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Memoirs And Historical Chronicles Of The Courts Of Europe by Various

Part 4 out of 6

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Les fondemens de sa machine:
Tres rarement il opina
Sans humeur bizarre ou chagrine,
Et, l'esprit qui le domina
Etait affiche sur sa mine.

"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, lone 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

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." "Ah, 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. Berrier." 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
tranquillity, 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. It was necessary to let the King go on
upon these subjects, and even, sometimes, to hear the same story
three or four times over, if new persons came into the room.
Madame de Pompadour never betrayed the least ennui. She even
sometimes persuaded him to begin his story anew.

I one day said to her, "It appears to me, Madame, that you are
fonder than ever of the Comtesse d'Amblimont." "I have reason to
be so," said she. "She is unique, I think, for her fidelity to
her friends, and for her honour. Listen, but tell nobody--four
days ago, the King, passing her to go to supper, approached her,
under the pretence of tickling her, and tried to slip a note
into her hand. D'Amblimont, in her madcap way, put her hands
behind her back, and the King was obliged to pick up the note,
which had fallen on the ground. Gontaut was the only person who
saw all this, and after supper, he went up to the little lady,
and said, 'You are an excellent friend.' 'I did my duty,' said
she, and immediately put her finger on her lips to enjoin him to
be silent. He, however, informed me of this act of friendship of
the little heroine, who had not told me of it herself." I admired
the Countess's virtue, and Madame de Pompadour said, "She is giddy
and headlong; but she has more sense and more feeling than a
thousand prudes and devotees. D'Esparbes would not do as much--most
likely she would meet him more than half-way. The King appeared
disconcerted, but he still pays her great attentions." "You will,
doubtless, Madame," said I, "show your sense of such admirable
conduct." "You need not doubt it," said she, "but I don't wish
her to think that I am informed of it." The King, prompted either
by the remains of his liking, or from the suggestions of Madame
de Pompadour, one morning went to call on Madame d'Amblimont,
at Choisy, and threw round her neck a collar of diamonds and
emeralds, worth between fifty thousand and seventy-five thousand
francs. This happened a long time after the circumstance I have
just related.

There was a large sofa in a little room adjoining Madame de
Pompadour's, upon which I often reposed.

One evening, towards midnight, a bat flew into the apartment
where the Court was; the King immediately cried out, "Where is
General Crillon?" (He had just left the room.) "He is the General
to command against the bats." This set everybody calling out,
"_Ou etais-tu, Crillon?_" M. de Crillon soon after came in, and
was told where the enemy was. He immediately threw off his coat,
drew his sword, and commenced an attack upon the bat, which flew
into the closet where I was fast asleep. I started out of sleep
at the noise, and saw the King and all the company around me. This
furnished amusement for the rest of the evening. M. de Crillon
was a very excellent and agreeable man, but he had the fault of
indulging in buffooneries of this kind, which, however, were
the result of his natural gaiety, and not of any subserviency of
character. Such, however, was not the case with another exalted
nobleman, a Knight of the Golden Fleece, whom Madame saw one day
shaking hands with her _valet de chambre_. As he was one of the
vainest men at Court, Madame could not refrain from telling the
circumstance to the King; and, as he had no employment at Court,
the King scarcely ever after named him on the Supper List.

I had a cousin at Saint Cyr, who was married. She was greatly
distressed at having a relation waiting woman to Madame de Pompadour,
and often treated me in the most mortifying manner. Madame knew
this from Colin, her steward, and spoke of it to the King. "I
am not surprised at it," said he; "this is a specimen of the
silly women of Saint Cyr. Madame de Maintenon had excellent
intentions, but she made a great mistake. These girls are brought
up in such a manner, that, unless they are all made ladies of
the palace, they are unhappy and impertinent."

Some time after, this relation of mine was at my house. Colin,
who knew her, though she did not know him, came in. He said to me,
"Do you know that the Prince de Chimay has made a violent attack
upon the Chevalier d'Henin for being equerry to the Marquise." At
these words, my cousin looked very much astonished, and said,
"Was he not right?" "I don't mean to enter into that question,"
said Colin--"but only to repeat his words, which were these: 'If
you were only a man of moderately good family and poor, I should
not blame you, knowing, as I do, that there are hundreds such, who
would quarrel for your place, as young ladies of family would,
to be about your mistress. But, recollect, that your relations
are princes of the Empire, and that you bear their name.'" "What,
sir," said my relation, "the Marquise's equerry of a princely
house?" "Of the house of Chimay," said he; "they take the name
of Alsace"--witness the Cardinal of that name. Colin went out
delighted at what he had said.

"I cannot get over my surprise at what I have heard," said my
relation. "It is, nevertheless, very true," replied I; "you may
see the Chevalier d'Henin (that is the family name of the Princes
de Chimay), with the cloak of Madame upon his arm, and walking
alongside her sedan-chair, in order that he may be ready, on
her getting in, to cover her shoulders with her cloak, and then
remain in the antechamber, if there is no other room, till her

From that time, my cousin let me alone; nay, she even applied
to me to get a company of horse for her husband, who was very
loath to come and thank me. His wife wished him to thank Madame
de Pompadour; but the fear he had lest she should tell him, that
it was in consideration of his relationship to her waiting-woman
that he commanded fifty horse, prevented him. It was, however,
a most surprising thing that a man belonging to the house of
Chimay should be in the service of any lady whatever; and the
commander of Alsace returned from Malta on purpose to get him
out of Madame de Pompadour's household. He got him a pension
of a hundred louis from his family, and the Marquise gave him
a company of horse. The Chevalier d'Henin had been page to the
Marechal de Luxembourg, and one can hardly imagine how he could
have put his relation in such a situation; for, generally speaking,
all great houses keep up the consequence of their members. M. de
Machault, the Keeper of the Seals, had, at the same time, as
equerry, a Knight of St. Louis, and a man of family--the Chevalier
de Peribuse--who carried his portfolio, and walked by the side
of the chair.

Whether it was from ambition, or from tenderness, Madame de Pompadour
had a regard for her daughter, which seemed to proceed from the
bottom of her heart. She was brought up like a Princess, and,
like persons of that rank, was called by her Christian name alone.
The first persons at Court had an eye to this alliance, but her
mother had, perhaps, a better project. The King had a son by
Madame de Vintimille, who resembled him in face, gesture, and
manners. He was called the Comte du ----. Madame de Pompadour
had him brought to Bellevue. Colin, her steward, was employed
to find means to persuade his tutor to bring him thither. They
took some refreshment at the house of the Swiss, and the Marquise,
in the course of her walk, appeared to meet them by accident.
She asked the name of the child, and admired his beauty. Her
daughter came up at the same moment, and Madame de Pompadour
led them into a part of the garden where she knew the King would
come. He did come, and asked the child's name. He was told, and
looked embarrassed when Madame, pointing to them, said they would
be a beautiful couple. The King played with the girl, without
appearing to take any notice of the boy, who, while he was eating
some figs and cakes which were brought, his attitudes and gestures
were so like those of the King, that Madame de Pompadour was in
the utmost astonishment. "Ah!" said she, "Sire, look at ----"
"At what?" said he. "Nothing," replied Madame, "except that one
would think one saw his father."

"I did not know," said the King, smiling, "that you were so
intimately acquainted with the Comte du L----." "You ought to
embrace him," said she, "he is very handsome." "I will begin,
then, with the young lady," said the King, and embraced them
in a cold, constrained manner. I was present, having joined
Mademoiselle's governess. I remarked to Madame, in the evening,
that the King had not appeared very cordial in his caresses.
"That is his way," said she; "but do not those children appear
made for each other? If it was Louis XIV., he would make a Duc
du Maine of the little boy; I do not ask so much; but a place
and a dukedom for his son is very little; and it is because he is
his son that I prefer him to all the little Dukes of the Court.
My grandchildren would blend the resemblance of their grandfather
and grandmother; and this combination, which I hope to live to
see, would, one day, be my greatest delight." The tears came
into her eyes as she spoke. Alas! alas! only six months elapsed,
when her darling daughter, the hope of her advanced years, the
object of her fondest wishes, died suddenly. Madame de Pompadour
was inconsolable, and I must do M. de Marigny the justice to
say that he was deeply afflicted. His niece was beautiful as
an angel, and destined to the highest fortunes, and I always
thought that he had formed the design of marrying her. A dukedom
would have given him rank; and that, joined to his place, and
to the wealth which she would have had from her mother, would
have made him a man of great importance. The difference of age
was not sufficient to be a great obstacle. People, as usual, said
the young lady was poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons
who command a large portion of public attention always gives birth
to these rumours. The King shewed great regret, but more for
the grief of Madame than on account of the loss itself, though
he had often caressed the child, and loaded her with presents. I
owe it, also, to justice, to say that M. de Marigny, the heir
of all Madame de Pompadour's fortune, after the death of her
daughter, evinced the sincerest and deepest regret every time
she was seriously ill. She, soon after, began to lay plans for
his establishment. Several young ladies of the highest birth were
thought of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a Duke, but
his turn of mind indisposed him for schemes either of marriage
or ambition. Ten times he might have been made Prime Minister,
yet he never aspired to it. "That is a man," said Quesnay to me,
one day, "who is very little known; nobody talks of his talents
or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient patronage of the
arts: no man, since Colbert, has done so much in his situation:
he is, moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will
not see in him anything but the brother of the favourite; and,
because he is fat, he is thought dull and heavy." This was all
perfectly true. M. de Marigny had travelled in Italy with very
able artists, and had acquired taste, and much more information
than any of his predecessors had possessed. As for the heaviness
of his air, it only came upon him when he grew fat; before that,
he had a delightful face. He was then as handsome as his sister.
He paid court to nobody, had no vanity, and confined himself to
the society of persons with whom he was at his ease. He went
rather more into company at Court after the King had taken him
to ride with him in his carriage, thinking it then his duty to
shew himself among the courtiers.

Madame called me, one day, into her closet, where the King was
walking up and down in a very serious mood. "You must," said she,
"pass some days in a house in the Avenue de St. Cloud, whither
I shall send you. You will there find a young lady about to lie
in." The King said nothing, and I was mute from astonishment.
"You will be mistress of the house, and preside, like one of
the fabulous goddesses, at the accouchement. Your presence is
necessary, in order that everything may pass secretly, and according
to the King's wish. You will be present at the baptism, and name
the father and mother." The King began to laugh, and said, "The
father is a very honest man;" Madame added, "beloved by every
one, and adored by those who know him." Madame then took from
a little cupboard a small box, and drew from it an aigrette of
diamonds, at the same time saying to the King, "I have my reasons
for it not being handsomer." "It is but too much so," said the
King; "how kind you are;" and he then embraced Madame, who wept
with emotion, and, putting her hand upon the King's heart, said,
"This is what I wish to secure." The King's eyes then filled
with tears, and I also began weeping, without knowing why.
Afterwards, the King said, "Guimard will call upon you every
day, to assist you with his advice, and at the critical moment
you will send for him. You will say that you expect the sponsors,
and a moment after you will pretend to have received a letter,
stating that they cannot come. You will, of course, affect to
be very much embarrassed; and Guimard will then say that there
is nothing for it but to take the first comers. You will then
appoint as godfather and godmother some beggar, or chairman,
and the servant girl of the house, and to whom you will give but
twelve francs, in order not to attract attention." "A louis,"
added Madame, "to obviate anything singular, on the other hand."
"It is you who make me economical, under certain circumstances,"
said the King. "Do you remember the driver of the _fiacre_? I
wanted to give him a louis, and Duc d'Ayen said, 'You will be
known;' so that I gave him a crown." He was going to tell the
whole story. Madame made a sign to him to be silent, which he
obeyed, not without considerable reluctance. She afterwards told
me that at the time of the fetes given on occasion of the Dauphin's
marriage, the King came to see her at her mother's house in a
hackney-coach. The coachman would not go on, and the King would
have given him a louis. "The police will hear of it, if you do,"
said the Duc d'Ayen, "and its spies will make inquiries, which
will, perhaps, lead to a discovery."

