My present situation was not a little embarrassing; known and recognised as the mistress of the king, it but ill accorded with my feelings to be compelled to add to that title the superintendent of his pleasures; and I had not yet been sufficiently initiated into the intrigues of a court life to accept this strange charge without manifest dislike and hesitation. Nevertheless, whilst so many were contending for the honour of that which I condemned, I was compelled to stifle my feelings and resign myself to the bad as well as the good afforded by my present situation; at a future period I shall have occasion again to revert to the Parc-aux-Cerfs during the period of my reign, but for the present I wish to change the subject by relating to you what befell me at a fÊte given me by madame de Valentinois, while she feigned to give it in the honour of madame de Provence.

The comtesse de Valentinois, flattered by the kindness of the dauphiness’s manner towards her, and wishing still further to insinuate herself into her favour, imagined she should promote her object by requesting that princess would do her the honour to pass an evening at her house; her request was granted, and that too before the duchesse de la Vauguyon could interfere to prevent it. Furious at not having been apprized of the invitation till too late to cause its rejection, she vowed to make the triumphant countess pay dearly for her triumph; for my own part I troubled myself very little with the success of madame de Valentinois, which, in fact, I perceived would rather assist than interfere with my projects. Hitherto I had not made my appearance at any of the houses of the nobility when the princesses were invited thither; this clearly proved to the public, in general, how great was the opposition I experienced from the court party. I was now delighted to prove to the Parisians that I was not always to lead the life of a recluse, but that I could freely present myself at those parties to which other ladies were invited. However, as my friends apprehended that the comtesse de Provence might prevail upon her lady of honour not to invite me, by the advice of the chancellor and the minister for foreign affairs, it was arranged that I should for a week previous to the fÊte feign a severe indisposition. It would be impossible to describe the joy with which these false tidings were received by my enemies. We are all apt to picture things as we would have them, and already the eager imaginations of the opposing party had converted the account of my illness into an incurable and mortal disease.

Every hour my friends brought me in fresh anecdotes of the avidity with which the rumour of my dangerous state had been received, whilst I lay upon what the credulous hopes of my enemies had determined to be my death-bed, laughing heartily at their folly, and preparing fresh schemes to confound and disappoint their anticipated triumph.

One very important object of consideration was my dress for the coming occasion. The king presented me with a new set of jewels, and himself selected the materials for my robe and train, which were to be composed of a rich green satin embroidered with gold, trimmed with wreaths of roses, and looped up with pearls; the lower part of this magnificent dress was trimmed with a profusion of the finest Flemish lace. I wore on my head a garland of full blown roses, composed of the finest green and gold work; round my forehead was a string of beautiful pearls, from the centre of which depended a diamond star; add to this a pair of splendid ear-rings, valued at 100,000 crowns, with a variety of jewels equally costly, and you may form some idea of my appearance on that eventful evening. The king, who presided at my toilette, could not repress his admiration; he even insisted upon clasping my necklace, in order that he might, as he said, flatter himself with having completed such a triumph of nature and art.

At the hour fixed upon I set out, conducted by the ducs d’Aiguillon and de CossÉ, and now I remember I have introduced this latter to you for the first time, however I will promise that it will not be for the last; he possessed, and still possesses all the virtues of his noble house, he was impetuous from a deeply feeling heart, and proud from a consciousness of being properly appreciated. Young, handsome, and daring, he was pre-eminently calculated both to inspire love, and to feel it; it was quite impossible for him to fail in winning the affections of any female he exerted himself to please, and even at the present time that he has lost some of his earlier graces, he is still irresistible as ever; his naturally gay disposition was but ill suited to nourishing grave or philosophic reasoning, but then he was the soul of company, and possessed a fine and delicate wit which ever vented itself in the most brilliant sallies. M. de CossÉ, like the knights of old, was wholly devoted to his king and his mistress, and would, I am sure, had the occasion required it, have nobly died in defence of either; I only pray he may never be put to the proof. I saw much of him at the beginning of our acquaintance, but as his many amiable qualitie became better known, I found myself almost continually in his society, indeed as I have something to confess in the business, I could hardly choose a better opportunity than the present, did I not recollect that the good duc d’Aiguillon is waiting all this while for me to announce the entrÉe of our party into the ante-room of Madame de Valentinois.

