Book: The Secret Memoirs of Louis XV./XVI, Complete

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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.'"

The manner in which the Comte de St. Germain spoke, in the characters of
the young adventurer, his mistress, and the Ambassador, made his audience
weep and laugh by turns. The story is true in every particular, and the
adventurer surpasses Gusman d'Alfarache in address, according to the
report of some persons present. Madame de Pompadour thought of having a
play written, founded on this story; and the Count sent it to her in
writing, from which I transcribed it.

M. Duclos came to the Doctor's, and harangued with his usual warmth. I
heard him saying to two or three persons, "People are unjust to great
men, Ministers and Princes; nothing, for instance, is more common than to
undervalue their intellect. I astonished one of these little gentlemen
of the corps of the infallibles, by telling him that I could prove that
there had been more men of ability in the house of Bourbon, for the last
hundred years, than in any other family."--"You prove that?" said
somebody, sneeringly. "Yes," said Duclos; "and I will tell you how. The
great Conde, you will allow, was no fool; and the Duchesse de Longueville
is cited as one of the wittiest women that ever lived. The Regent was a
man who had few equals, in every kind of talent and acquirement. The
Prince de Conti, who was elected King of Poland, was celebrated for his
intelligence, and, in poetry, was the successful rival of La Fare and St.
Aulaire. The Duke of Burgundy was learned and enlightened. His Duchess,
the daughter of Louis XIV., was remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and
couplets. The Duc du Maine is generally spoken of only for his weakness,
but nobody had a more agreeable wit. His wife was mad, but she had an
extensive acquaintance with letters, good taste in poetry, and a
brilliant and inexhaustible imagination. Here are instances enough, I
think," said he; "and, as I am no flatterer, and hate to appear one, I
will not speak of the living." His hearers were astonished at this
enumeration, and all of them agreed in the truth of what he had said.
He added, "Don't we daily hear of silly D'Argenson, because he has a
good-natured air, and a bourgeois tone? and yet, I believe, there have
not been many Ministers comparable to him in knowledge and in
enlightened views."

[Rene LOUIS d'Argenson, who was Minister for Foreign Affairs. He was the
author of 'Considerations sur le Gouvernement', and of several other
works, from which succeeding political writers have drawn, and still draw
ideas, which they give to the world as new. This man, remarkable not only
for profound and original thinking, but for clear and forcible
expression, was, nevertheless, D'Argenson la bete. It is said, however,
that he affected the simplicity, and even silliness of manner, which
procured him that appellation. If, as we hope, the unedited memoirs left
by Rene d'Argenson will be given to the world, they will be found fully
to justify the opinion of Duclos, with regard to this Minister, and the
inappropriateness of his nickname.]

I took a pen, which lay on the Doctor's table, and begged M. Duclos to
repeat to me all the names he had mentioned, and the eulogium he had
bestowed on each. "If," said he, "you show that to the Marquise, tell
her how the conversation arose, and that I did not say it in order that
it might come to her ears, and eventually, perhaps, to those of another
person. I am an historiographer, and I will render justice, but I
shall, also, often inflict it."--"I will answer for that," said the
Doctor, "and our master will be represented as he really is. Louis XIV.
liked verses, and patronised poets; that was very well, perhaps, in his
time, because one must begin with something; but this age will be very
superior to the last. It must be acknowledged that Louis XV., in
sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru, to measure the earth, has a
higher claim to our respect than if he directed an opera. He has thrown
down the barriers which opposed the progress of philosophy, in spite of
the clamour of the devotees: the Encyclopaedia will do honour to his
reign." Duclos, during this speech, shook his head. I went away, and
tried to write down all I had heard, while it was fresh. I had the part
which related to the Princes of the Bourbon race copied by a valet, who
wrote a beautiful hand, and I gave it to Madame de Pompadour. But she
said to me, "What! is Duclos an acquaintance of yours? Do you want to
play the 'bel esprit', my dear good woman? That will not sit well upon
you." The truth is, that nothing can be further from my inclination. I
told her that I met him accidentally at the Doctor's, where he generally
spent an hour when he came to Versailles. "The King knows him to be a
worthy man," said she.

