by Jean Plaidy
‘And we will go much farther . . . both of us, my dearest . . . you and I. Our dear friend will not live for ever. She cannot live for ever.’
‘And then?’
‘And then, and then . . .’ murmured Choiseul, ‘it may be that the King will not have to look for his goddesses so far from his Court, eh?’
‘But time is passing, Etienne.’
‘Time! What is time to us? We are immortal. I see no reason why you should not occupy the first place in the land. Others besides our dear friend cannot live for ever. I remember Madame de Maintenon.’
‘Etienne!’
Choiseul laid his hand lightly on his sister’s lips.
‘Silence, sweet one, for the moment. We can wait. We have learned to wait. Let us wait a little longer . . . only a little longer.’
‘Ambitious dreams, Etienne,’ she said.
‘Great honours, my sister, invariably begin as ambitious dreams.’
‘The two of us together, brother! Is there any limit to the heights we can climb?’
‘Only the summit is our limit, sister. Wait and see. The future is rosy for the Duc de Choiseul, and all the glory that shall ever be his he swears he will share with her whom he loves; beyond all others.’
There were occasions when it was necessary, greatly to the King’s regret, for him to visit Paris.
The people had now forgotten his brief return to favour when they thought him to be dying from the knife-thrust of Damiens. They did not call abuse at him as he rode their streets; they merely gave him sullen looks and silence. Indeed, such was his dignity that it was almost impossible to abuse him in his presence.
He sat in his carriage, erect, seemingly indifferent to the mood of his people.
Crowds gathered to see him pass, as they had ever done, and it was only when the carriage had rumbled on that the murmuring would break out.
As his carriage passed by the gardens of the Tuileries his eye was suddenly caught by a fair-haired child with her father, who was clearly an old soldier.
The girl was richly though by no means elegantly dressed, and her father was bending down to her. Louis could imagine the words he was saying to her. ‘See, there he is. There is the King.’
The girl’s beautiful blue eyes were wide with excitement. She pointed to the carriage. Louis leaned a little forward and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of her gesture.
He saw the glowing smile on her face.
A charming child, he thought. To see her has made the journey worthwhile.
She must be very young. He guessed she would be something under fourteen. Girls of that age seemed to him particularly delightful. They had a certain innocence which was lost later.
He wondered who she was, and thought how pleasant it would be to take her hands, embrace her and tell her that it made her King very happy to think that he had a subject such as she was.
On his return to Versailles, he sent for Le Bel.
‘I saw a charming child in the Tuileries gardens today,’ he said.
‘And Your Majesty wishes to make her acquaintance?’
‘She was such a pretty creature, but odiously dressed. Her gown was pink and she wore jewellery, obviously false. I should like to see a child as pretty as that well dressed. She pointed at the carriage. I should like to have such a pretty child taught how to behave.’
‘If your Majesty will tell me her name . . .’
‘I do not know her name. I but saw her as I passed the Tuileries.’
‘Sire, it will not be easy to find her if we do not know her name nor where she lives. There are many young girls who go to the Tuileries gardens.’
‘You give up too easily,’ said the King.
Le Bel sweated with apprehension. ‘Sire, I will search every street in Paris. If that child is to be found, I shall find her.’
‘In the meantime send for Sartines. We will ask his help.’
Le Bel was displeased. He knew that Sartines had discovered Mademoiselle de Romans, but he was annoyed that the Lieutenant of Police should take on duties which previously he had considered his own – to be shared of course with the othet valets de chambre.
When Sartines arrived, clearly delighted to be called on the King’s mission, Louis kept Le Bel with him while he explained what he expected from these two.
‘Monsieur Sartines,’ he said, ‘you are a Lieutenant of Police. You should be able to bring me a young girl whom I saw today in the gardens of the Tuileries.’
‘She shall be brought to you immediately, Sire,’ said Sartines.
‘When you find her,’ added the King, while Le Bel smiled sardonically.
‘Le Bel, I suspect, despairs of finding her,’ said the King.
Sartines smiled. ‘We of the police have our methods.’
‘As I thought,’ said the King. ‘Perhaps you can teach some of them to Le Bel.’
‘His Majesty saw the child with her father in the Tuileries gardens,’ said Le Bel. ‘She is fair-haired, blue-eyed, under fourteen and very beautiful. Her father is an old soldier. That is all the description we have. But I have no doubt, Monsieur, with your efficient police methods you will have little difficulty in finding such a child among the crowds of Paris.’
Sartines put his head on one side.
‘This young lady was not in a carriage, Sire?’
‘No, on foot,’ said the King.
‘And she was well dressed?’
‘In a hideous rose-coloured gown which fortunately could not disguise her grace. It was clearly a new gown.’
‘Then depend upon it,’ said Sartines, ‘if the family have no carriage they cannot be rich, and the young lady will wear the gown frequently on her journeys to the gardens. As she had no carriage it is very possible that she lives near the Tuileries gardens, for it is hardly likely that she would have walked far in this rose-coloured gown.’
The King laughed and laid one hand on Sartines’ shoulder, the other on Le Bel’s.
