any inquiries concerning
the lady. M. de St. Florentin coldly answered, ‘No!’ and M. de C——
remarked, on asking him some further questions, that he kept his eyes
firmed on his plate, looking embarrassed, and answered in monosyllables.
He asked him the reason of this, upon which M. de Florentin told him that it

was extremely distressing to him to see him under such a mistake. ‘How
can you know that, supposing it to be the fact?’ said M. de ———,
‘Nothing is more easy to prove,’ replied M. de St. Florentin. ‘You may
imagine that, as soon as I was informed of the Marquis de ———‘s
adventure, I set on foot inquiries, the result of which was, that, on the night
when this affair was said to have taken place, a party of the watch was set in
ambuscade in this very street, for the purpose of catching a thief who was
coming out of the gaming house; that this party was there four hours, and
heard not the slightest noise.’ M. de C was greatly incensed at this recital,
which M. de St. Florentin ought, indeed, to have communicated to the King.
He has ordered, or will order, his relation to retire to his province.
“After this, you will judge, my dear, whether you were very likely to be
graciously received when you went open-mouthed with your compliment to
the Marquise. This adventure,” continued she, “reminded the King of one
which occurred about fifteen years ago. The Comte d’E——, who was what
is called ‘enfant d’honneur’ to the Dauphin, and about fourteen years of
age, came into the Dauphin’s apartments, one evening, with his bag-wig
snatched off, and his ruffles torn, and said that, having walked rather late
near the piece of water des Suisses, he had been attacked by two robbers;
that he had refused to give them anything, drawn his sword, and put himself
in an attitude of defence; that one of the robbers was armed with a sword,
the other with a large stick, from which he had received several blows, but
that he had wounded one in the arm, and that, hearing a noise at that
moment, they had fled. But unluckily for the little Count, it was known that
people were on the spot at the precise time he mentioned, and had heard
nothing. The Count was pardoned, on account of his youth. The Dauphin
made him confess the truth, and it was looked upon as a childish freak to set
people talking about him.”
The King disliked the King of Prussia because he knew that the latter was
in the habit of jesting upon his mistress, and the kind of life he led. It was
Frederick’s fault, as I have heard it said, that the King was not his most
steadfast ally and friend, as much as sovereigns can be towards each other;
but the jestings of Frederick had stung him, and made him conclude the
treaty of Versailles. One day, he entered Madame’s apartment with a paper
in his hand, and said, “The King of Prussia is certainly a great man; he
loves men of talent, and, like Louis XIV., he wishes to make Europe ring
with his favours towards foreign savans. There is a letter from him,

addressed to Milord Marshal, ordering him to acquaint a ‘superieur’ man of
my kingdom (D’Alembert) that he has granted him a pension;” and, looking
at the letter, he read the following words: “You must know that there is in
Paris a man of the greatest merit, whose fortune is not proportionate to his
talents and character. I may serve as eyes to the blind goddess, and repair in
some measure the injustice, and I beg you to offer on that account. I flatter
myself that he will accept this pension because of the pleasure I shall feel in
obliging a man who joins beauty of character to the most sublime
intellectual talents.”

[George Keith, better known under the name of Milord
Marshal, was the eldest son of William Keith, Earl Marshal
of Scotland. He was an avowed partisan of the Stuarts, and
did not lay down the arms he had taken up in their cause
until it became utterly desperate, and drew upon its
defenders useless dangers. When they were driven from their
country, he renounced it, and took up his residence
successively in France, Prussia, Spain, and Italy. The
delicious country and climate of Valencia he preferred above
any other.
Milord Marshal died in the month of May, 1778. It was he
who said to Madame Geoffrin, speaking of his brother, who
was field-marshal in the Prussian service, and died on the
field of honour, “My brother leaves me the most glorious
inheritance” (he had just laid the whole of Bohemia under
contribution); “his property does not amount to seventy
ducats.” A eulogium on Milord Marshal, by D’Alembert, is
extant. It is the most cruelly mangled of all his works, by
Linguet]

The King here stopped, on seeing MM. de Ayen and de Gontaut enter,
and then recommenced reading the letter to them, and added, “It was given
me by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, to whom it was confided by Milord
Marshal, for the purpose of obtaining my permission for this sublime genius
to accept the favour. But,” said the King, “what do you think is the
amount?” Some said six, eight, ten thousand livres. “You have not
guessed,” said the King; “it is twelve hundred livres.”—“For sublime

talents,” said the Duc d’Ayen, “it is not much. But the philosophers will
make Europe resound with this letter, and the King of Prussia will have the
pleasure of making a great noise at little expense.”
The Chevalier de Courten,—[The Chevalier de Courten was a Swiss, and
a man of talent.]—who had been in Prussia, came in, and, hearing this story
told, said, “I have seen what is much better than that: passing through a
village in Prussia, I got out at the posthouse, while I was waiting for horses;
and the postmaster, who was a captain in the Prussian service, showed me
several letters in Frederick’s handwriting, addressed to his uncle, who was a
man of rank, promising him to provide for his nephews; the provision he
made for this, the eldest of these nephews, who was dreadfully wounded,
was the postmastership which he then held.” M. de Marigny related this
story at Quesnay’s, and added, that the man of genius above mentioned was
D’Alembert, and that the King had permitted him to accept the pension. He
added, that his sister had suggested to the King that he had better give
D’Alembert a pension of twice the value, and forbid him to take the King of
Prussia’s. This advice he would not take, because he looked upon
D’Alembert as an infidel. M. de Marigny took a copy of the letter, which he
lent me.
A certain nobleman, at one time, affected to cast tender glances on
Madame Adelaide. She was wholly unconscious of it; but, as there are
Arguses at Court, the King was, of course, told of it, and, indeed, he thought
he had perceived it himself. I know that he came into Madame de
Pompadour’s room one day, in a great passion, and said, “Would you
believe that there is a man in my Court insolent enough to dare to raise his
eyes to one of my daughters?” Madame had never seen him so exasperated,
and this illustrious nobleman was advised to feign a necessity for visiting
his estates. He remained there two months. Madame told me, long after, that
she thought that there were no tortures to which the King would not have
condemned any man who had seduced one of his daughters. Madame
Adelaide, at the time in question, was a charming person, and united infinite
grace, and much talent, to a most agreeable face.

A courier brought Madame de Pompadour a letter, on reading which she
burst into tears. It contained the intelligence of the battle of Rosbach, which
M. de Soubise sent her, with all the details. I heard her say to the Marechal
de Belle-Isle, wiping her eyes, “M. de Soubise is inconsolable; he does not
try to excuse his conduct, he sees nothing but the disastrous fortune which
pursues him.”—“M. de Soubise must, however, have many things to urge in
his own behalf,” said M. de Belle-Isle, “and so I told the King.”—“It is very
noble in you, Marshal, not to suffer an unfortunate man to be overwhelmed;
the public are furious against him, and what has he done to deserve
it?”—“There is not a more honourable nor a kinder man in the world. I only

fulfil my duty in doing justice to the truth, and to a man for whom I have
the most profound esteem. The King will explain to you, Madame, how M.
de Soubise was forced to give battle by the Prince of Sage-
Hildbourgshausen, whose troops fled first, and carried along the French
troops.” Madame would have embraced the old Marshal if she had dared,
she was so delighted with him.
M. de Soubise, having gained a battle, was made Marshal of France:
Madame was enchanted with her friend’s success. But, either it was
unimportant, or the public were offended at his promotion; nobody talked of
it but Madame’s friends. This unpopularity was concealed from her, and she
said to Colin, her steward, at her toilet, “Are you not delighted at the victory
M. de Soubise has gained? What does the public say of it? He has taken his
revenge well.” Colin was embarrassed, and knew not what to answer. As
she pressed him further, he replied that he had been ill, and had seen
nobody for a week.
M. de Marigny came to see me one day, very much out of humour. I
asked him the cause. “I have,” said he, “just been intreating my sister not to
make M. le Normand-de-Mezi Minister of the Marine. I told her that she
was heaping coals of fire upon her own head. A favourite ought not to
multiply the points of attack upon herself.” The Doctor entered. “You,” said
the Doctor, “are worth your weight in gold, for the good sense and capacity
you have shewn in your office, and for your moderation, but you will never
be appreciated as you deserve; your advice is excellent; there will never be
a ship taken but Madame will be held responsible for it to the public, and
you are very wise not to think of being in the Ministry yourself.”
One day, when I was at Paris, I went to dine with the Doctor, who
happened to be there at the same time; there were, contrary to his usual
custom, a good many people, and, among others, a handsome young Master
of the Requests, who took a title from some place, the name of which I have
forgotten, but who was a son of M. Turgot, the ‘prevot des marchands’.
They talked a great deal about administration, which was not very amusing
to me; they then fell upon the subject of the love Frenchmen bear to their
Kings. M. Turgot here joined in the conversation, and said, “This is not a
blind attachment; it is a deeply rooted sentiment, arising from an indistinct
recollection of great benefits. The French nation—I may go farther—
Europe, and all mankind, owe to a King of France” (I have forgotten his

name)—[Phillip the Long]—“whatever liberty they enjoy. He established
communes, and conferred on an immense number of men a civil existence.
I am aware that it may be said, with justice, that he served his own interests
by granting these franchises; that the cities paid him taxes, and that his
design was to use them as instruments of weakening the power of great
nobles; but what does that prove, but that this measure was at once useful,
politic, and humane?” From Kings in general the conversation turned upon
Louis XV., and M. Turgot remarked that his reign would be always
celebrated for the advancement of the sciences, the progress of knowledge,
and of philosophy. He added that Louis XV. was deficient in the quality
which Louis XIV. possessed to excess; that is to say, in a good opinion of
himself; that he was well-informed; that nobody was more perfectly master
of the topography of France; that his opinion in the Council was always the
most judicious; and that it was much to be lamented that he had not more
confidence in himself, or that he did not rely upon some Minister who
enjoyed the confidence of the nation. Everybody agreed with him. I begged
M. Quesnay to write down what young Turgot had said, and showed it to
Madame. She praised this Master of the Requests greatly, and spoke of him
to the King. “It is a good breed,” said he.
One day, I went out to walk, and saw, on my return, a great many people
going and coming, and speaking to each other privately: it was evident that
something extraordinary had happened. I asked a person of my
acquaintance what was the matter. “Alas!” said he, with tears in his eyes,
“some assassins, who had formed the project of murdering the King, have
inflicted several wounds on a garde-du-corps, who overheard them in a dark
corridor; he is carried to the hospital: and as he has described the colour of
these men’s coats, the Police are in quest of them in all directions, and some
people, dressed in clothes of that colour, are already arrested.” I saw
Madame with M. de Gontaut, and I hastened home. She found her door
besieged by a multitude of people, and was alarmed: when she got in, she
found the Comte de Noailles. “What is all this, Count?” said she. He said he
was come expressly to speak to her, and they retired to her closet together.
The conference was not long. I had remained in the drawing-room, with
Madame’s equerry, the Chevalier de Solent, Gourbillon, her valet de
chambre, and some strangers. A great many details were related; but, the
wounds being little more than scratches, and the garde-du-corps having let
fall some contradictions, it was thought that he was an impostor, who had

invented all this story to bring himself into favour. Before the night was
over, this was proved to be the fact, and, I believe, from his own confession.
The King came, that evening, to see Madame de Pompadour; he spoke of
this occurrence with great sang froid, and said, “The gentleman who wanted
to kill me was a wicked madman; this is a low scoundrel.”
When he spoke of Damiens, which was only while his trial lasted, he
never called him anything but that gentleman.
I have heard it said that he proposed having him shut up in a dungeon for
life; but that the horrible nature of the crime made the judges insist upon his
suffering all the tortures inflicted upon like occasions. Great numbers, many
of them women, had a barbarous curiosity to witness the execution;
amongst others, Madame de P———, a very beautiful woman, and the wife
of a Farmer General. She hired two places at a window for twelve Louis,
and played a game of cards in the room whilst waiting for the execution to
begin. On this being told to the King, he covered his eyes with his hands
and exclaimed, “Fi, la Vilaine!” I have been told that she, and others,
thought to pay their court in this way, and signalise their attachment to the
King’s person.
Two things were related to me by M. Duclos at the time of the attempt on
the King’s life.
The first, relative to the Comte de Sponheim, who was the Duc de Deux-
Ponts, and next in succession to the Palatinate and Electorate of Bavaria. He
was thought to be a great friend to the King, and had made several long
sojourns in France. He came frequently to see Madame. M. Duclos told us
that the Duc de Deux-Ponts, having learned, at Deux-Ponts, the attempt on
the King’s life, immediately set out in a carriage for Versailles: “But
remark,” said he, “the spirit of ‘courtisanerie’ of a Prince, who may be
Elector of Bavaria and the Palatinate tomorrow. This was not enough. When
he arrived within ten leagues of Paris, he put on an enormous pair of jack-
boots, mounted a post-horse, and arrived in the court of the palace cracking
his whip. If this had been real impatience, and not charlatanism, he would
have taken horse twenty leagues from Paris.”—“I don’t agree with you,”
said a gentleman whom I did not know; “impatience sometimes seizes one
towards the end of an undertaking, and one employs the readiest means then
in one’s power. Besides, the Duc de Deux-Ponts might wish, by showing
himself thus on horseback, to serve the King, to whom he is attached, by

proving to Frenchmen how greatly he is beloved and honoured in other
countries.” Duclos resumed: “Well,” said he, “do you know the story of M.
de C——-? The first day the King saw company, after the attempt of
Damiens, M. de C——- pushed so vigorously through the crowd that he
was one of the first to come into the King’s presence, but he had on so
shabby a black coat that it caught the King’s attention, who burst out
laughing, and said, ‘Look at C——-, he has had the skirt of his coat torn
off.’ M. de C——- looked as if he was only then first conscious of his loss,
and said, ‘Sire, there is such a multitude hurrying to see Your Majesty, that I
was obliged to fight my way through them, and, in the effort, my coat has
been torn.’—‘Fortunately it was not worth much,’ said the Marquis de
Souvre, ‘and you could not have chosen a worse one to sacrifice on the
occasion.’”
Madame de Pompadour had been very judiciously advised to get her
husband, M. le Normand, sent to Constantinople, as Ambassador. This
would have a little diminished the scandal caused by seeing Madame de
Pompadour, with the title of Marquise, at Court, and her husband Farmer
General at Paris. But he was so attached to a Paris life, and to his opera
habits, that he could not be prevailed upon to go. Madame employed a
certain M. d’Arboulin, with whom she had been acquainted before she was
at Court, to negotiate this affair. He applied to a Mademoiselle Rem, who
had been an opera-dancer, and who was M. le Normand’s mistress. She
made him very fine promises; but she was like him, and preferred a Paris
life. She would do nothing in it.
At the time that plays were acted in the little apartments, I obtained a
lieutenancy for one of my relations, by a singular means, which proves the
value the greatest people set upon the slightest access to the Court. Madame
did not like to ask anything of M. d’Argenson, and, being pressed by my
family, who could not imagine that, situated as I was, it could be difficult
for me to obtain a command for a good soldier, I determined to go and ask
the Comte d’Argenson. I made my request, and presented my memorial. He
received me coldly, and gave me vague answers. I went out, and the
Marquis de V——-, who was in his closet, followed me. “You wish to
obtain a command,” said he; “there is one vacant, which is promised me for
one of my proteges; but if you will do me a favour in return, or obtain one
for me, I will give it to you. I want to be a police officer, and you have it in
your power to get me a place.” I told him I did not understand the purport of

his jest. “I will tell you,” said he; “Tartuffe is going to be acted in the
cabinets, and there is the part of a police officer, which only consists of a
few lines. Prevail upon Madame de Pompadour to assign me that part, and
the command is yours.” I promised nothing, but I related the history to
Madame, who said she would arrange it for me. The thing was done, and I
obtained the command, and the Marquis de V——- thanked Madame as if
she had made him a Duke.
The King was often annoyed by the Parliaments, and said a very
remarkable thing concerning them, which M. de Gontaut repeated to Doctor
Quesnay in my presence. “Yesterday,” said he, “the King walked up and
down the room with an anxious air. Madame de Pompadour asked him if he
was uneasy about his health, as he had been, for some time, rather unwell.
‘No,’ replied he; ‘but I am greatly annoyed by all these
remonstrances.’—‘What can come of them,’ said she, ‘that need seriously
disquiet Your Majesty? Are you not master of the Parliaments, as well as of
all the rest of the kingdom?’—‘That is true,’ said the King; ‘but, if it had
not been for these counsellors and presidents, I should never have been
stabbed by that gentleman’ (he always called Damiens so). ‘Ah! Sire,’ cried
Madame de Pompadour. ‘Read the trial,’ said he. ‘It was the language of
those gentlemen he names which turned his head.’—‘But,’ said Madame, ‘I
have often thought that, if the Archbishop—[M. de Beaumont]—could be
sent to Rome—’—‘Find anybody who will accomplish that business, and I
will give him whatever he pleases.’” Quesnay said the King was right in all
he had uttered. The Archbishop was exiled shortly after, and the King was
seriously afflicted at being driven to take such a step. “What a pity,” he
often said, “that so excellent a man should be so obstinate.”—“And so
shallow,” said somebody, one day. “Hold your tongue,” replied the King,
somewhat sternly. The Archbishop was very charitable, and liberal to
excess, but he often granted pensions without discernment.

[The following is a specimen of the advantages taken of
his natural kindness. Madame la Caille, who acted the
Duennas at the Opera Comique, was recommended to him
as the mother of a family, who deserved his protection, The
worthy prelate asked what he could do for her.
“Monseigneur,” said the actress, “two words from your
hand to the Duc de Richelieu would induce him to grant me

a demi-part.” M. de Beaumont, who was very little
acquainted with the language of the theatre, thought that a
demi-part meant a more liberal portion of the Marshal’s
alms, and the note was written in the most pressing manner.
The Marshal answered, that he thanked the Archbishop for
the interest he took in the Theatre Italien, and in Madame la
Caille, who was a very useful person at that theatre; that,
nevertheless, she had a bad voice; but that the
recommendation of the Archbishop was to be preferred to
the greatest talents, and that the demi-part was granted.]

He granted one of an hundred louis to a pretty woman, who was very
poor, and who assumed an illustrious name, to which she had no right. The
fear lest she should be plunged into vice led him to bestow such excessive
bounty upon her; and the woman was an admirable dissembler. She went to
the Archbishop’s, covered with a great hood, and, when she left him, she
amused herself with a variety of lovers.
Great people have the bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before their
servants. M. de Gontaut once said these words, covertly, as he thought, to
the Duc de ———, “That measures had been taken which would, probably,
have the effect of determining the Archbishop to go to Rome, with a
Cardinal’s hat; and that, if he desired it, he was to have a coadjutor.”
A very plausible pretext had been found for making this proposition, and
for rendering it flattering to the Archbishop, and agreeable to his
sentiments. The affair had been very adroitly begun, and success appeared
certain. The King had the air, towards the Archbishop, of entire
unconsciousness of what was going on. The negotiator acted as if he were
only following the suggestions of his own mind, for the general good. He
was a friend of the Archbishop, and was very sure of a liberal reward. A
valet of the Duc de Gontaut, a very handsome young fellow, had perfectly
caught the sense of what was spoken in a mysterious manner. He was one of
the lovers of the lady of the hundred Louis a year, and had heard her talk of
the Archbishop, whose relation she pretended to be. He thought he should
secure her good graces by informing her that great efforts were being made
to induce her patron to reside at Rome, with a view to get him away from
Paris. The lady instantly told the Archbishop, as she was afraid of losing her
pension if he went. The information squared so well with the negotiation

then on foot, that the Archbishop had no doubt of its truth. He cooled, by
degrees, in his conversations with the negotiator, whom he regarded as a
traitor, and ended by breaking with him. These details were not known till
long afterwards. The lover of the lady having been sent to the Bicetre, some
letters were found among his papers, which gave a scent of the affair, and
he was made to confess the rest.
In order not to compromise the Duc de Gontaut, the King was told that
the valet had come to a knowledge of the business from a letter which he
had found in his master’s clothes. The King took his revenge by humiliating
the Archbishop, which he was enabled to do by means of the information he
had obtained concerning the conduct of the lady, his protege. She was found
guilty of swindling, in concert with her beloved valet; but, before her
punishment was inflicted, the Lieutenant of Police was ordered to lay
before Monseigneur a full account of the conduct of his relation and
pensioner. The Archbishop had nothing to object to in the proofs which
were submitted to him; he said, with perfect calmness, that she was not his
relation; and, raising his hands to heaven, “She is an unhappy wretch,” said
he, “who has robbed me of the money which was destined for the poor. But
God knows that, in giving her so large a pension, I did not act lightly. I had,
at that time, before my eyes the example of a young woman who once
asked me to grant her seventy louis a year, promising me that she would
always live very virtuously, as she had hitherto done. I refused her, and she
said, on leaving me, ‘I must turn to the left, Monseigneur, since the way on
the right is closed against me: The unhappy creature has kept her word but
too well. She found means of establishing a faro-table at her house, which is
tolerated; and she joins to the most profligate conduct in her own person the
infamous trade of a corrupter of youth; her house is the abode of every vice.
Think, sir, after that, whether it was not an act of prudence, on my part, to
grant the woman in question a pension, suitable to the rank in which I
thought her born, to prevent her abusing the gifts of youth, beauty, and
talents, which she possessed, to her own perdition, and the destruction of
others.” The Lieutenant of Police told the King that he was touched with the
candour and the noble simplicity of the prelate. “I never doubted his
virtues,” replied the King, “but I wish he would be quiet.” This same
Archbishop gave a pension of fifty louis a year to the greatest scoundrel in
Paris. He is a poet, who writes abominable verses; this pension is granted
on condition that his poems are never printed. I learned this fact from M. de

Marigny, to whom he recited some of his horrible verses one evening, when
he supped with him, in company with some people of quality. He chinked
the money in his pocket. “This is my good Archbishop’s,” said he, laughing;
“I keep my word with him: my poem will not be printed during my life, but
I read it. What would the good prelate say if he knew that I shared my last
quarter’s allowance with a charming little opera-dancer? ‘It is the
Archbishop, then, who keeps me,’ said she to me; ‘Oh, la! how droll that
is!’” The King heard this, and was much scandalised at it. “How difficult it
is to do good!” said he.
The King came into Madame de Pompadour’s room, one day, as she was
finishing dressing. “I have just had a strange adventure,” said he: “would
you believe that, in going out of my wardroom into my bedroom, I met a
gentleman face to face?”—“My God! Sire,” cried Madame, terrified. “It
was nothing,” replied he; “but I confess I was greatly surprised: the man
appeared speechless with consternation. ‘What do you do here?’ said I,
civilly. He threw himself on his knees, saying, ‘Pardon me, Sire; and, above
all, have me searched: He instantly emptied his pockets himself; he pulled
off his coat in the greatest agitation and terror: at last he told me that he was
cook to ——-, and a friend of Beccari, whom he came to visit; that he had
mistaken the staircase, and, finding all the doors open, he had wandered
into the room in which I found him, and which he would have instantly left:
I rang; Guimard came, and was astonished enough at finding me tete-a-tete
with a man in his shirt. He begged Guimard to go with him into another
room, and to search his whole person. After this, the poor devil returned,
and put on his coat. Guimard said to me, ‘He is certainly an honest man,
and tells the truth; this may, besides, be easily ascertained.’ Another of the
servants of the palace came in, and happened to know him. ‘I will answer
for this good man,’ said, he, ‘who, moreover, makes the best ‘boeuf a
carlate’ in the world.’ As I saw the man was so agitated that he could not
stand steady, I took fifty louis out of my bureau, and said, Here, sir, are fifty
Louis, to quiet your alarms: He went out, after throwing himself at my
feet.” Madame exclaimed on the impropriety of having the King’s bedroom
thus accessible to everybody. He talked with great calmness of this strange
apparition, but it was evident that he controlled himself, and that he had, in
fact, been much frightened, as, indeed, he had reason to be. Madame highly
approved of the gift; and she was the more right in applauding it, as it was
by no means in the King’s usual manner. M. de Marigny said, when I told

him of this adventure, that he would have wagered a thousand louis against
the King’s making a present of fifty, if anybody but I had told him of the
circumstance. “It is a singular fact,” continued he, “that all of the race of
Valois have been liberal to excess; this is not precisely the case with the
Bourbons, who are rather reproached with avarice. Henri IV. was said to be
avaricious. He gave to his mistresses, because he could refuse them
nothing; but he played with the eagerness of a man whose whole fortune
depends on the game. Louis XIV. gave through ostentation. It is most
astonishing,” added he, “to reflect on what might have happened. The King
might actually have been assassinated in his chamber, without anybody
knowing anything of the matter and without a possibility of discovering the
murderer.” For more than a fortnight Madame could not get over this
incident.
About that time she had a quarrel with her brother, and both were in the
right. Proposals were made to him to marry the daughter of one of the
greatest noblemen of the Court, and the King consented to create him a
Duke, and even to make the title hereditary. Madame was right in wishing
to aggrandise her brother, but he declared that he valued his liberty above
all things, and that he would not sacrifice it except for a person he really
loved. He was a true Epicurean philosopher, and a man of great capacity,
according to the report of those who knew him well, and judged him
impartially. It was entirely at his option to have had the reversion of M. de
St. Florentin’s place, and the place of Minister of Marine, when M. de
Machault retired; he said to his sister, at the time, “I spare you many
vexations, by depriving you of a slight satisfaction. The people would be
unjust to me, however well I might fulfil the duties of my office. As to M.
de St. Florentin’s place, he may live five-and-twenty years, so that I should
not be the better for it. Kings’ mistresses are hated enough on their own
account; they need not also draw upon, themselves the hatred which is
directed against Ministers.” M. Quesnay repeated this conversation to me.
The King had another mistress, who gave Madame de Pompadour some
uneasiness. She was a woman of quality, and the wife of one of the most
assiduous courtiers.
A man in immediate attendance on the King’s person, and who had the
care of his clothes, came to me one day, and told me that, as he was very
much attached to Madame, because she was good and useful to the King, he

wished to inform me that, a letter having fallen out of the pocket of a coat
which His Majesty had taken off, he had had the curiosity to read it, and
found it to be from the Comtesse de ——- who had already yielded to the
King’s desires. In this letter, she required the King to give her fifty thousand
crowns in money, a regiment for one of her relations, and a bishopric for
another, and to dismiss Madame in the space of fifteen days, etc. I
acquainted Madame with what this man told me, and she acted with
singular greatness of mind. She said to me, “I ought to inform the King of
this breach of trust of his servant, who may, by the same means, come to the
knowledge of, and make a bad use of, important secrets; but I feel a
repugnance to ruin the man: however, I cannot permit him to remain near
the King’s person, and here is what I shall do: Tell him that there is a place
of ten thousand francs a year vacant in one of the provinces; let him solicit
the Minister of Finance for it, and it shall be granted to him; but, if he
should ever disclose through what interest he has obtained it, the King shall
be made acquainted with his conduct. By this means, I think I shall have
done all that my attachment and duty prescribe. I rid the King of a faithless
domestic, without ruining the individual.” I did as Madame ordered me: her
delicacy and address inspired me with admiration. She was not alarmed on
account of the lady, seeing what her pretentions were. “She drives too
quick,” remarked Madame, “and will certainly be overturned on the road.”
The lady died.
“See what the Court is; all is corruption there, from the highest to the
lowest,” said I to Madame, one day, when she was speaking to me of some
facts, that had come to my knowledge. “I could tell you many others,”
replied Madame; “but the little chamber, where you often remain, must
furnish you with a sufficient number.” This was a little nook, from, whence
I could hear a great part of what passed in Madame’s apartment. The
Lieutenant of Police sometimes came secretly to this apartment, and waited
there. Three or four persons, of high consideration, also found their way in,
in a mysterious, manner, and several devotees, who were, in their hearts,
enemies of Madame de Pompadour. But these men had not petty objects in
view: one: required the government of a province; another, a seat in the
Council; a third, a Captaincy of the Guards; and this man would have
obtained it if the Marechale de Mirepoix had not requested it for her
brother, the Prince de Beauvan. The Chevalier du Muy was not among these
apostates; not even the promise of being High Constable would have

tempted him to make up to Madame, still less to betray his master, the
Dauphin. This Prince was, to the last degree, weary of the station he held.
Sometimes, when teased to death by ambitious people, who pretended to be
Catos, or wonderfully devout, he took part against a Minister against whom
he was prepossessed; then relapsed into his accustomed state of inactivity
and ennui.
The King used to say, “My son is lazy; his temper is Polonese—hasty
and changeable; he has no tastes; he cares nothing for hunting, for women,
or for good living; perhaps he imagines that if he were in my place he
would be happy; at first, he would make great changes, create everything
anew, as it were. In a short time he would be as tired of the rank of King as
he now is of his own; he is only fit to live ‘en philosophe’, with clever
people about him.” The King added, “He loves what is right; he is truly
virtuous, and does not want under standing.”
M. de St. Germain said, one day, to the King, “To think well of mankind,
one must be neither a Confessor, nor a Minister, nor a Lieutenant of
Police.”—“Nor a King,” said His Majesty. “Ah! Sire,” replied he, “you
remember the fog we had a few days ago, when we could not see four steps
before us. Kings are commonly surrounded by still thicker fogs, collected
around them by men of intriguing character, and faithless Ministers—all, of
every class, unite in endeavouring to make things appear to Kings in any,
light but the true one.” I heard this from the mouth of the famous Comte de
St. Germain, as I was attending upon Madame, who was ill in bed. The
King was there; and the Count, who was a welcome visitor, had been
admitted. There were also present, M. de Gontaut, Madame de Brancas, and
the Abbe de Bernis. I remember that the very same day, after the Count was
gone out, the King talked in a style which gave Madame great pain.
Speaking of the King of Prussia, he said, “That is a madman, who will risk
all to gain all, and may, perhaps, win the game, though he has neither
religion, morals, nor principles. He wants to make a noise in the world, and
he will succeed. Julian, the Apostate, did the same.”—“I never saw the
King so animated before,” observed Madame, when he was gone out; “and
really the comparison with Julian, the Apostate, is not amiss, considering
the irreligion of the King of Prussia. If he gets out of his perplexities,
surrounded as he is by his enemies, he will be one of the greatest men in
history.”

M. de Bernis remarked, “Madame is correct in her judgment, for she has
no reason to pronounce his praises; nor have I, though I agree with what she
says.” Madame de Pompadour never enjoyed so much influence as at the
time when M. de Choiseul became one of the Ministry. From the time of the
Abbe de Bernis she had afforded him her constant support, and he had been
employed in foreign affairs, of which he was said to know but little.
Madame made the Treaty of Sienna, though the first idea of it was certainly
furnished her by the Abbe. I have been informed by several persons that the
King often talked to Madame upon this subject; for my own part, I never
heard any conversation relative to it, except the high praises bestowed by
her on the Empress and the Prince de Kaunitz, whom she had known a good
deal of. She said that he had a clear head, the head of a statesman. One day,
when she was talking in this strain, some one tried to cast ridicule upon the
Prince on account of the style in which he wore his hair, and the four valets
de chambre, who made the hair-powder fly in all directions, while Kaunitz
ran about that he might only catch the superfine part of it. “Aye,” said
Madame, “just as Alcibiades cut off his dog’s tail in order to give the
Athenians something to talk about, and to turn their attention from those
things he wished to conceal.”
Never was the public mind so inflamed against Madame de Pompadour
as when news arrived of the battle of Rosbach. Every day she received
anonymous letters, full of the grossest abuse; atrocious verses, threats of
poison and assassination. She continued long a prey to the most acute
sorrow, and could get no sleep but from opiates. All this discontent was
excited by her protecting the Prince of Soubise; and the Lieutenant of
Police had great difficulty in allaying the ferment of the people. The King
affirmed that it was not his fault. M. du Verney was the confidant of
Madame in everything relating to war; a subject which he well understood,
though not a military man by, profession. The old Marechal de Noailles
called him, in derision, the General of the flour, but Marechal Saxe, one
day, told Madame that Du Verney knew more of military matters than the
old Marshal. Du Verney once paid a visit to Madame de Pompadour, and
found her in company with the King, the Minister of War, and two
Marshals; he submitted to them the plan of a campaign, which was
generally applauded. It was through his influence that M. de Richelieu was
appointed to the command of the army, instead of the Marechal d’Estrdes.
He came to Quesnay two days after, when I was with him. The Doctor

began talking about the art of war, and I remember he said, “Military men
make a great mystery of their art; but what is the reason that young Princes
have always the most brilliant success? Why, because they are active and
daring. When Sovereigns command their troops in person what exploits
they perform! Clearly, because they are at liberty to run all risks.” These
observations made a lasting impression on my mind.
The first physician came, one day, to see Madame he was talking of
madmen and madness. The King was present, and everything relating to
disease of any kind interested him. The first physician said that he could
distinguish the symptoms of approaching madness six months beforehand.
“Are there any persons about the Court likely to become mad?” said the
King.—“I know one who will be imbecile in less than three months,”
replied he. The King pressed him to tell the name. He excused himself for
some time. At last he said, “It is M. de Sechelles, the Controller-
General.”—“You have a spite against him,” said Madame, “because he
would not grant what you asked”—“That is true,” said he, “but though that
might possibly incline me to tell a disagreeable truth, it would not make me
invent one. He is losing his intellects from debility. He affects gallantry at
his age, and I perceive the connection in his ideas is becoming feeble and
irregular.”—The King laughed; but three months afterwards he came to
Madame, saying, “Sechelles gives evident proofs of dotage in the Council.
We must appoint a successor to him.” Madame de Pompadour told me of
this on the way to Choisy. Some time afterwards, the first physician came to
see Madame, and spoke to her in private. “You are attached to M. Berryer,
Madame,” said he, “and I am sorry to have to warn you that he will be
attacked by madness, or by catalepsy, before long. I saw him this morning
at chapel, sitting on one of those very low little chairs, which are only,
meant to kneel upon. His knees touched his chin. I went to his house after
Mass; his eyes were wild, and when his secretary spoke to him, he said,
‘Hold your tongue, pen. A pen’s business is to write, and not to speak.’”
Madame, who liked the Keeper of the Seals, was very much concerned, and
begged the first physician not to mention what he had perceived. Four days
after this, M. Berryer was seized with catalepsy, after having talked
incoherently. This is a disease which I did not know even by name, and got
it written down for me. The patient remains in precisely the same position
in which the fit seizes him; one leg or arm elevated, the eyes wide open, or

just as it may happen. This latter affair was known to all the Court at the
death of the Keeper of the Seals.
When the Marechal de Belle-Isle’s son was killed in battle, Madame
persuaded the King to pay his father a visit. He was rather reluctant, and
Madame said to him, with an air half angry, half playful:

————“Barbare! don’t l’orgueil
Croit le sang d’un sujet trop pays d’un coup d’oeil.”

The King laughed, and said, “Whose fine verses are
those?”—“Voltaire’s,” said Madame ———.
“As barbarous as I am, I gave him the place of gentleman in ordinary,
and a pension,” said the King.
The King went in state to call on the Marshal, followed by all the Court;
and it certainly appeared that this solemn visit consoled the Marshal for the
loss of his son, the sole heir to his name.
When the Marshal died, he was carried to his house on a common hand-
barrow, covered with a shabby cloth. I met the body. The bearers were
laughing and singing. I thought it was some servant, and asked who it was.
How great was my surprise at learning that these were the remains of a man
abounding in honours and in riches. Such is the Court; the dead are always
in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon.
The King said, “M. Fouquet is dead, I hear.”—“He was no longer
Fouquet,” replied the Duc d’Ayen; “Your Majesty had permitted him to
change that name, under which, however, he acquired all his reputation.”
The King shrugged his shoulders. His Majesty had, in fact, granted him
letters patent, permitting him not to sign Fouquet during his Ministry. I
heard this on the occasion in question. M. de Choiseul had the war
department at his death. He was every day more and more in favour.
Madame treated him with greater distinction than any previous Minister,
and his manners towards her were the most agreeable it is possible to
conceive, at once respectful and gallant. He never passed a day without
seeing her. M. de Marigny could not endure M. de Choiseul, but he never
spoke of him, except to his intimate friends. Calling, one day, at Quesnay’s,
I found him there. They were talking of M. de Choiseul. “He is a mere ‘petit
maitre’,” said the Doctor, “and, if he were handsome just fit to be one of

Henri the Third’s favourites.” The Marquis de Mirabeau and M. de La
Riviere came in. “This kingdom,” said Mirabeau, “is in a deplorable state.
There is neither national energy, nor the only substitute for it—
money.”—“It can only be regenerated,” said La Riviere, “by a conquest,
like that of China, or by some great internal convulsion; but woe to those
who live to see that! The French people do not do things by halves.” These
words made me tremble, and I hastened out of the room. M. de Marigny did
the same, though without appearing at all affected by what had been said.
“You heard De La Riviere,” said he,—“but don’t be alarmed, the
conversations that pass at the Doctor’s are never repeated; these are
honourable men, though rather chimerical. They know not where to stop. I
think, however, they are in the right way; only, unfortunately, they go too
far.” I wrote this down immediately.
The Comte de St. Germain came to see Madame de Pompadour, who was
ill, and lay on the sofa. He shewed her a little box, containing topazes,
rubies, and emeralds. He appeared to have enough to furnish a treasury.
Madame sent for me to see all these beautiful things. I looked at them with
an air of the utmost astonishment, but I made signs to Madame that I
thought them all false. The Count felt for something in his pocketbook,
about twice as large as a spectacle-case, and, at length, drew out two or
three little paper packets, which he unfolded, and exhibited a superb ruby.
He threw on the table, with a contemptuous air, a little cross of green and
white stones. I looked at it and said, “That is not to be despised.” I put it on,
and admired it greatly. The Count begged me to accept it. I refused—he
urged me to take it. Madame then refused it for me. At length, he pressed it
upon me so warmly that Madame, seeing that it could not be worth above
forty Louis, made me a sign to accept it. I took the cross, much pleased at
the Count’s politeness; and, some days after, Madame presented him with
an enamelled box, upon which was the portrait of some Grecian sage
(whose name I don’t recollect), to whom she compared him. I skewed the
cross to a jeweller, who valued it at sixty-five Louis. The Count offered to
bring Madame some enamel portraits, by Petitot, to look at, and she told
him to bring them after dinner, while the King was hunting. He shewed his
portraits, after which Madame said to him, “I have heard a great deal of a
charming story you told two days ago, at supper, at M. le Premier’s, of an
occurrence you witnessed fifty or sixty years ago.” He smiled and said, “It
is rather long.”—“So much the better,” said she, with an air of delight.

