two Dutch provinces, of Savoy, and the county of Nice, would claim to
retain at least a part of his conquests. But, to the general surprise,
he declared he would not treat as a merchant, but as a king. This
more than amazing phrase signified that France would demand nothing,
nothing for so many dearly bought victories, nothing for the five
hundred thousand men she had sacrificed, nothing for the twelve
hundred millions added to the national debt. Louis XV. restored all
the conquered cities and territories. He engaged not to rebuild the
fortresses of Dunkirk; he recognized the English succession in the
Protestant line and carried complaisance toward the vanquished of
Fontenoy to the point of expelling the Pretender, the heroic Charles
Edward, from France. Add to this that the French navy, like that of
Spain, was half ruined, and that the time was not far distant when
the sailor might salute the ocean as Britannic. It is true that the
Infant Philip, married to the eldest daughter of Louis XV., obtained
the duchies of Parma and Plaisance. But this was but a petty advantage
considered as a recompense for so many sacrifices of men and money.
As might have been expected, the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle was
profoundly unpopular. “As stupid as the peace,” people said in Paris.
The odium of it was cast upon the woman who, to play her part as queen
of the left hand, had meddled with diplomacy, finances, and the army.
In 1746 Voltaire had written to Louis XV.:--
“Grand roi, Londres gémit, Vienne pleure et t’admire.
Ton bras va décider du destin de l’Empire.
La Sardaigne balance et Munich se répent,
Le Batave, indécis, au remords est en proie;
Et la France s’écrie au milieu de sa joie:
‘Le plus aimé des rois est aussi le plus grand!’”[30]
Everything was greatly changed in 1748; London no longer groaned, and
Vienna did not admire. There was neither repentance at Munich nor
remorse at Batavia, and very little was said about the greatness of
the best beloved of Kings. The situation already contained in germ the
disasters of the future Seven Years’ War. France, which loves success,
no longer compared Madame de Pompadour to _la belle Gabrielle_.
But the favorite had one grand consolation under the rain of sarcasms
and satires; her theatre of the little Cabinets of Versailles was
succeeding very well; and if she was hissed as a political woman, she
was warmly applauded as an actress.
IV
MADAME DE POMPADOUR’S THEATRE
“I have seen all that is done under the sun, and beheld that all is
vanity and vexation of spirit. I have said within myself: Let us take
all manner of delights and let us enjoy our possessions; and I have
recognized that this too is vanity. I have condemned the laughter of
folly and I have cried unto joy: Why dost thou deceive us vainly?”
What the Preacher thought, Louis XV. thought also. Like Solomon, he was
bored. His ennui was the terror of Madame de Pompadour. The problem she
had to solve was how to entertain a man who could no longer be amused.
The favorite trembled. Here was her favor barely begun, and already
she beheld symptoms of indifference and lassitude in her royal lover.
D’Argenson writes in 1747: “The Pompadour is about to be dismissed.
The King will live with his family.” The Marquise was afraid lest the
sovereign, who really had a badly understood but sincere religion at
bottom, might some day conclude to be truly devout. Hence she desired
at any cost to divert him from serious ideas and plunge him, in his
own despite, into the vortex of false pleasures whose emptiness and
poverty he knew so well.
Even amid the splendors of Versailles, the new Marquise regretted her
successes as a private actress. The echo of the applause she had become
accustomed to in the parlor theatres of M. Lenormand de Tournehem, at
Étioles, and of Madame de Villemur, at Chantemerle, still resounded
in her flattered ears. Those who are habituated to the emotions
and vanities of the stage cannot easily do without them. Madame de
Pompadour was homesick for the footlights and the boards. To play in
comedy is such a fine occasion for a pretty woman to shine! To see all
eyes fixed on her; to put beauty and her toilettes in the best lights;
to be greeted when she appears by a murmur of admiration; to receive
when the play is ended the rain of flowers and garlands that tumble at
her feet; and at last, when the actress resumes the _grande dame_
and re-enters the drawing-room, to glean compliments, madrigals, and
enthusiastic plaudits afresh,--what a triumph for a fashionable woman,
what exquisite joy for a coquette!
