Book: The Memoirs of Louis XV. and XVI., Volume 2
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Unknown >> The Memoirs of Louis XV. and XVI., Volume 2
"See what the Court is; all is corruption there, from the highest to the
lowest," said I to Madame, one day, when she was speaking to me of some
facts, that had come to my knowledge. "I could tell you many others,"
replied Madame; "but the little chamber, where you often remain, must
furnish you with a sufficient number." This was a little nook, from,
whence I could hear a great part of what passed in Madame's apartment.
The Lieutenant of Police sometimes came secretly to this apartment, and
waited there. Three or four persons, of high consideration, also found
their way in, in a mysterious, manner, and several devotees, who were, in
their hearts, enemies of Madame de Pompadour. But these men had not
petty objects in view: one: required the government of a province;
another, a seat in the Council; a third, a Captaincy of the, Guards; and
this man would have obtained it if the Marechale de Mirepoix had not
requested it for her brother, the Prince de Beauvan. The Chevalier du
Muy was not among these apostates; not even the promise of being High
Constable would have tempted him to make up to Madame, still less to
betray his master, the Dauphin. This Prince was, to the last degree,
weary of the station he held. Sometimes, when teased to death by
ambitious people, who pretended to be Catos, or wonderfully devout, he
took part against a Minister against whom he was prepossessed; then
relapsed into his accustomed state of inactivity and ennui.
The King used to say, "My son is lazy; his temper is Polonese--hasty and
changeable; he has no tastes; he cares nothing for hunting, for women, or
for good living; perhaps he imagines that if he were in my place he would
be happy; at first, he would make great changes, create everything anew,
as it were. In a short time he would be as tired of the rank of King as
he now is of his own; he is only fit to live 'en philosophe', with clever
people about him." The King added, "He loves what is right; he is truly
virtuous, and does not want under standing."
M. de St. Germain said, one day, to the King, "To think well of mankind,
one must be neither a Confessor, nor a Minister, nor a Lieutenant of
Police."--"Nor a King," said His Majesty. "Ah! Sire," replied he, "you
remember the fog we had a few days ago, when we could not see four steps
before us. Kings are commonly surrounded by still thicker fogs,
collected around them by men of intriguing character, and faithless
Ministers--all, of every class, unite in endeavouring to make things
appear to Kings in any, light but the true one." I heard this from the
mouth of the famous Comte de St. Germain, as I was attending upon Madame,
who was ill in bed. The King was there; and the Count, who was a welcome
visitor, had been admitted. There were also present, M. de Gontaut,
Madame de Brancas, and the Abbe de Bernis. I remember that the very same
day, after the Count was gone out, the King talked in a style which gave
Madame great pain. Speaking of the King of Prussia, he said, "That is a
madman, who will risk all to gain all, and may, perhaps, win the game,
though he has neither religion, morals, nor principles. He wants to make
a noise in the world, and he will succeed. Julian, the Apostate, did the
same."--"I never saw the King so animated before," observed Madame, when
he was gone out; "and really the comparison with Julian, the Apostate, is
not amiss, considering the irreligion of the King of Prussia. If he gets
out of his perplexities, surrounded as he is by his enemies, he will be
one of the greatest men in history."
M. de Bernis remarked, "Madame is correct in her judgment, for she has no
reason to pronounce his praises; nor have I, though I agree with what she
says." Madame de Pompadour never enjoyed so much influence as at the
time when M. de Choiseul became one of the Ministry. From the time of
the Abbe de Bernis she had afforded him her constant support, and he had
been employed in foreign affairs, of which he was said to know but
little. Madame made the Treaty of Sienna, though the first idea of it
was certainly furnished her by the Abbe. I have been informed by several
persons that the King often talked to Madame upon this subject; for my
own part, I never heard any conversation relative to it, except the high
praises bestowed by her on the Empress and the Prince de Kaunitz, whom
she had known a good deal of. She said that he had a clear head, the
head of a statesman. One day, when she was talking in this strain, some
one tried to cast ridicule upon the Prince on account of the style in
which he wore his hair, and the four valets de chambre, who made the
hair-powder fly in all directions, while Kaunitz ran about that he might
only catch the superfine part of it. "Aye," said Madame, "just as
Alcibiades cut off his dog's tail in order to give the Athenians
something to talk about, and to turn their attention from those things he
wished to conceal."
