by Jean Plaidy
‘Bellevue let it be.’
It was wonderful to shut themselves away from everyone and draw up plans for the house. It brought them so close together.
‘We will use Lassurance as architect,’ said Louis. ‘I cannot think of a better.’
‘I also want Verberckt.’
‘His work is exquisite.’
‘I think we ought to call in Boucher for the ceilings.’
‘A great artist.’
And the cost? It never occurred to either of them to think of it. Louis had been accustomed to decide something should be done and the treasury provided the means to do it. As for the Marquise, although she kept her accounts with accuracy, she had always believed that the wealth of Kings was limitless.
While they planned the house and often drove out to Bellevue to see how the workmen were progressing, she thought a great deal about the King’s new friendship with Anne-Henriette. She was aware, for her friends had pointed this out to her, that the Princesse was being drawn into politics by her brother and the Jesuit party.
It had always been the policy of Madame de Pompadour to persuade Louis, never to cajole or threaten as Mesdames Vintimille and Châteauroux had done. Her plan always was to soothe the King, to be the person to whom he came for comfort of any sort. She believed – and rightly so – that the way to hold her position was never to place Louis in embarrassing situations.
Never had she reproached him for neglecting her for Anne-Henriette. She would not draw attention to the subversive nature of those gatherings in the apartments of the Dauphin and Dauphine.
It occurred to her however that, if one of the other daughters were brought to Versailles, Louis’ attention might be diverted from Anne-Henriette.
She had made inquiries as to the character and appearance of the next daughter, Victoire, who was now about fifteen or sixteen. She was pretty, but hardly of a nature to charm the King to any great extent.
So the Marquise said to the King: ‘Louis, it must be a long time since you saw your little daughters.’
‘A very long time.’
‘Are you going to leave them in that convent for ever?’
‘They have not yet completed their education.’
‘But Madame Victoire is only a year younger than Madame Adelaide. I know how delightful it is to have daughters. I have my own little Alexandrine, you remember.’
‘That dear child,’ said Louis. ‘The-not-so-pretty one. We must make a match for her one day. But what are you saying of Victoire?’
‘I was wondering whether you would not like to have her join her sisters here at Versailles.’
Louis was thoughtful for a moment. It would be rather pleasant to have another adoring daughter at Court.
So Victoire returned to Versailles.
Grand apartments were prepared for her, and the King was at first delighted with his daughter.
Victoire however was not gay by nature and, as soon as she arrived at Versailles, Adelaide decided that she would look after her.
She went to her apartments and when she found they were so grand she was jealous. She studied her sister, who was inclined to be, Adelaide quickly discovered, of an extremely lethargic disposition.
‘We shall go for a walk in the gardens,’ Adelaide declared.
‘I like it here,’ said Victoire.
‘I like it in the gardens. Come, we do not sit about all day at Versailles.’
‘Why do you not? It is very pleasant.’
Adelaide smiled at her sister. There was really no need to be jealous of her. The King was merely interested in her because she was the latest arrival. Adelaide was amused to remember that this sister of hers had been for ten years in Fontevrault, as she herself might have been but for her own resourcefulness. She derived great pleasure from Victoire’s society because she could constantly remind herself of what she had escaped.
‘Come,’ commanded Adelaide, and already such power had she over the lazy Victoire that the young girl obeyed.
As they walked together, Victoire was commanded to tell Adelaide about the convent. What were the nuns like? What clothes did they wear? Was it hideously boring, and was she not beside herself with delight to be back at Versailles?
Victoire explained and agreed.
‘You need to be looked after. There are pitfalls at Versailles. It would be a scandal if you offended against Etiquette.’
‘What would happen?’ asked Victoire idly.
‘You would no doubt be sent back to Fontevrault. But do not be afraid. I will always help you. What are Sophie and Louise-Marie like?’
‘Sophie never says anything if she can help it. She is always afraid to.’
‘Afraid? Of what?’
‘Oh life, I suppose.’
‘When Sophie comes home I shall look after her.’
‘But you are going to look after me.’
‘I shall look after you both. I will tell you something. I am the most important person at Versailles.’
‘You . . . but what of our father? What of the Queen? What of the Marquise?’
‘The Queen counts for nothing. The Marquise is always afraid of losing her position. As for our father, he loves me so dearly that he will do all I say. Now you are here I shall let you join in my plan.’
‘What plan?’
‘Having the Marquise dismissed from Court.’
‘But the King would never allow that.’
Adelaide laughed and looked wise. ‘You will see. There are many plots at Versailles, but mine is the best. Anne-Henriette and the Dauphin and the Dauphine have a plot too. It is not as good as mine.’
‘What is yours?’
Adelaide put her fingers to her lips. ‘When you have proved yourself worthy, I may let you into my secrets. If Sophie is so stupid, there is no point in my pleading for her to be brought back, is there?’
Victoire nodded her agreement.
‘What of our younger sister?’
‘She is not stupid. She talks a great deal and always wants her own way. She says that as she has a hump on her back she must have some compensation. So she is going to live exactly as she wants to.’