My entrance was a complete coupe-de-thÉÂtre. I had been imagined languishing on the bed of sickness, yet there I stood in all the fulness of health and freshness of beauty. I could very easily read upon each countenance the vexation and rage my appearance of entire freedom from all ailment excited; however, I proceeded without any delay to the mistress of the house, whom I found busily engaged in seating her visitors, and playing the amiable to the dauphiness. This princess seemed equally astonished at my unexpected apparition; nevertheless, taken off her guard, she could not prevent herself from courteously returning the profound salutation I made her. As for the duchesse de la Vauguyon, when she saw me, she turned alternately from red to white, and was even weak enough to give public vent to her fury. The comte de Provence, who had been told that I was not expected, began to laugh when he perceived me, and taking the first opportunity of approaching me, he said, “Ah, madame! so you too can mystify your friends, I see! Have a care; the sight of charms like yours is sufficient to strike terror into any adversaries, without having recourse to any expedient to heighten their effect.” Saying this he passed on without giving me the opportunity of replying, as I could have wished to have done.

The marÉchale de Mirepoix, to whom I had confided my secret, and of whose fidelity I was assured, was present at the fÊte. I availed myself of the offer of a seat near her and directly we were seated, “You are a clever creature,” said she, “for you have completely bewildered all the female part of this evening’s society, and by way of a finishing stroke will run away with the hearts of all the flutterers here, before the fair ladies they were previously hovering around, have recovered their first astonishment.”

“Upon my word,” said I, smiling, “I do not wonder at the kind looks with which the ladies favour me, if my presence is capable of producing so much mischief.”

“Pray, my dear,” answered the marÉchale, “be under no mistake: you might be as much beloved as others are, if you did not monopolize the king’s affections; the consequence is, that every woman with even a passable face looks upon you as the usurper of her right, and as the fickle gentlemen who woo these gentle ladies are all ready to transfer their homage to you directly you appear, you must admit that your presence is calculated to produce no inconsiderable degree of confusion.”

The commencement of a play which formed part of the evening’s entertainment obliged us to cease further conversation. The first piece represented was “Rose et Colas,” a charming pastoral, to which the music of Monsigny gave a fresh charm; the actors were selected from among the best of the Comedie Italienne—the divine Clairval, and the fascinating mademoiselle Caroline. I was completely enchanted whilst the play lasted; I forgot both my cabals and recent triumph, and for a while believed myself actually transported to the rural scenes it represented, surrounded by the honest villagers so well depicted; but this delightful vision soon passed away, and soon, too soon I awoke from it to find myself surrounded by my excellent friends at court.

“Rose et Colas” was followed by a species of comedy mixed with songs. This piece was wholly in honour of the dauphiness, with the exception of some flattering and gallant allusions to myself and some gross compliments to my cousin the chancellor, who, in new silk robe and a fine powdered wig, was also present at this fÊte.

The performers in this little piece, who were Favart, the actor, and Voisenon, the priest, must have been fully satisfied with the reception they obtained, for the comedy was applauded as though it had been one of the chefs d’oeuvre of Voltaire. In general a private audience is very indulgent so long as the representation lasts, but no sooner has the curtain fallen than they indulge in a greater severity of criticism than a public audience would do. And so it happened on the evening in question; one couplet had particularly excited the discontent of the spectators, male and female; I know not what prophetic spirit inspired the lines.

