The Road to Compiegne (15 page)

Louis realising that, in issuing such a warrant without his consent, the
Parlement
was flouting his authority, quashed the warrant.

Thus the
Parlement
was brought into conflict with the King, and dissension spread from Paris to the provinces.

The President of the
Parlement
called on the King to warn him and to remind him of what could happen to kings who set themselves against their parliaments.

The name of Charles I of England was not mentioned, but the case of the King who had quarrelled with his Parliament and lost his head as a consequence was in everyone’s mind.

Louis’ answer was that it was the duty of the
Parlement
to acquaint him with acts of dissension, but for him to judge them.

By this attitude he had won the approval of neither side. The
Parlement
considered that the King was obstructing it in its duties; the Ultramontane clergy knew that the King was not with them, and that they must rely for their support on the Queen, who was powerless, and the Dauphin, from whom they hoped a great deal.

The
Parlement
pointed out that since Louis had ascended the throne forty-two thousand
lettres de cachet
had been received by people who would not agree to the Bull Unigenitus.

Louis grew tired of the wrangle and sought to divert himself by increasing his pleasures. Meanwhile all over the country there were quarrels between those who accepted the Bull and those who did not. It was not safe for priests to walk in the streets, as the very sight of priestly garments was enough to inflame a certain section of the people.

The riots continued. The Dauphin watched the progress of events with eagerness.

The King protested that he was weary of such dissensions.

‘Let me hear no more of this matter of administering the sacraments,’ he pleaded.

To escape from the controversy all about him the King paid a visit to the artist, François Boucher, whose work he greatly admired and whom he had employed to decorate walls and ceilings of certain of his
châteaux
.

He insisted that Boucher take him to his
atelier
that he might see his latest work, and while he was there his eyes fell on a portrait of a child. She was in her very early teens, and Louis paused before the portrait in admiration.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is not a true picture of the model. You have idealised that creature. No one could be so perfectly beautiful.’

The artist was about to protest but he hesitated, and the King saw a wary look come into his eyes.

‘You are right, Sire,’ he said. ‘It is an idealised portrait.’

‘Yet,’ said Louis, ‘so lifelike that, if such a perfect child existed, one could imagine her stepping out of the picture.’

‘Your Majesty is gracious to commend my work. Allow me to present you with this picture.’

The King laid his hand on the artist’s arm. ‘No, my friend,’ he said. ‘I read your thoughts. It would grieve you greatly to part with that picture. It would be like losing a friend.’

‘Your Majesty is mistaken . . .’

The King raised his eyebrows in surprise; it was necessary to accept blunt words from these artists who did not understand that in the etiquette of Versailles it was impossible for a humble workman to tell the King he was wrong.

Boucher stumbled on: ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure than for Your Majesty to accept the picture.’

The King shook his head. ‘So there was no model,’ he said. ‘That perfect child never existed outside the artist’s imagination. It is a sad thought, Monsieur Boucher.’

‘Very sad, Your Majesty.’

The King was smiling when he left the
atelier
.

When Louis returned to Versailles he summoned his
valet de chambre
Le Bel.

Le Bel had become one of his most valued servants, and this was due to the peculiar duties which he performed with astonishing skill.

Since he had been introduced to a serving-girl in the apartments of Madame de Pompadour, Louis had found such types greatly to his taste. It was stimulating to cast off all need for
finesse
, to escape from the etiquette of the Court which insinuated itself even into the bedchamber. With young working-girls etiquette was ignored simply because they were unaware of its existences.

Le Bel had made it his cherished duty to find such girls who could administer to the King’s pleasure. He was indefatigable; he would discover them in market or shop, tempt them with such a fortune to be earned in a few days as would not have been theirs after years of hard work and parsimonious living.

In almost every case Le Bel’s propositions were irresistible; and thus a stream of little
grisettes
found their way up the private staircase to those very secret rooms in the north wing of the Palace, which to the knowledgeable had become known as
le trébuchet
.

Here in this ‘snare for birds’ Louis received these young girls, who pleased him for as long as they could and then were dismissed with a present which made them a very suitable
partie
, and so would ensure a life of comparative comfort.

‘Le Bel,’ said Louis, ‘I want you to find for me a certain dark-eyed girl. She cannot be more than fourteen, I’ll swear.’

‘Her name, Sire?’

‘That I cannot tell you, for I do not know it. The only clue I can give you is that there is a painting of her in Boucher’s
atelier
. I have a suspicion that you may find her there hidden away somewhere. Boucher prefers to show his canvases rather than his little mistress – and it does not surprise me.’

Le Bel was delighted. Such a quest was what he enjoyed.

‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I can assure Your Majesty that it will not be long before Boucher’s goddess steps from her canvas into your arms.’

‘I am glad to hear you say that,’ said Louis. ‘I feel very impatient.’

The next day found Le Bel drinking in Boucher’s studio.

He greatly admired the painter’s work, he said, and he wondered if he might take a closer look at some of the pictures.

It was easy, with a little flattery, to win the artist’s confidence; and Le Bel was astonished and delighted when a young girl came into the
atelier
to serve them with wine.

Le Bel, connoisseur as he was, thought he had never seen such a beautiful child. Enormous dark eyes sparkled in her oval face, and her heavy bluish-black hair was caught back with a red riband.

She was clearly delighted to be working for François Boucher.

When she had left them Le Bel said: ‘Now that is a pretty creature.’

‘Pretty!’ cried Boucher indignantly. ‘Louise is beautiful.’

‘I see you have painted her. It is certainly an arresting picture.’

‘Yet,’ said Boucher, ‘even I cannot do justice to Louise’s beauty. I have painted her over and over again in an endeavour to satisfy myself.’

‘You are fortunate to have such a model. She seems a good and docile girl, too.’

Boucher nodded. ‘Poor Louise, life is not easy for such as she is. She thinks this place luxurious after the home she comes from.’

‘Was it so bad then?’

‘Bad, my dear sir? When I tell you that her rapacious old mother has sold – yes literally sold – her sisters, you will know what I mean. My beautiful Louise was brought up in a second-hand clothes shop not far from the Palais Royal. Madame O’Murphy could not sell her old clothes dearly enough, so she sold her daughters as well.’

‘O’Murphy. It is a strange name.’

‘The father was an Irishman. He was a soldier at one time, and a man of low character. They put Louise with Madame Fleuret when she was twelve. She is only fourteen now.’

‘Madame Fleuret. Is she the dressmaker?’

‘She carries on a profitable business under the guise of dressmaking. Her place is nothing less than a brothel. And so, to her, for a consideration, the old-clothes-woman sent her all her daughters. I discovered Louise there. I brought her away with me. I can tell you she was delighted to come.’

‘I can well imagine it.’

Louise came into the room again. Le Bel, watching her, knew that she was aware of his eyes upon her.

Le Bel said: ‘Ah, what a relief it is to relax in an artist’s
atelier
after all the etiquette of Versailles.’

She was an intelligent creature. She had pricked up her ears. She was ready to be interested in the man who lived at Versailles, the great Palace which would seem fabulous to such as she was.

‘Fill Monsieur Le Bel’s glass, Louise,’ said Boucher.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Le Bel. His eyes held those of the girl; they were warm and full of admiration.

Le Bel rose to go in due course and when he descended the stairs to the street he did not immediately leave the neighbourhood. He believed that she would understand he wanted to speak to her privately and would find some excuse for leaving the house shortly after he did.

He was right.

He had only to wait five minutes when, a shawl over her blue-black hair, Louise came into the street.

‘Mademoiselle O’Murphy?’ called Le Bel.

‘Why!’ she cried, feigning surprise in such a way that it amused him. She had a certain sense of humour, this girl. Daughter of an old-clothes-woman she might be, but it was possible that she possessed a certain wit as well as astounding beauty. ‘It is Monsieur Le Bel of Versailles.’

‘I have waited to see you, Mademoiselle. I have something to say to you.’

‘Could you not have said it in Monsieur Boucher’s
atelier
?’

‘No, I could not have said it there. You are very beautiful. You must know this.’

‘I have heard it said that that is so,’ she answered pertly yet gravely.

‘I could make your fortune.’

‘Many have offered me fortunes.’

‘I could offer you one more glowing than any you have yet been offered. I could take you to Versailles.’

She mocked him in the
argot
of the streets. ‘I know, Monsieur Le Bel. You are the King in disguise.’

‘You could be nearer the truth than you think.’

Her smile was mocking, yet he could see that she was alert.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I will bring a carriage to the end of the street this time tomorrow. Be there. I will take you to Versailles . . . and fortune.’

‘How do I know that you can do this, or will?’

He took a ring from his finger. ‘See this. It is a diamond. It is worth more than you could possess if you spent the rest of your life in Monsieur Boucher’s attic. I will lend it to you until you have so many jewels that this will seem a worthless bauble.’

She took the ring. Its sparkle fascinated her. But she was no fool; she had all the cunning of the streets in her, Le Bel guessed that if she had helped her mother in the old days she would have struck a hard bargain in the Monday market on the Place de Grève.

He knew that tomorrow she would have the ring tested, and when she discovered its value she would be waiting to step into the carriage he would have brought for her.