Two hours afterwards a note, bearing no signature, was brought me, in which the late scene was described to me, and I was further informed, that the lady, so abruptly repulsed by my servants, had presented herself to communicate things which concerned not only my own personal safety but the welfare of all France; a frightful catastrophe was impending, which there was still time to prevent; the means of so doing were offered me, and I was conjured not to reject them. The affair, if treated with indifference, would bring on incalculable misfortunes and horrors, to which I should be the first victim. All this apparent mystery would be cleared up, and, the whole affair explained, if I would repair on the following day, at one o’clock, to the Baths of Apollo. A grove of trees there was pointed out as a safe place of rendezvous, and being so very near my residence, calculated to remove any fears I might entertain of meeting a stranger, who, as the note informed me, possessed the means of entering this secluded spot. I was again conjured to be punctual to the appointed hour as I valued my life.
The mysterious and solemn tone of this singular epistle struck me with terror. Madame de Mirepoix was with me at the moment I received it. This lady had a peculiar skill in physiognomy, and the close attention she always paid to mine was frequently extremely embarrassing and disagreeable She seemed (as usual) on the present occasion to read all that was passing in my mind; however, less penetrating eyes than hers might easily have perceived, by my sudden agitation, that the paper I held in my hand contained something more than usual.
“What ails you?” asked she, with the familiarity our close intimacy warranted; “does that note bring you any bad news?”
“No,” said I; “it tells me nothing; but it leaves me ample room for much uneasiness and alarm: but, after all, it may be merely some hoax, some foolish jest played off at my expense; but judge for yourself.” So saying, I handed her the letter: when she had perused it, she said,
“Upon my word, if I were in your place, I would clear up this mystery; good advice is not so easily met with as to make it a matter of difficulty to go as far as the Baths of Apollo to seek it. It is by no means impossible but that, as this paper tells you, some great peril is hanging over you. The marquise de Pompadour,” continued madame de Mirepoix, “received more than once invitations similar to this, which she never failed to attend; and I recollect one circumstance, in which she had no cause to regret having done so: without the kind offices of one of these anonymous writers it is very possible that she might have expired heart broken, and perhaps forsaken in some state prison, instead of ending her days in the chateau of Versailles, honored even to the tomb by the friendship and regard of the king of France.”
I asked my friend to explain her last observation, and she replied as follows:–
“One day an anonymous billet, similar to this, was left for madame de Pompadour: it requested her to repair, at a specified hour, to the church of the Jacobins, rue Saint Honore, in Paris, where she was promised some highly important communications. The marchioness was punctual to the rendezvous; and, as she entered the church, a Jacobite, so entirely wrapped in his capuchin as to conceal his features, approached her, took her by the hand, and conducted her to an obscure chapel; where, requesting her to sit down, he took a seat himself, and began as follows:–
“‘Madam, you are about to lose the favor of the king; a party is at work to give a new mistress to the king; the lady is young, beautiful, witty, and possessed of an insatiable ambition; for the last six months she has been in the daily habit of seeing the king, unknown to you and all the court, and this has been accomplished in the following manner: her father is
majesty, and she has an only brother, two years younger than herself, whose astonishing resemblance to her has created continual mistakes; this brother is promised the inheritance of his father’s office; and, under pretext of acquiring the due initiation for future post, has been permitted every morning to attend the king’s rising.
“‘However, this embryo page is the sister, who comes each morning disguised in her brother’s clothes. The king has had many private conversations with the designing beauty; and, seduced by her many charms of mind and person, as well as dazzled by the hidden and concealed nature of their intrigue, finds his passion for her increases from day to day. Many are the designing persons ready to profit by the transfer of the king’s affections from you to this fresh favorite; and they flatter themselves the desired event is close at hand. You are to be confined by a
to the isle of St. Margaret, for the place of your exile is already chosen. The principal conspirators are two powerful noblemen, one of whom is reputed your most intimate friend. I learned all these particulars,’ continued the Jacobite, ‘from a young penitent, but not under the seal of confession. This penitent is the particular friend of the female in question, who confided the secret to her, from whom I received it, accompanied by the most flattering promises of future protection and advancement. These splendid prospects excited her jealous envy, and she came here to confess the whole to me, requesting I would seek you out and inform you of the whole affair. Here is a letter she obtained unknown to her aspiring friend, which she wishes you to see, as a pledge of the veracity of her statement.’ The marchioness cast her eyes over the paper held out to her by the Jacobite. It was a letter addressed by the king to his new mistress.
“You may imagine the terror of madame de Pompadour, her anxiety and impatience to return to Versailles. However, ere she quitted the friendly monk she assured him of her lasting gratitude, and begged of him to point out how she could best prove it. ‘For myself,’ replied he, ‘I ask nothing; but if you would render me your debtor, confer the first vacant bishopric on a man whom I greatly esteem, the abbe de Barral.’ You will easily suppose that the abbe de Barral had not long to wait for his preferment: as for the Jacobite the marchioness never again saw or heard anything of him. She mentioned him to the newly appointed bishop, who could not even understand to what she alluded. She related the affair, when he called heaven to witness that he knew nothing of any Jacobite either directly or indirectly.”
“And how did the marchioness get rid of her rival?” inquired I of madame de Mirepoix.
“By a very simple and effective expedient. She sent for the duc de Saint Florentin, whom she requested immediately to expedite two
shut up in the chateau de Lectoure, and the other for the daughter, whom the marchioness sent to the isle of St. Marguerite, to occupy the place she had so obligingly destined for herself.”
“And now,” asked I, “did these unfortunate people ever get out of prison?”
“That I know not,” answered the marechale; “and, God forgive me, for aught I ever inquired they may be there now.”
“If so,” cried I, “the conduct of both the king and the duc de la Vrilliere is abominable and unpardonable.”
“Why, bless your heart, my dear,” exclaimed the marechale, “do you expect that his majesty should recollect all the pretty women he has intrigued with, any more than the poor duke can be expected to keep a list in his memory of the different persons he has sent to a prison? He would require a prodigious recollection for such a purpose.” This unfeeling reply filled me with indignation, and redoubled the pity I already felt for the poor prisoners. I immediately despatched a note to the duc de Saint Florentin, requesting he would come to me without delay: he hastened to obey my summons. When he had heard my recital he remained silent some minutes, as though collecting his recollections upon the subject, and then replied,
“I do indeed remember that some obscure female was confined in the chateau of the isle Sainte Marguerite at the request of madame de Pompadour, but I cannot now say, whether at the death of the marchioness any person thought of interceding for her release.”
“That is precisely what I wish to ascertain,” cried I; “return to your offices, monsieur le duc, and use your best endeavors to discover whether this unfortunate girl and her parent are still in confinement; nor venture again in my presence until you have despatched the order for their deliverance: you will procure a conveyance for them from their prison to Paris at the expense of government. You understand, my lord?”
The following morning the duke brought me the desired information. He told me, that the father had been dead seven years, but the daughter still remained a prisoner: the order for restoring her to liberty had been forwarded the night preceding. I will now briefly relate the end of this mournful story.
Three weeks after this I received an early visit from the duc de la Vrilliere, who came to apprize me, that my protegee from the isle of St. Marguerite was in my antechamber awaiting permission to offer me her grateful thanks. I desired she might instantly be admitted; her appearance shocked me; not a single trace of that beauty which had proved so fatal to its possessor now remained. She was pale, emaciated, and her countenance, on which care and confinement had imprinted the wrinkles of premature old age, was sad and dejected even to idiocy. I could have wished that madame de Pompadour, by way of punishment for her cruelty, could but have seen the object of her relentless persecution. I think she would have blushed for herself. When the poor girl entered my apartment she looked wildly around her, and casting herself at my feet, inquired with many tears to what motive she was indebted for my generous interference in her behalf. The duc de la Vrilliere contemplated with the utmost
of a misery he had so largely contributed to. I requested of him to leave us to ourselves. I then raised my weeping
consoled her to the best of my ability, and then requested her to give me the history of her captivity. Her story was soon told: she had been an inhabitant of the same prison for seventeen years and five months, without either seeing a human being, or hearing the sound of a human voice. Her recital made me shudder, and I promised her that henceforward her life should be rendered as happy as it had hitherto been miserable.
The king supped with me that evening. By some singular chance he was on this occasion in the happiest temper possible: he laughed, sung, joked with such unusual spirits, that I hesitated ere I disturbed a gaiety to which Louis XV was so little prone. However, I took him aside, saying, “Sire, I have to ask atonement and reparation for a most horrible piece of injustice.” After which, I proceeded to acquaint him with the distressing history of his unfortunate mistress. He appeared perfectly well to recollect the female to whom I alluded; and when I ceased speaking, he said, with a half-suppressed sigh,
“Poor creature! she has indeed been unfortunate; seventeen years and five months in prison! The duc de la Vrilliere is greatly to blame in the affair; but when once he has placed persons between four walls, he thinks he has fulfilled the whole of his duty. He should recollect, that a good memory is a necessary qualification for situation he holds; it is indeed an imperative duty in him to think of the poor wretches he deprives of their liberty.”
“And in you too, sire,” interrupted I; “and it appears to me that you have lost sight of it, in the present affair, as culpably as your minister.”
