Book: The Memoirs of Louis XV. and XVI., Volume 1
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Japanese Tale.
At a distance of three leagues from the capital of Japan, there is a
temple celebrated for the concourse of persons, of both sexes, and of all
ranks, who crowd thither to worship an idol believed to work miracles.
Three hundred men consecrated to the service of religion, and who can
give proofs of ancient and illustrious descent, serve this temple, and
present to the idol the offerings which are brought from all the
provinces of the empire. They inhabit a vast and magnificent edifice,
belonging to the temple, and surrounded with gardens where art has
combined with nature to produce enchantment. I obtained permission to
see the temple, and to walk in the gardens. A monk advanced in years,
but still full of vigour and vivacity, accompanied me. I saw several
others, of different ages, who were walking there. But what surprised me
was to see a great many of them amusing themselves by various agreeable
and sportive games with young girls elegantly dressed, listening to their
songs, and joining in their dances. The monk, who accompanied me,
listened with great civility and kindness to the questions I put to him
concerning his order. The following is the sum of his answers to my
numerous interrogations. The God Faraki, whom we worship, is so called
from a word which signifies the fabricator. He made all that we
behold--the earth, the stars, the sun, etc. He has endowed men with
senses, which are so many sources of pleasure, and we think the only way
of shewing our gratitude is to use them. This opinion will, doubtless,
appear to you much more rational than that of the faquirs of India, who
pass their lives in thwarting nature, and who inflict upon themselves the
most melancholy privations and the most severe sufferings.
As soon as the sun rises, we repair to the mountain you see before us, at
the foot of which flows a stream of the most limpid water, which meanders
in graceful windings through that meadow-enamelled with the loveliest
flowers. We gather the most fragrant of them, which we carry and lay
upon the altar, together with various fruits, which we receive from the
bounty of Faraki. We then sing his praises, and execute dances
expressive of our thankfulness, and of all the enjoyments we owe to this
beneficent deity. The highest of these is that which love produces, and
we testify our ardent gratitude by the manner in which we avail ourselves
of this inestimable gift of Faraki. Having left the temple, we go into
several shady thickets, where we take a light repast; after which, each
of us employs himself in some unoppressive labour. Some embroider,
others apply themselves to painting, others cultivate flowers or fruits,
others turn little implements for our use. Many of these little works
are sold to the people, who purchase them with eagerness. The money
arising from this sale forms a considerable part of our revenue. Our
morning is thus devoted to the worship of God and to the exercise of the
sense of Sight, which begins with the first rays of the sun. The sense
of Taste is gratified by our dinner, and we add to it the pleasure of
Smell. The most delicious viands are spread for us in apartments strewed
with flowers. The table is adorned with them, and the most exquisite
wines are handed to us in crystal goblets. When we have glorified God,
by the agreeable use of the palate, and the olfactory nerve, we enjoy a
delightful sleep of two hours, in bowers of orange trees, roses, and
myrtles. Having acquired a fresh store of strength and spirits, we
return to our occupations, that we may thus mingle labour with pleasure,
which would lose its zest by long continuance. After our work, we return
to the temple, to thank God, and to offer him incense. From thence we go
to the most delightful part of the garden, where we find three hundred
young girls, some of whom form lively dances with the younger of our
monks; the others execute serious dances, which require neither strength
nor agility, and which only keep time to the sound of musical
instruments.
