Виктория Холт - The Road to Compiegne

‘I pray you,’ he began, ‘in the morning . . .’

But she was a determined woman, and he struggled a little, but not very much. It was a piquant situation, quite unique in his experience, and he felt too languid to do anything but allow himself to rise to the occasion.

The King was still a little bewildered in the morning, and at the lever he whispered to the Duc de Richelieu, who was handing him his shirt: ‘Last night I was ravished in my bed. I must tell Choiseul to keep his sister in better order.’

Richelieu was alert. ‘Could not Your Majesty have called for help?’

‘The attack came so suddenly, and she was so overpowering. There seemed no alternative but to submit.’

This was serious, thought Richelieu. Choiseul had his hands firmly on the reins of Government; if his sister took the place of Madame de Pompadour there would be a sphere of influence about the King which it would be impossible to penetrate. Richelieu was not without his ambitions.

He would seek out that enchanting little Esparbès. Gramont could stand little chance against that dainty creature, and the rape of the King could only succeed if it were accompanied by indifference in an intoxicated victim and an element of surprise.

Madame d’Esparbès was plump and frivolous, petite and very feminine.

‘Was there ever a woman made in more direct contrast to the ravisher of Your Majesty?’ whispered Richelieu.

Louis watched the young Comtesse; she was leaning her arms on the table, peeling cherries. They were very white, and perfectly formed; it was said that Madame d’Esparbès had the most beautiful arms at Court.

Louis felt listless, but he realised that he must do something to escape from the Duchesse de Gramont. He could dismiss the woman from Court, but that would offend Choiseul, and he looked upon the Duc as the most clever of his ministers and one whom he could not afford to do without.

The simplest way, Louis supposed, watching the plump tapering fingers with the cherries, was to install someone else in that place which Madame de Gramont coveted.

Inwardly he shivered. It had been an unusual experience and for that he did not entirely regret it. But robbed of the element of surprise and novelty it could only have been repulsive; and he must find immediate protection from that rapacious woman.

Madame d’Esparbès was giving him one of her dewy smiles. She was a sensual little animal; he had heard of her adventures with others. He believed that she would be quite amusing.

He returned the smile and with a gesture invited her to change her place for the one beside him.

When supper was over he had made arrangements that she was to come to his bedroom immediately after the coucher .

Le Bel would stand on guard so that, should unwelcome visitors approach, they could be told that the King was engaged.

Thus he felt safe from the attentions of the Duchesse, and he was mildly pleased to have the kittenish d’Esparbès nestling against him.

‘Oh, Sire,’ she cried, ‘tonight I have reached the summit of my dreams.’

‘I know,’ said the King, ‘that you are a lady of great experience. I believe you have slept with every one of my subjects.’

Madame d’Esparbès dimpled. ‘Oh, Sire!’ she murmured.

‘There is the Duc de Choiseul, for one,’ pursued the King.

‘But Sire, he is so powerful.’

‘And the Duc de Richelieu is another.’

‘He is so witty, Sire.’

‘Monsieur de Monville also.’

‘Such beautiful legs!’

‘I agree that Choiseul has power, Richelieu wit, and Monville shapely legs. But what of the far from prepossessing Duc d’Aumont?’

‘Oh, Sire, he is so devoted to Your Majesty.’

The King began to laugh. Madame d’Esparbès laughed with him. This was success. Anyone who could make the King laugh, especially during this period of depression, would be welcomed to share his company.

But neither the rivalry between the Duchesse de Gramont and Madame d’Esparbès, nor the antagonism which existed between the Dauphine and the Duc de Choiseul could enliven the ennui into which the King had fallen – and the Court with him. The intimate supper parties were dull affairs. There were no private theatrical performances; the Marquise was sadly missed, not only by the King.

Louis was continually reminded that he was growing old. He could not stop talking of death, and when any member of the Court died, he wanted to hear all the details. If the deceased were younger than he was, the Court could be prepared for hours of gloom.

The Queen’s father, Stanislas, had died; and the Queen had grieved for him ever since.

‘He was the person in the world who loved me best,’ she told her women. ‘I shall mourn him for the rest of my life. My only consolation is that he is happier than I am and would not wish to return to this sad world.’

The King, who had made tentative movements towards a reconciliation with the Queen, left her alone after the death of Stanislas. He wanted to be with those who helped him to forget the proximity of death.

It seemed that Marie Leczinska did not recover from the death of her father. Her health declined each day; her skin grew yellow and her once plump body seemed to be wasting away, although she retained her abnormal appetite. The doctors were nonplussed; they could put no name to her malady but coma vigil .

The Court decided that the next to die would be the Queen.

Choiseul’s brain was busy. When the Queen died he must endeavour to arrange a marriage for the King. Sadly he was beginning to realise that Louis would never accept the Duchesse de Gramont as a wife. The whole Court was laughing about the rape of the King, for Richelieu had naturally made sure that such an opportunity of showering ridicule on Choiseul and his sister should not be missed.

If the Queen should die, and it was impossible to hope for a marriage between the King and the Duchesse de Gramont, Choiseul would attempt to strengthen the bonds between France and Austria. The Archduchess Elisabeth, daughter of Maria Theresa, was highly eligible.

But he would not as much as hint at this matter while the Queen still lived; even with his sister he would not discuss it, because he knew that she had not yet given up all hope of marrying the King herself. Alas, it would be a little more difficult to force the King into marriage than forcing him to accept her for one night in his bed.

Choiseul’s hopes of a royal marriage for his sister were very dim.

He was even a little worried about his own position. The Dauphine was worming her way into the King’s confidence, and he was fully aware that she had some sentimental notion of her duty towards her dead husband which made her work assiduously for his, Choiseul’s dismissal.

A short while ago he would have laughed at the possibility; now he was not so confident.

He often found that the Dauphine shared his conferences with the King, as Madame de Pompadour had done, which was a disconcerting state of affairs, for while he had counted on the support of the Marquise he could count with equal certainty on the opposition of the Dauphine.

Nevertheless he did not waver in his somewhat arrogant attitude, and refused to admit that he considered the Dauphin a worthy adversary.

Then suddenly he ceased to feel anxious concerning the Dauphine.

The trio were in the King’s private apartment and Choiseul had determined to bring to the King’s notice a matter which had long been on his mind.

The Dauphine sat with her back to the window, and thus her face was in shadow. The King was seated at the table with Choiseul opposite him.