Memoirs of the Comtesse Du Barry Part 48

Much as their presence constrained me, I still kept my place beside the sick-bed of his majesty, who would not suffer me to leave him for a minute.

At an early hour the marechale de Mirepoix returned, according to her promise. I met her in the corridor as I was pa.s.sing along on my way to the king's apartment; her face was full of cheerful smiles.

"How greatly am I obliged to you for your prompt succour," said she, without even inquiring after my health or that of the king. "Do you know, I was but just in time; ten minutes later, and I should have been refused payment for your cheque. M. de Laborde, who was so devotedly your friend only yesterday, counted out to me the glittering coin I was so anxious to obtain. He even accompanied me to my carriage, when behold, just at the moment, when, with his hat in his hand, he was most gallantly bowing, and wishing me a pleasant journey, a courier arrived from Versailles bringing him the news of the king's illness. He looked so overwhelmed with consternation and alarm, that I could not prevent myself from bursting into a hearty fit of laughter, nor has my gaiety forsaken me up to the present moment."

"You are very fortunate," said I, "to be enabled thus to preserve your good spirits."

"My dear creature, I would fain cheat time of some of his claims upon me. But now I think of it, what is the matter since I was here? Is the king worse, and what is this I hear whispered abroad of the small-pox?"

"Alas, madam," answered I, much hurt at the insensibility she displayed, "we run but too great danger of losing our friend and benefactor for ever."

"Dear me, how very shocking! But what has he settled on you? What have you asked him for?"

"Nothing!" replied I, coolly.

"Nothing! very admirable, indeed; but, my good soul, these fine sentiments sometimes leave people to eat the bread of charity. So, then, you have not followed my advice. Once more, I repeat, lose not the present opportunity, and, in your place, I would set about securing my own interest without one instant's delay."

"That I could not do, madam," said I; "it is wholly foreign to my nature to take advantage of the weakness of a dying man."

"Dying man!" repeated the marechale incredulously, "come, come, he is not dead yet; and whilst there is life there is hope; and I suppose you have carried your ideas of disinterestedness so far as to omit mentioning your friends, likewise. You will never have any worldly sense, I believe. My dear soul," said she, stooping down and whispering in my ear, "you are surrounded by a set of selfish wretches, who care nothing for you unless you can forward their interests."

"I see it, I know it," exclaimed I impatiently; "but though I beg my bread, I will not importune the king."

"As you please," cried madame de Mirepoix, "pray do not let me disturb your intentions. Silly woman that you are, leave others to act the sublime and grand, your part should be that of a reasonable creature. Look at myself, suppose I had not seized the ball at the bound."

"You were born at Versailles," answered I, smiling in spite of myself.

"True, and I confess that with me the greatest of all sense is common sense, which produces that instinctive feeling of self-preservation implanted even in animals. But is the king indeed so very ill?"

"He is, indeed, dangerously ill."

"I am very sorry," answered she, "his majesty and myself were such old friends and companions; but things will now be very different, and we shall soon see the court filled with new faces, whilst you and I, my poor countess, may hide our diminished heads. A set of hungry wretches will drive us away from the princely banquet at which we have so long regaled, and scarcely will their eagerness leave us a few scattered crumbs-how dreadful! Yes, I repeat that for many reasons, we shall have just cause for regretting the late king."

"The late king!" exclaimed I. "His majesty is not yet dead, madame la marechale."

"I know that, but he will die; and by speaking of the event as if it had already taken place, we prepare our minds to meet the blow with greater resignation when it does fall. I am much concerned, I can a.s.sure you; but let us quit the close confined air of this corridor, and go where we may breathe a purer atmosphere."

She took me by the arm with a greater familiarity than she had ever before a.s.sumed, and led the way to my chamber, where I found the duc de la Vrilliere awaiting me, to request I would return to the king, who had asked for me more than once. This consummate hypocrite seized the present opportunity of renewing his a.s.surances of an unalterable attachment to me, vowing an eternal friendship. I was weak enough to believe him, and when I gave him my hand in token of reconciliation, I espied the marechale standing behind him, making signals to me to distrust his professions.

I know not the reason of this conduct on the part of the duc de l a Vrilliere, but I can only suppose it originated in his considering the king in less danger than he was said to be; however, I suffered him to lead me to the chamber of the invalid. When Louis XV saw me return, he inquired why I had quitted him? I replied, because I was fearful of wearying him; upon which he a.s.sured me, that he only felt easy and comfortable so long as I was with him.