‘Oh,’ said Adelaide. She did not add that she was even less inclined to plead for the return of Louise-Marie than she was for that of Sophie. She took Victoire by the arm and put her face close to hers.
‘Have no fear. I am at hand to look after you.’
Victoire nodded; she was thinking of being alone in her apartment, lying down on her bed and going to sleep. After dinner of course. She wanted her dinner badly.
‘You and I are allies,’ Adelaide told her. ‘You understand?’
Victoire did understand. She began to follow Adelaide about the Palace in a respectful silence.
The Court was amused by the lazy, docile Victoire, who had become like a slave to domineering Adelaide.
As for the King, he was no longer enamoured of this newly arrived daughter whose education seemed to have been somewhat neglected at Fontevrault.
He was disturbed by the Dauphin’s attempt to dabble in politics, and in order to avoid the unpleasant, avoided his son. He began to see that it was far more interesting to spend his time with the vivacious and intelligent Marquise than with the members of his family.
Moreover this growing interest in architecture, which they so enthusiastically shared, was becoming more and more absorbing. There were eight new buildings now in the course of construction or reconstruction. A delightful occupation.
The citizens of Paris looked on in bewilderment at this extravagance. They occasionally saw the Marquise adorned at the cost of thousands of livres.
It seemed incredible that Louis, the Well-Beloved, knowing the condition of the people, suffering as they were under cruel taxation, could allow the woman to spend so much of the country’s money.
As usual there were many to blame the woman and spare Louis. But there were some who said: ‘But the King is no longer a child. He must understand the state in which
thousands of French families are living. Yet what can he care for the suffering of his people if he encourages the extravagance of the Pompadour?’
The course of the war had changed again. Frederick had made peace with Austria, and his rights in Silesia had been recognised. Philip V of Spain had died, and his son, Ferdinand VI, no longer wished to take the offensive. France stood alone, fighting a war in which she had lost all interest.
Thus the peace which might have been made two years before on the same terms was, after so much fighting and the loss of many French lives, eventually concluded.
Looking back Frenchmen began to ask each other why they had been involved in the war at all. It was true they had supported the claim of Charles Albert to the Imperial crown, but when he had died and his young son had shown no inclination to fight, France no longer had any interest and should, but for the mismanagement of the Marquis d’Argenson, Minister for Foreign Affairs, have retired. Now, Maria Theresa’s husband, Francis of Lorraine, was elected to the Imperial throne; Frederick had his interest in Silesia, and because Louis, as he said, did not wish to act as a tradesman, he gave back all that he had won in Flanders. He did however secure Parma and Placentia for his daughter, Louise-Elisabeth, and Guastalla for her husband, Don Philip, and Louisberg and Cape Breton in America came into French possession.
This was the result of the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle.
The English, who had been far from victorious, were wily enough to secure the best terms for themselves. Always alert for the expansion of trade, England secured rights for importing slaves and trading with Spanish colonies. There was one demand which the ministers of Hanoverian George made, and that was that Louis should cease to offer a refuge to members of the Stuart family.
The people in the streets of Paris discussed the peace in bewilderment.
What was it all for? they asked, recalling the privations of the past years. Continual taxation, to pay for . . . what?
And the King had not wished to act like a tradesman!
The women of Les Halles, who were very influential in forming mass opinion, declared that Louis carried his good manners too far. Was it not a pity that he, who was so anxious to play the gentleman with his enemies, should not have thought a little more of playing the good father to his poor subjects?
The loyalties of the people were shifting. Charles Edward had always had the power to charm and, because he realised that he was in danger of being expelled from France, he was determined to exert all his powers to remain.
He was in love with Paris which had provided such a happy consolation for his failures. The brilliance of the balls and the opera, the wit of the people, the elegance of the society in which he moved, afforded the utmost pleasure to him. With his superficial charm and his love of flattery, he could contemplate, without much regret, the rest of his life spent in these congenial surroundings.
And now came the peace and the demands for his expulsion from France by Hanoverian George.
Louis found himself in one of those situations which all his life he had done his best to avoid. He had to ask a guest to leave. It was most unpleasant and, because of this, he tried to shelve the matter until the last possible minute.
Meanwhile Charles Edward was seen more and more in public, and he never failed to ingratiate himself with the people. He made regular appearances at the Opéra, and there he was treated as a royal Prince. The audience rose when he entered his box, and he would stand smiling, glittering with jewels, as he accepted the acknowledgement of royalty and popularity.
He was quick to sense the changing attitude towards the King, and smiled a little sadly at the peace celebrations.
‘I cannot help feeling this melancholy,’ he told his friends. ‘I love France. I look upon Frenchmen as I would my own people; and I think of the blood they have shed in this war which now they delude themselves into thinking they have won. The peace! What has it brought France? Tell me that. A little gewgaw for the King’s daughter. Is it such a matter of glory that the eldest daughter of the King of France has become the Duchesse of Parma? A few miserable possessions in America! And of course you rid yourselves of one unwelcome guest; that is if you are going to allow sly George to dictate to you.’