Madame de Gontaut and the ladies came in, and the door was shut;
Madame made a sign to me to sit down behind the screen. The Count made
many apologies for the ennui which his story would, perhaps, occasion. He
said, “Sometimes one can tell a story pretty well; at other times it is quite a
different thing.”
“At the beginning of this century, the Marquis de St. Gilles was
Ambassador from Spain to the Hague. In his youth he had been particularly
intimate with the Count of Moncade, a grandee of Spain, and one of the
richest nobles of that country. Some months after the Marquis’s arrival at
the Hague, he received a letter from the Count, entreating him, in the name
of their former friendship, to render him the greatest possible service. ‘You
know,’ said he, ‘my dear Marquis, the mortification I felt that the name of
Moncade was likely to expire with me. At length, it pleased heaven to hear
my prayers, and to grant me a son: he gave early promise of dispositions
worthy of his birth, but he, some time since, formed an unfortunate and
disgraceful attachment to the most celebrated actress of the company of
Toledo. I shut my eyes to this imprudence on the part of a young man
whose conduct had, till then, caused me unmingled satisfaction. But, having
learnt that he was so blinded by passion as to intend to marry this girl, and
that he had even bound himself by a written promise to that effect, I
solicited the King to have her placed in confinement. My son, having got
information of the steps I had taken, defeated my intentions by escaping
with the object of his passion. For more than six months I have vainly
endeavoured to discover where he has concealed himself, but I have now
some reason to think he is at the Hague. The Count earnestly conjured the
Marquis to make the most rigid search, in order to discover his son’s retreat,
and to endeavour to prevail upon him to return to his home. ‘It is an act of
justice,’ continued he, ‘to provide for the girl, if she consents to give up the
written promise of marriage which she has received, and I leave it to your
discretion to do what is right for her, as well as to determine the sum
necessary to bring my son to Madrid in a manner suitable to his condition. I
know not,’ concluded he, ‘whether you are a father; if you are, you will be
able to sympathise in my anxieties.’ The Count subjoined to this letter an
exact description of his son, and the young woman by whom he was
accompanied.
“On the receipt of this letter, the Marquis lost not a moment in sending to
all the inns in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague, but in vain—he could

find no trace of them. He began to despair of success, when the idea struck
him that a young French page of his, remarkable for his quickness and
intelligence, might be employed with advantage. He promised to reward
him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the young woman, who was the
cause of so much anxiety, and gave him the description of her person. The
page visited all the public places for many days, without success; at length,
one evening, at the play, he saw a young man and woman, in a box, who
attracted his attention. When he saw that they, perceived he was looking at
them, and withdrew to the back of the box to avoid his observation, he felt
confident that they were the objects of his search. He did not take his eyes
from the bog, and watched every movement in it. The instant the
performance ended, he was in the passage leading from the boxes to the
door, and he remarked that the young man, who, doubtless, observed the
dress he wore, tried to conceal himself, as he passed him, by putting his
handkerchief before his face. He followed him, at a distance, to the inn
called the Vicomte de Turenne, which he saw him and the woman enter;
and, being now certain of success, he ran to inform the Ambassador. The
Marquis de St. Gilles immediately repaired to the inn, wrapped in a cloak,
and followed by his page and two servants. He desired the landlord to show
him to the room of a young man and woman, who had lodged for some time
in his house. The landlord, for some time, refused to do so, unless the
Marquis would give their name. The page told him to take notice that he
was speaking to the Spanish Ambassador, who had strong reasons for
wishing to see the persons in question. The innkeeper said they wished not
to be known, and that they had absolutely forbidden him to admit anybody
into their apartment who did not ask for them by name; but that, since the
Ambassador desired it, he would show him their room. He then conducted
them up to a dirty, miserable garret. He knocked at the door, and waited for
some time; he then knocked again pretty, loudly, upon which the door was
half-opened. At the sight of the Ambassador and his suite, the person who
opened it immediately closed it again, exclaiming that they, had made a
mistake. The Ambassador pushed hard against him, forced his way, in,
made a sign to his people to wait outside, and remained in the room. He saw
before him a very handsome young man, whose appearance perfectly,
corresponded with the description, and a young woman, of great beauty,
and remarkably fine person, whose countenance, form, colour of the hair,
etc., were also precisely those described by the Count of Moncade. The

young man spoke first. He complained of the violence used in breaking into
the apartment of a stranger, living in a free country, and under the protection
of its laws. The Ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, ‘It
is useless to feign, my dear Count; I know you, and I do not come here—to
give pain to you or to this lady, whose appearance interests me extremely.’
The young man replied that he was totally mistaken; that he was not a
Count, but the son of a merchant of Cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and,
that they were travelling for pleasure. The Ambassador, casting his eyes
round the miserably furnished room, which contained but one bed, and
some packages of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, ‘Is
this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title which is warranted
by my tender regard for your father), is this a fit residence for the son of the
Count of Moncade?’ The young man still protested against the use of any
such language, as addressed to him. At length, overcome by the entreaties
of the Ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that he was the son of the Count
of Moncade, but declared that nothing should induce him to return to his
father, if he must abandon a woman he adored. The young woman burst into
tears, and threw herself at the feet of the Ambassador, telling him that she
would not be the cause of the ruin of the young Count; and that generosity,
or rather, love, would enable her to disregard her own happiness, and, for
his sake, to separate herself from him. The Ambassador admired her noble
disinterestedness. The young man, on the contrary, received her declaration
with the most desperate grief. He reproached his mistress, and declared that
he would never abandon so estimable a creature, nor suffer the sublime
generosity of her heart to be turned against herself. The Ambassador told
him that the Count of Moncade was far from wishing to render her
miserable, and that he was commissioned to provide her with a sum
sufficient to enable her to return into Spain, or to live where she liked. Her
noble sentiments, and genuine tenderness, he said, inspired him with the
greatest interest for her, and would induce him to go to the utmost limits of
his powers, in the sum he was to give her; that he, therefore, promised her
ten thousand florins, that is to say, about twelve hundred Louis, which
would be given her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage
she had received, and the Count of Moncade took up his abode in the
Ambassador’s house, and promised to return to Spain. The young woman
seemed perfectly indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly absorbed in
her lover, and in the grief of leaving him. She seemed insensible to

everything but the cruel sacrifice which her reason, and her love itself,
demanded. At length, drawing from a little portfolio the promise of
marriage, signed by the Count, ‘I know his heart too well,’ said she, ‘to
need it.’ Then she kissed it again and again, with a sort of transport, and
delivered it to the Ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of
soul he witnessed. He promised her that he would never cease to take the
liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the Count of his father’s
forgiveness. ‘He will receive with open arms,’ said he, ‘the prodigal son,
returning to the bosom of his distressed family; the heart of a father is an
exhaustless mine of tenderness. How great will be the felicity of my friend
on the receipt of these tidings, after his long anxiety and affliction; how
happy do I esteem myself, at being the instrument of that felicity?’ Such
was, in part, the language of the Ambassador, which appeared to produce a
strong impression on the young man. But, fearing lest, during the night,
love should regain all his power, and should triumph over the generous
resolution of the lady, the Marquis pressed the young Count to accompany
him to his hotel. The tears, the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel
separation, cannot be described; they deeply touched the heart of the
Ambassador, who promised to watch over the young lady. The Count’s little
baggage was not difficult to remove, and, that very evening, he was
installed in the finest apartment of the Ambassador’s house. The Marquis
was overjoyed at having restored to the illustrious house of Moncade the
heir of its greatness, and of its magnificent domains. On the following
morning, as soon as the young Count was up, he found tailors, dealers in
cloth, lace, stuffs, etc., out of which he had only to choose. Two valets de
chambre, and three laquais, chosen by the Ambassador for their intelligence
and good conduct, were in waiting in his antechamber, and presented
themselves, to receive his orders. The Ambassador shewed the young Count
the letter he had just written to his father, in which he congratulated him on
possessing a son whose noble sentiments and striking qualities were worthy
of his illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return. The young lady
was not forgotten; he confessed that to her generosity he was partly
indebted for the submission of her lover, and expressed his conviction that
the Count would not disapprove the gift he had made her, of ten thousand
florins. That sum was remitted, on the same day, to this noble and
interesting girl, who left the Hague without delay. The preparations for the
Count’s journey were made; a splendid wardrobe and an excellent carriage

were embarked at Rotterdam, in a ship bound for France, on board which a
passage was secured for the Count, who was to proceed from that country
to Spain. A considerable sum of money, and letters of credit on Paris, were
given him at his departure; and the parting between the Ambassador and the
young Count was most touching. The Marquis de St. Gilles awaited with
impatience the Count’s answer, and enjoyed his friend’s delight by
anticipation. At the expiration of four months, he received this long-
expected letter. It would be utterly impossible to describe his surprise on
reading the following words, ‘Heaven, my dear Marquis, never granted me
the happiness of becoming a father, and, in the midst of abundant wealth
and honours, the grief of having no heirs, and seeing an illustrious race end
in my person, has shed the greatest bitterness over my whole existence. I
see, with extreme regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young
adventurer, who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some
means, obtained, of our old friendship. But your Excellency must not be the
sufferer. The Count of Moncade is, most assuredly, the person whom you
wished to serve; he is bound to repay what your generous friendship
hastened to advance, in order to procure him a happiness which he would
have felt most deeply. I hope, therefore, Marquis, that your Excellency will
have no hesitation in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of
three thousand Louis of France, of the disbursal of which you sent me an
account.’”
The manner in which the Comte de St. Germain spoke, in the characters
of the young adventurer, his mistress, and the Ambassador, made his
audience weep and laugh by turns. The story is true in every particular, and
the adventurer surpasses Gusman d’Alfarache in address, according to the
report of some persons present. Madame de Pompadour thought of having a
play written, founded on this story; and the Count sent it to her in writing,
from which I transcribed it.
M. Duclos came to the Doctor’s, and harangued with his usual warmth. I
heard him saying to two or three persons, “People are unjust to great men,
Ministers and Princes; nothing, for instance, is more common than to
undervalue their intellect. I astonished one of these little gentlemen of the
corps of the infallibles, by telling him that I could prove that there had been
more men of ability in the house of Bourbon, for the last hundred years,
than in any other family.”—“You prove that?” said somebody, sneeringly.
“Yes,” said Duclos; “and I will tell you how. The great Conde, you will

allow, was no fool; and the Duchesse de Longueville is cited as one of the
wittiest women that ever lived. The Regent was a man who had few equals,
in every kind of talent and acquirement. The Prince de Conti, who was
elected King of Poland, was celebrated for his intelligence, and, in poetry,
was the successful rival of La Fare and St. Aulaire. The Duke of Burgundy
was learned and enlightened. His Duchess, the daughter of Louis XIV., was
remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and couplets. The Duc du Maine is
generally spoken of only for his weakness, but nobody had a more
agreeable wit. His wife was mad, but she had an extensive acquaintance
with letters, good taste in poetry, and a brilliant and inexhaustible
imagination. Here are instances enough, I think,” said he; “and, as I am no
flatterer, and hate to appear one, I will not speak of the living.” His hearers
were astonished at this enumeration, and all of them agreed in the truth of
what he had said. He added, “Don’t we daily hear of silly D’Argenson,
because he has a good-natured air, and a bourgeois tone? and yet, I believe,
there have not been many Ministers comparable to him in knowledge and in
enlightened views.”

[Rene LOUIS d’Argenson, who was Minister for Foreign
Affairs. He was the author of ‘Considerations sur le
Gouvernement’, and of several other works, from which
succeeding political writers have drawn, and still draw
ideas, which they give to the world as new. This man,
remarkable not only for profound and original thinking, but
for clear and forcible expression, was, nevertheless,
D’Argenson la bete. It is said, however, that he affected the
simplicity, and even silliness of manner, which procured him
that appellation. If, as we hope, the unedited memoirs left by
Rene d’Argenson will be given to the world, they will be
found fully to justify the opinion of Duclos, with regard to
this Minister, and the inappropriateness of his nickname.]

I took a pen, which lay on the Doctor’s table, and begged M. Duclos to
repeat to me all the names he had mentioned, and the eulogium he had
bestowed on each. “If,” said he, “you show that to the Marquise, tell her
how the conversation arose, and that I did not say it in order that it might
come to her ears, and eventually, perhaps, to those of another person. I am

an historiographer, and I will render justice, but I shall, also, often inflict
it.”—“I will answer for that,” said the Doctor, “and our master will be
represented as he really is. Louis XIV. liked verses, and patronised poets;
that was very well, perhaps, in his time, because one must begin with
something; but this age will be very superior to the last. It must be
acknowledged that Louis XV., in sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru,
to measure the earth, has a higher claim to our respect than if he directed an
opera. He has thrown down the barriers which opposed the progress of
philosophy, in spite of the clamour of the devotees: the Encyclopaedia will
do honour to his reign.” Duclos, during this speech, shook his head. I went
away, and tried to write down all I had heard, while it was fresh. I had the
part which related to the Princes of the Bourbon race copied by a valet, who
wrote a beautiful hand, and I gave it to Madame de Pompadour. But she
said to me, “What! is Duclos an acquaintance of yours? Do you want to
play the ‘bel esprit’, my dear good woman? That will not sit well upon
you.” The truth is, that nothing can be further from my inclination. I told
her that I met him accidentally at the Doctor’s, where he generally spent an
hour when he came to Versailles. “The King knows him to be a worthy
man,” said she.
Madame de Pompadour was ill, and the King came to see her several
times a day. I generally left the room when he entered, but, having stayed a
few minutes, on one occasion, to give her a glass of chicory water, I heard
the King mention Madame d’Egmont. Madame raised her eyes to heaven,
and said, “That name always recalls to me a most melancholy and
barbarous affair; but it was not my fault.” These words dwelt in my mind,
and, particularly, the tone in which they were uttered. As I stayed with
Madame till three o’clock in the morning, reading to her a part of the time,
it was easy for me to try to satisfy my curiosity. I seized a moment, when
the reading was interrupted, to say, “You looked dreadfully shocked,
Madame, when the King pronounced the name of D’Egmont.” At these
words, she again raised her eyes, and said, “You would feel as I do, if you
knew the affair.”—“It must, then, be deeply affecting, for I do not think that
it personally concerns you, Madame.”—“No,” said she, “it does not; as,
however, I am not the only person acquainted with this history, and as I
know you to be discreet, I will tell it you. The last Comte d’Egmont married
a reputed daughter of the Duc de Villars; but the Duchess had never lived
with her husband, and the Comtesse d’Egmont is, in fact, a daughter of the

Chevalier d’Orleans.—[Legitimate son of the Regent, Grand Prior of
France.]—At the death of her husband, young, beautiful, agreeable, and
heiress to an immense fortune, she attracted the suit and homage of all the
most distinguished men at Court. Her mother’s director, one day, came into
her room and requested a private interview; he then revealed to her that she
was the offspring of an adulterous intercourse, for which her mother had
been doing penance for five-and-twenty years. ‘She could not,’ said he,
‘oppose your former marriage, although it caused her extreme distress.
Heaven did not grant you children; but, if you marry again, you run the risk,
Madame, of transmitting to another family the immense wealth, which does
not, in fact, belong to you, and which is the price of crime.’
“The Comtesse d’Egmont heard this recital with horror. At the same
instant, her mother entered, and, on her knees, besought her daughter to
avert her eternal damnation. Madame d’Egmont tried to calm her own and
her mother’s mind. ‘What can I do?’ said she, to her. ‘Consecrate yourself
wholly to God,’ replied the director, ‘and thus expiate your mother’s crime.’
The Countess, in her terror, promised whatever they asked, and proposed to
enter the Carmelites. I was informed of it, and spoke to the King about the
barbarous tyranny the Duchesse de Villars and the director were about to
exercise over this unhappy young woman; but we knew not how to prevent
it. The King, with the utmost kindness, prevailed on the Queen to offer her
the situation of Lady of the Palace, and desired the Duchess’s friends to
persuade her to endeavour to deter her daughter from becoming a
Carmelite. It was all in vain; the wretched victim was sacrificed.”
Madame took it into her head to consult a fortuneteller, called Madame
Bontemps, who had told M. de Bernis’s fortune, as I have already related,
and had surprised him by her predictions. M. de Choiseul, to whom she
mentioned the matter, said that the woman had also foretold fine things that
were to happen to him. “I know it,” said she, “and, in return, you promised
her a carriage, but the poor woman goes on foot still.” Madame told me
this, and asked me how she could disguise herself, so as to see the woman
without being known. I dared not propose any scheme then, for fear it
should not succeed; but, two days after, I talked to her surgeon about the art,
which some beggars practise, of counterfeiting sores, and altering their
features. He said that was easy enough. I let the thing drop, and, after an
interval of some minutes, I said, “If one could change one’s features, one
might have great diversion at the opera, or at balls. What alterations would

it be necessary to make in me, now, to render it impossible to recognise
me?”—“In the first place,” said he, “you must alter the colour of your hair,
then you must have a false nose, and put a spot on some part of your face,
or a wart, or a few hairs.” I laughed, and said, “Help me to contrive this for
the next ball; I have not been to one for twenty years; but I am dying to
puzzle somebody, and to tell him things which no one but I can tell him. I
shall come home, and go to bed, in a quarter of an hour.”—“I must take the
measure of your nose,” said he; “or do you take it with wax, and I will have
a nose made: you can get a flaxen or brown wig.” I repeated to Madame
what the surgeon had told me: she was delighted at it. I took the measure of
her nose, and of my own, and carried them to the surgeon, who, in two
days, gave me the two noses, and a wart, which Madame stuck under her
left eye, and some paint for the eyebrows. The noses were most delicately
made, of a bladder, I think, and these, with the ether disguises, rendered it
impossible to recognize the face, and yet did not produce any shocking
appearance. All this being accomplished, nothing remained but to give
notice to the fortuneteller; we waited for a little excursion to Paris, which
Madame was to take, to look at her house. I then got a person, with whom I
had no connection, to speak to a waiting-woman of the Duchesse de Ruffec,
to obtain an interview with the woman. She made some difficulty, on
account of the Police; but we promised secrecy, and appointed the place of
meeting. Nothing could be more contrary to Madame de Pompadour’s
character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to engage in such an
adventure. But her curiosity was raised to the highest pitch, and, moreover,
everything was so well arranged that there was not the slightest risk.
Madame had let M. de Gontaut, and her valet de chambre, into the secret.
The latter had hired two rooms for his niece, who was then ill, at Versailles,
near Madame’s hotel. We went out in the evening, followed by the valet de
chambre, who was a safe man, and by the Duke, all on foot. We had not, at
farthest, above two hundred steps to go. We were shown into two small
rooms, in which were fires. The two men remained in one, and we in the
other. Madame had thrown herself on a sofa. She had on a night-cap, which
concealed half her face, in an unstudied manner. I was near the fire, leaning
on a table, on which were two candles. There were lying on the chairs, near
us, some clothes, of small value. The fortune-teller rang—a little servant-
girl let her in, and then went to wait in the room where the gentlemen were.
Coffee-cups, and a coffee-pot, were set; and I had taken care to place, upon

a little buffet, some cakes, and a bottle of Malaga wine, having heard that
Madame Bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor. Her face,
indeed, sufficiently proclaimed it. “Is that lady ill?” said she, seeing
Madame de Pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa. I told her that she
would soon be better, but that she had kept her room for a week. She heated
the coffee, and prepared the two cups, which she carefully wiped, observing
that nothing impure must enter into this operation. I affected to be very
anxious for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a pretext for
assuaging her thirst, which she did, without much entreaty. When she had
drunk two or three small glasses (for I had taken care not to have large
ones), she poured the coffee into one of the two large cups. “This is yours,”
said she; “and this is your friends’s; let them stand a little.” She then
observed our hands and our faces; after which she drew a looking-glass
from her pocket, into which she told us to look, while she looked at the
reflections of our faces. She next took a glass of wine, and immediately
threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while she inspected my cup, and
considered all the lines formed by the dregs of the coffee she had poured
out. She began by saying, “That is well—prosperity—but there is a black
mark—distresses. A man becomes a comforter. Here, in this corner, are
friends, who support you. Ah! who is he that persecutes them? But justice
triumphs—after rain, sunshine—a long journey successful. There, do you
see these little bags? That is money which has been paid—to you, of course,
I mean. That is well. Do you see that arm?”—“Yes.”—“That is an arm
supporting something: a woman veiled; I see her; it is you. All this is clear
to me. I hear, as it were, a voice speaking to me. You are no longer attacked.
I see it, because the clouds in that direction are passed off (pointing to a
clearer spot). But, stay—I see small lines which branch out from the main
spot. These are sons, daughters, nephews—that is pretty well.” She
appeared overpowered with the effort she was making. At length, she
added, “That is all. You have had good luck first—misfortune afterward.
You have had a friend, who has exerted himself with success to extricate
you from it. You have had lawsuits—at length fortune has been reconciled
to you, and will change no more.” She drank another glass of wine. “Your
health, Madame,” said she to the Marquise, and went through the same
ceremonies with the cup. At length, she broke out, “Neither fair nor foul. I
see there, in the distance, a serene sky; and then all these things that appear
to ascend all these things are applauses. Here is a grave man, who stretches

out his arms. Do you see?—look attentively.”—“That is true,” said Madame
de Pompadour, with surprise (there was, indeed, some appearance of the
kind). “He points to something square that is an open coffer. Fine weather.
But, look! there are clouds of azure and gold, which surround you. Do you
see that ship on the high sea? How favourable the wind is! You are on
board; you land in a beautiful country, of which you become the Queen. Ah!
what do I see? Look there—look at that hideous, crooked, lame man, who is
pursuing you—but he is going on a fool’s errand. I see a very great man,
who supports you in his arms. Here, look! he is a kind of giant. There is a
great deal of gold and silver—a few clouds here and there. But you have
nothing to fear. The vessel will be sometimes tossed about, but it will not be
lost. Dixi.” Madame said, “When shall I die, and of what disease?”—“I
never speak of that,” said she; “see here, rather but fate will not permit it. I
will shew you how fate confounds everything”—shewing her several
confused lumps of the coffee-dregs. “Well, never mind as to the time, then,
only tell me the kind of death.” The fortune-teller looked in the cup, and
said, “You will have time to prepare yourself.” I gave her only two Louis, to
avoid doing anything remarkable. She left us, after begging us to keep her
secret, and we rejoined the Duc de Gontaut, to whom we related everything
that had passed. He laughed heartily, and said, “Her coffee-dregs are like
the clouds—you may see what you please in them.”
There was one thing in my horoscope which struck me, that was the
comforter; because one of my uncles had taken great care of me, and had
rendered me the most essential services. It is also true that I afterwards had
an important lawsuit; and, lastly, there was the money which had come into
my hands through Madame de Pompadour’s patronage and bounty. As for
Madame, her husband was represented accurately enough by the man with
the coffer; then the country of which she became Queen seemed to relate to
her present situation at Court; but the most remarkable thing was the
crooked and lame man, in whom Madame thought she recognized the Duc
de V——-, who was very much deformed. Madame was delighted with her
adventure and her horoscope, which she thought corresponded very
remarkably with the truth. Two days after, she sent for M. de St. Florentin,
and begged him not to molest the fortuneteller. He laughed, and replied that
he knew why she interceded for this woman. Madame asked him why he
laughed. He related every circumstance of her expedition with astonishing
exactness;—[M. de St. Florentin was Minister for Paris, to whom the

Lieutenant of Police was accountable.]—but he knew nothing of what had
been said, or, at least, so he pretended. He promised Madame that, provided
Bontemps did nothing which called for notice, she should not be obstructed
in the exercise of her profession, especially if she followed it in secret. “I
know her,” added he, “and I, like other people, have had the curiosity to
consult her. She is the wife of a soldier in the guards. She is a clever woman
in her way, but she drinks. Four or five years ago, she got such hold on the
mind of Madame de Ruffec, that she made her believe she could procure
her an elixir of beauty, which would restore her to what she was at twenty-
five. The Duchess pays high for the drugs of which this elixir is
compounded; and sometimes they are bad: sometimes, the sun, to which
they were exposed, was not powerful enough; sometimes, the influence of a
certain constellation was wanting. Sometimes, she has the courage to assure
the Duchess that she really is grown handsomer, and actually succeeds in
making her believe it.” But the history of this woman’s daughter is still
more curious. She was exquisitely beautiful, and the Duchess brought her
up in her own house. Bontemps predicted to the girl, in the Duchess’s
presence, that she would marry a man of two thousand Louis a year. This
was not very likely to happen to the daughter of a soldier in the guards. It
did happen, nevertheless. The little Bontemps married the President
Beaudouin, who was mad. But, the tragical part of the story is, that her
mother had also foretold that she would die in childbirth of her first child,
and that she did actually die in child-birth, at the age of eighteen, doubtless
under a strong impression of her mother’s prophecy, to which the
improbable event of her marriage had given such extraordinary weight.
Madame told the King of the adventure her curiosity had led her into, at
which he laughed, and said he wished the Police had arrested her. He added
a very sensible remark. “In order to judge,” said he, “of the truth or
falsehood of such predictions, one ought to collect fifty of them. It would be
found that they are almost always made up of the same phrases, which are
sometimes inapplicable, and some times hit the mark. But the first are
rarely-mentioned, while the others are always insisted on.”
I have heard, and, indeed, it is certainly true, that M. de Bridge lived on
terms of intimacy with Madame, when she was Madame d’Aioles. He used
to ride on horseback with her, and, as he is so handsome a man, that he has
retained the name of the handsome man, it was natural enough that he
should be thought the lover of a very handsome woman. I have heard

something more than this. I was told that the King said to M. de Bridge,
“Confess, now, that you were her lover. She has acknowledged it to me, and
I exact from you this proof of sincerity.” M. de. Bridge replied, that
Madame de Pompadour was at liberty to say what she pleased for her own
amusement, or for any other reason; but that he, for his part, could not
assert a falsehood; that he had been, her friend; that she was a charming
companion, and had great talents; that he delighted in her society; but that
his intercourse with her had never gone beyond the bounds of friendship.
He added, that her husband was present in all their parties, that he watched
her with a jealous eye, and that he would not have suffered him to be so
much with her if he had conceived the least suspicion of the kind. The King
persisted, and told him he was wrong to endeavour to conceal a fact which
was unquestionable. It was rumoured, also, that the Abbe de Bernis had
been a favoured lover of hers. The said Abbe was rather a coxcomb; he had
a handsome face, and wrote poetry. Madame de Pompadour was the theme
of his gallant verses. He sometimes received the compliments of his friends
upon his success with a smile which left some room for conjecture,
although he denied the thing in words. It was, for some time, reported at
Court that she was in love with the Prince de Beauvau: he is a man
distinguished for his gallantries, his air of rank and fashion, and his high
play; he is brother to the little Marechale: for all these reasons, Madame is
very civil to him, but there is nothing marked in her behaviour. She knows,
besides, that he is in love with a very agreeable woman.
Now that I am on the subject of lovers, I cannot avoid speaking of M. de
Choiseul. Madame likes him better than any of those I have just mentioned,
but he is not her lover. A lady, whom I know perfectly well, but whom I do
not chose to denounce to Madame, invented a story about them, which was
utterly false. She said, as I have good reason to believe, that one day,
hearing the King coming, I ran to Madame’s closet door; that I coughed in a
particular manner; and that the King having, happily, stopped a moment to
talk to some ladies, there was time to adjust matters, so that Madame came
out of the closet with me and M. de Choiseul, as if we had been all three
sitting together. It is very true that I went in to carry something to Madame,
without knowing that the King was come, and that she came out of the
closet with M. de Choiseul, who had a paper in his hand, and that I
followed her a few minutes after. The King asked M. de Choiseul what that

paper was which he had in his hand. He replied that it contained the
remonstrance from the Parliament.
Three or four ladies witnessed what I now relate, and as, with the
exception of one, they were all excellent women, and greatly attached to
Madame, my suspicions could fall on none but the one in question, whom I
will not name, because her brother has always treated me with great
kindness. Madame de Pompadour had a lively imagination and great
sensibility, but nothing could exceed the coldness of her temperament. It
would, besides, have been extremely difficult for her, surrounded as she
was, to keep up an intercourse of that kind with any man. It is true that this
difficulty would have been diminished in the case of an all-powerful
Minister, who had constant pretexts for seeing her in private. But there was
a much more decisive fact—M. de Choiseul had a charming mistress—the
Princess de R———, and Madame knew it, and often spoke of her. He had,
besides, some remains of liking for the Princess de Kinski, who followed
him from Vienna. It is true that he soon after discovered how ridiculous she
was. All these circumstances combined were, surely, sufficient to deter
Madame from engaging in a love affair with the Duke; but his talents and
agreeable qualities captivated her. He was not handsome, but he had
manners peculiar to himself, an agreeable vivacity, a delightful gaiety; this
was the general opinion of his character. He was much attached to Madame,
and though this might, at first, be inspired by a consciousness of the
importance of her friendship to his interest, yet, after he had acquired
sufficient political strength to stand alone, he was not the less devoted to
her, nor less assiduous in his attentions. He knew her friendship for me, and
he one day said to me, with great feeling, “I am afraid, my dear Madame du
Hausset, that she will sink into a state of complete dejection, and die of
melancholy. Try to divert her.” What a fate for the favourite of the greatest
monarch in existence! thought I.
One day, Madame de Pompadour had retired to her closet with M.
Berryer. Madame d’Amblimont stayed with Madame de Gontaut, who
called me to talk about my son. A moment after, M. de Gontaut came in and
said, “D’Amblimont, who shall have the Swiss guards?”—“Stop a
moment,” said she; “let me call my council——, M. de Choiseul.”—“That
is not so very bad a thought,” said M. de Gontaut, “but I assure you, you are
the first person who has suggested it.” He immediately left us, and Madame
d’Amblimont said, “I’ll lay a wager he is going to communicate my idea to

M. de Choiseul.” He returned very shortly, and, M. Berrier having left the
room, he said to Madame de Pompadour, “A singular thought has entered
d’Amblimont’s head.”—“What absurdity now?” said Madame. “Not so
great an absurdity neither,” said he. “She says the Swiss guards ought to be
given to M. de Choiseul, and, really, if the King has not positively promised
M. de Soubise, I don’t see what he can do better.”—“The King has
promised nothing,” said Madame, “and the hopes I gave him were of the
vaguest kind. I only told him it was possible. But though I have a great
regard for M. de Soubise, I do not think his merits comparable to those of
M. de Choiseul.” When the King came in, Madame, doubtless, told him of
this suggestion. A quarter of an hour afterwards, I went into the room to
speak to her, and I heard the King say, “You will see that, because the Duc
du Maine, and his children, had that place, he will think he ought to have it,
on account of his rank as Prince (Soubise); but the Marechal de
Bassompierre was not a Prince; and, by the bye, the Duc de Choiseul is his
grandnephew; do you know that?”—“Your Majesty is better acquainted
with the history of France than anybody,” replied Madame. Two days after
this, Madame de said to me, “I have two great delights; M. de Soubise will
not have the Swiss guards, and Madame de Marsan will be ready to burst
with rage at it; this is the first: and M. de Choiseul will have them; this is
the greatest.”
...........................
[The whole of this passage is in a different handwriting.]
There was a universal talk of a young lady with whom the King was as
much in love as it was possible for him to be. Her name was Romans. She
was said to be a charming girl. Madame de Pompadour knew of the King’s
visits, and her confidantes brought her most alarming reports of the affair.
The Marechale de Mirepoix, who had the best head in Madame’s council,
was the only one who encouraged her. “I do not tell you,” said she, “that he
loves you better than her; and if she could be transported hither by the
stroke of a fairy’s wand; if she could entertain him this evening at supper; if
she were familiar with all his tastes, there would, perhaps, be sufficient
reason for you to tremble for your power. But Princes are, above all, pre-
eminently the slaves of habit. The King’s attachment to you is like that he
bears to your apartment, your furniture. You have formed yourself to his
manners and habits; you know how to listen and reply to his stories; he is

under no constraint with you; he has no fear of boring you. How do you
think he could have resolution to uproot all this in a day, to form a new
establishment, and to make a public exhibition of himself by so striking a
change in his arrangements?” The young lady became pregnant; the reports
current among the people, and even those at Court, alarmed Madame
dreadfully. It was said that the King meant to legitimate the child, and to
give the mother a title. “All that,” said Madame de Mirepoix, “is in the style
of Louis XIV.—such dignified proceedings are very unlike those of our
master.” Mademoiselle Romans lost all her influence over the King by her
indiscreet boasting. She was even treated with harshness and violence,
which were in no degree instigated by Madame. Her house was searched,
and her papers seized; but the most important, those which substantiated the
fact of the King’s paternity, had been withdrawn. At length she gave birth to
a son, who was christened under the name of Bourbon, son of Charles de
Bourbon, Captain of Horse. The mother thought the eyes of all France were
fixed upon her, and beheld in her son a future Duc du Maine. She suckled
him herself, and she used to carry him in a sort of basket to the Bois de
Boulogne. Both mother and child were covered with the finest laces. She
sat down upon the grass in a solitary spot, which, however, was soon well
known, and there gave suck to her royal babe. Madame had great curiosity
to see her, and took me, one day, to the manufactory at Sevres, without
telling me what she projected. After she had bought some cups, she said, “I
want to go and walk in the Bois de Boulogne,” and gave orders to the
coachman to stop at a certain spot where she wished to alight. She had got
the most accurate directions, and when she drew near the young lady’s
haunt she gave me her arm, drew her bonnet over her eyes, and held her
pocket-handkerchief before the lower part of her face. We walked, for some
minutes, in a path, from whence we could see the lady suckling her child.
Her jet black hair was turned up, and confined by a diamond comb. She
looked earnestly at us. Madame bowed to her, and whispered to me,
pushing me by the elbow, “Speak to her.” I stepped forward, and exclaimed,
“What a lovely child!”—“Yes, Madame,” replied she, “I must confess that
he is, though I am his mother.” Madame, who had hold of my arm,
trembled, and I was not very firm. Mademoiselle Romans said to me, “Do
you live in this neighbourhood?”—“Yes, Madame,” replied I, “I live at
Auteuil with this lady, who is just now suffering from a most dreadful
toothache.”—“I pity her sincerely, for I know that tormenting pain well.” I

looked all around, for fear any one should come up who might recognise us.
I took courage to ask her whether the child’s father was a handsome man.
“Very handsome, and, if I told you his name, you would agree with
me.”—“I have the honour of knowing him, then, Madame?”—“Most
probably you do.” Madame, fearing, as I did, some rencontre, said a few
words in a low tone, apologizing for having intruded upon her, and we took
our leave. We looked behind us, repeatedly, to see if we were followed, and
got into the carriage without being perceived. “It must be confessed that
both mother and child are beautiful creatures,” said Madame—“not to
mention the father; the infant has his eyes. If the King had come up while
we were there, do you think he would have recognised us?”—“I don’t doubt
that he would, Madame, and then what an agitation I should have been in,
and what a scene it would have been for the bystanders! and, above all,
what a surprise to her!” In the evening, Madame made the King a present of
the cups she had bought, but she did not mention her walk, for fear
Mademoiselle Romans should tell him that two ladies, who knew him, had
met her there such a day. Madame de Mirepoix said to Madame, “Be
assured, the King cares very little about children; he has enough of them,
and he will not be troubled with the mother or the son. See what sort of
notice he takes of the Comte de I——-, who is strikingly like him. He never
speaks of him, and I am convinced that he will never do anything for him.
Again and again I tell you, we do not live under Louis XIV.” Madame de
Mirepoix had been Ambassadress to London, and had often heard the
English make this remark.
Some alterations had been made in Madame de Pompadour’s rooms, and
I had no longer, as heretofore, the niche in which I had been permitted to
sit, to hear Caffarelli, and, in later times, Mademoiselle Fel and Jeliotte. I,
therefore, went more frequently to my lodgings in town, where I usually
received my friends: more particularly when Madame visited her little
hermitage, whither M. de Gontaut commonly accompanied her. Madame du
Chiron, the wife of the Head Clerk in the War-Office, came to see me. “I
feel,” said she, “greatly embarrassed, in speaking to you about an affair,
which will, perhaps, embarrass you also. This is the state of the case. A very
poor woman, to whom I have sometimes given a little assistance, pretends
to be a relation of the Marquise de Pompadour. Here is her petition.” I read
it, and said that the woman had better write directly to Madame, and that I
was sure, if what she asserted was true, her application would be successful.

