I was still triumphing at the skill which I had displayed in my conference with the prince de Soubise when the duc d’Aiguillon entered.

“Good heaven,” said he, kissing my hand very tenderly, “into what inquietude did you throw me by your dear and cruel letter. The ambiguity of your style has caused me inexpressible sorrow; and you have added to it by not allowing me to come to you at the first moment.”

“I could not: I thought it would be dangerous for you to appear before the king previously to having seen me.”

“Would the king have thought my visit strange?” asked the duke, not without some emotion.

“That is not the point. The black spite of my enemies has not yet deprived me of the counsels of a friend. But as it is necessary to speak to the king in my favor, I wish that he should not know that you do so at my request.”

After this I related to the duke my conversation with the king.

“Your situation is delicate,” said he to me, “but it should not trouble you. The king is weak, we must give him courage. It is his pliancy of disposition rather than his resistance that we must contend with, and I go to act upon it.”

I then instructed the duke with what had passed between me and the prince de Soubise. When I had done, the duke replied:

“Expect nothing from the prince de Soubise: he will speak, no doubt; but how? In a jesting, laughing way. If, however, you think he can at all serve you, give him all your confidence.”

“No, no, never,” I replied with quickness; “it is not a thing to be done lightly; we do not select a confidant, counsellor, or friend, at random. Do you not know this, M. le duc? It is requisite that the heart of the one who speaks should repose itself on the heart of the friend who listens. I repeat to you that I have no feeling of confidence towards M. de Soubise. In fact,” I added with visible and troubled emotion, “my choice is made, and you have too much heroism to wish to combat it.”

At these flattering words the duke precipitated himself at my feet, and swore to support my cause with all his power and interest. I replied that I fully relied on his devotion and prudence. Comte Jean entered, and it was agreed between us three that I should say no more to the king of my presentation before the duc d’Aiguillon had spoken to him of it; that I should content myself with complaining without peevishness, and that we should leave the opening measure to the prince de Soubise, and let him break the ice to his majesty.

The prince de Soubise behaved exactly as the duke had told me: he came to me the next morning with a mysterious air, which already informed me of all he had to say. He said that he had vainly tormented the king; that his majesty wished things to remain just as they were, and desired that until a new order of things nothing should be altered.

“I am sorry for it, monsieur le marÉchal,” I replied. “Whilst I am in this precarious situation, whilst I remain in a corner of the stage as a confidante of tragedy, I can do nothing for my friends, particularly for you, monsieur le marÉchal.”

“On the contrary, madame,” he replied, “the king will be more disposed to listen to you whilst he will suppose that your influence is unknown.”

“Oh,” cried I with a feeling of anger, “you gentlemen courtiers think of nothing but politics. As for me, who am a woman, I have other matters for consideration: I must have honors, title, rank. My self-love suffers cruelly when I see myself immolated by the fear which the ladies de Grammont and three or four other intriguers of their party are able to excite.”

The prince was somewhat startled at the freedom of language which I used towards ladies in such credit at court: he begged me to moderate my feelings, and be less moved and excited. By this the prince de Soubise lost the esteem which I might have accorded him, and the second place in my counsels, which I might have given him.

I told the duke, who came to see me the moment afterwards, of the failure of the prince’s attempt. He told me that he had not hoped for a better result. He went to the king, flattering himself with hopes of better success, but did not find him.

The daughters of Louis XV had united against me with a fury which nothing could justify. They were incessantly talking scandal of my past life, as if there were only saints at court, as if they had no pranks of their own to reproach themselves with. All the chÂteau knew of their lovers, and there was living evidence of the tenderness of madame AdÉlaÏde: as for madame Louise she was an angel upon earth, and was the only one who did not join in the cry against me. On the other hand, the king, whilst he had but little love for his dear daughters, preserved towards them a complaisance and external appearance of kindness which was a substitute for parental love. When mesdames royales cried out, he stopped his ears with his two hands, and seemed, whilst looking proudly at France, to say, “Am not I a good father, and are not my daughters very happy, for I let them cry out with all their might?”

The next day the duc d’Aiguillon went again to the king, and found him bewildered with family scenes and the murmurings of the Choiseuls. When my ambassador had delivered his message, the king asked him if he, as well as the prince de Soubise, had been set upon his haunches by me.

The duke, nothing intimidated at this, told the king that far from having wished that he should be my interpreter, I had requested him not to allude to the matter.

“Why, then,” said Louis XV laughing, “do you not follow the advice of the comtesse?”

“Because I entertain a sincere attachment for her, and that I am vexed to hear it said that there are persons who lead your majesty.”

“Who are the insolents that hold such language?”

“They surround you, sire. There is not a female here but affirms that you dare not decide on the presentation of the comtesse.”

