LOUIS XV. was not so easy tempered that one could talk politics wit h him every day; for in truth politics were his aversion, and when he was in a bad temper he always escaped from them with this argument, which admitted of no reply:
“Bah! the machine will last out my time.”
When circumstances were favorable, it was necessary to take advantage of them; but it rarely happened that the king did not regain the advantage which a moment of good humor had caused him to lose.
Madams Dubarry knew her king so well that, like fishermen well skilled in the dangers of the sea, she never attempted to start in bad weather.
Now the present visit of his majesty to Luciennes was one of the best opportunities possible. The king had done wrong the previous day, and knew beforehand that he should receive a scolding; he would therefore be an easy prey.
But however confiding the game which the hunter lies in wait for in his lurking place, it has always a certain instinct which must be guarded against. But this instinct is set at naught if the sportsman knows how to manage it.
The countess managed the royal game she had in view and which she wished to capture, in the following manner;
We have said that she was in a most becoming morning dress, like those in which Boucher represents his shepherdesses. Only she had no rouge on, for Louis XV. had a perfect antipathy to rouge.
The moment his majesty was announced, the countess seized her pot of rouge and began to rub her cheeks with it vigorously.
The king saw what the countess was doing from the anteroom.
“Fie!” said he, as he entered, “how she daubs herself!”
“Ah! good-day, sire,” said the countess, without interrupting her occupations even when the king kissed her on the neck.
“You did not expect me, it seems, countess?” asked the king.
“Because you soil your face in that manner.”
“On the contrary, sire, I was certain that I should have the honor of receiving your majesty in the course of the day.”
“Yes, you are as serious as Monsieur Rousseau when he is listening to his own music.”
“That is because I have serious things to say to your majesty.”
“Oh! I see what is coming, countess—reproaches.”
“I reproach you, sire? —and why, pray?”
“Because I did not come yesterday.”
“Oh, sire, do me the justice not to imagine that I pretend to monopolize your majesty.”
“My little Jeanne, you are getting angry.”
“Oh! no, sire, I am angry already.”
“But hear me, countess; I assure you I never ceased thinking of you the whole time.”
“And the evening seemed interminable to me.”
“But, once more, sire, I was not speaking of that at all. Your majesty may spend your evenings where you please, without consulting any one.”
“Quite a family party, madame; only my own family.”
“Sire, I did not even inquire.”
“Dame! you know it would be very unbecoming for me to do so.”
“Well,” said the king, “if that is not what you are displeased with me for, what is it, then? We must be just in this world.”
“I have no complaint to make against you, sire.”
“Yes, I am angry, sire; that is true but it is at being made a make-shift.”
“You a make-shift? Good heavens!”
“Yes. I! The Countess Dubarry! The beautiful Jeanne, the charming Jeaunette, the fascinating Jeauneton, as your majesty calls me; I am a make-shift.”
“Because I have my king, my lover, only when Madame de Choiseul and Madame de Grammont do not want him.”
“Oh, I give you my honor, sire, I say what I think. But what can you expect from me? I am an uneducated woman. I am the mistress of Blaise—the beautiful Bourbonnaise, you know.”
“Countess, the Choiseuls will be revenged.”
“What matter, if they revenge-e themselves with my vengeance?”
“You are right. Well, I have an excellent plan which I shall carry into execution at once.”
“And that is?” asked the anxious king.
The king shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah! you do not believe me, sire?”
“That is because you do not take the trouble to reason—you confound me with others.”
“Madame de Chateauroux wanted to be a goddess, Madame de Pompadour aimed at being a queen. Others wished to be rich, powerful, or to humiliate the ladies of the court by the weight of their favors. I have none of these defects.”
“But yet I have many good qualities.”
“Oh, countess! no one knows your worth better than I do.”
“Well, but listen. What I am going to say will not alter your conviction.”
“In the first place, I am rich, and independent of every one.”
“Do you wish to make me regret that, countess?”
“Then I have not the least ambition for all that flatters these ladies, the least desire for what they aim at; my only wish is to love sincerely him whom I have chosen, whether he be a soldier or a king. When I love him no longer, I care for nothing else.”
“Let me trust you care a little for me yet, countess.”
“I am pretty, I am young, and may reasonably hope for ten years more of beauty; and the moment I cease to be your majesty's favorite, I shall be the happiest and most honored woman in the world. You smile, sire—I am sorry to tell you it is because you do not reflect. When you had had enough, and your people too much, of your other favorites, you sent them away, and your people blessed you and execrated the disgraced favorite more than ever; but I shall not wait until I am sent away. I shall leave the place, and make it known publicly that I have left it. I shall give a hundred thousand livres to the poor, I shall retire to a convent for a week, and in less than a month my portrait will be hung up in all the churches as that of a converted sinner.”
