About this period I received a piece of attention, any thing but gratifying if considered in a strictly honourable sense. The contemptible chevalier de la MorliÈre, who detested me, and subsequently pursued me with rage, presumed to dedicate to me some wretched collection of his compositions, and I had the weakness to accept the dedication; I had even the still greater folly to receive its author at my house; this piece of condescension injured me greatly. Until that period I had not, like madame de Pompadour, shown myself the protectress and patroness of men of letters; and even my warmest friends could not deny, that in stepping forwards as the encourager of literature, I had made a very unfortunate choice in selecting the chevalier de la MorliÈre as the first object of my patronage. But how could I have done otherwise? The prince de Soubise, who found this man serviceable upon many occasions, would have sacrificed any thing to promote his advancement; and I have been assured, that had the marÉchal taken half the pains on the day previous to the battle of Rasbach, we should not have left it so disgracefully.

The king well knew the unfortunate chevalier for a man as destitute of modesty as merit; when therefore he saw his book upon the mantel-piece of my drawing-room, he said,

“So! you are the inspiring muse of the chevalier de la MorliÈre; I only warn you, when the day comes for him to be hanged, not to ask me to pardon him.”

“Be assured,” replied I, “that I will never deprive the Place de GrÊve of one so formed to do honour to it.”

In fact, the chevalier was within an ace of reaching it before his friends anticipated; for, very shortly after this conversation, he was guilty of the most detestable piece of knavery I ever heard of. He learned that an unfortunate young man from the country, into whose confidence he had wormed himself, was to receive 15,000 livres on his father’s account; he invited him to supper, and, by the aid of two villains like himself, stripped him of his last sous. Not satisfied with this, he wrote the father such an exaggerated account of his son’s loss and general bad habits, that the enraged and irritated parent procured an order to confine his son at Saint Lazare! Did you ever hear of a more infamous and accomplished rogue than my honourable protÉgÉ? However, I shall give him up to his fate, be it good or bad, and proceed with the relation of my affair with duc de Choiseul.

I had named to madame de l’HÔpital the hour at which I could receive the duke. She had requested, in pursuance of her directions, no doubt, that the conversation between us should take place either amidst the groves of Versailles or in the labyrinth of Marly;—the self-love of M. de Choiseul inducing him to desire that this interview should be so contrived, as to wear the air of a mere chance rencontre. To this I would not consent; saying, that it did not suit my pleasure to quit the house; and that when a gentleman solicited the favour of speaking to a lady, it became his business to wait upon her, without expecting she should come in search of him; and, spite of all the arguments of madame de l’HÔpital, I persisted in my determination: she had no alternative but to submit, and I awaited the coming of M. de Choiseul on the following day.

The duc de Choiseul possessed a greater reputation than his talents were entitled to; and his advancement was more attributable to his good fort powerful assistants in both philosophers and women; he was a confirmed egotist, yet passed for a man who cared little for self. He was quick at matters of business, and he obtained the character of a deep and profound politician. It must, however, be admitted, that he was witty, gallant, and gifted with manners so elegant and fascinating, that they never failed to remove the first unfavourable impression caused by his excessive plainness. The tide of public favour was with him; and, in order to contest it, it required all the influence of a woman, and that woman to be no less than the beloved mistress of the king of France.

He presented himself before me tastefully and magnificently dressed, both look and voice wearing the stamp of high-born pride and haughtiness. Nevertheless, amidst all this pomp, it was evident that he did not entirely feel the ease he assumed, and that a species of remorse rankled at his heart, spite of the courtier-like gallantry with which he had invested himself.

“Madam,” said he, bowing twice most profoundly, “the moment has arrived which I have long most ardently desired.”

“The fault has not been mine, my lord,” said I, “that it has been delayed until now. My door has never been shut against any visit you might have honoured me with.”

“Ah, madam! why have I not known this sooner? Some evil planet ruled my thoughts when it occurred to me that I might not be so happy as to meet with a favourable reception.”

“There, my lord, you were indeed in error; for though I might not feel a very tender friendship towards you whilst supposing I had many causes for complaint, I could not refuse you those marks of respect your rank and station entitle you to receive.”

“Then, madam, I may flatter myself that I should have been kindly received?”

“Yes, sir, you would ever have been welcome, but not those belonging to you, for I will be perfectly candid; always excepting the duchesse de Choiseul, for whom I entertain the greatest veneration and respect.”

“She is indeed well worthy the exalted opinion you express of her; and had I followed her advice, I should not have been found amongst the ranks of your enemies.”

“You confess the fact then, monsieur le duc?” said I.

“I trust, madam, you will not take advantage of an inadvertent expression to turn it against myself. What I fear is, that without ever having been your enemy, I may have passed for such in your estimation; and such indeed is the cruel position in which I am placed.”

“Stay, my lord duke,” cried I; “be candid, and acknowledge that you are my enemy as you have ever been; and that it is only because there has been war between us that you are now come to conclude a treaty of peace—”

“Peace or war, madam,” replied he, “as you please to will it; all I will admit is, that things have turned out most unfavourably for my wishes. Your arrival at Versailles, your grace, beauty, and wit, excited universal jealousy; and, amidst the general panic caused by your all-excelling merit, was it not necessary I too should keep myself on my guard? For the first time in my life a beautiful woman became an object of alarm to me; you may further believe me, when I protest that, at the outset, I warmly defended you; but how could I wage war against so many—how oppose the general torrent? It bore me down.”

