The prince de Soubise was not the only person who wished to act in the capacity of mentor to me. M. the duc de la Vauguyon attempted also to be the guide of my youth. This nobleman was too much of a Jesuit not to have a nose of prodigiously fine scent. He perceived that the wind was in my favor, and approached me in consequence. I have mentioned to you his first visit, and he made me a second a few days afterwards. He appeared very affable, very conciliating, and insisted particularly several times, and that without any apparent motive, that the king, not being now engaged in the ties of wedlock, he should choose some agreeable companion, and assuredly could not do better than select me. The day after this visit, early in the morning, the duke sent me a splendid bouquet, a homage which he afterwards repeated, and then called on me a third time.

During this visit after a conversation on the embarrassments of an introduction at Versailles, he proposed that I should avoid them.

“You cannot conceal from yourself,” he said, “how powerful will be the cabal against you; and, without including the Choiseuls, you will have especially to fear the pious party, who will only see in your intimacy with the king, allow me to say, a crying scandal, and one not profitable for religion.”

“If the pious party unite with those who are not so to destroy me,” I rejoined, laughing, “I shall have all France against me.”

“No; but perhaps all the chÂteau. But there is a way of averting the storm. Attach yourself to the party of honest men who have been so greatly calumniated—the Jesuits. Philosophy, supported by the duc de Choiseul, has repressed them; but the high clergy and the mesdames royales are attached strongly to them, and you would interest them in your fortune by favoring these worthy fathers.”

“What! monsieur le duc,” cried I, “will messeigneurs the clergy of France, and mesdames royales and their suite be favorable to me, if I use my influence with the king in espousing the cause of the society of Jesus?”

“Certainly, madame, and I am authorized to promise you. I give you my word for this. Endeavor to re-establish the order, and there will not be one of us but will be zealous in supporting you.”

“I certainly am desirous of pleasing your friends; but I can see that, from the first moment of my appearance at court, I shall be at open war with the Choiseuls and the parliaments.”

“What matters it? I confess that the victory will not be easy at first, but there is no need to exaggerate the difficulties. It is true that the king has esteem for the duc de Choiseul, but he has much affection for you, which avails much more.

“As for the parliaments, he hates them, and for many years has been desirous of ridding himself of them entirely, and he will effect this by the help of God and your interference.”

“This will be hard work for one so weak as I am.”

“Oh, you are sufficiently powerful, I assure you. Only confide in me, the intermediary between you and my friends, let me guide you, and I will steer to the right port. What do you think of this, madame?”

“Oh! monsieur le duc, it is not at a moment that we can give a positive reply to such grave matters. I content myself in assuring you, that I have for you as much confidence as respect, and should be very happy to obtain your protection.”

“My protection! Oh, heaven, madame, you are jesting. It is I who should be honored by your friendship.”

“It is yours; but as yet I am nothing at court, and can do nothing there until I have been presented. It is for my speedy presentation that my friends should labor now.”

“We will not fail, madame; and if you will allow me to come from time to time to converse with you, we can take our measures.”

“Your visits will always be agreeable.”

Such was the conversation which I had with the duc de la Vauguyon. I have given it somewhat at length, because it was the preface to a deep intrigue which made a vast noise. I think I extricated myself very well from the net in which the duke sought to catch me. I knew that his situation at Versailles compelled me to act with caution towards him. He was in good odor with mesdames, had the ear of the young dauphin and the princes his brothers. He deceived me like a true Jesuit as he was, in telling me that the mesdames were well disposed towards me; and on my side I cheated him with a promise of confidence and, friendship which I never bestowed. Ah! my friend, again and again must I exclaim, what a villainous place is a court!

Whilst the duc de la Vauguyon was seeking to enlist me under the banners of heaven or the Jesuits, the marquis of Chauvelin also essayed to make me his pupil; but as frank as he was amiable, this nobleman did not go to work in a roundabout manner. He came to me loyally, requesting me to consider his interests and mine.

“The king likes me,” said he, “and I am attached to him body and soul. He tenderly loves you, and I should have no difficulty in doing the same thing; but as I am no longer of an age to inspire you with the passion which I should feel towards you, I content myself with your friendship. I have no enemy here, and no wish to hurt any person. Thus you need not fear that I shall urge you to any measures that might compromise you. It is the hatred of the kingdom that you will have to fear. France is about to march in a better track, and the best plan is to follow its lead. It pains me, madame, to use language which may appear severe to you; we ought only to talk to you of your beauty and the love which it inspires. But in your situation, even that beauty may serve the interests of France, and it is for that motive that I come to solicit you.”

