I had occasionally some unaccountable whims and caprices. Among other follies I took it into my head to become jealous of the duchesse de CossÉ, under the idea that the duke would return to her, and that I should no longer possess his affections. Now the cause of this extravagant conduct was the firmness with which madame de CossÉ refused all overtures to visit me, and I had really become so spoiled and petted, that I could not be brought to understand the reasonableness of the duchesse de CossÉ refusing to sanction her rival by her presence.

You may perceive that I had not carried my heroic projects with regard to madame de CossÉ into execution. Upon these occasions, the person most to be pitied was the duke, whom I made answerable for the dignified and virtuous conduct of his wife. My injustice drove him nearly to despair, and he used every kind and sensible argument to convince me of my error, as though it had been possible for one so headstrong and misguided as myself to listen to or comprehend the language of reason. I replied to his tender and beseeching epistles by every cutting and mortifying remark; in a word, all common sense appeared to have forsaken me. Our quarrel was strongly suspected by part of the court; but the extreme prudence and forbearance of M. de CossÉ prevented their suppositions from ever obtaining any confirmation. But this was not the only subject I had for annoyance. On the one hand, my emissaries informed me that the king still continued to visit the baroness de New—-k, although with every appearance of caution and mystery, by the assistance and connivance of the duc de Duras, who had given me his solemn promise never again to meddle with the affair. The gouvernante of the Parc-aux-Cerfs furnished me likewise with a long account of the many visits paid by his majesty to her establishment. The fact was, the king could not be satisfied without a continual variety, and his passion, which ultimately destroyed him, appeared to have come on only as he advanced in years.

All these things created in my mind an extreme agitation and an alarm, and, improbable as the thing appeared even to myself, there were moments when I trembled lest I should be supplanted either by the baroness or some fresh object of the king’s caprice; and again a cold dread stole over me as I anticipated the probability of the health of Louis XV falling a sacrifice to the irregularity of his life. It was well known throughout the chÂteau, that La MartiniÈre, the king’s surgeon, had strongly recommended a very temperate course of life, as essentially necessary to recruit his constitution, wasted by so many excesses, and had even gone so far as to recommend his no longer having a mistress; this the courtiers construed into a prohibition against his possessing a friend of any other sex than his own; for my own part, I experienced very slight apprehensions of being dismissed, for I well knew that Louis XV reckoned too much on my society to permit my leaving the court, and if one, the more tender, part of our union were dissolved, etiquette could no longer object to my presence. Still the advice of La MartiniÈre was far from giving me a reason for congratulation, but these minor grievances were soon to be swallowed up in one fatal catastrophe, by which the honours, and pleasures of Versailles were for ever torn from me.

The madame of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, fearing that some of the subordinate members of that establishment might bring me intimation of what was going on there without her cognizance, came one day to apprize me that his majesty had fallen desperately in love with a young orphan of high birth, whom chance had conducted within the walls of her harem; that to an extraordinary share of beauty, Julie (for that was the name of my rival) united the most insatiate ambition; her aims were directed to reducing the king into a state of the most absolute bondage, “and he,” said madame, “bids fair to become all that the designing girl would have him.”

Julie feigned the most violent love for her royal admirer, nay she did not hesitate to carry her language and caresses far beyond the strict rules of decency; her manners were those of one accustomed to the most polished society, whilst her expressions were peculiarly adapted to please one who, like the king, had a peculiar relish for every thing that was indecent or incorrect. His majesty either visited her daily or sent for her to the chÂteau. I heard likewise from M. d’Aiguillon, that the king had recently given orders that the three uncles and two brothers of Julie should be raised by rapid promotion to the highest military rank; at the same time the grand almoner informed me he had received his majesty’s express command to appoint a cousin of the young lady to the first vacant bishopric.

These various reports threw me into a train of painful and uneasy reflections. Louis XV. had never before bestowed such marks of favour upon any ÉlÈve of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, and the intrigue had attained this height with the most inconceivable rapidity. Chamilly interrupted my meditations, by presenting himself with an account of his having been commissioned by his majesty to cause a most splendid suit of diamonds to be prepared for mademoiselle Julie, the king not considering any jewels of Paris worthy her acceptance. By way of a finish to all this, I learned that two ladies, one of whom was a duchess, had openly boasted at Versailles of their relationship to Julie. This was a more decided corroborative than all the rest. Courtiers of either sex are skilful judges of the shiftings of the wind of court favour, and I deemed it high time to summon my brother-in-law to my assistance, as well as to urge him to exert his utmost energies to support my tottering power.

