The Road to Compiegne Page 11

  The conflict showed itself in several forms and, when the Opera Buffa came to Paris from Italy, quarrels broke out as to the merits of French and Italian music, which were a reflection of the great quarrel as to whether France should stand aloof from the Church of Rome or be governed by it.

  The King often made his way to the apartments of Madame de Pompadour; the Petite Morphise and the visitors to the trébuchet could give him only very temporary relief from his anxieties; it was the company and opinion of the Marquise that he ardently sought.

  When de Maupéou, the chief-President of the Parlement, asked for an audience the Marquise was firmly behind the King’s agreement to see him and, as a result of this meeting, the Parlement was recalled to Paris. Louis had seen that the state of unrest could not be continued and that he would be wiser to recall his Parlement than to place himself firmly on the side of Rome. The quarrel between King and Parlement was patched up, the conditions being that silence be maintained on the matter of the Bull Unigenitus and that the magistrates should deal appropriately with any who refused to keep that silence.

  Thus Louis had adroitly kept his position between the two antagonists. He had recalled his Parliament to power and at the same time had made no quarrel with the clergy by renouncing the Bull.

  It was a masterly stroke, and Louis was aware that his dear friend the Marquise had been instrumental in helping him make it.

  With the Parlement recalled, the Ultramontanes were not prepared to maintain silence over the Bull, and cases of the sacrament’s being refused to dying Jansenites again began to disturb the people.

  Then Louis acted with strength. Christophe de Beaumont received his lettre de cachet which ordered his immediate retirement to his estates at Conflans.

  This was one of the biggest blows yet struck at the Ultramontane party; the Dauphin was filled with rage, the Queen with sorrow. They both believed that Madame de Pompadour was responsible, and they declared that it was not even a matter of principle with her, which might have been more forgivable; the woman was merely afraid that the domination of the Church would mean her dismissal.

  The Bishop of Chartres came to Versailles to protest to Louis about the exile from Paris of Christophe de Beaumont.

  ‘Sire,’ he said passionately, ‘surely a bishop should reside in his diocese.’

  Louis looked at him coldly and replied: ‘Then I suggest you go to yours without delay.’

  The Parlement then announced that the Bull Unigenitus was not a rule of faith, and the clergy were forbidden to treat it as such.

  With the Archbishop in exile and the Parlement in Paris the tension relaxed.

  At this time Madame Adelaide had become astonishingly subdued, and her cunning Mistress of the Robes, the Comtesse d’Estrades (the woman who had failed to replace Madame de Pompadour with the Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupré), determined to exploit this situation. Certain suspicions had been aroused and, recalling an occasion when, during a theatrical performance at Fontainebleau, Madame Adelaide had fainted, Madame d’Estrades believed she knew the reason for the change in the Princesse.

  ‘I was overcome by the heat; it was unbearable,’ Madame Adelaide had moaned.

  But, reasoned Madame d’Estrades, the other ladies had not been overcome by the heat.

  Madame Adelaide’s very full skirts could be concealing. Was it possible that the King’s beloved daughter was about to bring scandal to the Court?

  She was not of course the only one to notice this change in Adelaide; and when the latter left Versailles for a month or so there were many to suggest the reason.

  ‘Was it not inevitable?’ asked certain members of the Court. ‘Adelaide was adventurous; the King refused to arrange a marriage for her, and it was, if one considered all the circumstances, only to be expected. But a scandal! Particularly if . . .’

  But it was unwise to continue with such a conjecture.

  Others said: ‘They say it was the Cardinal de Soubise. He and Adelaide have become very friendly indeed.’

  ‘The Cardinal de Soubise! But that is very shocking.’

  ‘Yet not so shocking as . . .’

  Eyebrows were lifted; fingers were put to lips; that was something which might be thought, but which it would be more than one’s position – perhaps one’s life – was worth to put into words.

  So Adelaide returned to Court, a little less vivacious, a little cautious, not quite the hectoring princess who had amused them before.