The unfortunate couplet was productive of much offence against the husband and lover of madame Favart, for the greater part of the persons present perfectly detested my poor cousin, who was “to clip the wings of chicanery.” Favart managed to escape just in time, and the abbÉ de Voisenon, who was already not in very high favour with his judges, was compelled to endure the full weight of their complaints and reproaches; every voice was against him, and even his brethren of the French academy, departing from their accustomed indulgence upon such matters, openly reprimanded him for the grossness of his flattery; the poor abbÉ attempted to justify himself by protesting that he knew nothing of the hateful couplet, and that Favart alone was the guilty person upon whom they should expend their anger.

“I am always,” cried he, “doomed to suffer for the offences of others; every kind of folly is made a present to me.”

“Have a care, monsieur l’ abbÉ,” exclaimed d’Alembert, who was among the guests, “have a care! men seldom lavish their gifts but upon those who are rich enough to return the original present in a tenfold degree.” This somewhat sarcastic remark was most favourably received by all who heard it, it quickly circulated through the room, while the poor, oppressed abbÉ protested, with vehement action.

The fÊte itself was most splendidly and tastefully conducted, and might have sent the different visitors home pleased and gratified in an eminent degree, had not spite and ill-nature suggested to madame de la Vauguyon, that as the chancellor and myself were present, it must necessarily have been given with a view of complimenting us rather than madame de Provence. She even sought to irritate the dauphiness by insinuating the same mean and contemptible observations, and so far did she succeed, that when madame de Valentinois approached to express her hopes that the entertainment which she had honoured with her presence had been to her royal highness’s satisfaction, the dauphiness coolly replied, “Do not, madame, affect to style this evening’s fÊte one bestowed in honour of myself, or any part of my family; ‘tis true we have been the ostensible causes, and have, by our presence, given it all the effect you desired, but you will pardon our omitting to thank you for an attention, which was in reality, directed to the comtesse du Barry and M. de Maupeou.”

FACSIMILE OF LETTER FROM MME. DU BARRY TO THE DUC DE BRISSAC.

(photograph of original handwritten note omitted) TRANSLATION

Heavens! my dear friend, how sad are the days when I am deprived of the happiness of passing the time with you, and with what joy do I watch for the moment which will bring you to me. I shall not go to Paris to-day, because the person I was going to see is coming Thursday. As you will be going away, I shall visit the barracks instead, for I believe you approve of the object. Adieu. I await you with impatience, with a heart wholly yours, which, in spite of your injustice, could never belong to any other, even if I had the wish. I think of you and that word of yours which you will surely regret; and still another regret is that I am deprived of you. That is the watchword of each instant.

THE COUNTESS Du Barry

At Louvecienne, Noon.

Madame de Valentinois came to me with tears in her eyes to repeat the cruel remark of the princess; the marÉchale de Mirepoix, who heard her, sought to console her by assurances, that it would in no degree affect her interest at court. “Never mind, my good friend,” said she; “the pretty bird merely warbles the notes it learns from its keeper la Vauguyon, and will as quickly forget as learn them. Nevertheless, the king owes you recompense for the vexation it has occasioned you.”

Immediately that I found myself alone with the marÉchale, I inquired of her what was the nature of the reparation she considered madame de Valentinois entitled to expect from the hands of his majesty. She replied, “‘Tis on your account alone that the poor countess has received her late mortification; the king is therefore bound to atone for it in the form of a pension. Money, my dear, money is a sovereign cure at court; calms every grief and heals every wound.”

I fully agreed with the good-natured marÉchale; and, when I bade the sorrowful madame de Valentinois good night, I assured her I would implore his majesty to repair the mischief my presence had caused. Accordingly on the following day, when the king questioned me as to how far I had been amused with the fÊte given by madame de Valentinois, I availed myself of the opening to state my entire satisfaction, as well as to relate the disgrace into which she had fallen, and to pray his majesty to bestow upon her a pension of 15,000 livres.

“Upon my word,” exclaimed Louis XV, hastily traversing the chamber, “this fÊte seems likely to prove a costly one to me.”

