Those who left the game lost it, she decided.
The war was to go on.
Another of the generals of France was the Duc de Richelieu, who had been given his command by the King because of his power to amuse.
It may seem strange that this ageing roué should have sought to go to war, lover of elegance and luxury that he was. But he had his reasons. During his extravagant life he had built up a mound of debts; and although so far he had succeeded in keeping his creditors at bay, he realised now that he could not hope to do so indefinitely. He must recoup his fortunes. His idea was that he would go to war, plunder his enemies and with his booty return to Versailles a rich man.
Thus, while Soubise, idealistic perhaps but ingloriously incompetent, was displaying his weakness before the Prussians, Richelieu was making forays, not on the armies but on the civilian population.
Such methods, while followed with eagerness by certain of his officers, who themselves would take a proportion of the gains, created an alarming lack of discipline in the camp of the Duc de Richelieu; but eventually, having enough loot to satisfy himself and his creditors, Richelieu retired from the Army and, returning to Court, set about building himself a magnificent house in Paris.
Paris, watching it grow in splendour every day, called it ‘Le Pavilion de Hanovre’.
With the retirement of Richelieu, Louis de Bourbon (Comte de Clermont) took his place, and his election to this high post was received with ridicule throughout France. Fifty years old, he was the great-grandson of the famous Condé, and Abbé of Saint Germain-des-Prés. Although he had taken Holy Orders he was noted for his libertinism; he had however actually served with distinction under Maurice de Saxe, but quickly proved that, although he was a man who under the direction of a great commander could be a good soldier, he himself was quite unfitted to command.
Lacking foresight he could not see the main issue, being preoccupied with unimportant detail; and he failed at Crefield as Soubise had failed at Rossbach, for against him was Pitt’s ‘Army of Operations’ and Ferdinand of Brunswick’s troops.
The French were in despair.
There had to be economy at Versailles to help meet the disastrous cost of the war. So a great show was made of curbing extravagance. Many of the building schemes of the King and the Marquise were suspended, and there were no theatrical performances; to banish boredom there was more intensive activity at the card table. There was little the King enjoyed so much as a game of cards played for high stakes, for while the Treasury was expected to meet his debts, he pocketed his winnings.
Yearning to lead the Army, the Dauphin looked on uneasily at the state of affairs. He had always fancied himself as a soldier, and he believed the time had come for someone to save France from disaster.
The Dauphine believed with her husband that he was that man.
She had always supported him wholeheartedly. Poor Marie-Josèphe, she suffered acutely. Madame Dadonville had given the Dauphin a son, and little Auguste Dadonville was a great joy to his father.
Still, Marie-Josèphe tried not to reproach her husband, and never referred to Madame Dadonville. As for the Dauphin he was aware of his wife’s magnanimity, and felt a great desire to escape from it. How could he do this more gracefully than by going to the front?
He talked with his father about this matter.
‘What is happening to our armies, father?’ he said. ‘Our soldiers are going to pieces because of the inferiority of their leaders. What could inspire them more than to see your only legitimate son at their head – their own Dauphin?’
The King studied his son quizzically. The Dauphin had stood out against his father on more than one occasion. He had placed himself firmly on the side of the Jesuits; he had shown open criticism of Madame de Pompadour. True, at the time of the King’s indisposition after the attack by Damiens, he had behaved with decorum – to a certain extent; but that could have been merely because he sensed the mood of the people, who at the time were showing unusual affection for his father.
No, the King did not like his son very much; he did not trust him.
Moreover Madame de Pompadour had already named the Duc de Broglie as the general to succeed Clermont.
‘Your request moves me deeply,’ said the King slyly, ‘but you must not allow yourself to panic, my son. The war has gone against us, but activities have scarcely begun. Do not forget your position. You are heir to the throne. I could not allow you to place yourself in danger. Nay, my son, delighted as I am to know you are of a warlike nature to match your ancestors’, I forbid you to leave Court.’
The Dauphin went furiously from the King’s apartments to those of the Dauphine.
‘The destiny of France,’ he cried, ‘is in the hands of that woman.’
There were many in the country who, with great apprehension, believed him to be right.
Perceiving France to be approaching one of the most disastrous hours of her destiny, the Abbé de Bernis, prevented by the Marquise from making peace, had two desires: one for his Cardinal’s hat, the other to relinquish his post, or to call in an assistant.
Bernis had always believed that a Cardinal’s hat was an umbrella to shelter a man from the storms which could threaten him.
He was scarcely an ambitious man and had had honours thrust upon him rather than having won them for himself. He had been born a poor man, but had made a fortune and would have been content with that. But since he had been selected by the King to teach the Marquise de Pompadour – Madame d’Etioles as she had been then – the graces of Versailles, the Marquise had selected him to be her friend, and thus he had become one of the most important ministers in France.
Like many of his compatriots he was an extremely sensual man, had become something of a rake, and was reputed to have indulged in a love affair with Madame Infanta, Louis’ eldest daughter.
He was a man who found himself continually subdued by women. Madame Infanta had made her demands; now Madame de Pompadour arranged which path he should tread.
Yet he longed for peace because he was overwhelmed by the tragic position of his country, and he saw ahead not only defeat on the Continent but the loss of the French Colonial Empire to those zealous colonisers, the British. Already French possessions in India and Canada were in jeopardy.
Thus in spite of the Marquise he pleaded eloquently with the Council to sue for peace.
He pointed out that Clive was gaining the upper hand in India and that Louisiana and Canada were in dire need of help.
The Council wavered. Peace seemed the answer.
But the Marquise was not so easily defeated.
Madame de Pompadour sat with three of her women – her greatest friends. They all came from Lorraine, and were Madame de Mirepoix, Madame de Marsan and the Duchesse de Gramont.
Each of these women had profited by the friendship of the Marquise; Madame de Mirepoix being her confidante, Madame Marsan having been given the post of governess to the King’s daughters, and the Duchesse de Gramont, like Madame de Mirepoix, sharing the Marquise’s confidences; the Duchesse had not yet achieved the place she intended to have at Court, but she was the most ambitious of the three.
With her friends the Marquise discussed the weakness of Bernis and his flouting of her wishes by delivering that oration to the Council which had almost resulted in a plea for peace.