The Road to Compiegne (25 page)

The Dauphin seemed to forget these differences. He behaved with dignity as the temporary King of France, at the same time showing his reluctance for a role which could only be his on the death of his father.

He asked the King’s advice on all matters, considered it gravely and behaved with such modesty that the ministers began to believe that the Dauphin would one day be the King France needed.

The people were fond of him. He had a reputation for piety, and they forgave him his one mistress, Madame Dadonville, to whom he was still faithful. The Dauphine was not an attractive woman, although it was generally conceded that with her piety, which matched that of the Dauphin, and her modest demeanour she would make a very good Queen of France one day.

But for all his virtues there were many who felt uneasy at the thought of his taking the crown. Intelligent he might be, pious he certainly was; but many feared that he would make a bigoted ruler; and if he came to power the Jesuits would come with him and would do their best to rule the state. The
Parlements
would therefore suffer a decline and the Place de Grève might be stained with the blood of martyrs.

A country where the philosophers were allowed to raise their voices was a healthier place than one which was in the rigid grip of the bigots. An indolent pleasure-loving King might be less of a menace than a stern one who was determined to let the bigots rule.

The Dauphin showed what could be expected from him when, fearing that the trial of Damiens might disclose evidence against the Jesuits, he ordered that it should not be an open one; moreover it was not to be conducted by the
Parlement
but by a secret commission.

Such a decision, while planned to protect the Jesuits, actually did them a great disservice, for the people, believing that the Dauphin wished to protect that community to which he had always given his support, were now convinced that the Jesuits were behind the plot to assassinate the King, and that Damiens was their tool.

They had been sullen when the King rode through their capital; there had been no shouts of ‘
Vive le Roi’;
but now that he was recovering from an attack which might have ended his life, a little of that lost affection returned.

The hungry people, ever ready to be inflamed, seeking excitement which would give them temporary relief from the boredom and squalor of their lives, were eager to riot. They looked for scapegoats, and now angry voices were heard in the capital shouting: ‘Down with the Jesuits!’

News spread rapidly through the city that the mob was on the march, its objective being the Jesuit College of Louis le Grand.

Terrified parents, whose sons were being educated there, rushed to the College to rescue their children. Two hundred boys were taken from the establishment, while crowds gathered about the convent, hurling insults at the Jesuits.

The Paris of that time was not yet inflamed by agitators to that pitch when it would pillage and murder, but its mood was ugly and the parents of the boys declared that their sons should not return to the College. This was a great blow for Louis le Grand, one of the wealthiest of the Jesuit institutions.

The Marquise was growing frantic. The days were passing and the King did not send for her; therefore she had no means of gaining access to his presence.

Her friends tried to console her. Quesnay was a constant visitor; so was the Abbé de Bernis, the Duc de Gontaut, the Prince de Soubise and the Duchesse de Mirepoix.

‘Depend upon it,’ said Madame de Mirepoix, ‘he is at the moment in the hands of the Dauphin and his party. As soon as he escapes he will send for you.’

‘I thought so,’ said the Marquise, ‘but I must confess to you, my dear friend, that as the days pass, I grow more and more anxious.’

‘Then you must not be anxious. Anxiety is bad for you. You have kept your position all these years by your good sense; I do not think you have lost any of that excellent quality. In fact I should say that you have improved it.’

Madame de Mirepoix was a gay companion, and the Marquise, who had long looked on her as a friend, referred to her affectionately as her
petit chat
.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have my good friends about me. It is only at such times as these that we are able to recognise them. What should I do without you,
petit chat
, and my dear Bernis, Quesnay and the rest. But the loyalty of such people calls alarming attention to my false friends.’

‘Dear Madame, you refer to?’

‘Neither d’Argenson nor Machault have called on me since the King was attacked. That is significant.’

‘Madame, d’Argenson was never your friend.’

‘That is true. I do not forget the part he played in the Choiseul-Beaupré affair. Perhaps one should not expect to see him here at such a time. But Machault! I thought he was my friend. Have I not constantly helped him to maintain his place! What does it mean? Why does he avoid me now?’

‘It could mean this, Madame: he has thrown in his lot with your enemies. It may be that he believes the King may not live long, and wishes to ingratiate himself with the Dauphin.’

‘This is what it undoubtedly means. What a friend he has proved himself to be!’

‘Madame, I implore you, be of good cheer. The King will recover and, when he is completely well, the first person he will need will be his dear Marquise.’

At length Machault did call on the Marquise.

He had come to a decision. He had not dared discuss her with the King, and he felt uneasy while she remained at Versailles.