His friends talked of this. Their lackeys heard them, and in the cafés and barbers’ shops, and the streets and markets, the cry was taken up: ‘Are we going to take orders from German George?’
The Princesse de Talmond, who doted on her young lover, was determined to keep him in Paris. She added her by no means insignificant voice to his protests.
Louis meanwhile procrastinated.
‘I think it would be advisable, in view of the peace terms,’ he told Charles Edward, ‘for you to begin to think about leaving France.’
‘Sire,’ answered the Prince, ‘I have already thought about that catastrophe.’
‘Alas that it should be thus,’ murmured Louis. ‘One is in the hands of one’s ministers. There had to be peace, and terms . . .’
With that he changed the subject. He had asked the Prince to think about leaving, and if it were necessary to force him to do so, that would be the duty of others. For the time being he was prepared to let matters stay as they were. Who knew, the affair might blow over. George might forget the young man was in Paris. That would be so much more pleasant.
Louis had other matters to think of. Bellevue was nearing completion. What a delightful château! The Marquise was indeed a remarkable woman. He was fortunate . . . fortunate indeed to have found her.
But George II was not going to allow the young man, who was the greatest menace to his security, to continue at the Court of France where, it was very likely, he would soon be hatching another plot to bring the Stuarts back to the throne; and orders were given that the British Ambassador should drop gentle hints to Louis that there was surprise and indignation across the water because, in spite of the peace terms, the young Stuart Prince still remained in Paris.
The Prince de Talmond was eager for the exile of Charles Edward, as he did not like the scandal which he was causing with the Princesse; and even if Louis was dilatory in sending his exile from France, the Prince de Talmond was ready to make a stand.
He forbade Charles Edward to enter his house, but the young Stuart, so certain that he had the Parisians on his side, continued to call on the Princesse.
When Charles Edward next presented himself at the house of his mistress he was told that she was not at home.
‘That is a lie,’ cried Charles Edward, who felt that as he had succeeded in evading the wishes of the King of France he was not going to submit to those of the Prince de Talmond.
The door was shut and he, suddenly wild with rage and sensing that a defeat in this quarter could be the preliminary to a greater one, began to hammer madly on the door.
A crowd collected to watch the furious Prince, but he was warned by some of his Scottish friends who were with him that it would be foolish to cause such a disturbance, as it might make it easier for the King to insist on his departure.
Charles Edward saw the point, and left. As he walked away he smiled in an easy, friendly way at the crowd, shrugging his shoulders.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘I am not allowed to call on my friends. You know why? It is the wish of German George. My good people, my dear friends, how much longer will you allow yourselves to be ruled by the usurper of the British crown?’
His gallant smiles for the women, his camaraderie with the men, had their effect on the crowd.
‘He is right,’ murmured the people. ‘We won the war, and the British take the spoils.’
That day two women, fighting in Les Halles, collected a huge crowd to watch and jeer, spurring them on to greater efforts.
One, a vegetable vendor, had the other, a coffee-seller, by the hair, so that the tin urn on her back went clattering onto the cobbles and both women lay in a pool of coffee.
‘Idiot!’ cried the vegetable woman. ‘Pig! Let me tell you this: You are as stu
pid as . . . as the peace.’
The crowd roared its approval. A new catch phrase was born: ‘As stupid as the peace.’
The King summoned Comte Phélippeaux de Maurepas to his presence. He liked Maurepas. The man was so amusing; he never made heavy going of state affairs and treated everything as though it were a joke. He was so witty that it was always a pleasure to be with him. It was said by his enemies that he was more interested in writing a witty satire or epigram than in considering affairs of state.
He had suffered from the withdrawal of royal favour on the insistence of Madame de Châteauroux after her humiliation at Metz, and now Louis feared that Maurepas was not attempting to please Madame de Pompadour. This impish man was ready to snap his fingers at the King’s mistresses – which was foolish of him; but Louis could not help liking him.
Now he called in his help in this matter of Charles Edward Stuart.
‘There can be no longer delay,’ he told Maurepas. ‘There will be trouble with Great Britain if he remains here. It is a part of the peace treaty, and we must carry out our obligations.’
‘Sire, it is a delicate matter. The Prince declares that he holds letters from you, offering him refuge as long as he desires it.’
Louis shrugged his shoulders. ‘One cannot look into the future. Such offers were made years ago when there seemed a fair prospect of his gaining his kingdom.’
‘Sire,’ replied the minister, ‘public opinion is strong in favour of this Prince. He has a certain charm, and he has used this to the full. The people are saying that asylum was offered him and France should honour her pledges.’
The King turned away testily. ‘It is precisely because we must honour our pledges that he must go.’
‘It being more important, Sire, to honour pledges given to a powerful nation than to an exile.’
‘That is true,’ said the King.
‘And our people, who ask us to snap our fingers at German George and keep the pretty Stuart with us to charm our theatre audiences and seduce our ladies?’
‘This is a matter of diplomacy.’
‘They may murmur instead of cheer, Sire. They may sympathise with the pretty Prince against their handsome King?’