My communication tormented comte Jean as much as it did me; he proposed several means of combating this rising inclination on the part of Louis XV. I assented to whatever he suggested, and we set to work with an eagerness, increased on my part by a species of gloomy presentiment, which subsequent events but too fatally confirmed. The marÉchale de Mirepoix, who, from being on good terms with every person, was sure to be aware of all that was going on, spoke to me also of this rival who was springing up in obscurity and retirement; and it was from the same source I learned what I have told you of the two ladies of the court. She advised me not to abandon myself to a blind confidence, and this opinion was strengthened when I related all I had gathered upon the subject.

“You may justly apprehend,” said she, “that Julie will instil some of her bold and fearless nature into the king, and should she presume to put herself in competition with you, victory would in all probability incline to the side of the last comer”; and I felt but too truly that the marÉchale spoke with truth.

A few days after this, the king being alone with me, comte Jean entered. After the usual salutations, he exclaimed, “I have just seen a most lovely creature.”

“Who is she?” inquired his majesty, hastily.

“No high-born dame,” answered comte Jean, “but the daughter of a cabinet-maker at Versailles; I think I never beheld such matchless beauty.”

“Always excepting present company,” replied the king.

“Assuredly,” rejoined my brother-in-law, “but, sire, the beauteous object of whom I speak is a nymph in grace, a sylph in airy lightness, and an angel in feature.”

“Comte Jean seems deeply smitten indeed, madam,” exclaimed Louis XV, turning towards me.

“Not I indeed,” replied my brother-in-law, “my lovemaking days are over.”

“Oh! oh!” cried the king, smiling, “fructus belli.”

“What does your majesty say?” inquired I.

“Nay, let the comte explain,” cried Louis XV.

“The king observed, my dear sister,” answered comte Jean, “that ladies—but, in fact, I can neither explain the observation, nor was it intended for you—so let it rest.”

He continued for some time to jest with comte Jean upon his supposed passion for the fair daughter of the cabinet-maker; and the king, whilst affecting the utmost indifference, took every pains to obtain the fullest particulars as to where this peerless beauty might be found.

When my brother-in-law and myself were alone, he said to me, “I played my part famously, did I not? How eagerly the bait was swallowed!”

“Explain yourself,” said I.

“My good sister, what I have said respecting this perfection of loveliness is no fiction, neither have I at all exaggerated either her perfections or her beauty, and I trust by her aid we shall obliterate from the king’s mind every recollection of the syren of the Parc-aux-Cerfs.”

“Heaven grant it,” exclaimed I.

“My dear sister,” replied comte Jean, “heaven has nothing to do with such things.”

Alas! he was mistaken, and Providence only employed the present occasion as a means of causing us to be precipitated into the very abyss of ruin we had dug for others. On the following morning, Chamilly came to me to inquire whether it was my pleasure that the present scheme should be carried into execution.

“Yes, yes,” answered I eagerly, “by all means, the more we direct the inclinations of the king for the present, the better for him and for us likewise.”

Armed with my consent, Chamilly dispatched to the unhappy girl that madame, whose skill in such delicate commissions had never been known to fail. Not that in the present instance any great bribes were requisite, but it was necessary to employ some agent whose specious reasoning and oily tongue should have power to vanquish the virtuous reluctance of the victim herself, as well as to obtain a promise of strict silence from her family. They were soon induced to listen to their artful temptress; and the daughter, dazzled by the glittering prospect held out to her, was induced to accompany madame back to Trianon, where the king was to sup, in company with the ducs d’Aiguillon and de Richelieu, the prince de Soubise, the ducs de CossÉ, de Duras, and de Noailles, mesdames de Mirepoix, de Forcalquier, de Flaracourt, and myself; my brother-in-law and Chon were also of the party, although not among the number of those who sat down to supper. Their presence was merely to keep up my spirits, and with a view to divert me from dwelling on the presumed infidelity of the king.

We had promised ourselves a most delightful evening, and had all come with the expectation of finding considerable amusement in watching the countenances and conduct of those who were not aware of the real state of the game, whilst such as were admitted into my entire confidence, were sanguine in their hopes and expectations of employing the simple beauty of the maiden of Versailles to crush the aspiring views of my haughty rival of the Parc-aux-Cerfs. This was, indeed, the point at which I aimed, and my further intention was to request the king to portion off mademoiselle Julie, so that she might be ever removed from again crossing my path.