  The King’s attitude appeared to have changed. It was clear that he no longer felt the same affection for her. Perhaps she herself was more unbalanced than she had been; perhaps she had ceased to be very young, and that outrageous behaviour which was amusing in a young person could become exhausting and wearying in an older one.

  Louis revived old nicknames for his daughters. Adelaide was ‘Loque’, Victoire ‘Coche’, Sophie ‘Graille’ and Louise-Marie ‘Chiffe’. When they were children these unflattering names had been given affectionately; now it seemed that the affection had been withdrawn and they expressed Louis’ growing contempt for his daughters.

  The attitude of the King could not fail to have its effect on the Court, and many were becoming not quite so respectful to Madame Adelaide as they had once been.

  The King made a habit of inviting her to play on various instruments for the amusement of himself and a few friends. Like her mother, Adelaide was no musician and, also like her mother, she believed she performed excellently.

  Adelaide would sit at the instruments, playing with vigour and producing a great deal of noise, while the King applauded with apparent enthusiasm; and the more inharmonious the sounds produced, the louder was the applause. The courtiers followed the example of the King and applauded with him, while Adelaide smiled complacently, refusing to believe that she was not a great musician.

  Louise-Marie implored her not to allow herself to appear so foolish, at which Adelaide tartly retorted that her sister should curb her jealousy. Whereupon Louise-Marie merely shrugged her shoulders and turned away.

  This was an example of how the King’s feelings had changed towards his eldest daughter; and Madame d’Estrades decided to make the most of the situation.

  Her lover, the scheming Comte d’Argenson, had not given up hope of driving Madame de Pompadour from Court, and his mistress shared his determination. Adelaide seemed a good tool to be made use of. Madame d’Estrades therefore began to feel her way in that direction. As Mistress of the Robes she had her opportunity.

  One day Adelaide declared her intention of wearing one of the most costly of her dresses – a rose-coloured satin gown embroidered with stars and trimmed with gold ornaments.

  The dress was not in her wardrobe.

  ‘Then where is it?’ Adelaide demanded petulantly.

  ‘You have forgotten, Madame,’ said the Comtesse d’Estrades, ‘you gave that dress to me.’

  ‘I . . . gave it to you! But I am sure I did not.’

  ‘Oh yes, Madame.’ The Comtesse looked sly. ‘It was at that time when you were planning to leave Versailles . . . for a spell. You may have forgotten. I have not. The skirt of that gown was a little tight . . . I think.’

  Adelaide’s eyes flashed in the old manner, but a cautious

  look crept into her face.

  ‘I see,’ she stammered. ‘I . . . had forgotten.’

  After that clothes began to disappear from her wardrobe, and although she hated the Comtesse d’Estrades, she was afraid to dismiss her.

  This state of affairs went on for some time, and Adelaide no longer appeared in the flamboyant dresses which had once delighted her. Madame de Pompadour noticed that her shoes were quite shabby and that she sometimes went without stockings.

  It was not difficult for the Marquise to find out what she wanted to know. She despised Madame d’Estrades and she did not forget what part she had played in the Choiseul-Beaupré affair. She would not wish to appear to take revenge on the woman for that, because she preferred to let the C
ourt think that the matter was of so little importance to her that she could afford to ignore it. However she now saw a way of ridding the Court of an undoubted enemy and at the same time turning another enemy into a friend.

  She asked Madame Adelaide to receive her. It was significant of the changing personality of the Princesse that she agreed to do so; and the Madame Adelaide whom the Marquise found waiting for her was a different person from the haughty, headstrong young woman of not so long ago.

  The Marquise behaved as though they had been lifelong friends instead of enemies; and Adelaide, who had been reduced to a state of nervous tension by the cruel Madame d’Estrades, felt almost affectionate towards the kindly Marquise.

  ‘Forgive my coming to you in this way,’ said Madame de Pompadour, ‘but I believe you are less happy than you used to be, and I would like to consult you about a certain evil woman in your service.’