Women of the highest social rank are often jealous of actresses. It
annoys them to perceive that they have not that order of charms which
comediennes possess. They envy them the privilege of attracting the
attention of a whole theatre, of being the object of all regards, the
subject of all eulogies, and the ability to say to a lover after a
triumph: “I have played only for you, I have thought of you alone;
these flowers that have been thrown to me I give to you.” They envy
them the excitement of those noisy ovations, in comparison with
which all the flatteries of society seem tame. They envy them above
all that faculty of metamorphosis which transforms the same woman
into a shepherdess or a queen, a nymph or a goddess, so that a man
while adoring a single beauty, but a beauty incessantly changed and
transfigured, finds himself at once faithful and inconstant.
This is why Madame de Pompadour wanted to play comedy at Versailles.
Little by little she accustomed Louis XV. to this idea. Holy Week was
always a sad time for the monarch, who was tortured by remorse and
ashamed of playing so badly his part as eldest son of the Church.
The favorite conceived the notion of enlivening this dreaded week
by interludes, half religious, half profane. Accompanied by actors
and amateurs, she sang pieces of sacred music. This Lent _à la
Pompadour_, this mixture of church and opera, this exchange of
religions for chamber, not to say alcove, music, was very acceptable
to such a character as Louis XV. and a devotion as inconsistent and
spurious as his. The courtiers, of course, went into ecstasies over the
charming voice of the Marquise. They reminded the King of the triumphs
of the little theatres at Étioles and Chantemerle, and pitied him for
not having seen comedy played by so remarkable an actress. Sacred
music had served its time; another sort was now in order.
Madame de Pompadour achieved her purpose. A theatre was constructed
for her at Versailles,--a miniature theatre, an elegant little place,
a perfect gem.[31] The spot chosen was the gallery contiguous to the
former Cabinet of Medals, a dependence of the King’s small apartments
(room No. 137 of the _Notice du Musée de Versailles_, by M. Eudore
Soulié). Nearly one-third of the orchestra was composed of amateurs
belonging to the most illustrious families, the other two-thirds being
professional artists. The chorus singers were selected among the King’s
musicians. The dancers were boys and girls from nine to thirteen years
at most, who, on reaching the latter age, were to enter the ballet
corps of the opera, the Théâtre Français, or the Comédie-Italienne (the
little girls distinguished themselves later on in choregraphic shows
and gallantry). Celebrated painters, Boucher at their head, supplied
the decorations. The _mise en scène_ and the costumes were of
incomparable elegance. As to the actors and actresses, they bore such
names as the Duke de Chartres, the Duke d’Ayen, the Duke de Duras,
the Duke de Nivernais, the Duke de Coigny, the Marquis d’Entraigues,
the Count de Maillebois, the Duchess de Brancas, the Marquise
Livry, the Countess d’Estrades, Madame de Marchais, and finally, the
principal actress, the Armida of all these enchantments, the Marquise
de Pompadour. The Duke de La Vallière was chosen as director of the
troupe; as sub-director _l’historiogriffe_ of cats, Moncrif,
academician and reader to the Queen; as secretary and prompter, the
Abbé de La Garde, librarian to the Marquise. Madame de Pompadour drew
up the regulations for the players. As approved by the King, they
contained ten articles:--
“1. In order to be admitted as an associate, it will be necessary to
prove that this is not the first time that one has acted, so as not to
make one’s novitiate in the troupe.
“2. Every one shall choose his own line of characters.
“3. No one may choose a different line from that for which he has been
accepted, without obtaining the consent of all the associates.
“4. One cannot, in case of absence, appoint his substitute (a right
expressly reserved to the Society which will appoint by an absolute
majority).
“5. On his return, the person replaced will resume his own line.
“6. No associate can refuse a part appropriate to his line under
pretext that such a part is unsuitable to his manner of acting or too
fatiguing.
“7. The actresses alone have the right to select the pieces to be
represented by the troupe.
“8. They shall also have the right to fix the day of representation,
the number of rehearsals, and the days and hours when they shall occur.
“9. Each actor is bound to be present at the precise hour appointed for
the rehearsal under penalty of a fine which the actresses alone shall
determine among themselves.
“10. To the actresses alone a half-hour’s grace is accorded, after
which the fine they will have incurred shall be decided by themselves
only.
“A copy of these statutes will be given to each secretary, who shall be
bound to fetch it to each rehearsal.”
Madame de Pompadour was quite right in drawing up a severe code of
regulations, for it is not an easy thing to establish discipline
in a troupe composed of society people, where the intrigues of the
courtier are added to the vanity of the actor. What petty jealousies,
what mean vanities! What manœuvres to obtain this or that part, what
solicitations and cabals to ensure merely a spectator’s place in the
cœnaculum!