Meanwhile, by way of passing the tedious hours, I went to satisfy my curiosity respecting those charms of which comte Jean had spoken so highly. I found the object of so many conjectures possessed of an uncommon share of beauty, set off, on the present occasion, by every aid that a splendid and elaborate toilette could impart; her features were perfect, her form tall and symmetrical, her hair was in the richest style of luxuriance; but by way of drawback to so many advantages, both her hands and feet were large and coarse. I had expected to have found her timid, yet exulting, but she seemed languid and dejected even to indisposition. I attributed the lassitude and heaviness which hung over her to some natural regrets for sacrificing some youthful passion at the shrine of ambition; but I was far from guessing the truth. Had I but suspected the real cause! but I contented myself with a silent scrutiny (I should have questioned her on the subject), but passed on to the saloon, where the guests were already assembled. The evening passed away most delightfully; the marÉchale de Mirepoix excelled herself in keeping up a continual flow of lively conversation. Never had messieurs de CossÉ and de Richelieu appeared to equal advantage. The king laughed heartily at the many humorous tales told, and his gaiety was the more excited, from his believing that I was in utter ignorance of his infidelity. The champagne was passed freely round the table, till all was one burst of hilarious mirth. A thousand different topics were started, and dismissed only to give way to fresh subjects more piquant than the preceding.

The king, in a fit of good humour, began to relate his adventures with madame de Grammont; but here you must pardon me, my friend, for so entirely did his majesty give the reins to his inclination for a plain style of language, that, although excess of prudery formed no part of the character of any of the ladies assembled, we were compelled to sit with our eyes fixed upon our plate or glass, not daring to meet the glance of those near us. I have little doubt but that Louis XV indulged himself to this extent by a kind of mental vow to settle the affair with his confessor at the earliest opportunity.

We were still at table when the clock struck two hours past midnight.

“Bless me! so late?” inquired the king.

“Indeed, sire,” replied the marÉchale de Mirepoix, “your agreeable society drives all recollection of time away.”

“Then ‘tis but fit I should furnish you all with memory enough to recollect what is necessary for your own health. Come, my friends, morning will soon call us to our different cares, so away to your pillows.”

So saying, the king bade us a friendly farewell, and retired with the ducs de Duras and de Noailles. We remained after his majesty, and retiring into the great saloon, threw ourselves without any ceremony upon the different couches and ottomans.

“For my own part,” said the prince de Soubise, “I shall not think of separating from so agreeable a party till daylight warns me hence.”

“The first beams of morn will soon shine through these windows,” replied M. d’Aiguillon.

“We can already perceive the brightest rays of Aurora reflected in the sparkling eyes around us,” exclaimed M. de CossÉ.

“A truce with your gallantry, gentlemen,” replied madame de Mirepoix, “at my age I can only believe myself capable of reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.”

“Hush!” interrupted madame de Forcalquier, “you forget we are at Versailles, where age is never thought of, but where, like our gracious sovereign, all are young.”

“Come, ladies,” said madame de Flaracourt, “let us retire; I for one, plead guilty of being in need of repose.”

“No, no!” replied the duc de Richelieu, “let us employ the remaining hours in pleasing and social converse,” and with a tremulous voice he began that charming trio in “Selina and Azor,” “Veillons mes soeurs.” We joined chorus with him, and the echoes of the palace of Louis XV resounded with the mirthful strain. This burst of noisy mirth did not last long, and we relapsed into increased taciturnity, spite of our endeavours to keep up a general conversation. We were all fatigued, though none but madame de Flaracourt would confess the fact. Tired nature called loudly for repose, and we were each compelled to seek it in the different apartments assigned us. The duc d’Aiguillon alone was compelled, by the duties of his office, to return to Versailles.

Upon entering my chamber I found my brother-in-law there, in the most violent fit of ill humour, that the king (who was in fact ignorant of his being at Trianon) had not invited him to supper. As I have before told you, comte Jean was no favourite with his majesty, and as I had displayed no wish for his company, Louis XV had gladly profited by my indifference to omit him upon the present occasion. I endeavoured to justify the king, without succeeding, however, in appeasing comte Jean, who very unceremoniously consigned us all to the care and company of a certain old gentleman, whose territory is supposed to lie beneath “the round globe which we inhabit.”

