The Road to Compiegne (31 page)

The Marquise persuaded the King that Choiseul was the most brilliant statesman France had known since the days of the Cardinals, Richelieu and Mazarin.

Meanwhile Choiseul carefully picked as his subordinates men whom he could trust to serve him. Many of his actions were bold rather than brilliant. He had attempted an invasion of England, in his enthusiasm forgetting the power of the English fleet. French squadrons were miserably defeated everywhere they attacked, and the result was disaster so great that the French could no longer be said to possess a home fleet.

Seventeen fifty-nine was a year of tragedy. In Canada the Marquis de Montcalm was beseeching the Government to send him help against the British. He died at Quebec in September of that year and, although General Wolfe the leader of the British troops died also, that battle ended in a resounding victory for the British.

Choiseul, realising that the war could not be won, sought to make peace with England, but Prime Minister Pitt was determined to continue the war.

The people were crying out against the Austrian alliance, and Choiseul, resilient as ever, dexterous as a conjurer, looked about him for a new rabbit to pull out of his hat.

He believed he had it.

He went to see his sister with whom he often discussed affairs. He had a great respect for her and his passionate devotion blinded him to many of her faults.

She received him affectionately.

He looked at her with admiration, his head on one side, seeing her as the beloved companion of his childhood whom he had brought to Court to be with him when they had very little money and only their noble lineage as assets.

‘You are beautiful,’ he told her.

She drew him to her in an embrace. She was taller than he was and many of their enemies said that she was the more masculine of the two.

‘Why does the King have to send for a lawyer’s daughter when he could find what he wants at Court?’ murmured Choiseul.

The Duchess laughed. ‘Ha! And how goes this great love affair with Venus?’

‘Minerva, my dear Minerva. I had it from his Majesty’s own lips. Mademoiselle de Romans is as superb as a goddess. She is Minerva herself.’

‘Minerva,’ said the Duchesse. ‘Now I should have thought Venus more suited to Louis’ mood. Was not Minerva impervious to the claims of love?’

‘There have been too many Venuses in Louis’ life. Let him have his Minerva for a change. Change! It is all change. Richelieu has impressed upon him that variety is the sauce which makes the meal into a banquet. But you, my dear, remind me of Minerva, and I cannot see why . . .’

The Duchesse grimaced mildly. ‘
You
cannot see why. My dear Etienne, what ideas are you putting into my head? There is one who would see very well why. My dear, she is your great friend; she is also mine. You know why we must have our little Venuses from the dressmakers, our Minervas from the
bourgeoisie
. She would not tolerate one of
us
occupying that place which she guards so jealously although she can no longer occupy it.’

‘It would be dangerous . . . very dangerous to lose her friendship.’

‘It is due to it, my dear brother, that you are where you are today.’

‘And where I intend to stay!’

He was silent for a while; then putting his arm about her he led her to a couch where they sat down; and still embracing her he said: ‘I have a plan. The people are restive, as you know, and something must be done with the greatest speed. They are saying, “The English are against us. The Prussians are against us; our friends are our old enemies the Austrians.” The people are losing heart becase they fear their enemies and do not trust their friends. I have an idea for a pact which I shall call the Family Compact.’

She nodded, her smile full of admiration. ‘You are a genius, my dear.’

He accepted the compliment lightly. He believed it no less than she did.

‘Have you realised that a certain section of Europe is ruled by the Bourbon family? France, Spain, Naples and Parma. In times of stress families should stand together. I propose now to show the people of France that, contrary to the opinions of those pessimists among them, they have many friends in Europe. They are saying we have only one ally. Only one ally! If I make this pact – and make it I will – I will say to them: “We have all the Bourbons of Europe as our friends. We stand together against all our enemies. One family. From Spain to Sicily I have but to beckon and they will come.” ’

‘And will they?’

Choiseul lifted his shoulders. ‘Our greatest need at the moment, sweet sister, is to pacify the people, to make them happy. One step at a time.’

She smiled. ‘I see. We have come a long way from the poverty of our childhood, brother.’

‘And we will go much farther . . . both of us, my dearest . . . you and I. Our dear friend will not live for ever. She cannot live for ever.’

‘And then?’

‘And then, and then . . .’ murmured Choiseul, ‘it may be that the King will not have to look for his goddesses so far from his Court, eh?’

‘But time is passing, Etienne.’

‘Time! What is time to us? We are immortal. I see no reason why you should not occupy the first place in the land. Others besides our dear friend cannot live for ever. I remember Madame de Maintenon.’

‘Etienne!’

Choiseul laid his hand lightly on his sister’s lips.

‘Silence, sweet one, for the moment. We can wait. We have learned to wait. Let us wait a little longer . . . only a little longer.’

‘Ambitious dreams, Etienne,’ she said.

‘Great honours, my sister, invariably begin as ambitious dreams.’