"But, perhaps, there is some contagion in my present complaint?" exclaimed he, as though labouring under some painful idea.

"Certainly not," replied I; "it is but a temporary eruption of the skin, which will, no doubt, carry off the fever you have suffered with."

"I feared it was of a more dangerous nature," answered the king.

"You torment yourself needlessly, sire," said I; "why should you thus create phantoms for your own annoyance and alarm? Tranquillize yourself, and leave the task of curing you to us."

I easily penetrated the real import of his words; he evidently suspected the truth, and was filled with the most cruel dread of having his suspicions confirmed. During the whole of this day he continued in the same state of uncertainty; the strictest watch was set around him that no imprudent confession should reveal to him the real nature of his situation. I continued sitting beside him in a state of great constraint, from the knowledge of my being closely observed by the princesses, of whose vicinity we durst not inform him, in the fear of exciting his fears still more.

The courier, who had been despatched to madame Louise, returned, bringing a letter from that princess to her sisters, under cover to madame Adelade, in which she implored of them not to suffer any consideration to prevent their immediately acquainting their father with the dangerous condition he was in. The duty, she added, was imperative, and the greatest calamity that could befall them, would be to see this dearly loved parent expire in a state of sinful indifference as to his spiritual welfare.

The august recluse, detached from all sublunary considerations, saw nothing but the glorious hereafter, where she would fain join company with all her beloved friends and connexions of this world.

The archbishop of Paris, M. de Beaumont, a prelate highly esteemed for his many excellent private qualities, but who had frequently embarra.s.sed the king by his pertinacity, did not forget him on this occasion; for no sooner did the account of his majesty's illness reach him, than, although suffering with a most painful complaint, he hastened to Versailles, where his presence embarra.s.sed every one, particularly the grand almoner, who, a better courtier than priest, was excessively careful never to give offence to any person, even though the king's salvation depended upon it; he, therefore, kept his apartment, giving it out that he was indisposed, and even took to his bed, the better to avoid any disagreeable or inconvenient request. The sight of the archbishop of Paris was far from being agreeable to him. This prelate went first in search of the princesses who were not to be seen on account of their being with their father. A message was despatched to them, and mesdames Adelade and Sophie, after having a long conference with him, by his advice, summoned the bishops of Meaux, Goss, and de Senlis, and held a species of council, in which it was unanimously agreed that nothing ought to prevent their entering upon an explanation with the king, and offering him spiritual succour.

Who was to undertake the delicate commission, became the next point to consider. M. de Roquelaire declined, not wishing, as he said, to infringe upon the rights of the grand almoner, who was now at Versailles. M. de la Roche Aymon was therefore sent for, requesting his immediate attendance. Never did invitation arrive more mal a propos, or more cruelly disturb any manoeuvring soul. However, to refuse was impossible, and the cardinal arrived, execrating the zeal of his reverend brother of Paris; who, after having explained the state of affairs to him, informed him that he was sent for the purpose of discharging his office by preparing the king for confession.

The grand almoner replied, that the sacred duty by no means belonged to him; that his place at court was of a very different nature, and had nothing at all to do with directing the king's conscience. His majesty, he said, had a confessor, who ought to be sent for, and the very sight of him in the royal chamber would be sufficient to apprize the ill.u.s.trious invalid of the motives which brought him thither. In a word, the grand almoner got rid of the affair, by saying, "that, as it was one of the utmost importance, it would be necessary to confer with his royal highness, the dauphin, respecting it."

CHAPTER XLII

First proceedings of the council-The dauphin receives the prelates with great coolness-Situation of the archbishop of Paris-Richelieu evades the project for confessing the king-The friends of madame du Barry come forward-The English physician-The abbe Terray-Interview with the prince de Soubise-The prince and the courtiers-La Martiniere informs the king of France the true nature of his complaint-Consequences of this disclosure

The different members of this concile impromptu declared themselves in favour of this advice, much to the grief and chagrin of the princess Adelade. She easily perceived by this proposition that the court would very shortly change masters, and could she hope to preserve the same influence during the reign of her nephew she had managed to obtain whilst her father held the sceptre? However, she made no opposition to the resolution of the prelates, who forthwith proceeded to the dauphin, who received them with considerable coolness. As yet, but ill-a.s.sured in the new part he had to play, the prince showed himself fearful and embarra.s.sed. The dauphiness would willingly have advised him, but that prudence would not permit her to do, so that the dauphin, left wholly to himself, knew not on what to determine.