“I have to thank you,” replied I, “for a very flattering mode of saying ‘good night.’”

“Perhaps,” answered comte Jean roughly, “you would prefer—”

“Nothing from your lips if you please, my polite brother,” cried I, interrupting him, “nothing you will say in your present humour can be at all to my taste.”

Chon interfered between us, and effected a reconciliation, which I was the more willing to listen to, that I might enjoy that sleep my weary eye-lids craved for. Scarcely was my head on my pillow, than I fell into a profound sleep: could I but have anticipated to what I should awake! It was eleven o’clock on the following morning when an immense noise of some person entering my chamber, aroused me from the sweet slumbers I was still buried in. Vexed at the disturbance, I inquired, in a peevish tone, “Who is there?”

“Tis I, my sister,” replied Chon, “M. de Chamilly is here, anxious to speak with you upon a matter of great importance.”

Chamilly, who was close behind mademoiselle du Barry, begged to be admitted.

“What is the matter, Chamilly?” cried I, “and what do you want? Is mademoiselle Julie to set off into the country immediately?”

“Alas! madam,” replied Chamilly, “his majesty is extremely ill.”

These words completely roused me, and raising myself on my arm, I eagerly repeated, “Ill! of what does he complain?”

“Of general and universal pain and suffering,” replied Chamilly.

“And the female who was here last night, how is she?”

“Nearly as bad, madam; she arose this morning complaining of illness and languor, which increased so rapidly, that she was compelled to be carried to one of the nearest beds, where she now is.”

All this tormented me to the greatest degree, and I dismissed Chamilly for the purpose of rising, although I had no distinct idea of what it would be most desirable to say or do. My sister-in-law, with more self-possession, suggested the propriety of summoning Bordeu, my physician; a proposal which I at once concurred in, more especially when she informed me, that La MartiniÈre was already sent for, and hourly expected.

“I trust,” said I, “that Bouvart knows nothing of this, for I neither approve of him as a man or a doctor.”

The fact was, I should have trembled for my own power, had both Bouvart and La MartiniÈre got the king into their hands. With La MartiniÈre I knew very well I was no favourite; yet it was impossible to prevent his attendance; the king would never have fancied a prescription in which he did not concur.

Meanwhile I proceeded with my toilette as rapidly as possible, that I might, by visiting the king, satisfy myself of the nature of his malady. Ere I had finished dressing, my brother-in-law, who had likewise been aroused by the mention of his majesty’s illness, entered my chamber with a gloomy look; he already saw the greatness of the danger which threatened us, he had entirely forgotten our quarrel of the preceding evening, but his temper was by no means improved by the present state of things. We had no need of explaining ourselves by words, and he continued walking up and down the room with, his arms folded and his eyes fixed on the floor, till we were joined by the marÉchale de Mirepoix and the comtesse de Forcalquier. Madame de Flaracourt had taken her departure at an early hour, either ignorant of what had occurred or with the intention of being prepared for whatever might happen.

As yet, it was but little in the power of any person to predict the coming blow. “The king is ill,” said each of us as we met. “The king is ill,” was the morning salutation of the ducs de Richelieu, de Noailles, de Duras, and de CossÉ. The prince de Soubise had followed the example of madame de Flaracourt, and had quitted Trianon; it seemed as though the hour for defection were already arrived. A summons now arrived from his majesty who wished to see me. I lost not a moment in repairing to his apartment, where I found him in bed, apparently in much pain and uneasiness. He received me tenderly, took my hands in his, and kissed them; then exclaimed,

“I feel more indisposed than I can describe, a weight seems pressing on my chest, and universal languor appears to chain my faculties both of body and mind. I should like to see La MartiniÈre.”

“And would you not likewise wish to have the advice of Bordeu?”

“‘Yes,” said he, “let both come, they are both clever men, and I have full confidence in their skill. But do you imagine that my present illness will be of a serious nature?”

“By no means, sire,” returned I, “merely temporary, I trust and believe.”

“Perhaps I took more wine than agreed with me last evening; but where is the marÉchale?”

“In my chamber with madame de Forcalquier.”

“And the prince de Soubise?”

“He has taken flight,” replied I, laughing.

“I suppose so,” returned Louis XV, “he could not bear a long absence from Paris; company he must have.”

“In that respect he resembles you, sire, for you generally consider company as a necessary good.”