‘The two of us together, brother! Is there any limit to the heights we can climb?’

‘Only the summit is our limit, sister. Wait and see. The future is rosy for the Duc de Choiseul, and all the glory that shall ever be his he swears he will share with her whom he loves; beyond all others.’

There were occasions when it was necessary, greatly to the King’s regret, for him to visit Paris.

The people had now forgotten his brief return to favour when they thought him to be dying from the knife-thrust of Damiens. They did not call abuse at him as he rode their streets; they merely gave him sullen looks and silence. Indeed, such was his dignity that it was almost impossible to abuse him in his presence.

He sat in his carriage, erect, seemingly indifferent to the mood of his people.

Crowds gathered to see him pass, as they had ever done, and it was only when the carriage had rumbled on that the murmuring would break out.

As his carriage passed by the gardens of the Tuileries his eye was suddenly caught by a fair-haired child with her father, who was clearly an old soldier.

The girl was richly though by no means elegantly dressed, and her father was bending down to her. Louis could imagine the words he was saying to her. ‘See, there he is. There is the King.’

The girl’s beautiful blue eyes were wide with excitement. She pointed to the carriage. Louis leaned a little forward and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of her gesture.

He saw the glowing smile on her face.

A charming child, he thought. To see her has made the journey worthwhile.

She must be very young. He guessed she would be something under fourteen. Girls of that age seemed to him particularly delightful. They had a certain innocence which was lost later.

He wondered who she was, and thought how pleasant it would be to take her hands, embrace her and tell her that it made her King very happy to think that he had a subject such as she was.

On his return to Versailles, he sent for Le Bel.

‘I saw a charming child in the Tuileries gardens today,’ he said.

‘And Your Majesty wishes to make her acquaintance?’

‘She was such a pretty creature, but odiously dressed. Her gown was pink and she wore jewellery, obviously false. I should like to see a child as pretty as that well dressed. She pointed at the carriage. I should like to have such a pretty child taught how to behave.’

‘If your Majesty will tell me her name . . .’

‘I do not know her name. I but saw her as I passed the Tuileries.’

‘Sire, it will not be easy to find her if we do not know her name nor where she lives. There are many young girls who go to the Tuileries gardens.’

‘You give up too easily,’ said the King.

Le Bel sweated with apprehension. ‘Sire, I will search every street in Paris. If that child is to be found, I shall find her.’

‘In the meantime send for Sartines. We will ask his help.’

Le Bel was displeased. He knew that Sartines had discovered Mademoiselle de Romans, but he was annoyed that the Lieutenant of Police should take on duties which previously he had considered his own – to be shared of course with the othet
valets de chambre
.

When Sartines arrived, clearly delighted to be called on the King’s mission, Louis kept Le Bel with him while he explained what he expected from these two.

‘Monsieur Sartines,’ he said, ‘you are a Lieutenant of Police. You should be able to bring me a young girl whom I saw today in the gardens of the Tuileries.’

‘She shall be brought to you immediately, Sire,’ said Sartines.

‘When you find her,’ added the King, while Le Bel smiled sardonically.

‘Le Bel, I suspect, despairs of finding her,’ said the King.

Sartines smiled. ‘We of the police have our methods.’

‘As I thought,’ said the King. ‘Perhaps you can teach some of them to Le Bel.’

‘His Majesty saw the child with her father in the Tuileries gardens,’ said Le Bel. ‘She is fair-haired, blue-eyed, under fourteen and very beautiful. Her father is an old soldier. That is all the description we have. But I have no doubt, Monsieur, with your efficient police methods you will have little difficulty in finding such a child among the crowds of Paris.’

Sartines put his head on one side.

‘This young lady was not in a carriage, Sire?’

‘No, on foot,’ said the King.

‘And she was well dressed?’

‘In a hideous rose-coloured gown which fortunately could not disguise her grace. It was clearly a new gown.’

‘Then depend upon it,’ said Sartines, ‘if the family have no carriage they cannot be rich, and the young lady will wear the gown frequently on her journeys to the gardens. As she had no carriage it is very possible that she lives near the Tuileries gardens, for it is hardly likely that she would have walked far in this rose-coloured gown.’

The King laughed and laid one hand on Sartines’ shoulder, the other on Le Bel’s.

‘You see, Le Bel,’ he said, ‘how wise we were to call in the police. Go, my friends, work together. I do not wish to see my good friend Le Bel unhappy. Bring this child to me. Tell her parents that they will never regret putting her into my care.’

The
valet de chambre
and the Lieutenant of Police bowed themselves out and set about their task.

Sartines was smiling contentedly; finding girls for the King was a more profitable business than hunting criminals for the law.

‘The first one we’ll ask is the lemonade-seller on the terrace,’ said Sartines. ‘If this girl is brought often to the gardens, he will be more likely to know her than anyone else. He is an old friend of mine.’