Louis the Well-Beloved (48 page)

Madame de Pompadour had so far said nothing to the King about the verse she had found on the table. She did not want to call his attention to her ill health, and she did not want to make a scene.

But she knew that she could not ignore such an insult. To allow without protest such a verse to be presented to her at the table in the
petits appartements
would be an admission of her own uncertainty.

Before approaching the King however she would try to make peace with Maurepas. If he would stop circulating these vile verses about her she would be ready to forget all that had gone before, and there should be a truce between them.

She called on Maurepas the next day.

Maurepas could scarcely contain his mirth as he greeted her. He would exaggerate everything that was said and have an amusing tale to tell his cronies later.

‘Madame le Marquise,’ he cried; and there was irony even in his bow. ‘I am overwhelmed by this honour.’

‘I wish to speak to you on a matter of urgency,’ she told him.

‘And Madame did not send for me?’

‘I do not send for Ministers,’ she answered promptly. ‘That would be presumption on my part. If I have anything to say to them I call upon them.’

‘You are gracious, Madame.’

‘You know, Monsieur de Maurepas, that unpleasant verses are being circulated about me.’

‘It is deeply regrettable.’

‘The King has instructed the Administration to discover who is responsible for them.’

‘And they have not?’

‘You
have not, Monsieur, because you, I understand, are responsible for the Administration of Paris.’

‘Madame, your reproaches are more than I can endure. Efforts shall be doubled and, when the culprit is discovered, I assure you that no time will be lost in bringing the scoundrel before the King.’

She looked at him intently. Then she said slowly: ‘I believe, Monsieur, that you and Madame de Châteauroux were not good friends.’

He raised his shoulders and eyebrows simultaneously, in an expression of mock regret.

‘I see, Monsieur, that you do not feel very friendly towards the King’s mistresses.’

‘But, Madame, they have my deep respect . . .’ His cynical eyes surveyed her . . . ‘no matter whence they come,’ he added.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ she told him crisply. ‘I felt sure that you were too wise to make enemies of them intentionally.’

‘It is you who have the wisdom, Madame,’ he said. ‘Wisdom which matches your youthful beauty.’

There was no mistaking the mockery and the meaning behind his reply.

She knew that he intended to go on writing verses about her, and the particularly obnoxious one she had received last night was an example of what they would be like in the future.

So much depended on this, but she knew she could not put off showing that verse to Louis.

He wanted to make love. Did he not always? She must not appear tired or jaded in the least. She had ridden with him, and he could be in the saddle all day without fatigue; she had taken part in a little play which she had staged for his entertainment.

‘Madame,’ he said at the end of the evening, ‘you are the most remarkable woman in France. All the best qualities of womanhood rest within your perfect form.’

That was good; but there was still the night before them; and it was the nights which she feared were beyond her talents.

But she was determined to bring this matter of the verses to a head. She knew that both Richelieu and Maurepas were waiting to see what she would do, so action was imperative, and it must not be delayed action.

‘Louis,’ she said, ‘I am sorry to bother you with this matter, but I have suffered a great deal from these cruel verses of Maurepas. This one was on the table in my place last night. I think that it is too crude to be accepted without demur, and I am going to ask you to dismiss him from Court.’

Louis frowned and took the verses. He read them through and flushed.

Then he held the paper in the flame of a candle.

He took her hand and repeated the words with which he had dismissed the guests of that night’s party:
‘Allons nous coucher.’

It was the hour of the
lever
, and Maurepas was in attendance.

The Comte was alert for some change in the King’s attitude towards him for he did not see how the Marquise could retain her dignity and do otherwise than show him that verse. Her manner when she had called on him had, he believed, held a threat in it. A weaker man, he told himself, would have been afraid, would have sworn he would discover the culprit and put an end to the scandal sheets.

Not he! Not Maurepas! Afraid of the King’s mistress? He had not been afraid of Châteauroux, so why should he be of Pompadour?

Châteauroux had sent him into exile for a while, and what had happened? She had died, and back he came. He was the one who could laugh at that little battle now.

Mistresses should learn that their period of glory must necessarily be brief, whereas ministers could retain office as long as they were clever enough to do so.

The King was unusually jocular on that morning. ‘Why, Comte,’ he said, his eyes scrutinising Maurepas, ‘you look dazzling this morning.’

‘Sire, I am to attend a wedding.’

‘Ah! It suits him, does it not, attending weddings? Did you ever see a man more pleased with himself?’

‘Sire, my pleasure is great because it is someone else’s wedding and not my own.’