Madame du Chiron followed my advice. The woman wrote she was in the
lowest depth of poverty, and I learnt that Madame sent her six Louis until
she could gain more accurate information as to the truth of her story. Colin,
who was commissioned to take the money, made inquiries of M. de
Malvoiain, a relation of Madame, and a very respectable officer. The fact
was found to be as she had stated it. Madame then sent her a hundred louis,
and promised her a pension of sixty louis a year. All this was done with
great expedition, and Madame had a visit of thanks from her poor relation,
as soon as she had procured decent clothes to come in. That day the King
happened to come in at an unusual hour, and saw this person going out. He
asked who it was. “It is a very poor relation of mine,” replied Madame.
“She came, then, to beg for some assistance?”—“No,” said she. “What did
she come for, then?”—“To thank me for a little service I have rendered
her,” said she, blushing from the fear of seeming to boast of her liberality.
“Well,” said the King; “since she is your relation, allow me to have the
pleasure of serving her too. I will give her fifty louis a year out of my
private purse, and, you know, she may send for the first year’s allowance to-
morrow.” Madame burst into tears, and kissed the King’s hand several
times. She told me this three days afterwards, when I was nursing her in a
slight attack of fever. I could not refrain from weeping myself at this
instance of the King’s kindness. The next day, I called on Madame du
Chiron to tell her of the good fortune of her protege; I forgot to say that,
after Madame had related the affair to me, I told her what part I had taken in
it. She approved my conduct, and allowed me to inform my friend of the
King’s goodness. This action, which showed no less delicate politeness
towards her than sensibility to the sufferings of the poor woman, made a
deeper impression on Madame’s heart than a pension of two thousand a
year given to herself.
Madame had terrible palpitations of the heart. Her heart actually seemed
to leap. She consulted several physicians. I recollect that one of them made
her walk up and down the room, lift a weight, and move quickly. On her
expressing some surprise, he said, “I do this to ascertain whether the organ
is diseased; in that case motion quickens the pulsation; if that effect is not
produced, the complaint proceeds from the nerves.” I repeated this to my
oracle, Quesnay. He knew very little of this physician, but he said his
treatment was that of a clever man. His name was Renard; he was scarcely
known beyond the Marais. Madame often appeared suffocated, and sighed

continually. One day, under pretence of presenting a petition to M. de
Choiseul, as he was going out, I said, in a low voice, that I wished to see
him a few minutes on an affair of importance to my mistress. He told me to
come as soon as I pleased, and that I should be admitted. I told him that
Madame was extremely depressed; that she gave way to distressing
thoughts, which she would not communicate; that she, one day, said to me,
“The fortune-teller told me I should have time to prepare myself; I believe
it, for I shall be worn to death by melancholy.” M. de Choiseul appeared
much affected; he praised my zeal, and said that he had already perceived
some indications of what I told him; that he would not mention my name,
but would try to draw from her an explanation. I don’t know what he said to
her; but, from that time, she was much more calm. One day, but long
afterwards, Madame said to M. de Gontaut, “I am generally thought to have
great influence, but if it were not for M. de Choiseul, I should not be able to
obtain a Cross of St. Louis.”
The King and Madame de Pompadour had a very high opinion of
Madame de Choiseul. Madame said, “She always says the right thing in the
right place.” Madame de Grammont was not so agreeable to them; and I
think that this was to be attributed, in part, to the sound of her voice, and to
her blunt manner of speaking; for she was said to be a woman of great
sense, and devotedly attached to the King and Madame de Pompadour.
Some people pretended that she tried to captivate the King, and to supplant
Madame: nothing could be more false, or more ridiculously improbable.
Madame saw a great deal of these two ladies, who were extremely attentive
to her. She one day remarked to the Duc d’Ayen,—[Afterwards Marechal
de Noaines.] that M. de Choiseul was very fond of his sisters. “I know it,
Madame,” said he, “and many sisters are the better for that.”—“What do
you mean?” said she. “Why,” said he, “as the Duc de Choiseul loves his
sister, it is thought fashionable to do the same; and I know silly girls, whose
brothers formerly cared nothing about them, who are now most tenderly
beloved. No sooner does their little finger ache, than their brothers are
running about to fetch physicians from all corners of Paris. They flatter
themselves that somebody will say, in M. de Choiseul’s drawing-room,
‘How passionately M. de ——— loves his sister; he would certainly die if
he had the misfortune to lose her.’” Madame related this to her brother, in
my presence, adding, that she could not give it in the Duke’s comic manner.
M. de Marigny said, “I have had the start of them all, without making so

much noise; and my dear little sister knows that I loved her tenderly before
Madame de Grammont left her convent. The Duc d’Ayen, however, is not
very wrong; he has made the most of it in his lively manner, but it is partly
true.”—“I forgot,” replied Madame, “that the Duke said, ‘I want extremely
to be in the fashion, but which sister shall I take up? Madame de Caumont
is a devil incarnate, Madame de Villars drinks, Madame d’Armagnac is a
bore, Madame de la Marck is half mad.’”—“These are fine family portraits,
Duke,” said Madame. The Duc de Gontaut laughed, during the whole of
this conversation, immoderately. Madame repeated it, one day, when she
kept her bed. M. de G——- also began to talk of his sister, Madame du
Roure. I think, at least, that is the name he mentioned. He was very gay, and
had the art of creating gaiety. Somebody said, he is an excellent piece of
furniture for a favourite. He makes her laugh, and asks for nothing either for
himself or for others; he cannot excite jealousy, and he meddles in nothing.
He was called the White Eunuch. Madame’s illness increased so rapidly that
we were alarmed about her; but bleeding in the foot cured her as if by a
miracle. The King watched her with the greatest solicitude; and I don’t
know whether his attentions did not contribute as much to the cure as the
bleeding. M. de Choiseul remarked, some days after, that she appeared in
better spirits. I told him that I thought this improvement might be attributed
to the same cause.

SECRET COURT MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XVI.
AND THE ROYAL FAMILY OF FRANCE

INTRODUCTION.

I should consider it great presumption to intrude upon the public anything
respecting myself, were there any other way of establishing the authenticity
of the facts and papers I am about to present. To the history of my own
peculiar situation, amid the great events I record, which made me the
depositary of information and documents so important, I proceed, therefore,
though reluctantly, without further preamble.
I was for many years in the confidential service of the Princesse de
Lamballe, and the most important materials which form my history have
been derived not only from the conversations, but the private papers of my
lamented patroness. It remains for me to show how I became acquainted
with Her Highness, and by what means the papers I allude to came into my
possession.
Though, from my birth, and the rank of those who were the cause of it
(had it not been from political motives kept from my knowledge), in point
of interest I ought to have been very independent, I was indebted for my
resources in early life to His Grace the late Duke of Norfolk and Lady Mary
Duncan. By them I was placed for education in the Irish Convent, Rue du
Bacq, Faubourg St. Germain, at Paris, where the immortal Sacchini, the
instructor of the Queen, gave me lessons in music. Pleased with my
progress, the celebrated composer, when one day teaching Marie
Antoinette, so highly overrated to that illustrious lady my infant natural
talents and acquired science in his art, in the presence of her very shadow,
the Princesse de Lamballe, as to excite in Her Majesty an eager desire for
the opportunity of hearing me, which the Princess volunteered to obtain by
going herself to the convent next morning with Sacchini. It was enjoined
upon the composer, as I afterwards learned, that he was neither to apprise
me who Her Highness was, nor to what motive I was indebted for her visit.
To this Sacchini readily agreed, adding, after disclosing to them my
connections and situation, “Your Majesty will be, perhaps, still more
surprised, when I, as an Italian, and her German master, who is a German,
declare that she speaks both these languages like a native, though born in

England; and is as well disposed to the Catholic faith, and as well versed in
it, as if she had been a member of that Church all her life.”
This last observation decided my future good fortune: there was no
interest in the minds of the Queen and Princess paramount to that of making
proselytes to their creed.
The Princess, faithful to her promise, accompanied Sacchini. Whether it
was chance, ability, or good fortune, let me not attempt to conjecture; but
from that moment I became the protege of this ever-regretted angel.
Political circumstances presently facilitated her introduction of me to the
Queen. My combining a readiness in the Italian and German languages,
with my knowledge of English and French, greatly promoted my power of
being useful at that crisis, which, with some claims to their confidence of a
higher order, made this august, lamented, injured pair more like mothers to
me than mistresses, till we were parted by their murder.
The circumstances I have just mentioned show that to mere curiosity, the
characteristic passion of our sex and so often its ruin, I am to ascribe the
introduction, which was only prevented by events unparalleled in history
from proving the most fortunate in my life as it is the most cherished in my
recollection.
It will be seen, in the course of the following pages, how often I was
employed on confidential missions, frequently by myself, and, in some
instances, as the attendant of the Princess. The nature of my situation, the
trust reposed in me, the commissions with which I was honoured, and the
affecting charges of which I was the bearer, flattered my pride and
determined me to make myself an exception to the rule that “no woman can
keep a secret.” Few ever knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, and
much less the importance of my occupation. I had passed from England to
France, made two journeys to Italy and Germany, three to the Archduchess
Maria Christiana, Governess of the Low Countries, and returned back to
France, before any of my friends in England were aware of my retreat, or of
my ever having accompanied the Princess. Though my letters were written
and dated at Paris, they were all forwarded to England by way of Holland or
Germany, that no clue should be given for annoyances from idle curiosity. It
is to this discreetness, to this inviolable secrecy, firmness, and fidelity,
which I so early in life displayed to the august personages who stood in
need of such a person, that I owe the unlimited confidence of my illustrious

benefactress, through which I was furnished with the valuable materials I
am now submitting to the public.
I was repeatedly a witness, by the side of the Princesse de Lamballe, of
the appalling scenes of the bonnet rouge, of murders a la lanterne, and of
numberless insults to the unfortunate Royal Family of Louis XVI., when the
Queen was generally selected as the most marked victim of malicious
indignity. Having had the honour of so often beholding this much injured
Queen, and never without remarking how amiable in her manners, how
condescendingly kind in her deportment towards every one about her, how
charitably generous, and withal, how beautiful she was,—I looked upon her
as a model of perfection. But when I found the public feeling so much at
variance with my own, the difference became utterly unaccountable. I
longed for some explanation of the mystery. One day I was insulted in the
Tuileries, because I had alighted from my horse to walk there without
wearing the national ribbon. On this I met the Princess: the conversation
which grew out of my adventure emboldened me to question her on a theme
to me inexplicable.
“What,” asked I, “can it be which makes the people so outrageous against
the Queen?”
Her Highness condescended to reply in the complimentary terms which I
am about to relate, but without answering my question.
“My dear friend!” exclaimed she, “for from this moment I beg you will
consider me in that light, never having been blessed with children of my
own, I feel there is no way of acquitting myself of the obligations you have
heaped upon me, by the fidelity with which you have executed the various
commissions entrusted to your charge, but by adopting you as one of my
own family. I am satisfied with you, yes, highly satisfied with you, on the
score of your religious principles; and as soon as the troubles subside, and
we have a little calm after them, my father-in-law and myself will be
present at the ceremony of your confirmation.”
The goodness of my benefactress silenced me gratitude would not allow
me to persevere for the moment. But from what I had already seen of Her
Majesty the Queen, I was too much interested to lose sight of my object,—
not, let me be believed, from idle womanish curiosity, but from that real,
strong, personal interest which I, in common with all who ever had the

honour of being in her presence, felt for that much-injured, most engaging
sovereign.
A propitious circumstance unexpectedly occurred, which gave me an
opportunity, without any appearance of officious earnestness, to renew the
attempt to gain the end I had in view.
I was riding in the carriage with the Princesse de Lamballe, when a lady
drove by, who saluted my benefactress with marked attention and respect.
There was something in the manner of the Princess, after receiving the
salute, which impelled me, spite of myself, to ask who the lady was.
“Madame de Genlis,” exclaimed Her Highness, with a shudder of
disgust, “that lamb’s face with a wolf’s heart, and a fog’s cunning.” Or, to
quote her own Italian phrase which I have here translated, “colla faccia
d’agnello, il cuore dun lupo, a la dritura della volpe.”
In the course of these pages the cause of this strong feeling against
Madame de Genlis will be explained. To dwell on it now would only turn
me aside from my narrative. To pursue my story, therefore:
When we arrived at my lodgings (which were then, for private reasons, at
the Irish Convent, where Sacchini and other masters attended to further me
in the accomplishments of the fine arts), “Sing me something,” said the
Princess, “‘Cantate mi qualche cosa’, for I never see that woman” (meaning
Madame de Genlis) “but I feel ill and out of humour. I wish it may not be
the foreboding of some great evil!”
I sang a little rondo, in which Her Highness and the Queen always
delighted, and which they would never set me free without making me sing,
though I had given them twenty before it.

[The rondo I allude to was written by Sarti for the
celebrated Marches! Lungi da to ben mio, and is the same in
which he was so successful in England, when he introduced
it in London in the opera of Giulo Sabino.]

Her Highness honoured me with even more than usual praise. I kissed the
hand which had so generously applauded my infant talents, and said, “Now,
my dearest Princess, as you are so kind and good-humoured, tell me
something about the Queen!”

She looked at me with her eyes full of tears. For an instant they stood in
their sockets as if petrified: and then, after a pause, “I cannot,” answered
she in Italian, as she usually did, “I cannot refuse you anything. ‘Non posso
neyarti niente’. It would take me an age to tell you the many causes which
have conspired against this much-injured Queen! I fear none who are near
her person will escape the threatening storm that hovers over our heads. The
leading causes of the clamour against her have been, if you must know,
Nature; her beauty; her power of pleasing; her birth; her rank; her marriage;
the King himself; her mother; her imperfect education; and, above all, her
unfortunate partialities for the Abbe Vermond; for the Duchesse de
Polignac; for myself, perhaps; and last, but not least, the thorough,
unsuspecting goodness of her heart!
“But, since you seem to be so much concerned for her exalted,
persecuted Majesty, you shall have a Journal I myself began on my first
coming to France, and which I have continued ever since I have been
honoured with the confidence of Her Majesty, in graciously giving me that
unlooked-for situation at the head of her household, which honour and
justice prevent my renouncing under any difficulties, and which I never will
quit but with my life!”
She wept as she spoke, and her last words were almost choked with sobs.
Seeing her so much affected, I humbly begged pardon for having
unintentionally caused her tears, and begged permission to accompany her
to the Tuileries.
“No,” said she, “you have hitherto conducted yourself with a profound
prudence, which has insured you my confidence. Do not let your curiosity
change your system. You shall have the Journal. But be careful. Read it only
by yourself, and do not show it to any one. On these conditions you shall
have it.”
I was in the act of promising, when Her Highness stopped me.
“I want no particular promises. I have sufficient proofs of your adherence
to truth. Only answer me simply in the affirmative.”
I said I would certainly obey her injunctions most religiously.
She then left me, and directed that I should walk in a particular part of
the private alleys of the Tuileries, between three and four o’clock in the

afternoon. I did so; and from her own hand I there received her private
Journal.
In the following September of this same year (1792) she was murdered!
Journalising copiously, for the purpose of amassing authentic materials
for the future historian, was always a favourite practice of the French, and
seems to have been particularly in vogue in the age I mention. The press has
sent forth whole libraries of these records since the Revolution, and it is
notorious that Louis XV. left Secret Memoirs, written by his own hand, of
what passed before this convulsion; and had not the papers of the Tuileries
shared in the wreck of royalty, it would have been seen that Louis XVI. had
made some progress in the memoirs of his time; and even his beautiful and
unfortunate Queen had herself made extensive notes and collections for the
record of her own disastrous career. Hence it must be obvious how one so
nearly connected in situation and suffering with her much-injured mistress,
as the Princesse de Lamballe, would naturally fall into a similar habit had
she even no stronger temptation than fashion and example. But self-
communion, by means of the pen, is invariably the consolation of strong
feeling, and reflecting minds under great calamities, especially when their
intercourse with the world has been checked or poisoned by its malice.
The editor of these pages herself fell into the habit of which she speaks;
and it being usual with her benefactress to converse with all the unreserve
which every honest mind shows when it feels it can confide, her humble
attendant, not to lose facts of such importance, commonly made notes of
what she heard. In any other person’s hands the Journal of the Princess
would have been incomplete; especially as it was written in a rambling
manner, and was never intended for publication. But connected by her
confidential conversations with me, and the recital of the events to which I
personally bear testimony, I trust it will be found the basis of a satisfactory
record, which I pledge myself to be a true one.
I do not know, however, that, at my time of life, and after a lapse of thirty
years, I should have been roused to the arrangement of the papers which I
have combined to form this narrative, had I not met with the work of
Madame Campan upon the same subject.
This lady has said much that is true respecting the Queen; but she has
omitted much, and much she has misrepresented: not, I dare say, purposely,
but from ignorance, and being wrongly informed. She was often absent

from the service, and on such occasions must have been compelled to
obtain her knowledge at second-hand. She herself told me, in 1803, at
Rouen, that at a very important epoch the peril of her life forced her from
the seat of action. With the Princesse de Lamballe, who was so much about
the Queen, she never had any particular connexion. The Princess certainly
esteemed her for her devotedness to the Queen; but there was a natural
reserve in the Princess’s character, and a mistrust resulting from
circumstances of all those who saw much company, as Madame Campan
did. Hence no intimacy was encouraged. Madame Campan never came to
the Princess without being sent for.
An attempt has been made since the Revolution utterly to destroy faith in
the alleged attachment of Madame Campan to the Queen, by the fact of her
having received the daughters of many of the regicides for education into
her establishment at Rouen. Far be it from me to sanction so unjust a
censure. Although what I mention hurt her character very much in the
estimation of her former friends, and constituted one of the grounds of the
dissolution of her establishment at Rouen, on the restoration of the
Bourbons, and may possibly in some degree have deprived her of such aids
from their adherents as might have made her work unquestionable, yet what
else, let me ask, could have been done by one dependent upon her exertions
for support, and in the power of Napoleon’s family and his emissaries? On
the contrary, I would give my public testimony in favour of the fidelity of
her feelings, though in many instances I must withhold it from the fidelity
of her narrative. Her being utterly isolated from the illustrious individual
nearest to the Queen must necessarily leave much to be desired in her
record. During the whole term of the Princesse de Lamballe’s
superintendence of the Queen’s household, Madame Campan never had any
special communication with my benefactress, excepting once, about the
things which were to go to Brussels, before the journey to Varennes; and
once again, relative to a person of the Queen’s household, who had received
the visits of Petion, the Mayor of Paris, at her private lodgings. This last
communication I myself particularly remember, because on that occasion
the Princess, addressing me in her own native language, Madame Campan,
observing it, considered me as an Italian, till, by a circumstance I shall
presently relate, she was undeceived.
I should anticipate the order of events, and incur the necessity of
speaking twice of the same things, were I here to specify the express errors

in the work of Madame Campan. Suffice it now that I observe generally her
want of knowledge of the Princesse de Lamballe; her omission of many of
the most interesting circumstances of the Revolution; her silence upon
important anecdotes of the King, the Queen, and several members of the
first assembly; her mistakes concerning the Princesse de Lamballe’s
relations with the Duchesse de Polignac, Comte de Fersan, Mirabeau, the
Cardinal de Rohan, and others; her great miscalculation of the time when
the Queen’s confidence in Barnave began, and when that of the Empress-
mother in Rohan ended; her misrepresentation of particulars relating to
Joseph II.; and her blunders concerning the affair of the necklace, and
regarding the libel Madame Lamotte published in England, with the
connivance of Calonne:—all these will be considered, with numberless
other statements equally requiring correction in their turn. What she has
omitted I trust I shall supply; and where she has gone astray I hope to set
her right; that, between the two, the future biographer of my august
benefactresses may be in no want of authentic materials to do full justice to
their honoured memories.
I said in a preceding paragraph that I should relate a circumstance about
Madame Campan, which happened after she had taken me for an Italian and
before she was aware of my being in the service of the Princess.
Madame Campan, though she had seen me not only at the time I mention
but before and after, had always passed me without notice. One Sunday,
when in the gallery of the Tuileries with Madame de Stael, the Queen, with
her usual suite, of which Madame Campan formed one, was going,
according to custom, to hear Mass, Her Majesty perceived me and most
graciously addressed me in German. Madame Campan appeared greatly
surprised at this, but walked on and said nothing. Ever afterwards, however,
she treated me whenever we met with marked civility.
Another edition of Boswell to those who got a nod from Dr. Johnson!
The reader will find in the course of this work that on the 2nd of August,
1792, from the kindness and humanity of my august benefactresses, I was
compelled to accept a mission to Italy, devised merely to send me from the
sanguinary scenes of which they foresaw they and theirs must presently
become victims. Early in the following month the Princesse de Lamballe
was murdered. As my history extends beyond the period I have mentioned,

it is fitting I should explain the indisputable authorities whence I derived
such particulars as I did not see.
A person, high in the confidence of the Princess, through the means of
the honest coachman of whom I shall have occasion to speak, supplied me
with regular details of whatever took place, till she herself, with the rest of
the ladies and other attendants, being separated from the Royal Family, was
immured in the prison of La Force. When I returned to Paris after this dire
tempest, Madame Clery and her friend, Madame de Beaumont, a natural
daughter of Louis XV., with Monsieur Chambon of Rheims, who never left
Paris during the time, confirmed the correctness of my papers. The Madame
Clery I mention is the same who assisted her husband in his faithful
attendance upon the Royal Family in the Temple; and this exemplary man
added his testimony to the rest, in the presence of the Duchesse de Guiche
Grammont, at Pyrmont in Germany, when I there met him in the suite of the
late sovereign of France, Louis XVIII., at a concert. After the 10th of
August, I had also a continued correspondence: with many persons at Paris,
who supplied me with thorough accounts of the succeeding horrors, in
letters directed to Sir William Hamilton, at Naples, and by him forwarded to
me. And in addition to all these high sources, many particular
circumstances: have been disclosed to me by individuals, whose authority,
when I have used it, I have generally affixed to the facts they have enabled
me to communicate.
It now only remains for me to mention that I have endeavoured to
arrange everything, derived either from the papers of the Princesse de
Lamballe, or from her remarks, my own observation, or the intelligence of
others, in chronological order. It will readily be seen by the reader where
the Princess herself speaks, as I have invariably set apart my own
recollections and remarks in paragraphs and notes, which are not only
indicated by the heading of each chapter, but by the context of the passages
themselves. I have also begun and ended what the Princess says with
inverted commas. All the earlier part, of the work preceding her personal
introduction proceeds principally from her pen or her lips: I have done little
more than change it from Italian into English, and embody thoughts and
sentiments that were often disjointed and detached. And throughout,
whether she or others speak, I may safely say this work will be found the
most circumstantial, and assuredly the most authentic, upon the subject of
which it treats, of all that have yet been presented to the public of Great

Britain. The press has been prolific in fabulous writings upon these times,
which have been devoured with avidity. I hope John Bull is not so devoted
to gilded foreign fictions as to spurn the unadorned truth from one of his
downright countrywomen: and let me advise him en passant, not to treat us
beauties of native growth with indifference at home; for we readily find
compensation in the regard, patronage, and admiration of every nation in
Europe. I am old now, and may speak freely.
I have no interest whatever in the work I submit but that of endeavouring
to redeem the character of so many injured victims. Would to Heaven my
memory were less acute, and that I could obliterate from the knowledge of
the world and posterity the names of their infamous destroyers; I mean, not
the executioners who terminated their mortal existence for in their
miserable situation that early martyrdom was an act of grace—but I mean
some, perhaps still living, who with foul cowardice, stabbing like assassins
in the dark, undermined their fair fame, and morally murdered them, long
before their deaths, by daily traducing virtues the slanderers never
possessed, from mere jealousy of the glory they knew themselves incapable
of deserving.
Montesquieu says, “If there be a God, He must be just!” That divine
justice, after centuries, has been fully established on the descendants of the
cruel, sanguinary conquerers of South America and its butchered harmless
Emperor Montezuma and his innocent offspring, who are now teaching
Spain a moral lesson in freeing themselves from its insatiable thirst for
blood and wealth, while God Himself has refused that blessing to the
Spaniards which they denied to the Americans! Oh, France! what hast thou
not already suffered, and what hast thou not yet to suffer, when to thee, like
Spain, it shall visit their descendants even unto the fourth generation?
To my insignificant losses in so mighty a ruin perhaps I ought not to
allude. I should not presume even to mention that fatal convulsion which
shook all Europe and has since left the nations in that state of agitated
undulation which succeeds a tempest upon the ocean, were it not for the
opportunity it gives me to declare the bounty of my benefactresses. All my
own property went down in the wreck; and the mariner who escapes only
with his life can never recur to the scene of his escape without a shudder.
Many persons are still living, of the first respectability, who well remember
my quitting this country, though very young, on the budding of a brilliant

career. Had those prospects been followed up they would have placed me
beyond the caprice of fickle fortune. But the dazzling lustre of crown
favours and princely patronage outweighed the slow, though more solid
hopes of self-achieved independence. I certainly was then almost a child,
and my vanity, perhaps, of the honour of being useful to two such illustrious
personages got the better of every other sentiment. But now when I reflect, I
look back with consternation on the many risks I ran, on the many times I
stared death in the face with no fear but that of being obstructed in my
efforts to serve, even with my life, the interests dearest to my heart—that of
implicit obedience to these truly benevolent and generous Princesses, who
only wanted the means to render me as happy and independent as their cruel
destiny has since made me wretched and miserable! Had not death deprived
me of their patronage I should have had no reason to regret any sacrifice I
could have made for them, for through the Princess, Her Majesty, unasked,
had done me the honour to promise me the reversion of a most lucrative as
well as highly respectable post in her employ. In these august personages I
lost my best friends; I lost everything—except the tears, which bathe the
paper as I write tears of gratitude, which will never cease to flow to the
memory of their martyrdom.

SECTION II.
JOURNAL COMMNENCED:

“The character of Maria Theresa, the Empress-mother of Marie
Antoinette, is sufficiently known. The same spirit of ambition and
enterprise which had already animated her contentions with France in the
latter part of her career impelled her to wish for its alliance. In addition to
other hopes she had been encouraged to imagine that LOUIS XV. might one
day aid her in recovering the provinces which the King of Prussia had
violently wrested from her ancient dominions. She felt the many advantages
to be derived from a union with her ancient enemy, and she looked for its
accomplishment by the marriage of her daughter.
“Policy, in sovereigns, is paramount to every other consideration. They
regard beauty as a source of profit, like managers of theatres, who, when a
female candidate is offered, ask whether she is young and handsome,—not
whether she has talent. Maria Theresa believed that her daughter’s beauty
would prove more powerful over France than her own armies. Like
Catharine II., her envied contemporary, she consulted no ties of nature in
the disposal of her children,—a system more in character where the knout is
the logician than among nations boasting higher civilization: indeed her
rivalry with Catharine even made her grossly neglect their education.
Jealous of the rising power of the North, she saw that it was the purpose of
Russia to counteract her views in Poland and Turkey through France, and so
totally forgot her domestic duties in the desire to thwart the ascendency of
Catharine that she often suffered eight or ten days to go by without even
seeing her children, allowing even the essential sources of instruction to
remain unprovided. Her very caresses were scarcely given but for display,
when the children were admitted to be shown to some great personage; and
if they were overwhelmed with kindness, it was merely to excite a belief
that they were the constant care and companions of her leisure hours. When
they grew up they became the mere instruments of her ambition. The fate of
one of them will show how their mother’s worldliness was rewarded.

“A leading object of Maria Theresa’s policy was the attainment of
influence over Italy. For this purpose she first married one of the
Archduchesses to the imbecile Duke of Parma. Her second manoeuvre was
to contrive that Charles III. should seek the Archduchess Josepha for his
younger son, the King of Naples. When everything had been settled, and the
ceremony by proxy had taken place, it was thought proper to sound the
Princess as to how far she felt inclined to aid her mother’s designs in the
Court of Naples. ‘Scripture says,’ was her reply, ‘that when a woman is
married she belongs to the country of her husband.’
“‘But the policy of State?’ exclaimed Maria Theresa.
“‘Is that above religion?’ cried the Princess.
“This unexpected answer of the Archduchess was so totally opposite to
the views of the Empress that she was for a considerable time undecided
whether she would allow her daughter to depart, till, worn out by
perplexities, she at last consented, but bade the Archduchess, previous to
setting off for this much desired country of her new husband, to go down to
the tombs, and in the vaults of her ancestors offer up to Heaven a fervent
prayer for the departed souls of those she was about to leave.
“Only a few days before that a Princess had been buried in the vaults—I
think Joseph the Second’s second wife, who had died of the small-pox.
“The Archduchess Josepha obeyed her Imperial mother’s cruel
commands, took leave of all her friends and relatives, as if conscious of the
result, caught the same disease, and in a few days died!
“The Archduchess Carolina was now tutored to become her sister’s
substitute, and when deemed adequately qualified was sent to Naples,
where she certainly never forgot she was an Austrian nor the interest of the
Court of Vienna. One circumstance concerning her and her mother fully
illustrates the character of both. On the marriage, the Archduchess found
that Spanish etiquette did not allow the Queen to have the honour of dining
at the same table as the King. She apprised her mother. Maria Theresa
instantly wrote to the Marchese Tenucei, then Prime Minister at the Court
of Naples, to say that, if her daughter, now Queen of Naples, was to be
considered less than the King her husband, she would send an army to fetch
her back to Vienna, and the King might purchase a Georgian slave, for an
Austrian Princess should not be thus humbled. Maria Theresa need not have
given herself all this trouble, for before, the letter arrived the Queen of

Naples had dismissed all the Ministry, upset the Cabinet of Naples, and
turned out even the King himself from her bedchamber! So much for the
overthrow of Spanish etiquette by Austrian policy. The King of Spain
became outrageous at the influence of Maria Theresa, but there was no
alternative.
“The other daughter of the Empress was married, as I have observed
already, to the Duke of Parma for the purpose of promoting the Austrian
strength in Italy against that of France, to which the Court of, Parma, as
well as that of Modena, had been long attached.
“The fourth Archduchess, Marie Antoinette, being the youngest and most
beautiful of the family, was destined for France. There were three older than
Marie Antoinette; but she, being much lovelier than her sisters, was selected
on account of her charms. Her husband was never considered by the
contrivers of the scheme: he was known to have no sway whatever, not
even in the choice of his own wife! But the character of Louis XV. was
recollected, and calculations drawn from it, upon the probable power which
youth and beauty might obtain over such a King and Court.
“It was during the time when Madame de Pompadour directed, not only
the King, but all France with most despotic sway, that the union of the
Archduchess Marie Antoinette with the grandson of Louis XV. was
proposed. The plan received the warmest support of Choiseul, then
Minister, and the ardent co-operation of Pompadour. Indeed it was to her,
the Duc de Choiseul, and the Comte de Mercy, the whole affair may be
ascribed. So highly was she flattered by the attention with which Maria
Theresa distinguished her, in consequence of her zeal, by presents and by
the title ‘dear cousin,’ which she used in writing to her, that she left no stone
unturned till the proxy of the Dauphin was sent to Vienna, to marry Marie
Antoinette in his name.
“All the interest by which this union was supported could not, however,
subdue a prejudice against it, not only among many of the Court, the
Cabinet, and the nation, but in the Royal Family itself. France has never
looked with complacency upon alliances with the House of Austria:
enemies to this one avowed themselves as soon as it was declared. The
daughters of Louis XV. openly expressed their aversion; but the stronger
influence prevailed, and Marie Antoinette became the Dauphine.

“Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, and afterwards of Sens, suggested the
appointment of the Librarian of the College des Quatre Nations, the Abbe
Vermond, as instructor to the Dauphine in French. The Abbe Vermond was
accordingly despatched by Louis XV. to Vienna. The consequences of this
appointment will be seen in the sequel. Perhaps not the least fatal of them
arose from his gratitude to the Archbishop, who recommended him. Some
years afterwards, in influencing his pupil, when Queen, to help Brienne to
the Ministry, he did her and her kingdom more injury than their worst foes.
Of the Abbe’s power over Marie Antoinette there are various opinions; of
his capacity there is but one—he was superficial and cunning. On his arrival
at Vienna he became the tool of Maria Theresa. While there, he received a
salary as the daughter’s tutor, and when he returned to France, a much
larger one as the mother’s spy. He was more ambitious to be thought a great
man, in his power over his pupil, than a rich one. He was too Jesuitical to
wish to be deemed rich. He knew that superfluous emoluments would soon
have overthrown the authority he derived from conferring, rather than
receiving favours; and hence he never soared to any higher post. He was
generally considered to be disinterested. How far his private fortunes
benefited by his station has never appeared; nor is it known whether, by the
elevation of his friend and patron to the Ministry in the time of Louis XVI.,
he gained anything beyond the gratification of vanity, from having been the
cause: it is probable he did not, for if he had, from the general odium
against that promotion, no doubt it would have been exposed, unless the
influence of the Queen was his protection, as it proved in so many cases
where he grossly erred. From the first he was an evil to Marie Antoinette;
and ultimately habit rendered him a necessary evil.
“The education of the Dauphine was circumscribed; though very free in
her manners, she was very deficient in other respects; and hence it was she
so much avoided all society of females who were better informed than
herself, courting in preference the lively tittle-tattle of the other sex, who
were, in turn, better pleased with the gaieties of youth and beauty than the
more substantial logical witticisms of antiquated Court-dowagers. To this
may be ascribed her ungovernable passion for great societies, balls,
masquerades, and all kinds of public and private amusements, as well as her
subsequent attachment to the Duchesse de Polignac, who so much
encouraged them for the pastime of her friend and sovereign. Though
naturally averse to everything requiring study or application, Marie

Antoinette was very assiduous in preparing herself for the parts she
performed in the various comedies, farces, and cantatas given at her private
theatre; and their acquirement seemed to cost her no trouble. These innocent
diversions became a source of calumny against her; yet they formed almost
the only part of her German education, about which Maria Theresa had
been particular: the Empress-mother deemed them so valuable to her
children that she ordered the celebrated Metastasio to write some of his
most sublime cantatas for the evening recreations of her sisters and herself.
And what can more conduce to elegant literary knowledge, or be less
dangerous to the morals of the young, than domestic recitation of the finest
flights of the intellect? Certain it is that Marie Antoinette never forgot her
idolatry of her master Metastasio; and it would have been well for her had
all concerned in her education done her equal justice. The Abbe Vermond
encouraged these studies; and the King himself afterwards sanctioned the
translation of the works of his Queen’s revered instructor, and their
publication at her own expense, in a superb edition, that she might gratify
her fondness the more conveniently by reciting them in French. When
Marie Antoinette herself became a mother, and oppressed from the change
of circumstances, she regretted much that she had not in early life cultivated
her mind more extensively. ‘What a resource,’ would she exclaim, is a mind
well stored against human casualties!’ She determined to avoid in her own
offspring the error, of which she felt herself the victim, committed by her
Imperial mother, for whose fault, though she suffered, she would invent
excuses. ‘The Empress,’ she would say, was left a young widow with ten or
twelve children; she had been accustomed, even during the Emperor’s life,
to head her vast empire, and she thought it would be unjust to sacrifice to
her own children the welfare of the numerous family which afterwards
devolved upon her exclusive government and protection.’
“Most unfortunately for Marie Antoinette, her great supporter, Madame
de Pompadour, died before the Archduchess came to France. The pilot who
was to steer the young mariner safe into port was no more, when she arrived
at it. The Austrian interest had sunk with its patroness. The intriguers of the
Court no sooner saw the King without an avowed favourite than they
sought to give him one who should further their own views and crush the
Choiseul party, which had been sustained by Pompadour. The licentious
Duc de Richelieu was the pander on this occasion. The low, vulgar Du
Barry was by him introduced to the King, and Richelieu had the honour of

enthroning a successor to Pompadour, and supplying Louis XV. with the
last of his mistresses. Madame de Grammont, who had been the royal
confidante during the interregnum, gave up to the rising star. The effect of a
new power was presently seen in new events. All the Ministers known to be
attached to the Austrian interest were dismissed; and the time for the arrival
of the young bride, the Archduchess of Austria, who was about to be
installed Dauphine of France, was at hand, and she came to meet scarcely a
friend, and many foes—of whom even her beauty, her gentleness, and her
simplicity, were doomed to swell the phalanx.”

SECTION III.

