Louis the Well-Beloved (39 page)

The presentation was over. Jeanne-Antoinette, Marquise de Pompadour, was free to come to Court.

The carriage drew up outside the Hôtel de Gesvres, and Jeanne-Antoinette alighted and hurried into the house.

‘Maman,’
she called.
‘Maman
, where are you?’

Madame Poisson rose hastily from her bed.

She called to the servants: ‘Bring the Marquise to me.’

The Marquise! Now she always referred to her daughter thus, enjoying a thrill of delight every time she did so.

Now she is there, she would tell herself many times a day, nothing else matters. I am content to go.

As Jeanne-Antoinette ran into the room, her mother thought: The loveliest creature I ever set eyes on! And she is mine . . . my own little girl. My own little Marquise.

‘Well, little love?’ she cried, embracing her daughter. ‘Tell me all about it.’

‘Were you resting,
Maman?’

‘Oh . . . just a little nap, you know. I’m not so young as Madame la Marquise.’

Jeanne-Antoinette laughed. ‘The first part was easy,’ she said. ‘One has to walk carefully though. One step out of place, and that would be a scandal.’

‘Show me how you do it, little love,’ said Madame Poisson. Jeanne began walking across the room. Her mother put her hand to her side. She could not tell her now. Her dear affectionate little Marquise . . . it would break her heart.

‘What is it,
Maman
?’

‘Nothing . . . I’m watching. So that’s how you did it, is it? And what did His Majesty say?’

‘Oh, he was kind enough. But the Queen . . .’

Madame Poisson was struggling to appear attentive, but the pain, which had been growing worse during the last weeks, would intrude.

I shall have to tell her sometime, she thought. But not now ... Not on a day such as this.

As the months passed Jeanne-Antoinette gave herself up to the life in which she knew she must excel because it was her destiny to do so. That did not mean that she did not make every effort to fulfil her task to perfection. She had loved the King before she saw him, and to know him meant the strengthening of that love. His charm was irresistible; his gentle courtesy never failed to enchant her, but his continued sensuality, after the first weeks, was a little alarming. She would not confess to any – not even herself – that she found the tempo exhausting and that it had begun to make her uneasy.

She had determined that there should always be complete harmony between them. She would never speak harshly as had Madame de Vintimille, never domineer as had Madame de Châteauroux, and never bore him as had Madame de Mailly.

She had discovered something of the man beneath that shell of courtesy and charm. The fatalistic streak in the King had made itself apparent. He believed that what was to be would be; he could do nothing about it. She had discovered too, in spite of that air of almost sacred royalty, that he had little belief in himself as a ruler. His confidence was tragically lacking, and for these reasons he was not the man to bestir himself to avoid any calamity. Thus it was that he was ever ready to give way to his ministers. Such traits were not those which went to the making of a great ruler.

But Madame de Pompadour would never try to change his nature as her predecessors had done. She gave herself to the great task of pleasing him, and providing continual entertainment so that the bogy of melancholy and boredom might be kept at bay. Only thus, she believed, could she keep her place. She must make every possible effort to become his friend, the companion who could always offer him diversion; and, when he asked for it, advice. She wished to make herself an amalgam of all the women whom he had loved. She must be mistress, wife, mother, companion, serious and lighthearted; she must learn to fulfil the need of the moment.

Because she felt herself to have been chosen from her birth to fill this role, she had no doubt that providing she gave herself completely to it, she could succeed. There was only one of many duties in which she feared she might fail. Oddly enough this was in her role as mistress.

Louis had perhaps been slow in reaching manhood; but he was now near the climax of full vigour. Jeanne-Antoinette began to wonder how, after succumbing to those onslaughts of passion, she would be able to rise from her bed full of energy to plan entertainments for the King, when her inclination was to rest for half the next day.

She had an uneasy feeling within her that Louis could not be satisfied with one woman. And then? . . .

But she would wait and face that problem when it was nearer. In the meantime she must consolidate her position at Versailles; she must make herself indispensable to the King.

She was now taking charge of those parties in the
petits appartements
. Instead of allowing the Comédie Française to bring its shows to Versailles, she organised theatrical entertainments in which members of the Court took part, thus giving an added pleasure not only to those who performed but also to those who watched. She herself always took a prominent part, so that she might display to the King this further talent of hers.