If she should regain her favour, his days were numbered; he was fully aware of that. He had come out too far into the open and shown himself her enemy, because he had believed during those first hours after the attack that the King was dying and that the Dauphin would be King in less than a week. Over-eager to show his willingness to serve the Dauphin, he had betrayed his attitude towards Madame de Pompadour.

He had acted a little too quickly; but he did not give up hope. If Madame de Pompadour could be induced to leave Court it might well be that the King would be resigned to her departure. Louis was a man of habit. Many believed that he visited the Marquise because she happened to be there. If she were not, he might soon forget her and spend his time with other friends.

At Metz, when the King was thought to be dying, the enemies of Madame de Châteauroux had arranged for her dismissal. Now was the time for similar bold action in the case of Madame de Pompadour.

Thus the Marquise, while receiving the comfort of her good friends, heard that Machault was on his way to visit her. She asked her friends to leave her alone, and braced herself to receive him.

‘Well, Monsieur de Machault,’ she said when he stood before her, ‘it is long since I have seen you.’

‘Madame,’ answered the Keeper of the King’s Seals, ‘it is with great sorrow that I come on my present mission.’

‘What is this mission?’

‘I have to ask you to leave Versailles.’

‘
You
have to ask me!’

‘I act on the instructions of the King,’ lied Machault.

The Marquise was so moved that she feared she would betray her feelings before this man whom she now knew to be her enemy. She bowed her head and said nothing.

‘Believe me, Madame,’ went on Machault, ‘I act with great reluctance. You will remember what happened to Madame de Châteauroux at Metz. The King desires to change his mode of life and you, alas, are so much a part of that life on which he now wishes to turn his back.’

‘What is expected of me?’ she asked, and she was horrified to hear the tremor in her voice.

‘Madame, only that you leave Versailles without delay. Take my advice, go as far from Versailles as possible. You would be wiser to do this.’

The Marquise did not answer. She stood still, not seeing the Keeper of the Seals; she was remembering her meeting with the King in the Forest of Sénart, those early days of their association, and the fortune-teller at the fair who, when she was nine years old, had told her she was a
morçeau du roi
and had from that time determined her destiny.

All that, to lead to such a moment as this! Now that she was no longer young, now that she was weak and ill, to be turned away from the only life which could ever have meaning for her!

Machault was bowing over her hand and taking his leave.

‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘
My friend!
’

Madame du Hausset came hurrying to her.

‘Madame, dearest Marquise, what has happened? What has that man done?’

‘He has given me my
congé
, Hausset. That is all. It is over. I am no longer the friend of the King.’

‘It is impossible, Madame.’

‘No, Hausset. He brought me word from the King. I think you should begin to pack at once. We are leaving Versailles.’

‘For where?’

‘We will go to Paris.’

‘Paris! Madame, you know the temper of the people of Paris. They hate you.’

‘Perhaps when I have lost the love of the King, I shall lose the hate of the people of Paris.’

‘Oh, Madame . . . Madame . . . let me help you to your bed. You need rest. You will begin to cough again . . . and then . . .’

‘And then . . . and then . . .’ said the Marquise sadly. ‘What matters it, Hausset? How many weeks are left to me, do you think?’

‘Many weeks, many years, if we take care, Madame.’

‘I have some good friends, Hausset. Perhaps the weeks ahead will try even them.’

‘There is someone at the door, Madame.’

‘Go and see who it is.’

Madame du Hausset returned with Madame de Mirepoix.

‘What does this mean?’ asked the visitor.

‘Sit down beside me,
petit chat
,’ said the Marquise. ‘I am leaving Versailles.’

‘Why?’ demanded Madame de Mirepoix.

‘Because, my dear, I have been ordered to go.’

‘The King? . . .’

Madame de Pompadour nodded.

‘You have had your
lettre de cachet
?’

‘It amounts to the same thing. Machault called on me an hour ago and told me that it is the King’s wish that I leave at once.’

‘Machault! That fox!’

‘He is the Keeper of the Seals.’

‘Thank Heaven he is the keeper of his own conscience. Tell me, have you had anything in writing from the King?’

‘Nothing.’

Madame de Mirepoix laughed loudly and ironically. ‘Depend upon it, this is a little plot of Monsieur de Machault’s. Louis knows nothing of it. Would he dismiss you thus . . . without a word?’

‘You know Louis. He would go to great lengths to avoid unpleasantness.’

‘Before this happened to him, was he not as affectionate towards you as ever?’

‘He was.’

‘At first they frightened him with their talk of repentance. That meant he could not see you. Now he is getting better. You may be sure that in a few days he will be asking for you. Remember Madame de Châteauroux.’

‘Who was dismissed!’

‘And who came back. Very soon it was the enemies of Madame de Châteauroux who were feeling uneasy.’

Madame du Hausset came to announce that Dr Quesnay had called on the Marquise.