“I have seen all that is done under the sun, and beheld that all is vanity and vexation of spirit. I have said within myself: Let us take all manner of delights and let us enjoy our possessions; and I have recognized that this too is vanity. I have condemned the laughter of folly and I have cried unto joy: Why dost thou deceive us vainly?”
What the Preacher thought, Louis XV. thought also. Like Solomon, he was bored. His ennui was the terror of Madame de Pompadour. The problem she had to solve was how to entertain a man who could no longer be amused. The favorite trembled. Here was her favor barely begun, and already she beheld symptoms of indifference and lassitude in her royal lover. D’Argenson writes in 1747: “The Pompadour is about to be dismissed. The King will live with his family.” The Marquise was afraid lest the sovereign, who really had a badly understood but sincere religion at bottom, might some day conclude to be truly devout. Hence she desired at any cost to divert him from serious ideas and plunge him, in his own despite, into the vortex of false pleasures whose emptiness and poverty he knew so well.
Even amid the splendors of Versailles, the new Marquise regretted her successes as a private actress. The echo of the applause she had become accustomed to in the parlor theatres of M. Lenormand de Tournehem, at Étioles, and of Madame de Villemur, at Chantemerle, still resounded in her flattered ears. Those who are habituated to the emotions and vanities of the stage cannot easily do without them. Madame de Pompadour was homesick for the footlights and the boards. To play in comedy is such a fine occasion for a pretty woman to shine! To see all eyes fixed on her; to put beauty and her toilettes in the best lights; to be greeted when she appears by a murmur of admiration; to receive when the play is ended the rain of flowers and garlands that tumble at her feet; and at last, when the actress resumes the grande dame and re-enters the drawing-room, to glean compliments, madrigals, and enthusiastic plaudits afresh,—what a triumph for a fashionable woman, what exquisite joy for a coquette!
Women of the highest social rank are often jealous of actresses. It annoys them to perceive that they have not that order of charms which comediennes possess. They envy them the privilege of attracting the attention of a whole theatre, of being the object of all regards, the subject of all eulogies, and the ability to say to a lover after a triumph: “I have played only for you, I have thought of you alone; these flowers that have been thrown to me I give to you.” They envy them the excitement of those noisy ovations, in comparison with which all the flatteries of society seem tame. They envy them above all that faculty of metamorphosis which transforms the same woman into a shepherdess or a queen, a nymph or a goddess, so that a man while adoring a single beauty, but a beauty incessantly changed and transfigured, finds himself at once faithful and inconstant.
This is why Madame de Pompadour wanted to play comedy at Versailles. Little by little she accustomed Louis XV. to this idea. Holy Week was always a sad time for the monarch, who was tortured by remorse and ashamed of playing so badly his part as eldest son of the Church. The favorite conceived the notion of enlivening this dreaded week by interludes, half religious, half profane. Accompanied by actors and amateurs, she sang pieces of sacred music. This Lent à la Pompadour, this mixture of church and opera, this exchange of religions for chamber, not to say alcove, music, was very acceptable to such a character as Louis XV. and a devotion as inconsistent and spurious as his. The courtiers, of course, went into ecstasies over the charming voice of the Marquise. They reminded the King of the triumphs of the little theatres at Étioles and Chantemerle, and pitied him for not having seen comedy played by so remarkable an actress. Sacred music had served its time; another sort was now in order.
Madame de Pompadour achieved her purpose. A theatre was constructed for her at Versailles,—a miniature theatre, an elegant little place, a perfect gem.[31] The spot chosen was the gallery contiguous to the former Cabinet of Medals, a dependence of the King’s small apartments (room No. 137 of the Notice du Musée de Versailles, by M. Eudore Soulié). Nearly one-third of the orchestra was composed of amateurs belonging to the most illustrious families, the other two-thirds being professional artists. The chorus singers were selected among the King’s musicians. The dancers were boys and girls from nine to thirteen years at most, who, on reaching the latter age, were to enter the ballet corps of the opera, the Théâtre Français, or the Comédie-Italienne (the little girls distinguished themselves later on in choregraphic shows and gallantry). Celebrated painters, Boucher at their head, supplied the decorations. The mise en scène and the costumes were of incomparable elegance. As to the actors and actresses, they bore such names as the Duke de Chartres, the Duke d’Ayen, the Duke de Duras, the Duke de Nivernais, the Duke de Coigny, the Marquis d’Entraigues, the Count de Maillebois, the Duchess de Brancas, the Marquise Livry, the Countess d’Estrades, Madame de Marchais, and finally, the principal actress, the Armida of all these enchantments, the Marquise de Pompadour. The Duke de La Vallière was chosen as director of the troupe; as sub-director l’historiogriffe of cats, Moncrif, academician and reader to the Queen; as secretary and prompter, the Abbé de La Garde, librarian to the Marquise. Madame de Pompadour drew up the regulations for the players. As approved by the King, they contained ten articles:—
“1. In order to be admitted as an associate, it will be necessary to prove that this is not the first time that one has acted, so as not to make one’s novitiate in the troupe.