There was no doubt that Louis was becoming more and more enamoured of the Marquise de Pompadour.

On one occasion when she played the chief part in a play and was taking the curtain call at the end, Louis went onto the stage and there, before the audience, kissed her tenderly.

The Court began to say that Madame la Marquise was firmly established; that never yet had Louis been so enamoured of any woman as he was of La Pompadour.

It would not have been in the nature of Jeanne-Antoinette to forget her family, and she was determined that they should all profit from her good fortune.

She wished there was something she could do for Charles-Guillaume, but she knew there was nothing short of returning to him, and that of course was out of the question. But there were the others.

They might sneer at her at Court and call her ‘Miss Fish’. Let them! They could only do it secretly. Louis was ready to show acute displeasure to any who did not treat her with the utmost respect. She was eager not to make enemies.

She said to the King one day: ‘But for Monsieur de Tourneheim we should never have met. I should probably have starved to death if he had not given my mother help when she needed it.’

‘Do not even speak of such a calamity,’ murmured the King.

‘I would like to show him my gratitude.’

‘Show him
our
gratitude,’ was the answer.

‘He has said that he would like to be the Director of Public Works. I wonder if . . .’

‘From this moment he
is
the Director of Public Works.’

‘I do not know how to thank you for all you have done for me.’

‘It is I, my dear, who owe thanks to you.’

It was as simple as that.

‘My father should have an estate in the country.’

‘And so he shall.’

‘As for my brother . . . if he came to Court, opportunities would occur for him.’

So it was arranged; a country estate for François Poisson, the Directorate of Public Works for Monsieur de Tourneheim, a place at Court for Abel.

Her two children should have their share of glory when the time came. In the meantime they were being well looked after by Madame Poisson. Perhaps they should be put into the hands of someone who could teach them the ways of the nobility to which before long they should be elevated. But not yet, thought Jeanne-Antoinette. They should not be taken from their grandmother yet, although she of course would see, as clearly as her daughter, that one day they must be.

And Madame Poisson, who had for so long shared her daughter’s dreams and, as no other, shared her triumph, what should she be given?

The Marquise smiled tenderly. She already had her reward, for every triumph which came to her daughter was
hers
. She asked nothing more than to see her firm in the place which, for so many years, they had believed she was destined to occupy.

Jeanne-Antoinette called at the Hôtel de Gesvres. This was going to be one of the happiest events of the last months. She was going to tell them of the good fortune which was about to spread before them.

But when she arrived at the house she was surprised that there was none of the family to greet her. She was immediately aware of the unusual quiet.

‘Tell Madame Poisson that I am here,’ she commanded the servant.

She noticed that the servant – who usually seemed overcome by embarrassment when she appeared, as though she were a stranger and not Mademoiselle Jeanne-Antoinette who had once been a member of the household – no longer seemed aware of the importance of the Marquise.

François Poisson appeared. He looked at his daughter in dismay, and said gruffly: ‘We had not thought you would come today.’

‘What has happened? What are you trying to keep from me?’

‘It was her wish. “Don’t tell the Marquise”, she said.’ He laughed without mirth. ‘It was always “the Marquise this” and “the Marquise that”. I said to her “She’s only our Jeanne-Antoinette, and she ought to know the truth – she will have to one day.”’

‘The truth!’

‘Ah, she puts on a very fine show when you come here, does she not? She pays for it after. I don’t know how she managed to keep it from you. The pain . . . it is getting too much for her.’

Jeanne-Antoinette could listen to no more; she dashed past François, and was in her mother’s bedroom.

Madame Poisson was lying in bed; her face was a dull yellow colour, her hair lustreless.

‘Maman . . . Maman
. . .’ cried Jeanne-Antoinette. ‘What is this? . . . What
is
this? . . .’

‘There there,’ murmured Madame Poisson, stroking her daughter’s hair. ‘Don’t grieve, my lovely. It had to be. You should have let me know you were coming. I would have been up to greet you.’

Jeanne-Antoinette lifted her head and her mother saw the tears running down her cheeks.

‘Don’t . . . don’t . . . my little beauty. Must not spoil your lovely face with tears for your old mother. Nothing to be sad about. I am not, dear one. I am happy . . . so proud. Dearest little Marquise . . .’ She chuckled. ‘We did it, did we not! You are there . . . just as we always said you would be.’