Louis the Well-Beloved (47 page)

It was said that she owed a great deal to her cosmetics, and without them could not at times hide the fact that she was weary and not in the best of health.

She had a cough which only her enormous will-power suppressed on important occasions. And she was tired.

Could a tired woman keep up with the constant demands of the King? She must plan his entertainments, hunt, play cards, act, sing, dance far into the night. This she did with a grace and charm which could not be rivalled.

But how did she fare later during those nights when it was even more important that she please the King?

The Court was alert.

Was Louis changing? was the eternal question. For how long would the faithful attitude continue? He would not of his own accord turn her out; he was too easy-going, too anxious to avoid embarrassment.

But a new mistress might do what Louis shrank from doing. They had seen what had happened in the case of Madame de Mailly.

How long then would Madame de Pompadour continue to hold her position at Court?

There were two men who were eager for her dismissal: Richelieu and Maurepas.

Richelieu, as First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, considered himself the King’s counsellor in the choice of mistresses, and he had not chosen Madame de Pompadour. From the first moment, when she had seen the King in the Forest of Sénart, she had worked entirely without help. He wanted to replace her by a mistress of his own choosing.

Maurepas had made no attempt to ingratiate himself with her. He had continued to amuse with his satires and epigrams concerning the most interesting topics at Court, and naturally the King’s mistress must be one of these. He had taken a mischievous delight in discovering the truth about her origins, and had attacked her on this. At least he had done so with a certain amount of anonymity, but the spate of songs and verses which were quoted in the streets were in his style, and few were in any doubt as to where they originated.

He made great play on her name of Poisson, and consequently she was known throughout Paris as The Fish or Miss Fish.

The songs and satires were called
poissonades
and eagerly the Parisians waited for the next to appear; the songs could be heard in the cafés and markets; moreover they were instrumental in working up public hatred against the mistress, for even now the people were disinclined to blame the King for their misfortunes, and Mademoiselle Poisson made a useful scapegoat.

Through the verses of Maurepas the people knew exactly how much was being spent on the various building projects. It was said that Bellevue had already cost six million livres although it was by no means finished, and that fortunes were spent on the entertainments of a few days. One dress, worn by the Pompadour for one occasion, it was pointed out, would keep a French family in luxury for a year.

The Marquise was aware that Maurepas was doing her a great deal of harm, and she knew that she should bring about his dismissal. She would not presume to ask the King for this, particularly as she knew that Louis had a certain fondness for this minister who had been of the Court for so long and had the power to make him laugh. Louis would always forgive people who made him laugh a good deal.

Still she would not ask Louis to dismiss him, and meanwhile the damaging
poissonades
were being circulated throughout Paris.

Richelieu planned to bring about two desirable objectives at one stroke.

He wished to see Maurepas dismissed because the minister had too much influence with the King. He believed that if he could sufficiently alarm the Marquise that she asked Louis for the minister’s dismissal, she might bring about her own at the same time.

It was a scheme which appealed wholeheartedly to the mischievous Richelieu, and he began by asking for a private audience with the Marquise.

This she granted; she was always gracious to ministers, following her policy of making as few enemies as possible.

Richelieu bowed low and kissed her hand.

‘Madame la Marquise,’ he began, ‘it is so good of you to grant me this private audience! I will not delay by telling you that you are the most beautiful woman in France, for that you already know. I will not waste time by telling you that you are the most admired and envied . . .’

‘No,’ she interrupted with a smile, ‘pray do not. Tell me your business instead.’

‘Madame,’ Richelieu took a step nearer and looked full into her face. ‘I am disconcerted to see that you are not looking as full of health as could be wished.’

Her expression hardened a little. Was he right? Did he see a look of fear? She was mistress of herself immediately. He admired her very much. There was not a lady in Versailles who had more graces and poise than the Marquise de Pompadour.

‘I feel well,’ she said, ‘very well.’

‘How relieved I am, although I have come here to ask you to take the utmost care.’