“Nay, sire,” said I, “it was a most delightful evening; and you will not, I hope, refuse me such a trifle for those who lavished so much for my amusement.”

“Well,” cried he, “be it so; the countess shall have the sum she requires, but upon condition that she does not apply to me again.”

“Really your majesty talks,” replied I, “as though this trifling pension were to be drawn from your own purse.”

The king began to smile at my remark, like a man who knows himself found out. I knew him well enough to be certain that, had he intended the pension awarded madame de Valentinois to come from his own privy purse, he would scarcely have consented to bestowing on her more than a shabby pittance of a thousand livres per annum. It is scarcely possible to conceive an idea of the excessive economy of this prince. I remember, that upon some great occasion, when it was requisite to support the public treasury, which was failing, by a timely contribution, the duc de Choiseul offered the loan of 250,000 livres, whilst the king, to the astonishment of all who heard him, confined his aid to 2,000 louis! The marÉchale de Mirepoix used to assert that Louis XV was the only prince of his line who ever knew the value of a crown. She had, nevertheless, managed to receive plenty from him, although, I must own, that she had had no small difficulty in obtaining them; nor did the king part with his beloved gold without many a sigh of regret.

At the house of madame de Valentinois I met the marÉchale de Luxembourg, who had recently returned from Chanteloup. There really was something of infatuation in the general mania which seemed to prevail of treating the king’s sentiments with indifference, and considering his displeasure as an affair of no consequence. Before the disgrace of the Choiseuls they were equally the objects of madame de Luxembourg’s most bitter hatred, nor was madame de Grammont backward in returning her animosity; yet, strange as it may seem, no sooner was the Choiseul party exiled, than the marÉchale never rested till she saw her name engraved on the famous pillar erected to perpetuate the remembrance of all those who had visited the exiles. She employed their mutual friends to effect a reconciliation, which was at length effected by letter, and a friendly embrace exchanged by proxy. These preliminaries over, the marÉchale came to the king to make the request to which he had now become accustomed, but which did not the less amuse him. Of course Louis XV made no hesitation in granting her the request she solicited. Speaking to me of the subject, he said, “The tender meeting of madame de Grammont and the marÉchal de Luxembourg must indeed be an overpowering sight; I only trust these two ladies may not drop the mask too soon, and bite each other’s ear while they are embracing.”

Madame de Luxembourg, daughter of the duc de Villeroi, had been first married to the duc de Boufflers, whose brows she helped to adorn with other ornaments than the ducal coronet; nor whilst her youth and beauty lasted was she less generous to her second husband: she was generally considered a most fascinating woman, from the loveliness of her person and the vivacity of her manners; but behind an ever ready wit, lurked the most implacable malice and hatred against all who crossed her path or purpose. As she advanced in life she became more guarded and circumspect, until at last she set herself up as the arbitress of high life, and the youthful part of the nobility crowded around her, to hear the lessons of her past experience. By the number and by the power of her pupils, she could command both the court and city; her censures were dreaded, because pronounced in language so strong and severe, as to fill those who incurred them with no hope of ever shining in public opinion whilst so formidable a veto was uttered against them; and her decrees, from which there was no appeal, either stamped a man with dishonour, or introduced him as a first-rate candidate for universal admiration and esteem, and her hatred was as much dreaded as ever her smiles had been courted: for my own part, I always felt afraid of her, and never willingly found myself in her presence.