“I confess it, indeed,” answered Louis XV; “but the unfortunate sufferer herself was not without a due share of blame in the matter. Her presumption had greatly irritated madame de Pompadour, who punished her as she thought fit: of course I could not, consistently with the regard I professed for the marchioness, interfere in the execution of her vengeance.”
“I do not agree with you,” said I.
“Why, what else could I do?” asked Louis XV, with the most imperturbable calmness; “she had superior claims, was acknowledged as chief favorite, and I could not refuse her the sacrifice of a mere temporary caprice.”
“Very well said,” answered I, “and founded upon excellent principles; but surely it was not necessary to shut up the object of your caprice in a state prison, and, above all, to leave her there for such a length of time. However, the mischief is done; and all we have to think of is to repair it. You have now, sire, a fine opportunity of displaying your royal munificence.”
“You think, then,” returned Louis XV, “that I am bound to make this unhappy girl some present? Well, I will; to-morrow I will send her 10,000 louis.”
“A thousand louis!” exclaimed I, clasping my hands; “what, as a recompense for seventeen years’ imprisonment? No, no, sire, you shall not get off so easily; you must settle on her a pension of 12,000 livres, and present her with an order for 100,000 more as an immediate supply.”
“Bless me!” ejaculated the king, “why all, the girls in my kingdom would go to prison for such a dowry: however, she shall have the pension; but, in truth, my treasury is exhausted.”
“Then, sire,” returned I, “borrow of your friends.”
“Come, come, let us finish this business; I will give your
“No, I cannot agree,” answered I, “to less than 5000.”
The king promised me I should have them; and, on the following day, his valet Turpigny brought me the order for the pension, and a bag, in which I found only 4000 louis. This piece of meanness did not surprise me, but it made me shrug up my shoulders, and sent me to my cabinet to take the sum deficient from my own funds. With this dowry my poor
in the person of one of her cousins, for whom I procured a lucrative post under government. These worthy people have since well repaid me by their grateful and devoted attachment for the service I was enabled to render them. One individual of their family was, however, far from resembling them either in goodness of heart or generosity of sentiment–I allude to the brother of the lady; that same brother who formerly supplied his sister with his clothes, that she might visit the king unsuspected. Upon the incarceration of the father the son succeeded him in his office of
But this story has led me far from the subject I was previously commencing: this narrative, which I never call to mind without a feeling of pleasure, has led me away in spite of myself. Still I trust that my narrative has been sufficiently interesting to induce you to pardon the digression it has occasioned, and now I will resume the thread of my discourse.
CHAPTER XXXVII
A conspiracy–A scheme for poisoning madame du Barry–The four bottles–Letter to the duc d’Aiguillon–Advice of the ministers– Opinion of the physicians–The chancellor and lieutenant of police–Resolution of the council
Have you any curiosity to learn the denouement of the story I was telling you of my anonymous correspondent? Read what follows, then, and your wishes shall be gratified: that is, if you have patience to hear a rather long story; for I cannot promise you that mine will very speedily be completed. Let me see: where did I leave off? Oh, I recollect.
I was telling you that madame de Mirepoix urged me to repair, as I was requested, to the Baths of Apollo. I had a key which opened all the park gates; we entered the park, took the path which turns off to the left, and after having walked for about five minutes, found ourselves opposite the person we were in search of. It was a female of from thirty to forty years of age, of diminutive stature, dressed after the fashion of the
day, but still an air of good taste was evident through the simplicity of her attire. Her countenance must once have been handsome, if one might judge by the beauty of her eyes and mouth, but she was pale, withered and already impressed with the traces of a premature old age. But her beauties, although faded, were still animated by a quick and ever-varying expression of a keen and lively wit.
Whilst I made these hasty remarks the stranger saluted me, and afterwards the marechale de Mirepoix, with a ease of manner which perfectly surprised me. Nor did she in any other instance betray the embarrassment of a person who finds herself for the first time in the presence of persons of a rank superior to her own.
“Madam,” she said, addressing herself to me, “I trust you will pardon me for having given you the trouble of coming hither; I might have spared it you, had your people permitted me to see you when I called at your house yesterday.”
“Your invitation,” replied I, “was so pressingly enforced, that I confess my curiosity has been most keenly awakened.”
“I will immediately satisfy it,” answered she, ” but what I have to say must be told to yourself alone.”
“Well, then,” said the marechale, “I will leave you for the present: I am going to admire that fine group of Girardon”; and so saying, she quitted the walk in which I was standing.
Directly she was gone the stranger said to me, “Madam, I will explain myself without reserve or unnecessary prolixity; I beseech of you to listen attentively whilst I tell you, in the first place, that both your life and that of the king is in imminent danger.”
“Heavens!” cried I, ” what do I hear?”
“That which I well know to be true,” answered the female, with a firm voice; “I repeat that your life and that of the king is in danger.”
These words, pronounced in a low, solemn voice, froze me with terror; my limbs tottered under me, and I almost sank to the ground. The stranger assisted me to a bench, offered me her arm, and when she saw me a little recovered, she continued,
“Yes, madam, a conspiracy is afoot against yourself and Louis XV. You are to be made away with out of revenge, and Louis XV is to suffer, in the hopes of his death effecting a change in the present face of affairs.”
“And who,” inquired I, “are the conspirators?”
‘The Jesuits and parliamentarians; these ancient rivals, equally persecuted by the royal government, have determined to make common cause against their mutual foe. The Jesuits flatter themselves that the dauphin inherits the kind feelings entertained by his father for their order, and the parliamentarians justly reckon upon the friendly disposition of the young prince towards the old magistracy. Both parties equally flatter themselves that a fresh reign would bring about their re-establishment, and they are impatient to accelerate so desirable an event: the conspiracy is directed by four Jesuits and the same number of the ex-members of the parliament of Paris. The remainder of the two corporations are not initiated in the secret of the enterprise. I am not able at present to give you the names of the eight conspirators, the person from whom I derive my information not having as yet confided them even to myself, but I trust ere long to obtain such a mark of confidence.”
The female ceased speaking, and I remained in a state of doubt, fear, and alarm, impossible to describe. Still one thing appeared clear to me, that information so mysteriously conveyed was not deserving of belief, unless supported by more corroborating testimony. My unknown friend evidently divined all that was passing in my mind, for she observed,
“I perceive that my recital appears to you improbable; one particular which I will state may perhaps overcome your incredulity. Are you not in the habit, madam, of taking every evening
“I am,” replied I.
“This day,” continued my informant, “you will receive four bottles of orange-flower water contained in a box bearing the usual appearances of having come from the perfumers’, but it is sent by other hands, and the liquor contained in the flasks is mingled with a deadly poison.”
These last words made me tremble. “You must complete your kind offices,” cried I to my visitor, “by bringing me acquainted with the person from whom you have derived your intelligence: that individual must be acquainted with the whole of the plot; and, believe me, I will not be unmindful of either of you.”
“Stay one instant,” replied the lady, without evincing the slightest emotion; “the man who was my informant is assuredly aware of the names of those concerned in the conspiracy, but he has charged me not to state who he is but upon certain conditions; a recommendation I shall most certainly attend to.”
“Be assured,” interrupted I, “that your demands shall be acceded to; you shall yourself fix the price of your entire disclosure of every fact connected with the business.”
“It will not be an exorbitant one,” replied the lady; “merely 600,000 francs, to be equally divided between the friend you desire to know and myself; for this sum, which is not a very large one, you may command the services of both of us. One word more, madam, and I am gone. Observe a strict silence upon all I have told you; or, if you must have a counsellor in such perilous circumstances, confide merely in some tried friend; say the duc d’Aiguillon or the chancellor, or both should you deem it necessary; but have a care how you admit a third to a participation of the affair; you could scarcely select another person without choosing one already corrupted by your enemies. It is said that they are in correspondence with even those persons immediately about the person of the king. Adieu, madam; I will see you at your own apartments the day after to-morrow, when I trust you will have ready 100,000 francs, on account of the 600,000 I have stipulated for.”
So saying, she curtsied and left me, overcome with surprise. A thousand fearful ideas pressed upon my brain, and my heart sickened at the long train of gloomy images which presented themselves. I had had sufficient proofs since my elevation of the deadly hatred borne me by those whom my good fortune had rendered my enemies: yet, hitherto, my strongest apprehensions had never been directed to anything more terrible than being supplanted in the favor of the king, or being confined in my chateau du Lucienne. The horrible ideas of murder, poison, or assassination by any means, had never presented themselves to me. All at once I recollected the young man in the garden of the Tuileries; his predictions of my future greatness had been accomplished. He had also announced to me fearful vicissitudes, and had threatened to appear to me when these catastrophes were about to occur. Doubtless he would keep his word; now was the time for so doing, and I timidly glanced around as I caught the sound of a slight rustle among the branches, fully expecting to see my young prophet; but the figure which met my eye was that of madame de Mirepoix, who, tired of waiting, had come to rejoin me.
‘What! “said she, “are you alone? I did not observe your visitor leave you. Did she vanish into air?”
“Very possibly,” answered I.
“So then,” replied the marechale, “she proved a fairy, or some beneficent
“If she were a spirit,” said I, “it certainly was not to the better sort she belonged.”
“Have a care,” cried the marechale; “I have already formed a thousand conjectures as to what this woman has been telling.”
“And all your suppositions,” replied I, “would fall short of the reality. Listen, my dear marechale,” added I, rising, and taking her arm to proceed homewards, “I have been strictly prohibited from admitting any counsellor but the duc d’Aiguillon and the chancellor; still I can have no reserves with you, who I know, from the regard you bear both to the king and myself, will advise me to the best of your power.”