  ‘Pray continue,’ said Adelaide eagerly.

  ‘I refer to Madame d’Estrades.’

  Adelaide clenched her hands and seemed to hover between an outburst of fury and a collapse into tears.

  ‘I believe her to be intriguing with her lover,’ went on the Marquise. ‘I do not think she is a woman to be trusted. But she is your Mistress of the Robes and I hesitate to use any influence to have her removed without your permission.’

  Adelaide sought to retain her dignity. ‘If this woman is guilty of intrigue, I should put nothing in the way of her removal.’

  ‘Then I have Your Highness’ permission to proceed with my inquiries and, if I find my suspicions to be well founded, to have her removed?’

  ‘You have my permission,’ said Adelaide; and her eyes were shining with joy at the prospect of being released from a position which was becoming more and more intolerable.

  A few weeks later Madame d’Estrades was ordered by the King to leave Versailles for Chaillot. Her dismissal from Court was brought about with great care; for it was not forgotten that she was the mistress of the powerful Comte d’Argenson and that she was privy to secrets of Madame Adelaide’s. Therefore she was given a large pension with her dismissal and she retired in some state.

  Adelaide, free of her, began to recover some of her old vigour; but she could not recapture the position she had once occupied. The beauty she had once possessed had left her during the strain of the last months; she still had the power to dominate her feeble-minded sisters but no one else. Poor Loque, Coche and Graille had become figures of fun at Court. As for Chiffe, intelligent as she was, she could only inspire pity for her deformity.

  The King’s family no longer afforded him much pleasure. He must look elsewhere for an escape from his ever-increasing ennui.

  Chapter IX

  THE REPENTANT MARQUISE

  The Marquise was suffering from a great deal of anxiety through aspirants to the role of maîtresse-en-titre.

  Madame du Hausset had played a large part in preventing one young woman from attaining that position. This was the wife of a very rich financier who had, at a ball at Versailles, to which those not of the highest nobility had been invited, succeeded in catching the King’s attention.

  The lady wrote to the King after this encounter and received a reply; fortunately for the Marquise this reply fell into the hands of the financier who, appalled at the thought of his wife’s becoming the mistress of any other man, even the King, was determined to put a stop to the affair.

  He took the letter to Madame du Hausset and asked her advice. Madame du Hausset immediately showed the letter to Madame de Pompadour.

  The Marquise was too wise to hurry to the King with the letter, for the case was too similar to that of Madame de Choiseul-Beaupré. She decided to bring this matter to a close without appearing to know anything about it.

  She summoned Monsieur Berryer, the Lieutenant-General of the Police, and asked him to submit the letter to Louis without telling the King whence he had received it.

  Berryer, eager to please the Marquise, did so, and Louis was shocked to learn that such a private letter had, so he thought, been allowed to pass from the hands of the one for whom it had been intended, and believed that the woman had been boasting of his interest in her.

  Women who were so indiscreet could never find favour with him; so that was the end of that aspirant.

  The Duchesse de Narbonne-Lara, a very beautiful and undemanding young lady of the Court, had pleased him; she asked for nothing in return for her submission but very quickly became pregnant. Louis had an aversion to pregnant women unless he was deeply in love with them; and the Duchesse left Versailles for Parma where she served Louis’ eldest daughter, Madame Première.

  Another woman – and this one gave the Marquise far more anxiety than any other – was the Marquise de Coislin.

  This was a woman of great ambition determined to receive the highest honours from the King and, knowing that she could not reach the height of her ambition while Madame de Pompadour had his confidence, her plan was to bring about the dismissal of the Marquise.

  The Marquise was thrown into a panic by this woman, who did not hesitate to flaunt her success before the whole Court, and to make sly allusions during card-playing of her intentions.

  But once again good luck came to the Marquise. Madame de Coislin was a vulgar woman, far too sure of herself. Her demands were outrageous and, after a few weeks of the King’s favour, she was winning special honours for her family and supporters.