"Guimard," continued the King, "will tell you the names of the
father and mother; he will be present at the ceremony, and make
the usual presents. It is but fair that you also should receive
yours;" and, as he said this, he gave me fifty louis, with that
gracious air that he could so well assume upon certain occasions,
and which no person in the kingdom had but himself. I kissed
his hand and wept. "You will take care of the _accouchee_, will
you not? She is a good creature, who has not invented gunpowder,
and I confide her entirely to your direction; my chancellor will
tell you the rest," he said, turning to Madame, and then quitted
the room. "Well, what think you of the part I am playing?" asked
Madame. "It is that of a superior woman, and an excellent friend,"
I replied. "It is his heart I wish to secure," said she; "and
all those young girls who have no education will not run away
with it from me. I should not be equally confident were I to
see some fine woman belonging to the Court, or the city, attempt
his conquest."

I asked Madame, if the young lady knew that the King was the
father of her child? "I do not think she does," replied she;
"but, as he appeared fond of her, there is some reason to fear
that those about her might be too ready to tell her; otherwise,"
said she, shrugging her shoulders, "she, and all the others,
are told that he is a Polish nobleman, a relation of the Queen,
who has apartments in the castle." This story was contrived on
account of the _cordon bleu_, which the King has not always time
to lay aside, because, to do that, he must change his coat, and
in order to account for his having a lodging in the castle so
near the King. There were two little rooms by the side of the
chapel, whither the King retired from his apartment, without
being seen by anybody but a sentinel, who had his orders, and who
did not know who passed through those rooms. The King sometimes
went to the Parc-aux-cerfs, or received those young ladies in
the apartments I have mentioned.

I must here interrupt my narrative, to relate a singular adventure,
which is only known to six or seven persons, masters or valets.
At the time of the attempt to assassinate the King, a young girl,
whom he had seen several times, and for whom he had manifested
more tenderness than for most, was distracted at this horrible
event. The Mother-Abbess of the Parc-aux-cerfs perceived her
extraordinary grief, and managed so as to make her confess that
she knew the Polish Count was the King of France. She confessed
that she had taken from his pocket two letters, one of which was
from the King of Spain, the other from the Abbe de Broglie. This
was discovered afterwards, for neither she nor the Mother-Abbess
knew the names of the writers. The girl was scolded, and M. Lebel,
first _valet de chambre_, who had the management of all these
affairs, was called; he took the letters, and carried them to
the King, who was very much embarrassed in what manner to meet a
person so well informed of his condition. The girl in question,
having perceived that the King came secretly to see her companion,
while she was neglected, watched his arrival, and, at the moment
he entered with the Abbess, who was about to withdraw, she rushed
distractedly into the room where her rival was. She immediately
threw herself at the King's feet. "Yes," said she, "you are King
of all France; but that would be nothing to me if you were not
also monarch of my heart: do not forsake me, my beloved sovereign;
I was nearly mad when your life was attempted!" The Mother-Abbess
cried out, "You are mad now." The King embraced her, which appeared
to restore her to tranquillity. They succeeded in getting her
out of the room, and a few days afterwards the unhappy girl was
taken to a madhouse, where she was treated as if she had been
insane, for some days. But she knew well enough that she was not
so, and that the King had really been her lover. This lamentable
affair was related to me by the Mother-Abbess, when I had some
acquaintance with her at the time of the accouchement I have
spoken of, which I never had before, nor since.

To return to my history: Madame de Pompadour said to me, "Be
constantly with the _accouchee_, to prevent any stranger, or
even the people of the house, from speaking to her. You will
always say that he is a very rich Polish nobleman, who is obliged
to conceal himself on account of his relationship to the Queen,
who is very devout. You will find a wet-nurse in the house, to
whom you will deliver the child. Guimard will manage all the
rest. You will go to church as a witness; everything must be
conducted as if for a substantial citizen. The young lady expects
to lie in in five or six days; you will dine with her, and will
not leave her till she is in a state of health to return to the
Parc-aux-cerfs, which she may do in a fortnight, as I imagine,
without running any risk." I went, that same evening, to the Avenue
de Saint Cloud, where I found the Abbess and Guimard, an attendant
belonging to the castle, but without his blue coat. There were,
besides, a nurse, a wet-nurse, two old men-servants, and a girl,
who was something between a servant and a waiting-woman. The young
lady was extremely pretty, and dressed very elegantly, though
not too remarkably. I supped with her and the Mother-Abbess, who
was called Madame Bertrand. I had presented the aigrette Madame
de Pompadour gave me before supper, which had greatly delighted
the young lady, and she was in high spirits. Madame Bertrand
had been housekeeper to M. Lebel, first _valet de chambre_ to
the King. He called her Dominique, and she was entirely in his
confidence. The young lady chatted with us after supper; she
appeared to be very _naive_. The next day, I talked to her in
private. She said to me, "How is the Count?" (It was the King
whom she called by this title.) "He will be very sorry not to be
with me now; but he was obliged to set off on a long journey."
I assented to what she said. "He is very handsome," said she,
"and loves me with all his heart. He promised me an allowance;
but I love him disinterestedly; and, if he would let me, I would
follow him to Poland." She afterwards talked to me about her
parents, and about M. Lebel, whom she knew by the name of Durand.
"My mother," said she, "kept a large grocer's shop, and my father
was a man of some consequence; he belonged to the Six Corps, and
that, as everybody knows, is an excellent thing. He was twice
very near being head-bailiff." Her mother had become bankrupt at
her father's death, but _the Count_ had come to her assistance,
and settled upon her fifteen hundred francs a year, besides giving
her six thousand francs down. On the sixth day, she was brought
to bed, and, according to my instructions, she was told the child
was a girl, though it reality it was a boy; she was soon to be
told that it was dead, in order that no trace of its existence
might remain for a certain time. It was eventually to be restored
to its mother. The King gave each of his children about ten thousand
francs a year. They inherited after each other as they died off,
and seven or eight were already dead. I returned to Madame de
Pompadour, to whom I had written every day by Guimard. The next
day, the King sent for me into the room; he did not say a word
as to the business I had been employed upon; but he gave me a
large gold snuff-box, containing two rouleaux of twenty-five
louis each. I curtsied to him, and retired. Madame asked me a
great many questions of the young lady, and laughed heartily at
her simplicity, and at all she had said about the Polish nobleman.
"He is disgusted with the Princess, and, I think, will return to
Poland for ever, in two months." "And the young lady?" said I.
"She will be married in the country," said she, "with a portion
of forty thousand crowns at the most and a few diamonds." This
little adventure, which initiated me into the King's secrets,
far from procuring for me increased marks of kindness from him,
seemed to produce a coldness towards me; probably because he was
ashamed of my knowing his obscure amours. He was also embarrassed
by the services Madame de Pompadour had rendered him on this

Besides the little mistresses of the Parc-aux-cerfs, the King
had sometimes intrigues with ladies of the Court, or from Paris,
who wrote to him. There was a Madame de L----, who, though married
to a young and amiable man, with two hundred thousand francs a
year, wished absolutely to become his mistress. She contrived
to have n meeting with him: and the King, who knew who she was,
was persuaded that she was really madly in love with him. There
is no knowing what might have happened, had she not died. Madame
was very much alarmed, and was only relieved by her death from
inquietude. A circumstance took place at this time which doubled
Madame's friendship for me. A rich man, who had a situation in
the Revenue Department, called on me one day very secretly, and
told me that he had something of importance to communicate to
Madame la Marquise, but that he should find himself very much
embarrassed in communicating it to her personally, and that he
should prefer acquainting me with it. He then told me, what I
already knew, that he had a very beautiful wife, of whom he was
passionately fond; that having on one occasion perceived her
kissing a little _porte-feuille_, he endeavoured to get possession
of it, supposing there was some mystery attached to it. One day
that she suddenly left the room to go upstairs to see her sister,
who had been brought to bed, he took the opportunity of opening
the _porte-feuille_, and was very much surprised to find in it
a portrait of the King, and a very tender letter written by His
Majesty. Of the latter he took a copy, as also of an unfinished
letter of his wife, in which she vehemently entreated the King
to allow her to have the pleasure of an interview--the means
she pointed out. She was to go masked to the public ball at
Versailles, where His Majesty could meet her under favour of a
mask. I assured M. de ---- that I should acquaint Madame with
the affair, who would, no doubt, feel very grateful for the
communication. He then added, "Tell Madame la Marquise that my
wife is very clever and very intriguing. I adore her, and should
run distracted were she to be taken from me." I lost not a moment
in acquainting Madame with the affair and gave her the letter.
She became serious and pensive, and I since learned that she
consulted M. Berrier, Lieutenant of Police, who, by a very simple
but ingeniously conceived plan, put an end to the designs of this
lady. He demanded an audience of the King, and told him that there
was a lady in Paris who was making free with His Majesty's name;
that he had been given the copy of a letter, supposed to have
been written by His Majesty to the lady in question. The copy
he put into the King's hands, who read it in great confusion,
and then tore it furiously to pieces. M. Berrier added, that
it was rumoured that this lady was to meet His Majesty at the
public ball, and, at this very moment, it so happened that a
letter was put into the King's hand, which proved to be from
the lady, appointing the meeting; at least, M. Berrier judged
so, as the King appeared very much surprised on reading it, and
said, "It must be allowed, M. le Lieutenant of Police, that you
are well informed." M. Berrier added, "I think it my duty to
tell Your Majesty that this lady passes for a very intriguing
person." "I believe," replied the King, "that it is not without
deserving it that she has got that character."

Madame de Pompadour had many vexations in the midst of all her
grandeur. She often received anonymous letters, threatening her
with poison or assassination: her greatest fear, however, was
that of being supplanted by a rival. I never saw her in a greater
agitation than, one evening, on her return from the drawing-room
at Marly. She threw down her cloak and muff, the instant she
came in, with an air of ill-humour, and undressed herself in
a hurried manner. Having dismissed her other women, she said
to me, "I think I never saw anybody so insolent as Madame de
Coaslin. I was seated at the same table with her this evening,
at a game of _brelan_, and you cannot imagine what I suffered.
The men and women seemed to come in relays to watch us. Madame
de Coaslin said two or three times, looking at me, _Va tout_,
in the most insulting manner. I thought I should have fainted,
when she said, in a triumphant tone, I have the _brelan_ of kings.
I wish you had seen her courtesy to me on parting." "Did the
King," said I, "show her particular attention?" "You don't know
him," said she; "if he were going to lodge her this very night
in my apartment, he would behave coldly to her before people,
and would treat me with the utmost kindness. This is the effect
of his education, for he is, by nature, kind-hearted and frank."
Madame de Pompadour's alarms lasted for some months, when she,
one day, said to me, "That haughty Marquise has missed her aim;
she frightened the King by her grand airs, and was incessantly
teasing him for money. Now you, perhaps, may not know that the King
would sign an order for forty thousand louis without a thought,
and would give a hundred out of his little private treasury with
the greatest reluctance. Lebel, who likes me better than he would
a new mistress in my place, either by chance or design had brought
a charming little sultana to the Parc-aux-cerfs, who has cooled
the King a little towards the haughty Vashti, by giving him
occupation, ---- has received a hundred thousand francs, some
jewels, and an estate. Jannette has rendered me great service,
by showing the King extracts from the letters broken open at
the post-office, concerning the report that Madame de Coaslin
was coming into favour. The King was much impressed by a letter
from an old counsellor of the Parliament, who wrote to one of
his friends as follows: "It is quite as reasonable that the King
should have a female friend and confidante--as that we, in our
several degrees, should so indulge ourselves; but it is desirable
that he should keep the one he has; she is gentle, injures nobody,
and her fortune is made. The one who is now talked of will be as
haughty as high birth can make her. She must have an allowance
of a million francs a year, since she is said to be excessively
extravagant; her relations must be made Dukes, Governors of
provinces, and Marshals, and, in the end, will surround the King,
and overawe the Ministers."

