The marchioness, in her will, had forgotten none of her friends, nor any of her servants; the king himself was named.  “I entreat the king,” she wrote, “to accept the gift I make him of my hotel in Paris, in order that it may become the palace of one of his children:  it is my desire that it may become the residence of Monseigneur le Comte de Provence.”  This hotel of Madame de Pompadour has since then been inhabited by illustrious hosts, for it is better known at the present day under the designation of the Elysee Bourbon, or rather the Elysee National.

Madame de Pompadour had several residences:  she had received from the king an hotel at Paris and one at Fontainebleau; the estate of Crecy, the chateau of Aulnay, Brimborion sur Bellevue, the seigniories of Marigny and of Saint-Remy; an hotel at Compiegne, and one at Versailles; without counting the millions of francs in money bestowed at various times in addition to her regular income, for they never counted francs at Verseilles then.[F] For all this, we find Louis XV. giving the Marquis de Marigny, her brother, an order for two hundred and thirty thousand francs, to assist him in paying the debts of the marchioness. (Journal of Louis XV., published at the trial of Louis XVI.)

[Footnote F:  Except Louis XV., who, it is said, used to amuse himself by making a private treasury.  When he lost at play, he used always to pay out of the royal treasury.]

The marchioness was interred in a vault of the church of the Capuchins; by dint of interest and money her family had obtained the privilege of having a funeral oration pronounced over her mortal remains.  This oration was a chef d’oeuvre, which ought most certainly to have been preserved for the honor of the Church.  Unfortunately, this curious and most remarkable piece of eloquence was never printed, and history has inscribed but a few lines in its annals.  When the priest approached the bier, he sprinkled the holy water, made the sign of the cross, and commenced his discourse in the following terms:—­“I receive the body of the most high and powerful lady, Madame le Marquise de Pompadour, maid of honour to the queen.  She was in the school of all virtues,” &c.  The remainder of this most edifying discourse is lost in oblivion, but surely the force of humbug could no further go.

Montesquieu’s prediction concerning two remarkable personages of the eighteenth century (Voltaire and Madame de Pompadour) is curious,—­curious alike for its truth, and for the knowledge of the world displayed by it.

One day, while on a visit to Ferney, Montesquieu being alone in Voltaire’s magnificent saloon, which opened on the Lake of Geneva, was surprised by Marshal Richelieu (who had come over from Lyons to see how Voltaire would play in the Orphan of China) standing in deep thought before a pair of portraits which hung upon the wall.

“Well, Monsieur le President,” said he, “you are studying, I perceive, Wit and Beauty.”