‘You see, Le Bel,’ he said, ‘how wise we were to call in the police. Go, my friends, work together. I do not wish to see my good friend Le Bel unhappy. Bring this child to me. Tell her parents that they will never regret putting her into my care.’
The valet de chambre and the Lieutenant of Police bowed themselves out and set about their task.
Sartines was smiling contentedly; finding girls for the King was a more profitable business than hunting criminals for the law.
‘The first one we’ll ask is the lemonade-seller on the terrace,’ said Sartines. ‘If this girl is brought often to the gardens, he will be more likely to know her than anyone else. He is an old friend of mine.’
The lemonade-seller did not seem very pleased to see his old friend Sartines.
He was obviously on the alert and had a look of guilt. Sartines was not proposing to worry him about whatever he might have on his conscience; he had come for information which the lemonade-man need not be afraid to give him.
‘Good day to you, my friend. What heat, eh! A drink of lemonade? That is exactly what we need on a day such as this.’
‘Exactly,’ said Le Bel.
They sat on the steps of the terrace and drank the lemonade which was served to them.
‘We want your help,’ Sartines began.
‘Monsieur,’ protested the lemonade-seller, ‘I have done nothing. I cannot think why the police will not leave me in peace.’
‘It is not about yourself that we wish to question you.’
‘It is about a certain young lady,’ said Le Bel.
‘Who is he?’ asked the lemonade-seller suspiciously – indicating Le Bel.
‘A gentleman of Versailles.’
The lemonade-seller grinned. He told himself that he was a member of the police more likely, dressed up to look different.
Le Bel said impatiently: ‘Have you noticed a young lady – a child almost – who was here yesterday with her father? She was dressed very well in pink. The father was an old soldier and they c
ame to see the King drive by.’
The lemonade-seller screwed up his face. ‘What have they done?’ he asked.
‘Nothing for which they can be blamed.’
The man shook his head. ‘I’ve got my business to attend to. It does not include gaping at the crowds.’
‘But surely you must watch for customers?’
Sartines had taken some coins from his pocket, and jingled them significantly.
The lemonade-seller’s eyes glistened as he watched.
‘But how do I come into this?’ he asked.
‘You are not concerned in it,’ said Sartines. ‘You are merely giving us information which we ask, and for which we are prepared to pay.’
‘Well, I did notice her, so there! Who could help it in that dress? They bought some of my lemonade. They always do when they come by.’
‘And you know who they are?’
The man hesitated, and Sartines slipped the coins into his hand.
‘The father is Monsieur de Tiercelin,’ he said. ‘He thinks the world of that girl. So does Madame. They think no one is good enough to look at her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sartines, and to Le Bel: ‘Come. It should not be difficult to find the home of Monsieur de Tiercelin which is close to the Tuileries.’
It was not difficult. In less than half an hour after the encounter with the lemonade-seller they were being received into the Tiercelin home.
‘Now,’ said Sartines, ‘it is your turn, Monsieur Le Bel.’
The task before him was a commonplace one to Le Bel. He relished it. He rarely encountered parents who were not overjoyed when they discovered his mission; and in any case a little persuasion, a little foresight of the glorious future which awaited their daughters soon made them amenable to suggestions.
Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin had led them into a small parlour which was somewhat ornate and quite hideous in eyes accustomed to the exquisite taste of Versailles.
‘I will tell you quickly why I have come,’ said Le Bel. ‘I serve the King and come on his orders. His Majesty saw your daughter yesterday in the Tuileries gardens. He thought her charming and would like to make her acquaintance.’
The Tiercelins looked at each other. They were clearly not surprised. They thought their daughter the most beautiful girl in Paris. It might have been that for this reason she had been taken to see the King pass by.
Madame de Tiercelin said: ‘Our daughter is very young.’
‘How old is she?’ asked Le Bel.
‘Twelve years old.’
‘The King has offered to undertake her education for a few years.’
‘Educate her . . . as a Court lady!’
‘He will doubtless supervise her education himself.’
The parents looked at each other, their eyes gleaming.
‘Do you object to this offer which the King makes you? It is not a command, you know.’
Madame de Tiercelin looked at her husband and nodded her approval.
‘Our daughter is a very lovely child,’ began Monsieur de Tiercelin. ‘Already she has offers of marriage . . .’
‘If you think that you can provide a more worthy husband for your daughter than the King eventually would, then you must make your own choice. His Majesty does not wish to cause you any unhappiness in this matter.’ Le Bel turned to Sartines. ‘Come, Monsieur, I see that Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin have not heard of the great good fortune which can befall those in whom His Majesty takes a paternal interest. We have no instructions to inform them of this. We will take our leave.’
Madame de Tiercelin was glaring at her husband as though she considered him a fool.
‘Wait, Messieurs,’ she said.
Then Le Bel and Sartines knew that the case of Mademoiselle de Tiercelin was going to be as simple as most others.
Perhaps it was because Madeleine de Romans was pregnant – and the King always wished to avoid pregnant women – that he gave so much attention to Mademoiselle de Tiercelin.