We talk and laugh with our companions, who are dressed in a light gauze,
and whose tresses are adorned with flowers; we press them to partake of
exquisite sherbets, differently prepared. The hour of supper being
arrived, we repair to rooms illuminated with the lustre of a thousand
tapers fragrant with amber. The supper-room is surrounded by three vast
galleries, in which are placed musicians, whose various instruments fill
the mind with the most pleasurable and the softest emotions. The young
girls are seated at table with us, and, towards the conclusion of the
repast, they sing songs, which are hymns in honour of the God who has
endowed us with senses which shed such a charm over existence, and which
promise us new pleasure from every fresh exercise of them. After the
repast is ended, we return to the dance, and, when the hour of repose
arrives, we draw from a kind of lottery, in which every one is sure of a
prize; that is, a young girl as his companion for the night. They are
allotted thus by chance, in order to avoid jealousy, and to prevent
exclusive attachments. Thus ends the day, and gives place to a night of
delights, which we sanctify by enjoying with due relish that sweetest of
all pleasures, which Faraki has so wisely attached to the reproduction of
our species. We reverently admire the wisdom and the goodness of Faraki,
who, desiring to secure to the world a continued population, has
implanted in the sexes an invincible mutual attraction, which constantly
draws them towards each other. Fecundity is the end he proposes, and he
rewards with intoxicating delights those who contribute to the fulfilment
of his designs. What should we say to the favourite of a King from whom
he had received a beautiful house, and fine estates, and who chose to
spoil the house, to let it fall in ruins, to abandon the cultivation of
the land, and let it become sterile, and covered with thorns? Such is
the conduct of the faquirs of India, who condemn themselves to the most
melancholy privations, and to the most severe sufferings. Is not this
insulting Faraki? Is it not saying to him, I despise your gifts? Is it
not misrepresenting him and saying, You are malevolent and cruel, and I
know that I can no otherwise please you than by offering you the
spectacle of my miseries? "I am told," added he, "that you have, in your
country, faquirs not less insane, not less cruel to themselves." I
thought, with some reason, that he meant the fathers of La Trappe. The
recital of the matter afforded me much matter for reflection, and I
admired how strange are the systems to which perverted reason gives
birth.
The Duc de V----- was a nobleman of high rank and great wealth. He said
to the King one evening at supper, "Your Majesty does me the favour to
treat me with great kindness: I should be inconsolable if I had the
misfortune to fall under your displeasure. If such a calamity were to
befall me, I should endeavour to divert my grief by improving some
beautiful estates of mine in such and such a province;" and he thereupon
gave a description of three or four fine seats. About a month after,
talking of the disgrace of a Minister, he said, "I hope your Majesty will
not withdraw your favour from me; but if I had the misfortune to lose it,
I should be more to be pitied than anybody, for I have no asylum in which
to hide my head." All those present, who had heard the description of
the beautiful country houses, looked at each other and laughed. The King
said to Madame de Pompadour, who sat next to him at table, "People are
very right in saying that a liar ought to have a good memory."
An event, which made me tremble, as well as Madame, procured me the
familiarity of the King. In the middle of the night, Madame came into my
chamber, en chemise, and in a state of distraction. "Here! Here!" said
she, "the King is dying." My alarm may be easily imagined. I put on a
petticoat, and found the King in her bed, panting. What was to be
done?--it was an indigestion. We threw water upon him, and he came to
himself. I made him swallow some Hoffman's drops, and he said to me, "Do
not make any noise, but go to Quesnay; say that your mistress is ill; and
tell the Doctor's servants to say nothing about it." Quesnay, who lodged
close by, came immediately, and was much astonished to see the King in
that state. He felt his pulse, and said, "The crisis is over; but, if
the King were sixty years old, this might have been serious." He went to
seek some drug, and, on his return, set about inundating the King with
perfumed water. I forget the name of the medicine he made him take, but
the effect was wonderful. I believe it was the drops of General Lamotte.
I called up one of the girls of the wardrobe to make tea, as if for
myself. The King took three cups, put on his robe de chambre and his
stockings, and went to his own room, leaning upon the Doctor. What a
sight it was to see us all three half naked! Madame put on a robe as
soon as possible, and I did the same, and the King changed his clothes
behind the curtains, which were very decently closed. He afterwards
spoke of this short attack, and expressed his sense of the attentions
shown him. An hour after, I felt the greatest possible terror in
thinking that the King might have died in our hands. Happily, he quickly
recovered himself, and none of the domestics perceived what had taken
place. I merely told the girl of the wardrobe to put everything to
rights, and she thought it was Madame who had been indisposed. The King,
the next morning, gave secretly to Quesnay a little note for Madame, in
which he said, 'Ma chere amie' must have had a great fright, but let her
reassure herself--I am now well, which the Doctor will certify to you.
From that moment the King became accustomed to me, and, touched by the
interest I had shown for him, he often gave me one of his peculiarly
gracious glances, and made me little presents, and, on every New Year's
Day, sent me porcelain to the amount of twenty louis d'or. He told
Madame that he looked upon me in the apartment as a picture or statue,
and never put any constraint upon himself on account of my presence.