“And you fear lest it should carry you beyond your depth, and would fain return to terra firma; is it not so, my lord duke?”

At this ironical speech an expression of heavy displeasure rose to the countenance of M. de Choiseul, and he remained for several minutes like a man who fears to trust himself to reply. Then he added,

“Madam, when I solicited the favour of this conversation, it was with the sincerest desire of adjusting all differences between us, and it would but ill advance that purpose were I now to reply to you with warmth and petulance; condescend, on your part, to lay aside sarcasm and raillery. You have already too many advantages over me, and it would ill accord with your wonted generosity to insult a half-conquered foe.”

“You are right, my lord,” answered I; “jests and recrimination will effect nothing; let us rather proceed at once to consider what is best for the interest of both.”

“Willingly,” replied he. “Now you speak to the purpose; and as I was prepared to hear you—are you inclined for a serious discussion of our business?”

“Pray begin, my lord, I am all attention.”

“Well, madam, I deeply regret all that has passed, and deplore that my friends and part of my family should be disagreeable to you; I take upon myself to engage that their hostility shall end, and am willing to afford you the most perfect satisfaction upon this point. Impressed with highest respect for his majesty, and the most lively desire to serve him, I ask for nothing more than to be on good terms with those he loves; and as for the future, my unshrinking loyalty may be relied on.”

“I am well assured of it, my lord duke; and likewise you have never taken any part in the calumnies which have been aimed at me. Let us then forgive the and since we are agreed as to the future, let us speak but of the present. I have friends fitted to serve the king, whose ambition leads them to aspire to that honour. What will you do to assist them?”

“Ere I promise that, madam, it is necessary I should be acquainted with them.”

“What would it avail to name them to you? You perfectly well comprehend to whom I allude. I am resolutely decided to support them, and to employ for this purpose the friendship with which his majesty deigns to honour me.”

The duke coloured deeply at these words.

“Then, madam,” said he, “you would fain strip me to enrich others?”

“No, my lord, I ask but a division of your possessions. You cannot have every thing; and it would not be fair that our reconciliation should be profitable to you only.” “I did not anticipate, madam, in coming hither, that you would command me to offer up myself as a sacrifice upon an altar raised by you to the interests of your friends.”

“Meaning to say, my lord duke, that you will keep every thing to yourself. I cannot compliment you upon your liberality, however I may for your candour.”

“Madam, I have never since my entry into the ministry sought to live at the expense of my country, and let me resign office when I may, I shall retire loaded only with debts, whilst you and your friends draw large revenues from the nation.”

The conversation became warm and angry, the duke and myself, with crimson cheeks and inflamed countenances, surveyed each other with haughty defiance. At length he added,

“I had hoped that I should have quitted you more kindly disposed towards me.”

“And I, my lord, fancied that you were coming with an ardent desire for peace; but no, the spirit of your sister leads you astray, and you would fain punish me for her absence from court.”

“Madam, I beseech you to leave my sister in peace; she has gone, that ought to satisfy you. We will not, if you please, speak of her.”

“I only wish that she would likewise do me the honour to be silent respecting me. I am not ignorant that she continues to aim her slanders at me from afar as she did when near me. One might suppose that the sole object of her journeyings was but to excite all France against me.”

“Madam, you are mistaken. My sister—”

“Continues to play the same part in the country she did in Paris. She detests me because I happen to have youth and beauty on my side. May her hatred last forever.”

“Ah, madam, say not so; for with your charms you are indeed too formidable an antagonist; and the more so, as I clearly perceive you are not inclined for peace.”

“At least,” said I, “the war on my side shall be fair and open, and those belonging to you have not always waged it with me upon those terms.”

The duke merely warded off this last assertion by some unmeaning compliment, and we separated greater enemies than ever.

The first person to whom I could communicate what had passed was the duc d’Aiguillon. He listened to my recital without any decided expression of his opinion; but no sooner had I concluded, than he took me by the hand, and pressing it with a friendly grasp,

“How I congratulate you,” said he, “upon the good fortune which has extricated you from this affair. Do you know that a reconciliation with the duc de Choiseul would have involved your inevitable disgrace? What evil genius counselled you to act in such a manner?”

“I fancied I was doing right,” said I, “in thus proving to the king that I was not an unreasonable woman.”

“The Choiseuls,” replied he, “would have entangled you in their nets, and, separated from your real friends, would have made you the innocent author of your own destruction. Tell the king just so much, that the duc de Choiseul has been to see you, that you conversed together some time, and that he has offended you more than ever.”

“I promise you, my kind friend,” said I, “to follow your advice.”

When I next saw the king, I apprized him of the visit.

“That does not astonish me,” said Louis XV, “the duke is anxious to be on friendly terms with you.”

“He has then taken a very contrary road to arrive at my friendship,” said I; “if he really desires that we should be on good terms, he must conduct himself very differently”; and there the conversation ended. But several days afterwards, having sent away my mÂitre d’hÔtel, with whom I had reason to be dissatisfied, and the king appearing surprised at seeing a fresh countenance amongst my household, I said to him, “Sir, I have got rid of my Choiseul, when will it please you to get rid of yours?” The king, without replying to me, began to laugh; in which, for want of a better termination to my remark, I was constrained to join.