Matters now assumed an air of importance. My struggle with the des Choiseuls had become a deadly war, which could only be terminated either by his downfall or my dismissal from court; this latter measure was not very probable; an old man is not easily detached from a woman whom he loves, and each day only added to my ascendancy over the mind of the king. It is true, that the same force of habit which enchained Louis XV to me bound him likewise to M. de Choiseul. The idea of change terrified him; and so great was his dread of fresh faces, that he would have preferred dying with his old minister, to creating a younger one who might witness his end. Happily the duke himself brought on the crisis of his fate; his power was cramped on all sides, yet, resolved not to lay it down till the last extremity, he sought to stay his failing credit with the rising influence of the dauphiness. His enemies were not slow in pointing out to the king his minister’s frequent visits and great assiduities to a foreign princess, and enlarged upon the fatal effects this new alliance might produce to the monarchy.

Meanwhile the chancellor, threatened by the parliaments, saw only one way of averting the storm which was about to burst on his head. This was to introduce into the cabinet persons entirely devoted to himself; but to accomplish his purpose, it was necessary to exclude the duc de Choiseul and his party. M. de Maupeou came to me in December, and after having gently scolded me for what he termed my carelessness, he showed me a letter from the duchesse de Grammont, which, he said, would wonderfully aid our plans. This letter was written to one of the presidents of the parliament of Toulous, M. de ——. I cannot give you his name; for, although I have preserved the original of the letter, I have mislaid the envelope on which the address was written. I here give you a copy of this curious and important production:—

“MONSIEUR LE PRESIDENT,—I promised to give you the exact details of all that passed in this gay metropolis, and ‘tis with much pleasure I sit down to fulfill my engagement. Things go on much as usual, or, perhaps, I should be speaking more correctly, were I to say they are rapidly progressing from bad to worse. We have no longer a king in France; all power is lodged in the hands of one sprung from the most infamous origin; who, in conjunction with others as intriguing as herself, seeks only to ruin the kingdom, and to degrade it in the eyes of other nations.

“The noble firmness of sovereign courts is odious to people of this class; thus you may imagine the detestation in which they regard the candid and loyal conduct of the duke. I n the hopes of procuring the dismissal of my brother, they have chosen for his successor wretch loaded with crimes, a coward, an extortioner, a murderer—the duc d’Aiguillon. As for you gentlemen, who now constitute our parliament, your places will soon be filled by a magistracy drawn from the dregs of society; a troop of slaves, deaf and blind, except as he who pays them best will have them exercise those powers.

“This is no time for indolent repose; we must at once courageously and unanimously defeat the guilty schemes of our enemies. So long as my brother retains his present post he will support you with his best interest; but, should he be dismissed, your business will soon be finished.

“I beg my best remembrances, first, to your excellent lady, and after her, to madame B. and madame L., not forgetting the marquise de Chalret, whose wit is truly Attic; nor the marquise de P—s, who conceals beneath the graceful exterior of a Languedocian the soul of one of Corneille’s Roman matrons. For yourself rely upon my warmest friendship and endeavours to serve you. My brother is most anxious to know you, after the flattering manner in which I have mentioned you to him. When will you gratify us both by visiting Paris?

“Ever yours,”

Nothing could have arrived more À propos for our purpose than this letter. I was still engaged in its perusal when the king was announced; I wished to hurry it back into the hands of M. de Maupeou; but he, more crafty than I, requested I would keep it.

“It is fitting,” said he, “that it should be seen by the right person.”

Louis XV, astonished at the strange scene, inquired what it meant.

“A most shameful piece of scandal, sire,” replied I.

“An infamous epistle,” added the chancellor, “which one of my friends managed to abstract from the post-office, and forwarded to me: I brought it to madame la comtesse, that she might admire the determined malice of our enemies.”

“You excite my curiosity,” cried Louis XV. “Madame, have the kindness to allow me to see this paper.”

“Indeed, sire,” exclaimed I, “I know not whether I ought to obey your majesty, so entirely has the writer of the letter forgotten the respect duc to your sacred person.”

“Oh,” said the king, “I do not fear that; I am but too well used to the offence to feel astonishment at its occurrence.”

I placed the paper in the hand of Louis XV, whose eye easily recognised the handwriting of madame de Grammont. “Ah, ah!” cried he, “is it so? let us see what this restless lady has to say of us all.” I watched the countenance of the king as he read, and saw the frown that covered it grow darker and darker; nevertheless he continued to read on without comment till he had reached the end; then sitting down and looking full at the chancellor, he exclaimed,

“Well, M. de Maupeou, and what do you think of this business?”

“I am overwhelmed with consternation, sire,” replied he, “when I think that one of your majesty’s ministers should be able to conspire thus openly against you.”

“Stay,” cried Louis hastily, “that fact is by no means proved. The duchesse de Grammont is a mad woman, who involves the safety of her brother; if I only believed him capable of such treachery, he should sleep this night in the Bastille, and to-morrow the necessary proceedings should be commenced against him: as for his sister, I will take care of her within four good walls, and avenge myself for her past misconduct, by putting it out of her power to injure me further.”