Madame de Pompadour had this passage, which had been sent to
her by M. Jannette, the Intendant of the Police, who enjoyed the
King's entire confidence. He had carefully watched the King's
look, while he read the letter, and he saw that the arguments of
this counsellor, who was not a disaffected person, made a great
impression upon him. Some time afterwards, Madame de Pompadour said
to me, "The haughty Marquise behaved like Mademoiselle Deschamps,
and she is _turned off_." This was not Madame's only subject
of alarm. A relation of Madame d'Estrades, wife to the Marquis
de C----, had made the most pointed advances to the King, much
more than were necessary for a man who justly thought himself the
handsomest man in France, and who was, moreover, a King. He was
perfectly persuaded that every woman would yield to the slightest
desire he might deign to manifest. He, therefore, thought it a
mere matter of course that women fell in love with him. M. de
Stainville had a hand in marring the success of that intrigue;
and, soon afterwards, the Marquise de C----, who was confined
to her apartments at Marly, by her relations, escaped through
a closet to a rendezvous, and was caught with a young man in a
corridor. The Spanish Ambassador, coming out of his apartments
with flambeaux, was the person who witnessed this scene. Madame
d'Estrades affected to know nothing of her cousin's intrigues,
and kept up an appearance of the tenderest attachment to Madame
de Pompadour, whom she was habitually betraying. She acted as spy
for M. d'Argenson, in the cabinets, and in Madame de Pompadour's
apartments; and, when she could discover nothing, she had recourse
to her invention, in order that she might not lose her importance
with her lover. This Madame d'Estrades owed her whole existence
to the bounties of Madame, and yet, ugly as she was, she had
tried to get the King away from her. One day, when he had got
rather drunk at Choisy (I think, the only time that ever happened
to him), he went on board a beautiful barge, whither Madame,
being ill of an indigestion, could not accompany him. Madame
d'Estrades seized this opportunity. She got into the barge, and,
on their return, as it was dark, she followed the King into a
private closet, where he was believed to be sleeping on a couch,
and there went somewhat beyond any ordinary advances to him.
Her account of the matter to Madame was, that she had gone into
the closet upon her own affairs, and that the King had followed
her, and had tried to ravish her. She was at full liberty to
make what story she pleased, for the King knew neither what he
had said, nor what he had done. I shall finish this subject by
a short history concerning a young lady. I had been, one day,
to the theatre at Compiegne. When I returned, Madame asked me
several questions about the play; whether there was much company,
and whether I did not see a very beautiful girl. I replied, "That
there was, indeed, a girl in a box near mine, who was surrounded
by all the young men about the Court." She smiled, and said,
"That is Mademoiselle Dorothee; she went, this evening, to see
the King sup in public, and to-morrow she is to be taken to the
hunt. You are surprised to find me so well informed, but I know
a great deal more about her. She was brought here by a Gascon,
named Dubarre or Dubarri, who is the greatest scoundrel in France.
He founds all his hopes of advancement on Mademoiselle Dorothee's
charms, which he thinks the King cannot resist. She is, really,
very beautiful. She was pointed out to me in my little garden,
whither she was taken to walk on purpose. She is the daughter of
a water-carrier, at Strasbourg, and her charming lover demands
to be sent Minister to Cologne, as a beginning." "Is it possible,
Madame, that you can have been rendered uneasy by such a creature
as that?" "Nothing is impossible," replied she; "though I think
the King would scarcely dare to give such a scandal. Besides,
happily, Lebel, to quiet his conscience, told the King that the
beautiful Dorothee's lover is infected with a horrid disease;"
and, added he, "Your Majesty would not get rid of that as you
have done of the scrofula." This was quite enough to keep the
young lady at a distance.

"I pity you sincerely, Madame," said I, "while everybody else
envies you." "Ah!" replied she, "my life is that of the Christian,
a perpetual warfare. This was not the case with the woman who
enjoyed the favour of Louis XIV. Madame de La Valliere suffered
herself to be deceived by Madame de Montespan, but it was her
own fault, or, rather, the effect of her extreme good nature.
She was entirely devoid of suspicion at first, because she could
not believe her friend perfidious. Madame de Montespan's empire
was shaken by Madame de Fontanges, and overthrown by Madame de
Maintenon; but her haughtiness, her caprices, had already alienated
the King. He had not, however, such rivals as mine; it is true,
their baseness is my security. I have, in general, little to
fear but casual infidelities, and the chance that they may not
all be sufficiently transitory for my safety. The King likes
variety, but he is also bound by habit; he fears eclats, and
detests manoeuvring women. The little Marechale (de Mirepoix)
one day said to me, 'It is your staircase that the King loves;
he is accustomed to go up and down it. But, if he found another
woman to whom he could talk of hunting and business as he does
to you, it would be just the same to him in three days.'"

I write without plan, order, or date, just as things come into
my mind; and I shall now go to the Abbe de Bernis. whom I liked
very much, because he was good-natured, and treated me kindly.
One day, just as Madame de Pompadour had finished dressing, M.
de Noailles asked to speak to her in private. I, accordingly,
retired. The Count looked full of important business. I heard
their conversation, as there was only the door between us.

"A circumstance has taken place," said he, "which I think it my
duty to communicate to the King; but I would not do so without
first informing you of it, since it concerns one of your friends
for whom I have the utmost regard and respect. The Abbe de Bernis
had a mind to shoot, this morning, and went, with two or three
of his people, armed with guns, into the little park, where the
Dauphin would not venture to shoot without asking the King's
permission. The guards, surprised at hearing the report of guns,
ran to the spot, and were greatly astonished at the sight of M. de
Bernis. They very respectfully asked to see his permission, when
they found, to their astonishment, that he had none. They begged
of him to desist, telling him that, if they did their duty, they
should arrest him; but they must, at all events, instantly acquaint
me with the circumstance, as Ranger of the Park of Versailles.
They added, that the King must have heard the firing, and that
they begged of him to retire. The Abbe apologized, on the score of
ignorance, and assured them that he had my permission. 'The Comte
de Noailles,' said they, 'could only grant permission to shoot in
the more remote parts, and in the great park.'" The Count made
a great merit of his eagerness to give the earliest information
to Madame. She told him to leave the task of communicating it
to the King to her, and begged of him to say nothing about the
matter. M. de Marigny, who did not like the Abbe, came to see
me in the evening; and I affected to know nothing of the story,
and to hear it for the first time from him. "He must have been out
of his senses," said he, "to shoot under the King's windows,"--and
enlarged much on the airs he gave himself. Madame de Pompadour
gave this affair the best colouring she could: the King was,
nevertheless, greatly disgusted at it, and twenty times, since
the Abbe's disgrace, when he passed over that part of the park,
he said, "This is where the Abbe took his pleasure." The King
never liked him; and Madame de Pompadour told me one night, after
his disgrace, when I was sitting up with her in her illness,
that she saw, before he had been Minister a week, that he was
not fit for his office. "If that hypocritical Bishop," said she,
speaking of the Bishop of Mirepoix, "had not prevented the King
from granting him a pension of four hundred louis a year, which he
had promised me, he would never have been appointed Ambassador.
I should, afterwards, have been able to give him an income of
eight hundred louis a year, perhaps the place of master of the
chapel. Thus he would have been happier, and I should have had
nothing to regret." I took the liberty of saying that I did not
agree with her. That he had yet remaining advantages, of which
he could not be deprived; that his exile would terminate; and that
he would then be a Cardinal, with an income of eight thousand
louis a year. "That is true," she replied; "but I think of the
mortifications he has undergone, and of the ambition which devours
him; and, lastly, I think of myself. I should have still enjoyed
his society, and should have had, in my declining years, an old
and amiable friend, if he had not been Minister." The King sent
him away in anger, and was strongly inclined to refuse him the
hat. M. Quesnay told me, some months afterwards, that the Abbe
wanted to be Prime Minister; that he had drawn up a memorial,
setting forth that in difficult crises the public good required
that there should be a _central point_ (that was his expression),
towards which everything should be directed. Madame de Pompadour
would not present the memorial; he insisted, though she said to
him, "_You will ruin yourself._" The King cast his eyes over it,
and said "_central point_"--that is to say himself, he wants to
be Prime Minister. Madame tried to apologize for him, and said,
"That expression might refer to the Marechal de Belle-Isle." "Is
he not just about to be made Cardinal?" said the King. "This
is a fine manoeuvre; he knows well enough that, by means of that
dignity, he would compel the Ministers to assemble at his house,
and then M. l'Abbe would be the _central point_. Wherever there
is a Cardinal in the council, he is sure, in the end, to take
the lead. Louis XIV., for this reason, did not choose to admit
the Cardinal de Janson into the council, in spite of his great
esteem for him. The Cardinal de Fleury told me the same thing. He
had some desire that the Cardinal de Tencin should succeed him;
but his sister was such an intrigante that Cardinal de Fleury
advised me to have nothing to do with the matter, and I behaved
so as to destroy all his hopes, and to undeceive others. M.
d'Argenson has strongly impressed me with the same opinion, and
has succeeded in destroying all my respect for him." This is
what the King said, according to my friend Quesnay, who, by the
bye, was a great genius, as everybody said, and a very lively,
agreeable man. He liked to chat with me about the country. I
had been bred up there, and he used to set me a talking about
the meadows of Normandy and Poitou, the wealth of the farmers,
and the modes of culture. He was the best-natured man in the
world, and the farthest removed from petty intrigue. While he
lived at Court, he was much more occupied with the best manner of
cultivating land than with anything that passed around him. The
man whom he esteemed the most was M. de la Riviere, a Counsellor
of Parliament, who was also Intendant of Martinique; he looked
upon him as a man of the greatest genius, and thought him the
only person fit for the financial department of administration.

The Comtesse d'Estrades, who owed everything to Madame de Pompadour,
was incessantly intriguing against her. She was clever enough to
destroy all proofs of her manoeuvres, but she could not so easily
prevent suspicion. Her intimate connection with M. d'Argenson gave
offence to Madame, and, for some time, she was more reserved with
her. She, afterwards, did a thing which justly irritated the
King and Madame. The King, who wrote a great deal, had written
to Madame de Pompadour a long letter concerning an assembly of the
Chambers of Parliament, and had enclosed a letter of M. Berrier.
Madame was ill, and laid those letters on a little table by her
bedside. M. de Gontaut came in, and gossipped about trifles, as
usual. Madame d'Amblimont also came, and stayed but very little
time. Just as I was going to resume a book which I had been reading
to Madame, the Comtesse d'Estrades entered, placed herself near
Madame's bed, and talked to her for some time. As soon as she
was gone, Madame called me, asked what was o'clock, and said,
"Order my door to be shut, the King will soon be here." I gave
the order, and returned; and Madame told me to give her the King's
letter, which was on the table with some other papers. I gave
her the papers, and told her there was nothing else. She was
very uneasy at not finding the letter, and, after enumerating
the persons who had been in the room, she said, "It cannot be
the little Countess, nor Gontaut, who has taken this letter.
It can only be the Comtesse d'Estrades;--and that is too bad."
The King came, and was extremely angry, as Madame told me. Two
days afterwards, he sent Madame d'Estrades into exile. There was
no doubt that she took the letter; the King's handwriting had
probably awakened her curiosity. This occurrence gave great pain
to M. d'Argenson, who was bound to her, as Madame de Pompadour
said, by his love of intrigue. This redoubled his hatred of Madame,
and she accused him of favouring the publication of a libel,
in which she was represented as a worn-out mistress, reduced
to the vile occupation of providing new objects to please her
lover's appetite. She was characterised as superintendent of
the Parc-aux-cerfs, which was said to cost hundreds of thousands
of louis a year. Madame de Pompadour did, indeed, try to conceal
some of the King's weaknesses, but she never knew one of the
sultanas of that seraglio. There were, however, scarcely ever
more than two at once, and often only one. When they married, they
received some jewels, and four thousand louis. The Parc-aux-cerfs
was sometimes vacant for five or six months. I was surprised,
some time after, at seeing the Duchesse de Luynes, Lady of Honour
to the Queen, come privately to see Madame de Pompadour. She
afterwards came openly. One evening, after Madame was in bed, she
called me, and said, "My dear, you will be delighted; the Queen
has given me the place of Lady of the Palace; tomorrow I am to be
presented to her: you must make me look well." I knew that the
King was not so well pleased at this as she was; he was afraid
that it would give rise to scandal, and that it might be thought
he had forced this nomination upon the Queen. He had, however,
done no such thing. It had been represented to the Queen that
it was an act of heroism on her part to forget the past; that
all scandal would be obliterated when Madame de Pompadour was
seen to belong to the Court in an honourable manner; and that
it would be the best proof that nothing more than friendship now
subsisted between the King and the favourite. The Queen received
her very graciously. The devotees flattered themselves they should
be protected by Madame, and, for some time, were full of her
praises. Several of the Dauphin's friends came in private to see
her, and some obtained promotion. The Chevalier du Muy, however,
refused to come. The King had the greatest possible contempt for
them, and granted them nothing with a good grace. He, one day,
said of a man of great family, who wished to be made Captain
of the Guards, "He is a double spy, who wants to be paid on both
sides." This was the moment at which Madame de Pompadour seemed
to me to enjoy the most complete satisfaction. The devotees came
to visit her without scruple, and did not forget to make use
of every opportunity of serving themselves. Madame de Lu----
had set them the example. The Doctor laughed at this change in
affairs, and was very merry at the expense of the saints. "You
must allow, however, that they are consistent," said I, "and
may be sincere." "Yes," said he; "but then they should not ask
for anything."