After I had obtained for madame de Valentinois the boon I solicited, I was conversing with the king respecting madame de Luxembourg, when the chancellor entered the room; he came to relate to his majesty an affair which had occasioned various reports, and much scandal. The viscount de Bombelles, an officer in an hussar regiment, had married a mademoiselle Camp, Reasons, unnecessary for me to seek to discover, induced him, all at once, to annul his marriage, and profiting by a regulation which forbade all good Catholics from intermarrying with those of the reformed religion, He demanded the dissolution of his union with mademoiselle Camp. This attempt on his part to violate, upon such grounds, the sanctity of the nuptial vow, whilst it was calculated to rekindle the spirit of religious persecution, was productive of very unfavourable consequences to the character of M. de Bombelles; the great cry was against him, he stood alone and unsupported in the contest, for even the greatest bigots themselves would not intermeddle or appear to applaud a matter which attacked both honour and good feeling: the comrades of M. de Bombelles refused to associate with him; but the finishing stroke came from his old companions at the military school, where he had been brought up. On the 27th of November, 1771, the council of this establishment wrote him the following letter:—

“The military school have perused with equal indignation and grief the memorials which have appeared respecting you in the public prints. Had you not been educated in this establishment, we should merely have looked upon your affair with mademoiselle Camp as a scene too distressing for humanity and it would have been buried in our peaceful walls beneath the veil of modesty and silence; but we owe it to the youth sent to us by his majesty, for the inculcation of those principles which become the soldier as the man, not to pass over the present opportunity of inspiring them with a just horror of your misguided conduct, as well as feeling it an imperative duty to ourselves not to appear indifferent to the scandal and disgraceful confusion your proceedings have occasioned in the capital. We leave to the ministers of our religion, and the magistrates who are appointed to guard our laws, to decide upon the legality of the bonds between yourself and mademoiselle Camp, but by one tribunal you are distinctly pronounced guilty towards her, and that is the tribunal of honour, before that tribunal which exists in the heart of every good man. You have been universally cited and condemned. There are some errors which all the impetuosity of youth is unable to excuse, and yours are unhappily of that sort. The different persons composing this establishment, therefore, concur not only in praying of us to signify their sentiments, but likewise to apprize you, that you are unanimously forbidden to appear within these walls again.”

The chancellor brought to the king a copy of this severe letter, to which I listened with much emotion, nor did the king seem more calm than myself.

“This is, indeed,” said he at length, “a very sad affair; we shall have all the quarrels of Protestantism renewed, as if I had not had already enough of those of the Jansenists and Jesuits. As far as I can judge, M. de Bombelles is entitled to the relief he seeks, and every marriage contracted with a Protestant is null and void by the laws of France.”

“Oh, sire,” cried I, “would I had married a Protestant.”

The king smiled for a moment at my jest, then resumed:

“I blame the military school.”

“Is it your majesty’s pleasure,” inquired the chancellor, “that I should signify your displeasure to them?”

“No, sir,” replied Louis, “it does not come within your line of duty, and devolves rather upon the minister of war; and very possibly he would object to executing such a commission; for how could I step forward as the protector of one who would shake off the moral obligation of an oath directly it suits his inclinations to doubt its legality? This affair gives me great uneasiness, and involves the most serious consequences. You will see that I shall be overwhelmed with petitions and pamphlets, demanding of me the revocation of the edict of Nantes.”

“And what, sire,” asked the chancellor gravely, “could you do, that would better consolidate the glory of your reign?”

“Chancellor,” exclaimed Louis XV, stepping back with unfeigned astonishment, “have you lost your senses? What would the clergy say or do? The very thought makes me shudder. Do you then believe, M. de Maupeou, that the race of the Clements, the Ravaillacs, the Damiens, are extinct in France?”

“Ah, sire, what needless fears.”

“Not so needless as you may deem them,” answered the king. “I have been caught once, I am not going to expose myself to danger a second time. You know the proverb,—no, no, let us leave things as my predecessors left them; besides, I shall not be sorry to leave a little employment for my successor; he may get through it how he can, and spite of all the clamouring of the philosophers, the Protestants shall hold their present privileges so long as I live. I will have neither civil nor religious war, but live in peace and eat my supper with a good appetite with you, my fair comtesse, for my constant guest, and you, M. de Maupeou, for t his evening’s visitor.”

The conversation here terminated.