This was her brilliant side; but upon the deplorable side must be reckoned her extravagance and her meddling in statecraft.  Ambitious for power, she surrounded the doting monarch with her “creatures”—­Rouille, Saint Florentin, Puisieux, Machault.  With the exception of the Duc de Choiseul, her appointees were notoriously weak—­and this at a time when the War of the Austrian Succession and the Seven Years’ War called for strong government.  Won over by the cajoleries of Maria Theresa, who called her “cousin,” she induced the King to accept the Austrian Alliance; and again, in 1758, despite Bernis and other ministers, she prevailed upon him to maintain it throughout the disastrous war which was only ended by the Treaty of Paris.  In addition to this, she became embroiled with the Church party, being especially bitter against the Jesuits.  It is no wonder, therefore, that she left her memory in the hands of her enemies.  It is no wonder that the seeds of her folly and extravagance, as well as those of her successor, Du Barry, resulted in the bloody harvest of the Revolution.  “Apres nous le deluge!” ("After us the deluge”) was her sinister motto, now famous in history, and it carried with it the weight of prophecy.

To the end she remained, exteriorally, in full power.  In 1752 the Marquise was made Duchesse de Pompadour; and four years later “Dame d’Honneur” to the Queen, a title of charmingly unconscious irony!  The day of her demise (1764) was stormy, and the King is said to have been genuinely grieved over the loss, remarking:  “Madame la Marquise has ill weather for her journey.”

But to the last she herself was charming, debonnaire, masterful.  She had smiled her way into power, and she smiled even in the face of death.  “She felt it a duty to maintain to the end the pose of elegance which she had established for herself,” say her French critics.  “For the last time she applied the touch of rouge to her cheeks, by which she had hidden, for several years, the slow ravages of decay; set her lips in a final smile; and with the air of a coquette uttered to the priest, who extended to her the last rites of religion, this laughing quip (mot d’elegance):  “Attendez-moi, monsieur le cure, nous partirons ensemble” ("Wait a moment, monsieur, and we will set forth together").

THE MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XV.

AND OF

MADAME DE POMPADOUR

SECTION I

An early friend of mine, who married well at Paris, and who has the reputation of being a very clever woman, has often asked me to write down what daily passed under my notice; to please her, I made little notes, of three or four lines each, to recall to my memory the most singular or interesting facts; as, for instance—­attempt to assassinate the King; he orders Madame de Pompadour to leave the Court; M. de Machault’s ingratitude, etc.