The King laughed with the rest, and Maurepas felt gratified. ‘Well, make the most of your pleasure,’ said the King. ‘I shall expect to see you at Marly.’

‘Thank you, Sire,’ said Maurepas, his spirits rising still further.

He was exultant. She has shown him, he thought; and this is his answer. Madame la Marquise, there can be no doubt that your days at Versailles are numbered. Silly woman, you should have accepted my insults. You should have learned that I am a man whom no mistress dares flout. I bring bad luck to the mistresses of Kings.

He obeyed the King inasmuch as he enjoyed the festivities at the wedding of Mademoiselle Maupeou, and when he returned to his apartments he was met by a gentleman of the King’s household.

‘Monsieur de Maurepas,’ said that gentleman, ‘I bring a message from His Majesty.’

Maurepas tried not to look concerned as he read:

‘Monsieur,

I told you that I should let you know when I no longer required your services. That moment has come. I order you to hand in your resignation to M. de Saint Florentin. You will go to Bourges. Pontchartrain is too near . . .’

He tried not to show his anger and despair. In what he believed was his moment of victory he had been brought face to face with defeat.

The news spread through the Court.

‘Maurepas has had his
lettre de cachet
. He leaves at once for Bourges.’

Richelieu could not hide his pleasure. The Queen, whose support Maurepas had received, was deeply distressed.

But the whole Court now knew the depth of the King’s regard for the Marquise de Pompadour.

Madame de Pompadour had taken to using the significant word
‘nous’
to ministers and ambassadors. She was always at the King’s side, and he delighted in showering gifts on her. She was fascinated by beautiful china and took a great interest in the works at Vincennes and, when the King bestowed upon her the village of Sèvres, she began to make plans for bringing the china works to that neighbourhood that she might give them her personal supervision.

But every interest was the King’s interest; and only rarely, as in the case of Maurepas – where there was no alternative – did she seek to impose her will upon him.

It was clear that not even Mesdames de Vintimille or Châteauroux had held such sway over him.

Homage was paid to her throughout the Court, but the people continued to hate her. The
poissonades
had done their work well. The fact that the mistress was not of the nobility only made the people hate her more. ‘Who is
she
?’ they demanded of each other. ‘Why, it might have been one of us!’ Such conclusions made envy doubly acute.

The peace was still derided throughout Paris. There were bitter complaints because that tax, the
vingtième
, which had come into existence in 1741 and which, they had been assured, had been imposed only for a short time, was continued. Many refused to pay it and in the affray between tax collectors and the taxed there were a number of deaths.

The people in the country were no less disgruntled than those in the towns, and there was murmuring against the administration in Paris when the tax collectors came to assess the crops. A good harvest meant increased taxation. There was no incentive to work.

There was a new and subtler element creeping into the discontent. Previously there had been religious quarrels between the Jansenites and the Jesuits; now new enemies to religion had appeared. These were the sceptics.

In her love of art, the Marquise had sought to help writers and philosophers as well as artists and musicians, and thus she had assisted in opening up a new and intellectual field.

Toussaint brought out his book
Les Moeurs
which was judged to be impious and was consequently burned in public. Diderot wrote his
Letter on Blindness for the use of those who see
. For this he was sent to Vincennes. Voltaire, fearing persecution for freedom of expression, left Court and went to Berlin.

The writers and philosophers might be penalised, their books might be suppressed, but already certain of their ideas had escaped into circulation and were being considered.

People were beginning to wonder whether there were not many evils in the old régime.

In the cafés men and women would sit talking or listening to some enthusiast who had ideas for destroying the old way of life and substituting a new one.

The fabric of the old régime was not yet torn but it was wearing thin. It needed careful patching, but the King and his ministers did not notice this. For so long had it lasted, that no doubts occurred to them that it would endure for ever.

So the entertainments continued, the endless rounds of pleasure. The King and his mistress must visit the many châteaux in which they delighted; there must be the intimate little supper parties, the plays and entertainment.

Bellevue was on the point of completion, and Madame de Pompadour was excitedly planning a grand banquet and ball which she would give there – the first in this new and magnificent house.

There was a danger at Bellevue for the reason that, situated as it was, so near the capital, many Parisians had walked there to watch its progress; and the construction of Bellevue and its many extravagancies became one of the main topics of conversation in the cafés and on street corners.

‘Have you seen it recently? They say that already six million livres have been spent on that house!’

Six million livres, and in Paris many people could not afford to buy bread at two sous.