But every interest was the King’s interest; and only rarely, as in the case of Maurepas – where there was no alternative – did she seek to impose her will upon him.
It was clear that not even Mesdames de Vintimille or Châteauroux had held such sway over him.
Homage was paid to her throughout the Court, but the people continued to hate her. The poissonades had done their work well. The fact that the mistress was not of the nobility only made the people hate her more. ‘Who is she?’ they demanded of each other. ‘Why, it might have been one of us!’ Such conclusions made envy doubly acute.
The peace was still derided throughout Paris. There were bitter complaints because that tax, the vingtième, which had come into existence in 1741 and which, they had been assured, had been imposed only for a short time, was continued. Many refused to pay it and in the affray between tax collectors and the taxed there were a number of deaths.
The people in the country were no less disgruntled than those in the towns, and there was murmuring against the administration in Paris when the tax collectors came to assess the crops. A good harvest meant increased taxation. There was no incentive to work.
There was a new and subtler element creeping into the discontent. Previously there had been religious quarrels between the Jansenites and the Jesuits; now new enemies to religion had appeared. These were the sceptics.
In her love of art, the Marquise had sought to help writers and philosophers as well as artists and musicians, and thus she had assisted in opening up a new and intellectual field.
Toussaint brought out his book Les Moeurs which was judged to be impious and was consequently burned in public. Diderot wrote his Letter on Blindness for the use of those who see. For this he was sent to Vincennes. Voltaire, fearing persecution for freedom of expression, left Court and went to Berlin.
The writers and philosophers might be penalised, their books might be suppressed, but already certain of their ideas had escaped into circulation and were being considered.
People were beginning to wonder whether there were not many evils in the old régime.
In the cafés men and women would sit talking or listening to some enthusiast who had ideas for destroying the old way of life and substituting a new one.
The fabric of the old régime was not yet torn but it was wearing thin. It needed careful patching, but the King and his ministers did not notice this. For so long had it lasted, that no doubts occurred to them that it would endure for ever.
So the entertainments continued, the endless rounds of pleasure. The King and his mistress must visit the many châteaux in which they delighted; there must be the intimate little supper parties, the plays and entertainment.
Bellevue was on the point of completion, and Madame de Pompadour was excitedly planning a grand banquet and ball which she would give there – the first in this new and magnificent house.
There was a danger at Bellevue for the reason that, situated as it was, so near the capital, many Parisians had walked there to watch its progress; and the construction of Bellevue and its many extravagancies became one of the main topics of conversation in the cafés and on street corners.
‘Have you seen it recently? They say that already six million livres have been spent on that house!’
Six million livres, and in Paris many people could not afford to buy bread at two sous.
The Marquise was at Bellevue supervising the decorations.
She was supremely happy, for ever since the dismissal of Maurepas she had felt great confidence. She loved the King dearly and she knew that the affection he had for her went very deep, so deep that she did not believe he would ever desert her.
If the time came when she was unable to satisfy him she would not reproach him. She would give herself entirely to contributing to his pleasure. She already had a plan. She would find others to supply what she could not – not clever women, but pretty little girls, young girls preferably, with perfect bodies and blank minds.
It was a plan for the future – not to be acted on until the need arose – but she would be watchful and prepared for the moment when it came.
She would be the King’s dearest friend and companion, his confidante, the person at Court in whom he knew he could place absolute trust – never complaining, never demanding, always charming, always ready to sacrifice herself to administer to his pleasure.
Thus she would hold her place; and, if Madame de Pompadour was not known as the First Lady of France, what did it matter as long as her power was complete?
Now for the entertainment.
How proud she was of this delightful château, and how interested he would be. They would sit side by side at this brilliant table decorated with flowers and candlesticks of gold and silver. Between them there would be that intimacy which all others envied and marvelled at.
One of her women came to her as she stood inspecting the table. The woman appeared agitated.
‘What is it?’ asked the Marquise with a smile, for she was rarely anything but charming, even to the most humble.
‘Madame,’ said the woman, her teeth chattering, ‘the people are gathering in Paris. They are talking about Bellevue and the money that was spent on it; and they are comparing it with the price of bread. It is said that they mean trouble.’
‘Trouble? Oh, not tonight. The King will be here. You know how they love the King. The fact that he is here will please them.’
‘Madame, they say the crowd is very ugly.’
‘Oh, these Parisians! So excitable!’
Madame de Pompadour leaned forward and re-arranged a bowl of flowers.
‘Sire,’ said Richelieu, ‘they say the people of Paris are restive tonight.’
‘Why so?’ asked Louis languidly.
‘They have been growing more and more angry as Bellevue was being built.’
‘What concern of theirs is Bellevue?’
‘They think it has some connexion with the price of bread. It is these ideas that have been circulating in the cafés.’
‘We will take no notice of them.’
‘But Sire, it would seem that tonight they plan to take notice of us. They are massing in the squares. I have just heard that their leaders are planning a march to Bellevue,’ Richelieu found it difficult to hide the malicious glee in his voice. ‘Sire, might it not be wise for you to remain at Versailles tonight? Let the Marquise have her entertainment without you.’
Louis looked surprised. ‘The Marquise expects me.’
‘Sire, the people love you, but they do not love . . . Bellevue. Do you not think, in the circumstances, you should remain at Versailles? The people can be wild when they are in a mass.’
‘But you would seem to forget,’ said Louis, ‘that I have promised the Marquise.’
When the King’s carriage arrived at Bellevue the shouts of the people could be heard in the distance. They sounded angry and ominous. It was true. The mob was on the march and its objective was the château of Bellevue.
The Marquise was suddenly frightened, not for her safety that night – and she knew that the people hated her beyond anyone else in the Kingdom – but because it was the construction of Bellevue which had infuriated them, and Bellevue was her creation. So if anything happened tonight she would be blamed.