Doctor Quesnay received a pension of a thousand crowns for his attention
and silence, and the promise of a place for his son. The King gave me an
order upon the Treasury for four thousand francs, and Madame had
presented to her a very handsome chiming-clock and the King's portrait in
a snuffbox.
The King was habitually melancholy, and liked everything which recalled
the idea of death, in spite of the strongest fears of it. Of this, the
following is an instance: Madame de Pompadour was on her way to Crecy,
when one of the King's grooms made a sign to her coachman to stop, and
told him that the King's carriage had broken down, and that, knowing her
to be at no great distance, His Majesty had sent him forward to beg her
to wait for him. He soon overtook us, and seated himself in Madame de
Pompadour's carriage, in which were, I think, Madame de Chateau-Renaud,
and Madame de Mirepoix. The lords in attendance placed themselves in
some other carriages. I was behind, in a chaise, with Gourbillon, Madame
de Pompadour's valet de chambre. We were surprised in a short time by
the King stopping his carriage. Those which followed, of course stopped
also. The King called a groom, and said to him, "You see that little
eminence; there are crosses; it must certainly be a burying-ground; go
and see whether there are any graves newly dug." The groom galloped up
to it, returned, and said to the King, "There are three quite freshly
made." Madame de Pompadour, as she told me, turned away her head with
horror; and the little Marechale
[The Marechale de Mirepois died at Brussels in 1791, at a very advanced
age, but preserving her wit and gaiety to the last. The day of her
death, after she had received the Sacrament, the physician told her that
he thought her a good deal better. She replied, "You tell me bad news:
having packed up, I had rather go." She was sister of the Prince de
Beauveau. The Prince de Ligne says, in one of his printed letters: "She
had that enchanting talent which supplies the means of pleasing
everybody. You would have sworn that she had thought of nothing but you
all her life."--En.]
gaily said, "This is indeed enough to make one's mouth water." Madame de
Pompadour spoke of it when I was undressing her in the evening. "What a
strange pleasure," said she, "to endeavour to fill one's mind with images
which one ought to endeavour to banish, especially when one is surrounded
by so many sources of happiness! But that is the King's way; he loves to
talk about death. He said, some days ago, to M. de Fontanieu, who was,
seized with a bleeding at the nose, at the levee: 'Take care of yourself;
at your age it is a forerunner of apoplexy.' The poor man went home
frightened, and absolutely ill."
I never saw the King so agitated as during the illness of the Dauphin.
The physicians came incessantly to the apartments of Madame de Pompadour,
where the King interrogated them. There was one from Paris, a very odd
man, called Pousse, who once said to him, "You are a good papa; I like
you for that. But you know we are all your children, and share your
distress. Take courage, however; your son will recover." Everybody's
eyes were upon the Duc d'Orleans, who knew not how to look. He would
have become heir to the crown, the Queen being past the age to have
children. Madame de ----- said to me, one day, when I was expressing my
surprise at the King's grief, "It would annoy him beyond measure to have
a Prince of the blood heir apparent. He does not like them, and looks
upon their relationship to him as so remote, that he would feel
humiliated by it." And, in fact, when his son recovered, he said, "The
King of Spain would have had a fine chance." It was thought that he was
right in this, and that it would have been agreeable to justice; but
that, if the Duc d'Orleans had been supported by a party, he might have
supported his pretensions to the crown. It was, doubtless, to remove
this impression that he gave a magnificent fete at St. Cloud on the
occasion of the Dauphin's recovery. Madame de Pompadour said to Madame
de Brancas, speaking of this fete, "He wishes to make us forget the
chateau en Espagne he has been dreaming of; in Spain, however, they build
them of solider materials." The people did not shew so much joy at the
Dauphin's recovery. They looked upon him as a devotee, who did nothing
but sing psalms. They loved the Duc d'Orleans, who lived in the capital,
and had acquired the name of the King of Paris. These sentiments were
not just; the Dauphin only sang psalms when imitating the tones of one of
the choristers of the chapel. The people afterwards acknowledged their
error, and did justice to his virtues. The Duc d'Orleans paid the most
assiduous court to Madame de Pompadour: the Duchess, on the contrary,
detested her. It is possible that words were put into the Duchess's
mouth which she never uttered; but she, certainly, often said most
cutting things. The King would have sent her into exile, had he listened
only to his resentment; but he feared the eclat of such a proceeding, and
he knew that she would only be the more malicious. The Duc d'Orleans
was, just then, extremely jealous of the Comte de Melfort; and the
Lieutenant of Police told the King he had strong reasons for believing
that the Duke would stick at nothing to rid himself of this gallant, and
that he thought it his duty to give the Count notice, that he ought to be
upon his guard. The King said, "He would not dare to attempt any such
violence as you seem to apprehend; but there is a better way: let him try
to surprise them, and he will find me very well inclined to have his
cursed wife shut up; but if he got rid of this lover, she would have
another to-morrow.