  This meant that the Marquise was not the only member of the Court who viewed the rise to power of Madame de Coislin with alarm.

  Naturally comparisons were made between Madame de Pompadour and Madame de Coislin, and the courteous manners of the former were remarked upon. Her habit of regarding everyone as her friend until they showed themselves to be her enemy was applauded, and there were many at Court who began to say: ‘If it is a choice of two evils, let us choose the lesser, who is Madame de Pompadour.’

  All letters which passed through the post were submitted to censorship, and the King could read any that he wished. Thus one written by a member of the Parlement to a friend fell into his hands. In this letter the writer had discussed the new mistress at some length and compared her with Madame de Pompadour. He pointed out that no one expected the King to be without a mistress as most Frenchmen felt they had a right to indulge themselves in that way; but the King would be ill-advised to leave the one he already had – who was a kindly woman already rich – for one who was far from kindly and had her fortune to make. Such a woman, went on the writer, could in time rule the King and so would bring him once more into bitter conflict with his ministers.

  When Louis read this letter he was deeply impressed. He recalled the years of his affectionate relationship with Madame de Pompadour. The Comtesse de Coislin was attractive enough, but she was demanding; and he could not really like anyone who so blatantly showed herself to be the enemy of his dear friend the Marquise.

  Very shortly after that letter fell into his hands, Madame de Coislin was no longer to be seen at Versailles.

  But such alarms were very distressing to the Marquise. Her little plan for bringing working-girls to the King’s notice, while being moderately successful, was not entirely so. Perhaps it was because she had not given sufficient thought to this matter and had left it too much in the hands of Le Bel.

  Louis was insatiable. She must remember that. He could tackle his little grisettes in the trébuchet and any Court lady who might win his favour.

  She must give the matter the attention it demanded.

  La Petite Morphise had at last lost her hold on the King’s attentions and Louis had found a husband for her in the Sieur Beaufranchet. Little Louise O’Murphy had come a long way from her mother’s old-clothes shop, and there were many girls in hungry Paris who remembered her childhood there and the destiny which would have been hers had she not been so fortunate as to win the King’s affection.

  There were mothers who said to themselves, what happened to young Louise O’Mu
rphy could happen to my Jeanne, my Marie, my Louise.

  Le trébuchet in the attics of Versailles was no longer a secret place. The snared birds were apt to sing rather noisily, and it could not be expected that such young songsters would remain subdued. Madame Adelaide’s apartments were near those of the King. Often the high spirits of the girls brought them to her notice.

  It was well known in the Palace that the trébuchet existed, but the etiquette of Versailles demanded that its existence be ignored. Yet it was not easy to ignore something which forced itself upon the attention.

  The Marquise called Le Bel to her one day to discuss this matter.

  ‘There is too much noise coming from those apartments under the roof,’ she told him.

  Le Bel spread his hands helplessly. ‘Madame, it is impossible to preserve silence in them.’

  ‘I know. That is why I think it would be a good plan to empty them.’

  Le Bel looked startled. ‘It is the wish of His Majesty . . .’ he began.

  ‘We have not yet discussed it,’ said the Marquise. ‘But I am sure the King will see the desirability of transferring the inhabitants of those apartments to another place. You might consider this.’

  ‘Yes, Madame,’ said Le Bel; and he retired thoughtfully.

  In a very short time Le Bel had found exactly what he was looking for. He brought to the King’s attention a little house in the Parc aux Cerfs district of Versailles, near enough to the Palace to be reached without fuss, in a secluded spot hidden from idle sightseers.

  The house had only one storey and was divided into a few separate apartments, each complete in themselves.

  Le Bel gave himself to the task with relish. He could see that providing the King with a private brothel was an excellent idea, and that many an embarrassing moment which he had suffered when conducting giggling working-girls up and down the private staircase at Versailles would now be avoided.