As we walked towards the chateau, I explained to my companion the joint conspiracy of the Jesuits and ancient members of the parliament against the king’s life and my own. When I had ceased speaking, she replied,
“All this is very possible; despair may conduct the Jesuits and parliamentarians to the greatest extremities; but still this mysterious female may be nothing more than an impostor. At any rate, I am anxious to learn whether the box she described has been left at your house; if so, it will be a strong corroboration, if not, a convincing proof of the falsehood of what she asserts.”
We had by this time reached the bottom of the staircase which conducted to my apartments; we ascended the stairs rapidly, and the first person I met in the anteroom was Henriette.
“Henriette,” said I, “has any thing been brought for me during my absence?”
“Nothing except a box of orange-flower water from Michel the perfumer’s, which I presume you ordered, madam.”
A glance of mutual surprise and consternation passed between the marechale and myself. We entered my chamber, where madame de Mirepoix opened the fatal box; it contained the four bottles exactly as had been described. We regarded each other in profound silence, not daring to communicate our reflections. However, it was requisite to take some steps, and, catching up a pen, I hastily wrote the following billet to the duc d’Aiguillon,
“MONSIEUR LE DUC,– Whatever may be the affairs with which you are at present occupied, I pray of you to throw them aside, and hasten to me instantly upon receipt of this. Nothing can equal in importance the subject upon which I wish to see you; I cannot now explain myself fully, but prepare for news of the most horrible description, and it refers to the safety and preservation of the most valuable life in the kingdom. I cannot delay time by writing more; I can only beseech of you not to lose one moment in obeying this summons. Adieu; fail not to come and bring me back this note.”
The duke hastened to me full of terror and alarm.
“Your letter has really frightened me,” said he; “what can be the matter? Surely the life of his majesty is not in danger?”
“Too truly is it,” answered I; “but sit down, and you shall know all the affair. The marechale is already aware of the matter and need not withdraw.”
The duke listened with extreme attention to the recital of my interview in the grove surrounding the Baths of Apollo, as well as to the account of the discourse I had held there with the strange female. I endeavoured to relate the conversation as minutely and accurately as possible, but still the duke sought further particulars. He inquired the style of countenance, dress, manner, and tone of voice possessed by the
might have supposed, by the closeness of his questions, that he already fancied he had identified this mysterious personage: he then examined the box, which stood on the table, and remarked, “This is a very serious affair, nor can I undertake the management of it alone; it involves a too great responsibility. Spite of the lady’s assertions, I am confident the fullest confidence might be placed in all the ministers. However, I will first have a conference with M. de Saint-Florentin and the chancellor, in whose presence I will send for the lieutenant of police; and the contents of these bottles shall be immediately analyzed.”
The duke, without quitting me, wrote immediately to his two colleagues as well as to M. de Sartines, requesting this latter to repair to my apartment without delay. One of the ministers summoned by M. d’Aiguillon was not at that moment at Versailles, having left at an early hour in the morning for Paris. Neither he nor M. de Sartines could possibly be with us before eight o’clock in the evening; it was therefore agreed to adjourn our conference till their arrival. Meanwhile M. d’Aiguillon, the marechale, and myself, remained in a state of the most cruel anxiety. The duke first blamed me for not having caused the woman to be arrested, and afterwards he confessed to the marechale, that perhaps it was better the conspiracy should be allowed time to ripen into maturity. Daring this time the liquid contained in the four bottles was being decomposed: M. Quesnay, first physician, Messrs. Thiebault and Varennes, visiting physicians, M. de la Martiniere, counsellor of state, surgeon to his majesty, as well as Messrs. Ducor and Prost, apothecaries to his majesty, had been collected together for this purpose by the duc d’Aiguillon.
These gentlemen came to report the termination of their experiments at the very moment when the chancellor and lieutenant of police entered the room; the duc de la Vrilliere had preceded them by about five minutes; the duc d’Aiguillon requested these gentlemen to be seated. The doctors Quesnay and la Martiniere were introduced, and desired to make known the result of their operations. My newly-arrived guests, who as yet understood nothing of what was going on, were struck with astonishment at hearing it said, that the four bottles of orange-flower water contained a considerable proportion of a most active poison, of which a few drops would be sufficient to cause instantaneous death. Having thus executed their commission, the medical gentlemen bowed and retired.
M. d’Aiguillon then explained to my wondering friends the horrible affair which had occasioned their being sent for so hastily. I cannot tell you what effect this disclosure produced on M. de la Vrilliere or M. de Maupeou, my whole attention being fixed upon M. de Sartines. You may suppose that a lieutenant of police, particularly one who piqued himself upon knowing every thing, could not feel very much at his ease, when each word that was uttered convicted him either of incapacity or negligence. His brow became contracted, he hemmed, choked, fidgeted about, and appeared as though he would have given every thing in the world f or liberty to justify himself, but etiquette forbade it, and he was only permitted to speak after the secretaries of state then present, or if called upon by either of them.
When M. d’Aiguillon had ceased speaking, the chancellor in his turn took up the conversation. M. de Maupeou was by nature cold and sarcastic, delighting in annoying any person; but, on the present occasion, the ill-nature inherent in him was still excited by the decided hatred he bore to the unfortunate M. de Sartines. He began by saying, that the conspiracy was evident, and was easily explained by the state of exasperation in which the Jesuits and parliamentarians now were; both orders looking for no other prospect of amendment in their condition than such as might arise from some sudden convulsion of the kingdom. He expressed his opinion of the necessity of instituting a rigorous inquiry into the conduct of these two bodies; and then, turning to M. de Sartines, whose cheek grew pale at the movement, he charged him to lay before the council all those particulars which he must necessarily possess as head of the police, either respecting the present plot, or relating to any of the ancient members of parliament or the order of Jesuits.
This was a dagger to the heart of M. de Sartines, who in vain sought to frame a suitable reply: but what could he say? He did not in reality possess any of the information for which he had received credit, and after many awkward endeavours at explaining himself, he was compelled frankly to confess, that he knew not a word more of the conspiracy than he had just then heard.
It was now the turn of M. de la Vrilliere to speak. He also would fain have attacked the unfortunate lieutenant of police; but, whether M. de Maupeou thought that his own correction had been sufficiently strong, or whether he begrudged any other person interfering with his vengeance upon his personal foe, he abruptly interrupted the tirade of M. de la Vrilliere, by observing, that a conspiracy conducted by only eight persons might very possibly escape the eye of the police; but, furnished as it now was with so many circumstances and particulars, it was impossible that the plot should any longer defy their vigilant researches.
M. d’Aiguillon fully concurred in this observation, and M. de Sartines, recovered in some measure from his first alarm, promised every thing they could desire; and it was finally arranged that the police should this night use every precautionary measure in Paris, and that the officers of the guard should receive orders to redouble their zeal and activity in watching the chateau; and that when the unknown female called again on me, she should be conducted by madame de Mirepoix to the duc d’Aiguillon, who would interrogate her closely.
These measures decided on, the council broke up, and I went to receive the king, who was this evening to do me the favour of taking his supper in my apartments.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Conclusion of this affair -A letter from the incognita–Her examination–Arrest of Cabert the Swiss–He dies in the Bastille of poison–Madame Lorimer is arrested and poisoned–The innocence of the Jesuits acknowledged–Madame de Mirepoix and the 100,000 francs–Forgetfulness on the part of the lieutenant of police–A visit from comte Jean–Madame de Mirepoix
M. de Sartines did not sleep on his post, but his researches were fruitless; and, on the following day, three successive messengers came to announce to us that they had as yet made no discovery. The day passed without bringing any fresh intelligence, and our anxiety increased daily. At length arrived the period fixed for the visit of the
“MADAM,–I must entreat your pardon for breaking the appointment for to-day, imperative duties still detain me in Paris.
“Since our last interview I have been unceasingly occupied in endeavouring to discover the names of the eight persons of whom I spoke to you, and, I am sorry to say, I have but partially succeeded. The person who has hitherto furnished me with my information obstinately refuses to state who are the parliamentarians concerned in the conspiracy. I am, however, enabled to forward you the names of the four Jesuits, with some few particulars relating to these worthy fathers.
“The Jesuits in question are Messrs. Corbin, Berthier, Cerulti, and Dumas; the first of whom was employed in the education of the dauphin, the second and the third are sufficiently known; as for the fourth, he is a bold and enterprising Parisian, capable of conceiving and executing the most daring schemes. Whilst the order remained in possession of power he had no opportunity of displaying his extraordinary talents, and consequently he obtained but a trifling reputation; but since its banishment he has become its firmest support and principal hope. All the treasures of the brotherhood are at his disposal, and I learn, that the day before yesterday he received a considerable sum from Lyons.
“This intrepid and daring spirit is the very soul of the conspiracy; he it is who conceived the plan and set the whole machine in action. It would be effectually extinguished could we but once secure him, but this is by no means an easy task; he has no fixed abode; never sleeps two nights following in the same home; one day he may be found in one part of Paris and the next at the very opposite corner; he changes his manner of dress as frequently as he does his abode.
