‘Swear,’ said the young husband on one occasion, ‘that you will always be true to me.’
‘I will be a faithful wife,’ she answered gravely, ‘except, of course, in the case of the King.’
Charles-Guillaume was bewildered, but believing this was some sort of joke, thought no more of it.
Jeanne-Antoinette was discovering that it was very different to be the wife of a rich young man, heir to a great fortune, from being merely the daughter of a rich man’s mistress. Charles-Guillaume was ready and able to give her all she wanted, and she had her chance of displaying those talents which since she was nine years old she had been busily cultivating.
In the Hôtel de Gesvres she set up her salon, and here she welcomed the intellectuals of Paris. Writers and musicians flocked to her parties, and always in the centre of these gatherings was the exquisite Jeanne-Antoinette, charming them all with her appearance and her conversation.
Two children were born to her, a girl and a boy; and, although she loved them devotedly, she never lost sight of what she had come to think of as her destiny.
Voltaire, who was a frequent visitor to the gatherings in the Hôtel de Gesvres, was very attracted by her, for she delighted him by discussing his work with great intelligence and by encouraging him to visit her and give that éclat to her gathering which, she said, radiated from his genius.
One day she said to him: ‘If it should ever be in my power to help you, you may rely upon me to do so.’
Voltaire kissed her hand and, because she felt that he had not completely understood, she added: ‘I have a presentiment that one day – very soon now – the King is going to fall in love with me.’
‘He would but have to look at you,’ was the answer, ‘– that would suffice.’
She smiled at him. ‘He is surrounded by beautiful and accomplished women, women who have been born to the Court life, and who therefore fit perfectly into Versailles and all it stands for. But I know. Something within me tells me. As for myself I loved him from the moment I saw him. Indeed, I think I began to love him before I saw him.’
She could see that the writer did not take this conversation very seriously, and she was amused. One day he will remember, she told herself.
She began to feel a certain disquiet. Time was passing, and if she were going to captivate the King she must not delay too long. Already she was past twenty and the mother of two children.
Then she heard that Louis occasionally hunted in the forest of Sénart, and she remembered the ramshackle old château which was close to the forest and in the possession of the Tourneheim family.
‘Why should we not have a place in the country?’ she demanded. ‘Let us go and inspect that old château.’
So she and Charles-Guillaume went. It could be made into something quite attractive; even Charles-Guillaume agreed to what Jeanne-Antoinette planned with enthusiasm; she herself designed the alterations; the architects and builders were put to work, and very soon she had her château in the country.
Jeanne-Antoinette planned an exquisite wardrobe, and ordered two or three carriages to be made for her – they must be different from other carriages, light and dainty, merely designed to take her for little drives about the château. They were made in colours which suited her – those delicate shades of rose and blue.
Thus it was that she brought herself to the notice of the King when he was hunting in the forest. That might have been the great moment, she believed, but for the fact that the King was already under the spell of that strong-minded woman, Madame de Châteauroux.
The day when the King’s party sheltered in the château during a rain-storm seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity. But again Madame de Châteauroux was there to prevent the long-laid plans coming to fruition; and alas, the King had not been sufficiently aware of his destiny to help matters along by insisting on the beautiful Madame d’Etioles being brought to one of his supper parties.
Worse still, Madame de Châteauroux had begun to suspect that she had a rival in the pretty lady of the forest château, and from then on had made it quite impossible for Jeanne-Antoinette to put herself in the way of the King.
That had been most depressing. But now Madame de Châteauroux was dead.
Towards the end of the year 1744 it was decided that, as the Dauphin was now fifteen and the King had been a husband at that age, it was time that a wife was found for him.
The Dauphin had changed a great deal from that spirited boy who had charmed the King with his clever sayings. He was growing fat and had become very interested in religion.
He did not share the Bourbon love of hunting; indeed he shrank from sport. This may have been due to the fact that on his first shooting expedition he had accidentally killed a man. He was so upset that he could not forget it and, when urged to go on a similar expedition and one of his shots injured a woman, he declared that he could no longer find pleasure in sport.
He and Louis were growing away from each other; in fact Louis’ interest was in his daughters and he was often seen in the company of Anne-Henriette and Adelaide. Adelaide’s high spirits amused him but his tenderness towards Anne-Henriette was most marked; and it seemed as though he could not give her enough affection to make up for having denied her marriage with the Duc de Chartres.
The Dauphin was excited at the prospect of having a bride and, when the Infanta Marie-Thérèse-Raphaëlle arrived, he was determined to love her.
She was the sister of the little Infanta who had years before been sent to France as Louis’ bride and who, on account of her youth, had been hastily sent home by the Duc de Bourbon and the domineering Madame de Prie.
Marie-Thérèse-Raphaëlle was four years older than the Dauphin; she had abundant red hair, but with this went a very pale skin and a not very pleasant cast of features. She came to France warily; remembering French treatment of her sister, she was determined that such conduct should not be meted out to her, and consequently she was haughty in the extreme. She possessed the solemnity which was typical of the Spanish Court and in complete contrast with the gay yet dignified splendour and grace which was the very essence of Versailles.
Only the Dauphin continued to be pleased with the Infanta and, as he made this clear to her, she began to unbend a little but to him only.
The King, smiling at the young pair, recalled the days when Marie Leczinska had arrived in France and he had thought her the most beautiful woman at Court.
Blind, he told himself. Absolutely blind! But how charming it is to be blind on certain occasions. Let us hope the Dauphin will be similarly afflicted.
The wedding of the Dauphin must be attended by a round of festivities, and the crowning event was to be the masked ball held in the Château of Versailles itself.
Throughout the Palace there was great excitement, not only because there was to be a ball at which, disguised behind masks, men and women could allow themselves to cast aside decorum and restraint for an evening, but because with the festivities following the Dauphin’s wedding the King had appeared to come out of mourning for Madame de Châteauroux. He was not the man to exist long without feminine friendship, and sooner or later someone would step into the place vacated by the dead woman.
Thus many women, as they prepared for the ball, hoped that this night might see the beginning of a life of prestige and power; and friends of beauties primed them on the best mode of attack.