“Sire,” said I, in my turn, “remember she is a woman; I beseech you to pardon her, and let the weight of your just indignation fall upon her brother.”

“Chancellor,” cried the king, “this business must not be lightly passed over.”

“Nor without due consideration,” replied M. de Maupeou, “your majesty may look upon this letter as the basis of a secret plot: as for the duchess, I am of my cousin’s opinion; despise her audacious attempts, but spare not her brother; he alone is the guilty as well as dangerous person.”

The king made no answer, but rose, and crushing the letter in his hand, threw it from him.

“Would,” exclaimed he at last, “that the fiends had those who take such delight in disgusting me with my very existence. Heavens! how justly may I say I despise all men; nor have I a much better opinion of your sex, madame la comtesse, I must warn you.”

“Much obliged, sire,” cried I; “really I was not prepared for such gallantry. It is rather hard that you should quarrel with me because this disagreeable duchess behaves ill! Upon my word it is very unpleasant!”

“Come, come,” said Louis XV, kissing my cheek, “don’t you be a naughty child; if I had not you, where should I turn for consolation amidst the torments by which I am surrounded? Shall I tell you? In the midst of all these perplexing affairs, there are moments in which I fear I may not be promoting the happiness of my people.”

“Your majesty is greatly mistaken,” replied the chancellor; “the nation in general must esteem themselves most happy under your reign; but it will always happen that ill-disposed persons seek to pervert the public opinion, and to lead men’s minds astray. The duchess, when travelling, was the faithful and active agent of her brother. The duke, to secure his stay in the ministry, will eagerly avail himself of every adventitious aid; within your kingdom he seeks the support of the parliaments and philosophers; without, he claims the succour of Germany and Spain. Your majesty is certainly master of your own will, and it would ill become me to point out the path you should tread; but my duty compels me to say, that the duc de Choiseul is the greatest enemy of the royal house: of this he gave me a convincing proof in the case of your august son; and now, if he fancied he should find it more advantageous to have the dauphin for his master—”

“Chancellor of France,” cried Louis, much agitated, “do you know what you are asserting?”

“The truth, sire,” I exclaimed. “The public voice accuses the duc de Choiseul of the death of your son; they declare—”

“How! you, too, madam!” exclaimed the king looking at me fixedly.

“And why not, sire? I am merely repeating what is in every one’s mouth.”

“I have heard this horrible charge before,” added the king; “the Jesuits informed me of it, but I could not give credit to such a monstrosity.”

“So much the worse,” replied I; “in the world in which we live we should always be on our guard.”

“Sire,” added the chancellor, with the most diabolical address, “I am persuaded that M. de Choiseul is the most honourable man in the world, and that he would shudder at the bare idea of any attempt upon the life of your majesty; but his relations, friends, and creatures believe, that, supported by the dauphiness, he would continue in office under your successor. Who can answer for their honour? Who can assure you, that some one among them may not do that for the duke which he would never venture to attempt himself?

“This is the personal danger your majesty runs so long as M. de Choiseul continues in office; were he dismissed, the world would soon abandon the disgraced minister, and the dauphiness be amongst the first to forget him.”

The king was pale with agitation, and for some minutes continued traversing the apartment with hasty strides; then he suddenly stopped.

“You are then convinced, M. de Maupeou,” cried he, “that the duke is leagued with the parliaments to weaken my authority?”

“There are palpable proofs to that effect,” replied the chancellor; “your majesty may recollect the skilful manner in which, on the 3d of last September, he avoided attending you to parliament; most assuredly, had he not been the friend of rebels, he would not have shrunk from evincing by his presence how fully he shared your just indignation.”

“That is but too true,” cried Louis XV; “and I felt much annoyed at the time, that he preferred going to amuse himself at the house of M. de Laborde, when his duty summoned him to my side.”

“Your majesty cannot fail to perceive how everything condemns him; his personal conduct, equally with that of his sister, proves how little he regards his royal master’s interest; and should your clemency resolve upon sparing him now, you may find your mercy produce fatal effects to yourself.”

“His dismissal,” resumed the king, “would disorganize all my political measures. Who could I put in his place? I know no one capable of filling it.”

“Your majesty’s wisdom must decide the point,” replied the chancellor. “My duty is to lay before you the true state of things; this I have done, and I know myself well enough not to intrude my counsel further. Nevertheless, I cannot help remarking, that in your majesty’s court there are many as capable as M. de Choiseul of directing affairs—M. d’Aiguillon, for example.”

“Ah!” answered Louis XV; “this is not the moment, when M. d’Aiguillon is smarting from his severe contest with the long robes, to elevate him over the head of my hitherto-esteemed minister.”

M. de Maupeou and myself perceived that we should best serve my friend’s cause by refraining from pressing the matter further, and we therefore changed the conversation. Nevertheless, as what had already passed had taken its full effect upon the king’s mind, he suggested an idea which I should never have dreamed of recommending; and that was to consult the abbÉ de la Ville on the subject.