“I alone am master, and will let them know it when the opportunity arrives; but the present moment is not fitting. The comtesse knows how well I love her; and if she will prove her friendship towards me, she will remain quiet for some time.”

The duke thought it best to be silent, and came to me. After relating the conversation, he added, “Do not appear at all dejected; the king would not then visit you lest he should find you out of temper. Were I you I should write to him; a word of peace would set him at ease.”

I approved this advice, and instantly penned the following letter:—

“Sire—They tell me that your majesty has been tormented on my account. It is a treason of which I alone could believe myself capable. But why should I complain? You have done so much for me that I ought to esteem myself happy: your august friendship consoles me thro’ all my annoyances. Be assured that henceforth I shall pout no more; I will be the best sheep in the world, relying on my shepherd for not having my fleece cut too closely; for after all I think I am the petted ewe, etc.”

A short time afterwards a page brought me a splendid box of bonbons with a pair of ruby ear-rings surrounded with diamonds, and this short billet:—

“Yes, assuredly you are my pet ewe, and always shall be. The shepherd has a strong crook with which he will drive away those who would injure you. Rely on your shepherd for the care of your tranquillity, and the peace of your future life.”

In the evening the king visited me. He was embarrassed, but I set him at ease by showing him a laughing countenance, talking only of his present, which I had in my ears, and shaking my head about to keep the drops in motion, which sparkled with great brilliancy. He was pleased at this, and did not leave me all the evening. In the morning we were the best friends in the world.

Some days elapsed, when comte Jean came to me, bringing two infamous articles which had appeared in the “Nouvelles a la Main,” and were directed against me. They were atrocious and deeply chagrined me: I placed them on the mantel-piece, where all who came in could see them. The duc de Duras read them, and said, “Conceal these atrocities from the king.”

“No,” was my reply, “I wish him to read them, that he may know how his affections are respected, and how the police of Paris are employed in doing their duty to the throne.”

These last words annoyed M. de Duras, between whom and M. de Sartines there was a connection: the duke was indebted to the lieutenant-general of police for the special surveillance which he kept over a young girl of whom he, the duc de Duras, was foolishly enamoured. Trembling for his dear friend M. de Sartines, he wrote to him in haste, but had not courage or talent enough to undertake the defence of the guilty person.

The king came as usual; his general station was at the chimney-piece, where he amused himself with looking at the baubles that ornamented it. The “Nouvelles a la Main” fell in his way. He read them once, then again; then, without uttering a word, threw them into the fire. I observed him, and saw that he was full of emotion which he sought to conceal, but the anger burst forth soon. The prince de Soubise, who supped with us that evening, asked the duc de Duras if he had read the “Gazette de France.”

“No,” was the reply; “I seldom read such nonsense.”

“And you are quite right,” said the king. “There is at present a most inconceivable mania for writing. What is the use, I ask you, gentlemen, of this deluge of books and pamphlets with which France is inundated? They only contain the spirit of rebellion: the freedom of writing ought not to be given to every body. There should be in a well-regulated state seven or eight writers, not more; and these under the inspection of government. Authors are the plague of France; you will see whither they will lead it.”

The king spoke this with an animated air, and if at this moment M. de la VrilliÈre had come to ask for a lettre de cachet against a writer, the king would not have refused it.

“Besides,” added the king, in a tone of less anger, but no less emphatically, “I see with pain that the police do not do their duty with regard to all these indignities.”

“Yet,” said the duc de Duras, “M. de Sartines does wonders.”

“Then why does he tolerate such insults? I will let him know my discontent.”

The duc de Duras was alarmed, and kept his mouth closed. The king then, resuming his gaiety, joked the two gentlemen on their secret intrigues: then changing the conversation suddenly, he talked of the expected arrival of the king of Denmark.

“Duc de Duras,” said he, “you and your son must do the office of master of ceremonies to his Polar majesty. I hope you will endeavor to amuse him.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Mind, what you undertake is no joke. It is no easy matter to amuse a king.”

This was a truth which I perceived at every moment, and our monarch was not the one to be amused with trifling exertion. Frequently when he entered my apartment he threw himself on an ottoman, and yawned most excessively, yes, yawned in my company. I had but one mode of rousing him from this apathy, but it was a sure one. I spoke of the high magistracy and its perpetual resistance to the throne. Then the king aroused, instantly sprung from his seat, traversed the room with rapid strides, and declaimed vigorously against the black gowns; thus he styled the parliaments. I confess, however, that I only had recourse to the “black gowns” at the last extremity. Little did I think that at a later period I should league myself against them. On the one hand, the duc d’Aiguillon hated them mortally, and on the other, the comte Jean, like a real Toulousian, would have carried them in his slippers; so that wavering between the admiration of the one and the hatred of the other, I knew not which to listen to, or which party to side with. But to return to present matters.