One day, I was at Doctor Quesnay's, whilst Madame de Pompadour
was at the theatre. The Marquis de Mirabeau came in, and the
conversation was, for some time, extremely tedious to me, running
entirely on _net produce_; at length, they talked of other things.

Mirabeau said, "I think the King looks ill, he grows old." "So
much the worse, a thousand times so much the worse," said Quesnay;
"it would be the greatest possible loss to France if he died;"
and he raised his hands, and sighed deeply. "I do not doubt that
you are attached to the King, and with reason," said Mirabeau;
"I am attached to him too; but I never saw you so much moved."
"Ah!" said. Quesnay, "I think of what would follow." "Well,
the Dauphin is virtuous." "Yes; and full of good intentions;
nor is he deficient in understanding; but canting hypocrites
would possess an absolute empire over a Prince who regards them
as oracles. The Jesuits would govern the kingdom, as they did at
the end of Louis XIV.'s reign: and you would see the fanatical
Bishop of Verdun Prime Minister, and La Vauguyon all-powerful
under some other title. The Parliaments must then mind how they
behave; they will not be better treated than my friends the
philosophers." "But they go too far," said Mirabeau; "why openly
attack religion?" "I allow that," replied the Doctor; "but how
is it possible not to be rendered indignant by the fanaticism of
others, and by recollecting all the blood that has flowed during
the last two hundred years? You must not then again irritate
them, and revive in France the time of Mary in England. But what
is done is done, and I often exhort them to be moderate; I wish
they would follow the example of our friend Duclos." "You are
right," replied Mirabeau; "he said to me a few days ago, 'These
philosophers are going on at such a rate that they will force
me to go to vespers and high mass;' but, in fine, the Dauphin
is virtuous, well-informed, and intellectual." "It is the
commencement of his reign, I fear," said Quesnay, "when the imprudent
proceedings of our friends will be represented to him in the most
unfavourable point of view; when the Jansenists and Molinists will
make common cause, and be strongly supported by the Dauphine. I
thought that M. de Muy was moderate, and that he would temper the
headlong fury of the others; but I heard him say that Voltaire
merited condign punishment. Be assured, sir, that the times of
John Huss and Jerome of Prague will return; but I hope not to
live to see it. I approve of Voltaire having hunted down the
Pompignans: were it not for the ridicule with which he covered
them, that _bourgeois_ Marquis would have been preceptor to the
young Princes, and, aided by his brother, would have succeeded
in again lighting the faggots of persecution." "What ought to
give you confidence in the Dauphin," said Mirabeau, "is, that,
notwithstanding the devotion of Pompignan, he turns him into
ridicule. A short time back, seeing him strutting about with an
air of inflated pride, he said to a person, who told it to me,
'Our friend Pompignan thinks that he is something.'" On returning
home, I wrote down this conversation.

I, one day, found Quesnay in great distress. "Mirabeau," said
he, "is sent to Vincennes, for his work on taxation. The Farmers
General have denounced him, and procured his arrest; his wife
is going to throw herself at the feet of Madame de Pompadour
to-day." A few minutes afterwards, I went into Madame's apartment,
to assist at her toilet, and the Doctor came in. Madame said to
him, "You must be much concerned at the disgrace of your friend
Mirabeau. I am sorry for it too, for I like his brother." Quesnay
replied, "I am very far from believing him to be actuated by bad
intentions, Madame; he loves the King and the people." "Yes,"
said she; "his _Ami des Hommes_ did him great honour." At this
moment the Lieutenant of Police entered, and Madame said to him,
"Have you seen M. de Mirabeau's book?" "Yes, Madame; but it was
not I who denounced it?" "What do you think of it?" "I think he
might have said almost all it contains with impunity, if he had
been more circumspect as to the manner; there is, among other
objectionable passages, this, which occurs at the beginning:
_Your Majesty has about twenty millions of subjects; it is only
by means of money that you can obtain their services, and there
is no money._" "What, is there really that, Doctor?" said Madame.
"It is true, they are the first lines in the book, and I confess
that they are imprudent; but, in reading the work, it is clear
that he laments that patriotism is extinct in the hearts of his
fellow-citizens, and that he desires to rekindle it." The King
entered: we went out, and I wrote down on Quesnay's table what
I had just heard. I then returned to finish dressing Madame de
Pompadour: she said to me, "The King is extremely angry with
Mirabeau; but I tried to soften him, and so did the Lieutenant
of Police. This will increase Quesnay's fears. Do you know what
he said to me to-day? The King had been talking to him in my
room, and the Doctor appeared timid and agitated. After the King
was gone, I said to him, 'You always seem so embarrassed in the
King's presence, and yet he is so good-natured.' 'Madame,' said
he, 'I left my native village at the age of forty, and I have
very little experience of the world, nor can I accustom myself
to its usages without great difficulty. When I am in a room with
the King, I say to myself, 'This is a man who can order my head
to be cut off; and that idea embarrasses me.' 'But do not the
King's justice and kindness set you at ease?' 'That is very true
in reasoning,' said he; 'but the sentiment is more prompt, and
inspires me with fear before I have time to say to myself all
that is calculated to allay it.'"

I got her to repeat this conversation, and wrote it down immediately,
that I might not forget it.

An anonymous letter was addressed to the King and Madame de
Pompadour; and, as the author was very anxious that it should
not miscarry, he sent copies to the Lieutenant of Police, sealed
and directed _to the King, to Madame de Pompadour, and to M. de
Marigny_. This letter produced a strong impression on Madame, and
on the King, and still more, I believe, on the Duc de Choiseul, who
had received a similar one. I went on my knees to M. de Marigny,
to prevail on him to allow me to copy it, that I might show it
to the Doctor. It is as follows:

"Sire--It is a zealous servant who writes to Your Majesty. Truth
is always better, particularly to Kings; habituated to flattery,
they see objects only under those colours most likely to please
them. I have reflected, and read much; and here is what my
meditations have suggested to me to lay before Your Majesty.
They have accustomed you to be invisible, and inspired you with
a timidity which prevents you from speaking; thus all direct
communication is cut off between the master and his subjects.
Shut up in the interior of your palace, you are becoming every
day like the Emperors of the East; but see, Sire, their fate!
'I have troops,' Your Majesty will say; such, also, is their
support: but, when the only security of a King rests upon his
troops; when he is only, as one may say, a King of the soldiers,
these latter feel their own strength, and abuse it. Your finances
are in the greatest disorder, and the great majority of states
have perished through this cause. A patriotic spirit sustained
the ancient states, and united all classes for the safety of
their country. In the present times, money has taken the place
of this spirit; it has become the universal lever, and you are in
want of it. A spirit of finance affects every department of the
state; it reigns triumphant at Court; all have become venal; and
all distinction of rank is broken up. Your Ministers are without
genius and capacity since the dismissal of MM. d'Argenson and de
Machault. You alone cannot judge of their incapacity, because
they lay before you what has been prepared by skilful clerks, but
which they pass as their own. They provide only for the necessity
of the day, but there is no spirit of government in their acts.
The military changes that have taken place disgust the troops,
and cause the most deserving officers to resign; a seditious flame
has sprung up in the very bosom of the Parliaments; you seek
to corrupt them, and the remedy is worse than the disease. It is
introducing vice into the sanctuary of justice, and gangrene into
the vital parts of the commonwealth. Would a corrupted Parliament
have braved the fury of the League, in order to preserve the
crown for the legitimate sovereign? Forgetting the maxims of
Louis XIV., who well understood the danger of confiding the
administration to noblemen, you have chosen M. de Choiseul, and
even given him three departments; which is a much heavier burden
than that which he would have to support as Prime Minister, because
the latter has only to oversee the details executed by the
Secretaries of State. The public fully appreciate this dazzling
Minister. He is nothing more than a _petit-maitre_, without talents
or information, who has a little phosphorus in his mind. There
is a thing well worthy of remark, Sire; that is, the open war
carried on against religion. Henceforward there can spring up no
new sects, because the general belief has been shaken, that no
one feels inclined to occupy himself with difference of sentiment
upon some of the articles. The Encyclopedists, under pretence of
enlightening mankind, are sapping the foundations of religion.
All the different kinds of liberty are connected; the Philosophers
and the Protestants tend towards republicanism, as well as the
Jansenists. The Philosophers strike at the root, the others lop
the branches; and their efforts, without being concerted, will
one day lay the tree low. Add to these the Economists, whose
object is political liberty, as that of the others is liberty of
worship, and the Government may find itself, in twenty or thirty
years, undermined in every direction, and will then fall with a
crash. If Your Majesty, struck by this picture, but too true,
should ask me for a remedy, I should say, that it is necessary to
bring back the Government to its principles, and, above all, to
lose no time in restoring order to the state of the finances,
because the embarrassments incident to a country in a state of
debt necessitate fresh taxes, which, after grinding the people,
induce them towards revolt. It is my opinion that Your Majesty
would do well to appear more among your people; to shew your
approbation of useful services, and your displeasure of errors
and prevarications, and neglect of duty: in a word, to let it be
seen that rewards and punishments, appointments and dismissals,
proceed from yourself. You will then inspire gratitude by your
favours, and fear by your reproaches; you will then be the object
of immediate and personal attachment, instead of which, everything
is now referred to your Ministers. The confidence in the King,
which is habitual to your people, is shewn by the exclamation,
so common among them, 'Ah! if the King knew it.' They love to
believe that the King would remedy all their evils, if he knew
of them. But, on the other hand, what sort of ideas must they
form of Kings, whose duty it is to be informed of everything,
and to superintend everything, that concerns the public, but who
are, nevertheless, ignorant of everything which the discharge
of their functions requires them to know? _Rex, roi, regere,
regir, conduire_--to rule, to conduct--these words sufficiently
denote their duties. What would be said of a father who got rid
of the charge of his children as of a burthen?

"A time will come, Sire, when the people shall be enlightened--and
that time is probably approaching. Resume the reins of government,
hold them with a firm hand, and act, so that it cannot be said
of you, _Foeminas et scorta volvit animo et hoec principatus
proemia putat:_--Sire, if I see that my sincere advice should
have produced any change, I shall continue it, and enter into
more details; if not, I shall remain silent."

Now that I am upon the subject of anonymous letters to the King,
I must just mention that it is impossible to conceive how frequent
they were. People were extremely assiduous in telling either
unpleasant truths, or alarming lies, with a view to injure others.
As an instance, I shall transcribe one concerning Voltaire, who
paid great court to Madame de Pompadour when he was in France.
This letter was written long after the former.