He smiled, and then closing his eyes remained for some minutes silent and motionless, after a while he said,

“My head is very heavy, so farewell, my sweet friend, I will endeavour to get some sleep.”

“Sleep, sire!” said I, “and may it prove as healthful and refreshing as I pray it may.”

So saying, I glided out of the room and returned to my friends, I found madame de Mirepoix and the duc de CossÉ waiting for me in the anteroom.

“How is the king?” inquired they both in a breath.

“Better than I expected,” I replied, “but he is desirous of sleeping.”

“So much the worse,” observed the duc de CossÉ; “I should have thought better of his case had he been more wakeful.”

“Are you aware of the most imperative step for you to take?” inquired the marÉchale de Mirepoix.

“No,” said I, “what is it?”

“To keep his majesty at Trianon,” replied she; “it will be far better for you that the present illness should take its course at Trianon rather than at Versailles.”

“I second that advice,” cried the duc de Richelieu, who just then entered the room; “yes, yes, as madame de Mirepoix wisely observes, this is the place for the king to be ill in.”

“But,” exclaimed I, “must we not be guided by the physicians’ advice?”

“Do you make sure of Bordeu,” said the duke, “and I will speak to La MartiniÈre.”

M. de CossÉ took me aside, and assured me that I might rely upon him in life or death. When we had conversed together for some minutes, I besought of him to leave the place as early as possible; “Take madame de Forcalquier with you,” said I, “your presence just now at Trianon would be too much commented upon.”

He made some difficulties in obeying me, but I insisted and he went. After his departure, the duc de Richelieu, the marÉchale and myself walked together in the garden. Our walk was so directed that we could see through the colonnade every person who arrived up the avenue. We spoke but little, and an indescribable feeling of solemnity was mingled with the few words which passed, when, all at once, our attention was attracted by the sight of comte Jean, who rushed towards me in a state of frenzy.

“Accursed day,” cried he, stopping when he saw us, “that wretched girl from Versailles has brought the small-pox with her.”

At this fatal news I heaved a deep sigh and fainted. I was carried under the portico, while the poor marÉchale, scarcely more in her senses than myself, stood over me weeping like a child, while every endeavour was being made to restore me to life. Bordeu, who chanced to be at Versailles, arrived, and supposing it was on my account he had been summoned, hastened to my assistance. The duc de Richelieu and comte Jean informed him of all that had passed, upon which he requested to see the unfortunate female immediately; while he was conducted thither, I remained alone with the marÉchale and Henriette, who had come to Trianon with my suite. My first impulse upon regaining the use of my senses, was to throw myself in the arms of the marÉchale.

“What will become of me?” exclaimed I, weeping, “if the king should take this fatal malady, he will never survive it.”

“Let us hope for the best,” answered madame de Mirepoix; “it would be encouraging grief to believe a misfortune, which we have at present no reason to suspect.”

Comte Jean now rejoined us, accompanied by Bordeu and the duc de Richelieu; their countenances were gloomy and dejected. The miserable victim of ambition had the symptoms of the most malignant sort of small-pox; this was a finishing stroke to my previous alarms. However, comte Jean whispered in my ear, “Bordeu will arrange that the king shall remain here.”

This assurance restored me to something like composure; but these hopes were speedily dissipated by the arrival of La MartiniÈre.

“What is the matter?” inquired he, “is the king very ill?”

“That remains for you to decide”; replied the duc de Richelieu; “but however it may be, madame du Barry entreats of you not to think of removing the king to Versailles.”

“And why so?” asked La MartiniÈre, with his accustomed abruptness. “His majesty would be much better there than here.”

“He can nowhere be better than at Trianon, monsieur,” said I.

“That, madam,” answered La MartiniÈre, “is the only point upon which you must excuse my consulting you, unless, indeed, you are armed with a physician’s diploma.”

“Monsieur la MartiniÈre,” cried the duc de Richelieu, “you might employ more gentle language when speaking to a lady.”

“Was I sent for hither,” inquired the angry physician, “to go through a course of politeness?”

For my own part I felt the utmost dread, I scarcely knew of what. Bordeu, seeing my consternation, hastened to interfere, by saying,

“At any rate, monsieur la MartiniÈre, you will not alarm the king needlessly.”

“Nor lull him into a false security,” answered the determined La MartiniÈre. “But what is his malady have you seen him, doctor Bordeu?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why do we linger here? Your servant, ladies and gentlemen.”

The medical men then departed, accompanied the duc de Richelieu.