One of them would have to go sooner or later, he was sure.
He found great pleasure in watching this duel, for he would be delighted to see the dismissal of either, if he could not hope for both.
Madame de Pompadour had so far said nothing to the King about the verse she had found on the table. She did not want to call his attention to her ill health, and she did not want to make a scene.
But she knew that she could not ignore such an insult. To allow without protest such a verse to be presented to her at the table in the petits appartements would be an admission of her own uncertainty.
Before approaching the King however she would try to make peace with Maurepas. If he would stop circulating these vile verses about her she would be ready to forget all that had gone before, and there should be a truce between them.
She called on Maurepas the next day.
Maurepas could scarcely contain his mirth as he greeted her. He would exaggerate everything that was said and have an amusing tale to tell his cronies later.
‘Madame le Marquise,’ he cried; and there was irony even in his bow. ‘I am overwhelmed by this honour.’
‘I wish to speak to you on a matter of urgency,’ she told him.
‘And Madame did not send for me?’
‘I do not send for Ministers,’ she answered promptly. ‘That would be presumption on my part. If I have anything to say to them I call upon them.’
‘You are gracious, Madame.’
‘You know, Monsieur de Maurepas, that unpleasant verses are being circulated about me.’
‘It is deeply regrettable.’
‘The King has instructed the Administration to discover who is responsible for them.’
‘And they have not?’
‘You have not, Monsieur, because you, I understand, are responsible for the Administration of Paris.’
‘Madame, your reproaches are more than I can endure. Efforts shall be doubled and, when the culprit is discovered, I assure you that no time will be lost in bringing the scoundrel before the King.’
She looked at him intently. Then she said slowly: ‘I believe, Monsieur, that you and Madame de Châteauroux were not good friends.’
He raised his shoulders and eyebrows simultaneously, in an expression of mock regret.
‘I see, Monsieur, that you do not feel very friendly towards the King’s mistresses.’
‘But, Madame, they have my deep respect . . .’ His cynical eyes surveyed her . . . ‘no matter whence they come,’ he added.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ she told him crisply. ‘I felt sure that you were too wise to make enemies of them intentionally.’
‘It is you who have the wisdom, Madame,’ he said. ‘Wisdom which matches your youthful beauty.’
There was no mistaking the mockery and the meaning behind his reply.
She knew that he intended to go on writing verses about her, and the particularly obnoxious one she had received last night was an example of what they would be like in the future.
So much depended on this, but she knew she could not put off showing that verse to Louis.
He wanted to make love. Did he not always? She must not appear tired or jaded in the least. She had ridden with him, and he could be in the saddle all day without fatigue; she had taken part in a little play which she had staged for his entertainment.
‘Madame,’ he said at the end of the evening, ‘you are the most remarkable woman in France. All the best qualities of womanhood rest within your perfect form.’
That was good; but there was still the night before them; and it was the nights which she feared were beyond her talents.
But she was determined to bring this matter of the verses to a head. She knew that both Richelieu and Maurepas were waiting to see what she would do, so action was imperative, and it must not be delayed action.
‘Louis,’ she said, ‘I am sorry to bother you with this matter, but I have suffered a great deal from these cruel verses of Maurepas. This one was on the table in my place last night. I think that it is too crude to be accepted without demur, and I am going to ask you to dismiss him from Court.’
Louis frowned and took the verses. He read them through and flushed.
Then he held the paper in the flame of a candle.
He took her hand and repeated the words with which he had dismissed the guests of that night’s party: ‘Allons nous coucher.’
It was the hour of the lever, and Maurepas was in attendance.
The Comte was alert for some change in the King’s attitude towards him for he did not see how the Marquise could retain her dignity and do otherwise than show him that verse. Her manner when she had called on him had, he believed, held a threat in it. A weaker man, he told himself, would have been afraid, would have sworn he would discover the culprit and put an end to the scandal sheets.
Not he! Not Maurepas! Afraid of the King’s mistress? He had not been afraid of Châteauroux, so why should he be of Pompadour?
Châteauroux had sent him into exile for a while, and what had happened? She had died, and back he came. He was the one who could laugh at that little battle now.
Mistresses should learn that their period of glory must necessarily be brief, whereas ministers could retain office as long as they were clever enough to do so.
The King was unusually jocular on that morning. ‘Why, Comte,’ he said, his eyes scrutinising Maurepas, ‘you look dazzling this morning.’
‘Sire, I am to attend a wedding.’
‘Ah! It suits him, does it not, attending weddings? Did you ever see a man more pleased with himself?’
‘Sire, my pleasure is great because it is someone else’s wedding and not my own.’
The King laughed with the rest, and Maurepas felt gratified. ‘Well, make the most of your pleasure,’ said the King. ‘I shall expect to see you at Marly.’
‘Thank you, Sire,’ said Maurepas, his spirits rising still further.
He was exultant. She has shown him, he thought; and this is his answer. Madame la Marquise, there can be no doubt that your days at Versailles are numbered. Silly woman, you should have accepted my insults. You should have learned that I am a man whom no mistress dares flout. I bring bad luck to the mistresses of Kings.
He obeyed the King inasmuch as he enjoyed the festivities at the wedding of Mademoiselle Maupeou, and when he returned to his apartments he was met by a gentleman of the King’s household.
‘Monsieur de Maurepas,’ said that gentleman, ‘I bring a message from His Majesty.’
Maurepas tried not to look concerned as he read:
‘Monsieur,
I told you that I should let you know when I no longer required your services. That moment has come. I order you to hand in your resignation to M. de Saint Florentin. You will go to Bourges. Pontchartrain is too near . . .’
He tried not to show his anger and despair. In what he believed was his moment of victory he had been brought face to face with defeat.
The news spread through the Court.
‘Maurepas has had his lettre de cachet. He leaves at once for Bourges.’
Richelieu could not hide his pleasure. The Queen, whose support Maurepas had received, was deeply distressed.
But the whole Court now knew the depth of the King’s regard for the Marquise de Pompadour.
Madame de Pompadour had taken to using the significant word ‘nous’ to ministers and ambassadors. She was always at the King’s side, and he delighted in showering gifts on her. She was fascinated by beautiful china and took a great interest in the works at Vincennes and, when the King bestowed upon her the village of Sèvres, she began to make plans for bringing the china works to that neighbourhood that she might give them her personal supervision.