If he had thought it necessary to justify himself for that friendship, only he did not think it necessary at all, he might have argued, as he might have argued as to his alliance with the Pope, that it was a pity kings should be governed by priests and women; but that since they were, the best and wisest thing to do was to get the influence of the priests and women on the right side. What might a Pompadour not do? “One of us”—that meant a philosopher, mentally capable of seeing new points of view, acquiring new truths, breaking from old superstitions. In the hollow of her hand she held the happiness or the misery of thousands. Not only the welfare of a proud kingdom but the well-being of those silent suffering units who peopled the kingdom, hung, as too often before, on a shameless woman’s smile or frown. And if she could make or mar a country and a nation, how much more a Court poet?
Voltaire had begun writing to Rameau’s music an opera called “The Temple of Glory,” to celebrate Louis XV.’s victories in his campaign. It was just as well from Madame de Pompadour’s point of view to be on the right side of such a very poignant wit as M. de Voltaire’s. She was on the right side of it. With all his usual audacity the poet inserted in his opera the most unmistakable and complimentary allusions to her and her King and to the relations between them. He was busy with other work too. Only one disease—it was an internal complaint this time—and an opera on hand at once would have been idleness indeed. All through the autumn of this 1745 he was writing the authorised historical account of the King’s campaigns, an honour which d’Argenson had procured for him, and which afterwards swelled into his “History of Louis XV.” Now, it was known as the “Campaigns of the King.” With a very rare love of justice, at a time when national feeling ran high, he wrote to Sir Everard Falkener, now secretary to the Duke of Cumberland, to ask him for first-hand facts regarding the war so that the historian might do justice to the “many great actions done by your nation”—our enemies, the English. He had time to read the back numbers of three past years of the “London Magazine” in English. Madame du Châtelet was always with him. In June they had been at Châlons for a fortnight with Madame du Deffand. In October they went to Fontainebleau—Madame creating not a little talk and scandal by insisting, on the way there, on a right, or a supposed right, of her family to ride in the best place in the first coach after the Queen’s—to the exclusion of other noble and indignant ladies, who had, or thought they had, similar rights.
In the comparative quiet of Fontainebleau Voltaire worked at his “Campaigns”—“as I always work—with passion.”
He and Madame returned to Versailles in November in time to welcome the King. On the 26th of that month the Sun was beaming graciously in his firmament again—after a campaign in which he had done nothing but look on from a very cautious distance. And on November 27, 1745, appeared “The Temple of Glory.”
The two principal characters in it are Trajan, great in war but the friend of peace, emperor, Roman—and lover; and Plotine, the beloved. The dullest among the audience must have seen whom these characters represented.
Ta plus belle gloire
Vient du tendre amour,
sang the chorus to Trajan. And did not amour rhyme with Pompadour for ever and ever? Among the spectators were the injured Queen, who had no reason now to love this M. de Voltaire; and Madame du Châtelet, taking advantage of another hereditary right and sitting in her royal mistress’s presence. Rameau’s music was delightful and the dancing perfection. Richelieu had superintended the mise-en-scène. The curtain went down on a tumult of applause. And Voltaire, with that boyish French capacity of his for being intoxicated by the very thin wine of a social success, strolled up to the royal box and said to Richelieu, to be overheard of the King, “Trajan est-il content?”
There are a dozen versions of the story. There are several vehement denials that any such incident took place. But there is no smoke without fire, and the episode is characteristic enough of a pleased and audacious Voltaire. He does not ever allude to it himself: but that may be accounted for by the fact that Trajan was not very content with the too daring question. He had reason to be a little sulky at his royal name being so openly coupled—with Plotine’s. One authority has it that he turned his back on Voltaire and addressed compliments to Rameau.
But “The Temple of Glory” was repeated; and the Sun came out from behind the little cloud as bright as ever.
The next court divertissement, performed on December 22d, was not indeed written by Voltaire, but by Jean Jacques Rousseau, citizen of Geneva, with whom Voltaire was now brought into a polite correspondence, and with whom he was hereafter to fight as he had never fought even with Rousseau’s old exiled namesake at The Hague.