“2. Every one shall choose his own line of characters.
“3. No one may choose a different line from that for which he has been accepted, without obtaining the consent of all the associates.
“4. One cannot, in case of absence, appoint his substitute (a right expressly reserved to the Society which will appoint by an absolute majority).
“5. On his return, the person replaced will resume his own line.
“6. No associate can refuse a part appropriate to his line under pretext that such a part is unsuitable to his manner of acting or too fatiguing.
“7. The actresses alone have the right to select the pieces to be represented by the troupe.
“8. They shall also have the right to fix the day of representation, the number of rehearsals, and the days and hours when they shall occur.
“9. Each actor is bound to be present at the precise hour appointed for the rehearsal under penalty of a fine which the actresses alone shall determine among themselves.
“10. To the actresses alone a half-hour’s grace is accorded, after which the fine they will have incurred shall be decided by themselves only.
“A copy of these statutes will be given to each secretary, who shall be bound to fetch it to each rehearsal.”
Madame de Pompadour was quite right in drawing up a severe code of regulations, for it is not an easy thing to establish discipline in a troupe composed of society people, where the intrigues of the courtier are added to the vanity of the actor. What petty jealousies, what mean vanities! What manœuvres to obtain this or that part, what solicitations and cabals to ensure merely a spectator’s place in the cœnaculum!
Louis XV. occupied himself seriously with such trifles. The direction of this miniature theatre gave him no fewer cares than the government of France. He reserved to himself the right of selecting the spectators, and it was a signal favor to have been thus chosen. Notwithstanding their ardent desire to be among the privileged persons, neither Marshal de Noailles, the Duke de Gesores, nor the Prince de Conti were admitted to the opening of the theatre. It took place January 17, 1747. Tartuffe was given. Madame de Pompadour played Dorine. The first theatrical season of the little cabinets lasted until March 17.
After having secured applause as an actress in Tartuffe, Les Trois Cousines, and Le Préjugé à la Mode, the Marquise triumphed as a cantatrice in Erigone: “Madame de Pompadour sang very well,” says the Duke de Luynes; “her voice has not much volume, but a very agreeable sound; she knows music well and sings with much taste.”
The second theatrical season lasted from December 20, 1747, to March 30, 1748. The first representation comprised a comedy, Le Mariage fait et rompu, and a pastoral, Ismène, the words by Moncrif. Voltaire’s Enfant prodigue was given December 20, to the author’s great joy. Madame de Pompadour had promised Gresset to produce Le Merchant. She kept her word. The play required two months of study. It was given February 6, 1748, Madame de Pompadour playing Lisette. The Duke de Nivernais was excellent as Valère, and the Duke de Chartres took the part of Géronte. The grateful Gresset thanked the Marquise thus:—
Pastorals, opera ballets, comedies, succeeded each other quickly. (The complete list may be found in the opuscule of M. Adolphe Julien.) The usual spectators were those of the actors and actresses who were not playing, Marshal Saxe, Marshal de Duras, all the ministers, President Hénault, the Abbé de Bernis. The King did not have a fauteuil. He sat in an ordinary chair and, according to the Duke de Luynes, he seemed to be amused.
The Marquise was charming in the ballet of Almases. She had a splendid costume: a low-cut corsage of pink taffeta trimmed with silver wire, a petticoat of the same, pinked out with silver, opening over a second petticoat of white taffeta pinked out and embroidered in rose color; the mantle draping the whole was of white taffeta glazed with silver and embroidered in flowers of their natural color.
The first dancer of the troupe was the Marquis de Courtenvaux; the second, Count de Langeron. Others were the Duke de Beuvron and Count de Melfort, to whom were adjoined a ballet corps composed of young boys and little girls. Mesdemoiselles Gaussin and Dumesnil, of the Comédie-Française, gave advice to the actresses.
Under the title of Comédies et ballets des petites apartements, a collection was published, bearing on its title-page a notice that it was “Printed by express command of His Majesty.” Many were displeased by this, especially the courtiers who were not admitted to the much-envied entertainments. The Marquis d’Argenson, who for some time had ceased to be minister of foreign affairs, wrote March 1, 1748, in his Danubian peasant style: “They have just published a very ridiculous collection of the divertisements of the theatre of the cabinets or small apartments of His Majesty,—wretched and flattering lyrics; one finds in it dancing and singing actors, general officers and buffoons, great court ladies and theatre girls. In fact, the King spends his time nowadays in seeing the Marquise and the other personages trained by all these professional actors, who familiarize themselves with the monarch in an impious and sacrilegious fashion.”