“On the marriage night, Louis XV. said gaily to the Dauphin, who was
supping with his usual heartiness, ‘Don’t overcharge your stomach to-
night.’
“‘Why, I always sleep best after a hearty supper,’ replied the Dauphin,
with the greatest coolness.
“The supper being ended, he accompanied his Dauphine to her chamber,
and at the door, with the greatest politeness, wished her a good night. Next
morning, upon his saying, when he met her at breakfast, that he hoped she
had slept well, Marie Antoinette replied, ‘Excellently well, for I had no one
to disturb me!’
“The Princesse de Guemenee, who was then at the head of the household,
on hearing the Dauphine moving very early in her apartment, ventured to
enter it, and, not seeing the Dauphin, exclaimed, ‘Bless me! he is risen as
usual!’—‘Whom do you mean?’ asked Marie Antoinette. The Princess
misconstruing the interrogation, was going to retire, when the Dauphine
said, ‘I have heard a great deal of French politeness, but I think I am
married to the most polite of the nation!’—‘What, then, he is risen?’—‘No,
no, no!’ exclaimed the Dauphine, ‘there has been no rising; he has never
lain down here. He left me at the door of my apartment with his hat in his
hand, and hastened from me as if embarrassed with my person!’
“After Marie Antoinette became a mother she would often laugh and tell
Louis XVI. of his bridal politeness, and ask him if in the interim between
that and the consummation he had studied his maiden aunts or his tutor on
the subject. On this he would laugh most excessively.
“Scarcely was Marie Antoinette seated in her new country before the
virulence of Court intrigue against her became active. She was beset on all
sides by enemies open and concealed, who never slackened their
persecutions. All the family of Louis XV., consisting of those maiden aunts
of the Dauphin just adverted to (among whom Madame Adelaide was

specially implacable), were incensed at the marriage, not only from their
hatred to Austria, but because it had accomplished the ambition of an
obnoxious favourite to give a wife to the Dauphin of their kingdom. On the
credulous and timid mind of the Prince, then in the leading strings of this
pious sisterhood, they impressed the misfortunes to his country and to the
interest of the Bourbon family, which must spring from the Austrian
influence through the medium of his bride. No means were left unessayed
to steel him against her sway. I remember once to have heard Her Majesty
remark to Louis XVI., in answer to some particular observations he made,
‘These, Sire, are the sentiments of our aunts, I am sure.’ And, indeed, great
must have been their ascendency over him in youth, for up to a late date he
entertained a very high respect for their capacity and judgment. Great
indeed must it have been to have prevailed against all the seducing
allurements of a beautiful and fascinating young bride, whose amiableness,
vivacity, and wit became the universal admiration, and whose graceful
manner of address few ever equalled and none ever surpassed; nay, even so
to have prevailed as to form one of the great sources of his aversion to
consummate the marriage! Since the death of the late Queen, their mother,
these four Princesses (who, it was said, if old maids, were not so from
choice) had received and performed the exclusive honours of the Court. It
could not have diminished their dislike for the young and lovely new-comer
to see themselves under the necessity of abandoning their dignities and
giving up their station. So eager were they to contrive themes of complaint
against her, that when she visited them in the simple attire in which she so
much delighted, ‘sans ceremonie’, unaccompanied by a troop of horse and a
squadron of footguards, they complained to their father, who hinted to
Marie Antoinette that such a relaxation of the royal dignity would be
attended with considerable injury to French manufactures, to trade, and to
the respect due to her rank. ‘My State and Court dresses,’ replied she, ‘shall
not be less brilliant than those of any former Dauphine or Queen of France,
if such be the pleasure of the King,—but to my grandpapa I appeal for some
indulgence with respect to my undress private costume of the morning.
“It was dangerous for one in whose conduct so many prying eyes were
seeking for sources of accusation to gratify herself even by the overthrow of
an absurdity, when that overthrow might incur the stigma of innovation.
The Court of Versailles was jealous of its Spanish inquisitorial etiquette. It
had been strictly wedded to its pageantries since the time of the great Anne

of Austria. The sagacious and prudent provisions of this illustrious contriver
were deemed the ne plus ultra of royal female policy. A cargo of whalebone
was yearly obtained by her to construct such stays for the Maids of Honour
as might adequately conceal the Court accidents which generally—poor
ladies!—befell them in rotation every nine months.
“But Marie Antoinette could not sacrifice her predilection for a simplicity
quite English, to prudential considerations. Indeed, she was too young to
conceive it even desirable. So much did she delight in being unshackled by
finery that she would hurry from Court to fling off her royal robes and
ornaments, exclaiming, when freed from them, ‘Thank Heaven, I am out of
harness!’
“But she had natural advantages, which gave her enemies a pretext for
ascribing this antipathy to the established fashion to mere vanity. It is not
impossible that she might have derived some pleasure from displaying a
figure so beautiful, with no adornment except its native gracefulness; but
how great must have been the chagrin of the Princesses, of many of the
Court ladies, indeed, of all in any way ungainly or deformed, when called to
exhibit themselves by the side of a bewitching person like hers, unaided by
the whalebone and horse-hair paddings with which they had hitherto been
made up, and which placed the best form on a level with the worst? The
prudes who practised illicitly, and felt the convenience of a guise which so
well concealed the effect of their frailties, were neither the least formidable
nor the least numerous of the enemies created by this revolution of
costume; and the Dauphine was voted by common consent—for what
greater crime could there be in France?—the heretic Martin Luther of
female fashions! The four Princesses, her aunts, were as bitter against the
disrespect with which the Dauphine treated the armour, which they called
dress, as if they themselves had benefited by the immunities it could,
confer.
“Indeed, most of the old Court ladies embattled themselves against Marie
Antoinette’s encroachments upon their habits. The leader of them was a real
medallion, whose costume, character, and notions spoke a genealogy
perfectly antediluvian; who even to the latter days of Louis XV., amid a
Court so irregular, persisted in her precision. So systematic a supporter of
the antique could be no other than the declared foe of any change, and, of
course, deemed the desertion of large sack gowns, monstrous Court hoops,

and the old notions of appendages attached to them, for tight waists and
short petticoats, an awful demonstration of the depravity of the time!—[The
editor needs scarcely add, that the allusion of the Princess is to Madame de
Noailles.]
“This lady had been first lady to the sole Queen of Louis XV. She was
retained in the same station for Marie Antoinette. Her motions were
regulated like clock-work. So methodical was she in all her operations of
mind and body, that, from the beginning of the year to its end, she never
deviated a moment. Every hour had its peculiar occupation. Her element
was etiquette, but the etiquette of ages before the flood. She had her rules
even for the width of petticoats, that the Queens and Princesses might have
no temptation to straddle over a rivulet, or crossing, of unroyal size.
“The Queen of Louis XV. having been totally subservient in her
movements night and day to the wishes of the Comtesse de Noailles, it will
be readily conceived how great a shock this lady must have sustained on
being informed one morning that the Dauphine had actually risen in the
night, and her ladyship not by to witness a ceremony from which most
ladies would have felt no little pleasure in being spared, but which, on this
occasion, admitted of no delay! Notwithstanding the Dauphine excused
herself by the assurance of the urgency allowing no time to call the
Countess, she nearly fainted at not having been present at that, which others
sometimes faint at, if too near! This unaccustomed watchfulness so annoyed
Marie Antoinette, that, determined to laugh her out of it, she ordered an
immense bottle of hartshorn to be placed upon her toilet. Being asked what
use was to be made of the hartshorn, she said it was to prevent her first
Lady of Honour from falling into hysterics when the calls of nature were
uncivil enough to exclude her from being of the party. This, as may be
presumed, had its desired effect, and Marie Antoinette was ever afterwards
allowed free access at least to one of her apartments, and leave to perform
that in private which few individuals except Princesses do with parade and
publicity.
“These things, however, planted the seeds of rancour against Marie
Antoinette, which Madame de Noailles carried with her to the grave. It will
be seen that she declared against her at a crisis of great importance. The
laughable title of Madame Etiquette, which the Dauphine gave her, clung to
her through life; though conferred only in merriment, it never was forgiven.

“The Dauphine seemed to be under a sort of fatality with regard to all
those who had any power of doing her mischief either with her husband or
the Court. The Duc de Vauguyon, the Dauphin’s tutor, who both from
principle and interest hated everything Austrian, and anything whatever
which threatened to lessen his despotic influence so long exercised over the
mind of his pupil, which he foresaw would be endangered were the Prince
once out of his leading-strings and swayed by a young wife, made use of all
the influence which old courtiers can command over the minds they have
formed (more generally for their own ends than those of uprightness) to
poison that of the young Prince against his bride.
“Never were there more intrigues among the female slaves in the
Seraglio of Constantinople for the Grand Signior’s handkerchief than were
continually harassing one party against the other at the Court of Versailles.
The Dauphine was even attacked through her own tutor, the Abbe Vermond.
A cabal was got up between the Abbe and Madame Marsan, instructress of
the sisters of Louis XVI. (the Princesses Clotilde and Elizabeth) upon the
subject of education. Nothing grew out of this affair excepting a new
stimulus to the party spirit against the Austrian influence, or, in other words,
the Austrian Princess; and such was probably its purpose. Of course every
trifle becomes Court tattle. This was made a mighty business of, for want of
a worse. The royal aunts naturally took the part of Madame Marsan. They
maintained that their royal nieces, the French Princesses, were much better
educated than the German Archduchesses had been by the Austrian
Empress. They attempted to found their assertion upon the embonpoint of
the French Princesses. They said that their nieces, by the exercise of
religious principles, obtained the advantage of solid flesh, while the
Austrian Archduchesses, by wasting themselves in idleness and profane
pursuits, grew thin and meagre, and were equally exhausted in their minds
and bodies! At this the Abbe Vermond, as the tutor of Marie Antoinette, felt
himself highly offended, and called on Comte de Mercy, then the Imperial
Ambassador, to apprise him of the insult the Empire had received over the
shoulders of the Dauphine’s tutor. The Ambassador gravely replied that he
should certainly send off a courier immediately to Vienna to inform the
Empress that the only fault the French Court could find with Marie
Antoinette was her being not so unwieldy as their own Princesses, and
bringing charms with her to a bridegroom, on whom even charms so
transcendent could make no impression! Thus the matter was laughed off,

but it left, ridiculous as it was, new bitter enemies to the cause of the
illustrious stranger.
“The new favourite, Madame du Barry, whose sway was now supreme,
was of course joined by the whole vitiated intriguing Court of Versailles.
The King’s favourite is always that of his parasites, however degraded. The
politics of the De Pompadour party were still feared, though De Pompadour
herself was no more, for Choiseul had friends who were still active in his
behalf. The power which had been raised to crush the power that was still
struggling formed a rallying point for those who hated Austria, which the
deposed Ministry had supported; and even the King’s daughters, much as
they abhorred the vulgarity of Du Barry, were led, by dislike for the
Dauphine, to pay their devotions to their father’s mistress. The influence of
the rising sun, Marie Antoinette, whose beauteous rays of blooming youth
warmed every heart in her favour, was feared by the new favourite as well
as by the old maidens. Louis XV. had already expressed a sufficient interest
for the friendless royal stranger to awaken the jealousy of Du Barry, and she
was as little disposed to share the King’s affections with another, as his
daughters were to welcome a future Queen from Austria in their palace.
Mortified at the attachment the King daily evinced, she strained every nerve
to raise a party to destroy his predilections. She called to her aid the
strength of ridicule, than which no weapon is more false or deadly. She
laughed at qualities she could not comprehend, and underrated what she
could not imitate. The Duc de Richelieu, who had been instrumental to her
good fortune, and for whom (remembering the old adage: when one hand
washes the other both are made clean) she procured the command of the
army—this Duke, the triumphant general of Mahon and one of the most
distinguished noblemen of France, did not blush to become the secret agent
of a depraved meretrix in the conspiracy to blacken the character of her
victim! The Princesses, of course, joined the jealous Phryne against their
niece, the daughter of the Caesars, whose only faults were those of nature,
for at that time she could have no other excepting those personal perfections
which were the main source of all their malice. By one considered as an
usurper, by the others as an intruder, both were in consequence industrious
in the quiet work of ruin by whispers and detraction.
“To an impolitic act of the Dauphine herself may be in part ascribed the
unwonted virulence of the jealousy and resentment of Du Barry. The old
dotard, Louis XV., was so indelicate as to have her present at the first

supper of the Dauphine at Versailles. Madame la Marechale de Beaumont,
the Duchesse de Choiseul, and the Duchesse de Grammont were there also;
but upon the favourite taking her seat at table they expressed themselves
very freely to Louis XV. respecting the insult they conceived offered to the
young Dauphine, left the royal party, and never appeared again at Court till
after the King’s death. In consequence of this scene, Marie Antoinette, at
the instigation of the Abbe Vermond, wrote to her mother, the Empress,
complaining of the slight put upon her rank, birth, and dignity, and
requesting the Empress would signify her displeasure to the Court of
France, as she had done to that of Spain on a similar occasion in favour of
her sister, the Queen of Naples.
“This letter, which was intercepted, got to the knowledge of the Court
and excited some clamour. To say the worst, it could only be looked upon as
an ebullition of the folly of youth. But insignificant as such matters were in
fact, malignity converted them into the locust, which destroyed the fruit she
was sent to cultivate.
“Maria Theresa, old fox that she was, too true to her system to retract the
policy, which formerly, laid her open to the criticism of all the civilised
Courts of Europe for opening the correspondence with De Pompadour, to
whose influence she owed her daughter’s footing in France—a
correspondence whereby she degraded the dignity of her sex and the honour
of her crown—and at the same time suspecting that it was not her daughter,
but Vermond, from private motives, who complained, wrote the following
laconic reply to the remonstrance:
“‘Where the sovereign himself presides, no guest can be exceptionable.’
“Such sentiments are very much in contradiction with the character of
Maria Theresa. She was always solicitous to impress the world with her
high notion of moral rectitude. Certainly, such advice, however politic,
ought not to have proceeded from a mother so religious as Maria Theresa
wished herself to be thought; especially to a young Princess who, though
enthusiastically fond of admiration, at least had discretion to see and feel
the impropriety of her being degraded to the level of a female like Du
Barry, and, withal, courage to avow it. This, of itself, was quite enough to
shake the virtue of Marie Antoinette; or, at least, Maria Theresa’s letter was
of a cast to make her callous to the observance of all its scruples. And in
that vitiated, depraved Court, she too soon, unfortunately, took the hint of

her maternal counsellor in not only tolerating, but imitating, the object she
despised. Being one day told that Du Barry was the person who most
contributed to amuse Louis XV., ‘Then,’ said she, innocently, ‘I declare
myself her rival; for I will try who can best amuse my grandpapa for the
future. I will exert all my powers to please and divert him, and then we shall
see who can best succeed.’
“Du Barry was by when this was said, and she never forgave it. To this,
and to the letter, her rancour may principally be ascribed. To all those of the
Court party who owed their places and preferments to her exclusive
influence, and who held them subject to her caprice, she, of course,
communicated the venom.
“Meanwhile, the Dauphin saw Marie Antoinette mimicking the monkey
tricks with which this low Sultana amused her dotard, without being aware
of the cause. He was not pleased; and this circumstance, coupled with his
natural coolness and indifference for a union he had been taught to deem
impolitic and dangerous to the interests of France, created in his virtuous
mind that sort of disgust which remained so long an enigma to the Court
and all the kingdom, excepting his royal aunts, who did the best they could
to confirm it into so decided an aversion as might induce him to impel his
grandfather to annul the marriage and send the Dauphine back to Vienna.”
“After the Dauphin’s marriage, the Comte d’Artois and his brother
Monsieur—[Afterwards Louis XVIII., and the former the present Charles
X.]—returned from their travels to Versailles. The former was delighted
with the young Dauphine, and, seeing her so decidedly neglected by her
husband, endeavoured to console her by a marked attention, but for which
she would have been totally isolated, for, excepting the old King, who
became more and more enraptured with the grace, beauty, and vivacity of
his young granddaughter, not another individual in the Royal Family was
really interested in her favour. The kindness of a personage so important
was of too much weight not to awaken calumny. It was, of course,
endeavoured to be turned against her. Possibilities, and even probabilities,
conspired to give a pretext for the scandal which already began to be
whispered about the Dauphine and D’Artois. It would have been no wonder
had a reciprocal attachment arisen between a virgin wife, so long neglected
by her husband, and one whose congeniality of character pointed him out as
a more desirable partner than the Dauphin. But there is abundant evidence

of the perfect innocence of their intercourse. Du Barry was most earnest in
endeavouring, from first to last, to establish its impurity, because the
Dauphine induced the gay young Prince to join in all her girlish schemes to
tease and circumvent the favourite. But when this young Prince and his
brother were married to the two Princesses of Piedmont, the intimacy
between their brides and the Dauphine proved there could have been no
doubt that Du Barry had invented a calumny, and that no feeling existed but
one altogether sisterly. The three stranger Princesses were indeed
inseparable; and these marriages, with that of the French Princess, Clotilde,
to the Prince of Piedmont, created considerable changes in the coteries of
Court.
“The machinations against Marie Antoinette could not be concealed from
the Empress-mother. An extraordinary Ambassador was consequently sent
from Vienna to complain of them to the Court of Versailles, with directions
that the remonstrance should be supported and backed by the Comte de
Mercy, then Austrian Ambassador at the Court of France. Louis XV. was the
only person to whom the communication was news. This old dilettanti of
the sex was so much engaged between his seraglio of the Parc-aux-cerfs
and Du Barry that he knew less of what was passing in his palace than those
at Constantinople. On being informed by the Austrian Ambassador, he sent
an Ambassador of his own to Vienna to assure the Empress that he was
perfectly satisfied of the innocent conduct of his newly acquired
granddaughter.
“Among the intrigues within intrigues of the time I mention, there was
one which shows that perhaps Du Barry’s distrust of the constancy of her
paramour, and apprehension from the effect on him of the charms of the
Dauphine, in whom he became daily more interested, were not utterly
without foundation. In this instance even her friend, the Duc de Richelieu,
that notorious seducer, by lending himself to the secret purposes of the
King, became a traitor to the cause of the King’s favourite, to which he had
sworn allegiance, and which he had supported by defaming her whom he
now became anxious to make his Queen.
“It has already been said, that the famous Duchesse de Grammont was
one of the confidential friends of Louis XV. before he took Du Barry under
his especial protection. Of course, there can be no difficulty in conceiving
how likely a person she would be, to aid any purpose of the King which

should displace the favourite, by whom she herself had been obliged to
retire, by ties of a higher order, to which she might prove instrumental.
“Louis XV. actually flattered himself with the hope of obtaining
advantages from the Dauphin’s coolness towards the Dauphine. He
encouraged it, and even threw many obstacles in the way of the
consummation of the marriage. The apartments of the young couple were
placed at opposite ends of the palace, so that the Dauphin could not
approach that of his Dauphine without a publicity which his bashfulness
could not brook.
“Louis XV. now began to act upon his secret passion to supplant his
grandson, and make the Dauphine his own Queen, by endeavouring to
secure her affections to himself. His attentions were backed by gifts of
diamonds, pearls, and other valuables, and it was at this period that
Boehmer, the jeweller, first received the order for that famous necklace,
which subsequently produced such dreadful consequences, and which was
originally meant as a kingly present to the intended Queen, though
afterwards destined for Du Barry, had not the King died before the
completion of the bargain for it.
“The Queen herself one day told me, ‘Heaven knows if ever I should
have had the blessing of being a mother had I not one evening surprised the
Dauphin, when the subject was adverted to, in the expression of a sort of
regret at our being placed so far asunder from each other. Indeed, he never
honoured me with any proof of his affection so explicit as that you have just
witnessed’—for the King had that moment kissed her, as he left the
apartment—‘from the time of our marriage till the consummation. The most
I ever received from him was a squeeze of the hand in secret. His extreme
modesty, and perhaps his utter ignorance of the intercourse with woman,
dreaded the exposure of crossing the palace to my bedchamber; and no
doubt the accomplishment would have occurred sooner, could it have been
effectuated in privacy. The hint he gave emboldened me with courage, when
he next left me, as usual, at the door of my apartment, to mention it to the
Duchesse de Grammont, then the confidential friend of Louis XV., who
laughed me almost out of countenance; saying, in her gay manner of
expressing herself, “If I were as young and as beautiful a wife as you are I
should certainly not trouble myself to remove the obstacle by going to him
while there were others of superior rank ready to supply his place.” Before

she quitted me, however, she said: “Well, child, make yourself easy: you
shall no longer be separated from the object of your wishes: I will mention
it to the King, your grandpapa, and he will soon order your husband’s
apartment to be changed for one nearer your own.” And the change shortly
afterwards took place.
“‘Here,’ continued the Queen, ‘I accuse myself of a want of that courage
which every virtuous wife ought to exercise in not having complained of
the visible neglect shown me long, long before I did; for this, perhaps,
would have spared both of us the many bitter pangs originating in the
seeming coldness, whence have arisen all the scandalous stories against my
character—which have often interrupted the full enjoyment I should have
felt had they not made me tremble for the security of that attachment, of
which I had so many proofs, and which formed my only consolation amid
all the malice that for yearn had been endeavouring to deprive me of it! So
far as regards my husband’s estimation, thank fate, I have defied their
wickedness! Would to Heaven I could have been equally secure in the
estimation of my people—the object nearest to my heart, after the King and
my dear children!’”

[The Dauphine could not understand the first allusion of
the Duchess; but it is evident that the vile intriguer took this
opportunity of sounding her upon what she was
commissioned to carry on in favour of Louis XV., and it is
equally apparent that when she heard Marie Antoinette
express herself decidedly in favour of her young husband,
and distinctly saw how utterly groundless were the hopes of
his secret rival, she was led thereby to abandon her wicked
project; and perhaps the change of apartments was the best
mask that could have been devised to hide the villany.]

“The present period appears to have been one of the happiest in the life
of Marie Antoinette. Her intimate society consisted of the King’s brothers,
and their Princesses, with the King’s saint-like sister Elizabeth; and they
lived entirely together, excepting when the Dauphine dined in public. These
ties seemed to be drawn daily closer for some time, till the subsequent
intimacy with the Polignacs. Even when the Comtesse d’Artois lay-in, the

Dauphine, then become Queen, transferred her parties to the apartments of
that Princess, rather than lose the gratification of her society.
“During all this time, however, Du Barry, the Duc d’Aiguillon, and the
aunts-Princesses, took special care to keep themselves between her and any
tenderness on the part of the husband Dauphin, and, from different motives
uniting in one end, tried every means to get the object of their hatred sent
back to Vienna.”

SECTION IV.

“The Empress-mother was thoroughly aware of all that was going on.
Her anxiety, not only about her daughter, but her State policy, which it may
be apprehended was in her mind the stronger motive of the two, encouraged
the machinations of an individual who must now appear upon the stage of
action, and to whose arts may be ascribed the worst of the sufferings of
Marie Antoinette.
“I allude to the Cardinal Prince de Rohan.
“At this time he was Ambassador at the Court of Vienna. The reliance the
Empress placed on him favoured his criminal machinations against her
daughter’s reputation. He was the cause of her sending spies to watch the
conduct of the Dauphine, besides a list of persons proper for her to
cultivate, as well as of those it was deemed desirable for her to exclude
from her confidence.
“As the Empress knew all those who, though high in office in Versailles,
secretly received pensions from Vienna, she could, of course, tell, without
much expense of sagacity, who were in the Austrian interest. The Dauphine
was warned that she was surrounded by persons who were not her friends.
“The conduct of Maria Theresa towards her daughter, the Queen of
Naples, will sufficiently explain how much the Empress must have been
chagrined at the absolute indifference of Marie Antoinette to the State
policy which was intended to have been served in sending her to France. A
less fitting instrument for the purpose could not have been selected by the
mother. Marie Antoinette had much less of the politician about her than
either of her surviving sisters; and so much was she addicted to amusement,
that she never even thought of entering into State affairs till forced by the
King’s neglect of his most essential prerogatives, and called upon by the
Ministers themselves to screen them from responsibility. Indeed, the latter
cause prevailed upon her to take her seat in the Cabinet Council (though she
took it with great reluctance) long before she was impelled thither by events

and her consciousness of its necessity. She would often exclaim to me:
‘How happy I was during the lifetime of Louis XV.! No cares to disturb my
peaceful slumbers! No responsibility to agitate my mind! No fears of erring,
of partiality, of injustice, to break in upon my enjoyments! All, all
happiness, my dear Princess, vanishes from the bosom of a woman if she
once deviate from the prescribed domestic character of her sex! Nothing
was ever framed more wise than the Salique Laws, which in France and
many parts of Germany exclude women from reigning, for few of us have
that masculine capacity so necessary to conduct with impartiality and
justice the affairs of State!’
“To this feeling of the impropriety of feminine interference in masculine
duties, coupled with her attachment to France, both from principle and
feeling, may be ascribed the neglect of her German connexions, which led
to many mortifying reproaches, and the still more galling espionage to
which she was subjected in her own palace by her mother. These are,
however, so many proofs of the falsehood of the allegations by which she
suffered so deeply afterwards, of having sacrificed the interests of her
husband’s kingdom to her predilection for her mother’s empire.
“The subtle Rohan designed to turn the anxiety of Maria Theresa about
the Dauphine to account, and he was also aware that the ambition of the
Empress was paramount in Maria Theresa’s bosom to the love for her child.
He was about to play a deep and more than double game. By increasing the
mother’s jealousy of the daughter, and at the same time enhancing the
importance of the advantages afforded by her situation, to forward the
interests of the mother, he, no doubt, hoped to get both within his power:
for who can tell what wild expectation might not have animated such a
mind as Rohan’s at the prospect of governing not only the Court of France
but that of Austria?—the Court of France, through a secret influence of his
own dictation thrown around the Dauphine by the mother’s alarm; and that
of Austria, through a way he pointed out, in which the object that was most
longed for by the mother’s ambition seemed most likely to be achieved!
While he endeavoured to make Maria Theresa beset her daughter with the
spies I have mentioned, and which were generally of his own selection, he
at the same time endeavoured to strengthen her impression of how
important it was to her schemes to insure the daughter’s co-operation.
Conscious of the eagerness of Maria Theresa for the recovery of the rich
province which Frederick the Great of Prussia had wrested from her ancient

dominions, he pressed upon her credulity the assurance that the influence of
which the Dauphine was capable over Louis XV., by the youthful beauty’s
charms acting upon the dotard’s admiration, would readily induce that
monarch to give such aid to Austria as must insure the restoration of what it
lost. Silesia, it has been before observed, was always a topic by means of
which the weak side of Maria Theresa could be attacked with success.
There is generally some peculiar frailty in the ambitious, through which the
artful can throw them off their guard. The weak and tyrannical Philip II.,
whenever the recovery of Holland and the Low Countries was proposed to
him, was always ready to rush headlong into any scheme for its
accomplishment; the bloody Queen Mary, his wife, declared that at her
death the loss of Calais would be found engraven on her heart; and to Maria
Theresa, Silesia was the Holland and the Calais for which her wounded
pride was thirsting.
“But Maria Theresa was wary, even in the midst of the credulity of her
ambition. The Baron de Neni was sent by her privately to Versailles to
examine, personally, whether there was anything in Marie Antoinette’s
conduct requiring the extreme vigilance which had been represented as
indispensable. The report of the Baron de Neni to his royal mistress was
such as to convince her she had been misled and her daughter
misrepresented by Rohan. The Empress instantly forbade him her presence.
“The Cardinal upon this, unknown to the Court of Vienna, and indeed, to
every one, except his factotum, principal agent, and secretary, the Abbe
Georgel, left the Austrian capital, and came to Versailles, covering his
disgrace by pretended leave of absence. On seeing Marie Antoinette he fell
enthusiastically in love with her. To gain her confidence he disclosed the
conduct which had been observed towards her by the Empress, and, in
confirmation of the correctness of his disclosure, admitted that he had
himself chosen the spies which had been set on her. Indignant at such
meanness in her mother, and despising the prelate, who could be base
enough to commit a deed equally corrupt and uncalled for, and even thus
wantonly betrayed when committed, the Dauphine suddenly withdrew from
his presence, and gave orders that he should never be admitted to any of her
parties.
“But his imagination was too much heated by a guilty passion of the
blackest hue to recede; and his nature too presumptuous and fertile in

expedients to be disconcerted. He soon found means to conciliate both
mother and daughter; and both by pretending to manage with the one the
self-same plot which, with the other, he was recommending himself by
pretending to overthrow. To elude detection he interrupted the regular
correspondence between the Empress and the Dauphine, and created a
coolness by preventing the communications which would have unmasked
him, that gave additional security to the success of his deception.
“By the most diabolical arts he obtained an interview with the Dauphine,
in which he regained her confidence. He made her believe that he had been
commissioned by her mother, as she had shown so little interest for the
house of Austria, to settle a marriage for her sister, the Archduchess
Elizabeth, with Louis XV. The Dauphine was deeply affected at the
statement. She could not conceal her agitation. She involuntarily confessed
how much she should deplore such an alliance. The Cardinal instantly
perceived his advantage, and was too subtle to let it pass. He declared that,
as it was to him the negotiation had been confided, if the Dauphine would
keep her own counsel, never communicate their conversation to the
Empress, but leave the whole matter to his management and only assure
him that he was forgiven, he would pledge himself to arrange things to her
satisfaction. The Dauphine, not wishing to see another raised to the throne
over her head and to her scorn, under the assurance that no one knew of the
intention or could prevent it but the Cardinal, promised him her faith and
favour; and thus rashly fell into the springs of this wily intriguer.
“Exulting to find Marie Antoinette in his power, the Cardinal left
Versailles as privately as he arrived there, for Vienna. His next object was to
ensnare the Empress, as he had done her daughter; and by a singular
caprice, fortune, during his absence, had been preparing for him the means.
“The Abbe Georgel, his secretary, by underhand manoeuvres, to which he
was accustomed, had obtained access to all the secret State correspondence,
in which the Empress had expressed herself fully to the Comte de Mercy
relative to the views of Russia and Prussia upon Poland, whereby her own
plans were much thwarted. The acquirement of copies of these documents
naturally gave the Cardinal free access to the Court and a ready introduction
once more to the Empress. She was too much committed by his possession
of such weapons not to be most happy to make her peace with him; and he
was too sagacious not to make the best use of his opportunity. To regain her

confidence, he betrayed some of the subaltern agents, through whose
treachery he had procured his evidences, and, in farther confirmation of his
resources, showed the Empress several dispatches from her own Ministers
to the Courts of Russia and Prussia. He had long, he said, been in
possession of similar views of aggrandisement, upon which these Courts
were about to act; and had, for a while, even incurred Her Imperial
Majesty’s displeasure, merely because he was not in a situation fully to
explain; but that he had now thought of the means to crush their schemes
before they could be put in practice. He apprised her of his being aware that
Her Imperial Majesty’s Ministers were actively carrying on a
correspondence with Russia, with a view of joining her in checking the
French co-operation with the Grand Signior; and warned her that if this
design were secretly pursued, it would defeat the very views she had in
sharing in the spoliation of Poland; and if openly, it would be deemed an
avowal of hostilities against the Court of France, whose political system
would certainly impel it to resist any attack upon the divan of
Constantinople, that the balance of power in Europe might be maintained
against the formidable ambition of Catherine, whose gigantic hopes had
been already too much realised.
“Maria Theresa was no less astonished at these disclosures of the
Cardinal than the Dauphine had been at his communication concerning her.
She plainly saw that all her plans were known, and might be defeated from
their detection.
“The Cardinal, having succeeded in alarming the Empress, took from his
pocket a fabulous correspondence, hatched by his secretary, the Abbe
Georgel. ‘There, Madame,’ said he, ‘this will convince Your Majesty that
the warm interest I have taken in your Imperial house has carried me farther
than I was justified in having gone; but seeing the sterility of the Dauphine,
or, as it is reported by some of the Court, the total disgust the Dauphin has
to consummate the marriage, the coldness of your daughter towards the
interest of your Court, and the prospect of a race from the Comtesse
d’Artois, for the consequences of which there is no answering, I have,
unknown to Your Imperial Majesty, taken upon myself to propose to LOUIS
XV. a marriage with the Archduchess Elizabeth, who, on becoming Queen
of France, will immediately have it in her power to forward the Austrian
interest; for LOUIS XV., as the first proof of his affection to his young
bride, will at once secure to your Empire the aid you stand so much in need

of against the ambition of these two rising States. The recovery of Your
Imperial Majesty’s ancient dominions may then be looked upon as
accomplished from the influence of the French Cabinet.
“The bait was swallowed. Maria Theresa was so overjoyed at this scheme
that she totally forgot all former animosity against the Cardinal. She was
encouraged to ascribe the silence of Marie Antoinette (whose letters had
been intercepted by the Cardinal himself) to her resentment of this project
concerning her sister; and the deluded Empress, availing herself of the
pretended zeal of the Cardinal for the interest of her family, gave him full
powers to return to France and secretly negotiate the alliance for her
daughter Elizabeth, which was by no means to be disclosed to the Dauphine
till the King’s proxy should be appointed to perform the ceremony at
Vienna. This was all the Cardinal wished for.
“Meanwhile, in order to obtain a still greater ascendency over the Court
of France, he had expended immense sums to bribe secretaries and
Ministers; and couriers were even stopped to have copies taken of all the
correspondence to and from Austria.
“At the same crisis the Empress was informed by Prince Kaunitz that the
Cardinal and his suite at the palace of the French Ambassador carried on
such an immense and barefaced traffic of French manufactures of every
description that Maria Theresa thought proper, in order to prevent future
abuse, to abolish the privilege which gave to Ministers and Ambassadors an
opportunity of defrauding the revenue. Though this law was levelled
exclusively at the Cardinal, it was thought convenient under the
circumstances to avoid irritating him, and it was consequently made
general. But, the Comte de Mercy now obtaining some clue to his duplicity,
an intimation was given to the Court at Versailles, to which the King
replied, ‘If the Empress be dissatisfied with the French Ambassador, he
shall be recalled.’ But though completely unmasked, none dared publicly to
accuse him, each party fearing a discovery of its own intrigue. His official
recall did not in consequence take place for some time; and the Cardinal,
not thinking it prudent to go back till Louis XV. should be no more, lest
some unforeseen discovery of his project for supplying her royal paramour
with a Queen should rouse Du Barry to get his Cardinalship sent to the
Bastille for life, remained fixed in his post, waiting for events.

“At length Louis XV. expired, and the Cardinal returned to Versailles. He
contrived to obtain a private audience of the young Queen. He presumed
upon her former facility in listening to him, and was about to betray the last
confidence of Maria Theresa; but the Queen, shocked at the knowledge
which she had obtained of his having been equally treacherous to her and to
her mother, in disgust and alarm left the room without receiving a letter he
had brought her from Maria Theresa, and without deigning to address a
single word to him. In the heat of her passion and resentment, she was
nearly exposing all she knew of his infamies to the King, when the
coolheaded Princesse Elizabeth opposed her, from the seeming imprudence
of such an abrupt discovery; alleging that it might cause an open rupture
between the two Courts, as it had already been the source of a reserve and
coolness, which had not yet been explained. The Queen was determined
never more to commit herself by seeing the Cardinal. She accordingly sent
for her mother’s letter, which he himself delivered into the hands of her
confidential messenger, who advised the Queen not to betray the Cardinal
to the King, lest, in so doing, she should never be able to guard herself
against the domestic spies, by whom, perhaps, she was even yet
surrounded! The Cardinal, conceiving, from the impunity of his conduct,
that he still held the Queen in check, through the influence of her fears of
his disclosing her weakness upon the subject of the obstruction she threw in
the way of her sister’s marriage, did not resign the hope of converting that
ascendency to his future profit.
“The fatal silence to which Her Majesty was thus unfortunately advised I
regret from the bottom of my soul! All the successive vile plots of the
Cardinal against the peace and reputation of the Queen may be attributed to
this ill-judged prudence! Though it resulted from an honest desire of
screening Her Majesty from the resentment or revenge to which she might
have subjected herself from this villain, who had already injured her in her
own estimation for having been credulous enough to have listened to him,
yet from this circumstance it is that the Prince de Rohan built the
foundation of all the after frauds and machinations with which he blackened
the character and destroyed the comfort of his illustrious victim. It is
obvious that a mere exclusion from Court was too mild a punishment for
such offences, and it was but too natural that such a mind as his, driven
from the royal presence, and, of course, from all the noble societies to
which it led (the anti-Court party excepted), should brood over the means of

inveigling the Queen into a consent for his reappearance before her and the
gay world, which was his only element, and if her favour should prove
unattainable to revenge himself by her ruin.
“On the Cardinal’s return to France, all his numerous and powerful
friends beset the King and Queen to allow of his restoration to his embassy;
but though on his arrival at Versailles, finding the Court had removed to
Compiegne, he had a short audience there of the King, all efforts in his
favour were thrown away. Equally unsuccessful was every intercession with
the Empress-mother. She had become thoroughly awakened to his
worthlessness, and she declared she would never more even receive him in
her dominions as a visitor. The Cardinal, being apprised of this by some of
his intimates, was at last persuaded to give up the idea of further
importunity; and, pocketing his disgrace, retired with his hey dukes and his
secretary, the Abbe Georgel, to whom may be attributed all the artful
intrigues of his disgraceful diplomacy.
“It is evident that Rohan had no idea, during all his schemes to supplant
the Dauphine by marrying her sister to the King, that the secret hope of
Louis XV. had been to divorce the Dauphin and marry the slighted bride
himself. Perhaps it is fortunate that Rohan did not know this. A brain so
fertile in mischief as his might have converted such a circumstance to
baneful uses. But the death of Louis XV. put an end to all the then existing
schemes for a change in her position. It was to her a real, though but a
momentary triumph. From the hour of her arrival she had a powerful party
to cope with; and the fact of her being an Austrian, independent of the
jealousy created by her charms, was, in itself, a spell to conjure up armies,
against which she stood alone, isolated in the face of embattled myriads!
But she now reared her head, and her foes trembled in her presence. Yet she
could not guard against the moles busy in the earth secretly to undermine
her. Nay, had not Louis XV. died at the moment he did, there is scarcely a
doubt, from the number and the quality of the hostile influences working on
the credulity of the young Dauphin, that Marie Antoinette would have been
very harshly dealt with,—even the more so from the partiality of the dotard
who believed himself to be reigning. But she has been preserved from her
enemies to become their sovereign; and if her crowned brow has erewhile
been stung by thorns in its coronal, let me not despair of their being
hereafter smothered in yet unblown roses.”