“Oh! countess, you do not speak seriously?” said the king.
“Look at me, sire, and see if I am serious or not. I swear to you that I never was more serious in my life.”
“Then you will commit this folly. Jeanne? But do you not see that by so doing you place yourself at the mercy of my whim, my lady the countess?”
“No, sire; to do so would be to say, 'choose between this and that;' whereas I say, 'adieu, sire!'—nothing more.”
The king turned pale, but this time with anger.
“If you forget yourself so far, madame, take care.”
“I shall send you to the Bastille, and you will find the Bastille rather more tiresome than a convent.”
“Oh! sire,” said the countess, clasping her hands, “if you would but do me that favor it would delight me!”
“Yes, indeed. My secret ambition has always been to be popular, like M. de la. Chalotais, or M. de Voltaire. I only want the Bastille for that. A little of the Bastille, and I shall be the happiest of women. I can then write memoirs of myself, of your ministers, of your daughters, of yourself, and transmit the virtues of Louis the Well-Beloved to the remotest posterity. Give me the lettre-de-cachet, sire. Here, I will provide the pen and ink.”
And she pushed a pen and an inkstand which were upon the work-table toward the king.
The king, thus braved, reflected a moment; then, rising:
“Very well, madame,” said he. “Adieu.”
“My horses!” cried the countess, “Adieu, sire.”
The king made a step toward the door.
“My trunks, my traveling equipage, and post-horses,” said she; “quick! lose no time!”
“Post-horses!” said Chon, startled. “Good heavens! what is the matter?”
“We must leave this as quickly as possible, my dear, else the king will send us to the Bastille. There is no time to be lost. Make haste, Chon, make haste.”
This reproach stung Louis to the heart. He approached the countess and took her hand.
“Forgive my warmth, countess,” said he.
“In truth, sire, I am surprised you did not threaten me with the gibbet.”
“Of course. Thieves are always hanged.”
“Yes; do I not steal the Countess de Grammont's place?”
“Dame! that is my crime, sire.”
“Be just, countess; you irritated me.”
The king took her hands. “We were both wrong. Let us forgive each other.”
“Are you serious in your wish for a reconciliation, sire?”
“Without ordering anything?” asked Chon.
“But let them wait for fresh orders.”
“Then you wish me to remain?” said the countess.
“Reflect on what you say, sire.”
The king reflected, but he could not retract; besides, he wanted to see how far the requirements of the victor would go.
“Immediately. Mark, sire! I go without asking anything.”
“But if I remain, I shall ask for something.”
“Well, what is it? I merely ask for information.”
“Yes, for you make a grimace.”
“M. de Choiseul's dismissal, is it?”
“But, ill-natured creature that you are—”
“Sign my lettre-de-cachet for the Bastille, or the letter which dismisses the minister.”
“There is an alternative,” said the king.
“Thanks for your clemency, sire; it seems I shall be permitted to go without being arrested.”
“And you talk politics like an angry rebellious woman. I have no grounds for dismissing M. de Choiseul.”
“I understand he is the idol of the parliament; he encourages them in their revolt.”
“But there must be some pretext.”
“A pretext is the reason of the weak.”
“Countess, M. de Choiseul is an honest man, and honest men are rare.”
“Honest! he sells you to the gentlemen of the black robe, who swallow up all the gold in the kingdom.”
“Good heavens!” cried Louis XV.
“But I am talking folly. What are parliaments, Choiseuls, governments to me? What is the king to me, when I am only his make-shift?”
“Give me two hours to consider, countess.”
“Ten minutes, sire. I will retire into my apartment; slip your answer under the door—there are pen, ink, and paper. If in ten minutes you have not replied, and replied as I wish, adieu. Think no more of me, I shall be gone. If not—
“Then you have once more your Jeanne.”
Louis XV. kissed the hands of the countess, who, like the Parthian, threw back her most fascinating smile on him as she left the room.
The king made no opposition, and the countess locked herself into the next apartment.
Five minutes afterward a folded paper grazed the silken mat and the rich carpet beneath the door.
The countess eagerly devoured the contents of the letter, hastily wrote some words with a pencil on a scrap of paper, and, opening the window, threw the paper to M. de Richelieu, who was walking in the little courtyard under an awning, in great trepidation lest he should be seen, and therefore keeping himself out of view as much as possible.
The marshal unfolded the paper, read it, and, in spite of his five-and-sixty years, hastily ran to the large courtyard, and jumped into his carriage.
“Coachman,” said he, “to Versailles, as quick as possible!”
The paper which was thrown to M. de Richelieu from the window merely contained these words; “I have shaken the tree—the portfolio has fallen!”