Never was the public mind so inflamed against Madame de Pompadour as when
news arrived of the battle of Rosbach. Every day she received anonymous
letters, full of the grossest abuse; atrocious verses, threats of poison
and assassination. She continued long a prey to the most acute sorrow,
and could get no sleep but from opiates. All this discontent was excited
by her protecting the Prince of Soubise; and the Lieutenant of Police had
great difficulty in allaying the ferment of the people. The King
affirmed that it was not his fault. M. du Verney was the confidant of
Madame in everything relating to war; a subject which he well understood,
though not a military man by, profession. The old Marechal de Noailles
called him, in derision, the General of the flour, but Marechal Saxe, one
day, told Madame that Du Verney knew more of military matters than the
old Marshal. Du Verney once paid a visit to Madame de Pompadour, and
found her in company with the King, the Minister of War, and two
Marshals; he submitted to them the plan of a campaign, which was
generally applauded. It was through his influence that M. de Richelieu
was appointed to the command of the army, instead of the Marechal
d'Estrdes. He came to Quesnay two days after, when I was with him. The
Doctor began talking about the art of war, and I remember he said,
"Military men make a great mystery of their art; but what is the reason
that young Princes have always the most brilliant success? Why, because
they are active and daring. When Sovereigns command their troops in
person what exploits they perform! Clearly, because they are at liberty
to run all risks." These observations made a lasting impression on my
mind.
The first physician came, one day, to see Madame he was talking of madmen
and madness. The King was present, and everything relating to disease of
any kind interested him. The first physician said that he could
distinguish the symptoms of approaching madness six months beforehand.
"Are there any persons about the Court likely to become mad?" said the
King.--"I know one who will be imbecile in less than three months,"
replied he. The King pressed him to tell the name. He excused himself
for some time. At last he said, "It is M. de Sechelles, the
Controller-General."--"You have a spite against him," said Madame,
"because he would not grant what you asked"--"That is true," said he,
"but though that might possibly incline me to tell a disagreeable truth,
it would not make me invent one. He is losing his intellects from
debility. He affects gallantry at his age, and I perceive the connection
in his ideas is becoming feeble and irregular."--The King laughed; but
three months afterwards he came to Madame, saying, "Sechelles gives
evident proofs of dotage in the Council. We must appoint a successor to
him." Madame de Pompadour told me of this on the way to Choisy. Some
time afterwards, the first physician came to see Madame, and spoke to her
in private. "You are attached to M. Berryer, Madame," said he, "and I am
sorry to have to warn you that he will be attacked by madness, or by
catalepsy, before long. I saw him this morning at chapel, sitting on one
of those very low little chairs, which are only, meant to kneel upon.
His knees touched his chin. I went to his house after Mass; his eyes
were wild, and when his secretary spoke to him, he said, 'Hold your
tongue, pen. A pen's business is to write, and not to speak.'" Madame,
who liked the Keeper of the Seals, was very much concerned, and begged
the first physician not to mention what he had perceived. Four days
after this, M. Berryer was seized with catalepsy, after having talked
incoherently. This is a disease which I did not know even by name, and
got it written down for me. The patient remains in precisely the same
position in which the fit seizes him; one leg or arm elevated, the eyes
wide open, or just as it may happen. This latter affair was known to all
the Court at the death of the Keeper of the Seals.
When the Marechal de Belle-Isle's son was killed in battle, Madame
persuaded the King to pay his father a visit. He was rather reluctant,
and Madame said to him, with an air half angry, half playful:
--------"Barbare! don't l'orgueil
Croit le sang d'un sujet trop pays d'un coup d'oeil."
The King laughed, and said, "Whose fine verses are those?"--"Voltaire's,"
said Madame ------.
"As barbarous as I am, I gave him the place of gentleman in ordinary, and
a pension," said the King.
The King went in state to call on the Marshal, followed by all the Court;
and it certainly appeared that this solemn visit consoled the Marshal for
the loss of his son, the sole heir to his name.
When the Marshal died, he was carried to his house on a common
hand-barrow, covered with a shabby cloth. I met the body. The bearers
were laughing and singing. I thought it was some servant, and asked who
it was. How great was my surprise at learning that these were the
remains of a man abounding in honours and in riches. Such is the Court;
the dead are always in fault, and cannot be put out of sight too soon.