In October, 1748, France had lost, by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, an opportunity to enlarge its dominions. Louis XV. consoled himself by enlarging, if not the realm, at least the theatre of the little cabinets. A new hall was constructed in the space containing the great staircase of the Ambassadors,[33] care being taken to injure neither the marble nor the pictures. The new theatre was movable. Fourteen hours were necessary to strip it, and twenty-four to set it up again. It was opened November 27, 1748, by the Surprises de l’amour, a play due to the collaboration of Gentil-Beniard, Moncrif, and De Rameau. The hall was a masterpiece of elegance. But Louis XV. was not amused. He yawned. The grand opera of Tancred was given December 10, Madame de Pompadour singing the part of Herminie. Two days later Quinault’s Mère coquette was played. The really indefatigable Marquise took the part of Laurette. She made a success, even according to D’Argenson, her implacable enemy, who wrote, not without vexation: “The King, who was said to be tired of the favorite sultana, is more insane than ever about her. She has sung and played so well in the last ballets at Versailles that the King praised her publicly, and caressing her before everybody, said to her that she was the most charming woman in France.”
The beginning of 1749 was signalized by the great quarrel between the dukes of Richelieu and La Vallière. The Duke de Richelieu was one of the four first gentlemen of the chamber who, in virtue of their charge, had the grand apartments of the King under their jurisdiction. Now the new theatre was constructed in the space occupied by the great stairway of the Ambassadors, which was considered an integral part of the grand apartments. Consequently, the first gentlemen of the chamber claimed that the right to direct the theatre appertained to that one of themselves who was on duty, and that the Duke de La Vallière infringed upon this right. The Duke d’Aumont, who was on duty in 1748, raised the question, but somewhat timidly. Madame de Pompadour mentioned the matter to Louis XV., who contented himself with replying: “Let His Excellency” (the title he gave Richelieu) “come. You will see something quite different.”
His Excellency made his appearance at the beginning of 1749, and as soon as he took up his functions he began a desperate struggle against the Duke de La Vallière.
“He made nothing of thwarting little Pompadour,” wrote D’Argenson, “and treating her like an opera girl, having had great experience with that sort of women and with all women. Mistress as she is of the King and the court, he will torment and tire her out.”
But Richelieu went too far. Some days later, D’Argenson wrote in his journal: “M. de Richelieu is too much attached to the trifles of the ballet theatre. They say he has behaved like a fool; he was too open in his antagonism to the mistress, and she has regained the upper hand. People consider her to count for as much or more than Cardinal Fleury in the government. Woe to any one who dares to pit himself against her at present! She unites pleasure to decision, and the suffrages of the principal ministers to the force of habit which is constantly gaining strength in a mild and affectionate monarch. But woe to the state governed in this way by a coquette! People are exclaiming on all hands. It is kicking against the pricks to revolt in any wise against her. Richelieu has found that out; he ought to give up this trifling business of the ballet stage in order to pursue greater, more important, and more virtuous matters. It would have been enough for him to absent himself from these operas and to do so from pride, as soon as his charge was injuriously affected by them. The instructions he gave the musicians were thus worded: ‘Such a person will be present at such an hour to play in Madame de Pompadour’s opera.’ He was worsted at every step. The real friends of those who made any pretensions advised them strongly to make their way by means of Madame the Marquise; homage must be paid to her.”
Like the majority of men too much favored by women, Richelieu resembled a spoiled child. He was stingy, proud, and wilful. However, he ended by yielding. When this quarrel of etiquette was at its height, Louis XV. carelessly asked him this simple question: “Richelieu, how many times have you been at the Bastille?”—“Three times,” responded the audacious courtier. But he promised himself not to go a fourth time. He submitted, therefore, and the Duke de La Vallière, who remained director of the troupe, was rewarded for his patience by the blue ribbon.
The third theatrical season ended March 22, 1749; it had cost at least a hundred thousand ecus. Louis XV., who was not always prodigal, began to find the expenses excessive. He did not get his money’s worth in amusement. The fourth and last theatrical season of the little cabinets lasted from December 26, 1749, to April 27, 1750.
Madame de Pompadour had successfully attempted comedy, opera, and ballet. She wanted to add another gem to her crown. After Thalia, Euterpe, and Terpsichore, it was now the turn of Melpomene. February 28, 1750, the Marquise played the part of Alzire. Voltaire, enraptured, went to thank her for her interpretation of his work, as she was at her toilette, and addressed her in this not very original impromptu:—
The King began to be bored by these incessant spectacles. He decided that there should be no more comedies, ballets, music, and dancing at Versailles, and that hereafter the representations should take place at the Château of Bellevue. The stage of this château was very small, and did not admit of a brilliant mise en scène. The number of spectators had to be greatly restricted. Accustomed to a real theatre, splendid decorations, and a numerous audience, the actors and actresses no longer showed the same enthusiasm. The hour of decadence had come. However, Jean Jacques Rousseau’s Devin du Village was very successfully played in 1753. Madame de Pompadour took the part of Colette. The next day she sent fifty louis to Jean Jacques, who thanked her in the following letter:—
“Paris, March 7, 1753.—Madame: In accepting this present, which has been sent me by you, I believe I have testified my respect for the hand from which it came, and I venture to add that of the two proofs you have made of my moderation, interest is not the most dangerous. I am with respect, etc.”
The Devin du Village was the Swan Song. Madame de Pompadour no longer pleased Louis XV. as an actress. Hence she closed the Bellevue theatre, and her ambition became, if not to amuse, at least to interest, as a political woman, the master whose mistress she was said to be.