Can one be surprised, after this, that Madame de Pompadour should have been persuaded of her own merit, wit, and even genius; that she cherished strange illusions concerning her rôle and her character; that she took herself seriously, even tragically; that she regarded any adverse criticism of her as high treason against beauty and majesty?
With such an array of luxury and power, such a mass of riches, jewels, objects of art, such a court of ingenious and amiable courtiers, with all that could soothe her vanity, coquetry, and pride, with the ability to realize all her fancies and caprices, one might perhaps think the favorite was happy. Well! no.
VI
THE GRIEFS OF THE MARQUISE DE POMPADOUR
“I pity you much, Madame, while all the world envies you.” The person who addressed this just remark to the Marquise de Pompadour was her inseparable confidant, her lady’s maid, Madame du Hausset, the woman to whom she told everything, whom she always kept near her, and to whom she said: “The King and I rely on you so fully that we pay no more attention to you than to a cat or dog, but go right on talking.” The Marquise recognized the truth of her confidant’s melancholy words: “Ah!” she answered, “my life is like that of a Christian: a perpetual combat.” Strange comparison! Most inexact comparison! for the Christian combats for God, while the favorite was combating for the devil. This, in fact, was the cause of her sadness. The love of God consoles one for all sacrifices; but woe to the woman who makes herself the slave of a man! Madame de Pompadour placed no confidence in Louis XV., and she was right. The Maréchale de Mirepoix said to her one day: “It is your staircase that the King likes; he is used to going up and down it. But if he found another woman to whom he could talk about his hunting and his affairs, it would be all the same to him at the end of three days.”
Listen to Madame du Hausset. She says in her Memoirs: “Madame experienced many tribulations amidst all her grandeurs. Anonymous letters were often written her containing threats to poison or assassinate her; but what affected her most was the dread of being supplanted by a rival. I never saw her in greater vexation than one evening on her return from the salon of Marly. On entering, she spitefully threw down her muff and mantle, and undressed with extreme haste; then, sending away her other women, she said to me after they went out: ‘I don’t believe anything can be more insolent than that Madame de Coaslin. I had to play brelan at the same table with her this evening, and you cannot imagine what I suffered. The men and women seemed to take turns in coming to examine us. Two or three times Madame de Coaslin said, looking at me: “Va tout,” in the most insulting manner, and I thought I should be ill when she said in a triumphant tone: “I have played kings!” I wish you had seen her courtesy on quitting me!’” Thereupon Madame du Hausset inquired what the master’s attitude had been. “You don’t know him, my dear,” replied the Marquise; “if he were going to put her in my apartment this evening he would treat her coldly before people, and me with the greatest affection.” The favorite was in constant alarm and anxiety. She believed in neither the loyalty, the love, nor the friendship of the King. Thus, as has been wittily said by M. Paul de Saint-Victor: “She spent her life in the attitude of Scheherezade, sitting beside the bed where the caliph slept, his sabre at hand. Like the head of the sultana, her favor depended on a caprice of the master, on the gay or tiresome story which she was about to tell him. And what happens in the thousand and one nights of the harem from which she is excluded? Who knows whether a firman scrawled by a grisette may not exile her to-morrow to the depths of a province?” In spite of her knowledge of frivolous trifles and her array of seductions, the Marquise could not succeed in diverting Louis XV. It is again Madame du Hausset who tells us as much: “The King was habitually very dismal and liked everything which recalled the thought of death, even though he feared it very much.” This melancholy humor of the monarch distressed his mistress. “What a singular pleasure,” said she, “to occupy one’s self with things the very notion of which ought to be banished, especially when one leads such a happy life!” Madame de Pompadour did not reflect when she talked like this. She forgot that a debauchee can never be happy long. The sovereign and his favorite were both suffering from the same malady; their consciences were not at rest. To both of them might be applied the verses addressed by Lucretius to the Epicurean youth of Rome, which we translate as follows: “They inhale sweet perfumes; they deck themselves with wreaths and garlands; but from the middle of the fount of pleasures rises bitterness, and sharp thorns pierce through the flowers; remorse rebukes them from the depths of their soul and reproaches them with days lost in idleness.”
Of what use then were luxury and splendor to her? The Marquise was greeted by adulations in all her châteaux, all her houses. Nowhere did she find esteem. To tell the truth, all this array of factitious grandeur, all this pretence at decorum, was but a parody. Do what she might, the mistress of Louis XV. was in reality nothing but the first kept woman in the kingdom. Loaded and overwhelmed with proofs of royal munificence, she never called herself satisfied; ambition, like sensual pleasure, is insatiable. The love of money and the love of flattery never say: “It is enough!”
The sumptuous abodes the favorite found means to acquire were, after all, but monuments of her shame. Her house at Paris (now the Élysée) was styled the palace of the queen of courtesans, ædes reginæ meretricum. When the equestrian statue of Louis XV., with its four allegorical figures sculptured by Pigalle, was set up in the Place Louis XV., the crowd pointing out to each other these emblems of Force, Prudence, Justice, Love of Peace, said they were the four most famous mistresses of the monarch: Mesdames de Mailly, de Vintimille, de Châteauroux, and de Pompadour, and a paper containing these verses was posted on the statue itself:—
“Grotesque monument, infâme piédestal;
Les Vertus sont à pied, et le vice à cheval.”[41]
The honors heaped on her family by the all-powerful Marquise were not taken seriously. When her mother, Farmer-General Lenormand de Tournehem’s mistress, died, this quatrain was circulated:—