I replied to M. de Chauvelin with equal frankness. I told him that my sole intentions were to confine myself to the circle of my duties; that I had none but to please the king, and no intention of mixing myself up with state affairs. This was my plan I can assure you. I flattered myself that I could follow it, not dreaming of those political nuisances into which I was precipitated in spite of myself. I added, nevertheless, that in my situation, which was delicate, I would not refuse the counsels of a faithful servant of the king, and that under this title M. de Chauvelin should be consulted on important occasions.

The marquis de Chauvelin had too much good sense, too much knowledge of the world, not to perceive a refusal concealed under this politeness. The secret inclination of my heart had already led me to select the duc d’Aiguillon for my director, and I could not reconcile myself to any other. He contented himself with asking me again for my friendship, which I willingly accorded him, and I have always found myself fortunate in his. Thus did I accept the offers of service from the prince de Soubise, the duc de la Vauguyon, and the marquis de Chauvelin.

A fourth sought to swell the ranks; the comte, afterwards prince, de Montbarrey. This gentleman made up in pretensions for what he lacked in talent. He was weak, self-important, selfish, fond of women, and endeavored to preserve all the airs of a man of good breeding in the midst of the grossest debauchery. He was full of respect for himself and his house, of which in time of need he could cite the whole genealogy. His nomination was a real scandal; no one dreamt of his ever being minister of war. It was one of the thousand follies of old Maurepas, whom the late king knew well, and called the ballad-maker of the council.

The comte de Montbarrey, whom I had known at Paris, came to me one fine day, fully powdered, performed, and apparelled. He had a smile on his lip, a loud tone, and an insolent look. He came not to ask my friendship, but my obedience. He told me that he loved me to distraction, and of course my head must be equally towards him. He amused me. I let him run out the full length of his line; and when he had spun it all out, I said to him, “Monsieur, be so good as to call me to the recollection of madame de Merfort.”

She was one of the gambling ladies, and at her house I had formerly met the chevalier de Montbarrey. My reply confounded him: he saw that he had gone the wrong way to work with me; and, raising the siege, he left me excessively embarrassed.

Figure to yourself, my friend, what confidence a man, lost in the crowd of lower courtiers, could inspire me with; for to judge of the proceedings of the comte de Montbarrey, it would have been necessary to have seen him as he then was, and not what he became since the imbecility of M. de Maurepas. When I told comte Jean of his visit, he would not believe such insolence. You must know that my brother-in-law also wished to direct me, but I did not consider him sufficiently clever. His marvellous genius was eclipsed in politics. He swore at my ingratitude, and I could only appease him by an offering of plenty of money.

In the midst of this cross-fire of intrigues, one was devised against me which might have terminated in my ruin; but, thanks to the indefatigable activity of comte Jean, only served to fix me more firmly in my situation. Lebel, of whom I have said nothing for this age, came to me one day: his face was sad, and his look serious. By his manner I augured that my reign had passed, and that I must quit my post. I awaited what he should say with mortal impatience. At length he began thus:

“Madame, you have many bitter enemies, who are laboring to effect your ruin with a blood-thirstiness which nothing can assuage. They have now spread a report that you are not married. This infamous calumny—”

“Ah, is that all?” said I with joy; “no, my dear Lebel, this time they do not calumniate me. The worthy creatures for once are right.”

“What,” said Lebel, in a tone of alarm almost comic, “what, are you really not married?”

“No.”

“Are you not the wife of the comte Guillaume du Barry?”

“No.”

“Then you have deceived the king, and played with me.”

“Lebel, my friend, take another tone. No one has any right to complain. You have given me to the king as a person to please him; I do so. The rest can be no matter of yours.”

“Pardon me, madame; it is a matter of the greatest consequence to me. I am terribly compromised in this affair, and you with me.”

Lebel told me that the duchesse de Grammont had begged him to call upon her, and had bitterly reproached him about the mistress he had procured for the king; the duchesse affirmed that I was a nameless and unmarried creature; and added, that it was his duty to make the king acquainted with these particulars, unless I, the pretended wife of du Barry, would consent to go to England when a large pension should be assured to me.

“No, my dear Lebel, I will not go to England; I will remain in France, at Versailles, at the chÂteau. If I am not married I will be; the thing is easily managed.”

Lebel, somewhat assured, begged me to send for comte Jean, and when he came he (Lebel) recommenced his tale of grief.

“You are drowning yourself in a glass of water,” said my future brother-in-law to him, beginning to treat him with less ceremony; “go back to the duchesse de Grammont, and tell her that madame was married at Toulouse. She will have an inquiry set on foot; in the mean while my brother will arrive, and the marriage will take place. Then we will show the rebels a real comtesse du Barry; and whether my sister-in-law be a lady of six months’ standing or only of yesterday, that is of no consequence to the king of France.”