Louis XV. occupied himself seriously with such trifles. The
direction of this miniature theatre gave him no fewer cares than the
government of France. He reserved to himself the right of selecting
the spectators, and it was a signal favor to have been thus chosen.
Notwithstanding their ardent desire to be among the privileged persons,
neither Marshal de Noailles, the Duke de Gesores, nor the Prince
de Conti were admitted to the opening of the theatre. It took place
January 17, 1747. _Tartuffe_ was given. Madame de Pompadour played
Dorine. The first theatrical season of the little cabinets lasted until
March 17.
After having secured applause as an actress in _Tartuffe_, _Les
Trois Cousines_, and _Le Préjugé à la Mode_, the Marquise
triumphed as a cantatrice in _Erigone_: “Madame de Pompadour sang
very well,” says the Duke de Luynes; “her voice has not much volume,
but a very agreeable sound; she knows music well and sings with much
taste.”
The second theatrical season lasted from December 20, 1747, to March
30, 1748. The first representation comprised a comedy, _Le Mariage
fait et rompu_, and a pastoral, _Ismène_, the words by Moncrif.
Voltaire’s _Enfant prodigue_ was given December 20, to the
author’s great joy. Madame de Pompadour had promised Gresset to produce
_Le Merchant_. She kept her word. The play required two months
of study. It was given February 6, 1748, Madame de Pompadour playing
Lisette. The Duke de Nivernais was excellent as Valère, and the Duke
de Chartres took the part of Géronte. The grateful Gresset thanked the
Marquise thus:--
“On ne trace que sur le sable
La parole vague et peu stable
De tous les seigneurs de la cour;
Mais sur le bronze inaltérable
Les Muses ont tracé le nom de Pompadour
Et sa parole invariable.”[32]
Pastorals, opera ballets, comedies, succeeded each other quickly. (The
complete list may be found in the opuscule of M. Adolphe Julien.) The
usual spectators were those of the actors and actresses who were not
playing, Marshal Saxe, Marshal de Duras, all the ministers, President
Hénault, the Abbé de Bernis. The King did not have a fauteuil. He sat
in an ordinary chair and, according to the Duke de Luynes, he seemed to
be amused.
The Marquise was charming in the ballet of _Almases_. She had a
splendid costume: a low-cut corsage of pink taffeta trimmed with silver
wire, a petticoat of the same, pinked out with silver, opening over a
second petticoat of white taffeta pinked out and embroidered in rose
color; the mantle draping the whole was of white taffeta glazed with
silver and embroidered in flowers of their natural color.
The first dancer of the troupe was the Marquis de Courtenvaux; the
second, Count de Langeron. Others were the Duke de Beuvron and Count
de Melfort, to whom were adjoined a ballet corps composed of young
boys and little girls. Mesdemoiselles Gaussin and Dumesnil, of the
Comédie-Française, gave advice to the actresses.
Under the title of _Comédies et ballets des petites apartements_,
a collection was published, bearing on its title-page a notice that it
was “Printed by express command of His Majesty.” Many were displeased
by this, especially the courtiers who were not admitted to the
much-envied entertainments. The Marquis d’Argenson, who for some time
had ceased to be minister of foreign affairs, wrote March 1, 1748, in
his Danubian peasant style: “They have just published a very ridiculous
collection of the divertisements of the theatre of the cabinets or
small apartments of His Majesty,--wretched and flattering lyrics; one
finds in it dancing and singing actors, general officers and buffoons,
great court ladies and theatre girls. In fact, the King spends his time
nowadays in seeing the Marquise and the other personages trained by all
these professional actors, who familiarize themselves with the monarch
in an impious and sacrilegious fashion.”
In October, 1748, France had lost, by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle,
an opportunity to enlarge its dominions. Louis XV. consoled himself
by enlarging, if not the realm, at least the theatre of the little
cabinets. A new hall was constructed in the space containing the great
staircase of the Ambassadors,[33] care being taken to injure neither
the marble nor the pictures. The new theatre was movable. Fourteen
hours were necessary to strip it, and twenty-four to set it up again.