Madame de Pompadour was ill, and the King came to see her several times a
day. I generally left the room when he entered, but, having stayed a few
minutes, on one occasion, to give her a glass of chicory water, I heard
the King mention Madame d'Egmont. Madame raised her eyes to heaven, and
said, "That name always recalls to me a most melancholy and barbarous
affair; but it was not my fault." These words dwelt in my mind, and,
particularly, the tone in which they were uttered. As I stayed with
Madame till three o'clock in the morning, reading to her a part of the
time, it was easy for me to try to satisfy my curiosity. I seized a
moment, when the reading was interrupted, to say, "You looked dreadfully
shocked, Madame, when the King pronounced the name of D'Egmont." At
these words, she again raised her eyes, and said, "You would feel as I
do, if you knew the affair."--"It must, then, be deeply affecting, for I
do not think that it personally concerns you, Madame."--"No," said she,
"it does not; as, however, I am not the only person acquainted with this
history, and as I know you to be discreet, I will tell it you. The last
Comte d'Egmont married a reputed daughter of the Duc de Villars; but the
Duchess had never lived with her husband, and the Comtesse d'Egmont is,
in fact, a daughter of the Chevalier d'Orleans.--[Legitimate son of the
Regent, Grand Prior of France.]--At the death of her husband, young,
beautiful, agreeable, and heiress to an immense fortune, she attracted
the suit and homage of all the most distinguished men at Court. Her
mother's director, one day, came into her room and requested a private
interview; he then revealed to her that she was the offspring of an
adulterous intercourse, for which her mother had been doing penance for
five-and-twenty years. 'She could not,' said he, 'oppose your former
marriage, although it caused her extreme distress. Heaven did not grant
you children; but, if you marry again, you run the risk, Madame, of
transmitting to another family the immense wealth, which does not, in
fact, belong to you, and which is the price of crime.'

"The Comtesse d'Egmont heard this recital with horror. At the same
instant, her mother entered, and, on her knees, besought her daughter to
avert her eternal damnation. Madame d'Egmont tried to calm her own and
her mother's mind. 'What can I do?' said she, to her. 'Consecrate
yourself wholly to God,' replied the director, 'and thus expiate your
mother's crime.' The Countess, in her terror, promised whatever they
asked, and proposed to enter the Carmelites. I was informed of it, and
spoke to the King about the barbarous tyranny the Duchesse de Villars and
the director were about to exercise over this unhappy young woman; but we
knew not how to prevent it. The King, with the utmost kindness,
prevailed on the Queen to offer her the situation of Lady of the Palace,
and desired the Duchess's friends to persuade her to endeavour to deter
her daughter from becoming a Carmelite. It was all in vain; the wretched
victim was sacrificed."

