Après nous le déluge! - Louis XVIII of France

Després (J. B. D.) in his «Essai sur la Marquise de Pompadour» (Bibliothèque des Mémoires rélatifs a L’Histoire de France pendant le XVIII^e Siécle, ed. François Barriére, Paris, 1846, vol. iii. p. 33), says, Mme. de Pompadour dans l’ivresse de la prospérité, répondait à toutes les menaces de l'avenir par ces trois mots, qu'elle répétait souvent: Après nous, le déluge. Charles Desmaze in his Le Reliquaire de M. Q. de La Tour, Paris, 1874, p. 62, note) confirms this on the authority of de La Tour, who heard the Marquise use the expression himself, and told the story to Mdlle Fel, the singer. Larousse (Fleurs Historiques, Paris, 5th ed., n.d., pp. 46–7) cites Henri Martin, the historian (without any references whatever), for a reported conversation between Louis XV and his favourite, in which the king expressed his anxiety about the disturbing elements of the time—the clergy, the philosophers, and—above all—the parliaments, which he declared finiront par perdre L'État. Ce sont des assemblées de républicains! Au reste, les choses comme elles sont, dureront bien autant que moi. Berry [the Dauphin, afterwards Louis XVI] s’en tirera comme il pourra. Après moi le déluge! Martin’s own version of the conversation differs from this, and omits the critical words. (Histoire de la France, 1853, vol. 18, p. 103).The sentiment itself was anticipated by Nero, who on hearing some one repeat the line, Ἐμοῦ θανόντος γαῖα μειχθήτω πυρί (“When I am dead let earth with fire mingle”), rejoined, Immo, ἐμοῦ δἐ ζῶντος (“Aye, and while I am alive too!”): and, as Suetonius (Nero 38) goes on to say, “so it came about, for without any attempt at concealment he proceeded to set the city on fire.” The passage is from Phrynichus, Incert. Fab. 5, 17 (in Wagner’s ed., Paris, Poet. Trag. Gr. Fragmenta, p. 16), the complete distich being:—ἐμοῦ θανόντος γαῖα μιχθήτω πυρί
οὐδὲν μέλει μοι· τἀμὰ γὰρ καλῶς ἔχει.
When I am dead let th’ earth be fused with fire!
I care not, I; for things go well with me.Claudian makes Rufinus exclaim:—Everso juvat orbe mori; solatia letho
Exitium commune dabit. (Rufinus 2, 19)
So the world perish, I'll not ask to live;
Comfort in death the general doom will give.''

I, one day, found Quesnay in great distress. “Mirabeau,” said he, “is sent to Vincennes, for his work on taxation. The Farmers General have denounced him, and procured his arrest; his wife is going to throw herself at the feet of Madame de Pompadour to-day.” A few minutes afterwards, I went into Madame’s apartment, to assist at her toilet, and the Doctor came in. Madame said to him, “You must be much concerned at the disgrace of your friend Mirabeau. I am sorry for it too, for I like his brother.” Quesnay replied, “I am very far from believing him to be actuated by bad intentions, Madame; he loves the King and the people.” “Yes,” said she; “his ‘Ami des Hommes’ did him great honour.” At this moment the Lieutenant of Police entered, and Madame said to him, “Have you seen M. de Mirabeau’s book?”—“Yes, Madame; but it was not I who denounced it?”—“What do you think of it?”—“I think he might have said almost all it contains with impunity, if he had been more circumspect as to the manner; there is, among other objectionable passages, this, which occurs at the beginning: Your Majesty has about twenty millions of subjects; it is only by means of money that you can obtain their services, and there is no money.”—“What, is there really that, Doctor?” said Madame. “It is true, they are the first lines in the book, and I confess that they are imprudent; but, in reading the work, it is clear that he laments that patriotism is extinct in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, and that he desires to rekindle it.” The King entered: we went out, and I wrote down on Quesnay’s table what I had just heard. I them returned to finish dressing Madame de Pompadour: she said to me, “The King is extremely angry with Mirabeau; but I tried to soften him, and so did the Lieutenant of Police. This will increase Quesnay’s fears. Do you know what he said to me to-day? The King had been talking to him in my room, and the Doctor appeared timid and agitated. After the King was gone, I said to him, ‘You always seem so embarrassed in the King’s presence, and yet he is so good-natured.’—‘I Madame,’ said he, ‘I left my native village at the age of forty, and I have very little experience of the world, nor can I accustom myself to its usages without great difficulty. When I am in a room with the King, I say to myself, This is a man who can order my head to be cut off; and that idea embarrasses me.’—‘But do not the King’s justice and kindness set you at ease?’—‘That is very true in reasoning,’ said he; ‘but the sentiment is more prompt, and inspires me with fear before I have time to say to myself all that is calculated to allay it.’”

We are Frenchmen—a title, which the crimes of a few individuals can no more degrade than the enormities of the Duke of Orleans can pollute the blood of Henry the Fourth. This title, which was ever dear to us, will also render us dear to those who bear it.