This was precisely what the grand almoner had hoped and expected, and he laughed in his sleeve at the useless trouble taken by the archbishop; and whilst he openly affected to promote his desires as much as was in his power, he secretly took measures to prevent their success. M. de Beaumont, who was of a most open and upright nature, was far from suspecting these intrigues; indeed, his simple and pious character but ill-qualified him for the corrupt and deceitful atmosphere of a court, especially such a one as Versailles. His situation now became one of difficulty; abandoned by the bishops and the grand almoner, disappointed in his hopes of finding a supporter in the dauphin, what could he do alone with the princesses, who, in their dread of causing an emotion, which might be fatal to their parent, knew not what to resolve upon. As a last resource, they summoned the abbe Mandaux, the king's confessor. The prelate excited his zeal in all its fervour, and this simple and obscure priest determined to undertake that which many more eminent personages had shrunk from attempting.

He therefore sought admittance into the chamber of the king, where he found the ducs de Duras and de Richelieu, to whom he communicated the mission upon which he was come.

At this declaration, the consequences of which he plainly foresaw, the duc de Duras hesitated to reply, scarcely knowing how to ward off a blow the responsibility of which must fall upon him alone. The duc de Richelieu, with greater self-command, extricated him from his difficulty.

"Sir," said he to the abbe, "your zeal is highly praise-worthy, both the duke and myself are aware of all that should be done upon such an occasion as the present; and although I freely admit that the sacred act you speak of is of an imperative nature, yet I would observe, that the king being still in ignorance of his fatal malady, neither your duties nor ours can begin, until the moment when the physicians shall have thought proper to reveal the whole truth to his majesty. This is a matter of form and etiquette to which all must submit who have any functions to fulfil in the chateau."

The duc de Duras could have hugged his colleague for this well-timed reply. The abbe Mandaux felt all the justness of the observation, yet with all the tenacity of his profession, he replied,

"That since it rested with the physicians to apprize the king of his being ill with the small-pox, they ought to be summoned and consulted as to the part to take."

At these words the duc de Duras slipped away from the group, and went himself in search of Doctor Bordeu, whom he brought into an angle of the chamber out of sight of the king's bed. The duc de Duras having explained to him what the abbe had just been saying to them, as well as the desire he had manifested of preparing the king to receive the last sacraments, the doctor regarded the abbe fixedly for some instance, in a severe tone, "Whether he had promised any person to murder the king?"

This abrupt and alarming question made the priest change colour, whilst he asked for an explanation of such a singular charge.

"I say, sir," replied Bordeu, "that whoever speaks at present to his majesty of small-pox, confession, or extreme unction, will have to answer for his life."

"Do you, indeed, believe," asked the duc de Richelieu, "that the mention of these things would produce so fatal a result?"

"Most a.s.suredly I do; and out of one hundred sick persons it would have the same effect upon sixty, perhaps eighty; indeed, I have known the shock produce instantaneous death. This I am willing to sign with my own blood if it be necessary, and my professional brother there will not dispute its truth."

At these words he made a sign for Lemonnier to advance, and after having explained to him the subject of conversation, begged of him to speak his opinion openly and candidly. Lemonnier was somewhat of a courtier, and one glance at the two n.o.blemen before whom he stood, was sufficient to apprize him what opinion was expected from him. He, therefore, fully and unhesitatingly confirmed all that Bordeu had previously advanced.

Strong in these decisions, the duc de Duras expressed his regret to the confessor at being unable to accord his request. "But," added he, "You perceive the thing is impossible, unless to him who would become a regicide."

This terrible expression renewed the former terror of the abbe, who, satisfied with having shown his zeal, was, perhaps, not very sorry for having met with such insurmountable obstacles. He immediately returned to the apartment of madame Sophie, where the council was still a.s.sembled, and related the particulars of his visit; whilst the poor archbishop of Paris, thus foiled in every attempt, was compelled to leave Versailles wholly unsuccessful.