"Madame--M. de Voltaire has just dedicated his tragedy of _Tancred_
to you; this ought to be an offering of respect and gratitude;
but it is, in fact, an insult, and you will form the same opinion
of it as the public has done if you read it with attention. You
will see that this distinguished writer appears to betray a
consciousness that the subject of his encomiums is not worthy of
them, and to endeavour to excuse himself for them to the public.
These are his words: 'I have seen your graces and talents unfold
themselves from your infancy. At all periods of your life I have
received proofs of your uniform and unchanging kindness. If any
critic be found to censure the homage I pay you, he must have a
heart formed for ingratitude. I am under great obligations to
you, Madame, and these obligations it is my duty to proclaim.'

"What do these words really signify, unless that Voltaire feels
it may be thought extraordinary that he should dedicate his work
to a woman who possesses but a small share of the public esteem,
and that the sentiment of gratitude must plead his excuse? Why
should he suppose that the homage he pays you will be censured,
whilst we daily see dedications addressed to silly gossips who have
neither rank nor celebrity, or to women of exceptional conduct,
without any censure being attracted by it? "

M. de Marigny, and Colin, Madame de Pompadour's steward, were
of the same opinion as Quesnay, that the author of this letter
was extremely malicious; that he insulted Madame, and tried to
injure Voltaire; but that he was, in fact, right. Voltaire, from
that moment, was entirely out of favour with Madame, and with
the King, and he certainly never discovered the cause.

The King, who admired everything of the age of Louis XIV., and
recollected that the Boileaus and Racines had been protected by
that monarch, who was indebted to them, in part, for the lustre
of his reign, was flattered at having such a man as Voltaire among
his subjects. But still he feared him, and had but little esteem
for him. He could not help saying, "Moreover, I have treated
him as well as Louis XIV. treated Racine and Boileau. I have
given him, as Louis XIV. gave to Racine, some pensions, and a
place of gentleman in ordinary. It is not my fault if he has
committed absurdities, and has had the pretension to become a
chamberlain, to wear an order, and sup with a King. It is not
the fashion in France; and, as there are here a few more men
of wit and noblemen than in Prussia, it would require that I
should have a very large table to assemble them all at it." And
then he reckoned upon his fingers, Maupertuis, Fontenelle, La
Mothe, Voltaire, Piron, Destouches, Montesquieu, the Cardinal
Polignac. "Your Majesty forgets," said some one, "D'Alembert and
Clairaut." "And Crebillon," said he. "And la Chaussee, and the
younger Crebillon," said some one. "He ought to be more agreeable
than his father." "And there are also the Abbes Prevot and d'Olivet."
"Pretty well," said the King; "and for the last twenty years _all
that (tout cela)_ would have dined and supped at my table."

Madame de Pompadour repeated to me this conversation, which I
wrote down the same evening. M. de Marigny, also, talked to me
about it. "Voltaire," said he, "has always had a fancy for being
Ambassador, and he did all he could to make the people believe
that he was charged with some political mission, the first time
he visited Prussia."

The people heard of the attempt on the King's life with transports
of fury, and with the greatest distress. Their cries were heard
under the windows of Madame de Pompadour's apartment. Mobs were
collected, and Madame feared the fate of Madame de Chateauroux.
Her friends came in, every minute, to give her intelligence.
Her room was, at all times, like a church; everybody seemed to
claim a right to go in and out when he chose. Some came, under
pretence of sympathising, to observe her countenance and manner.
She did nothing but weep and faint away. Doctor Quesnay never
left her, nor did I. M. de St. Florentin came to see her several
times, so did the Comptroller-General, and M. Rouille; but M.
de Machault did not come. The Duchesse de Brancas came very
frequently. The Abbe de Bernis never left us, except to go to
enquire for the King. The tears came in his eyes whenever he
looked at Madame. Doctor Quesnay saw the King five or six times
a day. "There is nothing to fear," said he to Madame. "If it
were anybody else, he might go to a ball." My son went the next
day, as he had done the day the event occurred, to see what was
going on at the Castle. He told us, on his return, that the Keeper
of the Seals was with the King. I sent him back, to see what
course he took on leaving the King. He came running back in half
an hour, to tell me that the Keeper of the Seals had gone to his
own house, followed by a crowd of people. When I told this to
Madame, she burst into tears, and said, "_Is that a friend?_"
The Abbe de Bernis said, "You must not judge him hastily, in
such a moment as this." I returned into the drawing-room about
an hour after, when the Keeper of the Seals entered. He passed
me, with his usual cold and severe look. "How is Madame de
Pompadour?" said he. "Alas!" replied I, "as you may imagine!"
He passed on to her closet. Everybody retired, and he remained
for half an hour. The Abbe returned and Madame rang. I went into
her room, the Abbe following me. She was in tears. "I must go, my
dear Abbe," said she. I made her take some orange-flower water,
in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered. She then told me to
call her equerry. He came in, and she calmly gave him her orders,
to have everything prepared at her hotel, in Paris; to tell all
her people to get ready to go; and to desire her coachman not
to be out of the way. She then shut herself up, to confer with
the Abbe de Bernis, who left her, to go to the Council. Her door
was then shut, except to the ladies with whom she was particularly
intimate, M. de Soubise, M. de Gontaut, the Ministers, and some
others. Several ladies, in the greatest distress, came to talk
to me in my room: they compared the conduct of M. de Machault
with that of M. de Richelieu, at Metz. Madame had related to
them the circumstances extremely to the honour of the Duke, and,
by contrast, the severest satire on the Keeper of the Seals.
"He thinks, or pretends to think," said she, "that the priests
will be clamorous for my dismissal; but Quesnay and all the
physicians declare that there is not the slightest danger." Madame
having sent for me, I saw the Marechale de Mirepoix coming in.
While she was at the door, she cried out, "What are all those
trunks, Madame? Your people tell me you are going." "Alas! my
dear friend, such is our Master's desire, as M. de Machault tells
me." "And what does he advise?" said the Marechale. "That I should
go without delay." During this conversation, I was undressing
Madame, who wished to be at her ease on her chaise-longue. "Your
Keeper of the Seals wants to get the power into his own hands,
and betrays you; he who quits the field loses it." I went out. M.
de Soubise entered, then the Abbe and M. de Marigny. The latter,
who was very kind to me, came into my room an hour afterwards.
I was alone. "She will remain," said he; "but, hush!--she will
make an appearance of going, in order not to set her enemies
at work. It is the little Marechale who prevailed upon her to
stay: her keeper (so she called M. de Machault) will pay for
it." Quesnay came in, and, having heard what was said, with his
monkey airs, began to relate a fable of a fox, who, being at
dinner with other beasts, persuaded one of them that his enemies
were seeking him, in order that he might get possession of his
share in his absence. I did not see Madame again till very late,
at her going to bed. She was more calm. Things improved, from day
to day, and de Machault, the faithless friend, was dismissed.
The King returned to Madame de Pompadour, as usual. I learnt,
by M. de Marigny, that the Abbe had been, one day, with M.
d'Argenson, to endeavour to persuade him to live on friendly
terms with Madame, and that he had been very coldly received.
"He is the more arrogant," said he, "on account of Machault's
dismissal, which leaves the field clear for him, who has more
experience, and more talent; and I fear that he will, therefore,
be disposed to declare _war till death_." The next day, Madame
having ordered her chaise, I was curious to know where she was
going, for she went out but little, except to church, and to
the houses of the Ministers. I was told that she was gone to
visit M. d'Argenson. She returned in an hour, at farthest, and
seemed very much out of spirits. She leaned on the chimney-piece,
with her eyes fixed on the border of it. M. de Bernis entered.
I waited for her to take off her cloak and gloves. She had her
hands in her muff. The Abbe stood looking at her for some minutes;
at last he said, "You look like a sheep in a reflecting mood." She
awoke from her reverie, and, throwing her muff on the easy-chair,
replied, "It is a wolf who makes the sheep reflect." I went out:
the King entered shortly after, and I heard Madame de Pompadour
sobbing. The Abbe came into my room, and told me to bring some
Hoffman's drops: the King himself mixed the draught with sugar,
and presented it to her in the kindest manner possible. She smiled,
and kissed the King's hands. I left the room. Two days after,
very early in the morning, I heard of M. d'Argenson's exile.
It was her doing, and was, indeed, the strongest proof of her
influence that could be given. The King was much attached to
M. d'Argenson, and the war, then carrying on, both by sea and
land, rendered the dismissal of two such Ministers extremely
imprudent. This was the universal opinion at the time.

Many people talk of the letter of the Comte d'Argenson to Madame
d'Esparbes. I give it, according to the most correct version:
"The doubtful is, at length, decided. The Keeper of the Seals
is dismissed. You will be recalled, my dear Countess, and we
shall be masters of the field."

It is much less generally known that Arboulin, whom Madame calls
Bou-bou, was supposed to be the person who, on the very day of
the dismissal of the Keeper of the Seals, bribed the Count's
confidential courier, who gave him this letter. Is this report
founded on truth? I cannot swear that it is; but it is asserted
that the letter is written in the Count's style. Besides, who
could so immediately have invented it? It, however, appeared
certain, from the extreme displeasure of the King, that he had
some other subject of complaint against M. d'Argenson, besides
his refusing to be reconciled with Madame. Nobody dares to show
the slightest attachment to the disgraced Minister. I asked the
ladies who were most intimate with Madame de Pompadour, as well
as my own friends, what they knew of the matter; but they knew
nothing. I can understand why Madame did not let them into her
confidence at that moment. She will be less reserved in time.
I care very little about it, since I see that she is well, and
appears happy.

The King said a thing, which did him honour, to a person whose
name Madame withheld from me. A nobleman, who had been a most
assiduous courtier of the Count, said, rubbing his hands with
an air of great joy, "I have just seen the Comte d'Argenson's
baggage set out." When the King heard him, he went up to Madame,
shrugged his shoulders, and said, "And immediately the cock crew."

I believe this is taken from Scripture, where Peter denies Our
Lord. I confess, this circumstance gave me great pleasure. It
showed that the King is not the dupe of those around him, and
that he hates treachery and ingratitude.

Madame sent for me yesterday evening, at seven o'clock, to read
something to her; the ladies who were intimate with her were at
Paris, and M. de Gontaut ill. "The King," said she, "will stay
late at the Council this evening; they are occupied with the
affairs of the Parliament again." She bade me leave off reading,
and I was going to quit the room, but she called out, "Stop." She
rose; a letter was brought in for her, and she took it with an
air of impatience and ill-humour. After a considerable time she
began to talk openly, which only happened when she was extremely
vexed; and, as none of her confidential friends were at hand, she
said to me, "This is from my brother. It is what he would not
have dared to say to me, so he writes. I had arranged a marriage
for him with the daughter of a man of title; he appeared to be
well inclined to it, and I, therefore, pledged my word. He now
tells me that he has made inquiries; that the parents are people
of insupportable hauteur; that the daughter is very badly educated;
and that he knows, from authority not to be doubted, that when
she heard this marriage discussed, she spoke of the connection
with the most supreme contempt; that he is certain of this fact;
and that I was still more contemptuously spoken of than himself.
In a word, he begs me to break off the treaty. But he has let me
go too far; and now he will make these people my irreconcilable
enemies. This has been put in his head by some of his flatterers;
they do not wish him to change his way of living; and very few of
them would be received by his wife." I tried to soften Madame,
and, though I did not venture to tell her so, I thought her brother
right. She persisted in saying these were lies, and, on the following
Sunday, treated her brother very coldly. He said nothing to me
at that time; if he had, he would have embarrassed me greatly.
Madame atoned for everything by procuring favours, which were the
means of facilitating the young lady's marriage with a gentleman
of the Court. Her conduct, two months after marriage, compelled
Madame to confess that her brother had been perfectly right.