Madame took it into her head to consult a fortuneteller, called Madame
Bontemps, who had told M. de Bernis's fortune, as I have already related,
and had surprised him by her predictions. M. de Choiseul, to whom she
mentioned the matter, said that the woman had also foretold fine things
that were to happen to him. "I know it," said she, "and, in return, you
promised her a carriage, but the poor woman goes on foot still." Madame
told me this, and asked me how she could disguise herself, so as to see
the woman without being known. I dared not propose any scheme then, for
fear it should not succeed; but, two days after, I talked to her surgeon
about the art, which some beggars practise, of counterfeiting sores, and
altering their features. He said that was easy enough. I let the thing
drop, and, after an interval of some minutes, I said, "If one could
change one's features, one might have great diversion at the opera, or at
balls. What alterations would it be necessary to make in me, now, to
render it impossible to recognise me?"--"In the first place," said he,
"you must alter the colour of your hair, then you must have a false nose,
and put a spot on some part of your face, or a wart, or a few hairs." I
laughed, and said, "Help me to contrive this for the next ball; I have
not been to one for twenty years; but I am dying to puzzle somebody, and
to tell him things which no one but I can tell him. I shall come home,
and go to bed, in a quarter of an hour."--"I must take the measure of
your nose," said he; "or do you take it with wax, and I will have a nose
made: you can get a flaxen or brown wig." I repeated to Madame what the
surgeon had told me: she was delighted at it. I took the measure of her
nose, and of my own, and carried them to the surgeon, who, in two days,
gave me the two noses, and a wart, which Madame stuck under her left eye,
and some paint for the eyebrows. The noses were most delicately made, of
a bladder, I think, and these, with the ether disguises, rendered it
impossible to recognize the face, and yet did not produce any shocking
appearance. All this being accomplished, nothing remained but to give
notice to the fortuneteller; we waited for a little excursion to Paris,
which Madame was to take, to look at her house. I then got a person,
with whom I had no connection, to speak to a waiting-woman of the
Duchesse de Ruffec, to obtain an interview with the woman. She made some
difficulty, on account of the Police; but we promised secrecy, and
appointed the place of meeting. Nothing could be more contrary to Madame
de Pompadour's character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to
engage in such an adventure. But her curiosity was raised to the highest
pitch, and, moreover, everything was so well arranged that there was not
the slightest risk. Madame had let M. de Gontaut, and her valet de
chambre, into the secret. The latter had hired two rooms for his niece,
who was then ill, at Versailles, near Madame's hotel. We went out in the
evening, followed by the valet de chambre, who was a safe man, and by the
Duke, all on foot. We had not, at farthest, above two hundred steps to
go. We were shown into two small rooms, in which were fires. The two
men remained in one, and we in the other. Madame had thrown herself on a
sofa. She had on a night-cap, which concealed half her face, in an
unstudied manner. I was near the fire, leaning on a table, on which were
two candles. There were lying on the chairs, near us, some clothes, of
small value. The fortune-teller rang--a little servant-girl let her in,
and then went to wait in the room where the gentlemen were. Coffee-cups,
and a coffee-pot, were set; and I had taken care to place, upon a little
buffet, some cakes, and a bottle of Malaga wine, having heard that Madame
Bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor. Her face, indeed,
sufficiently proclaimed it. "Is that lady ill?" said she, seeing Madame
de Pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa. I told her that she would
soon be better, but that she had kept her room for a week. She heated
the coffee, and prepared the two cups, which she carefully wiped,
observing that nothing impure must enter into this operation. I affected
to be very anxious for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a
pretext for assuaging her thirst, which she did, without much entreaty.
When she had drunk two or three small glasses (for I had taken care not
to have large ones), she poured the coffee into one of the two large
cups. "This is yours," said she; "and this is your friends's; let them
stand a little." She then observed our hands and our faces; after which
she drew a looking-glass from her pocket, into which she told us to look,
while she looked at the reflections of our faces. She next took a glass
of wine, and immediately threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while
she inspected my cup, and considered all the lines formed by the dregs of
the coffee she had poured out. She began by saying, "That is
well--prosperity--but there is a black mark--distresses. A man becomes a
comforter. Here, in this corner, are friends, who support you. Ah! who
is he that persecutes them? But justice triumphs--after rain,
sunshine--a long journey successful. There, do you see these little
bags? That is money which has been paid--to you, of course, I mean.
That is well. Do you see that arm?"--"Yes."--"That is an arm supporting
something: a woman veiled; I see her; it is you. All this is clear to
me. I hear, as it were, a voice speaking to me. You are no longer
attacked. I see it, because the clouds in that direction are passed off
(pointing to a clearer spot). But, stay--I see small lines which branch
out from the main spot. These are sons, daughters, nephews--that is
pretty well." She appeared overpowered with the effort she was making.
At length, she added, "That is all. You have had good luck
first--misfortune afterward. You have had a friend, who has exerted
himself with success to extricate you from it. You have had lawsuits--at
length fortune has been reconciled to you, and will change no more." She
drank another glass of wine. "Your health, Madame," said she to the
Marquise, and went through the same ceremonies with the cup. At length,
she broke out, "Neither fair nor foul. I see there, in the distance, a
serene sky; and then all these things that appear to ascend all these
things are applauses. Here is a grave man, who stretches out his arms.
Do you see?--look attentively."--"That is true," said Madame de
Pompadour, with surprise (there was, indeed, some appearance of the
kind). "He points to something square that is an open coffer. Fine
weather. But, look! there are clouds of azure and gold, which surround
you. Do you see that ship on the high sea? How favourable the wind is!
You are on board; you land in a beautiful country, of which you become
the Queen. Ah! what do I see? Look there--look at that hideous,
crooked, lame man, who is pursuing you--but he is going on a fool's
errand. I see a very great man, who supports you in his arms. Here,
look! he is a kind of giant. There is a great deal of gold and silver--a
few clouds here and there. But you have nothing to fear. The vessel will
be sometimes tossed about, but it will not be lost. Dixi." Madame said,
"When shall I die, and of what disease?"--"I never speak of that," said
she; "see here, rather but fate will not permit it. I will shew you how
fate confounds everything"--shewing her several confused lumps of the
coffee-dregs. "Well, never mind as to the time, then, only tell me the
kind of death." The fortune-teller looked in the cup, and said, "You
will have time to prepare yourself." I gave her only two Louis, to avoid
doing anything remarkable. She left us, after begging us to keep her
secret, and we rejoined the Duc de Gontaut, to whom we related everything
that had passed. He laughed heartily, and said, "Her coffee-dregs are
like the clouds--you may see what you please in them."

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