his letter to Madame de Pompadour.
The Marquise said slowly: ‘I recall the Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupré – an extremely handsome creature, but clearly frivolous and not to be trusted.’
‘As usual you are right,’ said the King. He put the letter into a drawer. She knew that he would choose an opportunity to destroy it.
‘I trust,’ said the Marquise gently, ‘that you will not be too angry with the Comtesse. She is young and foolish.’
‘My dear, I fear I have been made to appear the foolish one.’
‘If that were possible it would be . . . quite unpardonable.
You know, my dear Sire, that you may trust my discretion in all things.’
‘I do, I do!’ cried Louis. ‘There are times when I believe you are the only person in the Court of whom I could say that.’
He went to a desk and began to write. She looked over his shoulder as he did so.
It was an order to Madame de Choiseul-Beaupré instructing her to leave Fontainebleau before the next morning.
He would not see her again.
The Marquise smiled serenely. But she was fully aware that she had emerged from a very dangerous situation. Oddly enough she had that strange Comte de Stainville to thank for it. She would not forget what he had done. He was a brilliant man, and she would see that he received his dues. Moreover it was comforting to know that she had, as a friend, one who might prove to be a brilliant statesman.
She did spare a little pity for Madame de Choiseul-Beaupré; but not very much. The silly little creature would never have been able to hold her position at Versailles. Little idiot! Did she not realise all the anxiety and exhaustion which went into maintaining the role of King’s mistress?
She was more sorry for her when she heard that she was already pregnant. The Comtesse was not allowed to see the King again; her glory had been very brief, as her life was to be. She died nine months later in childbirth.
The King felt he must make amends for the pain he had caused his dear friend by the affair of the Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupré. Recently the Dauphin had required the Marquise to stand for two hours at a reception. Louis made up his mind that Madame de Pompadour should never again suffer such discomfort and indignity.
To the delight of her friends and the consternation of her enemies, Louis declared his intention of bestowing on Madame de Pompadour the tabouret .
Now she had the right to sit at the Grand Couvert and any Court ceremony; she was to have the privileges of a Duchesse and to be known as the Dame, Duchesse, Marquise de Pompadour. Never before had such an honour been accorded to one who was not of the nobility.
The delighted Marquise immediately ordered that her ducal coronet should be displayed on all possible occasions.
D’Argenson and his mistress, Madame d’Estrades, were apprehensive, and terrified lest the part they had played in the affaire Choiseul-Beaupré should be discovered by the Marquise.
No one however was more furious than the Dauphin, who had the temerity to reproach his father.
‘Never, never,’ he cried passionately, ‘has such a low-born person been so elevated.’
‘That may be the reason,’ retorted the King coldly, ‘why we have so many dullards at Court.’
‘I shall refuse to speak to the woman – Duchesse though she may be.’
The King shook his head sadly. ‘You should pray,’ he told his son, ‘that I may live for a long time. You have so much to learn before you could be King of France.’
With that he dismissed his son, but the coldness continued between them. It had never been so marked, and everyone at Court was aware that the rift had been widened; they wondered whether it would ever be bridged while Madame de Pompadour remained at Court.
The Marquise herself was enjoying a new vitality. She had come through a battle with great honours; yet she did not forget that, had her enemies been more subtle, she might so easily have lost it.
She believed now that she could
The Marquise said slowly: ‘I recall the Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupré – an extremely handsome creature, but clearly frivolous and not to be trusted.’
‘As usual you are right,’ said the King. He put the letter into a drawer. She knew that he would choose an opportunity to destroy it.
‘I trust,’ said the Marquise gently, ‘that you will not be too angry with the Comtesse. She is young and foolish.’
‘My dear, I fear I have been made to appear the foolish one.’
‘If that were possible it would be . . . quite unpardonable.
You know, my dear Sire, that you may trust my discretion in all things.’
‘I do, I do!’ cried Louis. ‘There are times when I believe you are the only person in the Court of whom I could say that.’
He went to a desk and began to write. She looked over his shoulder as he did so.
It was an order to Madame de Choiseul-Beaupré instructing her to leave Fontainebleau before the next morning.
He would not see her again.
The Marquise smiled serenely. But she was fully aware that she had emerged from a very dangerous situation. Oddly enough she had that strange Comte de Stainville to thank for it. She would not forget what he had done. He was a brilliant man, and she would see that he received his dues. Moreover it was comforting to know that she had, as a friend, one who might prove to be a brilliant statesman.
She did spare a little pity for Madame de Choiseul-Beaupré; but not very much. The silly little creature would never have been able to hold her position at Versailles. Little idiot! Did she not realise all the anxiety and exhaustion which went into maintaining the role of King’s mistress?
She was more sorry for her when she heard that she was already pregnant. The Comtesse was not allowed to see the King again; her glory had been very brief, as her life was to be. She died nine months later in childbirth.
The King felt he must make amends for the pain he had caused his dear friend by the affair of the Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupré. Recently the Dauphin had required the Marquise to stand for two hours at a reception. Louis made up his mind that Madame de Pompadour should never again suffer such discomfort and indignity.
To the delight of her friends and the consternation of her enemies, Louis declared his intention of bestowing on Madame de Pompadour the tabouret .
Now she had the right to sit at the Grand Couvert and any Court ceremony; she was to have the privileges of a Duchesse and to be known as the Dame, Duchesse, Marquise de Pompadour. Never before had such an honour been accorded to one who was not of the nobility.
The delighted Marquise immediately ordered that her ducal coronet should be displayed on all possible occasions.
D’Argenson and his mistress, Madame d’Estrades, were apprehensive, and terrified lest the part they had played in the affaire Choiseul-Beaupré should be discovered by the Marquise.
No one however was more furious than the Dauphin, who had the temerity to reproach his father.
‘Never, never,’ he cried passionately, ‘has such a low-born person been so elevated.’
‘That may be the reason,’ retorted the King coldly, ‘why we have so many dullards at Court.’
‘I shall refuse to speak to the woman – Duchesse though she may be.’
The King shook his head sadly. ‘You should pray,’ he told his son, ‘that I may live for a long time. You have so much to learn before you could be King of France.’
With that he dismissed his son, but the coldness continued between them. It had never been so marked, and everyone at Court was aware that the rift had been widened; they wondered whether it would ever be bridged while Madame de Pompadour remained at Court.
The Marquise herself was enjoying a new vitality. She had come through a battle with great honours; yet she did not forget that, had her enemies been more subtle, she might so easily have lost it.
She believed now that she could
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