“I shall have the honour of seeing you to-morrow or the day after at furthest. Meanwhile lay aside all uneasiness for his majesty’s safety: I pledge you my word he is for the present in perfect security. The execution of the plot is still deferred for the want of a Damiens sufficiently sanguinary to undertake the task.
“Deign, madam, to accept the assurance of my sincere devotion, and believe that I will neglect no opportunity of affording you proofs of it. “Yours, madam, etc., etc.”
I immediately communicated this letter to the duc d’Aiguillon, who convoked a fresh meeting of the persons who had been present on the preceding day. It was at first deliberated whether or not to arrest the whole body of Jesuits then in Paris, but this, although the advice of M. d’Aiguillon, was by no means approved of by the chancellor. M. de Sartines and M. de la Vrilliere were for carrying the idea into execution, but the objections of M. de Maupeou were too powerful to be overruled, and the scheme was for the present abandoned. The chancellor maintained that the other conspirators, warned of their own, danger by the seizure of their friends, would either escape the vengeance of the laws by flight or by close confinement in their houses; he greatly dreaded as it was, that his foes, the parliamentarians, would avoid the punishment he longed to inflict on them. Indeed, in his estimation, it seemed as though every measure would be anticipated so long as the female, who seemed so intimately acquainted with their design, was at liberty; and this last opinion was unanimously concurred in.
All the delays greatly irritated me, and rendered my impatience to witness the termination of the affair greater than it had ever been. The stranger had promised to make her appearance on the following day; it passed away, however, without my hearing anything of her. On the day following she came; I immediately sent to apprize M. d’Aiguillon, who, with M. de la Vrilliere and the chancellor, entered my apartments ere the lady had had time to commence the subject upon which she was there to speak. This unexpected appearance did not seem to disconcert her in the least, nor did her
The examination over, and the 100,000 francs she had demanded given to her, she retired, but followed at a distance by a number of spies, who were commissioned to watch her slightest movement.
Cabert, the Swiss, was arrested in a furnished lodging he occupied in rue Saint Roch, and sent without delay to Versailles, where, as before, M. d’Aiguillon with his two colleagues waited in my study to receive and question the prisoner. Cabert was a young and handsome man, whose countenance bore evident marks of a dissolute and profligate life. He confessed, without any difficulty, that his only means of gaining a livelihood were derived from the generosity of a female friend, but when he was pressed upon the subject of the conspiracy, he no longer replied with the same candour, but merely answered in short and impatient negatives the many questions put to him, accompanied with fervent protestations of innocence; adding, that implacable enemies had fabricated the whole story, only that they might have an opportunity of wreaking their vengeance, by implicating him in it.
“Accuse not your enemies,” cried I, for the first time mingling in the conversation, “but rather blame your benefactress; it is madame Lorimer who has denounced you, and far from intending to harm you by so doing, she purposes dividing with you the 100,000 livres which are to reward her disclosures.”
I easily found, by the frowning looks directed towards me by the three gentlemen present, that I had been guilty of great imprudence in saying so much; but Cabert, wringing his hands, uttered, with the most despairing accent,
“I am lost! and most horribly has the unfortunate woman avenged herself.”
“What would you insinuate?”
“That I am the victim of an enraged woman,” replied he.
He afterwards explained, that he had been the lover of madame Lorimer, but had become wearied of her, and left her in consequence; that she had violently resented this conduct; and, after having in vain sought to move him by prayers and supplications, had tried the most horrible threats and menaces. “I ought not indeed,” continued he, “to have despised these threats, for well I knew the fiendlike malice of the wretched creature, and dearly do I pay for my imprudence, by falling into the pit she has dug for me.”
In vain we endeavoured to induce him to hold a different language. He persisted with determined obstinacy in his first statement; continually protesting his own innocence, and loading the author of his woes with bitter imprecations. It was deemed impossible to allow this man to go at large; accordingly M. de la Vrilliere issued a
The affair had now become mysterious and inexplicable. However, a speedy termination was most imperatively called for; if it were permitted to become generally known, it could not fail of reaching the ears of the king, whose health was daily declining; and M. de Quesnay had assured us, that in his present languid state, the shock produced by news so alarming, might cause his instantaneous death.
Whilst we remained in uncertainty as to our mode of proceeding in the business, Cabert, the Swiss, three days after his admission into the Bastille, expired in the most violent convulsions. His body was opened, but no trace of poison could be discovered: our suspicions were however awakened, and what followed confirmed them.
Madame Lorimer was arrested. She protested that she had been actuated by no feelings of enmity against her unfortunate lover, whom she had certainly reproached for having expended the money she furnished him with in the society of other females, and to the anger which arose between herself and Cabert on the occasion could she alone ascribe his infamous calumnies respecting her; that, for her own part, she had never ceased to love him, and, as far as she knew, that feeling was reciprocal; and, in betraying the conspiracy, her principal desire, next to the anxious hope of preserving the king, was to make the fortune of Cabert. She was confined in the Bastille, but she did not long remain within its walls; for at the end of a fortnight she died of an inflammatory disease. Her death was marked by no convulsions, but the traces of poison were evident.
These two violent deaths occurring so immediately one after another (as not the slightest doubt existed that Cabert had likewise died of poison) threw the ministers into a sad state of perplexity. But to whom could they impute the double crime unless to some accomplice, who dreaded what the unhappy prisoners might be tempted to reveal. Yet the conduct of the Jesuitical priests stated by madame Lorimer to be the principal ring-leaders in the plot, although exposed to the most rigorous scrutiny, offered not the slightest grounds for suspicion. Neither did their letters (which were all intercepted at the various post-houses) give any indication of a treasonable correspondence.
M. de Sartines caused the private papers of the suspected parties to be opened during their owners’ absence, without discovering anything which could compromise their character. I am speaking, however, of the fathers Corbin, Berthier, and Cerulti, for all our efforts could not trace father Dumas throughout all Paris. Nor was the innocence of the parliamentarians less evident; they vented their hatred against the ministry, and particularly against M. de Maupeou, in pamphlets, couplets, and epigrams, both in French and Latin, but they had no idea of conspiracies or plots.
And thus terminated an affair, which had caused so much alarm, and which continued for a considerable period to engage the attention of ministers. How was the mystery to be cleared up? The poisoned orange-flower water, and the sudden deaths of the two prisoners, were facts difficult to reconcile with the no less undeniable innocence of the three accused Jesuits. The whole business was to me an incomprehensible mass of confusion, in which incidents the most horrible were mingled. At last we agreed that the best and only thing to be done was to consign the affair to oblivion; but there were circumstances which did not so easily depart from the recollection of my excellent friend, the marechale de Mirepoix. “My dear soul,” said she to me one day, “have you ever inquired what became of the 100,000 livres given to madame Lorimer? she had no time to employ them in any way before her imprisonment in the Bastille. You ought to inquire into what hands they have fallen.”
I fully comprehended the drift of this question, which I put to M. de Sartines the first time I saw him.
“Bless me,” exclaimed he, “you remind me that these 100,000 livres have been lying in a drawer in my office. But I have such a terrible memory.”
“Happily,” replied I, “I have a friend whose memory is as good as yours seems defective upon such occasions. It will not be wise to permit such a sum to remain uselessly in your office: at the same time I need not point out that you, by your conduct in the late affair, have by no means earned a right to them.”
He attempted to justify himself; but, interrupting him, I exclaimed, “My good friend, you have set up a reputation of your own creating and inventing; and well it is you took the office upon yourself for no one else would have done it for you; but you perceive how frail have been its foundations; for the moment you are compelled to stand upon your own resources you faint, and are easily overcome.”
He endeavoured to make a joke of the affair, but indeed it seemed to accord as ill with his natural inclination as did the restitution of the 100,000 livres. However, he brought them to me the following day, and as I was expecting the arrival of madame de Mirepoix, I placed them in a porcelain vase which stood upon my chimney-piece. Unfortunately for the marechale, comte Jean presented himself before she did. He came to inform me, that my husband (of whose quitting Toulouse I had forgotten to tell you) had again arrived in Paris. I did not disguise the vexation which this piece of intelligence excited in me.
“And wherefore has comte Guillaume returned to Paris?” inquired I, angrily.
“Because he is afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” replied I.
“Of being murdered,” answered comte Jean: “it is a most horrible and authentic story. Imagine to yourself the dangers of his situation: some brigands, who have a design on his life, have written him an anonymous billet, in which they protest they will certainly murder him, unless he deposits 50,000 livres in a certain place. You may suppose his terror; money he had none, neither was his credit sufficiently good to enable him to borrow any. As a last and only chance, he threw himself into a carriage, and hastened, tremblingly, to implore your assistance.”
“And I am quite certain you will not withhold yours from him,” answered I
“You are perfectly right,” cried he, “but unfortunately just now I have not a single crown I can call my own; so that it rests with you alone, my dearest sister, to save the life of this hapless comte du Barry.”
“I am extremely distressed, my dear brother-in-law,” replied I, “that I am just as poor, and as unable to afford the necessary aid as yourself; my purse is quite empty.”
“Faith, my dear sister-in-law, I am not surprised at that if you convert a china vase into a receptacle for your bank notes.”
Saying this, he drew a bundle of notes from the hiding-place in which I had deposited them. “Do you know,” continued comte Jean, “I really think we shall find money enough here.” He began to count them: and when he had finished he said, “My dear sister, neither your husband nor myself wish to importune you, or put you to any inconvenience, therefore you shall merely oblige him with the loan of these 50,000 livres to extricate him from his present peril; they shall be faithfully and quickly restored to you, and a note of hand given you for that purpose if you desire it.” So saying, he divided the money into two parts, replaced one in the vase, and pocketed the other.