SECTION V.

“The accession of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette to the crown of
France took place (May 10, 1774) under the most propitious auspices!
“After the long, corrupt reign of an old debauched Prince, whose vices
were degrading to himself and to a nation groaning under the lash of
prostitution and caprice, the most cheering changes were expected from the
known exemplariness of his successor and the amiableness of his consort.
Both were looked up to as models of goodness. The virtues of Louis XVI.
were so generally known that all France hastened to acknowledge them,
while the Queen’s fascinations acted like a charm on all who had not been
invincibly prejudiced against the many excellent qualities which entitled her
to love and admiration. Indeed, I never heard an insinuation against either
the King or Queen but from those depraved minds which never possessed
virtue enough to imitate theirs, or were jealous of the wonderful powers of
pleasing that so eminently distinguished Marie Antoinette from the rest of
her sex.
“On the death of Louis XV. the entire Court removed from Versailles to
the palace of La Muette, situate in the Bois de Boulogne, very near Paris.
The confluence of Parisians, who came in crowds joyfully to hail the death
of the old vitiated Sovereign, and the accession of his adored successors,
became quite annoying to the whole Royal Family. The enthusiasm with
which the Parisians hailed their young King, and in particular his amiable
young partner, lasted for many days. These spontaneous evidences of
attachment were regarded as prognostics of a long reign of happiness. If any
inference can be drawn from public opinion, could there be a stronger
assurance than this one of uninterrupted future tranquility to its objects?
“To the Queen herself it was a double triumph. The conspirators, whose
depravity had been labouring to make her their victim, departed from the
scene of power. The husband, who for four years had been callous to her
attractions, became awakened to them. A complete change in the domestic

system of the palace was wrought suddenly. The young King, during the
interval which elapsed between the death and the interment of his
grandfather, from Court etiquette was confined to his apartments. The
youthful couple therefore saw each other with less restraint. The marriage
was consummated. Marie Antoinette from this moment may date that
influence over the heart (would I might add over the head and policy!) of
the King, which never slackened during the remainder of their lives.
“Madame du Barry was much better dealt with by the young King, whom
she had always treated with the greatest levity, than she, or her numerous
courtiers, expected. She was allowed her pension, and the entire enjoyment
of all her ill-gotten and accumulated wealth; but, of course, excluded from
ever appearing at Court, and politically exiled from Paris to the Chateau aux
Dames.
“This implacable foe and her infamous coadjutors being removed from
further interference in matters of State by the expulsion of all their own
Ministers, their rivals, the Duc de Choiseul and his party, by whom Marie
Antoinette had been brought to France, were now in high expectation of
finding the direction of the Government, by the Queen’s influence, restored
to that nobleman. But the King’s choice was already made. He had been
ruled by his aunts, and appointed Ministers suggested by them and his late
grandfather’s friends, who feared the preponderance of the Austrian
influence. The three ladies, Madame la Marechale de Beauveau, the
Duchesse de Choiseul, and the Duchesse de Grammont, who were all well-
known to Louis XVI. and stood high in his opinion for many excellent
qualities, and especially for their independent assertion of their own and the
Dauphine’s dignity by retiring from Court in consequence of the supper at
which Du Barry was introduced these ladies, though received on their
return thither with peculiar welcome, in vain united their efforts with those
of the Queen and the Abbe Vermond, to overcome the prejudice which
opposed Choiseul’s reinstatement. It was all in vain. The royal aunts,
Adelaide especially, hated Choiseul for the sake of Austria, and his agency
in bringing Marie Antoinette to France; and so did the King’s tutor and
governor, the Duc de Vauguyon, who had ever been hostile to any sort of
friendship with Vienna; and these formed a host impenetrable even to the
influence of the Queen, which was opposed by all the leaders of the
prevailing party, who, though they were beginning externally to court,
admire, and idolize her, secretly surrounded her by their noxious and

viperous intrigues, and, while they lived in her bosom, fattened on the
destruction of her fame!
“One of the earliest of the paltry insinuations against Marie Antoinette
emanated from her not counterfeiting deep affliction at the decease of the
old King. A few days after that event, the Court received the regular visits
of condolence and congratulation of the nobility, whose duty prescribes
their attendance upon such occasions; and some of them, among whom
were the daughters of Louis XV., not finding a young Queen of nineteen
hypocritically bathed in tears, on returning to their abodes declared her the
most indecorous of Princesses, and diffused a strong impression of her want
of feeling. At the head of these detractors were Mesdames de Guemenee
and Marsan, rival pretenders to the favours of the Cardinal de Rohan, who,
having by the death of Louis XV. lost their influence and their unlimited
power to appoint and dismiss Ministers, themselves became ministers to
their own evil geniuses, in calumniating her whose legitimate elevation
annihilated their monstrous pretensions!
“The Abbe Vermond, seeing the defeat of the party of the Duc de
Choiseul, by whom he had been sent to the Court of Vienna on the
recommendation of Brienne, began to tremble for his own security. As soon
as the Court had arrived at Choisy, and he was assured of the marriage
having been consummated, he obtained, with the Queen’s consent, an
audience of the King, for the purpose of soliciting his sanction to his
continuing in his situation. On submitting his suit to the King, His Majesty
merely gave a shrug of the shoulders, and turned to converse with the Duc
d’Aiguillon, who at that moment entered the room. The Abbe stood
stupefied, and the Queen, seeing the crestfallen humour of her tutor,
laughed and cheered him by remarking, ‘There is more meaning in the
shrug of a King than in the embrace of a Minister. The one always
promises, but is seldom sincere; the other is generally sincere, but never
promises.’ The Abbe, not knowing how to interpret the dumb answer,
finding the King’s back turned and his conversation with D’Aiguillon
continuing, was retiring with a shrug of his own shoulders to the Queen,
when she exclaimed, good-humouredly, to Louis, laughing and pointing to
the Abbe, ‘Look! look! see how readily a Church dignitary can imitate the
good Christian King, who is at the head of the Church.’ The King, seeing
the Abbe still waiting, said, dryly, ‘Monsieur, you are confirmed in your
situation,’ and then resumed his conversation with the Duke.

“This anecdote is a sufficient proof that LOUIS XVI. had no
prepossession in favour of the Abbe Vermond, and that it was merely not to
wound the feelings of the Queen that he was tolerated. The Queen herself
was conscious of this, and used frequently to say to me how much she was
indebted to the King for such deference to her private choice, in allowing
Vermond to be her secretary, as she did not remember the King’s ever
having held any communication with the Abbe during the whole time he
was attached to the service, though the Abbe always expressed himself with
the greatest respect towards the King.
“The decorum of Marie Antoinette would not allow her to endure those
public exhibitions of the ceremony, of dressing herself which had been
customary at Court. This reserve was highly approved by His Majesty; and
one of the first reforms she introduced, after the accession, was in the
internal discipline of her own apartment.
“It was during one of the visits, apart from Court etiquette, to the toilet of
the Queen, that the Duchesse de Chartres, afterwards Duchesse d’Orleans,
introduced the famous Mademoiselle Bertin, who afterwards became so
celebrated as the Queen’s milliner—the first that was ever allowed to
approach a royal palace; and it was months before Marie Antoinette had
courage to receive her milliner in any other than the private apartment
which, by the alteration Her Majesty had made in the arrangements of the
household, she set apart for the purpose of dressing in comfort by herself
and free from all intruders.
“Till then the Queen was not only very plain in her attire, but very,
economical—a circumstance which, I have often heard her say, gave great
umbrage to the other Princesses of the Court of Versailles, who never
showed themselves, from the moment they rose till they returned to bed,
except in full dress; while she herself made all her morning visits in a
simple white cambric gown and straw hat. This simplicity, unfortunately,
like many other trifles, whose consequences no foresight would have
predicted, tended much to injure Marie Antoinette, not only with the Court
dandies, but the nation; by whom, though she was always censured, she was
as suddenly imitated in all she wore or did.
“From the private closet, which Marie Antoinette reserved to herself, and
had now opened to her milliner, she would retire, after the great points of
habiliment were accomplished, to those who were waiting with memorials

at her public toilet, where the hairdresser would finish putting the
ornaments in Her Majesty’s hair.
“The King made Marie Antoinette a present of Le Petit Trianon. Much
has been said of the extravagant expense lavished by her upon this spot. I
can only declare that the greater part of the articles of furniture which had
not been worn out by time or were not worm or moth-eaten, and her own
bed among them, were taken from the apartments of former Queens, and
some of them had actually belonged to Anne of Austria, who, like Marie
Antoinette, had purchased them out of her private savings. Hence it is clear
that neither of the two Queens were chargeable to the State even for those
little indulgences which every private lady of property is permitted from her
husband, without coming under the lash of censure.
“Her allowance as Queen of France was no more than 300,000 francs. It
is well known that she was generous, liberal, and very charitable; that she
paid all her expenses regularly respecting her household, Trianon, her
dresses, diamonds, millinery, and everything else; her Court establishment
excepted, and some few articles, which were paid by the civil list. She was
one of the first Queens in Europe, had the first establishment in Europe, and
was obliged to keep up the most refined and luxurious Court in Europe; and
all upon means no greater than had been assigned to many of the former
bigoted Queens, who led a cloistered life, retired from the world without
circulating their wealth among the nation which supplied them with so large
a revenue; and yet who lived and died uncensured for hoarding from the
nation what ought at least to have been in part expended for its advantage.
“And yet of all the extra expenditure which the dignity and circumstances
of Marie Antoinette exacted, not a franc came from the public Treasury; but
everything out of Her Majesty’s private purse and savings from the above
three hundred thousand francs, which was an infinitely less sum than Louis
XIV. had lavished yearly on the Duchesse de Montespan, and less than half
what Louis XV. had expended on the last two favourites, De Pompadour
and Du Barry. These two women, as clearly appeared from the private
registers, found among the papers of Louis XV. after his death, by Louis
XVI. (but which, out of respect for the memory of his grandfather, he
destroyed), these two women had amassed more property in diamonds and
other valuables than all the Queens of France from the days of Catherine de
Medicis up to those of Marie Antoinette.

“Such was the goodness of heart of the excellent Queen of Louis XVI.,
such the benevolence of her character, that not only did she pay all the
pensions of the invalids left by her predecessors, but she distributed in
public and private charities greater sums than any of the former Queens,
thus increasing her expenses without any proportionate augmentation of her
resources.”

[Indeed, could Louis XVI. have foreseen—when, in order
not to expose the character of his predecessor and to honour
the dignity of the throne and monarchy of France, he
destroyed the papers of his grandfather—what an arm of
strength he would have possessed in preserving them,
against the accusers of his unfortunate Queen and himself,
he never could have thrown away such means of
establishing a most honourable contrast between his own
and former reigns. His career exhibits no superfluous
expenditure. Its economy was most rigid. No sovereign was
ever more scrupulous with the public money. He never had
any public or private predilection; no dilapidated Minister
for a favourite: no courtesan intrigue. For gaming he had no
fondness; and, if his abilities were not splendid, he certainly
had no predominating vices.]
NOTE:
[I must once more quit the journal of the Princess. Her
Highness here ceases to record particulars of the early part
of the reign of Louis XVI., and everything essential upon
those times is too well known to render it desirable to detain
the reader by an attempt to supply the deficiency. It is
enough to state that the secret unhappiness of the Queen at
not yet having the assurance of an heir was by no means
weakened by the impatience of the people, nor by the
accouchement of the Comtesse d’Artois of the Duc
d’Angouleme. While the Queen continued the intimacy, and
even held her parties at the apartments of the Duchess that
she might watch over her friend, even in this triumph over
herself, the poissardes grossly insulted her in her misfortune,
and coarsely called on her to give heirs to the throne!

A consolation, however, for the unkind feeling of the
populace was about to arise in the delights of one of her
strongest friendships. I am come to the epoch when Her
Majesty first formed an acquaintance with the Princesse de
Lamballe.
After a few words of my own on the family of Her
Highness, I shall leave her to pursue her beautiful and
artless narrative of her parentage, early sorrows, and
introduction to Her Majesty, unbroken.
The journal of the history of Marie Antoinette, after this
slight interruption for the private history of her friend, will
become blended with the journal of the Princesse de
Lamballe, and both thenceforward will proceed in their
course together, like their destinies, which from that moment
never became disunited.]

SECTION VI.

[MARIA THERESA LOUISA CARIGNAN, Princess of
Savoy, was born at Turin on the 8th September, 1749. She
had three sisters; two of them were married at Rome, one to
the Prince Doria Pamfili, the other to the Prince Colonna;
and the third at Vienna, to the Prince Lobkowitz, whose son
was the great patron of the immortal Haydn, the celebrated
composer.

The celebrated Haydn was, even at the age of
74, when I last saw him at Vienna, till the most
good-humoured bon vivant of his age. He
delighted in telling the origin of his good
fortune, which he said he entirely owed to a bad
wife.
When he was first married, he said, finding
no remedy against domestic squabbles, he used
to quit his bad half and go and enjoy himself
with his good friends, who were Hungarians and
Germans, for weeks together. Once, having
returned home after a considerable absence, his
wife, while he was in bed next morning,
followed her husband’s example: she did even
more, for she took all his clothes, even to his
shoes, stockings, and small clothes, nay,
everything he had, along with her! Thus
situated, he was under the necessity of doing
something to cover his nakedness; and this, he
himself acknowledged, was the first cause of his

seriously applying himself to the profession
which has since made his name immortal.
He used to laugh, saying, “I was from that
time so habituated to study that my wife, often
fearing it would injure me, would threaten me
with the same operation if I did not go out and
amuse myself; but then,” added he, “I was
grown old, and she was sick and no longer
jealous.” He spoke remarkably good Italian,
though he had never been in Italy, and on my
going to Vienna to hear his “Creation,” he
promised to accompany me back to Italy; but he
unfortunately died before I returned to Vienna
from Carlsbad.

She had a brother also, the Prince Carignan, who,
marrying against the consent of his family, was no longer
received by them; but the unremitting and affectionate
attention which the Princesse de Lamballe paid to him and
his new connexions was an ample compensation for the loss
he sustained in the severity of his other sisters.
With regard to the early life of the Princesse de Lamballe,
the arranger of these pages must now leave her to pursue
her own beautiful and artless narrative unbroken, up to the
epoch of her appointment to the household of the Queen. It
will be recollected that the papers of which the reception has
been already described in the introduction formed the
private journal of this most amiable Princess; and those
passages relating to her own early life being the most
connected part of them, it has been thought that to disturb
them would be a kind of sacrilege. After the appointment of
Her Highness to the superintendence of the Queen’s
household, her manuscripts again become confused, and fall
into scraps and fragments, which will require to be once
more rendered clear by the recollections of events and
conversations by which the preceding chapters have been
assisted.]

“I was the favourite child of a numerous family, and intended, almost at
my birth—as is generally the case among Princes who are nearly allied to
crowned heads—to be united to one of the Princes, my near relation, of the
royal house of Sardinia.
“A few years after this, the Duc and Duchesse de Penthievre arrived at
Turin, on their way to Italy, for the purpose of visiting the different Courts,
to make suitable marriage contracts for both their infant children.
“These two children were Mademoiselle de Penthievre, afterwards the
unhappy Duchesse d’Orleans, and their idolised son, the Prince de
Lamballe.

[The father of Louis Alexander Joseph Stanislaus de
Bourbon Penthievre, Prince de Lamballe, was the son of
Comte de Toulouse, himself a natural son of Louis XIV. and
Madame de Montespan, who was considered as the most
wealthy of all the natural children, in consequence of
Madame de Montespan having artfully entrapped the
famous Mademoiselle de Moutpensier to make over her
immense fortune to him as her heir after her death, as the
price of liberating her husband from imprisonment in the
Bastille, and herself from a ruinous prosecution, for having
contracted this marriage contrary to the express commands
of her royal cousin, Louis XIV.—Vide Histoire de Louis XIV.
par Voltaire.]

“Happy would it have been both for the Prince who was destined to the
former and the Princess who was given to the latter, had these unfortunate
alliances never taken place.
“The Duc and Duchesse de Penthievre became so singularly attached to
my beloved parents, and, in particular, to myself, that the very day they first
dined at the Court of Turin, they mentioned the wish they had formed of
uniting me to their young son, the Prince de Lamballe.
“The King of Sardinia, as the head of the house of Savoy and Carignan,
said there had been some conversation as to my becoming a member of his
royal family; but as I was so very young at the time, many political reasons
might arise to create motives for a change in the projected alliance. ‘If,

therefore, the Prince de Carignan,’ said the King, ‘be anxious to settle his
daughter’s marriage, by any immediate matrimonial alliance, I certainly
shall not avail myself of any prior engagement, nor oppose any obstacle in
the way of its solemnisation.’
“The consent of the King being thus unexpectedly obtained by the
Prince, so desirable did the arrangement seem to the Duke and Duchess that
the next day the contract was concluded with my parents for my becoming
the wife of their only son, the Prince de Lamballe.
“I was too young to be consulted. Perhaps had I been older the result
would have been the same, for it generally happens in these great family
alliances that the parties most interested, and whose happiness is most
concerned, are the least thought of. The Prince was, I believe, at Paris,
under the tuition of his governess, and I was in the nursery, heedless, and
totally ignorant of my future good or evil destination!
“So truly happy and domestic a life as that led by the Duc and Duchesse
de Penthievre seemed to my family to offer an example too propitious not
to secure to me a degree of felicity with a private Prince, very rarely the
result of royal unions! Of course, their consent was given with alacrity.
When I was called upon to do homage to my future parents, I had so little
idea, from my extreme youthfulness, of what was going on that I set them
all laughing, when, on being asked if I should like to become the consort of
the Prince de Lamballe, I said, ‘Yes, I am very fond of music!’ No, my
dear,’ resumed the good and tender-hearted Duc de Penthievre, ‘I mean,
would you have any objection to become his wife?’—‘No, nor any other
person’s!’ was the innocent reply, which increased the mirth of all the
guests at my expense.
“Happy, happy days of youthful, thoughtless innocence, luxuriously felt
and appreciated under the thatched roof of the cottage, but unknown and
unattainable beneath the massive pile of a royal palace and a gemmed
crown! Scarcely had I entered my teens when my adopted parents strewed
flowers of the sweetest fragrance to lead me to the sacred altar, that
promised the bliss of busses, but which, too soon, from the foul
machinations of envy, jealousy, avarice, and a still more criminal passion,
proved to me the altar of my sacrifice!
“My misery and my uninterrupted grief may be dated from the day my
beloved sister-in-law, Mademoiselle de Penthievre, sullied her hand by its

union with the Duc de Chartres.—[Afterwards Duc d’Orleans, and the
celebrated revolutionary Philippe Egalite.]—From that moment all comfort,
all prospect of connubial happiness, left my young and affectionate heart,
plucked thence by the very roots, never more again to bloom there. Religion
and philosophy were the only remedies remaining.
“I was a bride when an infant, a wife before I was a woman, a widow
before I was a mother, or had the prospect of becoming one! Our union was,
perhaps, an exception to the general rule. We became insensibly the more
attached to each other the more we were acquainted, which rendered the
more severe the separation, when we were torn asunder never to meet again
in this world!
“After I left Turin, though everything for my reception at the palaces of
Toulouse and Rambouillet had been prepared in the most sumptuous style
of magnificence, yet such was my agitation that I remained convulsively
speechless for many hours, and all the affectionate attention of the family of
the Duc de Penthievre could not calm my feelings.
“Among those who came about me was the bridegroom himself, whom I
had never yet seen. So anxious was he to have his first acquaintance
incognito that he set off from Paris the moment he was apprised of my
arrival in France and presented himself as the Prince’s page. As he had
outgrown the figure of his portrait, I received him as such; but the Prince,
being better pleased with me than he had apprehended he should be, could
scarcely avoid discovering himself. During our journey to Paris I myself
disclosed the interest with which the supposed page had inspired me. ‘I
hope,’ exclaimed I, ‘my Prince will allow his page to attend me, for I like
him much.’
“What was my surprise when the Duc de Penthievre presented me to the
Prince and I found in him the page for whom I had already felt such an
interest! We both laughed and wanted words to express our mutual
sentiments. This was really love at first sight.

[The young Prince was enraptured at finding his lovely
bride so superior in personal charms to the description
which had been given of her, and even to the portrait sent to
him from Turin. Indeed, she must have been a most beautiful
creature, for when I left her in the year 1792, though then

five-and-forty years of age, from the freshness of her
complexion, the elegance of her figure, and the dignity of
her deportment, she certainly did not appear to be more
than thirty. She had a fine head of hair, and she took great
pleasure in showing it unornamented. I remember one day,
on her coming hastily from the bath, as she was putting on
her dress, her cap falling off, her hair completely covered
her!
The circumstances of her death always make me shudder
at the recollection of this incident! I have been assured by
Mesdames Mackau, de Soucle, the Comtesse de Noailles
(not Duchesse, as Mademoiselle Bertin has created her in
her Memoirs of that name), and others, that the Princesse de
Lamballe was considered the most beautiful and
accomplished Princess at the Court of Louis XV., adorned
with all the grace, virtue, and elegance of manner which so
eminently distinguished her through life.]

“The Duc de Chartres, then possessing a very handsome person and most
insinuating address, soon gained the affections of the amiable Mademoiselle
Penthievre. Becoming thus a member of the same family, he paid me the
most assiduous attention. From my being his sister-in-law, and knowing he
was aware of my great attachment to his young wife, I could have no idea
that his views were criminally levelled at my honour, my happiness, and my
future peace of mind. How, therefore, was I astonished and shocked when
he discovered to me his desire to supplant the legitimate object of my
affections, whose love for me equalled mine for him! I did not expose this
baseness of the Duc de Chartres, out of filial affection for my adopted
father, the Duc de Penthievre; out of the love I bore his amiable daughter,
she being pregnant; and, above all, in consequence of the fear I was under
of compromising the life of the Prince, my husband, who I apprehended
might be lost to me if I did not suffer in silence. But still, through my
silence he was lost—and oh, how dreadfully! The Prince was totally in the
dark as to the real character of his brother-in-law. He blindly became every
day more and more attached to the man, who was then endeavouring by the
foulest means to blast the fairest prospects of his future happiness in life!
But my guardian angel protected me from becoming a victim to seduction,

defeating every attack by that prudence which has hitherto been my
invincible shield.
“Guilt, unpunished in its first crime, rushes onward, and hurrying from
one misdeed to another, like the flood-tide, drives all before it! My silence,
and his being defeated without reproach, armed him with courage for fresh
daring, and he too well succeeded in embittering the future days of my life,
as well as those of his own affectionate wife, and his illustrious father-in-
law, the virtuous Duc de Penthievre, who was to all a father.
“To revenge himself upon me for the repulse he met with, this man
inveigled my young, inexperienced husband from his bridal bed to those
infected with the nauseous poison of every vice! Poor youth! he soon
became the prey of every refinement upon dissipation and studied
debauchery, till at length his sufferings made his life a burthen, and he died
in the most excruciating agonies both of mind and body, in the arms of a
disconsolate wife and a distracted father—and thus, in a few short months,
at the age of eighteen, was I left a widow to lament my having become a
wife!
“I was in this situation, retired from the world and absorbed in grief, with
the ever beloved and revered illustrious father of my murdered lord,
endeavouring to sooth his pangs for the loss of those comforts in a child
with which my cruel disappointment forbade my ever being blest—though,
in the endeavour to soothe, I often only aggravated both his and my own
misery at our irretrievable loss—when a ray of unexpected light burst upon
my dreariness. It was amid this gloom of human agony, these heartrending
scenes of real mourning, that the brilliant star shone to disperse the clouds
which hovered over our drooping heads,—to dry the hot briny tears which
were parching up our miserable vegetating existence—it was in this crisis
that Marie Antoinette came, like a messenger sent down from Heaven,
graciously to offer the balm of comfort in the sweetest language of human
compassion. The pure emotions of her generous soul made her unceasing,
unremitting, in her visits to two mortals who must else have perished under
the weight of their misfortunes. But for the consolation of her warm
friendship we must have sunk into utter despair!
“From that moment I became seriously attached to the Queen of France.
She dedicated a great portion of her time to calm the anguish of my poor
heart, though I had not yet accepted the honour of becoming a member of

Her Majesty’s household. Indeed, I was a considerable time before I could
think of undertaking a charge I felt myself so completely incapable of
fulfilling. I endeavoured to check the tears that were pouring down my
cheeks, to conceal in the Queen’s presence the real feelings of my heart, but
the effort only served to increase my anguish when she had departed. Her
attachment to me, and the cordiality with which she distinguished herself
towards the Duc de Penthievre, gave her a place in that heart, which had
been chilled by the fatal vacuum left by its first inhabitant; and Marie
Antoinette was the only rival through life that usurped his pretensions,
though she could never wean me completely from his memory.
“My health, from the melancholy life I led, had so much declined that my
affectionate father, the Duc de Penthievre, with whom I continued to reside,
was anxious that I should emerge from my retirement for the benefit of my
health. Sensible of his affection, and having always honoured his counsels, I
took his advice in this instance. It being in the hard winter, when so many
persons were out of bread, the Queen, the Duchesse d’Orleans, the Duc de
Penthievre, and myself, introduced the German sledges, in which we were
followed by most of the nobility and the rich citizens. This afforded
considerable employment to different artificers. The first use I made of my
own new vehicle was to visit, in company with the Duc de Penthievre, the
necessitous poor families and our pensioners. In the course of our rounds
we met the Queen.
“‘I suppose,’ exclaimed Her Majesty, ‘you also are laying a good
foundation for my work! Heavens! what must the poor feel! I am wrapped
up like a diamond in a box, covered with furs, and yet I am chilled with
cold!’
“‘That feeling sentiment,’ said the Duke, ‘will soon warm many a cold
family’s heart with gratitude to bless Your Majesty!’
“‘Why, yes,’ replied Her Majesty, showing a long piece of paper
containing the names of those to whom she intended to afford relief, ‘I have
only collected two hundred yet on my list, but the cure will do the rest and
help me to draw the strings of my privy purse! But I have not half done my
rounds. I daresay before I return to Versailles I shall have as many more,
and, since we are engaged in the same business, pray come into my sledge
and do not take my work out of my hands! Let me have for once the merit
of doing something good!’

“On the coming up of a number of other vehicles belonging to the sledge
party, the Queen added, ‘Do not say anything about what I have been telling
you!’ for Her Majesty never wished what she did in the way of charity or
donations should be publicly known, the old pensioners excepted, who,
being on the list, could not be concealed; especially as she continued to pay
all those she found of the late Queen of Louis XV. She was remarkably
delicate and timid with respect to hurting the feelings of any one; and,
fearing the Duc de Penthievre might not be pleased at her pressing me to
leave him in order to join her, she said, ‘Well, I will let you off, Princess, on
your both promising to dine with me at Trianon; for the King is hunting, not
deer, but wood for the poor, and he will see his game off to Paris before he
comes back:
“The Duke begged to be excused, but wished me to accept the invitation,
which I did, and we parted, each to pursue our different sledge excursions.
“At the hour appointed, I made my appearance at Trianon, and had the
honour to dine tete-a-tete with Her Majesty, which was much more
congenial to my feelings than if there had been a party, as I was still very
low-spirited and unhappy.
“After dinner, ‘My dear Princess,’ said the Queen to me, ‘at your time of
life you must not give yourself up entirely to the dead. You wrong the
living. We have not been sent into the world for ourselves. I have felt much
for your situation, and still do so, and therefore hope, as long as the weather
permits, that you will favour me with your company to enlarge our sledge
excursions. The King and my dear sister Elizabeth are also much interested
about your coming on a visit to Versailles. What think you of our plan.
“I thanked Her Majesty, the King, and the Princess, for their kindness,
but I observed that my state of health and mind could so little correspond in
any way with the gratitude I should owe them for their royal favours that I
trusted a refusal would be attributed to the fact of my consciousness how
much rather my society must prove an annoyance and a burthen than a
source of pleasure.
“My tears flowing down my cheeks rapidly while I was speaking, the
Queen, with that kindness for which she was so eminently distinguished,
took me by the hand, and with her handkerchief dried my face.
“‘I am,’ said the Queen, I about to renew a situation which has for some
time past lain dormant; and I hope, my dear Princess, therewith to establish

my own private views, in forming the happiness of a worthy individual.’
“I replied that such a plan must insure Her Majesty the desired object she
had in view, as no individual could be otherwise than happy under the
immediate auspices of so benevolent and generous a Sovereign.
“The Queen, with great affability, as if pleased with my observation, only
said, ‘If you really think as you speak, my views are accomplished.’
“My carriage was announced, and I then left Her Majesty, highly pleased
at her gracious condescension, which evidently emanated from the kind
wish to raise my drooping spirits from their melancholy.
“Gratitude would not permit me to continue long without demonstrating
to Her Majesty the sentiments her kindness had awakened in my heart.
“I returned next day with my sister-in-law, the Duchesse d’Orleans, who
was much esteemed by the Queen, and we joined the sledge parties with
Her Majesty.
“On the third or fourth day of these excursions I again had the honour to
dine with Her Majesty, when, in the presence of the Princesse Elizabeth, she
asked me if I were still of the same opinion with respect to the person it was
her intention to add to her household?
“I myself had totally forgotten the topic and entreated Her Majesty’s
pardon for my want of memory, and begged she would signify to what
subject she alluded.
“The Princesse Elizabeth laughed. ‘I thought,’ cried she, ‘that you had
known it long ago! The Queen, with His Majesty’s consent, has nominated
you, my dear Princess (embracing me), superintendent of her household.’
“The Queen, also embracing me, said, ‘Yes; it is very true. You said the
individual destined to such a situation could not be otherwise than happy;
and I am myself thoroughly happy in being able thus to contribute towards
rendering you so.’
“I was perfectly at a loss for a moment or two, but, recovering myself
from the effect of this unexpected and unlooked for preferment, I thanked
Her Majesty with the best grace I was able for such an unmerited mark of
distinction.
“The Queen, perceiving my embarrassment, observed, ‘I knew I should
surprise you; but I thought your being established at Versailles much more
desirable for one of your rank and youth than to be, as you were, with the

Duc de Penthievre; who, much as I esteem his amiable character and
numerous great virtues, is by no means the most cheering companion for
my charming Princess. From this moment let our friendships be united in
the common interest of each other’s happiness.’
“The Queen took me by the hand. The Princesse Elizabeth, joining hers,
exclaimed to the Queen, ‘Oh, my dear sister! let me make the trio in this
happy union of friends!’
“In the society of her adored Majesty and of her saint-like sister
Elizabeth I have found my only balm of consolation! Their graciously
condescending to sympathise in the grief with which I was overwhelmed
from the cruel disappointment of my first love, filled up in some degree the
vacuum left by his loss, who was so prematurely ravished from me in the
flower of youth, leaving me a widow at eighteen; and though that loss is
one I never can replace or forget, the poignancy of its effect has been in a
great degree softened by the kindnesses of my excellent father-in-law, the
Duc de Penthievre, and the relations resulting from my situation with, and
the never-ceasing attachment of my beloved royal mistress.”

SECTION VII.

[The connexion of the Princesse de Lamballe with the
Queen, of which she has herself described the origin in the
preceding chapter, proved so important in its influence upon
the reputation and fate of both these illustrious victims, that
I must once more withdraw the attention of the reader, to
explain, from personal observation and confidential
disclosures, the leading causes of the violent dislike which
was kindled in the public against an intimacy that it would
have been most fortunate had Her Majesty preferred through
life to every other.
The selection of a friend by the Queen, and the sudden
elevation of that friend to the highest station in the royal
household, could not fail to alarm the selfishness of
courtiers, who always feel themselves injured by the favour
shown to others. An obsolete office was revived in favour of
the Princesse de Lamballe. In the time of Maria Leckzinska,
wife of Louis XV., the office of superintendent, then held by
Mademoiselle de Clermont, was suppressed when its holder
died. The office gave a control over the inclinations of
Queens, by which Maria Leckzinska was sometimes
inconvenienced; and it had lain dormant ever since. Its
restoration by a Queen who it was believed could be guided
by no motive but the desire to seek pretexts for showing
undue favour, was of course eyed askance, and ere long
openly calumniated.
The Comtesse de Noailles, who never could forget the title
the Queen gave her of Madame Etiquette, nor forgive the
frequent jokes which Her Majesty passed upon her
antiquated formality, availed herself of the opportunity

offered by her husband’s being raised to the dignity of
Marshal of France, to resign her situation on the
appointment of the Princesse de Lamballe as
superintendent. The Countess retired with feelings
embittered against her royal mistress, and her annoyance in
the sequel ripened into enmity. The Countess was attached
to a very powerful party, not only at Court but scattered
throughout the kingdom. Her discontent arose from the
circumstance of no longer having to take her orders from the
Queen direct, but from her superintendent. Ridiculous as this
may seem to an impartial observer, it created one of the most
powerful hostilities against which Her Majesty had
afterwards to contend.
Though the Queen esteemed the Comtesse de Noailles for
her many good qualities, yet she was so much put out of her
way by the rigour with which the Countess enforced forms
which to Her Majesty appeared puerile and absurd, that she
felt relieved, and secretly gratified, by her retirement. It will
be shown hereafter to what an excess the Countess was
eventually carried by her malice.
One of the popular objections to the revival of the office
of superintendent in favour of the Princesse de Lamballe
arose from its reputed extravagance. This was as groundless
as the other charges against the Queen. The etiquettes of
dress, and the requisite increase of every other expense, from
the augmentation of every article of the necessaries as well
as the luxuries of life, made a treble difference between the
expenditure of the circumscribed Court of Maria Leckzinska
and that of Louis XVI.; yet the Princesse de Lamballe
received no more salary than had been allotted to
Mademoiselle de Clermont in the selfsame situation half a
century before.

(And even that salary she never appropriated
to any private use of her own, being amply
supplied through the generous bounty of her
father-in-law, the Duc de Penthievre; and

latterly, to my knowledge, so far from receiving
any pay, she often paid the Queen’s and
Princesse Elizabeth’s bills out of her own
purse.)