The King said, "M. Fouquet is dead, I hear."--"He was no longer Fouquet,"
replied the Duc d'Ayen; "Your Majesty had permitted him to change that
name, under which, however, he acquired all his reputation." The King
shrugged his shoulders. His Majesty had, in fact, granted him letters
patent, permitting him not to sign Fouquet during his Ministry. I heard
this on the occasion in question. M. de Choiseul had the war department
at his death. He was every day more and more in favour.
Madame treated him with greater distinction than any previous Minister,
and his manners towards her were the most agreeable it is possible to
conceive, at once respectful and gallant. He never passed a day without
seeing her. M. de Marigny could not endure M. de Choiseul, but he never
spoke of him, except to his intimate friends. Calling, one day, at
Quesnay's, I found him there. They were talking of M. de Choiseul. "He
is a mere 'petit maitre'," said the Doctor, "and, if he were handsome
just fit to be one of Henri the Third's favourites." The Marquis de
Mirabeau and M. de La Riviere came in. "This kingdom," said Mirabeau,
"is in a deplorable state. There is neither national energy, nor the
only substitute for it--money."--"It can only be regenerated," said La
Riviere, "by a conquest, like that of China, or by some great internal
convulsion; but woe to those who live to see that! The French people do
not do things by halves." These words made me tremble, and I hastened
out of the room. M. de Marigny did the same, though without appearing at
all affected by what had been said. "You heard De La Riviere," said
he,--"but don't be alarmed, the conversations that pass at the Doctor's
are never repeated; these are honourable men, though rather chimerical.
They know not where to stop. I think, however, they are in the right
way; only, unfortunately, they go too far." I wrote this down
immediately.
The Comte de St. Germain came to see Madame de Pompadour, who was ill,
and lay on the sofa. He shewed her a little box, containing topazes,
rubies, and emeralds. He appeared to have enough to furnish a treasury.
Madame sent for me to see all these beautiful things. I looked at them
with an air of the utmost astonishment, but I made signs to Madame that I
thought them all false. The Count felt for something in his pocketbook,
about twice as large as a spectacle-case, and, at length, drew out two or
three little paper packets, which he unfolded, and exhibited a superb
ruby. He threw on the table, with a contemptuous air, a little cross of
green and white stones. I looked at it and said, "That is not to be
despised." I put it on, and admired it greatly. The Count begged me to
accept it. I refused--he urged me to take it. Madame then refused it
for me. At length, he pressed it upon me so warmly that Madame, seeing
that it could not be worth above forty Louis, made me a sign to accept
it. I took the cross, much pleased at the Count's politeness; and, some
days after, Madame presented him with an enamelled box, upon which was
the portrait of some Grecian sage (whose name I don't recollect), to whom
she compared him. I skewed the cross to a jeweller, who valued it at
sixty-five Louis. The Count offered to bring Madame some enamel
portraits, by Petitot, to look at, and she told him to bring them after
dinner, while the King was hunting. He shewed his portraits, after which
Madame said to him, "I have heard a great deal of a charming story you
told two days ago, at supper, at M. le Premier's, of an occurrence you
witnessed fifty or sixty years ago." He smiled and said, "It is rather
long."--"So much the better," said she, with an air of delight. Madame
de Gontaut and the ladies came in, and the door was shut; Madame made a
sign to me to sit down behind the screen. The Count made many apologies
for the ennui which his story would, perhaps, occasion. He said,
"Sometimes one can tell a story pretty well; at other times it is quite a
different thing."