I was very indignant at the cool impudence with which this was done, and my patience had well nigh forsaken me: however, I restrained myself; and I was happy enough that I could so far conquer myself. My reproaches would not have induced comte Jean to give me back my money, and would only have roused his violence; which, when once excited, found vent in language so vehement and energetic, that I did not desire to hear any more of it than I could help. At these moments he selected not the politest expressions, but those which were the strongest: and besides, such was the ungovernable nature of comte Jean’s temper, that once roused, he would have treated the king himself with as little consideration as he did me. Still, he never deliberately insulted me, nor did he compose those insulting verses respecting me, which were printed as his, in “
“Well,” inquired I, “are you very glad to see your brother in Paris?”
‘No, ‘pon my soul!” returned he; “but since he is here, we must do the best we can with him; he was very anxious to see his sister-in-law and niece. He says the former is ugly as sin, and the latter almost as handsome as you.”
“Very gallant,” replied I; “but tell me, comte Jean, does this elegant compliment proceed from my husband or yourself?”
We were just then interrupted by the arrival of the marechale, and comte Jean retired.
“Well, my dear,” she began, “have you seen M. de Sartines, and did you speak to him respecting those 100,000 livres?”
“Oh, yes,” replied I, “he gave them back to me; but I have already had half of them stolen from me.”
“By comte Jean, I’ll engage,” cried she. “Upon my word, that man is a perfect spendthrift, a prodigal; who, if you do not take great care, will certainly ruin you. And what will you do with the remaining 50,000 livres, my dear friend; where will you place them?”
“In your hands, my dear marechale; ’tis his majesty’s command.”
“To that command,” answered she, “I must perforce submit”; and, taking the bundle of notes, she continued, “Assure his majesty that it will ever be my greatest pride and pleasure to obey his slightest wish. My respect for his orders can only be equalled by my tender friendship for her who is the bearer of the royal mandate.” Then, deliberately putting the money in her pocket, she exclaimed, “You must own that comte Jean is a great rogue.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
My alarms–An
endeavours to direct the king’s ideas–A supper at Trianon–Table talk–The king is seized with illness–His conversation with me–The joiner’s daughter and the small-pox–My despair–Conduct of La Martiniere the surgeon
I had occasionally some unaccountable whims and caprices. Among other follies I took it into my head to become jealous of the duchesse de Cosse, under the idea that the duke would return to her, and that I should no longer possess his affections. Now the cause of this extravagant conduct was the firmness with which madame de Cosse refused all overtures to visit me, and I had really become so spoiled and petted, that I could not be brought to understand the reasonableness of the duchesse de Cosse refusing to sanction her rival by her presence.
Yon may perceive that I had not carried my heroic projects with regard to madame de Cosse into execution. Upon these occasions, the person most to be pitied was the duke, whom I made answerable for the dignified and virtuous conduct of his wife. My injustice drove him nearly to despair, and he used every kind and sensible argument to convince me of my error, as though it had been possible for one so headstrong and misguided as myself to listen to or comprehend the language of reason. I replied to his tender and beseeching epistles by every cutting and mortifying remark; in a word, all common sense appeared to have forsaken me. Our quarrel was strongly suspected by part of the court; but the extreme prudence and forbearance of M. de Cosse prevented their suppositions from ever obtaining any confirmation. But this was not the only subject I had for annoyance. On the one hand, my emissaries informed me that the king still continued to visit the baroness de New—k, although with every appearance of caution and mystery, by the assistance and connivance of the duc de Duras, who had given me his solemn promise never again to meddle with the affair. The
likewise with a long account of the many visits paid by his majesty to her establishment. The fact was, the king could not be satisfied without a continual variety, and his passion, which ultimately destroyed him, appeared to have come on only as he advanced in years.
All these things created in my mind an extreme agitation and an alarm, and, improbable as the thing appeared even to myself, there were moments when I trembled lest I should be supplanted either by the baroness or some -fresh object of the king’s caprice; and again a cold dread stole over me as I anticipated the probability of the health of Louis XV falling a sacrifice to the irregularity of his life. It was well known throughout the chateau, that La Martiniere, the king’s surgeon, had strongly recommended a very temperate course of life, as essentially necessary to recruit his constitution, wasted by so many excesses, and had even gone so far as to recommend his no longer having a mistress; this the courtiers construed into a prohibition against his possessing a friend of any other sex than his own; for my own part, I experienced very slight apprehensions of being dismissed, for I well knew that Louis XV reckoned too much on my society to permit my leaving the court, and if one, the more tender, part of our union were dissolved, etiquette could no longer object to my presence. Still the advice of La Martiniere was far from giving me a reason for congratulation, but these minor grievances were soon to be swallowed up in one fatal catastrophe, by which the honours, and pleasures of Versailles were for ever torn from me.
The
Julie feigned the most violent love for her royal admirer, nay she did not hesitate to carry her language and caresses far beyond the strict rules of decency; her manners were those of one accustomed to the most polished society, whilst her expressions were peculiarly adapted to please one who, like the king, had a peculiar relish for every thing that was indecent or incorrect. His majesty either visited her daily or sent for her to the chateau. I heard likewise from M. d’Aiguillon, that the king had recently given orders that the three uncles and two brothers of Julie should be raised by rapid promotion to the highest military rank; at the same time the grand almoner informed me he had received his majesty’s express command to appoint a cousin of the young lady to the first vacant bishopric.
These various reports threw me into a train of painful and uneasy reflections. Louis XV. had never before bestowed such marks of favour upon any
My communication tormented comte Jean as much as it did me; he proposed several means of combating this rising inclination on the part of Louis XV. I assented to whatever he suggested, and we set to work with an eagerness, increased on my part by a species of gloomy presentiment, which subsequent events but too fatally confirmed. The marechale de Mirepoix, who, from being on good terms with every person, was sure to be aware of all that was going on, spoke to me also of this rival who was springing up in obscurity and retirement; and it was from the same source I learned what I have told you of the two ladies of the court. She advised me not to abandon myself to a blind confidence, and this opinion was strengthened when I related all I had gathered upon the subject.
“You may justly apprehend,” said she, “that Julie will instil some of her bold and fearless nature into the king, and should she presume to put herself in competition with you, victory would in all probability incline to the side of the last comer”; and I felt but too truly that the marechale spoke with truth.
A few days after this, the king being alone with me, comte Jean entered. After the usual salutations, he exclaimed, “I have just seen a most lovely creature.”
“Who is she?” inquired his majesty, hastily.
“No high-born dame,” answered comte Jean, “but the daughter of a cabinet-maker at Versailles; I think I never beheld such matchless beauty.”
“Always excepting present company,” replied the king.
“Assuredly,” rejoined my brother-in-law, “but, sire, the beauteous object of whom I speak is a nymph in grace, a sylph in airy lightness, and an angel in feature.”
“Comte Jean seems deeply smitten indeed, madam,” exclaimed Louis XV, turning towards me.
“Not I indeed,” replied my brother-in-law, “my lovemaking days are over.”
“Oh! oh!” cried the king, smiling, “
“What does your majesty say?” inquired I.
“Nay, let the comte explain,” cried Louis XV.
“The king observed, my dear sister,” answered comte Jean, “that ladies–but, in fact, I can neither explain the observation, nor was it intended for you–so let it rest.”
He continued for some time to jest with comte Jean upon his supposed passion for the fair daughter of the cabinet-maker; and the king, whilst affecting the utmost indifference, took every pains to obtain the fullest particulars as to where this peerless beauty might be found.
When my brother-in-law and myself were alone, he said to me, “I played my part famously, did I not? How eagerly the bait was swallowed!”
“Explain yourself,” said I.
“My good sister, what I have said respecting this perfection of loveliness is no fiction, neither have I at all exaggerated either her perfections or her beauty, and I trust by her aid we shall obliterate from the king’s mind every recollection of the syren of the
“Heaven grant it,” exclaimed I.
“My dear sister,” replied comte Jean, “heaven has nothing to do with such things.”
Alas! he was mistaken, and Providence only employed the present occasion as a means of causing us to be precipitated into the very abyss of ruin we had dug for others. On the following morning, Chamilly came to me to inquire whether it was my pleasure that the present scheme should be carried into execution.
“Yes, yes,’ answered I eagerly, “by all means, the more we direct the inclinations of the king for the present, the better for him and for us likewise.”
Armed with my consent, Chamilly dispatched to the unhappy girl that
was to sup, in company with the ducs d’Aiguillon and de Richelieu, the prince de Soubise, the ducs de Cosse, de Duras, and de Noailles, mesdames de Mirepoix, de Forcalquier, de Flaracourt, and myself; my brother-in-law and Chon were also of the party, although not among the number of those who sat down to supper. Their presence was merely to keep up my spirits, and with a view to divert me from dwelling on the presumed infidelity of the king.