So far from possessing the slightest propensity either to
extravagance in herself or to the encouragement of
extravagance in others, the Princesse de Lamballe was a
model of prudence, and upon those subjects, as indeed upon
all others, the Queen could not have had a more discreet
counsellor. She eminently contributed to the charities of the
Queen, who was the mother of the fatherless, the support of
the widow, and the general protectress and refuge of
suffering humanity. Previously to the purchase of any article
of luxury, the Princess would call for the list of the
pensioners: if anything was due on that account, it was
instantly paid, and the luxury dispensed with.
She never made her appearance in the Queen’s
apartments except at established hours. This was
scrupulously observed till the Revolution. Circumstances
then obliged her to break through forms. The Queen would
only receive communications, either written or verbal, upon
the subjects growing out of that wretched crisis, in the
presence of the Princess; and hence her apartments were
open to all who had occasion to see Her Majesty. This made
their intercourse more constant and unceremonious. But
before this, the Princess only went to the royal presence at
fixed hours, unless she had memorials to present to the King,
Queen, or Ministers, in favour of such as asked for justice or
mercy. Hence, whenever the Princess entered before the
stated times, the Queen would run and embrace her, and
exclaim: “Well, my dear Princesse de Lamballe! what
widow, what orphan, what suffering or oppressed petitioner
am I to thank for this visit? for I know you never come to me
empty-handed when you come unexpectedly!” The Princess,
on these occasions, often had the petitioners waiting in an
adjoining apartment, that they might instantly avail

themselves of any inclination the Queen might show to see
them.
Once the Princess was deceived by a female painter of
doubtful character, who supplicated her to present a work
she had executed to the Queen. I myself afterwards returned
that work to its owner. Thenceforward, the Princess became
very rigid in her inquiries, previous to taking the least
interest in any application, or consenting to present any one
personally to the King or Queen. She required thoroughly to
be informed of the nature of the request, and of the merit and
character of the applicant, before she would attend to either.
Owing to this caution Her Highness scarcely ever after met
with a negative. In cases of great importance, though the
Queen’s compassionate and good heart needed no stimulus
to impel her to forward the means of justice, the Princess
would call the influence of the Princesse Elizabeth to her
aid; and Elizabeth never sued in vain.
Marie Antoinette paid the greatest attention to all
memorials. They were regularly collected every week by Her
Majesty’s private secretary, the Abbe Vermond. I have myself
seen many of them, when returned from the Princesse de
Lamballe, with the Queen’s marginal notes in her own
handwriting, and the answers dictated by Her Majesty to the
different, officers of the departments relative to the nature of
the respective demands. She always recommended the
greatest attention to all public documents, and annexed
notes to such as passed through her hands to prevent their
being thrown aside or lost.
One of those who were least satisfied with the
appointment of the Princesse de Lamballe to the office of
superintendent was her brother-in-law, the Duc d’Orleans,
who, having attempted her virtue on various occasions and
been repulsed, became mortified and alarmed at her
situation as a check to his future enterprise.
At one time the Duc and Duchesse d’Orleans were most
constant and assiduous in their attendance on Marie

Antoinette. They were at all her parties. The Queen was very
fond of the Duchess. It is supposed that the interest Her
Majesty took in that lady, and the steps to which some time
afterwards that interest led, planted the first seeds of the
unrelenting and misguided hostility which, in the deadliest
times of the Revolution, animated the Orleanists against the
throne.
The Duc d’Orleans, then Duc de Chartres, was never a
favourite of the Queen. He was only tolerated at Court on
account of his wife and of the great intimacy which subsisted
between him and the Comte d’Artois. Louis XVI. had often
expressed his disapprobation of the Duke’s character, which
his conduct daily justified.
The Princesse de Lamballe could have no cause to think
of her brother-in-law but with horror. He had insulted her,
and, in revenge at his defeat, had, it was said, deprived her,
by the most awful means, of her husband. The Princess was
tenderly attached to her sister-in-law, the Duchess. Her
attachment could not but make her look very unfavourably
upon the circumstance of the Duke’s subjecting his wife to
the humiliation of residing in the palace with Madame de
Genlis, and being forced to receive a person of morals so
incorrect as the guardian of her children. The Duchess had
complained to her father, the Duc de Penthievre, in the
presence of the Princesse de Lamballe, of the very great
ascendency Madame de Genlis exercised over her husband;
and had even requested the Queen to use her influence in
detaching the Duke from this connexion.

(It was generally understood that the Duke
had a daughter by Madame de Genlis. This
daughter, when grown up, was married to the
late Irish Lord Robert Fitzgerald.)

But she had too much gentleness of nature not presently to
forget her resentment. Being much devoted to her husband,
rather than irritate him to further neglect by personal

remonstrance, she determined to make the best of a bad
business, and tolerated Madame de Genlis, although she
made no secret among her friends and relations of the
reason why she did so. Nay, so far did her wish not to
disoblige her husband prevail over her own feelings as to
induce her to yield at last to his importunities by frequently
proposing to present Madame de Genlis to the Queen. But
Madame de Genilis never could obtain either a public or a
private audience. Though the Queen was a great admirer of
merit and was fond of encouraging talents, of which
Madame de Genlis was by no means deficient, yet even the
account the Duchess herself had given, had Her Majesty
possessed no other means of knowledge, would have sealed
that lady’s exclusion from the opportunities of display at
Court which she sought so earnestly.
There was another source of exasperation against the Duc
d’Orleans; and the great cause of a new and, though less
obtrusive, yet perhaps an equally dangerous foe under all
the circumstances, in Madame de Genlis. The anonymous
slander of the one was circulated through all France by the
other; and spleen and disappointment feathered the
venomed arrows shot at the heart of power by malice and
ambition. Be the charge true or false, these anonymous
libels were generally considered as the offspring of this
lady: they were industriously scattered by the Duc
d’Orleans; and their frequent refutation by the Queen’s
friends only increased the malignant industry of their
inventor.
An event which proved the most serious of all that ever
happened to the Queen, and the consequences of which were
distinctly foreseen by the Princesse de Lamballe and others
of her true friends, was now growing to maturity.
The deposed Court oracle, the Comtesse de Noailles, had
been succeeded as literary leader by the Comtesse Diane de
Polignac. She was a favourite of the Comte d’Artois, and
was the first lady in attendance upon the Countess, his wife.

(The Comtesse Diane de Polignac had a
much better education, and considerably more
natural capacity, than her sister-in-law, the
Duchess, and the Queen merely disliked her for
her prudish affectation. The Comtesse d’Artois
grew jealous of the Count’s intimacy with the
Comtesse Diane. While she considered herself
as the only one of the Royal Family likely to be
mother of a future sovereign, she was silent, or
perhaps too much engrossed by her castles in
the air to think of anything but diadems; but
when she saw the Queen producing heirs, she
grew out of humour at her lost popularity, and
began to turn her attention to her husband’s
Endymionship to this now Diana! When she had
made up her mind to get her rival out of her
house, she consulted one of the family; but being
told that the best means for a wife to keep her
husband out of harm’s way was to provide him
with a domestic occupation for his leisure hours
at home, than which nothing could be better
than a handmaid under the same roof, she made
a merit of necessity and submitted ever after to
retain the Comtesse Diane, as she had been
prudently advised. The Comtesse Diane, in
consequence, remained in the family even up to
the 17th October, 1789, when she left Versailles
in company with the De Polignacs and the
D’Artois, who all emigrated together from
France to Italy and lived at Stria on the Brenta,
near Venice, for some time, till the Comtesse
d’Artois went to Turin.)

The Queen’s conduct had always been very cool to her.
She deemed her a self-sufficient coquette. However, the
Comtesse Diane was a constant attendant at the gay parties

which were then the fashion of the Court, though not greatly
admired.
The reader will scarcely need to be informed that the
event to which I have just alluded is the introduction by the
Comtesse Diane of her sister-in-law, the Comtesse Julie de
Polignac, to the Queen; and having brought the record up to
this point I here once more dismiss my own pen for that of
the Princesse de Lamballe.
It will be obvious to every one that I must have been
indebted to the conversations of my beloved patroness for
most of the sentiments and nearly all the facts I have just
been stating; and had the period on which she has written so
little as to drive me to the necessity of writing for her been
less pregnant with circumstances almost entirely personal to
herself, no doubt I should have found more upon that period
in her manuscript. But the year of which Her Highness says
so little was the year of happiness and exclusive favour; and
the Princess was above the vanity of boasting, even privately
in the self-confessional of her diary. She resumes her records
with her apprehensions; and thus proceeds, describing the
introduction of the Comtesse Julie de Polignac, regretting
her ascendency over the Queen, and foreseeing its fatal
effects.]

“I had been only a twelvemonth in Her Majesty’s service, which I believe
was the happiest period of both our lives, when, at one of the Court
assemblies, the Comtesse Julie de Polignac was first introduced by her
sister-in-law, the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, to the Queen.
“She had lived in the country, quite a retired life, and appeared to be
more the motherly woman, and the domestic wife, than the ambitious Court
lady, or royal sycophant. She was easy of access, and elegantly plain in her
dress and deportment.
“Her appearance at Court was as fatal to the Queen as it was propitious to
herself!
“She seemed formed by nature to become a royal favourite, unassuming,
remarkably complaisant, possessing a refined taste, with a good-natured

disposition, not handsome, but well formed, and untainted by haughtiness
or pomposity.
“It would appear, from the effect her introduction had on the Queen, that
her domestic virtues were written in her countenance; for she became a
royal favourite before she had time to become a candidate for royal favour.
“The Queen’s sudden attachment to the Comtesse Julie produced no
alteration in my conduct, while I saw nothing extraordinary to alarm me for
the consequences of any particular marked partiality, by which the character
and popularity of Her Majesty might be endangered.
“But, seeing the progress this lady made in the feelings of the Queen’s
enemies, it became my duty, from the situation I held, to caution Her
Majesty against the risks she ran in making her favourites friends; for it was
very soon apparent how highly the Court disapproved of this intimacy and
partiality: and the same feeling soon found its way to the many-headed
monster, the people, who only saw the favourite without considering the
charge she held. Scarcely had she felt the warm rays of royal favour, when
the chilling blasts of envy and malice began to nip it in the bud of all its
promised bliss. Even long before she touched the pinnacle of her grandeur
as governess of the royal children the blackest calumny began to show itself
in prints, caricatures, songs, and pamphlets of every description.
“A reciprocity of friendship between a Queen and a subject, by those who
never felt the existence of such a feeling as friendship, could only be
considered in a criminal point of view. But by what perversion could
suspicion frown upon the ties between two married women, both living in
the greatest harmony with their respective husbands, especially when both
became mothers and were so devoted to their offspring? This boundless
friendship did glow between this calumniated pair calumniated because the
sacredness and peculiarity of the sentiment which united them was too pure
to be understood by the grovelling minds who made themselves their
sentencers. The friend is the friend’s shadow. The real sentiment of
friendship, of which disinterested sympathy is the sign, cannot exist unless
between two of the same sex, because a physical difference involuntarily
modifies the complexion of the intimacy where the sexes are opposite, even
though there be no physical relations. The Queen of France had love in her
eyes and Heaven in her soul. The Duchesse de Polignac, whose person

beamed with every charm, could never have been condemned, like the
Friars of La Trappe, to the mere memento mori.
“When I had made the representations to Her Majesty which duty
exacted from me on perceiving her ungovernable partiality for her new
favourite, that I might not importune her by the awkwardness naturally
arising from my constant exposure to the necessity of witnessing an
intimacy she knew I did not sanction, I obtained permission from my royal
mistress to visit my father-in-law, the Duc de Penthievre, at Rambouillet,
his country-seat.
“Soon after I arrived there, I was taken suddenly ill after dinner with the
most excruciating pains in my stomach. I thought myself dying. Indeed, I
should have been so but for the fortunate and timely discovery that I was
poisoned certainly, not intentionally, by any one belonging to my dear
father’s household; but by some execrable hand which had an interest in my
death.
“The affair was hushed up with a vague report that some of the made
dishes had been prepared in a stew-pan long out of use, which the clerk of
the Duke’s kitchen had forgotten to get properly tinned.
“This was a doubtful story for many reasons. Indeed, I firmly believe that
the poison given me had been prepared in the salt, for every one at table had
eaten of the same dish without suffering the smallest inconvenience.
“The news of this accident had scarcely arrived at Versailles, when the
Queen, astounded, and, in excessive anxiety, instantly sent off her
physician, and her private secretary, the Abbe Vermond, to bring me back to
my apartments at Versailles, with strict orders not to leave me a moment at
the Duke’s, for fear of a second attempt of the same nature. Her Majesty
had imputed the first to the earnestness I had always shown in support of
her interests, and she seemed now more ardent in her kindness towards me
from the idea of my being exposed through her means to the treachery of
assassins in the dark. The Queen awaited our coming impatiently, and, not
seeing the carriages return so quickly as she fancied they ought to arrive,
she herself set off for Rambouillet, and did not leave me till she had
prevailed on me to quit my father-in-law’s, and we both returned together
the same night to Versailles, where the Queen in person dedicated all her
attention to the restoration of my health.

“As yet, however, nothing in particular had discovered that splendour for
which the De Polignacs were afterwards so conspicuous.
“Indeed, so little were their circumstances calculated for a Court life, that
when the friends of Madame de Polignac perceived the growing attachment
of the young Queen to the palladium of their hopes, in order to impel Her
Majesty’s friendship to repair the deficiencies of fortune, they advised the
magnet to quit the Court abruptly, assigning the want of means as the
motive of her retreat. The story got wind, and proved propitious.
“The Queen, to secure the society of her friend, soon supplied the
resources she required and took away the necessity for her retirement. But
the die was cast. In gaining one friend she sacrificed a host. By this act of
imprudent preference she lost forever the affections of the old nobility. This
was the gale which drove her back among the breakers.
“I saw the coming storm, and endeavoured to make my Sovereign feel its
danger. Presuming that my example would be followed, I withdrew from
the De Polignac society, and vainly flattered myself that prudence would
impel others not to encourage Her Majesty’s amiable infatuation till the
consequences should be irretrievable. But Sovereigns are always
surrounded by those who make it a point to reconcile them to their follies,
however flagrant, and keep them on good terms with themselves, however
severely they may be censured by the world.
“If I had read the book of fate I could not have seen more distinctly the
fatal results which actually took place from this unfortunate connexion. The
Duchess and myself always lived in the greatest harmony, and equally
shared the confidence of the Queen; but it was my duty not to sanction Her
Majesty’s marked favouritism by my presence. The Queen often expressed
her discontent to me upon the subject. She used to tell me how much it
grieved her to be denied success in her darling desire of uniting her friends
with each other, as they were already united in her own heart. Finding my
resolution unalterable, she was mortified, but gave up her pursuit. When she
became assured that all importunity was useless, she ever after avoided
wounding my feelings by remonstrance, and allowed me to pursue the
system I had adopted, rather than deprive herself of my society, which
would have been the consequence had I not been left at liberty to follow the
dictates of my own sense of propriety in a course from which I was
resolved that even Her Majesty’s displeasure should not make me swerve.

“Once in particular, at an entertainment given to the Emperor Joseph at
Trianon, I remember the Queen took the opportunity to repeat how much
she felt herself mortified at the course in which I persisted of never making
my appearance at the Duchesse de Polignac’s parties.
“I replied, ‘I believe, Madame, we are both of us disappointed; but Your
Majesty has your remedy, by replacing me by a lady less scrupulous.’
“‘I was too sanguine,’ said the Queen, ‘in having flattered myself that I
had chosen two friends who would form, from their sympathising and
uniting their sentiments with each other, a society which would embellish
my private life as much as they adorn their public stations.’
“I said it was by my unalterable friendship and my loyal and dutiful
attachment to the sacred person of Her Majesty that I had been prompted to
a line of conduct in which the motives whence it arose would impel me to
persist while I had the honour to hold a situation under Her Majesty’s roof.
“The Queen, embracing me, exclaimed, ‘That will be for life, for death
alone can separate us!’
“This is the last conversation I recollect to have had with the Queen upon
this distressing subject.
“The Abbe Vermond, who had been Her Majesty’s tutor, but who was
now her private secretary, began to dread that his influence over her, from
having been her confidential adviser from her youth upwards, would suffer
from the rising authority of the all-predominant new favourite.
Consequently, he thought proper to remonstrate, not with Her Majesty, but
with those about her royal person. The Queen took no notice of these side-
wind complaints, not wishing to enter into any explanation of her conduct.
On this the Abbe withdrew from Court. But he only retired for a short time,
and that to make better terms for the future. Here was a new spring for
those who were supplying the army of calumniators with poison. Happy
had it been, perhaps, for France and the Queen if Vermond had never
returned. But the Abbe was something like a distant country cousin of an
English Minister, a man of no talents, but who hoped for employment
through the power of his kinsman. ‘There is nothing on hand now,’
answered the Minister, ‘but a Bishop’s mitre or a Field-marshal’s
staff.’—‘Oh, very well,’ replied the countryman; ‘either will do for me till
something better turns up.’ The Abbe, in his retirement finding leisure to
reflect that there was no probability of anything ‘better turning up’ than his

post of private secretary, tutor, confidant, and counsellor (and that not
always the most correct) of a young and amiable Queen of France, soon
made his reappearance and kept his jealousy of the De Polignacs ever after
to himself.
“The Abbe Vermond enjoyed much influence with regard to ecclesiastical
preferments. He was too fond of his situation ever to contradict or thwart
Her Majesty in any of her plans; too much of a courtier to assail her ears
with the language of truth; and by far too much a clergyman to interest
himself but for Mother Church.
“In short, he was more culpable in not doing his duty than in the mischief
he occasioned, for he certainly oftener misled the Queen by his silence than
by his advice.”

SECTION VIII.

“I have already mentioned that Marie Antoinette had no decided taste for
literature. Her mind rather sought its amusements in the ball-room, the
promenade, the theatre, especially when she herself was a performer, and
the concert-room, than in her library and among her books. Her coldness
towards literary men may in, some degree be accounted for by the disgust
which she took at the calumnies and caricatures resulting from her mother’s
partiality for her own revered teacher, the great Metastasio. The
resemblance of most of Maria Theresa’s children to that poet was coupled
with the great patronage he received from the Empress; and much less than
these circumstances would have been quite enough to furnish a tale for the
slanderer, injurious to the reputation of any exalted personage.
“The taste of Marie Antoinette for private theatricals was kept up till the
clouds of the Revolution darkened over all her enjoyments.
“These innocent amusements were made subjects of censure against her
by the many courtiers who were denied access to them; while some, who
were permitted to be present, were too well pleased with the opportunity of
sneering at her mediocrity in the art, which those, who could not see her,
were ready to criticise with the utmost severity. It is believed that Madame
de Genlis found this too favourable an opportunity to be slighted.
Anonymous satires upon the Queen’s performances, which were attributed
to the malice of that authoress, were frequently shown to Her Majesty by
good-natured friends. The Duc de Fronsac also, from some situation he held
at Court, though not included in the private household of Her Majesty at
Trianon, conceiving himself highly injured by not being suffered to
interfere, was much exasperated, and took no pains to prevent others from
receiving the infection of his resentment.
“Of all the arts, music was the only one which Her Majesty ever warmly
patronised. For music she was an enthusiast. Had her talents in this art been
cultivated, it is certain from her judgment in it that she would have made

very considerable progress. She sang little French airs with great taste and
feeling. She improved much under the tuition of the great composer, her
master, the celebrated Sacchini. After his death, Sapio was named his
successor; but, between the death of one master and the appointment of
another, the revolutionary horrors so increased that her mind was no longer
in a state to listen to anything but the howlings of the tempest.
“In her happier days of power, the great Gluck was brought at her request
from Germany to Paris. He cost nothing to the public Treasury, for Her
Majesty paid all his expenses out of her own purse, leaving him the profits
of his operas, which attracted immense sums to the theatre.
“Marie Antoinette paid for the musical education of the French singer,
Garat, and pensioned him for her private concerts.
“Her Majesty was the great patroness of the celebrated Viotti, who was
also attached to her private musical parties. Before Viotti began to perform
his concertos, Her Majesty, with the most amiable condescension, would go
round the music saloon, and say, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I request you will
be silent, and very attentive, and not enter into conversation, while Mr.
Viotti is playing, for it interrupts him in the execution of his fine
performance.
“Gluck composed his Armida in compliment to the personal charms of
Marie Antoinette. I never saw Her Majesty more interested about anything
than she was for its success. She became a perfect slave to it. She had the
gracious condescension to hear all the pieces through, at Gluck’s request,
before they were submitted to the stage for rehearsal. Gluck said he always
improved his music after he saw the effect it had upon Her Majesty.
“He was coming out of the Queen’s apartment one day, after he had been
performing one of these pieces for Her Majesty’s approbation, when I
followed and congratulated him on the increased success he had met with
from the whole band of the opera at every rehearsal. ‘O my dear Princess!’
cried he, ‘it wants nothing to make it be applauded up to the seven skies but
two such delightful heads as Her Majesty’s and your own.’—‘Oh, if that be
all,’ answered I, ‘we’ll have them painted for you, Mr. Gluck!’—‘No, no,
no! you do not understand me,’ replied Gluck, ‘I mean real, real heads. My
actresses are very ugly, and Armida and her confidential lady ought to be
very handsome:

“However great the success of the opera of Armida, and certainly it was
one of the best productions ever exhibited on the French stage, no one had a
better opinion of its composition than Gluck himself. He was quite mad
about it. He told the Queen that the air of France had invigorated his
musical genius, and that, after having had the honour of seeing Her Majesty,
his ideas were so much inspired that his compositions resembled her, and
became alike angelic and sublime!
“The first artist who undertook the part of Armida was Madame Saint
Huberti. The Queen was very partial to her. She was principal female singer
at the French opera, was a German by birth, and strongly recommended by
Gluck for her good natural voice. At Her Majesty’s request, Gluck himself
taught Madame Saint Huberti the part of Armida. Sacchini, also, at the
command of Marie Antoinette, instructed her in the style and sublimity of
the Italian school, and Mdlle. Benin, the Queen’s dressmaker and milliner,
was ordered to furnish the complete dress for the character.
“The Queen, perhaps, was more liberal to this lady than to any other
actress upon the stage. She had frequently paid her debts, which were very
considerable, for she dressed like a Queen whenever she represented one.
“Gluck’s consciousness of the merit of his own works, and of their
dignity, excited no small jealousy, during the getting up of Armida, in his
rival with the public, the great Vestris, to whom he scarcely left space to
exhibit the graces of his art; and many severe disputes took place between
the two rival sharers of the Parisian enthusiasm. Indeed, it was at one time
feared that the success of Armida would be endangered, unless an equal
share of the performance were conceded to the dancers. But Gluck, whose
German obstinacy would not give up a note, told Vestris he might compose
a ballet in which he would leave him his own way entirely; but that an artist
whose profession only taught him to reason with his heels should not kick
about works like Armida at his pleasure. ‘My subject,’ added Gluck, ‘is
taken from the immortal Tasso. My music has been logically composed, and
with the ideas of my head; and, of course, there is very little room left for
capering. If Tasso had thought proper to make Rinaldo a dancer he never
would have designated him a warrior.’
“Rinaldo was the part Vestris wished to be allotted to his son. However,
through the interference of the Queen, Vestris prudently took the part as it
had been originally finished by Gluck.

“The Queen was a great admirer and patroness of Augustus Vestris, the
god of dance, as he was styled. Augustus Vestris never lost Her Majesty’s
favour, though he very often lost his sense of the respect he owed to the
public, and showed airs and refused to dance. Once he did so when Her
Majesty was at the opera. Upon some frivolous pretext he refused to appear.
He was, in consequence, immediately arrested. His father, alarmed at his
son’s temerity, flew to me, and with the most earnest supplications implored
I would condescend to endeavour to obtain the pardon of Her Majesty. ‘My
son,’ cried he, ‘did not know that Her Majesty had honoured the theatre
with her presence. Had he been aware of it, could he have refused to dance
for his most bounteous benefactress? I, too, am grieved beyond the power
of language to describe, by this mal apropos contretemps between the two
houses of Vestris and Bourbon, as we have always lived in the greatest
harmony ever since we came from Florence to Paris. My son is very sorry
and will dance most bewitchingly if Her Majesty will graciously
condescend to order his release!’
“I repeated the conversation verbatim, to Her Majesty, who enjoyed the
arrogance of the Florentine, and sent her page to order young Vestris to be
set immediately at liberty.
“Having exerted all the wonderful powers of his art, the Queen
applauded him very much. When Her Majesty was about leaving her box,
old Vestris appeared at the entrance, leading his son to thank the Queen.
“‘Ah, Monsieur Vestris,’ said the Queen to the father, you never danced
as your son has done this evening.’
“‘That’s very natural, Madame,’ answered old Vestris, ‘I never had a
Vestris, please Your Majesty, for a master.’
“‘Then you have the greater merit,’ replied the Queen, turning round to
old Vestris—‘Ah, I shall never forget you and Mademoiselle Guimard
dancing the minuet de la cour.’
“On this old Vestris held up his head with that peculiar grace for which
he was so much distinguished. The old man, though ridiculously vain, was
very much of a gentleman in his manners. The father of Vestris was a
painter of some celebrity at Florence, and originally from Tuscany.”

SECTION IX.

“The visit of the favourite brother of Marie Antoinette, the Emperor
Joseph the Second, to France, had been long and anxiously expected, and
was welcomed by her with delight. The pleasure Her Majesty discovered at
having him with her is scarcely credible; and the affectionate tenderness
with which the Emperor frequently expressed himself on seeing his
favourite sister evinced that their joys were mutual.
“Like everything else, however, which gratified and obliged the Queen,
her evil star converted even this into a misfortune. It was said that the
French Treasury, which was not overflowing, was still more reduced by the
Queen’s partiality for her brother. She was accused of having given him
immense sums of money; which was utterly false.
“The finances of Joseph were at that time in a situation too superior to
those of France to admit of such extravagance, or even to render it
desirable. The circumstance which gave a colour to the charge was this:
“The Emperor, in order to facilitate the trade of his Brabant subjects, had
it in contemplation to open the navigation of the Scheldt. This measure
would have been ruinous to many of the skippers, as well as to the internal
commerce of France. It was considered equally dangerous to the trade and
navigation of the North Hollanders. To prevent it, negotiations were carried
on by the French Minister, though professedly for the mutual interest of
both countries, yet entirely at the instigation and on account of the Dutch.
The weighty argument of the Dutch to prevent the Emperor from
accomplishing a purpose they so much dreaded was a sum of many
millions, which passed by means of some monied speculation in the
Exchange through France to its destination at Vienna. It was to see this
affair settled that the Emperor declared in Vienna his intention of taking
France in his way from Italy, before he should go back to Austria.
“The certainty of a transmission of money from France to Austria was
quite enough to awaken the malevolent, who would have taken care, even

had they inquired into the source whence the money came, never to have
made it public. The opportunity was too favourable not to be made the
pretext to raise a clamour against the Queen for robbing France to favour
and enrich Austria.
“The Emperor, who had never seen me, though he had often heard me
spoken of at the Court of Turin, expressed a wish, soon after his arrival, that
I should be presented to him. The immediate cause of this let me explain.
“I was very much attached to the Princesse Clotilde, whom I had caused
to be united to Prince Charles Emanuel of Piedmont. Our family had,
indeed, been principally instrumental in the alliances of the two brothers of
the King of France with the two Piedmontese Princesses, as I had been in
the marriage of the Piedmontese Prince with the Princess of France. When
the Emperor Joseph visited the Court of Turin he was requested when he
saw me in Paris to signify the King of Sardinia’s satisfaction at my good
offices. Consequently, the Emperor lost no time in delivering his message.
“When I was just entering the Queen’s apartment to be presented, ‘Here,’
said Her Majesty, leading me to the Emperor, ‘is the Princess,’ and, then
turning to me, exclaimed, ‘Mercy, how cold you are!’ The Emperor
answered Her Majesty in German, ‘What heat can you expect from the hand
of one whose heart resides with the dead?’ and subjoined, in the same
language, ‘What a pity that so charming a head should be fixed on a dead
body.’
“I affected to understand the Emperor literally, and set him and the
Queen laughing by thanking His Imperial Majesty for the compliment.
“The Emperor was exceedingly affable and full of anecdote. Marie
Antoinette resembled him in her general manners. The similitude in their
easy openness of address towards persons of merit was very striking. Both
always endeavoured to encourage persons of every class to speak their
minds freely, with this difference, that Her Majesty in so doing never forgot
her dignity or her rank at Court. Sometimes, however, I have seen her,
though so perfect in her deportment with inferiors, much intimidated and
sometimes embarrassed in the presence of the Princes and Princesses, her
equals, who for the first time visited Versailles: indeed, so much as to give
them a very incorrect idea of her capacity. It was by no means an easy
matter to cause Her Majesty to unfold her real sentiments or character on a
first acquaintance.

“I remember the Emperor one evening at supper when he was
exceedingly good-humoured, talkative, and amusing. He had visited all his
Italian relations, and had a word for each, man, woman, or child—not a soul
was spared. The King scarcely once opened his mouth, except to laugh at
some of the Emperor’s jokes upon his Italian relations.
“He began by asking the Queen if she punished her husband by making
him keep as many Lents in the same year as her sister did the King of
Naples. The Queen not knowing what the Emperor meant, he explained
himself, and said, ‘When the King of Naples offends his Queen she keeps
him on short commons and ‘soupe maigre’ till he has expiated the offence
by the penance of humbling himself; and then, and not till then, permits him
to return and share the nuptial rights of her bed.’
“‘This sister of mine,’ said the Emperor, ‘is a proficient Queen in the art
of man training. My other sister, the Duchess of Parma, is equally scientific
in breaking-in horses; for she is constantly in the stables with her grooms,
by which she ‘grooms’ a pretty sum yearly in buying, selling, and breaking-
in; while the simpleton, her husband, is ringing the bells with the Friars of
Colorno to call his good subjects to Mass.
“‘My brother Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany, feeds his subjects with
plans of economy, a dish that costs nothing, and not only saves him a
multitude of troubles in public buildings and public institutions, but keeps
the public money in his private coffers; which is one of the greatest and
most classical discoveries a Sovereign can possibly accomplish, and I give
Leopold much credit for his ingenuity.
“‘My dear brother Ferdinand, Archduke of Milan, considering he is only
Governor of Lombardy, is not without industry; and I am told, when out of
the glimpse of his dragon the holy Beatrice, his Archduchess, sells his corn
in the time of war to my enemies, as he does to my friends in the time of
peace. So he loses nothing by his speculations!’
“The Queen checked the Emperor repeatedly, though she could not help
smiling at his caricatures.
“‘As to you, my dear Marie Antoinette,’ continued the Emperor, not
heeding her, ‘I see you have made great progress in the art of painting. You
have lavished more colour on one cheek than Rubens would have required
for all the figures in his cartoons.’ Observing one of the Ladies of Honour

still more highly rouged than the Queen, he said, ‘I suppose I look like a
death’s head upon a tombstone, among all these high-coloured furies.’
“The Queen again tried to interrupt the Emperor, but he was not to be put
out of countenance.
“He said he had no doubt, when he arrived at Brussels, that he should
hear of the progress of his sister, the Archduchess Maria Christina, in her
money negotiations with the banker Valkeers, who made a good stock for
her husband’s jobs.
“‘If Maria Christina’s gardens and palace at Lakin could speak,’ observed
he, ‘what a spectacle of events would they not produce! What a number of
fine sights my own family would afford!
“‘When I get to Cologne,’ pursued the Emperor, there I shall see my great
fat brother Maximilian, in his little electorate, spending his yearly revenue
upon an ecclesiastical procession; for priests, like opposition, never bark
but to get into the manger; never walk empty-handed; rosaries and good
cheer always wind up their holy work; and my good Maximilian, as head of
his Church, has scarcely feet to waddle into it. Feasting and fasting produce
the same effect. In wind and food he is quite an adept—puffing, from one
cause or the other, like a smith’s bellows!’
“Indeed, the Elector of Cologne was really grown so very fat, that, like
his Imperial mother, he could scarcely walk. He would so over-eat himself
at these ecclesiastical dinners, to make his guests welcome, that, from
indigestion, he would be puffing and blowing, an hour afterwards, for
breath.
“‘As I have begun the family visits,’ continued the Emperor, ‘I must not
pass by the Archduchess Mariana and the Lady Abbess at Clagenfurt; or, the
Lord knows, I shall never hear the end of their klagens.—[A German word
which signifies complaining.]—The first, I am told, is grown so ugly, and,
of course, so neglected by mankind, that she is become an utter stranger to
any attachment, excepting the fleshy embraces of the disgusting wen that
encircles her neck and bosom, and makes her head appear like a black spot
upon a large sheet of white paper. Therefore klagen is all I can expect from
that quarter of female flesh, and I dare say it will be levelled against the
whole race of mankind for their want of taste in not admiring her
exuberance of human craw!

“‘As to the Lady Abbess, she is one of my best recruiting sergeants. She
is so fond of training cadets for the benefit of the army that they learn more
from her system in one month than at the military academy at Neustadt in a
whole year. She is her mother’s own daughter. She understands military
tactics thoroughly. She and I never quarrel, except when I garrison her
citadel with invalids. She and the canoness, Mariana, would rather see a few
young ensigns than all the staffs of the oldest Field-marshals!’
“The Queen often made signs to the Emperor to desist from thus
exposing every member of his family, and seemed to feel mortified; but the
more Her Majesty endeavoured to check his freedom, and make him silent,
the more he enlarged upon the subject. He did not even omit Maria Theresa,
who, he said, in consequence of some papers found on persons arrested as
spies from the Prussian camp, during the seven years’ war, was reported to
have been greatly surprised to have discovered that her husband, the
Emperor Francis I., supplied the enemy’s army with all kinds of provision
from her stores.
“The King scarcely ever answered excepting when the Emperor told the
Queen that her staircase and antechamber at Versailles resembled more the
Turkish bazars of Constantinople than a royal palace. ‘But,’ added he,
laughing, ‘I suppose you would not allow the nuisance of hawkers and
pedlars almost under your nose, if the sweet perfumes of a handsome
present did not compensate for the disagreeable effluvia exhaling from their
filthy traffic.’

[It was an old custom, in the passages and staircase of all
the royal palaces, for tradespeople to sell their merchandise
for the accommodation of the Court.]

“On this, Louis XVI., in a tone of voice somewhat varying from his usual
mildness, assured the Emperor that neither himself nor the Queen derived
any advantage from the custom, beyond the convenience of purchasing
articles inside the palace at any moment they were wanted, without being
forced to send for them elsewhere.
“‘That is the very reason, my dear brother,’ replied Joseph, ‘why I would
not allow these shops to be where they are. The temptation to lavish money
to little purpose is too strong; and women have not philosophy enough to

resist having things they like, when they can be obtained easily, though they
may not be wanted.’
“‘Custom,’ answered the King—
“‘True,’ exclaimed the Queen, interrupting him; custom, my dear brother,
obliges us to tolerate in France many things which you, in Austria, have.
long since abolished; but the French are not to be: treated like the Germans.
A Frenchman is a slave to habit. His very caprice in the change of fashion
proceeds more from habit than genius or invention. His very restlessness of
character is systematic; and old customs and national habits in a nation
virtually spirituelle must not be trifled with. The tree torn up by the roots
dies for want of nourishment; but, on the contrary, when lopped carefully
only of its branches the pruning makes it more valuable to the cultivator and
more pleasing to the beholder. So it is with national prejudices, which are
often but the excrescences of national virtues. Root them out and you root
out virtue and all. They must only be: pruned and turned to profit. A
Frenchman is more easily killed than subdued. Even his follies generally
spring from a high sense of national dignity and honour, which foreigners
cannot but respect.’
“The Emperor Joseph while in France mixed in all sorts of society, to
gain information with respect, to the popular feeling towards his sister, and
instruction as to the manners and modes of life and thinking of the French.
To this end he would often associate with the lowest of the common people,
and generally gave them a louis for their loss of time in attending to him.
“One day, when he was walking with the young Princesse Elizabeth and
myself in the public gardens at Versailles and in deep conversation with us,
two or three of these louis ladies came up to my side and, not knowing who
I was, whispered, ‘There’s no use in paying such attention to the stranger:
after all, when he has got what he wants, he’ll only give you a louis apiece
and then send you about your business.’”

SECTION X.

“I remember an old lady who could not bear to be told of deaths. ‘Psha!
Pshaw!’ she would exclaim. ‘Bring me no tales of funerals! Talk of births
and of those who are likely to be blest with them! These are the joys which
gladden old hearts and fill youthful ones with ecstasy! It is our own
reproduction in children which makes us quit the world happy and
contented; because then we only retire to make room for another race,
bringing with them all those faculties which are in us decayed; and capable,
which we ourselves have ceased to be, of taking our parts and figuring on
the stage of life so long as it may please the Supreme Manager to busy them
in earthly scenes! Then talk no more to me of weeds and mourning, but
show me christenings and all those who give employ to the baptismal font!’
“Such also was the exulting feeling of Marie Antoinette when she no
longer doubted of her wished-for pregnancy. The idea of becoming a
mother filled her soul with an exuberant delight, which made the very
pavement on which she trod vibrate with the words, ‘I shall be a mother! I
shall be a mother!’ She was so overjoyed that she not only made it public
throughout France but despatches were sent off to all her royal relatives.
And was not her rapture natural? so long as she had waited for the result of
every youthful union, and so coarsely as she had been reproached with her
misfortune! Now came her triumph. She could now prove to the world, like
all the descendants of the house of Austria, that there was no defect with
her. The satirists and the malevolent were silenced. Louis XVI., from the
cold, insensible bridegroom, became the infatuated admirer of his long-
neglected wife. The enthusiasm with which the event was hailed by all
France atoned for the partial insults she had received before it. The splendid
fetes, balls, and entertainments, indiscriminately lavished by all ranks
throughout the kingdom on this occasion, augmented those of the Queen
and the Court to a pitch of magnificence surpassing the most luxurious and
voluptuous times of the great and brilliant Louis XIV. Entertainments were
given even to the domestics of every description belonging to the royal

establishments. Indeed, so general was the joy that, among those who could
do no more, there could scarcely be found a father or mother in France who,
before they took their wine, did not first offer up a prayer for the prosperous
pregnancy of their beloved Queen.
“And yet, though the situation of Marie Antoinette was now become the
theme of a whole nation’s exultation, she herself, the owner of the precious
burthen, selected by Heaven as its special depositary, was the only one
censured for expressing all her happiness!