I saw my friend, Madame du Chiron. "Why," said she, "is the Marquise
so violent an enemy to the Jesuits? I assure you she is wrong.
All-powerful as she is, she may find herself the worse for their
enmity." I replied that I knew nothing about the matter. "It
is, however, unquestionably a fact; and she does not feel that
a word more or less might decide her fate." "How do you mean?"
said I.

"Well, I will explain myself fully," said she. "You know what
took place at the time the King was stabbed: an attempt was made
to get her out of the Castle instantly. The Jesuits have no other
object than the salvation of their penitents; but they are men,
and hatred may, without their being aware of it, influence their
minds, and inspire them with a greater degree of severity than
circumstances absolutely demand. Favour and partiality may, on the
other hand, induce the confessor to make great concessions; and
the shortest interval may suffice to save a favourite, especially
if any decent pretext can be found for prolonging her stay at
Court." I agreed with her in all she said, but I told her that I
dared not touch that string. On reflecting on this conversation
afterwards, I was forcibly struck with this fresh proof of the
intrigues of the Jesuits, which, indeed, I knew well already. I
thought that, in spite of what I had replied to Madame du Chiron,
I ought to communicate this to Madame de Pompadour, for the ease of
my conscience; but that I would abstain from making any reflection
upon it. "Your friend, Madame du Chiron," said she, "is, I perceive,
affiliated to the Jesuits, and what she says does not originate
with herself. She is commissioned by some reverend father, and
I will know by whom." Spies were, accordingly, set to watch her
movements, and they discovered that one Father de Saci, and, still
more particularly, one Father Frey, guided this lady's conduct,
"What a pity," said Madame to me, "that the Abbe Chauvelin cannot
know this." He was the most formidable enemy of the reverend
fathers. Madame du Chiron always looked upon me as a Jansenist,
because I would not espouse the interests of the good fathers
with as much warmth as she did.

Madame is completely absorbed in the Abbe de Bernis, whom she
thinks capable of anything; she talks of him incessantly. Apropos
of this Abbe, I must relate an anecdote, which almost makes one
believe in conjurors. A year, or fifteen months, before her disgrace,
Madame de Pompadour, being at Fontainebleau, sat down to write at
a desk, over which hung a portrait of the King. While she was
shutting the desk, after she had finished writing, the picture
fell, and struck her violently on the head. The persons who saw
the accident were alarmed, and sent for Dr. Quesnay. He asked the
circumstances of the case, and ordered bleeding and anodynes. Just
as she had been bled, Madame de Brancas entered, and saw us all in
confusion and agitation, and Madame lying on her chaise-longue.
She asked what was the matter, and was told. After having expressed
her regret, and having consoled her, she said, "I ask it as a
favour of Madame, and of the King (who had just come in), that
they will instantly send a courier to the Abbe de Bernis, and
that the Marquise will have the goodness to write a letter, merely
requesting him to inform her what his fortune-tellers told him,
and to withhold nothing from the fear of making her uneasy."
The thing was done as she desired, and she then told us that La
Bontemps had predicted, from the dregs in the coffee-cup, in
which she read everything, that the head of her best friend was
in danger, but that no fatal consequences would ensue.

The next day, the Abbe wrote word that Madame Bontemps also said
to him, "You came into the world almost black," and that this was
the fact. This colour, which lasted for some time, was attributed
to a picture which hung at the foot of his mother's bed, and
which she often looked at. It represented a Moor bringing to
Cleopatra a basket of flowers, containing the asp by whose bite
she destroyed herself. He said that she also told him, "You have
a great deal of money about you, but it does not belong to you;"
and that he had actually in his pocket two hundred louis for
the Duc de La Valliere. Lastly, he informed us that she said,
looking in the cup, "I see one of your friends--the best--a
distinguished lady, threatened with an accident;" that he confessed
that, in spite of all his philosophy, he turned pale; that she
remarked this, looked again into the cup, and continued, "Her
head will be slightly in danger, but of this no appearance will
remain half an hour afterwards." It was impossible to doubt the
facts. They appeared so surprising to the King, that he desired
some inquiry to be made concerning the fortune-teller. Madame,
however, protected her from the pursuit of the Police.

A man, who was quite as astonishing as this fortune-teller, often
visited Madame de Pompadour. This was the Comte de St. Germain,
who wished to have it believed that he had lived several centuries.
One day, at her toilet, Madame said to him, in my presence, "What
was the personal appearance of Francis I.? He was a King I should
have liked." "He was, indeed, very captivating," said St. Germain;
and he proceeded to describe his face and person as one does
that of a man one has accurately observed. "It is a pity he was
too ardent. I could have given him some good advice, which would
have saved him from all his misfortunes; but he would not have
followed it; for it seems as if a fatality attended Princes,
forcing them to shut their ears, those of the mind, at least, to
the best advice, and especially in the most critical moments."
"And the Constable," said Madame, "what do you say of him?" "I
cannot say much good or much harm of him," replied he. "Was
the Court of Francis I. very brilliant?" "Very brilliant; but
those of his grandsons infinitely surpassed it. In the time of
Mary Stuart and Margaret of Valois it was a land of enchantment--a
temple, sacred to pleasures of every kind; those of the mind
were not neglected. The two Queens were learned, wrote verses,
and spoke with captivating grace and eloquence." Madame said,
laughing, "You seem to have seen all this." "I have an excellent
memory," said he, "and have read the history of France with great
care. I sometimes amuse myself, not by _making_, but by _letting_
it be believed that I lived in old times." "You do not tell me
your age, however, and you give yourself out for very old. The
Comtesse de Gergy, who was Ambassadress to Venice, I think, fifty
years ago, says she knew you there exactly what you are now."
"It is true, Madame, that I have known Madame de Gergy a long
time." "But, according to what she says, you would be more than
a hundred." "That is not impossible," said he, laughing; "but
it is, I allow, still more possible that Madame de Gergy, for
whom I have the greatest respect, may be in her dotage." "You
have given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising.
She declares that for a long time she has felt as if she was
only four-and-twenty years of age; why don't you give some to
the King?" "Ah! Madame," said he, with a sort of terror, "I must
be mad to think of giving the King an unknown drug." I went into
my room to write down this conversation.

Some days afterwards, the King, Madame de Pompadour, some Lords
of the Court, and the Comte de St. Germain, were talking about
his secret for causing the spots in diamonds to disappear. The
King ordered a diamond of middling size, which had a spot, to
be brought. It was weighed; and the King said to the Count, "It
is valued at two hundred and forty louis; but it would be worth
four hundred if it had no spot. Will you try to put a hundred
and sixty louis into my pocket?" He examined it carefully, and
said, "It may be done; and I will bring it you again in a month."
At the time appointed, the Count brought back the diamond without
a spot, and gave it to the King. It was wrapped in a cloth of
amianthus, which he took off. The King had it weighed, and found
it but very little diminished. The King sent it to his jeweller
by M. de Gontaut, without telling him anything of what had passed.
The jeweller gave three hundred and eighty louis for it. The King,
however, sent for it back again, and kept it as a curiosity. He
could not overcome his surprise, and said that M. de St. Germain
must be worth millions, especially if he had also the secret of
making large diamonds out of a number of small ones. He neither
said that he had, nor that he had not; but he positively asserted
that he could make pearls grow, and give them the finest water.
The King paid him great attention, and so did Madame de Pompadour.
It was from her I learnt what I have just related. M. Quesnay
said, talking of the pearls, "They are produced by a disease
in the oyster. It is possible to know the cause of it; but, be
that as it may, he is not the less a quack, since he pretends
to have the _elixir vitoe_, and to have lived several centuries.
Our master is, however, infatuated by him, and sometimes talks
of him as if his descent were illustrious."

I have seen him frequently: he appeared to be about fifty; he was
neither fat nor thin; he had an acute, intelligent look, dressed
very simply, but in good taste; he wore very fine diamonds in his
rings, watch, and snuff-box. He came, one day, to visit Madame
de Pompadour, at a time when the Court was in full splendour, with
knee and shoe-buckles of diamonds so fine and brilliant that
Madame said she did not believe the King had any equal to them.
He went into the antechamber to take them off, and brought them to
be examined; they were compared with others in the room, and the
Duc de Gontaut, who was present, said they were both at least
eight thousand louis. He wore, at the same time, a snuff-box of
inestimable value, and ruby sleeve-buttons, which were perfectly
dazzling. Nobody could find out by what means this man became
so rich and so remarkable; but the King would not suffer him
to be spoken of with ridicule or contempt. He was said to be a
bastard son of the King of Portugal.

I learnt, from M. de Marigny, that the relations of the good
little Marechale (de Mirepoix) had been extremely severe upon her,
for what they called the baseness of her conduct, with regard to
Madame de Pompadour. They said she held the stones of the cherries
which Madame ate in her carriage, in her beautiful little hands,
and that she sate in the front of the carriage, while Madame
occupied the whole seat in the inside. The truth was, that, in
going to Crecy, on an insupportably hot day, they both wished to
sit alone, that they might be cooler; and as to the matter of
the cherries, the villagers having brought them some, they ate
them to refresh themselves, while the horses were changed; and
the Marechale emptied her pocket-handkerchief, into which they
had both thrown the cherry-stones, out of the carriage window. The
people who were changing the horses had given their own version
of the affair.

I had, as you know, a very pretty room at Madame's hotel, whither
I generally went privately. I had, one day, had visits from two or
three Paris representatives, who told me news; and Madame, having
sent for me, I went to her, and found her with M. de Gontaut. I
could not help instantly saying to her, "You must be much pleased,
Madame, at the noble action of the Marquis de ----." Madame replied,
drily, "Hold your tongue, and listen to what I have to say to
you." I returned to my little room, where I found the Comtesse
d'Amblimont, to whom I mentioned Madame's reception of me. "I
know what is the matter," said she; "it has no relation to you.
I will explain it to you. The Marquis de ---- has told all Paris,
that, some days ago, going home at night, alone, and on foot,
he heard cries in a street called Ferou, which is dark, and,
in great part, arched over; that he drew his sword, and went
down the street, in which he saw, by the light of a lamp, a very
handsome woman, to whom some ruffians were offering violence;
that he approached, and that the woman cried out, 'Save me! save
me!' that he rushed upon the wretches, two of whom fought him,
sword in hand, whilst a third held the woman, and tried to stop
her mouth; that he wounded one in the arm; and that the ruffians,
hearing people pass at the end of the street, and fearing they
might come to his assistance, fled; that he went up to the lady,
who told him that they were not robbers, but villains, one of
whom was desperately in love with her; and that the lady knew
not how to express her gratitude; that she had begged him not
to follow her, after he had conducted her to a _fiacre_; that
she would not tell him her name, but that she insisted on his
accepting a little ring, as a token of remembrance; and that she
promised to see him again, and to tell him her whole history,
if he gave her his address; that he complied with this request
of the lady, whom he represented as a charming person, and who,
in the overflowing of her gratitude, embraced him several times.
This is all very fine, so far," said Madame d'Amblimont, "but
hear the rest. The Marquis de ---- exhibited himself everywhere
the next day, with a black ribbon bound round his arm, near the
wrist, in which part he said he had received the wound. He related
his story to everybody, and everybody commented upon it after
his own fashion. He went to dine with the Dauphin, who spoke
to him of his bravery, and of his fair unknown, and told him
that he had already complimented the Duc de C---- on the affair.
I forgot to tell you," continued Madame d'Amblimont, "that, on
the very night of the adventure, he called on Madame d'Estillac,
an old gambler, whose house is open till four in the morning;
that everybody there was surprised at the disordered state in
which he appeared; that his bagwig had fallen off, one skirt of
his coat was cut, and his right hand bleeding. That they instantly
bound it up, and gave him some Rota wine. Four days ago, the Duc
de C---- supped with the King, and sat near M. de St. Florentin.
He talked to him of his relation's adventure, and asked him if he
had made any inquiries concerning the lady. M. de St. Florentin
coldly answered, 'No;' and M. de C---- remarked, on asking him
some further questions, that he kept his eyes fixed on his plate,
looking embarrassed, and answered in monosyllables. He asked him
the reason of this, upon which M. de Florentin told him that it
was extremely distressing to him to see him under such a mistake.
'How can you know that, supposing it to be the fact?' said M.
de ----. 'Nothing is more easy to prove,' replied M. de St.
Florentin. 'You may imagine that, as soon as I was informed of
the Marquis de ----'s adventure, I set on foot inquiries, the
result of which was, that, on the night when this affair was said
to have taken place, a party of the watch was set in ambuscade
in this very street, for the purpose of catching a thief who
was coming out of the gaming house; that this party was there
four hours, and heard not the slightest noise.' M. de C---- was
greatly incensed at this recital, which M. de St. Florentin ought,
indeed, to have communicated to the King. He has ordered, or
will order, his relation to retire to his province.