We had promised ourselves a most delightful evening, and had all come with the expectation of finding considerable amusement in watching the countenances and conduct of those who were not aware of the real state of the game, whilst such as were admitted into my entire confidence, were sanguine in their hopes and expectations of employing the simple beauty of the maiden of Versailles to crush the aspiring views of my haughty rival of the
Meanwhile, by way of passing the tedious hours, I went to satisfy my curiosity respecting those charms of which comte Jean had spoken so highly. I found the object of so many conjectures possessed of an uncommon share of beauty, set off, on the present occasion, by every aid that a splendid and elaborate toilette could impart; her features were perfect, her form tall and symmetrical, her hair was in the richest style of luxuriance; but by way of drawback to so many advantages, both her hands and feet were large and coarse. I had expected to have found her timid, yet exulting, but she seemed languid and dejected even to indisposition. I attributed the lassitude and heaviness which hung over her to some natural regrets for sacrificing some youthful passion at the shrine of ambition; but I was far from guessing the truth . Had I but suspected the real cause! but I contented myself with a silent scrutiny, and did not (as I should have done) question her on the subject, but passed on to the saloon, where the guests were already assembled. The evening passed away most delightfully; the marechale de Mirepoix excelled herself in keeping up a continual flow of lively conversation. Never had messieurs de Cosse and de Richelieu appeared to equal advantage. The king laughed heartily at the many humorous tales told, and his gaiety was the more excited, from his believing that I was in utter ignorance of his infidelity. The champagne was passed freely round the table, till all was one burst of hilarious mirth. A thousand different topics were started, and dismissed only to give way to fresh subjects more piquant than the preceding.
The king, in a fit of good humour, began to relate his adventures with madame de Grammont; but here you must pardon me, my friend, for so entirely did his majesty give the reins to his inclination for a plain style of language, that, although excess of prudery formed no part of the character of any of the ladies assembled, we were compelled to sit with our eyes fixed upon our plate or glass, not daring to meet the glance of those near us. I have little doubt but that Louis XV indulged himself to this extent by a kind of mental vow to settle the affair with his confessor at the earliest opportunity.
We were still at table when the clock struck two hours past midnight.
“Bless me! so late?” inquired the king.
“Indeed, sire,” replied the marechale de Mirepoix, “your agreeable society drives all recollection of time away.”
“Then ’tis but fit I should furnish you all with memory enough to recollect what is necessary for your own health. Come, my friends, morning will soon call us to our different cares, so away to your pillows.”
So saying, the king bade us a friendly farewell, and retired with the ducs de Duras and de Noailles. We remained after his majesty, and retiring into the great saloon, threw ourselves without any ceremony upon the different couches and ottomans.
“For my own part,” said the prince de Soubise, “I shall not think of separating from so agreeable a party till daylight warns me hence.”
“The first beams of morn will soon shine through these windows,” replied M. d’Aiguillon.
“We can already perceive the brightest rays of Aurora reflected in the sparkling eyes around us,” exclaimed M. de Cosse.
“A truce with your gallantry, gentlemen,” replied madame de Mirepoix, “at my age I can only believe myself capable of reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.”
“Hush!” interrupted madame de Forcalquier, “you forget we are at Versailles, where age is never thought of, but where, like our gracious sovereign, all are young.”
“Come, ladies,” said madame de Flaracourt, “let us retire; I for one, plead guilty of being in need of repose.”
“No, no!” replied the duc de Richelieu, “let us employ the remaining hours in pleasing and social converse,” and with a tremulous voice he began that charming trio in “Selina and Azor,” “
Upon entering my chamber I found my brother-in-law there, in the most violent fit of ill humour, that the king (who was in fact ignorant of his being at Trianon) had not invited him to supper. As I have before told you, comte Jean was no favourite with his majesty, and as I had displayed no wish for his company, Louis XV had gladly profited by my indifference to omit him upon the present occasion. I endeavoured to justify the king, without succeeding, however, in appeasing comte Jean, who very unceremoniously consigned us all to the care and company of a certain old gentleman, whose territory is supposed to lie beneath “the round globe which we inhabit.”
“I have to thank you,” replied I, “for a very flattering mode of saying ‘good night.'”
“Perhaps,” answered comte Jean roughly, “you would prefer–“
“Nothing from your lips if you please, my polite brother,” cried I, interrupting him, “nothing you will say in your present humour can be at all to my taste.”
Chon interfered between us, and effected a reconciliation, which I was the more willing to listen to, that I might enjoy that sleep my weary eye-lids craved for. Scarcely was my head on my pillow, than I fell into a profound sleep: could I but have anticipated to what I should awake! It was eleven o’clock on the following morning when an immense noise of some person entering my chamber, aroused me from the sweet slumbers I was still buried in. Vexed at the disturbance, I inquired, in a peevish tone, “Who is there?”
“Tis I, my sister,” replied Chon, “M. de Chamilly is here, anxious to speak with you upon a matter of great importance.”
Chamilly, who was close behind mademoiselle du Barry, begged to be admitted.
“What is the matter, Chamilly? “cried I, “and what do you want? Is mademoiselle Julie to set off into the country immediately?”
“Alas! madam,” replied Chamilly, “his majesty is extremely ill.”
These words completely roused me, and raising myself on my arm, I eagerly repeated, “Ill! of what does he complain?”
“Of general and universal pain and suffering,” replied Chamilly.
“And the female who was here last night, how is she?”
“Nearly as bad, madam; she arose this morning complaining of illness and languor, which increased so rapidly, that she was compelled to be carried to one of the nearest beds, where she now is.”
All this tormented me to the greatest degree, and I dismissed Chamilly for the purpose of rising, although I had no distinct idea of what it would be most desirable to say or do. My sister-in-law, with more self-possession, suggested the propriety of summoning Bordeu, my physician; a proposal which I at once concurred in, more especially when she informed me, that La Martiniere was already sent for, and hourly expected.
“1 trust,” said I, “that Bouvart knows nothing of this, for I neither approve of him as a man or a doctor.”
The fact was, I should have trembled for my own power, had both Bouvart and La Martiniere got the king into their hands. With La Martiniere I knew very well I was no favourite; yet it was impossible to prevent his attendance; the king would never have fancied a prescription in which he did not concur.
Meanwhile I proceeded with my toilette as rapidly as possible, that I might, by visiting the king, satisfy myself of the nature of his malady. Ere I had finished dressing, my brother-in-law, who had likewise been aroused by the mention of his majesty’s illness, entered my chamber with a gloomy look; he already saw the greatness of the danger which threatened us, he had entirely forgotten our quarrel of the preceding evening, but his temper was by no means improved by the present state of things. We had no need of explaining ourselves by words, and he continued walking up and down the room with, his arms folded and his eyes fixed on the floor, till we were joined by the marechale de Mirepoix and the comtesse de Forcalquier. Madame de Flaracourt had taken her departure at an early hour, either ignorant of what had occurred or with the intention of being prepared for whatever might happen.
As yet, it was but little in the power of any person to predict the coming blow. “The king is ill,” said each of us as we met. “The king is ill,” was the morning salutation of the ducs de Richelieu, de Noailles, de Duras, and de Cosse. The prince de Soubise had followed the example of madame de Flaracourt, and had quitted Trianon; it seemed as though the hour for defection were already arrived. A summons now arrived from his majesty who wished to see me. I lost not a moment in repairing to his apartment, where I found him in bed, apparently in much pain and uneasiness. He received me tenderly, took my hands in his, and kissed them; then exclaimed,
“I feel more indisposed than I can describe, a weight seems pressing on my chest, and universal languor appears to chain my faculties both of body and mind. I should like to see La Martiniere.”
“And would you not likewise wish to have the advice of Bordeu?”
“‘Yes,” said he, “let both come, they are both clever men, and I have full confidence in their skill. But do you imagine that my present illness will be of a serious nature?”
“By no means, sire,” returned I, “merely temporary, I trust and believe.”
“Perhaps I took more wine than agreed with me last evening; but where is the marechale?”
“In my chamber with madame de Forcalquier.”
“And the prince de Soubise?”
“He has taken flight,” replied I, laughing.
“I suppose so,” returned Louis XV, “he could not bear a long absence from Paris; company he must have.”
“In that respect he resembles you, sire, for you generally consider company as a necessary good.”
He smiled, and then closing his eyes remained for some minutes silent and motionless, after a while he said,
“My head is very heavy, so farewell, my sweet friend, I will endeavour to get some sleep.”
“Sleep, sire!” said I, “and may it prove as healthful and refreshing as I pray it may.”
So saying, I glided out of the room and returned to my friends, I found madame de Mirepoix and the duc de Cosse waiting for me in the anteroom.
“How is the king?” inquired they both in a breath.
“Better than I expected,” I replied, “but he is desirous of sleeping.”
“So much the worse,” observed the duc de Cosse; “I should have thought better of his case had he been more wakeful.”
“Are you aware of the most imperative step for you to take?” inquired the marechale de Mirepoix.
“No,” said I, “what is it?”
“To keep his majesty at Trianon,” replied she; “it will be far better for you that the present illness should take its course at Trianon rather than at Versailles.”
“I second that advice,” cried the duc de Richelieu, who just then entered the room; “yes, yes, as madame de Mirepoix wisely observes, this is the place for the king to be ill in.”
“But,” exclaimed I, “must we not be guided by the physicians’ advice?”
“Do you make sure of Bordeu,” said the duke, “and I will speak to La Martiniere.”
M. de Cosse took me aside, and assured me that I might rely upon him in life or death. When we had conversed together for some minutes, I besought of him to leave the place as early as possible; “Take madame de Forcalquier with you,” said I, “your presence just now at Trianon would be too much commented upon.”