"Nay, she has others at this moment; for instance, the Chevalier de
Colbert, and the Comte de l'Aigle." Madame de Pompadour, however, told
me these two last affairs were not certain.
An adventure happened about the same time, which the Lieutenant of Police
reported to the King. The Duchesse d'Orleans had amused herself one
evening, about eight o'clock, with ogling a handsome young Dutchman, whom
she took a fancy to, from a window of the Palais Royal. The young man,
taking her for a woman of the town, wanted to make short work, at which
she was very much shocked. She called a Swiss, and made herself known.
The stranger was arrested; but he defended himself by affirming that she
had talked very loosely to him. He was dismissed, and the Duc d'Orleans
gave his wife a severe reprimand.
The King (who hated her so much that he spoke of her without the
slightest restraint) one day said to Madame de Pompadour, in my presence,
"Her mother knew what she was, for, before her marriage, she never
suffered her to say more than yes and no. Do you know her joke on the
nomination of Moras? She sent to congratulate him upon it: two minutes
after, she called back the messenger she had sent, and said, before
everybody present, 'Before you speak to him, ask the Swiss if he still
has the place.'" Madame de Pompadour was not vindictive, and, in spite
of the malicious speeches of the Duchesse d'Orleans, she tried to excuse
her conduct. "Almost all women," she said, "have lovers; she has not all
that are imputed to her: but her free manners, and her conversation,
which is beyond all bounds, have brought her into general disrepute."
My companion came into my room the other day, quite delighted. She had
been with M. de Chenevieres, first Clerk in the War-office, and a
constant correspondent of Voltaire, whom she looks upon as a god. She
was, by the bye, put into a great rage one day, lately, by a print-seller
in the street, who was crying, "Here is Voltaire, the famous Prussian;
here you see him, with a great bear-skin cap, to keep him from the cold!
Here is the famous Prussian, for six sous!"--"What a profanation!" said
she. To return to my story: M. de Chenevieres had shewn her some letters
from Voltaire, and M. Marmontel had read an 'Epistle to his Library'.
M. Quesnay came in for a moment; she told him all this: and, as he did
not appear to take any great interest in it, she asked him if he did not
admire great poets. "Oh, yes; just as I admire great bilboquet players,"
said he, in that tone of his, which rendered everything he said
diverting. "I have written some verses, however," said he, "and I will
repeat them to you; they are upon a certain M. Rodot, an Intendant of the
Marine, who was very fond of abusing medicine and medical men. I made
these verses to revenge AEsculapius and Hippocrates.
"What do you say to them?" said the Doctor. My companion thought them
very pretty, and the Doctor gave me them in his handwriting, begging me,
at the same time, not to give any copies.
Madame de Pompadour joked my companion about her 'bel-esprit', but
sometimes she reposed confidence in her. Knowing that she was often
writing, she said to her, "You are writing a novel, which will appear
some day or other; or, perhaps, the age of Louis XV.: I beg you to treat
me well." I have no reason to complain of her. It signifies very little
to me that she can talk more learnedly than I can about prose and verse.
She never told me her real name; but one day I was malicious enough to
say to her, "Some one was maintaining, yesterday, that the family of
Madame de Mar---- was of more importance than many of good extraction.
They say it is the first in Cadiz. She had very honourable alliances,
and yet she has thought it no degradation to be governess to Madame de
Pompadour's daughter. One day you will see her sons or her nephews
Farmers General, and her granddaughters married to Dukes." I had
remarked that Madame de Pompadour for some days had taken chocolate, 'a
triple vanille et ambre', at her breakfast; and that she ate truffles and
celery soup: finding her in a very heated state, I one day remonstrated
with her about her diet, to which she paid no attention. I then thought
it right to speak to her friend, the Duchesse de Brancas. "I had remarked
the same thing," said she, "and I will speak to her about it before you."