She came to Versailles itself – a pert little creature, very lovely indeed to look at, divested of her hideous pink dress and wearing the garments which had been chosen for her.
She had been completely spoiled by her family, and therefore had little respect for the King. Fortunately for little Mademoiselle de Tiercelin he was in the mood to enjoy this.
The beautiful Mademoiselle de Romans was a dignified creature, and although she had never learned the etiquette of the nobility, a little tuition – as in the case of Madame de Pompadour – would quickly have put her at ease in Court circles. The King had no intention of marrying off his statuesque mistress; he was merely seeking a little diversion while she was indisposed and Mademoiselle de Tiercelin supplied that adequately.
Louis found the child so amusing that he said he himself would undertake her education for a while. This he did, teaching her many lessons in the petits appartements, even occasionally taking a meal with her.
It was an experience he had never had before, and it amused him to know that the Dauphin was even more shocked than usual.
But when Mademoiselle de Romans’ boy was born he felt a wish to spend more time in her company and grew very fond of the child who resembled his ‘Belle Madeleine’.
As for Madeleine de Romans, she was completely happy. She adored her little son and had a great affection for the King. She had not been a demanding woman when she had only herself to consider, but now that she had this beautiful boy she was determined to win for him the highest honours.
When the King came to visit her, while she was in bed with the child, he expressed his great pleasure to see her recovered from her ordeal and showed a further interest in the boy.
‘I am so happy,’ she told him; ‘there is only one thing I need to make me perfectly so.’
She looked so beautiful, with her black hair spread about her on the pillows, that Louis could not prevent himself from telling her passionately: ‘If it is in my power to grant it, I will do so.’
‘It is in your power,’ she told him.
‘Then you have attained perfect happiness.’
‘Our son is shortly to be baptised,’ she said. ‘I wish him to be known by the name of Bourbon.’
Louis hesitated. But he had given his word and, although he was quite capable of breaking a promise to his ministers, he found it very difficult to do so in the case of an exceptionally beautiful woman who pleaded so charmingly.
He stooped and kissed her.
‘Take care,’ he said, ‘of Monsieur de Bourbon.’
Her radiant smile was reward enough, he decided; and he continued to think of her after he left her.
Thus he was in no mood for petulant Mademoiselle de Tiercelin. A delightful child, he thought, but pert, far too pert. She needed discipline, which he found it hard to administer.
He sent for Le Bel when he returned to Versailles.
‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that we promised Monsieur and Madame de Tiercelin that we would educate their daughter in a manner to fit her for the station she might one day be called upon to occupy.’
‘We did, Sire.’
‘Then pray make arrangements for her to leave for a convent where she will receive that education.’
‘It shall be done, Sire,’ said Le Bel.
The Court now knew that the King had temporarily tired of his naughty little playmate and had returned to the more dignified liaison with the statuesque Mademoiselle de Romans.
The dreams of Madeleine de Romans were centred in the boy with those dark blue eyes which, declared everyone who saw him, proclaimed him the son of the King.
She refused to let any of her servants bathe or dress him. He slept in her room and she herself fed him. She was terrified of allowing anyone to touch him, for how could any but herself understand how precious he was!
As she suckled him she would imagine the glories which would come to him. He had been baptised in the name of Bourbon, so she would induce the King to acknowledge him publi
cly as his natural son. In time she would persuade the King to legitimise him. Why should he not? Had not Louis Quatorze legitimised some of his illegitimate sons?
He would become a Comte, a Duc. He would have a safe place at Court. He would grow up so handsome that everyone would love him.
‘My little one,’ she murmured, ‘your fortune is made. One day you will be one of the great men of France . . .’ She amended that. ‘One day you will be the greatest man in France.’
She was so sure that her plans would materialise that she was determined he should be treated from the very beginning of his life as a royal Bourbon.
All her servants must follow her example and call the child Highness. Everyone must bow before approaching him, and as soon as he was old enough she took him driving in the Bois. He rode alone in the carriage, while she sat in the front with the driver, as a governess might have sat. She wished the world to know that she, his mother, was far beneath him socially.
This caused a great deal of comment and, as it was known that the boy had been baptised in the name of Bourbon, rumours were soon in circulation that the King had promised Mademoiselle de Romans to acknowledge her child as his son.
Madame du Hausset heard this news and hastened to bring it to the Marquise.
‘It is a dangerous situation, Madame,’ she pointed out.
The Marquise was wistful. If only she had borne Louis a child such as this one was reputed to be!
‘It has usually been his custom to marry them off when they become pregnant,’ mused the Marquise.
‘Yes, Madame. There can be no doubt that his feelings for this one are different.’
‘It is a pity. What of this young Tiercelin?’
‘She is now attending a school in Paris, Madame. She was sent there soon after the child was born.’
‘What is the child like? Is he as beautiful as his mother?’
‘He is said to be very handsome, Madame, with a striking resemblance to His Majesty. Mademoiselle de Romans is so proud of him that she takes him to the Bois every afternoon and suckles him in public.’
Madame de Pompadour was thoughtful for a few moments, then she said: ‘Hausset, this afternoon we will take a walk in the Bois.’