“Those models of decorum, the virtuous Princesses, her aunts, deemed it
highly indelicate in Her Majesty to have given public marks of her
satisfaction to those deputed to compliment her on her prosperous situation.
To avow the joy she felt was in their eyes indecent and unqueenly. Where
was the shrinking bashfulness of that one of these Princesses who had
herself been so clamorous to Louis XV. against her husband, the Duke of
Modena, for not having consummated her own marriage?
“The party of the dismissed favourite Du Barry were still working
underground. Their pestiferous vapours issued from the recesses of the
earth, to obscure the brightness of the rising sun, which was now rapidly
towering to its climax, to obliterate the little planets which had once
endeavoured to eclipse its beautiful rays, but were now incapable of
competition, and unable to endure its lustre. This malignant nest of serpents
began to poison the minds of the courtiers, as soon as the pregnancy was
obvious, by innuendoes on the partiality of the Comte d’Artois for the
Queen; and at length, infamously, and openly, dared to point him out as the
cause?
“Thus, in the heart of the Court itself, originated this most atrocious
slander, long before it reached the nation, and so much assisted to destroy
Her Majesty’s popularity with a people, who now adored her amiableness,
her general kind-heartedness, and her unbounded charity.
“I have repeatedly seen the Queen and the Comte d’Artois together under
circumstances in which there could have been no concealment of her real
feelings; and I can firmly and boldly assert the falsehood of this allegation
against my royal mistress. The only attentions Marie Antoinette received in
the earlier part of her residence in France were from her grandfather and her
brothers-in-law. Of these, the Comte d’Artois was the only one who, from
youth and liveliness of character, thoroughly sympathised with his sister.
But, beyond the little freedoms of two young and innocent playmates,
nothing can be charged upon their intimacy,—no familiarity whatever
farther than was warranted by their relationship. I can bear witness that Her
Majesty’s attachment for the Comte d’Artois never differed in its nature
from what she felt for her brother the Emperor Joseph.

[When the King thought proper to be reconciled to the
Queen after the death of his grandfather, Louis XV., and
when she became a mother, she really was very much
attached to Louis XVI., as may be proved from her never
quitting him, and suffering all the horrid sacrifices she
endured, through the whole period of the Revolution, rather
than leave her husband, her children, or her sister. Marie
Antoinette might have saved her life twenty times, had not
the King’s safety, united with her own and that of her family,
impelled her to reject every proposition of self-
preservation.]

“It is very likely that the slander of which I speak derived some colour of
probability afterwards with the million, from the Queen’s thoughtlessness,
relative to the challenge which passed between the Comte d’Artois and the
Duc de Bourbon. In right of my station, I was one of Her Majesty’s
confidential counsellors, and it became my duty to put restraint upon her
inclinations, whenever I conceived they led her wrong. In this instance, I
exercised my prerogative decidedly, and even so much so as to create
displeasure; but I anticipated the consequences, which actually ensued, and
preferred to risk my royal mistress’s displeasure rather than her reputation.
The dispute, which led to the duel, was on some point of etiquette; and the
Baron de Besenval was to attend as second to one of the parties. From the
Queen’s attachment for her royal brother, she wished the affair to be
amicably arranged, without the knowledge either of the King, who was
ignorant of what had taken place, or of the parties; which could only be
effected by her seeing the Baron in the most private manner. I opposed Her
Majesty’s allowing any interview with the Baron upon any terms, unless
sanctioned by the King. This unexpected and peremptory refusal obliged
the Queen to transfer her confidence to the librarian, who introduced the
Baron into one of the private apartments of Her Majesty’s women,
communicating with that of the Queen, where Her Majesty could see the
Baron without the exposure of passing any of the other attendants. The
Baron was quite gray, and upwards of sixty years of age! But the self-
conceited dotard soon caused the Queen to repent her misplaced
confidence, and from his unwarrantable impudence on that occasion, when
he found himself alone with the Queen, Her Majesty, though he was a

constant member of the societies of the De Polignacs, ever after treated him
with sovereign contempt.
“The Queen herself afterwards described to me the Baron’s
presumptuous attack upon her credulity. From this circumstance I
thenceforward totally excluded him from my parties, where Her Majesty
was always a regular visitor.
“The coolness to which my determination not to allow the interview gave
rise between Her Majesty and myself was but momentary. The Queen had
too much discernment not to appreciate the basis upon which my denial was
grounded, even before she was convinced by the result how correct had
been my reflection. She felt her error, and, by the mediation of the Duke of
Dorset, we were reunited more closely than ever, and so, I trust, we shall
remain till death!
“There was much more attempted to be made of another instance, in
which I exercised the duty of my office, than the truth justified—the nightly
promenades on the terrace at Versailles, or at Trianon. Though no
amusement could have been more harmless or innocent for a private
individual, yet I certainly, disapproved it for a Queen, and therefore
withheld the sanction of my attendance. My sole objection was on the score
of dignity. I well knew that Du Barry and her infamous party were constant
spies upon the Queen on every occasion of such a nature; and that they
would not fail to exaggerate her every movement to her prejudice. Though
Du Barry could not form one of the party, which was a great source of
heartburning, it was easy for her, under the circumstances, to mingle with
the throng. When I suggested these objections to the Queen, Her Majesty,
feeling no inward cause of reproach, and being sanctioned in what she did
by the King himself, laughed at the idea of these little excursions affording
food for scandal. I assured Her Majesty that I had every reason to be
convinced that Du Barry was often in disguise, not far from the seat where
Her Majesty and the Princesse Elizabeth could be overheard in their most
secret conversations with each other. ‘Listeners,’ replied the Queen, ‘never
hear any good of themselves.’
“‘My dear Lamballe,’ she continued, ‘you have taken such a dislike to
this woman that you cannot conceive she can be occupied but in mischief.
This is uncharitable. She certainly has no reason to be dissatisfied with
either the King or myself. We have both left her in the full enjoyment of all

she possessed, except the right of appearing at Court or continuing in the
society her conduct had too long disgraced.’
“I said it was very true, but that I should be happier to find Her Majesty
so scrupulous as never to give an opportunity even for the falsehoods of her
enemies.
“Her Majesty turned the matter off, as usual, by saying she had no idea of
injuring others, and could not believe that any one would wantonly injure
her, adding, ‘The Duchess and the Princesse Elizabeth, my two sisters, and
all the other ladies, are coming to hear the concert this evening, and you
will be delighted.’
“I excused myself under the plea of the night air disagreeing with my
health, and returned to Versailles without ever making myself one of the
nocturnal members of Her Majesty’s society, well knowing she could
dispense with my presence, there being more than enough ever ready to
hurry her by their own imprudence into the folly of despising criticisms,
which I always endeavoured to avoid, though I did not fear them. Of these I
cannot but consider her secretary as one. The following circumstance
connected with the promenades is a proof:
“The Abbe Vermond was present one day when Marie Antoinette
observed that she felt rather indisposed. I attributed it to Her Majesty’s
having lightened her dress and exposed herself too much to the night air.
‘Heavens, madame!’ cried the Abbe, ‘would you always have Her Majesty
cased up in steel armour, and not take the fresh air, without being
surrounded by a troop of horse and foot, as a Field-marshal is when going
to storm a fortress? Pray, Princess, now that Her Majesty, has freed herself
from the annoying shackles of Madame Etiquette (the Comtesse de
Noailles), let her enjoy the pleasure of a simple robe and breathe freely the
fresh morning dew, as has been her custom all her life (and as her mother
before her, the Empress Maria Theresa, has done and continues to do, even
to this day), unfettered by antiquated absurdities! Let me be anything rather
than a Queen of France, if I must be doomed to the slavery of such
tyrannical rules!’
“‘True; but, sir,’ replied I, ‘you should reflect that if you were a Queen of
France, France, in making you mistress of her destinies, and placing you at
the head of her nation, would in return look for respect from you to her
customs and manners. I am born an Italian, but I renounced all national

peculiarities of thinking and acting the moment I set my foot on French
ground.’
“‘And so did I,’ said Marie Antoinette.
“‘I know you did, Madame,’ I answered; but I am replying to your
preceptor; and I only wish he saw things in the same light I do. When we
are at Rome, we should do as Rome does. You have never had a regicide
Bertrand de Gurdon, a Ravillac or a Damiens in Germany; but they have
been common in France, and the Sovereigns of France cannot be too
circumspect in their maintenance of ancient etiquette to command the
dignified respect of a frivolous and versatile people.’
“The Queen, though she did not strictly adhere to my counsels or the
Abbe’s advice, had too much good sense to allow herself to be prejudiced
against me by her preceptor; but the Abbe never entered on the propriety or
impropriety of the Queen’s conduct before me, and from the moment I have
mentioned studiously avoided, in my presence, anything which could lead
to discussion on the change of dress and amusements introduced by Her
Majesty.
“Although I disapproved of Her Majesty’s deviations from established
forms in this, or, indeed, any respect, yet I never, before or after, expressed
my opinion before a third person.
“Never should I have been so firmly and so long attached to Marie
Antoinette, had I not known that her native thorough goodness of heart had
been warped and misguided, though acting at the same time with the best
intentions, by a false notion of her real innocence being a sufficient shield
against the public censure of such innovations upon national prejudices, as
she thought prayer to introduce,—the fatal error of conscious rectitude,
encouraged in its regardlessness of appearances by those very persons who
well knew that it is only by appearances a nation can judge of its rulers.
“I remember a ludicrous circumstance arising from the Queen’s innocent
curiosity, in which, if there were anything to blame, I myself am to be
censured for lending myself to it so heartily to satisfy Her Majesty.
“When the Chevalier d’Eon was allowed to return to France, Her Majesty
expressed a particular inclination to see this extraordinary character. From
prudential as well as political motives, she was at first easily persuaded to
repress her desire. However, by a most ludicrous occurrence, it was revived,
and nothing would do but she must have a sight of the being who had for

some time been the talk of every society, and at the period to which I allude
was become the mirth of all Paris.
“The Chevalier being one day in a very large party of both sexes, in
which, though his appearance had more of the old soldier in it than of the
character he was compelled ‘malgre lui’, to adopt, many of the guests
having no idea to what sex this nondescript animal really belonged, the
conversation after dinner happened to turn on the manly exercise of
fencing.

[It may be necessary to observe here that the Chevalier,
having for some particular motives been banished from
France, was afterwards permitted to return only on
condition of never appearing but in the disguised dress of a
female, though he was always habited in the male costume
underneath it.]

Heated by a subject to him so interesting, the Chevalier, forgetful of the
respect due to his assumed garb, started from his seat, and, pulling up his
petticoats, threw himself on guard. Though dressed in male attire
underneath, this sudden freak sent all the ladies—and many of the
gentlemen out of the room in double—quick time. The Chevalier, however,
instantly recovering from the first impulse, quietly pat down his, upper
garment, and begged pardon in, a gentlemanly manner for having for a
moment deviated from the forma of his imposed situation. All, the gossips
of Paris were presently amused with the story, which, of coarse, reached the
Court, with every droll particular of the pulling up and clapping down the
cumbrous paraphernalia of a hoop petticoat.
“The King and Queen, from the manner in which they enjoyed the tale
when told them (and certainly it lost nothing in the report), would not have
been the least amused of the party had they been present. His Majesty
shook the room with laughing, and the Queen, the Princesse Elizabeth, and
the other ladies were convulsed at the description.
“When we were alone, ‘How I should like,’ said the Queen, ‘to see this
curious man-woman!’—‘Indeed,’ replied I, ‘I have not less curiosity than
yourself, and I think we may contrive to let Your Majesty have a peep at
him—her, I mean!—without compromising your dignity, or offending the
Minister who interdicted the Chevalier from appearing in your presence. I

know he has expressed the greatest mortification, and that his wish to see
Your Majesty is almost irrepressible.’
“‘But how will you be able to contrive this without its being known to
the King, or to the Comte de Vergennes, who would never forgive me?’
exclaimed Her Majesty.
“‘Why, on Sunday, when you go to chapel, I will cause him, by some
means or other, to make his appearance, en grande costume, among the
group of ladies who are generally waiting there to be presented to Your
Majesty.’
“‘Oh, you charming creature!’ said the Queen. ‘But won’t the Minister
banish or exile him for it?’
“‘No, no! He has only been forbidden an audience of Your Majesty at
Court,’ I replied.
“In good earnest, on the Sunday following, the Chevalier was dressed en
costume, with a large hoop, very long train, sack, five rows of ruffles, an
immensely high powdered female wig, very beautiful lappets, white gloves,
an elegant fan in his hand, his beard closely shaved, his neck and ears
adorned with diamond rings and necklaces, and assuming all the airs and
graces of a fine lady!
“But, unluckily, his anxiety was so great, the moment the Queen made
her appearance, to get a sight of Her Majesty, that, on rushing before the
other ladies, his wig and head-dress fell off his head; and, before they could
be well replaced, he made so, ridiculous a figure, by clapping them, in his
confusion, hind part before, that the King, the Queen, and the whole suite,
could scarcely refrain from laughing; aloud in the church.
“Thus ended the long longed for sight of this famous man-woman!
“As to me, it was a great while before I could recover myself. Even now,
I laugh whenever I think of this great lady deprived of her head ornaments,
with her bald pate laid bare, to the derision of such a multitude of Parisians,
always prompt to divert themselves at the expense of others. However, the
affair passed off unheeded, and no one but the Queen and myself ever knew
that we ourselves had been innocently the cause of this comical adventure.
When we met after Mass, we were so overpowered, that neither of us could
speak for laughing. The Bishop who officiated said it was lucky he had no
sermon to preach that day, for it would have been difficult for him to have

recollected himself, or to have maintained his gravity. The ridiculous
appearance of the Chevalier, he added, was so continually presenting itself
before him during the service that it was as much as he could do to restrain
himself from laughing, by keeping his eyes constantly riveted on the book.
Indeed, the oddity of the affair was greatly heightened when, in the middle
of the Mass, some charitable hand having adjusted the wig of the Chevalier,
he re-entered the chapel as if nothing had happened, and, placing himself
exactly opposite the altar, with his train upon his arm, stood fanning
himself, a la coquette, with an inflexible self-possession which only
rendered it the more difficult for those around him to maintain their
composure.
“Thus ended the Queen’s curiosity. The result only made the Chevalier’s
company in greater request, for every one became more anxious than ever
to know the masculine lady who had lost her wig!”

MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XV. AND
XVI.
Being Secret Memoirs of Madame du Hausset, Lady’s Maid to
Madame de Pompadour, and of an unknown English Girl and
the Princess Lamballe

BOOK 2.

SECTION I.

[From the time that the Princesse de Lamballe saw the
ties between the Queen and her favourite De Polignac
drawing closer she became less assiduous in her attendance
at Court, being reluctant to importune the friends by her
presence at an intimacy which she did not approve. She
could not, however, withhold her accustomed attentions, as
the period of Her Majesty’s accouchement approached; and
she has thus noted the circumstance of the birth of the
Duchesse d’Angouleme, on the 19th of December, 1778.]

“The moment for the accomplishment of the Queen’s darling hope was
now at hand: she was about to become a mother.
“It had been agreed between Her Majesty and myself, that I was to place
myself so near the accoucheur, Vermond,

[Brother to the Abbe, whose pride was so great at this
honour conferred on his relative, that he never spoke of him
without denominating him Monsieur mon frere, d’accoucher
de sa Majeste, Vermond.]

as to be the first to distinguish the sex of the new-born infant, and if she
should be delivered of a Dauphin to say, in Italian, ‘Il figlio e nato.’
“Her Majesty was, however, foiled even in this the most blissful of her
desires. She was delivered of a daughter instead of a Dauphin.
“From the immense crowd that burst into the apartment the instant
Vermond said, The Queen is happily delivered, Her Majesty was nearly
suffocated. I had hold of her hand, and as I said ‘La regina e andato’,
mistaking ‘andato’ for ‘nato’, between the joy of giving birth to a son and
the pressure of the crowd, Her Majesty fainted. Overcome by the dangerous

situation in which I saw my royal mistress, I myself was carried out of the
room in a lifeless state. The situation of Her Majesty was for some time
very doubtful, till the people were dragged with violence from about her,
that she might have air. On her recovering, the King was the first person
who told her that she was the mother of a very fine Princess.
“‘Well, then,’ said the Queen, ‘I am like my mother, for at my birth she
also wished for a son instead of a daughter; and you have lost your wager:’
for the King had betted with Maria Theresa that it would be a son.
“The King answered her by repeating the lines Metastasio had written on
that occasion.

“‘Io perdei: l’augusta figlia
A pagar, m’a condemnato;
Ma s’e ver the a voi somiglia
Tutto il moudo ha guadagnato.’”

[The Princesse de Lamballe again ceased to be constantly
about the Queen. Her danger was over, she was a mother,
and the attentions of disinterested friendship were no longer
indispensable. She herself about this time met with a deep
affliction. She lost both of her own parents; and to her
sorrows may, in a great degree, be ascribed her silence upon
the events which intervened between the birth of Madame
and that of the Dauphin. She was as assiduous as ever in her
attentions to Her Majesty on her second lying-in. The
circumstances of the death of Maria Theresa, the Queen’s
mother, in the interval which divided the two
accouchements, and Her Majesty’s anguish, and refusal to
see any but De Lamballe and De Polignac, are too well
known to detain us longer from the notes of the Princess. It
is enough for the reader to know that the friendship of Her
Majesty for her superintendent seemed to be gradually
reviving in all its early enthusiasm, by her unremitting
kindness during the confinements of the Queen, till, at
length, they became more attached than ever. But, not to
anticipate, let me return to the narrative.]

“The public feeling had undergone a great change with respect to Her
Majesty from the time of her first accouchement. Still, she was not the
mother of a future King. The people looked upon her as belonging to them
more than she had done before, and faction was silenced by the general
delight. But she had not yet attained the climax of her felicity. A second
pregnancy gave a new excitement to the nation; and, at length, on the 22nd
October, 1781, dawned the day of hope.
“In consequence of what happened on the first accouchement, measures
were taken to prevent similar disasters on the second. The number admitted
into the apartment was circumscribed. The silence observed left the Queen
in uncertainty of the sex to which she had given birth, till, with tears of joy,
the King said to her: ‘Madame, the hopes of the nation, and mine, are
fulfilled. You are the mother of a Dauphin.’
“The Princesse Elizabeth and myself were so overjoyed that we
embraced every one in the room.
“At this time Their Majesties were adored. Marie Antoinette, with all her
beauty and amiableness, was a mere cipher in the eyes of France previous
to her becoming the mother of an heir to the Crown; but her popularity now
arose to a pitch of unequalled enthusiasm.
“I have heard of but one expression to Her Majesty upon this occasion in
any way savouring of discontent. This came from the royal aunts. On Marie
Antoinette’s expressing to them her joy in having brought a Dauphin to the
nation, they replied, ‘We will only repeat our father’s observation on a
similar subject. When one of our sisters complained to his late Majesty that,
as her Italian husband had copied the Dauphin’s whim, she could not,
though long a bride, boast of being a wife, or hope to become a mother—“a
prudent Princess,” replied Louis XV., “never wants heirs!”’ But the feeling
of the royal aunts was an exception to the general sentiment, which really
seemed like madness.
“I remember a proof of this which happened at the time. Chancing to
cross the King’s path as he was going to Marly and I coming from
Rambouillet, my two postillions jumped from their horses, threw
themselves on the high road upon their knees, though it was very dirty, and
remained there, offering up their benedictions, till he was out of sight.
“The felicity of the Queen was too great not to be soon overcast. The
unbounded influence of the De Polignacs was now at its zenith. It could not

fail of being attacked. Every engine of malice, envy, and detraction was let
loose; and, in the vilest calumnies against the character of the Duchess, her
royal mistress was included.
“It was, in truth, a most singular fatality, in the life of Marie Antoinette
that she could do nothing, however beneficial or disinterested, for which
she was not either criticised or censured. She had a tenacity, of character
which made her cling more closely to attachments from which she saw
others desirous of estranging her; and this firmness, however excellent in
principle, was, in her case, fatal in its effects. The Abbe Vermond, Her
Majesty’s confessor and tutor, and, unfortunately, in many respects, her
ambitious guide, was really alarmed at the rising favour of the Duchess;
and, though he knew the very obstacles thrown in her way only
strengthened her resolution as to any favourite object, yet he ventured to
head an intrigue to destroy the great influence of the De Polignacs, which,
as he might have foreseen, only served to hasten their aggrandisement.
“At this crisis the dissipation of the Duc de Guemenee caused him to
become a bankrupt. I know not whether it can be said in principle, but
certainly it may in property, ‘It is an ill wind that blows no one any good.’
The Princess, his wife, having been obliged to leave her residence at
Versailles, in consequence of the Duke’s dismissal from the King’s service
on account of the disordered state of his pecuniary circumstances, the
situation of governess to the royal children became necessarily vacant, and
was immediately transferred to the Duchesse de Polignac. The Queen, to
enable her friend to support her station with all the eclat suitable to its
dignity, took care to supply ample means from her own private purse. A
most magnificent suite of apartments was ordered to be arranged, under the
immediate inspection of the Queen’s maitre d’hotel, at Her Majesty’s
expense.
“Is there anything on earth more natural than the lively interest which
inspires a mother towards those who have the care of her offspring? What,
then, must have been the feelings of a Queen of France who had been
deprived of that blessing for which connubial attachments are formed, and
which, vice versa, constitutes the only real happiness of every young
female, what must have been, I say, the ecstasy of Marie Antoinette when
she not only found herself a mother, but the dear pledges of all her future
bliss in the hands of one whose friendship allowed her the unrestrained

exercise of maternal affection,—a climax of felicity combining not only the
pleasures of an ordinary mother, but the greatness, the dignity, and the
flattering popularity of a Queen of France.
“Though the pension of the Duchesse de Polignac was no more than that
usually allotted to all former governesses of the royal children of France,
yet circumstances tempted her to a display not a little injurious to her
popularity as well as to that of her royal mistress. She gave too many
pretexts to imputations of extravagance. Yet she had neither patronage, nor
sinecures, nor immunities beyond the few inseparable from the office she
held, and which had been the same for centuries under the Monarchy of
France. But it must be remembered, as an excuse for the splendour of her
establishment, that she entered her office upon a footing very different from
that of any of her predecessors. Her mansion was not the quiet, retired,
simple household of the governess of the royal children, as formerly: it had
become the magnificent resort of the first Queen in Europe; the daily haunt
of Her Majesty. The Queen certainly visited the former governess, as she
had done the Duchesse de Duras and many other frequenters of her Court
parties; but she made the Duchesse de Polignac’s her Court; and all the
courtiers of that Court, and, I may say, the great personages of all France, as
well as the Ministers and all foreigners of distinction, held there their usual
rendezvous; consequently, there was nothing wanting but the guards in
attendance in the Queen’s apartments to have made it a royal residence
suitable for the reception of the illustrious personages that were in the
constant habit of visiting these levees, assemblies, balls, routs, picnics,
dinner, supper, and card parties.

[I have seen ladies at the Princesse de Lamballe’s come
from these card parties with their laps so blackened by the
quantities of gold received in them, that they have been
obliged to change their dresses to go to supper. Many a
chevalier d’industree and young military spendthrift has
made his harvest here. Thousands were won and lost, and
the ladies were generally the dupes of all those who were the
constant speculative attendants. The Princease de Lamballe
did not like play, but when it was necessary she did play, and
won or lost to a limited extent; but the prescribed sum once
exhausted or gained she left off. In set parties, such as those

of whist, she never played except when one was wanted,
often excusing herself on the score of its requiring more
attention than it was in her power to give to it and her
reluctance to sacrifice her partner; though I have heard
Beau Dillon, the Duke of Dorset, Lord Edward Dillon, and
many others say that she understood and played the game
much better than many who had a higher opinion of their
skill in it. Lord Edward Fitzgerald was admitted to the
parties at the Duchesse de Polignac’s on his first coming to
Paris; but when his connection with the Duc d’Orleans and
Madame de Genlis became known he was informed that his
society would be dispensed with. The famous, or rather the
infamous, Beckford was also excluded.]

“Much as some of the higher classes of the nobility felt aggrieved at the
preference given by the Queen to the Duchesse de Polignac, that which
raised against Her Majesty the most implacable resentment was her
frequenting the parties of her favourite more than those of any other of the
‘haut ton’. These assemblies, from the situation held by the Duchess, could
not always be the most select. Many of the guests who chanced to get
access to them from a mere glimpse of the Queen—whose general good-
humour, vivacity, and constant wish to please all around her would often
make her commit herself unconsciously and unintentionally—would
fabricate anecdotes of things they had neither seen nor heard; and which
never had existence, except in their own wicked imaginations. The scene of
the inventions, circulated against Her Majesty through France, was, in
consequence, generally placed at the Duchess’s; but they were usually so
distinctly and obviously false that no notice was taken of them, nor was any
attempt made to check their promulgation.
“Exemplary as was the friendship between this enthusiastic pair, how
much more fortunate for both would it have been had it never happened! I
foresaw the results long, long before they took place; but the Queen was not
to be thwarted. Fearful she might attribute my anxiety for her general safety
to unworthy personal views, I was often silent, even when duty bade me
speak. I was, perhaps, too scrupulous about seeming officious or jealous of
the predilection shown to the Duchess. Experience had taught me the
inutility of representing consequences, and I had no wish to quarrel with the

Queen. Indeed, there was a degree of coldness towards me on the part of
Her Majesty for having gone so far as I had done. It was not until after the
birth of the Duc de Normandie, her third child, in March, 1785, that her
friendship resumed its primitive warmth.
“As the children grew, Her Majesty’s attachment for their governess grew
with them. All that has been said of Tasso’s Armida was nothing to this
luxurious temple of maternal affection. Never was female friendship more
strongly cemented, or less disturbed by the nauseous poison of envy,
malice, or mean jealousy. The Queen was in the plenitude of every earthly
enjoyment, from being able to see and contribute to the education of the
children she tenderly loved, unrestrained by the gothic etiquette with which
all former royal mothers had been fettered, but which the kind indulgence
of the Duchesse de Polignac broke through, as unnatural and unworthy of
the enlightened and affectionate. The Duchess was herself an attentive,
careful mother. She felt for the Queen, and encouraged her maternal
sympathies, so doubly endeared by the long, long disappointment which
had preceded their gratification. The sacrifice of all the cold forms of state
policy by the new governess, and the free access she gave the royal mother
to her children, so unprecedented in the Court of France, rendered Marie
Antoinette so grateful that it may justly be said she divided her heart
between the governess and the governed. Habit soon made it necessary for
her existence that she should dedicate the whole of her time, not taken up in
public ceremonies or parties, to the cultivation of the minds of her children.
Conscious of her own deficiency in this respect, she determined to redeem
this error in her offspring. The love of the frivolous amusements of society,
for which the want of higher cultivation left room in her mind, was
humoured by the gaieties of the Duchesse de Polignac’s assemblies; while
her nobler dispositions were encouraged by the privileges of the favourite’s
station. Thus, all her inclinations harmonising with the habits and position
of her friend, Marie Antoinette literally passed the greatest part of some
years in company with the Duchesse de Polignac,—either amidst the glare
and bustle of public recreation, or in the private apartment of the governess
and her children, increasing as much as possible the kindness of the one for
the benefit and comfort of the others. The attachment of the Duchess to the
royal children was returned by the Queen’s affection for the offspring of the
Duchess. So much was Her Majesty interested in favour of the daughter of
the Duchess, that, before that young lady was fifteen years of age, she

herself contrived and accomplished her marriage with the Duc de Guiche,
then ‘maitre de ceremonie’ to Her Majesty, and whose interests were
essentially, promoted by this alliance.

[The Duc de Guiche, since Duc de Grammont, has proved
how much he merited the distinction he received, in
consequence of the attachment between the Queen and his
mother-in-law, by the devotedness with which he followed
the fallen fortunes of the Bourbons till their restoration,
since which he has not been forgotten. The Duchess, his
wife, who at her marriage was beaming with all the beauties
of her age, and adorned by art and nature with every
accomplishment, though she came into notice at a time when
the Court had scarcely recovered itself from the debauched
morals by which it had been so long degraded by a De
Pompadour and a Du Barry, has yet preserved her
character, by the strictness of her conduct, free from the
censorious criticisms of an epoch in which some of the
purest could not escape unassailed. I saw her at Pyrmont in
1803; and even then, though the mother of many children,
she looked as young and beautiful as ever. She was
remarkably well educated and accomplished, a profound
musician on the harp and pianoforte, graceful in her
conversation, and a most charming dancer. She seemed to
bear the vicissitudes of fortune with a philosophical courage
and resignation not often to be met with in light-headed
French women. She was amiable in her manners, easy of
access, always lively and cheerful, and enthusiastically
attached to the country whence she was then excluded. She
constantly accompanied the wife of the late Louis XVIII.
during her travels in Germany, as her husband the Duke did
His Majesty during his residence at Mittau, in Courland, etc.
I have had the honour of seeing the Duke twice since the
Revolution; once, on my coming from Russia, at General
Binkingdroff’s, Governor of Mittau, and since, in Portland
Place, at the French Ambassador’s, on his coming to

England in the name of his Sovereign, to congratulate the
King of England on his accession to the throne.]

“The great cabals, which agitated the Court in consequence of the favour
shown to the De Polignacs, were not slow in declaring themselves. The
Comtesse de Noailles was one of the foremost among the discontented. Her
resignation, upon the appointment of a superintendent, was a sufficient
evidence of her real feeling; but when she now saw a place filled, to which
she conceived her family had a claim, her displeasure could not be silent,
and her dislike to the Queen began to express itself without reserve.
“Another source of dissatisfaction against the Queen was her extreme
partiality for the English. After the peace of Versailles, in 1783, the English
flocked into France, and I believe if a poodle dog had come from England it
would have met with a good reception from Her Majesty. This was natural
enough. The American war had been carried on entirely against her wish;
though, from the influence she was supposed to exercise in the Cabinet, it
was presumed to have been managed entirely by herself. This odious
opinion she wished personally to destroy; and it could only be done by the
distinction with which, after the peace, she treated the whole English
nation.’

[The daughter of the Duchesse de Polignac (of my
meeting with whom I have already spoken in a note),
entering with me upon the subject of France and of old
times, observed that had the Queen limited her attachment
to the person of her mother, she would not have given all the
annoyance which she did to the nobility. It was to these
partialities to the English, the Duchesse de Guiche
Grammont alluded. I do not know the lady’s name distinctly,
but I am certain I have heard the beautiful Lady Sarah
Bunbury mentioned by the Princesse de Lamballe as having
received particular attention from the Queen; for the
Princess had heard much about this lady and “a certain
great personage” in England; but, on discovering her
acquaintance with the Duc de Lauzun, Her Majesty
withdrew from the intimacy, though not soon enough to
prevent its having given food for scandal. “You must

remember,” added the Duchesse de Guiche Grammont,
“how much the Queen was censured for her enthusiasm
about Lady Spencer.” I replied that I did remember the
much-ado about nothing there was regarding some English
lady, to whom the Queen took a liking, whose name I could
not exactly recall; but I knew well she studied to please the
English in general. Of this Lady Spencer it is that the
Princess speaks in one of the following pages of this
chapter.]

“Several of the English nobility were on a familiar footing at the parties
of the Duchesse de Polignac. This was quite enough for the slanderers.
They were all ranked, and that publicly, as lovers of Her Majesty. I recollect
when there were no less than five different private commissioners out, to
suppress the libels that were in circulation over all France, against the
Queen and Lord Edward Dillon, the Duke of Dorset, Lord George Conway,
Arthur Dillon, as well as Count Fersen, the Duc de Lauzun, and the Comte
d’Artois, who were all not only constant frequenters of Polignac’s but
visitors of Marie Antoinette.
“By the false policy of Her Majesty’s advisers, these enemies and
libellers, instead of being brought to the condign punishment their infamy
deserved, were privately hushed into silence, out of delicacy to the Queen’s
feelings, by large sums of money and pensions, which encouraged numbers
to commit the same enormity in the hope of obtaining the same
recompense.
“But these were mercenary wretches, from whom no better could have
been expected. A legitimate mode of robbery had been pressed upon their
notice by the Government itself, and they thought it only a matter of fair
speculation to make the best of it. There were some libellers, however, of a
higher order, in comparison with whose motives for slander, those of the
mere scandal-jobbers were white as the driven snow. Of these, one of the
worst was the Duc de Lauzun.
“The first motive of the Queen’s strong dislike to the Duc de Lauzun
sprang from Her Majesty’s attachment to the Duchesse d’Orleans, whom
she really loved. She was greatly displeased at the injury inflicted upon her
valued friend by De Lauzun, in estranging the affection of the Duc
d’Orleans from his wife by introducing him to depraved society. Among the

associates to which this connection led the Duc d’Orleans were a certain
Madame Duthee and Madame Buffon.
“When De Lauzun, after having been expelled from the drawing-room of
the Queen for his insolent presumption,—[The allusion here is to the affair
of the heron plume.]—meeting with coolness at the King’s levee, sought to
cover his disgrace by appearing at the assemblies of the Duchesse de
Polignac, Her Grace was too sincerely the friend of her Sovereign and
benefactress not to perceive the drift of his conduct. She consequently
signified to the self-sufficient coxcomb that her assemblies were not open to
the public. Being thus shut out from Their Majesties, and, as a natural
result, excluded from the most brilliant societies of Paris, De Lauzun, from
a most diabolical spirit of revenge, joined the nefarious party which had
succeeded in poisoning the mind of the Duc d’Orleans, and from the hordes
of which, like the burning lava from Etna, issued calumnies which swept
the most virtuous and innocent victims that ever breathed to their
destruction!
“Among the Queen’s favourites, and those most in request at the De
Polignac parties, was the good Lady Spencer, with whom I became most
intimately acquainted when I first went to England; and from whom, as well
as from her two charming daughters, the Duchess of Devonshire and Lady
Duncannon, since Lady Besborough, I received the greatest marks of
cordial hospitality. In consequence, when her ladyship came to France, I
hastened to present her to the Queen. Her Majesty, taking a great liking to
the amiable Englishwoman, and wishing to profit by her private
conversations and society, gave orders that Lady Spencer should pass to her
private closet whenever she came to Versailles, without the formal
ceremony of waiting in the antechamber to be announced.
“One day, Her Majesty, Lady Spencer, and myself were observing the
difficulty there was in acquiring a correct pronunciation of the English
language, when Lady Spencer remarked that it only required a little
attention.
“‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Queen, ‘that’s not all, because there are
many things you do not call by their proper names, as they are in the
dictionary.’
“‘Pray what are they, please Your Majesty?’

“‘Well, I will give you an instance. For example, ‘les culottes’—what do
you call them?’
“‘Small clothes,’ replied her ladyship.
“‘Ma foi! how can they be called small clothes for one large man? Now I
do look in the dictionary, and I find, for the word culottes—breeches.’
“‘Oh, please Your Majesty, we never call them by that name in England.’
“‘Voila done, j’ai raison!’
“‘We say “inexpressibles”!’
“‘Ah, c’est mieux! Dat do please me ver much better. Il y a du bon sens
la dedans. C’est une autre chose!’
“In the midst of this curious dialogue, in came the Duke of Dorset, Lord
Edward Dillon, Count Fersen, and several English gentlemen, who, as they
were going to the King’s hunt, were all dressed in new buckskin breeches.
“‘I do not like,’ exclaimed the Queen to them, dem yellow irresistibles!’
“Lady Spencer nearly fainted. ‘Vat make you so frightful, my dear lady?’
said the Queen to her ladyship, who was covering her face with her hands.
‘I am terrified at Your Majesty’s mistake’—‘Comment? did you no tell me
just now, dat in England de lady call les culottes “irresistibles”?’—‘Oh,
mercy! I never could have made such a mistake, as to have applied to that
part of the male dress such a word. I said, please Your Majesty,
inexpressibles.’
“On this the gentlemen all laughed most heartily.
“‘Vell, vell,’ replied the Queen, ‘do, my dear lady, discompose yourself. I
vill no more call de breeches irresistibles, but say small clothes, if even
elles sont upon a giant!’
“At the repetition of the naughty word breeches, poor Lady Spencer’s
English delicacy quite overcame her. Forgetting where she was, and also the
company she was in, she ran from the room with her cross stick in her hand,
ready to lay it on the shoulders of any one who should attempt to obstruct
her passage, flew into her carriage, and drove off full speed, as if fearful of
being contaminated,—all to the no small amusement of the male guests.
“Her Majesty and I laughed till the very tears ran down our cheeks. The
Duke of Dorset, to keep up the joke, said there really were some counties in
England where they called ‘culottes irresistibles.