[Illustration: Madame de Pompadour. _From the original painting
by Nattier in the Royal Gallery in Scotland._]

"After this, you will judge, my dear, whether you were very likely
to be graciously received when you went open-mouthed with your
compliment to the Marquise. This adventure," continued she, "reminded
the King of one which occurred about fifteen years ago. The Comte
d'E----, who was what is called _enfant d'honneur_ to the Dauphin,
and about fourteen years of age, came into the Dauphin's apartments,
one evening, with his bag-wig snatched off, and his ruffles torn,
and said that, having walked rather late near the piece of water
_des Suisses_, he had been attacked by two robbers; that he had
refused to give them anything, drawn his sword, and put himself
in art attitude of defence; that one of the robbers was armed
with a sword, the other with a large stick, from which he had
received several blows, but that he had wounded one in the arm,
and that, hearing a noise at that moment, they had fled. But
unluckily for the little Count, it was known that people were on
the spot at the precise time he mentioned, and had heard nothing.
The Count was pardoned, on account of his youth. The Dauphin made
him confess the truth, and it was looked upon as a childish freak
to set people talking about him."

The King disliked the King of Prussia because he knew that the
latter was in the habit of jesting upon his mistress, and the
kind of life he led. It was Frederick's fault, as I have heard it
said, that the king was not his most steadfast ally and friend,
as much as sovereigns can be towards each other; but the jestings
of Frederick had stung him, and made him conclude the treaty of
Versailles. One day, he entered Madame's apartment with a paper
in his hand, and said, "The King of Prussia is certainly a great
man; he loves men of talent, and, like Louis XIV., he wishes to
make Europe ring with his favours towards foreign _savans_. There
is a letter from him, addressed to Milord Marshal, ordering him
to acquaint a _superieur_ man of my kingdom (D'Alembert) that he
has granted him a pension;" and, looking at the letter, he read
the following words: "You must know that there is in Paris a man
of the greatest merit, whose fortune is not proportionate to his
talents and character. I may serve as eyes to the blind goddess,
and repair in some measure the injustice, and I beg you to offer
on that account. I flatter myself that he will accept this pension
because of the pleasure I shall feel in obliging a man who joins
beauty of character to the most sublime intellectual talents."
The King here stopped, on seeing MM. d'Ayen and de Gontaut enter,
and then recommenced reading the letter to them, and added, "It
was given me by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, to whom it
was confided by Milord Marshal, for the purpose of obtaining my
permission for this _sublime genius_ to accept the favour. But,"
said the King, "what do you think is the amount?" Some said six,
eight, ten thousand livres. "You have not guessed," said the
King; "it is twelve hundred livres." "For sublime talents," said
the Duc d'Ayen, "it is not much. But the philosophers will make
Europe resound with this letter, and the King of Prussia will have
the pleasure of making a great noise at little expense."

The Chevalier de Courten, who had been in Prussia, came in, and,
hearing this story told, said, "I have seen what is much better
than that: passing through a village in Prussia, I got out at the
post-house, while I was waiting for horses; and the post-master,
who was a captain in the Prussian service, showed me several
letters in Frederick's handwriting, addressed to his uncle, who
was a man of rank, promising him to provide for his nephews;
the provision he made for this, the eldest of these nephews,
who was dreadfully wounded, was the postmastership which he then
held." M. de Marigny related this story at Quesnay's, and added,
that the man of genius above mentioned was D'Alembert, and that
the King had permitted him to accept the pension. He added, that
his sister had suggested to the King that he had better give
D'Alembert a pension of twice the value, and forbid him to take
the King of Prussia's. This advice he would not take, because
he looked upon D'Alembert as an infidel. M. de Marigny took a
copy of the letter, which he lent me.

A certain nobleman, at one time, affected to cast tender glances
on Madame Adelaide. She was wholly unconscious of it; but, as
there are Arguses at Court, the King was, of course, told of
it, and, indeed, he thought he had perceived it himself. I know
that he came into Madame de Pompadour's room one day, in a great
passion, and said, "Would you believe that there is a man in
my Court insolent enough to dare to raise his eyes to one of
my daughters?" Madame had never seen him so exasperated, and
this illustrious nobleman was advised to feign a necessity for
visiting his estates. He remained there two months. Madame told
me, long after, that she thought that there were no tortures to
which the King would not have condemned any man who had seduced
one of his daughters. Madame Adelaide, at the time in question,
was a charming person, and united infinite grace, and much talent,
to a most agreeable face.

A courier brought Madame de Pompadour a letter, on reading which
she burst into tears. It contained the intelligence of the battle
of Rosbach, which M. de Soubise sent her, with all the details.
I heard her say to the Marechal de Belle-Isle, wiping her eyes,
"M. de Soubise is inconsolable; he does not try to excuse his
conduct, he sees nothing but the disastrous fortune which pursues
him." "M. de Soubise must, however, have many things to urge in
his own behalf," said M. de Belle-Isle, "and so I told the King."
"It is very noble in you, Marshal, not to suffer an unfortunate
man to be overwhelmed; the public are furious against him, and
what has he done to deserve it?" "There is not a more honourable
nor a kinder man in the world. I only fulfil my duty in doing
justice to the truth, and to a man for whom I have the most profound
esteem. The King will explain to you, Madame, how M. de Soubise
was forced to give battle by the Prince of Saxe-Hildbourgshausen,
whose troops fled first, and carried along the French troops."
Madame would have embraced the old Marshal if she had dared,
she was so delighted with him.

M. de Soubise, having gained a battle, was made Marshal of France:
Madame was enchanted with her friend's success. But, either it
was unimportant, or the public were offended at his promotion;
nobody talked of it but Madame's friends. This unpopularity was
concealed from her, and she said to Colin, her steward, at her
toilet, "Are you not delighted at the victory M. de Soubise has
gained? What does the public say of it? He has taken his revenge
well." Colin was embarrassed, and knew not what to answer. As
she pressed him further, he replied that he had been ill, and
had seen nobody for a week.

M. de Marigny came to see me one day, very much out of humour. I
asked him the cause. "I have," said he, "just been intreating my
sister not to make M. le Normand-de-Mezi Minister of the Marine.
I told her that she was heaping coals of fire upon her own head. A
favourite ought not to multiply the points of attack upon herself."
The Doctor entered. "You," said the Doctor, "are worth your weight
in gold, for the good sense and capacity you have shewn in your
office, and for your moderation, but you will never be appreciated
as you deserve; your advice is excellent; there will never be
a ship taken but Madame will be held responsible for it to the
public, and you are very wise not to think of being in the Ministry

One day, when I was at Paris, I went to dine with the Doctor,
who happened to be there at the same time; there were, contrary
to his usual custom, a good many people, and, among others, a
handsome young Master of the Requests, who took a title from
some place, the name of which I have forgotten, but who was a
son of M. Turgot, the _prevot des marchands_. They talked a great
deal about administration, which was not very amusing to me;
they then fell upon the subject of the love Frenchmen bear to
their Kings. M. Turgot here joined in the conversation, and said,
"This is not a blind attachment; it is a deeply rooted sentiment,
arising from an indistinct recollection of great benefits. The
French nation--I may go farther--Europe, and all mankind, owe to
a King of France" (I have forgotten his name) "whatever liberty
they enjoy. He established _communes_, and conferred on an immense
number of men a civil existence. I am aware that it may be said,
with justice, that he served his own interests by granting these
franchises; that the cities paid him taxes, and that his design
was to use them as instruments of weakening the power of great
nobles; but what does that prove, but that this measure was at
once useful, politic, and humane?" From Kings in general the
conversation turned upon Louis XV., and M. Turgot remarked that
his reign would be always celebrated for the advancement of the
sciences, the progress of knowledge, and of philosophy. He added
that Louis XV. was deficient in the quality which Louis XIV.
possessed to excess; that is to say, in a good opinion of himself;
that he was well-informed; that nobody was more perfectly master
of the topography of France; that his opinion in the Council was
always the most judicious; and that it was much to be lamented
that he had not more confidence in himself, or that he did not
rely upon some Minister who enjoyed the confidence of the nation.
Everybody agreed with him. I begged M. Quesnay to write down
what young Turgot had said, and showed it to Madame. She praised
this Master of the Requests greatly, and spoke of him to the
King. "It is a good breed," said he.

One day, I went out to walk, and saw, on my return, a great many
people going and coming, and speaking to each other privately: it
was evident that something extraordinary had happened. I asked
a person of my acquaintance what was the matter. "Alas!" said
he, with tears in his eyes, "some assassins, who had formed the
project of murdering the King, have inflicted several wounds
on a garde-du-corps, who overheard them in a dark corridor; he
is carried to the hospital; and as he has described the colour
of these men's coats, the Police are in quest of them in all
directions, and some people, dressed in clothes of that colour,
are already arrested." I saw Madame with M. de Gontaut, and I
hastened home. She found her door besieged by a multitude of
people, and was alarmed: when she got in, she found the Comte
de Noailles. "What is all this, Count?" said she. He said he was
come expressly to speak to her, and they retired to her closet
together. The conference was not long. I had remained in the
drawing-room, with Madame's equerry, the Chevalier de Sosent,
Gourbillon, her _valet de chambre_, and some strangers. A great
many details were related; but, the wounds being little more
than scratches, and the garde-du-corps having let fall some
contradictions, it was thought that he was an impostor, who had
invented all this story to bring himself into favour. Before the
night was over, this was proved to be the fact, and, I believe,
from his own confession. The King came, that evening, to see
Madame de Pompadour; he spoke of this occurrence with great _sang
froid_, and said, "The gentleman who wanted to kill me was a
wicked madman; this is a low scoundrel."

When he spoke of Damiens, which was only while his trial lasted,
he never called him anything but _that gentleman_.

I have heard it said that he proposed having him shut up in a
dungeon for life; but that the horrible nature of the crime made
the judges insist upon his suffering all the tortures inflicted
upon like occasions. Great numbers, many of them women, had a
barbarous curiosity to witness the execution; amongst others,
Madame de P----, a very beautiful woman, and the wife of a Farmer
General. She hired two places at a window for twelve louis, and
played a game of cards in the room whilst waiting for the execution
to begin. On this being told to the King, he covered his eyes
with his hands and exclaimed, "_Fi, la Vilaine!_" I have been
told that she, and others, thought to pay their court in this
way, and signalise their attachment to the King's person.

Two things were related to me by M. Duclos at the time of the
attempt on the King's life.