"At the beginning of this century, the Marquis de St. Gilles was
Ambassador from Spain to the Hague. In his youth he had been
particularly intimate with the Count of Moncade, a grandee of Spain, and
one of the richest nobles of that country. Some months after the
Marquis's arrival at the Hague, he received a letter from the Count,
entreating him, in the name of their former friendship, to render him the
greatest possible service. 'You know,' said he, 'my dear Marquis, the
mortification I felt that the name of Moncade was likely to expire with
me. At length, it pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and to grant me a
son: he gave early promise of dispositions worthy of his birth, but he,
some time since, formed an unfortunate and disgraceful attachment to the
most celebrated actress of the company of Toledo. I shut my eyes to this
imprudence on the part of a young man whose conduct had, till then,
caused me unmingled satisfaction. But, having learnt that he was so
blinded by passion as to intend to marry this girl, and that he had even
bound himself by a written promise to that effect, I solicited the King
to have her placed in confinement. My son, having got information of the
steps I had taken, defeated my intentions by escaping with the object of
his passion. For more than six months I have vainly endeavoured to
discover where he has concealed himself, but I have now some reason to
think he is at the Hague. The Count earnestly conjured the Marquis to
make the most rigid search, in order to discover his son's retreat, and
to endeavour to prevail upon him to return to his home. 'It is an act of
justice,' continued he, 'to provide for the, girl, if she consents to
give up the written promise of marriage which she has received, and I
leave it to your discretion to do what is right for her, as well as to
determine the sum necessary to bring my son to Madrid in a manner
suitable to his condition. I know not,' concluded he, 'whether you are a
father; if you are, you will be able to sympathise in my anxieties.' The
Count subjoined to this letter an exact description of his son, and the
young woman by whom he was accompanied.
"On the receipt of this letter, the Marquis lost not a moment in sending
to all the inns in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague, but in vain--he
could find no trace of them. He began to despair of success, when the
idea struck him that a young French page of his, remarkable for his
quickness and intelligence, might be employed with advantage. He
promised to reward him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the young
woman, who was the cause of so much anxiety, and gave him the description
of her person. The page visited all the public places for many days,
without success; at length, one evening, at the play, he saw a young man
and woman, in a box, who attracted his attention. When he saw that they,
perceived he was looking at them, and withdrew to the back of the box to
avoid his observation, he felt confident that they were the objects of
his search. He did not take his eyes from the bog, and watched every
movement in it. The instant the performance ended, he was in the passage
leading from the boxes to the door, and he remarked that the young man,
who, doubtless, observed the dress he wore, tried to conceal himself, as
he passed him, by putting his handkerchief before his face. He followed
him, at a distance, to the inn called the Vicomte de Turenne, which he
saw him and the woman enter; and, being now certain of success, he ran to
inform the Ambassador. The Marquis de St. Gilles immediately repaired to
the inn, wrapped in a cloak, and followed by his page and two servants.
He desired the landlord to show him to the room of a young man and woman,
who had lodged for some time in his house. The landlord, for some time,
refused to do so, unless the Marquis would give their name. The page
told him to take notice that he was speaking to the Spanish Ambassador,
who had strong reasons for wishing to see the persons in question. The
innkeeper said they wished not to be known, and that they had absolutely
forbidden him to admit anybody into their apartment who did not ask for
them by name; but that, since the Ambassador desired it, he would show
him their room. He then conducted them up to a dirty, miserable garret.
He knocked at the door, and waited for some time; he then knocked again
pretty, loudly, upon which the door was half-opened. At the sight of the
Ambassador and his suite, the person who opened it immediately closed it
again, exclaiming that they, had made a mistake. The Ambassador pushed
hard against him, forced his way, in, made a sign to his people to wait
outside, and remained in the room. He saw before him a very handsome
young man, whose appearance perfectly, corresponded with the description,
and a young woman, of great beauty, and remarkably fine person, whose
countenance, form, colour of the hair, etc., were also precisely those
described by the Count of Moncade. The young man spoke first. He
complained of the violence used in breaking into the apartment of a
stranger, living in a free country, and under the protection of its laws.
The Ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, 'It is useless
to feign, my dear Count; I know you, and I do not come here--to give pain
to you or to this lady, whose appearance interests me extremely.' The
young man replied that he was totally mistaken; that he was not a Count,
but the son of a merchant of Cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and, that
they were travelling for pleasure. The Ambassador, casting his eyes
round the miserably furnished room, which contained but one bed, and some
packages of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, 'Is
this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title which is
warranted by my tender regard for your father), is this a fit residence
for the son of the Count of Moncade?' The young man still protested
against the use of any such language, as addressed to him. At length,
overcome by the entreaties of the Ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that
he was the son of the Count of Moncade, but declared that nothing should
induce him to return to his father, if he must abandon a woman he adored.