After this conversation Lebel delivered the message to the duchesse de Grammont, who told him that she should write to Toulouse to the attorney-general. This was what the comte Jean wished and he was prepared for her.

But, you will say to me, was it certain that your asserted husband would marry you? Were there no difficulties to fear? None. Comte Guillaume was poor, talented, and ambitious; he liked high living, and would have sold himself to the devil for riches. He was happy in marrying me. Comte Jean would not have ventured such a proposal to his other brother, the comte d’Hargicourt, who had much good sense and great notions of propriety, and who at Versailles was called the honnÉte homme; a distinction not over flattering to his two brothers.

The same evening the whole family arrived, and was presented to me the next day. My two future sisters-in-law frightened me at first with their provincial manners and southern accent; but, after a few minutes, I found that this Gascon pronunciation had many charms with it. Mesdemoiselles du Barry were not handsome but very agreeable. One was called Isabelle, whom they had nicknamed Bischi, the other’s name was Fanchon, and her name had been abbreviated to “Chon.” The latter had much talent, and even brought to Versailles with her, an instinctive spirit of diplomacy which would have done honor to a practised courtier. She would have been thought simple, unsophisticated, and yet was full of plot and cunning.

I was soon much pleased with her, and the king became equally so. He was always very much amused at hearing her talk patois (provincially), or recite the verses of one Gondouli, a poet of Languedoc. He used to make her jump upon his knees; and altho’ she had passed the first bloom of youth, he played with her like a child. But what most particularly diverted the king, was calling my sister-in-law by her nickname; “Petite Chon, grande Chon,” he was always saying, “do this, go there, come here.” Louis XV did the same with his own daughters: he had amongst them a Loque, a Graille, a Chiffe, and they were the ladies Victoire, AdÉlaÏde, and Sophie, whom he thus elegantly designated. I so soon saw the taste of the king for nicknames that I gave him one, it was Lafrance. So far from being angry with me, he laughed to tears every time that I called him so. I must confess, en passant, that the anecdote about the coffee is true.* I will only justify myself by saying, that if I expressed myself coarsely it was not in consequence of my vulgar education, but because the king liked such modes of expression.

Let me revert to my marriage, which was performed secretly at the parish of Saint Laurent. I believe the king knew of it, altho’ he never alluded to it any more than myself. Thus the malice of my enemies was completely balked in this affair. Some days afterwards comte Jean received a letter from the attorney-general of the parliament of Toulouse, M. the marquis de Bonrepos-Riquet. This gentleman informed my brother-in-law that he had been applied to, to institute an inquiry at all the notaries, and amongst all the registers of the parishes for the proof of my marriage; that he warned us to be on our guard, and that whatever diligence he might be desired to employ, he should do nothing without informing us. We felt the obligation of this proceeding, and my brother-in-law thanked the attorney-general in my name as well as in his own. He told him that it was not at Toulouse that the parties interested should make their researches for my marriage certificate, but at Paris, either at the parish church of Saint Laurent, or at the notary’s, Lepot d’Auteuil. M. de Bonrepos gave part of this reply to the duchesse de Grammont. Great was the bustle amongst the Choiseuls! I leave you to judge of the fury of the lady or ladies, for the contesse de Grammont was no less irritated than the other, always prepossessed with the idea, that to please the king was to wrong their family. The comtesse de Grammont had not half the talent of the duchesse, she had only her faults. She showed herself so rude and impertinent towards me, that I was at length compelled, not to exile her of my own accord, but to allow that she should be so served. But I anticipate, for this did not occur until the following year.

The king by all his kindnesses endeavored to recompense me for these attacks: he appeared charmed to see me surrounded by my husband’s family. He placed amongst the pages the vicomte Adolphe du Barry, son of comte Jean, a young man of great promise, but whose destiny was so brief and so unfortunate. My husband’s family testified much affection for me, as did the duc d’Aiguillon, to whom I daily attached myself. He carefully kept from me all that could give me pain, and took a thousand precautions that no unpleasant reports should reach me. If we passed a short time without meeting he wrote to me, and I confess I was delighted with a correspondence which formed my own style. Mademoiselle Chon, my sister-in-law, and I also wrote to each other, and that from one room to another. I remember that one day, having broken a glass of rock crystal which she had given me, I announced my misfortune in such solemn style, and with so well feigned a tone of chagrin, that the letter amused the whole family. The king saw it, and was so much pleased that he kept it, and next day sent me a golden goblet enriched with stones, which I gave to Chon, to whom it rightfully belonged.