Free Madame de Pompadour by Nancy Mitford Page B

general. ‘Shut up, Abbé, for it’s me.’ It was indeed the disreputable old Princesse de Conti, who would at any time perform any service for her cousin the King so long as he would go on paying her gambling debts. She had covered herself by going to see the Queen and explaining that it was hardly her fault if she was obliged to be a party to something utterly repugnant, so much against both her wishes and her principles. Alas, she had received the royal command; no more to be said. Fontenoy, as a topic, had now entirely lost interest and nothing was spoken of but the presentation; everybody was busily making plans for the great event. The Duchesse de Luynes, who had been going to Dampierre for a little holiday, thought that the least she could do would be to stay and support the Queen while the Queen’s father, Stanislas, who was on his way to visit her, thought it would be more seemly for him to wait in Paris until all was over. In the end he compromised and went to Trianon. Everybody else flocked to Versailles to see the fun; there had seldom been such an enormous crowd in the state apartments.
    At 6 p.m. the Princesse de Conti left her room accompanied by her own lady-in-waiting, as well as by the new Marquise, the Comtesse de Lachau-Montaubon and the Comtesse d’Estrades, whose presentation had taken place the day before. They all wore thickly embroidered satin skirts over enormous panniers; short muslin sleeves; small white feathers, held in place on their lightly powdered hair with diamonds; and narrow trains. Their little sliding footsteps took them through lanes of sight-seers in the state rooms, through the Œil-de-Bœuf, packed with courtiers, to the King’s council chamber. His Majesty stood by the chimney piece, deeply embarrassed, scarlet in the face, and looking very sulky indeed. When the Marquise de Pompadour was named he muttered something which nobody heard and dismissed her with a freezing nod. She, too, was seen to be very nervous; but her three curtseys were impeccable, and masterly was the kick with which she got her train out of the way so that she could walk backwards, the most difficult part of the whole proceeding.
    The intimidating journey now continued, back across the Œilde-Bœuf, to the Queen’s room. This was even more packed with people than the King’s, as everybody was curious to know what the Queen would say to her new rival; no doubt she would compliment her on her dress in one sentence, or at the most two, before dismissing her. It was the usual way, at Versailles, of saying nothing at all. But the Queen was quite well aware that the interview had been settled for her, and preferred to take a line of her own. She spoke to Madame de Pompadour of Madame de Saissac, asking if she had seen her lately, and said that she herself had been so delighted to have a visit from her the other day in Paris. Now the Marquise de Saissac was one of the few aristocrats whom the Poisson family had always known; by speaking thus, in such a natural and friendly way, of a mutual acquaintance the Queen gave the onlookers to understand that, in her view, Madame de Pompadour was perfectly admissible at Court. She must have known that this would annoy the courtiers and was perhaps not averse from doing so; she had many a little score to pay back herself.
    As for the Marquise, she was quite thrown off her balance by the unexpected kindliness of this opening; she became almost hysterical, and burst out, not at all as a noblewoman would have done, with assurances of love and respect for the Queen, and her determination to do all that she could to please her. The Queen seems to have been gratified rather than annoyed by this vehemence and the two women then exchanged no fewer than twelve sentences (eagerly counted up, and reported that very night to Paris). The bystanders were, of course, longing for Madame de Pompadour to make some embarrassing slip but the only small incident that occurred was when she