The young woman burst into tears, and threw herself at the feet of the
Ambassador, telling him that she would not be the cause of the ruin of
the young Count; and that generosity, or rather, love, would enable her
to disregard her own happiness, and, for his sake, to separate herself
from him. The Ambassador admired her noble disinterestedness. The young
man, on the contrary, received her declaration with the most desperate
grief. He reproached his mistress, and declared that he would never
abandon so estimable a creature, nor suffer the sublime generosity of her
heart to be turned against herself. The Ambassador told him that the
Count of Moncade was far from wishing to render her miserable, and that
he was commissioned to provide her with a sum sufficient to enable her to
return into Spain, or to live where she liked. Her noble sentiments, and
genuine tenderness, he said, inspired him with the greatest interest for
her, and would induce him to go to the utmost limits of his powers, in
the sum he was to give her; that he, therefore, promised her ten thousand
florins, that is to say, about twelve hundred Louis, which would be given
her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage she had received,
and the Count of Moncade took up his abode in the Ambassador's house, and
promised to return to Spain. The young woman seemed perfectly
indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly absorbed in her lover, and in
the grief of leaving him. She seemed insensible to everything but the
cruel sacrifice which her reason, and her love itself, demanded. At
length, drawing from a little portfolio the promise of marriage, signed
by the Count, 'I know his heart too well,' said she, 'to need it.' Then
she kissed it again and again, with a sort of transport, and delivered it
to the Ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of soul he
witnessed. He promised her that he would never cease to take the
liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the Count of his father's
forgiveness. 'He will receive with open arms,' said he, 'the prodigal
son, returning to the bosom of his distressed family; the heart of a
father is an exhaustless mine of tenderness. How great will be the
felicity of my friend on the receipt of these tidings, after his long
anxiety and affliction; how happy do I esteem myself, at being the
instrument of that felicity?' Such was, in part, the language of the
Ambassador, which appeared to produce a strong impression on the young
man. But, fearing lest, during the night, love should regain all his
power, and should triumph over the generous resolution of the lady, the
Marquis pressed the young Count to accompany him to his hotel. The
tears, the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel separation, cannot
be described; they deeply touched the heart of the Ambassador, who
promised to watch over the young lady. The Count's little baggage was
not difficult to remove, and, that very evening, he was installed in the
finest apartment of the Ambassador's house. The Marquis was overjoyed at
having restored to the illustrious house of Moncade the heir of its
greatness, and of its magnificent domains. On the following morning, as
soon as the young Count was up, he found tailors, dealers in cloth, lace,
stuffs, etc., out of which he had only to choose. Two valets de chambre,
and three laquais, chosen by the Ambassador for their intelligence and
good conduct, were in waiting in his antechamber, and presented
themselves, to receive his orders. The Ambassador shewed the young Count
the letter he had just written to his father, in which he congratulated
him on possessing a son whose noble sentiments and striking qualities
were worthy of his illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return.
The young lady was not forgotten; he confessed that to her generosity he
was partly indebted for the submission of her lover, and expressed his
conviction that the Count would not disapprove the gift he had made her,
of ten thousand florins. That sum was remitted, on the same day, to this
noble and interesting girl, who left the Hague without delay. The
preparations for the Count's journey were made; a splendid wardrobe and
an excellent carriage were embarked at Rotterdam, in a ship bound for
France, on board which a passage was secured for the Count, who was to
proceed from that country to Spain. A considerable sum of money, and
letters of credit on Paris, were given him at his departure; and the
parting between the Ambassador and the young Count was most touching. The
Marquis de St. Gilles awaited with impatience the Count's answer, and
enjoyed his friend's delight by anticipation. At the expiration of four
months, he received this long-expected letter. It would be utterly
impossible to describe his surprise on reading the following words,
'Heaven, my dear Marquis, never granted me the happiness of becoming a
father, and, in the midst of abundant wealth and honours, the grief of
having no heirs, and seeing an illustrious race end in my person, has
shed the greatest bitterness over my whole existence. I see, with
extreme regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young adventurer,
who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some means, obtained,
of our old friendship. But your Excellency must not be the sufferer. The
Count of Moncade is, most assuredly, the person whom you wished to serve;
he is bound to repay what your generous friendship hastened to advance,
in order to procure him a happiness which he would have felt most deeply.
I hope, therefore, Marquis, that your Excellency will have no hesitation
in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of three thousand
Louis of France, of the disbursal of which you sent me an account.'"