The first, relative to the Comte de Sponheim, who was the Duc
de Deux-Ponts, and next in succession to the Palatinate and
Electorate of Bavaria. He was thought to be a great friend to
the King, and had made several long sojourns in France. He came
frequently to see Madame. M. Duclos told us that the Duc de
Deux-Ponts, having learned, at Deux-Ponts, the attempt on the
King's life, immediately set out in a carriage for Versailles:
"But remark," said he, "the spirit of _courtisanerie_ of a Prince,
who may be Elector of Bavaria and the Palatinate to-morrow. This
was not enough. When he arrived within ten leagues of Paris, he
put on an enormous pair of jack-boots, mounted a post-horse,
and arrived in the court of the palace cracking his whip. If
this had been real impatience, and not charlatanism, he would
have taken horse twenty leagues from Paris." "I don't agree with
you," said a gentleman whom I did not know; "impatience sometimes
seizes one towards the end of an undertaking, and one employs
the readiest means then in one's power. Besides, the Duc de
Deux-Ponts might wish, by showing himself thus on horseback, to
serve the King, to whom he is attached, by proving to Frenchmen
how greatly he is beloved and honoured in other countries." Duclos
resumed: "Well," said he, "do you know the story of M. de C----?
The first day the King saw company, after the attempt of Damiens,
M. de C---- pushed so vigorously through the crowd that he was
one of the first to come into the King's presence, but he had
on so shabby a black coat that it caught the King's attention,
who burst out laughing, and said, 'Look at C----, he has had
the skirt of his coat torn off.' M. de C---- looked as if he was
only then first conscious of his loss, and said, 'Sire, there
is such a multitude hurrying to see Your Majesty, that I was
obliged to fight my way through them, and, in the effort, my
coat has been torn.' 'Fortunately it was not worth much,' said
the Marquis de Souvre, 'and you could not have chosen a worse
one to sacrifice on the occasion.'"

Madame de Pompadour had been very judiciously advised to get her
husband, M. le Normand, sent to Constantinople, as Ambassador.
This would have a little diminished the scandal caused by seeing
Madame de Pompadour, with the title of Marquise, at Court, and
her husband Farmer General at Paris. But he was so attached to a
Paris life, and to his opera habits, that he could not be prevailed
upon to go. Madame employed a certain M. d'Arboulin, with whom
she had been acquainted before she was at Court, to negotiate
this affair. He applied to a Mademoiselle Rem, who had been an
opera-dancer, and who was M. le Normand's mistress. She made
him very fine promises; but she was like him, and preferred a
Paris life. She would do nothing in it.

At the time that plays were acted in the little apartments, I
obtained a lieutenancy for one of my relations, by a singular
means, which proves the value the greatest people set upon the
slightest access to the Court. Madame did not like to ask anything
of M. d'Argenson, and, being pressed by my family, who could
not imagine that, situated as I was, it could be difficult for
me to obtain a command for a good soldier, I determined to go
and ask the Comte d'Argenson. I made my request, and presented
my memorial. He received me coldly, and gave me vague answers.
I went out, and the Marquis de V----, who was in his closet,
followed me. "You wish to obtain a command," said he; "there
is one vacant, which is promised me for one of my proteges; but
if you will do me a favour in return, or obtain one for me, I
will give it to you. I want to be a _police officer_, and you
have it in your power to get me a place." I told him I did not
understand the purport of his jest. "I will tell you," said he;
"_Tartuffe_ is going to be acted in the cabinets, and there is
the part of a police officer, which only consists of a few lines.
Prevail upon Madame de Pompadour to assign me that part, and
the command is yours." I promised nothing, but I related the
history to Madame, who said she would arrange it for me. The
thing was done, and I obtained the command, and the Marquis de
V---- thanked Madame as if she had made him a Duke.

The King was often annoyed by the Parliaments, and said a very
remarkable thing concerning them, which M. de Gontaut repeated
to Doctor Quesnay in my presence. "Yesterday," said he, "the
King walked up and down the room with an anxious air. Madame
de Pompadour asked him if he was uneasy about his health, as
he had been, for some time, rather unwell. 'No,' replied he;
'but I am greatly annoyed by all these remonstrances.' 'What
can come of them,' said she, 'that need seriously disquiet Your
Majesty? Are you not master of the Parliaments, as well as of
all the rest of the kingdom?' 'That is true,' said the King;
'but, if it had not been for these counsellors and presidents,
I should never have been stabbed by _that gentleman_, (he always
called Damiens so). 'Ah! Sire,' cried Madame de Pompadour. 'Read
the trial,' said he. 'It was the language of those gentlemen
he names which turned his head.' 'But,' said Madame, 'I have
often thought that, if the Archbishop could be sent to Rome--'
'Find anybody who will accomplish that business, and I will give
him whatever he pleases.'" Quesnay said the King was right in
all he had uttered. The Archbishop was exiled shortly after,
and the King was seriously afflicted at being driven to take
such a step. "What a pity," he often said, "that so excellent
a man should be so obstinate." "And so shallow," said somebody,
one day. "Hold your tongue," replied the King, somewhat sternly.
The Archbishop was very charitable, and liberal to excess, but
he often granted pensions without discernment. He granted one of
an hundred louis to a pretty woman, who was very poor, and who
assumed an illustrious name, to which she had no right. The fear
lest she should be plunged into vice led him to bestow such excessive
bounty upon her; and the woman was an admirable dissembler. She
went to the Archbishop's, covered with a great hood, and, when
she left him, she amused herself with a variety of lovers.

Great people have the bad habit of talking very indiscreetly before
their servants. M. de Gontaut once said these words covertly, as he
thought, to the Duc de ----, "That measures had been taken which
would, probably, have the effect of determining the Archbishop to
go to Rome, with a Cardinal's hat; and that, if he desired it,
he was to have a coadjutor."

A very plausible pretext had been found for making this proposition,
and for rendering it flattering to the Archbishop, and agreeable
to his sentiments. The affair had been very adroitly begun, and
success appeared certain. The King had the air, towards the
Archbishop, of entire unconsciousness of what was going on. The
negotiator acted as if he were only following the suggestions
of his own mind, for the general good. He was a friend of the
Archbishop, and was very sure of a liberal reward. A valet of
the Duc de Gontaut, a very handsome young fellow, had perfectly
caught the sense of what was spoken in a mysterious manner. He
was one of the lovers of the lady of the hundred louis a year,
and had heard her talk of the Archbishop, whose relation she
pretended to be. He thought he should secure her good graces
by informing her that great efforts were being made to induce
her patron to reside at Rome, with a view to get him away from
Paris. The lady instantly told the Archbishop, as she was afraid
of losing her pension if he went. The information squared so well
wit the negotiation then on foot, that the Archbishop had no
doubt of its truth. He cooled, by degrees, in his conversations
with the negotiator, whom he regarded as a traitor, and ended
by breaking with him. These details were not known till long
afterwards. The lover of the lady having been sent to the Bicetre,
some letters were found among his papers, which gave a scent of
the affair, and he was made to confess the rest.

In order not to compromise the Duc de Gontaut, the King was told
that the valet had come to a knowledge of the business from a
letter which he had found in his master's clothes. The King took
his revenge by humiliating the Archbishop, which he was enabled
to do by means of the information he had obtained concerning
the conduct of the lady, his protegee. She was found guilty of
swindling, in concert with her beloved valet; but, before her
punishment was inflicted, the Lieutenant of Police was ordered
to lay before Monseigneur a full account of the conduct of his
relation and pensioner. The Archbishop had nothing to object to
in the proofs which were submitted to him; he said, with perfect
calmness, that she was not his relation; and, raising his hands
to heaven, "She is an unhappy wretch," said he, "who has robbed
me of the money which was destined for the poor. But God knows
that, in giving her so large a pension, I did not act lightly.
I had, at the time, before my eyes the example of a young woman
who once asked me to grant her seventy louis a year, promising me
that she would always live very virtuously, as she had hitherto
done. I refused her, and she said, on leaving me, 'I must turn
to the left, Monseigneur, since the way on the right is closed
against me.' The unhappy creature has kept her word but too well.
She found means of establish a faro-table at her house, which
is tolerated; and she joins to the most profligate conduct in
her own person the infamous trade of a corrupter of youth; her
house is the abode of every vice. Think, sir, after that, whether
it was not an act of prudence, on my part, to grant the woman
in question a pension, suitable to the rank in which I thought
her born, to prevent her abusing the gifts of youth, beauty,
and talents, which she possessed, to her own perdition, and the
destruction of others." The Lieutenant of Police told the King
that he was touched with the candour and the noble simplicity
of the prelate. "I never doubted his virtues," replied the King,
"but I wish he would be quiet." This same Archbishop gave a pension
of fifty louis a year to the greatest scoundrel in Paris. He is
a poet, who writes abominable verses; this pension is granted
on condition that his poems are never printed. I learned this
fact from M. de Marigny, to whom he recited some of his horrible
verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with some
people of quality. He chinked the money in his pocket. "This
is my good Archbishop's," said he, laughing; "I keep my word
with him: my poem will not be printed during my life, but I read
it. What would the good prelate say if he knew that I shared my
last quarter's allowance with a charming little opera-dancer?
'It is the Archbishop, then, who keeps me,' said she to me; 'Oh,
la! how droll that is!'" The King heard this, and was much
scandalised at it. "How difficult it is to do good!" said he.

The King came into Madame de Pompadour's room, one day, as she
was finishing dressing. "I have just had a strange adventure,"
said he: "would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom
into my bedroom, I met a gentleman face to face?" "My God! Sire,"
cried Madame, terrified. "It was nothing," replied he; "but I
confess I was greatly surprised: the man appeared speechless
with consternation. 'What do you do here?' cried I, civilly.
He threw himself on his knees, saying, 'Pardon me, Sire; and,
above all, have me searched.' He instantly emptied his pockets
himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and
terror: at last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend
of Beccari, whom he came to visit; that he had mistaken the
staircase, and, finding all the doors open, he had wandered into
the room in which I found him, and which he would have instantly
left: I rang; Guimard came, and was astonished enough at finding
me tete-a-tete with a man in his shirt. He begged Guimard to go
with him into another room, and to search his whole person. After
this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat. Guimard said
to me, 'He is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth; this
may, besides, be easily ascertained.' Another of the servants of
the palace came in, and happened to know him. 'I will answer for
this good man,' said he, 'who, moreover, makes the best _boeuf
a l'ecarlate_ in the world.' As I saw the man was so agitated
that he could not stand steady, I took fifty louis out of my
bureau, and said, 'Here, sir, are fifty louis, to quiet your
alarms.' He went out, after throwing himself at my feet." Madame
exclaimed on the impropriety of having the King's bedroom thus
accessible to everybody. He talked with great calmness of this
strange apparition, but it was evident that he controlled himself,
and that he had, in fact, been much frightened, as, indeed, he
had reason to be. Madame highly approved of the gift; and she
was the more right in applauding it, as it was by no means in
the King's usual manner. M. de Marigny said, when I told him
of this adventure, that he would have wagered a thousand louis
against the King's making a present of fifty, if anybody but
I had told him of the circumstance. "It is a singular fact,"
continued he, "that all of the race of Valois have been liberal
to excess; this is not precisely the case with the Bourbons, who
are rather reproached with avarice! Henri IV. was said to be
avaricious. He gave to his mistresses, because he could refuse
them nothing; but he played with the eagerness of a man whose whole
fortune depends on the game. Louis XIV. gave through ostentation.
It is most astonishing," added he, "to reflect on what might
have happened. The King might actually have been assassinated
in his chamber, without anybody knowing anything of the matter
and without a possibility of discovering the murderer." For more
than a fortnight Madame could not get over this incident.

About that time she had a quarrel with her brother, and both were
in the right. Proposals were made to him to marry the daughter of
one of the greatest noblemen of the Court, and the King consented
to create him a Duke, and even to make the title hereditary.
Madame was right in wishing to aggrandise her brother, but he
declared that he valued his liberty above all things, and that
he would not sacrifice it except for a person he really loved.
He was a true Epicurean philosopher, and a man of great capacity,
according to the report of those who knew him well, and judged
him impartially. It was entirely at his option to have had the
reversion of M. de St. Florentin's place, and the place of Minister
of Marine, when M. de Machault retired; he said to his sister,
at the time, "I spare you many vexations, by depriving you of a
slight satisfaction. The people would be unjust to me, however
well I might fulfil the duties of my office. As to M. de St.
Florentin's place, he may live five-and-twenty years, so that I
should not be the better for it. Kings' mistresses are hated enough
on their own account; they need not also draw upon themselves the
hatred which is directed against Ministers." M. Quesnay repeated
this conversation to me.

The King had another mistress, who gave Madame de Pompadour some

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