‘I do take care of my health, Monsieur le Duc. But it is so good of you to be so considerate on my account.’

He took a step even nearer. ‘Madame la Marquise, you have your enemies in this Court. It would be impossible not to. You . . . so charming, so courted, so loved . . . so powerful.’

‘I think, Monsieur le Duc, that I can take note of my enemies as I do of my health – and with the same assiduous care.’

‘But I would tell you of my suspicions. Madame, has it occurred to you that your health may have been impaired by your enemies?’

‘I do not understand you.’

‘You are too trusting, Madame. What if your enemies should seek not only to poison the public mind against you, but to poison
you
?’

She put her hand to her throat in sudden forgetfulness of her dignity.

‘Poison . . . me!’

‘You are young. You have everything you desire. But you are suddenly ill. There could be an explanation. Do you think that one who can say such venomous things about you would hesitate to harm you in other ways?’

She laughed lightly. ‘I think you are mistaken,’ she said.

‘I trust I am,’ said the Duc. ‘I trust I am.’

And when he left he knew that he had frightened her. He believed that now she would take steps to have Maurepas sent away – and the King liked Maurepas.

It would be a test. It would be possible to see how deep was the King’s regard for this woman. If he would be prepared to dismiss Maurepas on her account, it would be certain that he was determined to be as faithful to the Marquise now as when he had first made her his mistress.

Richelieu waited impatiently to learn the results of his little manoeuvre.

Maurepas poisoning her!

It was a ridiculous suggestion. She knew that her fits of exhaustion were not due to poison.

Richelieu was a fool if he thought she did not see through his schemes. He wanted her to take that ridiculous tale to the King. It was just the kind of story which would irritate Louis.

An accusation such as that would have to be considered, and an unpleasant scene would ensue. Maurepas would prove his innocence and she would be blamed.

She was not such a fool as Richelieu thought her.

But it was true that the odious man was poisoning the minds of the people against her. Every one of her actions was spied on, exaggerated and reported to the people. Greatly she wished that she could bring about his dismissal.

She broached the subject of the lampoons to Louis one night when he came to her bedchamber.

‘They are growing more scurrilous,’ she said.

The King nodded.

‘There is no doubt that Maurepas is the author of most of them. He has his imitators, but somehow he always sets his mark on what he writes.’

‘The others are poor imitations,’ said the King.

‘They are not doing us much good with the people,’ she suggested tentatively.

‘Oh, there have always been these rhymes,’ said the King lightly. ‘I myself do not escape them, for everything they say about you reflects on me.’ He was impatient to end all conversation, and she, ever watchful that he should not suffer the slightest tedium, ceased to speak of the matter.

Richelieu conveyed to Maurepas his belief that the Marquise was trying to have him sent from Court if he did not refrain from circulating his wicked rhymes through Paris.

The result of this was exactly what Richelieu had expected.

That very night there was an intimate supper party in the
petits appartements
. The Marquise sat on the right hand of the King, and both Maurepas and Richelieu were of the party.

As the Marquise took her place she noticed a paper protruding from her table napkin, and glancing hurriedly at it saw that it was a verse of a particularly offensive nature, suggesting that she suffered from leucorrhea.

With great presence of mind she hid the paper, and the King did not even notice that it had been there.

She was conscious of Maurepas’ disappointment. He had hoped that she would read the verse, and accuse him of having written it. He would then have used his wit to anger her to such an extent that the King would surely be annoyed at the scene which would inevitably ensue, and for which – Maurepas could trust his own wit and ingenuity to accomplish this – he would blame the Marquise.

She however did nothing of the sort.

Maurepas had to watch her with grudging admiration. So did Richelieu, who had seen her pick up the paper and guessed its nature from the way she so quickly disposed of it.

Mischievously Richelieu looked from France’s wittiest minister to one who might well be France’s cleverest woman.

One of them would have to go sooner or later, he was sure.

He found great pleasure in watching this duel, for he would be delighted to see the dismissal of either, if he could not hope for both.