It was opened November 27, 1748, by the _Surprises de l’amour_,
a play due to the collaboration of Gentil-Beniard, Moncrif, and De
Rameau. The hall was a masterpiece of elegance. But Louis XV. was not
amused. He yawned. The grand opera of _Tancred_ was given December
10, Madame de Pompadour singing the part of Herminie. Two days later
Quinault’s _Mère coquette_ was played. The really indefatigable
Marquise took the part of Laurette. She made a success, even according
to D’Argenson, her implacable enemy, who wrote, not without vexation:
“The King, who was said to be tired of the favorite sultana, is more
insane than ever about her. She has sung and played so well in the last
ballets at Versailles that the King praised her publicly, and caressing
her before everybody, said to her that she was the most charming woman
in France.”
The beginning of 1749 was signalized by the great quarrel between the
dukes of Richelieu and La Vallière. The Duke de Richelieu was one of
the four first gentlemen of the chamber who, in virtue of their charge,
had the grand apartments of the King under their jurisdiction. Now the
new theatre was constructed in the space occupied by the great stairway
of the Ambassadors, which was considered an integral part of the grand
apartments. Consequently, the first gentlemen of the chamber claimed
that the right to direct the theatre appertained to that one of
themselves who was on duty, and that the Duke de La Vallière infringed
upon this right. The Duke d’Aumont, who was on duty in 1748, raised
the question, but somewhat timidly. Madame de Pompadour mentioned the
matter to Louis XV., who contented himself with replying: “Let His
Excellency” (the title he gave Richelieu) “come. You will see something
quite different.”
His Excellency made his appearance at the beginning of 1749, and as
soon as he took up his functions he began a desperate struggle against
the Duke de La Vallière.
“He made nothing of thwarting little Pompadour,” wrote D’Argenson, “and
treating her like an opera girl, having had great experience with that
sort of women and with all women. Mistress as she is of the King and
the court, he will torment and tire her out.”
But Richelieu went too far. Some days later, D’Argenson wrote in his
journal: “M. de Richelieu is too much attached to the trifles of the
ballet theatre. They say he has behaved like a fool; he was too open in
his antagonism to the mistress, and she has regained the upper hand.
People consider her to count for as much or more than Cardinal Fleury
in the government. Woe to any one who dares to pit himself against
her at present! She unites pleasure to decision, and the suffrages of
the principal ministers to the force of habit which is constantly
gaining strength in a mild and affectionate monarch. But woe to the
state governed in this way by a coquette! People are exclaiming on
all hands. It is kicking against the pricks to revolt in any wise
against her. Richelieu has found that out; he ought to give up this
trifling business of the ballet stage in order to pursue greater, more
important, and more virtuous matters. It would have been enough for him
to absent himself from these operas and to do so from pride, as soon
as his charge was injuriously affected by them. The instructions he
gave the musicians were thus worded: ‘Such a person will be present at
such an hour to play in Madame de Pompadour’s opera.’ He was worsted at
every step. The real friends of those who made any pretensions advised
them strongly to make their way by means of Madame the Marquise; homage
must be paid to her.”
Like the majority of men too much favored by women, Richelieu resembled
a spoiled child. He was stingy, proud, and wilful. However, he ended
by yielding. When this quarrel of etiquette was at its height, Louis
XV. carelessly asked him this simple question: “Richelieu, how many
times have you been at the Bastille?”--“Three times,” responded the
audacious courtier. But he promised himself not to go a fourth time.
He submitted, therefore, and the Duke de La Vallière, who remained
director of the troupe, was rewarded for his patience by the blue
ribbon.
The third theatrical season ended March 22, 1749; it had cost at least
a hundred thousand ecus. Louis XV., who was not always prodigal, began
to find the expenses excessive. He did not get his money’s worth in
amusement. The fourth and last theatrical season of the little cabinets
lasted from December 26, 1749, to April 27, 1750.
Madame de Pompadour had successfully attempted comedy, opera, and
ballet. She wanted to add another gem to her crown. After Thalia,
Euterpe, and Terpsichore, it was now the turn of Melpomene. February
28, 1750, the Marquise played the part of Alzire. Voltaire, enraptured,
went to thank her for her interpretation of his work, as she was at her
toilette, and addressed her in this not very original impromptu:--
“Cette Américaine parfaite
Trop de larmes a fait couler.