The abbÉ de la Ville, head clerk of foreign affairs, was a man who, at the advanced period of fourscore, preserved all the fire and vivacity of youth; he was acquainted with ministerial affairs even better than M. de Choiseul himself. Having formerly belonged to the Jesuits, to whom he was entirely devoted, he had appeared to accelerate the period of their destruction; never had he been able to pardon his patron the frightful part he had compelled him to enact in the business. Years had not weakened his ancient rancour, and it might be said, that he had clung to life with more than natural pertinacity, as unwilling to lay it down till he had avenged himself on de Choiseul. Louis XV wrote to him, desiring he would avail himself of the first pretext that occurred to request an audience. This note was forwarded by a footman, the good abbÉ easily divined that this mystery concealed some great design; he therefore hastened to solicit an audience as desired. When introduced into the cabinet of the king, his majesty inquired at once,

“Monsieur l’ abbÉ, can I depend upon your discretion?”

“Sire,” replied the abbÉ, with a blunt frankness, “I am sorry your majesty can doubt it.”

“Be satisfied, sir,” replied the king, “I had no intention to offend you; but I wish to consult you upon a point, the importance of which you will fully appreciate; answer me without disguise. Do you believe that the services of the duc de Choiseul are useful to my kingdom, and that my interests would suffer were I to dismiss him?”

“Sire,” replied M. de la Ville, without hesitation, “I protest to you, as a man of honour, that the presence of the duc de Choiseul is by no means essential to the ministry, and that your majesty’s interests would sustain not the slightest injury by his absence.”

After this the abbÉ de la Ville entered into particulars unnecessary to repeat here; it is sufficient to say, that all he advanced materially aided our wishes. He afterwards reaped the reward of his friendly services, for when the duc d’Aiguillon had displaced the duc de Choiseul, he bestowed on M. de la Ville the title of director of foreign affairs, an office created for him, and the bishopric in partibus of Tricomie. The good abbÉ did not, however, long enjoy his honours, but ended his career in 1774.

This conversation had been repeated to me; and, on my side, I left no means untried of preventing Louis XV from placing further confidence in his minister; but, feeble and timid, he knew not on what to determine, contenting himself with treating the duke coolly; he sought, by continual rebuffs and denials to his slightest request, to compel him to demand that dismissal he had not the courage to give.

Whilst these things were in agitation, madame de Mirepoix, who had been for some days absent from Versailles, came to call upon me. This lady possessed a considerable share of wit; and, although on the most intimate terms with me, had not altogether broken off with the des Choiseuls, to whom she was further bound on account of the prince de Beauvau, her brother. It therefore excited in me no surprise, when I heard that the des Choiseuls had called on her to ascertain, whether it would not be possible, through her mediation, to come to some terms with me.

“And you must not be angry with me,” continued she, “for undertaking the negotiation; I well foresaw all the difficulties, and entertained no hopes of its success, but upon second thoughts, I considered it better I should accept the mission; for, in case of a negative being returned, it will be safe in my keeping, and I will not add to the chagrin of a failure the shame of a defeat.”

“It is my opinion,” replied I, “that all propositions coming from these people should be rejected; they have compelled me to raise between them and myself an immense wall of hatred, not less difficult to surmount than the grand wall of China.”

“Yet,” replied the marÉchale, smiling, “they are disposed to pay any price for so doing.”

“I have friends,” said I, “from whom I can never separate myself.”

“They are willing that your friends shall be theirs likewise,” cried she, “for they see that M. de Maupeou, the duc de la VrilliÈre, and the abbÉ Terray, are provided for, and that the duc d’Aiguillon alone remains to be suitably established; M. de Choiseul would be happy to aid him in obtaining the post of minister of naval affairs.”

“Well, and the duchesse de Grammont,” inquired I, “would she visit me?”

“Oh, as to that, I know nothing about it, and can venture no opinion; my commission does not extend so far.”

“I understand you,” said I; “she seeks for peace only as it would enable her the better to carry on her hostilities against me. I am sorry, madame la marÉchale, that I cannot accept your terms for a reconciliation.”

“Remember, I pray of you, that I have been an ambassadress, and nothing more,” said madame de Mirepoix; “recollect I have spoken to you in the words of others, not my own. I must beg of you to be secret; if you divulge the particulars of this morning’s conversation, it is I who will suffer by it: your friends will be displeased with me for my interference; and I have no inclination to provoke the anger of a party so powerful as yours.”

I promised the marÉchale to observe an inviolable secrecy; and, so well have I kept my promise, that you are the first person to whom I ever breathed one syllable of the affair. I must own, that it struck me as strange, that the duc de Choiseul should abandon his cousin, and consent to take his seat beside the duc d’Aiguillon, whom he detested: perhaps he only sought to deceive us all by gaining time, till the death of the king. But what avails speculation upon the words and actions of a courtier, whose heart is an abyss too deep for gleam of light to penetrate?