The king was always thinking of the “ Nouvelles a la Main,” and determined to avenge me as openly as I had been attacked. Two or three days afterwards he gave a supper, to which he invited the duchesse and comtesse de Grammont, madame de Forcalquier, the princess de Marsan, the marÉchale de Mirepoix, and the comtesses de Coigny and de Montbarrey. They were seated at table laughing and amusing themselves; they talked of the pleasure of being to themselves, of having no strangers; they pierced me with a hundred thrusts; they triumphed! And yet the king was laughing in his sleeve. At a premeditated signal the duc d’Aiguillon, one of the guests, asked his majesty if he had seen the comtesse du Barry that day. This terrible name, thrown suddenly into the midst of my enemies, had the effect of a thunder-clap. All the ladies looked at each other first and then at the king, and the duc d’Aiguillon, reserving profound silence. His majesty then replied, that he had not had the happiness of visiting me that day, not having had one moment’s leisure; then eulogized me at great length, and ended by saying to the duke, “If you see the comtesse before I do, be sure to say that I drank this glass of wine to her health.”

The ladies did not anticipate this. The duchesse de Grammont particularly, in spite of long residence at court, turned pale to her very ears, and I believe but for etiquette she would have fallen into a swoon. I learnt afterwards from the marÉchale de Mirepoix, that the duchesse, on going home, gave herself up to a fit of rage, which did not terminate even on the following day. When the king related this occurrence to me, he was as proud of it as if he had done a most courageous deed.

But I have omitted a day which was of great importance to me in its consequences. I mean the day which followed that on which I had complained to the duc de Duras of M. the lieutenant of police. In the morning early my sister-in-law came into my room.

“Sister,” said she, “comte Jean is here with M. de Sartines, who begs to pay his respects to you. Will you receive him?”

“M. de Sartines! Yes, let him come in; I will treat him as he deserves.”

Comte Jean then came in, preceded by the lieutenant of police: he wore a large peruke with white powder, and curled with the utmost care. Wigs were his mania, and he had a room filled from floor to ceiling with these ornaments. The duc d’Ayen said, that he never should be in trouble about the council of state, for in case of need, it might be found and replenished from the house of the lieutenant of police. Let us leave wigs and revert to M. de Sartines.

He appeared before me with the air of Tartuffe, and, forgive the phrase, en vrai capon.

“Madame,” said he to me, “I have been informed that I am in disgrace with you, and have come to inquire how I may extricate myself from this misfortune.”

“You ought to know, sir. Twice in one month have I been shamefully insulted; and yet the first intimation of such a thing ought to have put you on your guard.”

M. de Sartines, whom my tone had much surprised, endeavored to justify himself, when comte Jean said to him,

“My dear lieutenant of police, all you have said goes for nothing. One thing is certain, and that is, that there is a deficiency of respect towards my sister-in-law. You say that it is not your fault: what proof do you give us of this? What inquiries have you made? What measures have you taken? Any? Why do you come to us if you aid our enemies?”

M. de Sartines would fain have ensconced himself in his own dignity.

“M. du Barry,” was his reply, “I shall render an account of my conduct to the king.”

“Very well, sir,” I replied, “but do not suppose that either you or the Choiseuls can give me any cause of fear.”

M. de Sartines was thunderstruck; my boldness astonished him. At length he said,

“Madame, you are angry with me causelessly; I am more negligent than culpable. It is useless to say this to the king.”

“I will not conceal from you, sir, that he knows it all, and is greatly discontented with you.”

“I am lost then,” said M. de Sartines.

“Lost! not precisely,” replied comte Jean; “but you must decide at once and for ever what party you will join. If you are with us they will use you harshly; if you take the opposite party look to yourself. Choose.”

After some turnings and twistings, accompanied with compliments, M. de Sartines declared that he would range himself under our banner. Then I extended to him my hand in token of reconciliation; he took it with respect, and kissed it with gallantry. Up to this time we had conversed with feelings of restraint and standing; but now we seated ourselves, and begun a conference in form, as to the manner of preventing a recurrence of the offensive outrages against me. As a proof of good intention M. de Sartines told me the author of the two articles of which I complained. He was a wretch, named Ledoux, who for twelve hundred livres per annum wrote down all those who displeased the duchesse de Grammont. This lady had no fear of doing all that was necessary to remove every obstacle to the publication of such infamies.

After M. de Sartines had given us all the details which we desired, and after I had promised to reconcile him to his master, he went away delighted with having seen me. Believe me, my friend, it is necessary to be as handsome as I am, that is to say, as I was, to seduce a lieutenant of police.