“Now that I am upon the subject of England, and the peace of 1783,
which brought such throngs of English over to France, there occurs to me a
circumstance, relating to the treaty of commerce signed at that time, which
exhibits the Comte de Vergennes to some advantage; and with that let me
dismiss the topic.
“The Comte de Vergennes, was one of the most distinguished Ministers
of France. I was intimately acquainted with him. His general character for
uprightness prompted his Sovereign to govern in a manner congenial to his
own goodness of heart, which was certainly most for the advantage of his
subjects. Vergennes cautioned Louis against the hypocritical adulations of
his privileged courtiers. The Count had been schooled in State policy by the
great Venetian senator, Francis Foscari, the subtlest politician of his age,
whom he consulted during his life on every important matter; and he was
not very easily to be deceived.
“When the treaty of commerce took place, at the period I mention, the
experienced Vergennes foresaw—what afterwards really happened—that
France would be inundated with British manufactures; but Calonne
obstinately maintained the contrary, till he was severely reminded of the
consequence of his misguided policy, in the insults inflicted on him by
enraged mobs of thousands of French artificers, whenever he appeared in
public. But though the mania for British goods had literally caused an entire
stagnation of business in the French manufacturing towns, and thrown
throngs upon the ‘pave’ for want of employment, yet M. de Calonne either
did not see, or pretended not to see, the errors he had committed. Being
informed that the Comte de Vergennes had attributed the public disorders to
his fallacious policy, M. de Calonne sent a friend to the Count demanding
satisfaction for the charge of having caused the riots. The Count calmly
replied that he was too much of a man of honour to take so great an
advantage, as to avail himself of the opportunity offered, by killing a man
who had only one life to dispose of, when there were so many with a prior
claim, who were anxious to destroy him ‘en societe’. I Bid M. de Calonne,’
continued the Count, ‘first get out of that scrape, as the English boxers do
when their eyes are closed up after a pitched battle. He has been playing at
blind man’s buff, but the poverty to which he has reduced so many of our
tradespeople has torn the English bandage from his eyes!’ For three or four
days the Comte de Vergennes visited publicly, and showed himself
everywhere in and about Paris; but M. de Calonne was so well convinced of

the truth of the old fox’s satire that he pocketed his annoyance, and no more
was said about fighting. Indeed, the Comte de Vergennes gave hints of
being able to show that M. de Calonne had been bribed into the treaty.”

[The Princesse de Lamballe has alluded in a former page
to the happiness which the Queen enjoyed during the visits
of the foreign Princes to the Court of France. Her papers
contain a few passages upon the opinions Her Majesty
entertained of the royal travellers; which, although in the
order of time they should have been mentioned before the
peace with England, yet, not to disturb the chain of the
narrative, respecting the connection with the Princesse de
Lamballe, of the prevailing libels, and the partiality shown
towards the English, I have reserved them for the conclusion
of the present chapter. The timidity of the Queen in the
presence of the illustrious strangers, and her agitation when
about to receive them, have, I think, been already spoken of.
Upon the subject of the royal travellers themselves, and
other personages, the Princess expresses herself thus:]

“The Queen had never been an admirer of Catharine II. Notwithstanding
her studied policy for the advancement of civilization in her internal
empire, the means which, aided by the Princess Dashkoff, she made use of
to seat herself on the imperial throne of her weak husband, Peter the Third,
had made her more understood than esteemed. Yet when her son, the Grand
Duke of the North,—[Afterwards the unhappy Emperor Paul.]—and the
Grand Duchess, his wife, came to France, their description of Catharine’s
real character so shocked the maternal sensibility of Marie Antoinette that
she could scarcely hear the name of the Empress without shuddering. The
Grand Duke spoke of Catharine without the least disguise. He said he
travelled merely for the security of his life from his mother, who had
surrounded him with creatures that were his sworn enemies, her own spies
and infamous favourites, to whose caprices they were utterly subordinate.
He was aware that the dangerous credulity of the Empress might be every
hour excited by these wretches to the destruction of himself and his
Duchess, and, therefore, he had in absence sought the only refuge. He had
no wish, he said, ever to return to his native country, till Heaven should

check his mother’s doubts respecting his dutiful filial affection towards her,
or till God should be pleased to take her into His sacred keeping.
“The King was petrified at the Duke’s description of his situation, and the
Queen could not refrain from tears when the Duchess, his wife, confirmed
all her husband had uttered on the subject. The Duchess said she had been
warned by the untimely fate of the Princess d’Armstadt, her predecessor,
the first wife of the Grand Duke, to elude similar jealousy and suspicion on
the part of her mother-in-law, by seclusion from the Court, in a country
residence with her husband; indeed, that she had made it a point never to
visit Petersburg, except on the express invitation of the Empress, as if she
had been a foreigner.
“In this system the Grand Duchess persevered, even after her return from
her travels. When she became pregnant, and drew near her accouchement,
the Empress-mother permitted her to come to Petersburg for that purpose;
but, as soon as the ceremony required by the etiquette of the Imperial Court
on those occasions ended, the Duchess immediately returned to her
hermitage.
“This Princess was remarkably well-educated; she possessed a great deal
of good, sound sense, and had profited by the instructions of some of the
best German tutors during her very early years. It was the policy of her
father, the Duke of Wirtemberg, who had a large family, to educate his
children as ‘quietists’ in matters of religion. He foresaw that the natural
charms and acquired abilities of his daughters would one day call them to
be the ornaments of the most distinguished Courts in Europe, and he
thought it prudent not to instil early prejudices in favour of peculiar forms
of religion which might afterwards present an obstacle to their
aggrandisement.

[The first daughter of the Duke of Wirtemberg was the
first wife of the present Emperor of Austria. She embraced
the Catholic faith and died very young, two days before the
Emperor Joseph the Second, at Vienna. The present Empress
Dowager, late wife to Paul, became a proselyte to the Greek
religion on her arrival at Petersburg. The son of the Duke of
Wirtemburg, who succeeded him in the Dukedom, was a
Protestant, it being his interest to profess that religion for
the security of his inheritance. Prince Ferdinand, who was

in the Austrian service, and a long time Governor of Vienna,
was a Catholic, as he could not otherwise have enjoyed that
office. He was of a very superior character to the Duke, his
brother. Prince Louis, who held a commission under the
Prussian Monarch, followed the religion of the country
where he served, and the other Princes, who were in the
employment of Sweden and other countries, found no
difficulty in conforming themselves to the religion of the
Sovereigns under whom they served. None of them having
any established forms of worship, they naturally embraced
that which conduced most to their aggrandisement,
emolument, or dignity.]

“The notorious vices of the King of Denmark, and his total neglect both
of his young Queen, Carolina Matilda, and of the interest of his distant
dominions, while in Paris, created a feeling in the Queen’s mind towards
that house which was not a little heightened by her disgust at the King of
Sweden, when he visited the Court of Versailles. This King, though much
more crafty than his brother-in-law, the King of Denmark, who revelled
openly in his depravities, was not less vicious. The deception he made use
of in usurping part of the rights of his people, combined with the
worthlessness and duplicity, of his private conduct, excited a strong
indignation in the mind of Marie Antoinette, of which she was scarcely
capable of withholding the expression in his presence.
“It was during the visit of the Duke and Duchess of the North, that the
Cardinal de Rohan again appeared upon the scene. For eight or ten years he
had never been allowed to show himself at Court, and had been totally shut
out of every society where the Queen visited. On the arrival of the
illustrious, travellers at Versailles, the Queen, at her own expense, gave
them a grand fete at her private palace, in the gardens of Trianon, similar to
the one given by the Comte de Provence—[Afterwards Louis XVIII.]—to
Her Majesty, in the gardens of Brunoi.
“On the eve of the fete, the Cardinal waited upon, me to know if he
would be permitted to appear there in the character he had the honour to
hold at Court, I replied that I had made it a rule never to interfere in the
private or public amusements of the Court, and that His Eminence must be
the best judge how far he, could obtrude himself upon the Queen’s private

parties, to which only a select number had been invited, in consequence of
the confined spot where the fete was to be given.
“The Cardinal left me, not much satisfied at his reception. Determined to
follow, as usual, his own misguided passion, he immediately went too
Trianon, disguised with a large cloak. He saw the porter, and bribed him.
He only wished, he said, to be placed in a situation whence he might see the
Duke and Duchess of the North without being seen; but no sooner did he
perceive the porter engaged at some distance than he left his cloak at the
lodge, and went forward in his Cardinal’s dress, as if he had been one of the
invited guests, placing himself purposely in the Queen’s path to attract her
attention as she rode by in the carriage with the Duke and Duchess.
“The Queen was shocked and thunderstruck at seeing him. But, great as
was her annoyance, knowing the Cardinal had not been invited and ought
not to have been there, she only discharged the porter who had been
seduced to let him in; and, though the King, on being made acquainted with
his treachery, would have banished His Eminence a hundred leagues from
the capital, yet the Queen, the royal aunts, the Princesse Elizabeth, and
myself, not to make the affair public, and thereby disgrace the high order of
his ecclesiastical dignity, prevented the King from exercising his authority
by commanding instant exile.
“Indeed, the Queen could never get the better of her fears of being some
day, or in some way or other, betrayed by the Cardinal, for having made
him the confidant of the mortification she would have suffered if the
projected marriage of Louis XV. and her sister had been solemnized. On
this account she uniformly opposed whatever harshness the King at any
time intended against the Cardinal.
“Thus was this wicked prelate left at leisure to premeditate the horrid plot
of the famous necklace, the ever memorable fraud, which so fatally verified
the presentiments of the Queen.”

SECTION II.

[The production of ‘Le Mariage de Figaro’, by
Beaumarchais, upon the stage at Paris, so replete with
indecorous and slanderous allusions to the Royal Family,
had spread the prejudices against the Queen through the
whole kingdom and every rank of France, just in time to
prepare all minds for the deadly blow which Her Majesty
received from the infamous plot of the diamond necklace.
From this year, crimes and misfortunes trod closely on each
others’ heels in the history of the ill-starred Queen; and one
calamity only disappeared to make way for a greater.
The destruction of the papers which would have
thoroughly explained the transaction has still left all its
essential particulars in some degree of mystery; and the
interest of the clergy, who supported one of their own body,
coupled with the arts and bribes of the high houses
connected with the plotting prelate, must, of course, have
discoloured greatly even what was well known.
It will be recollected that before the accession of Louis
XVI. the Cardinal de Rohan was disgraced in consequence
of his intrigues; that all his ingenuity was afterwards
unremittingly exerted to obtain renewed favour; that he once
obtruded himself upon the notice of the Queen in the
gardens of Trianon, and that his conduct in so doing excited
the indignation it deserved, but was left unpunished owing to
the entreaties of the best friends of the Queen, and her own
secret horror of a man who had already caused her so much
anguish.
With the histories of the fraud every one is acquainted.
That of Madame Campan, as far as it goes, is sufficiently

detailed and correct to spare me the necessity of expatiating
upon this theme of villany. Yet, to assist the reader’s memory,
before returning to the Journal of the Princesse de
Lamballe, I shall recapitulate the leading particulars.
The Cardinal had become connected with a young, but
artful and necessitous, woman, of the name of Lamotte. It
was known that the darling ambition of the Cardinal was to
regain the favour of the Queen.
The necklace, which has been already spoken of, and
which was originally destined by Louis XV. for Marie
Antoinette—had her hand, by divorce, been transferred to
him—but which, though afterwards intended by Louis XV.
for his mistress, Du Barry, never came to her in consequence
of his death—this fatal necklace was still in existence, and in
the possession of the crown jewellers, Boehmer and
Bassange. It was valued at eighteen hundred thousand
livres. The jewellers had often pressed it upon the Queen,
and even the King himself had enforced its acceptance. But
the Queen dreaded the expense, especially at an epoch of
pecuniary difficulty in the State, much more than she coveted
the jewels, and uniformly and resolutely declined them,
although they had been proposed to her on very easy terms
of payment, as she really did not like ornaments.
It was made to appear at the parliamentary investigation
that the artful Lamotte had impelled the Cardinal to believe
that she herself was in communication with the Queen; that
she had interested Her Majesty in favour of the long slighted
Cardinal; that she had fabricated a correspondence, in
which professions of penitence on the part of De Rohan were
answered by assurances of forgiveness from the Queen. The
result of this correspondence was represented to be the
engagement of the Cardinal to negotiate the purchase of the
necklace secretly, by a contract for periodical payments. To
the forgery of papers was added, it was declared, the
substitution of the Queen’s person, by dressing up a girl of
the Palais Royal to represent Her Majesty, whom she in

some degree resembled, in a secret and rapid interview with
Rohan in a dark grove of the gardens of Versailles, where
she was to give the Cardinal a rose, in token of her royal
approbation, and then hastily disappear. The importunity of
the jewellers, on the failure of the stipulated payment,
disclosed the plot. A direct appeal of theirs to the Queen, to
save them from ruin, was the immediate source of detection.
The Cardinal was arrested, and all the parties tried. But the
Cardinal was acquitted, and Lamotte and a subordinate
agent alone punished. The quack Cagliostro was also in the
plot, but he, too, escaped, like his confederate, the Cardinal,
who was made to appear as the dupe of Lamotte.
The Queen never got over the effect of this affair. Her
friends well knew the danger of severe measures towards
one capable of collecting around him strong support against
a power already so much weakened by faction and discord.
But the indignation of conscious innocence insulted,
prevailed, though to its ruin!
But it is time to let the Princesse de Lamballe give her
own impressions upon this fatal subject, and in her own
words.]

“How could Messieurs Boehmer and Bassange presume that the Queen
would have employed any third person to obtain an article of such value,
without enabling them to produce an unequivocal document signed by her
own hand and countersigned by mine, as had ever been the rule during my
superintendence of the household, whenever anything was ordered from the
jewellers by Her Majesty? Why did not Messieurs Boehmer and Bassange
wait on me, when they saw a document unauthorised by me, and so widely
departing from the established forms? I must still think, as I have often said
to the King, that Boehmer and Bassange wished to get rid of this dead
weight of diamonds in any way; and the Queen having unfortunately been
led by me to hush up many foul libels against her reputation, as I then
thought it prudent she should do, rather than compromise her character with
wretches capable of doing anything to injure her, these jewellers, judging
from this erroneous policy of the past, imagined that in this instance, also,
rather than hazard exposure, Her Majesty would pay them for the necklace.

This was a compromise which I myself resisted, though so decidedly
adverse to bringing the affair before the nation by a public trial. Of such an
explosion, I foresaw the consequences, and I ardently entreated the King
and Queen to take other measures. But, though till now so hostile to
severity with the Cardinal, the Queen felt herself so insulted by the
proceeding that she gave up every other consideration to make manifest her
innocence.
“The wary Comte de Vergennes did all he could to prevent the affair from
getting before the public. Against the opinion of the King and the whole
council of Ministers, he opposed judicial proceedings. Not that he
conceived the Cardinal altogether guiltless; but he foresaw the fatal
consequences that must result to Her Majesty, from bringing to trial an
ecclesiastic of such rank; for he well knew that the host of the higher orders
of the nobility, to whom the prelate was allied, would naturally strain every
point to blacken the character of the King and Queen, as the only means of
exonerating their kinsman in the eyes of the world from the criminal
mystery attached to that most diabolical intrigue against the fair fame of
Marie Antoinette. The Count could not bear the idea of the Queen’s name
being coupled with those of the vile wretches, Lamotte and the mountebank
Cagliostro, and therefore wished the King to chastise the Cardinal by a
partial exile, which might have been removed at pleasure. But the Queen’s
party too fatally seconded her feelings, and prevailed.
“I sat by Her Majesty’s bedside the whole of the night, after I heard what
had been determined against the Cardinal by the council of Ministers, to
beg her to use all her interest with the King to persuade him to revoke the
order of the warrant for the prelate’s arrest. To this the Queen replied, ‘Then
the King, the Ministers, and the people, will all deem me guilty.’
“Her Majesty’s remark stopped all farther argument upon the subject, and
I had the inconsolable grief to see my royal mistress rushing upon dangers
which I had no power of preventing her from bringing upon herself.
“The slanderers who had imputed such unbounded influence to the
Queen over the mind of Louis XVI. should have been consistent enough to
consider that, with but a twentieth part of the tithe of her imputed power,
uncontrolled as she then was by national authority, she might, without any
exposure to third persons, have at once sent one of her pages to the garde-
meuble and other royal depositaries, replete with hidden treasures of

precious stones which never saw the light, and thence have supplied herself
with more than enough to form ten necklaces, or to have fully satisfied, in
any way she liked, the most unbounded passion for diamonds, for the use of
which she would never have been called to account.
“But the truth is, the Queen had no love of ornaments. A proof occurred
very soon after I had the honour to be nominated Her Majesty’s
superintendent. On the day of the great fete of the Cordon Bleu, when it
was the etiquette to wear diamonds and pearls, the Queen had omitted
putting them on. As there had been a greater affluence of visitors than usual
that morning, and Her Majesty’s toilet was overthronged by Princes and
Princesses, I fancied in the bustle that the omission proceeded from
forgetfulness. Consequently, I sent the tirewoman, in the Queen’s hearing,
to order the jewels to be brought in. Smilingly, Her Majesty replied, ‘No,
no! I have not forgotten these gaudy things; but I do not intend that the
lustre of my eyes should be outshone by the one, or the whiteness of my
teeth by the other; however, as you wish art to eclipse nature, I’ll wear them
to satisfy you, ma belle dame!’
“The King was always so thoroughly indulgent to Her Majesty, with
regard both to her public and private conduct, that she never had any pretext
for those reserves which sometimes tempt Queens as well as the wives of
private individuals to commit themselves to third persons for articles of
high value, which their caprice indiscreetly impels them to procure
unknown to their natural guardians. Marie Antoinette had no reproach or
censure for plunging into excesses beyond her means to apprehend from her
royal husband. On the contrary, the King himself had spontaneously offered
to purchase the necklace from the jewellers, who had urged it on him
without limiting any time for payment. It was the intention of His Majesty
to have liquidated it out of his private purse. But Marie Antoinette declined
the gift. Twice in my presence was the refusal repeated before Messieurs
Boehmer and Bassange. Who, then, can for a moment presume, after all
these circumstances, that the Queen of France, with a nation’s wealth at her
feet and thousands of individuals offering her millions, which she never
accepted, would have so far degraded herself and the honour of the nation,
of which she was born to be the ornament, as to place herself gratuitously in
the power of a knot of wretches, headed by a man whose general bad
character for years had excluded him from Court and every respectable

society, and had made the Queen herself mark him as an object of the
utmost aversion.
“If these circumstances be not sufficient adequately to open the eyes of
those whom prejudice has blinded, and whose ears have been deafened
against truth, by the clamours of sinister conspirators against the monarchy
instead of the monarchs; if all these circumstances, I repeat, do not
completely acquit the Queen, argument, or even ocular demonstration itself,
would be thrown away. Posterity will judge impartially, and with impartial
judges the integrity of Marie Antoinette needs no defender.
“When the natural tendency of the character of De Rohan to romantic
and extraordinary intrigue is considered in connection with the associates
he had gathered around him, the plot of the necklace ceases to be a source
of wonder. At the time the Cardinal was most at a loss for means to meet the
necessities of his extravagance, and to obtain some means of access to the
Queen, the mountebank quack, Cagliostro, made his appearance in France.
His fame had soon flown from Strasburg to Paris, the magnet of vices and
the seat of criminals. The Prince-Cardinal, known of old as a seeker after
everything of notoriety, soon became the intimate of one who flattered him
with the accomplishment of all his dreams in the realization of the
philosopher’s stone; converting puffs and French paste into brilliants;
Roman pearls into Oriental ones; and turning earth to gold. The Cardinal,
always in want of means to supply the insatiable exigencies of his
ungovernable vices, had been the dupe through life of his own credulity—a
drowning man catching at a straw! But instead of making gold of base
materials, Cagliostro’s brass soon relieved his blind adherent of all his
sterling metal. As many needy persons enlisted under the banners of this
nostrum speculator, it is not to be wondered at that the infamous name of
the Comtesse de Lamotte, and others of the same stamp, should have thus
fallen into an association of the Prince-Cardinal or that her libellous stories
of the Queen of France should have found eager promulgators, where the
real diamonds of the famous necklace being taken apart were divided
piecemeal among a horde of the most depraved sharpers that ever existed to
make human nature blush at its own degradation!

[Cagliostro, when he came to Rome, for I know not
whether there had been any previous intimacy, got
acquainted with a certain Marchese Vivaldi, a Roman,

whose wife had been for years the chere amie of the last
Venetian Ambassador, Peter Pesaro, a noble patrician, and
who has ever since his embassy at Rome been his constant
companion and now resides with him in England. No men in
Europe are more constant in their attachments than the
Venetians. Pesaro is the sole proprietor of one of the moat
beautiful and magnificent palaces on the Grand Canal at
Venice, though he now lives in the outskirts of London, in a
small house, not so large as one of the offices of his immense
noble palace, where his agent transacts his business. The
husband of Pesaro’s chere amie, the Marchese Vivaldi, when
Cagliostro was arrested and sent to the Castello Santo
Angelo at Rome, was obliged to fly his country, and went to
Venice, where he was kept secreted and maintained by the
Marquis Solari, and it was only through his means and those
of the Cardinal Consalvi, then known only as the musical
Abbe Consalvi, from his great attachment to the immortal
Cimarosa, that Vivaldi was ever allowed to return to his
native country; but Consalvi, who was the friend of Vivaldi,
feeling with the Marquis Solari much interested for his
situation, they together contrived to convince Pius VI. that
he was more to be pitied than blamed, and thus obtained his
recall. I have merely given this note as a further warning to
be drawn from the connections of the Cardinal de Rohan, to
deter hunters after novelty from forming ties with innovators
and impostors. Cagliostro was ultimately condemned, by the
Roman laws under Pope Pius VI., for life, to the galleys,
where he died.
Proverbs ought to be respected; for it is said that no
phrase becomes a proverb until after a century’s experience
of its truth. In England it is proverbial to judge of men by the
company they keep. Judge of the Cardinal de Rohan from his
most intimate friend, the galley-slave.]

“Eight or ten years had elapsed from the time Her Majesty had last seen
the Cardinal to speak to him, with the exception of the casual glance as she
drove by when he furtively introduced himself into the garden at the fete at

Trianon, till he was brought to the King’s cabinet when arrested, and
interrogated, and confronted with her face to face. The Prince started when
he saw her. The comparison of her features with those of the guilty wretch
who had dared to personate her in the garden at Versailles completely
destroyed his self-possession. Her Majesty’s person was become fuller, and
her face was much longer than that of the infamous D’Oliva. He could
neither speak nor write an intelligible reply to the questions put to him. All
he could utter, and that only in broken accents, was, ‘I’ll pay! I’ll pay
Messieurs Bassange.’
“Had he not speedily recovered himself, all the mystery in which this
affair has been left, so injuriously to the Queen, might have been prevented.
His papers would have declared the history of every particular, and
distinctly established the extent of his crime and the thorough innocence of
Marie Antoinette of any connivance at the fraud, or any knowledge of the
necklace. But when the Cardinal was ordered by the King’s Council to be
put under arrest, his self-possession returned. He was given in charge to an
officer totally unacquainted with the nature of the accusation. Considering
only the character of his prisoner as one of the highest dignitaries of the
Church, from ignorance and inexperience, he left the Cardinal an
opportunity to write a German note to his factotum, the Abbe Georgel. In
this note the trusty secretary was ordered to destroy all the letters of
Cagliostro, Madame de Lamotte, and the other wretched associates of the
infamous conspiracy; and the traitor was scarcely in custody when every
evidence of his treason had disappeared. The note to Georgel saved his
master from expiating his offence at the Place de Grave.
“The consequences of the affair would have been less injurious, however,
had it been managed, even as it stood, with better judgment and temper. But
it was improperly entrusted to the Baron de Breteuil and the Abbe Vermond,
both sworn enemies of the Cardinal. Their main object was the ruin of him
they hated, and they listened only to their resentments. They never weighed
the danger of publicly prosecuting an individual whose condemnation
would involve the first families in France, for he was allied even to many of
the Princes of the blood. They should have considered that exalted
personages, naturally feeling as if any crime proved against their kinsman
would be a stain upon themselves, would of course resort to every artifice
to exonerate the accused. To criminate the Queen was the only and the
obvious method. Few are those nearest the Crown who are not most jealous

of its wearers! Look at the long civil wars of York and Lancaster, and the
short reign of Richard. The downfall of Kings meets less resistance than
that of their inferiors.
“Still, notwithstanding all the deplorable blunders committed in this
business of De Rohan, justice was not smothered without great difficulty.
His acquittal cost the families of De Rohan and De Conde more than a
million of livres, distributed among all ranks of the clergy; besides immense
sums sent to the Court of Rome to make it invalidate the judgment of the
civil authority of France upon so high a member of the Church, and to
induce it to order the Cardinal’s being sent to Rome by way of screening
him from the prosecution, under the plausible pretext of more rigid justice.
“Considerable sums in money and jewels were also lavished on all the
female relatives of the peers of France, who were destined to sit on the trial.
The Abbe Georgel bribed the press, and extravagantly paid all the literary
pens in France to produce the most Jesuitical and sophisticated arguments
in his patron’s justification. Though these writers dared not accuse or in any
way criminate the Queen, yet the respectful doubts, with which their
defence of her were seasoned, did indefinitely more mischief than any
direct attack, which could have been directly answered.
“The long cherished, but till now smothered, resentment of the Comtesse
de Noailles, the scrupulous Madame Etiquette, burst forth on this occasion.
Openly joining the Cardinal’s party against her former mistress and
Sovereign, she recruited and armed all in favour of her protege; for it was
by her intrigues De Rohan had been nominated Ambassador to Vienna.
Mesdames de Guemenee and Marsan, rival pretenders to favours of His
Eminence, were equally earnest to support him against the Queen. In short,
there was scarcely a family of distinction in France that, from the libels
which then inundated the kingdom, did not consider the King as having
infringed on their prerogatives and privileges in accusing the Cardinal.
“Shortly after the acquittal of this most artful, and, in the present
instance, certainly too fortunate prelate, the Princesse de Conde came to
congratulate me on the Queen’s innocence, and her kinsman’s liberation
from the Bastille.
“Without the slightest observation, I produced to the Princess documents
in proof of the immense sums she alone had expended in bribing the judges

and other persons, to save her relation, the Cardinal, by criminating Her
Majesty.
“The Princesse de Conde instantly fell into violent hysterics, and was
carried home apparently, lifeless.
“I have often reproached myself for having given that sudden shock and
poignant anguish to Her Highness, but I could not have supposed that one
who came so barefacedly to impress me with the Cardinal’s innocence,
could have been less firm in refuting her own guilt.
“I never mentioned the circumstance to the Queen. Had I done so, Her
Highness would have been forever excluded from the Court and the royal
presence. This was no time to increase the enemies of Her Majesty, and, the
affair of the trial being ended, I thought it best to prevent any further breach
from a discord between the Court and the house of Conde. However, from a
coldness subsisting ever after between the Princess and myself, I doubt not
that the Queen had her suspicions that all was not as it should be in that
quarter. Indeed, though Her Majesty never confessed it, I think she herself
had discovered something at that very time not altogether to the credit of
the Princesse de Conde, for she ceased going, from that period, to any of the
fetes given at Chantilly.
“These were but a small portion of the various instruments successfully
levelled by parties, even the least suspected, to blacken and destroy the fair
fame of Marie Antoinette.
“The document which so justly alarmed the Princesse de Conde, when I
showed it to her came into my hands in the following manner:
“Whenever a distressed family, or any particular individual, applied to
me for relief, or was otherwise recommended for charitable purposes, I
generally sent my little English protegee—whose veracity, well knowing
the goodness of her heart, I could rely—to ascertain whether their claims
were really well grounded.

[Indeed, I never deceived the Princess on these occasions.
She was so generously charitable that I should have
conceived it a crime. When I could get no satisfactory
information, I said I could not trace anything undeserving
her charity, and left Her Highness to exercise her own
discretion.]

“One day I received an earnest memorial from a family, desiring to make
some private communications of peculiar delicacy. I sent my usual
ambassadress to inquire into its import. On making her mission known, she
found no difficulty in ascertaining the object of the application. It proceeded
from conscientious distress of mind. A relation of this family had been the
regular confessor of a convent. With the Lady Abbess of this convent and
her trusty nuns, the Princesse de Conde had deposited considerable sums of
money, to be bestowed in creating influence in favour of the Cardinal de
Rohan. The confessor, being a man of some consideration among the clergy,
was applied to, to use his influence with the needier members of the Church
more immediately about him, as well as those of higher station, to whom he
had access, in furthering the purposes of the Princesse de Conde. The bribes
were applied as intended. But, at the near approach of death, the confessor
was struck with remorse. He begged his family, without mentioning his
name, to send the accounts and vouchers of the sums he had so distributed,
to me, as a proof of his contrition, that I might make what use of them I
should think proper. The papers were handed to my messenger, who
pledged her word of honour that I would certainly adhere to the dying
man’s last injunctions. She desired they might be sealed up by the family,
and by them directed to me.—[To this day, I neither know the name of the
convent or the confessor.]—She then hastened back to our place of
rendezvous, where I waited for her, and where she consigned the packet
into my own hands.
“That part of the papers which compromised only the Princesse de Conde
was shown by me to the Princess on the occasion I have mentioned. It was
natural enough that she should have been shocked at the detection of having
suborned the clergy and others with heavy bribes to avert the deserved fate
of the Cardinal. I kept this part of the packet secret till the King’s two aunts,
who had also been warm advocates in favour of the prelate, left Paris for
Rome. Then, as Pius VI. had interested himself as head of the Church for
the honour of one of its members, I gave them these very papers to deliver
to His Holiness for his private perusal. I was desirous of enabling this truly
charitable and Christian head of our sacred religion to judge how far his
interference was justified by facts. I am thoroughly convinced that, had he
been sooner furnished with these evidences, instead of blaming the royal
proceeding, he would have urged it on, nay, would himself have been the
first to advise that the foul conspiracy should be dragged into open day.

“The Comte de Vergennes told me that the King displayed the greatest
impartiality throughout the whole investigation for the exculpation of the
Queen, and made good his title on this, as he did on every occasion where
his own unbiassed feelings and opinions were called into action, to great
esteem for much higher qualities than the world has usually given him
credit for.
“I have been accused of having opened the prison doors of the culprit
Lamotte for her escape; but the charge is false. I interested myself, as was
my duty, to shield the Queen from public reproach by having Lamotte sent
to a place of penitence; but I never interfered, except to lessen her
punishment, after the judicial proceedings. The diamonds, in the hands of
her vile associates at Paris, procured her ample means to escape. I should
have been the Queen’s greatest enemy had I been the cause of giving liberty
to one who acted, and might naturally have been expected to act, as this
depraved woman did.
“Through the private correspondence which was carried on between this
country and England, after I had left it, I was informed that M. de Calonne,
whom the Queen never liked, and who was called to the administration
against her will—which he knew, and consequently became one of her
secret enemies in the affair of the necklace—was discovered to have been
actively employed against Her Majesty in the work published in London by
Lamotte.
“Mr. Sheridan was the gentleman who first gave me this information.
“I immediately sent a trusty person by the Queen’s orders to London, to
buy up the whole work. It was too late. It had been already so widely
circulated that its consequences could no longer be prevented. I was lucky
enough, however, for a considerable sum, to get a copy from a person
intimate with the author, the margin of which, in the handwriting of M. de
Calonne, actually contained numerous additional circumstances which were
to have been published in a second edition! This publication my agent,
aided by some English gentlemen, arrived in time to suppress.
“The copy I allude to was brought to Paris and shown to the Queen. She
instantly flew with it in her hands to the King’s cabinet.
“‘Now, Sire,’ exclaimed she, ‘I hope you will be convinced that my
enemies are those whom I have long considered as the most pernicious of
Your Majesty’s Councillors—your own Cabinet Ministers—your M. de

Calonne!—respecting whom I have often given you my opinion, which,
unfortunately, has always been attributed to mere female caprice, or as
having been biassed by the intrigues of Court favourites! This, I hope, Your
Majesty will now be able to contradict!’
“The King all this time was looking over the different pages containing
M. de Calonne’s additions on their margins. On recognising the hand-
writing, His Majesty was so affected by this discovered treachery of his
Minister and the agitation of his calumniated Queen that he could scarcely
articulate.
“‘Where,’ said he, I did you procure this?’
“‘Through the means, Sire, of some of the worthy members of that nation
your treacherous Ministers made our enemy—from England! where your
unfortunate Queen, your injured wife, is compassionated!’
“‘Who got it for you?’
“‘My dearest, my real, and my only sincere friend, the Princesse de
Lamballe!’
“The King requested I should be sent for. I came. As may be imagined, I
was received with the warmest sentiments of affection by both Their
Majesties. I then laid before the King the letter of Mr. Sheridan, which was,
in substance, as follows:

“‘MADAME,
“‘A work of mine, which I did not choose should be
printed, was published in Dublin and transmitted to be sold
in London. As soon as I was informed of it, and had
procured a spurious copy, I went to the bookseller to put a
stop to its circulation. I there met with a copy of the work of
Madame de Lamotte, which has been corrected by some one
at Paris and sent back to the bookseller for a second edition.
Though not in time to suppress the first edition, owing to its
rapid circulation, I have had interest enough, through the
means of the bookseller of whom I speak, to remit you the
copy which has been sent as the basis of a new one. The
corrections, I am told, are by one of the King’s Ministers. If
true, I should imagine the writer will be easily traced.

“‘I am happy that it has been in my power to make this
discovery, and I hope it will be the means of putting a stop to
this most scandalous publication. I feel myself honoured in
having contributed thus far to the wishes of Her Majesty,
which I hope I have fulfilled to the entire satisfaction of Your
Highness.
“‘Should anything further transpire on this subject, I will
give you the earliest information.
“‘I remain, madame, with profound respect, Your
Highness’ most devoted,
“‘very humble servant,
“‘RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.’

[Madame Campan mentions in her work that the Queen
had informed her of the treachery of the Minister, but did not
enter into particulars, nor explain the mode or source of its
detection. Notwithstanding the parties had bound themselves
for the sums they received not to reprint the work, a second
edition appeared a short time afterwards in London. This,
which was again bought up by the French Ambassador, was
the same which was to have been burned by the King’s
command at the china manufactory at Sevres.]

“M. de Calonne immediately received the King’s mandate to resign the
portfolio. The Minister desired that he might be allowed to give his
resignation to the King himself. His request was granted. The Queen was
present at the interview. The work in question was produced. On beholding
it, the Minister nearly fainted. The King got up and left the room. The
Queen, who remained, told M. de Calonne that His Majesty had no further
occasion for his services. He fell on his knees. He was not allowed to speak,
but was desired to leave Paris.
“The dismissal and disgrace of M. de Calonne were scarcely known
before all Paris vociferated that they were owing to the intrigues of the
favourite De Polignac, in consequence of his having refused to administer
to her own superfluous extravagance and the Queen’s repeated demands on
the Treasury to satisfy the numerous dependants of the Duchess.

“This, however, was soon officially disproved by the exhibition of a
written proposition of Calonne’s to the Queen, to supply an additional
hundred thousand francs that year to her annual revenue, which Her
Majesty refused. As for the Duchesse de Polignac, so far from having
caused the disgrace, she was not even aware of the circumstance from
which it arose; nor did the Minister himself ever know how, or by what
agency, his falsehood was so thoroughly unmasked.”

NOTE:

[The work which is here spoken of, the Queen kept, as a
proof of the treachery of Calonne towards her and his
Sovereign, till the storming of the Tuileries on the 10th of
August, 1792, when, with the rest of the papers and property
plundered on that memorable occasion, it fell into the hands
of the ferocious mob.
M. de Calonne soon after left France for Italy. There he
lived for some time in the palace of a particular friend of
mine and the Marquis, my husband, the Countess Francese
Tressino, at Vicenza.
In consequence of our going every season to take the
mineral waters and use the baths at Valdagno, we had often
occasion to be in company with M. de Calonne, both at
Vicenza and Valdagno, where I must do him the justice to
say he conducted himself with the greatest circumspection in
speaking of the Revolution.
Though he evidently avoided the topic which terminates
this chapter, yet one day, being closely pressed upon the
subject, he said forgeries were daily committed on Ministers,
and were most particularly so in France at the period in
question; that he had borne the blame of various
imprudencies neither authorized nor executed by him; that
much had been done and supposed to have been done with
his sanction, of which he had not the slightest knowledge.
This he observed generally, without specifying any express
instance.

He was then asked whether he did not consider himself
responsible for the mischief he occasioned by declaring the
nation in a state of bankruptcy. He said, “No, not in the
least. There was no other way of preventing enormous sums
from being daily lavished, as they then were, on herds of
worthless beings; that the Queen had sought to cultivate a
state of private domestic society, but that, in the attempt, she
only warmed in her bosom domestic vipers, who fed on the
vital spirit of her generosity.” He mentioned no names.
I then took the liberty of asking him his opinion of the
Princesse de Lamballe.
“Oh, madame! had the rest of Her Majesty’s numerous
attendants possessed the tenth part of that unfortunate
Victim’s virtues, Her Majesty would never have been led into
the errors which all France must deplore!
“I shall never forget her,” continued he, “the day I went
to take leave of her. She was sitting on a sofa when I entered.
On seeing me, she rose immediately. Before I could utter a
syllable, ‘Monsieur,’ said the Princess, ‘you are accused of
being the Queen’s enemy. Acquit yourself of the foul deed
imputed to you, and I shall be happy to serve you as far as
lies in my power. Till then, I must decline holding any
communication with an individual thus situated. I am her
friend, and cannot receive any one known to be otherwise.’
“There was something,” added he, “so sublime, so
dignified, and altogether so firm, though mild in her manner,
that she appeared not to belong to a race of earthly beings!”
Seeing the tears fall from his eyes, while he was thus
eulogising her whose memory I shall ever venerate, I almost
forgave him the mischief of his imprudence, which led to her
untimely end. I therefore carefully avoided wounding his few
gray hairs and latter days, and left him still untold that it
was by her, of whom he thought so highly, that his
uncontradicted treachery had been discovered.