[It appeared at this period as if every feeling of dignity was lost.  “Few noblemen of the French Court,” says a writer of the time, “preserved themselves from the general corruption.  The Marechal de Brissac was one of the latter.  He was bantered on the strictness of his principles of honour and honesty; it was thought strange that he should be offended by being thought, like so many others, exposed to hymeneal disgrace.  Louis xv., who was present, and laughed at his angry fit, said to him:  ’Come, M. de Brissac, don’t be angry; ’tis but a trifling evil; take courage.’—­’Sire,’ replied M. de Brissac, ’I possess all kinds of courage, except that which can brave shame.’”—­Note by the editor.]

Such a mistress was judiciously selected for the diversion of the latter years of a man weary of grandeur, fatigued with pleasure, and cloyed with voluptuousness.  Neither the wit, the talents, the graces of the Marquise de Pompadour, her beauty, nor even her love for the King, would have had any further influence over that worn-out being.

He wanted a Roxalana of familiar gaiety, without any respect for the dignity of the sovereign.  Madame du Barry one day so far forgot propriety as to desire to be present at a Council of State.  The King was weak enough to consent to it.  There she remained ridiculously perched upon the arm of his chair, playing all sorts of childish monkey tricks, calculated to please an old sultan.

Another time she snatched a packet of sealed letters from the King’s hand.  Among them she had observed one from Comte de Broglie.  She told the King that she knew that rascal Broglie spoke ill of her to him, and that for once, at least, she would make sure he should read nothing respecting her.  The King wanted to get the packet again; she resisted, and made him run two or three times round the table, which was in the middle of the council-chamber, and then, on passing the fireplace, she threw the letters into the grate, where they were consumed.  The King became furious; he seized his audacious mistress by the arm, and put her out of the door without speaking to her.  Madame du Barry thought herself utterly disgraced; she returned home, and remained two hours, alone, abandoned to the utmost distress.  The King went to her; she threw herself at his feet, in tears, and he pardoned her.

Madame la Marechale de Beauvau, the Duchesse de Choiseul, and the Duchesse de Grammont had renounced the honour of the King’s intimate acquaintance rather than share it with Madame du Barry.  But a few years after the death of Louis xv., Madame la Marechale being alone at the Val, a house belonging to M. de Beauvau, Mademoiselle de Dillon saw the Countess’s calash take shelter in the forest of St. Germain during a violent storm.  She invited her in, and the Countess herself related these particulars, which I had from Madame de Beauvau.