Ne pourrai-je me consoler
Et voir Venus à sa toilette?”[34]
The King began to be bored by these incessant spectacles. He decided
that there should be no more comedies, ballets, music, and dancing at
Versailles, and that hereafter the representations should take place
at the Château of Bellevue. The stage of this château was very small,
and did not admit of a brilliant _mise en scène_. The number of
spectators had to be greatly restricted. Accustomed to a real theatre,
splendid decorations, and a numerous audience, the actors and actresses
no longer showed the same enthusiasm. The hour of decadence had come.
However, Jean Jacques Rousseau’s _Devin du Village_ was very
successfully played in 1753. Madame de Pompadour took the part of
Colette. The next day she sent fifty louis to Jean Jacques, who thanked
her in the following letter:--
“Paris, March 7, 1753.--Madame: In accepting this present, which has
been sent me by you, I believe I have testified my respect for the hand
from which it came, and I venture to add that of the two proofs you
have made of my moderation, interest is not the most dangerous. I am
with respect, etc.”
The _Devin du Village_ was the Swan Song. Madame de Pompadour no
longer pleased Louis XV. as an actress. Hence she closed the Bellevue
theatre, and her ambition became, if not to amuse, at least to
interest, as a political woman, the master whose mistress she was said
to be.
V
THE GRANDEURS OF THE MARQUISE DE POMPADOUR
Louis XV. had made his mistress what one might call a vice-queen. She
had the power, luxury, riches, and adulations of royalty; everything,
in fact, except its moral prestige. Surrounded by a court of ministers,
prelates, and nobles, she throned it in the midst of pomp and opulence.
She was the type of the woman _à la mode_, elegant, coquettish,
absolute, always on show, insatiable for praise and success, thirsting
for dignities, pleasures, and money; playing not merely the great lady,
but the sovereign, having her courtiers, her creatures, her poets,
reigning alike over the King and the kingdom.
M. Arsène Houssaye has said with justice: “Louis XV. had three prime
ministers: Cardinal Fleury, the Duke de Choiseul, the Marquise de
Pompadour.” But the Marquise was not an ordinary prime minister; she
was a prime minister doubled with a mistress. To a woman invested with
this exaggerated rôle, a display of power was necessary. The favorite
set herself to create around her a sort of decorum, etiquette, and
factitious grandeur. Like little women who wear enormously high
heels, she made herself a pedestal. Madame d’Étioles had disappeared;
nothing remained but the Marquise de Pompadour. To be a marchioness
did not satisfy her, and she demanded and obtained the tabouret and
the honors of a duchess. She had a box at the court theatre with a
grating behind which she shut herself up tête-à-tête with the King. In
the chapel a gallery in the grand tribune was reserved for her and her
suite. People waited on her stairway at the hour of her toilette just
as they await a ministerial audience in an ante-chamber. She used to
say to the ministers: “Continue; I am satisfied with you,” and to the
foreign ambassadors: “Observe that on Tuesdays the King cannot see you,
gentlemen, for I think you will hardly follow _us_ to Compiègne.”
One of the cabinets in her apartment was full of petitions. Solicitors
approached her with respectful fear. The ducal mantle and velvet cap
figured on the panels of her carriages. A nobleman carried her mantle
and awaited her coming in the ante-chamber. A man of illustrious
birth, a Chevalier d’Hénen, of the family of the Princes de Chimay,
rode at her carriage door as equerry. She was served at table by a
Chevalier of Saint Louis, her steward Colin, a napkin under his arm.
Her chambermaid was a woman of quality, Madame du Hausset, who has left
such curious Memoirs. The all-powerful favorite had not forgotten her
family. Her father was ennobled in 1747. Her brother, Abel Poisson,
became successively Marquis de Vandières, Marquis de Marigny, Marquis
de Ménars. The marquisate not contenting him, he obtained a place
created for Colbert, that of superintendent of crown buildings. He was
as a patron of artists a Mecænas, an _arbiter elegantiarum_. The
King, who treated him as his brother-in-law, gave him the blue ribbon
and put him on an equality with the greatest nobles of the realm. Young
Alexandrine, the daughter of Madame de Pompadour and M. de Étioles, was
brought up at Paris in the convent of the Assumption.
The nuns showed her the greatest attention. She was addressed by her
baptismal name, as was then the custom for princesses of the blood, and
she was expected to make one of the most brilliant marriages in France.
Madame de Pompadour desired pomp even in death. She bought a splendid
sepulchre in the Capuchin convent in the Place Vendôme, Paris, from the
Trémoille family. There she built a magnificent mausoleum, where her
mother was interred and where she reserved a place for herself.[35]