He made some difficulties in obeying me, but I insisted and he went. After his departure, the duc de Richelieu, the marechale and myself walked together in the garden. Our walk was so directed that we could see through the colonnade every person who arrived up the avenue. We spoke but little, and an indescribable feeling of solemnity was mingled with the few words which passed, when, all at once, our attention was attracted by the sight of comte Jean, who rushed towards me in a state of frenzy.
“Accursed day,” cried he, stopping when he saw us, “that wretched girl from Versailles has brought the small-pox with her.”
At this fatal news I heaved a deep sigh and fainted. I was carried under the portico, while the poor marechale, scarcely more in her senses than myself, stood over me weeping like a child, while every endeavour was being made to restore me to life. Bordeu, who chanced to be at Versailles, arrived, and supposing it was on my account he had been summoned, hastened to my assistance. The duc de Richelieu and comte Jean informed him of all that had passed, upon which he requested to see the unfortunate female immediately; while he was conducted thither, I remained alone with the marechale and Henriette, who had come to Trianon with my suite. My first impulse upon regaining the use of my senses, was to throw myself in the arms of the marechale.
“What will become of me?” exclaimed I, weeping, “if the king should take this fatal malady, he will never survive it.”
“Let us hope for the best,” answered madame de Mirepoix; “it would be encouraging grief to believe a misfortune, which we have at present no reason to suspect.”
Comte Jean now rejoined us, accompanied by Bordeu and the duc de Richelieu; their countenances were gloomy and dejected. The miserable victim of ambition had the symptoms of the most malignant sort of small-pox; this was a finishing stroke to my previous alarms. However, comte Jean whispered in my ear, “Bordeu will arrange that the king shall remain here.”
This assurance restored me to something like composure; but these hopes were speedily dissipated by the arrival of La Martiniere.
“What is the matter?” inquired he, “is the king very ill?”
“That remains for you to decide”; replied the duc de Richelieu; “but however it may be, madame du Barry entreats of you not to think of removing the king to Versailles.”
“And why so?” asked La Martiniere, with his accustomed abruptness. “His majesty would be much better there than here.”
“He can nowhere be better than at Trianon, monsieur,” said I.
“That, madam,” answered La Martiniere, “is the only point upon which you must excuse my consulting you, unless, indeed, you are armed with a physician’s diploma.”
“Monsieur la Martiniere,” cried the duc de Richelieu, “you might employ more gentle language when speaking to a lady.”
“Was I sent for hither,” inquired the angry physician, “to go through a course of politeness?”
For my own part I felt the utmost dread, I scarcely knew of what. Bordeu, seeing my consternation, hastened to interfere, by saying,
“At any rate, monsieur la Martiniere, you will not alarm the king needlessly.”
“Nor lull him into a false security,” answered the determined La Martiniere. “But what is his malady have you seen him, doctor Bordeu?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why do we linger here? Your servant, ladies and gentlemen.”
The medical men then departed, accompanied the duc de Richelieu.
CHAPTER XL
La Martiniere causes the king to be removed to Versailles–The young prophet appears again to madame du Barry–Prediction respecting cardinal de Richelieu–The joiner’s daughter requests to see madame du Barry–Madame de Mirepoix and the 50,000 francs–A < soiree > in the salon of madame du Barry
We continued for some minutes silently gazing on the retreating figures of La Martiniere and his companions.
“Come,” said the marechale, “let us return to the house”; saying which, she supported herself by the arm of comte Jean, whilst I mechanically followed her example, and sadly and sorrowfully we bent our steps beneath the splendid colonnade which formed the entrance to the mansion.
When I reached my chamber, I found mademoiselle du Barry there, still ignorant of the alarming news I had just learned. She earnestly pressed me to return to bed, but this I refused; for my burning anxiety to learn every particular relative to the king would have prevented my sleeping. How different was the style of our present conversation to that of the preceding evening; no sound of gaiety was heard; hushed alike were the witty repartee, and the approving laugh which followed it. Now, we spoke but by fits and starts, with eye and ear on the watch to catch the slightest sound, whilst the most trifling noise, or the opening of a door, made us start with trepidation and alarm. The time appeared to drag on to an interminable length.
At last the duc de Richelieu made his appearance.
“Well, my friends,” said he, “the king is to be removed to Versailles, spite of your wishes, madam, spite of his own royal inclination, and against mine, likewise. La Martiniere has thundered forth his edict, and poor Bordeu opposed him in vain. His majesty, who expresses a wish to remain here, stated his pleasure to La Martiniere.
‘”Sire,’ answered the obstinate physician, ‘it cannot be. You are too ill to be permitted to take your choice in the matter, and to the chateau at Versailles you must be removed.’
“‘Your words imply my being dangerously indisposed,’ said the king, inquiringly.
“‘Your majesty is sufficiently ill to justify every precaution, and to require our best cares. You must return to the chateau; Trianon is not healthy; you will be much better at Versailles.’
“‘Upon my word, doctor,’ replied the king, ‘your words are far from consoling; there must be danger, then, in my present sickness?’
“‘There would be considerable danger were you to remain here, whilst it is very probable you may avoid any chance of it by following my directions with regard to an immediate removal to Versailles.’
“‘I feel but little disposed for the journey,’ said his majesty.
“‘Still, your majesty must be removed, there is an absolute necessity for it, and I take all the responsibility upon myself.’
“‘What do you think of this determination, Bordeu?’
“‘I think, sire, that you may be permitted to please yourself.’
“‘You hear that, La Martiniere?’
“‘Yes, sire, and your majesty heard my opinion likewise.’ Then turning towards Bordeu, ‘Sir,’ exclaimed he, ‘I call upon you in my capacity of head physician to the king, to state your opinion in writing, and to abide by the consequences of it; you who are not one of his majesty’s physicians.’
“At this direct appeal, your doctor, driven to extremities, adopted either the wise or cowardly resolution of maintaining a strict silence. The king, who was awaiting his reply with much impatience, perceiving his reluctance to speak, turned towards the duc de Duras, who was in attendance upon him, and said, ‘Let them take me when and where my head physician advises.'”
At this recital I shed fresh tears. The duke afterwards told us that when La Martiniere had quitted his majesty, he went to ascertain the condition of the wretched girl who had introduced all this uneasiness among us, and after having attentively examined her, he exclaimed, “She is past all hope, God only knows what the consequences may be.” This gloomy prognostic added still more to my distress, and whilst those around me strove to communicate fresh hopes and confidence to my tortured mind, I remained in a state too depressed and dejected to admit one, even one ray of consolation.
The king was removed from Trianon, followed by all the persons belonging to his suite. The marechale insisted upon deferring her departure till I quitted the place. We set out a few minutes after his majesty, and my coachman had orders to observe the same slow pace at which the royal carriage travelled. Scarcely had we reached Versailles, when mechanically directing my eyes towards the iron gate leading to the garden, a sudden paleness overspread my countenance, and a cry of terror escaped me, for, leaning against the gate in question, I perceived that singular being, who, after having foretold my elevation, had engaged to present himself before me, when a sudden reverse was about to overtake me. This unexpected fulfilment of his promise threw me into the most cruel agitation, and I could not refrain from explaining the cause of my alarm to those who were with me. No sooner had I made myself understood than Comte Jean stopped the carriage, and jumped out with the intention of questioning this mysterious visitor. We waited with extreme impatience the return of my brother- in-law, but he came back alone, nor had he been able to discover the least trace of the object of his search. In vain had he employed the two footmen from behind the carriage to examine the different avenues by which he might have retired. Nothing could be heard of him, and I remained, more than ever, convinced that the entire fulfilment of the prophecy was at hand, and that the fatal hour would shortly strike, which would witness my fall from all my pomp and greatness. We continued our route slowly and silently; the marechale accompanied me to the door of my apartment, where I bade her adieu, spite of her wish to remain with me; but even her society was now fatiguing to me, and I longed to be alone with merely my own family.
My two sisters-in-law, the wife of comte d’Hargicourt and that of my nephew, were speedily assembled to talk over with me the events of the last twelve hours. I threw myself upon my bed in a state of mental and bodily fatigue, impossible to describe. I strove in vain to collect my ideas, and arm myself for what I well saw was approaching, and the exact appearance of the singular predicter of my destiny prepared me for the rapid accomplishing of all that had been promised.
Louis XV, during this fatal illness, was placed under the care of Bordeu and Lemonnier. No particularly alarming symptoms appeared during that day, and we remained in a state of suspense more difficult to bear than even the most dreadful certainty. As soon as the king felt himself sufficiently recovered from the fatigues of his removal he requested to see me. After bestowing on me the most gratifying marks of the sincerest attachment, he said,
“I am well punished, my dear countess, for my inconstancy towards you, but forgive me. I pray and believe that, however my fancy may wander, my heart is all your own.”
“Is that quite true?” said I, smiling. “Have you not some reservations? Does not a noble female in the
come in for a share as well as the baroness de New—-k?”
The king pressed my hand, and replied,
“You must not believe all those idle tales; I met the baroness by chance, and, for a time, I thought her pretty. As for the other, if she renders you in any way uneasy, let her be married at once, and sent where we need never see her again.”
‘This is, indeed, the language of sincerity,” cried I, and from this moment I shall have the fullest confidence in you.”