After she was dressed, Madame de Brancas, accordingly, told her she was
uneasy about her health. "I have just been talking to her about it,"
said the Duchess, pointing to me, "and she is of my opinion." Madame de
Pompadour seemed a little displeased; at last, she burst into tears. I
immediately went out, shut the door, and returned to my place to listen.
"My dear friend," she said to Madame de Brancas, "I am agitated by the
fear of losing the King's heart by ceasing to be attractive to him. Men,
you know, set great value on certain things, and I have the misfortune to
be of a very cold temperament. I, therefore, determined to adopt a
heating diet, in order to remedy this defect, and for two days this
elixir has been of great service to me, or, at least, I have thought I
felt its good effects."
The Duchesse de Brancas took the phial which was upon the toilet, and
after having smelt at it, "Fie!" said she, and threw it into the fire.
Madame de Pompadour scolded her, and said, "I don't like to be treated
like a child." She wept again, and said, "You don't know what happened
to me a week ago. The King, under pretext of the heat of the weather,
lay down upon my sofa, and passed half the night there. He will take a
disgust to me and have another mistress."--"You will not avoid that,"
replied the Duchess, "by following your new diet, and that diet will kill
you; render your company more and more precious to the King by your
gentleness: do not repulse him in his fond moments, and let time do the
rest; the chains of habit will bind him to you for ever." They then
embraced; Madame de Pompadour recommended secrecy to Madame de Brancas,
and the diet was abandoned.
A little while after, she said to me, "Our master is better pleased with
me. This is since I spoke to Quesnay, without, however, telling him all.
He told me, that to accomplish my end, I must try to be in good health,
to digest well, and, for that purpose, take exercise. I think the Doctor
is right. I feel quite a different creature. I adore that man (the
King), I wish so earnestly to be agreeable to him! But, alas! sometimes
he says I am a macreuse (a cold-blooded aquatic bird). I would give my
life to please him."
One day, the King came in very much heated. I withdrew to my post, where
I listened. "What is the matter?" said Madame de Pompadour. "The long
robes and the clergy," replied he, "are always at drawn daggers, they
distract me by their quarrels. But I detest the long robes the most. My
clergy, on the whole, is attached and faithful to me; the others want to
keep me in a state of tutelage."--"Firmness," said Madame de Pompadour,
"is the only thing that can subdue them."--"Robert Saint Vincent is an
incendiary, whom I wish I could banish, but that would make a terrible
tumult. On the other hand, the Archbishop is an iron-hearted fellow, who
tries to pick quarrels. Happily, there are some in the Parliament upon
whom I can rely, and who affect to be very violent, but can be softened
upon occasion. It costs me a few abbeys, and a few secret pensions, to
accomplish this. There is a certain V--- who serves me very well, while
he appears to be furious on the other side."--"I can tell you some news
of him, Sire," said Madame de Pompadour. "He wrote to me yesterday,
pretending that he is related to me, and begging for an
interview."--"Well," said the King, "let him come. See him; and if he
behaves well, we shall have a pretext for giving him something." M. de
Gontaut came in, and seeing that they were talking seriously, said
nothing. The King walked about in an agitated manner, and suddenly
exclaimed, "The Regent was very wrong in restoring to them the right of
remonstrating; they will end in ruining the State."--"All, Sire," said M.
de Gontaut, "it is too strong to be shaken by a set of petty justices."
"You don't know what they do, nor what they think. They are an assembly
of republicans; however, here is enough of the subject. Things will last
as they are as long as I shall. Talk about this on Sunday, Madame, with
M. Berrien." Madame d'Amblimont and Madame d'Esparbes came in. "Ah! here
come my kittens," said Madame de Pompadour; "all that we are about is
Greek to them; but their gaiety restores my tranquility, and enables me
to attend again to serious affairs. You, Sire, have the chase to divert
you--they answer the same purpose to me." The King then began to talk
about his morning's sport, and Lansmatte.
[See the "Memoirs of Madame Campan," vol. iii., p. 24. Many traits of
original and amusing bluntness are related of Lansmatte, one of the
King's grooms.]