The conversation was carried on for a long while in this strain. The physicians had made so light of the complaint, that the king believed his illness to be merely of a temporary nature, and his gaiety and good spirits returned almost to their natural height. He inquired after madame de Mirepoix, and whether my sisters- in-law were uneasy respecting his state of health. You may imagine that my reply was worded with all the caution necessary to keep him in profound ignorance as to his real condition. When I returned to my apartment I found Bordeu there, who appeared quite at a loss what to say respecting the king’s malady, the symptoms still remained too uncertain to warrant any person in calling it the small-pox.
“And should it prove that horrible complaint?” inquired I.
“There would, in that case, be considerable danger,” replied Bordeu, not without extreme embarrassment..
“Perhaps even to the extinction of all hope?” asked I.
“God alone can tell,” returned Bordeu.
“I understand,” interrupted I, quickly, “and, spite of the mystery with which you would fain conceal the extent of his majesty’s danger, I know, and venture to assert, that you consider him already as dead.”
“Have a care, madam,” exclaimed Bordeu, “how you admit such an idea, and still more of proclaiming it. I pledge you my word that I do not consider the king is in danger; I have seen many cures equally extraordinary with his.”
I shook my head in token of disbelief. I had uttered what I firmly supposed the truth, and the sight of my evil genius in the person of the prophet who had awaited my return to Versailles, turned the encouraging words of Bordeu into a cold, heavy chill, which struck to my heart. Bordeu quitted me to resume his attendance upon the king. After him came the duc d’Aiguillon, whose features bore the visible marks of care and disquiet. He met me with the utmost tenderness and concern, asked of me the very smallest details of the disastrous events of the morning. I concealed nothing from him, and he listened to my recital with the most lively interest; and the account of the apparition of the wonderful being who seemed destined to follow me throughout my career was not the least interesting part of our conversation.
“There are,” said the duke, “many very extraordinary things in this life, reason questions them, philosophy laughs at them, and yet it is impossible to deny that there are various hidden causes, or sudden inspirations, which have the greatest effect upon our destiny. As a proof, I will relate to you the following circumstance. You are aware,” continued the duke, “that the cardinal de Richelieu, the author of our good fortune, spite of the superiority of his mind, believed in judicial astrology. When his own immediate line became extinct by the unexpected death of his family and relatives, he wished to ascertain what would be the fate of those children belonging to his sister, whom he had adopted as the successors of his name, arms, and fortune. The planets were consulted, and the answer received was, that two centuries from the day on which Providence had so highly elevated himself, the family, upon whom rested all his hopes of perpetuating his name, should fail entirely in its male descent. You see that the duc de Fronsac has only one child, an infant not many days old. I also have but one, and these two feeble branches seem but little calculated to falsify the prediction. Judge, my dear countess, how great must be my paternal anxiety!”
This relation on the part of the duc d’Aiguillon was but ill calculated to restore my drooping spirits, and although I had no reason for concluding that the astrologer had spoken prophetically to the grand cardinal, I was not the less inclined to believe, with increased confidence, the predictions uttered respecting myself by my inexplicable visitor of the morning. My ever kind friend, the duchesse d’Aiguillon, was not long ere she too made her appearance, with the view, and in the hope of consoling me. I could not resist her earnest endeavours to rouse me from my grief, and a grateful sense of her goodness obliged me to deck my features with at least the semblance of cheerfulness. Every hour fresh accounts of the king’s health were brought me, of a most encouraging nature; by these bulletins one might naturally suppose him rapidly recovering, and we all began to smile at our folly in having been so soon alarmed; in fact, my spirits rose in proportion as those about me appeared full of fresh confidence, and the mysterious visit of my evil genius gradually faded from my recollection.
In this manner the day passed away. I visited the king from time to time, and he, although evidently much oppressed and indisposed, conversed with me without any painful effort. His affection for me seemed to gain fresh strength as his bodily vigour declined, and the fervent attachment he expressed for me, at a time when self might reasonably have been expected to hold possession of his mind, filled me with regret at not being able more fully to return so much tenderness. In the evening I wished to be alone, the marechale de Mirepoix had sent to request a private interview, and I awaited her arrival in my chamber, whilst an immense concourse of visitors filled my salons. The king’s danger was not yet sufficiently decided for the courtiers to abandon me, and the chances continued too strongly in my favour to warrant any one of them in withdrawing from me their usual attentions. Comte Jean, however, presented himself before me, spite of the orders I had given to exclude every person but the marechale.
“My dear sister,” cried he, as he entered, “Chamilly has just told me that he has received the royal command to have Julie married off without delay; now this is a piece of delicacy towards yourself on the part of the king for which you owe him many thanks. But I have another communication to make you, of a less pleasing nature. The unfortunate girl who has been left at Trianon, has called incessantly for you the whole of this day; she asserts that she has matters of importance to communicate to you.”
Whatever surprise I experienced at this intelligence, it was impossible it could be otherwise than true, for was it likely that, at a time like the present, comte Jean would attempt to impose such a tale upon me.
“What would you have me do?” asked I of my brother-in-law.
“Hark ye, sister,” replied he, “we are both of us in a very critical situation just now, and should spare no endeavour to extricate ourselves from it. Very possibly this girl may be in possession of facts more important than you at present conceive possible; the earnestness with which she perseveres in her desire of seeing you, and her repeated prayers to those around her to beg your attendance, proves that it is something more than the mere whim of a sick person, and in your place, I should not hesitate to comply with her wishes.”
“And how could we do so? “said I.
“To-night,” returned he, “when all your guests have retired, and Versailles is in a manner deserted, I will fetch you; we have keys which open the various gates in the park, and walking through which, and the gardens, we can reach Trianon unobserved. No person will be aware of our excursion, and we shall return with the same caution with which we went. We will, after our visit, cause our clothes to be burnt, take a bath, and use every possible precaution to purify ourselves from all chance of infection. When that is done you may venture into the apartment of his majesty, even if that malady which at present hangs over him should turn out to be the small-pox.”
I thought but little of the consequences of our scheme, or of the personal danger I incurred, and I promised my brother-in-law that I would hold myself in readiness to accompany him. We then conversed together upon the state of the king, and, what you will have some difficulty in crediting, not one word escaped either of us relative to our future plans or prospects; still it was the point to which the thoughts of comte Jean must naturally have turned.
We were interrupted in our < tete-a-tete > by the arrival of the
marechale, whose exactitude I could not but admire. Comte Jean, having hastily paid his compliments, left us together.
“Well, my dear countess,” said she, taking my hand with a friendly pressure, “and how goes on the dear invalid?”
“Better, I hope,” replied I, “and indeed, this illness, at first so alarming to me, seems rather calculated to allay my former fears and anxieties by affording the king calm and impartial reflection; the result of it is that my dreaded rival of the
“I am delighted to hear this,” replied madame de Mirepoix, “but, my dear soul, let me caution you against too implicitly trusting these deceitful appearances, to-morrow may destroy these flattering hopes, and the next day–“
“Indeed!” cried I, interrupting her, “the physicians answer for his recovery.”
“And suppose they should chance to be mistaken,” returned my cautious friend, “what then? But, my dear countess, my regard or you compels me to speak out, and to warn you of reposing in tranquillity when you ought to be acting. Do not deceive yourself, leave nothing to chance; and if you have any favour to ask of the king, lose no time in so doing while yet you have the opportunity.”
“And what favour would you advise me to ask?” said I
“You do not understand me, then?” exclaimed the marechale, “I say that it is imperatively necessary for you to accept whatever the king may feel disposed to offer you as a future provision, and as affording you the means of passing the remainder of your days in ease and tranquillity. What would become of you in case of the worst? Your numerous creditors would besiege you with a rapacity, still further excited by the support they would receive from court. You look at me with surprise because I speak the language of truth; be a reasonable creature I implore of you once in your life, and do not thus sacrifice the interests of your life to a romantic disregard of self.”
I could not feel offended with the marechale for addressing me thus, but I could not help fancying the moment was ill chosen, and unable to frame an answer to my mind, I remained silent. Mistaken as to the cause of my taciturnity, she continued,
“Come, I am well pleased to see you thus reflecting upon what I have said; but lose no time, strike the iron while it is hot. Do as I have recommended either to-night or early to-morrow; possibly, after that time it may be too late. May I venture also to remind you of your friends, my dear countess. I am in great trouble just now, and I trust you will not refuse to obtain for me, from his majesty, a favour of which I stand in the utmost need–50,000 francs would come very seasonably; I have lost that sum at cards, and must pay it, but how I know not.”
“Let not that distress you,” said I, “for I can relieve you of that difficulty until the king’s convalescence enables him to undertake the pleasing office of assisting your wishes. M. de Laborde has orders to honour all my drafts upon him, I will therefore draw for the sum you require.” So saying, I hastily scrawled upon a little tumbled piece of paper those magic words, which had power to unlock the strong coffers of a court banker. The marechale embraced me several times with the utmost vivacity.
“You are my guardian angel,” cried she, “you save me from despair. But, tell me, my generous friend, do you think M. de Laborde will make any difficulty?”
“Why,” said I, “should you suppose it possible he will do so?”
“Oh, merely on account of present circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“The illness–no, I mean the indisposition of his majesty.”
“He is an excellent man,” said I, “and I doubt not but he will act nobly and honourably.”
“If we could but procure his majesty’s signature–“
“But that is quite impossible to-night.”