“We cannot grant you, madame,” began the holy father, “the absolution you desire; your sojourn at court far from your husband, the public scandal relative to the favor which it is alleged the king accords you, does not permit of your approaching the holy table.  The priest who would sanction such a proceeding, in place of absolving you, would pronounce a double condemnation—­yours and his own; whilst the public, accustomed to judge harshly the conduct of the great, would confirm the sentence beyond appeal.  You have testified to me, madame, that you are desirous of fulfilling the duties of a good Christian; but example is the first of these duties, and in order to obtain and merit absolution, your first proceeding must be to return to M. d’Etioles, or at least quit the court and seek, by penitence and charity, to repair the sins you have committed against that society whose laws you have outraged, and which, declares itself scandalized at your separation, from your husband.”

Madame de Pompadour heard these words with the calmness and immobility of a statue; but as soon as the priest had terminated she burst forth,—­

“Pere de Sacy,” she exclaimed, violently, “you are a fool, an impostor, a true Jesuit.  Do you understand me?  You have sought to enjoy a triumph over me by witnessing the state of embarrassment in which you imagined I was placed; you would gladly, you and yours, see me far from the king:  but, poor short-sighted mortals that you are!  Know that I am here as powerful as you imagine me weak and tottering; and in spite of you, in spite of all the Jesuits in the world, I shall remain at court, whilst you and your pack will not only be banished from court, but driven ignominiously out of the kingdom.”

From that hour the fall of the Jesuits was decreed.  The holy fathers imagined that the marchioness, like Madame de Chateauroux, was but the queen of a day; but they were mistaken.  To do them justice, it must be allowed they believed that nothing was to be feared from such an enemy; for it is very certain that had they seen the power of this woman, who had all the firmness and decision of character of a man, or rather of a revengeful woman, they would, beyond a doubt, have permitted her to approach the holy table, or even have canonized her had she been desirous of the honor.

Madame de Pompadour was born with noble instincts; her bitterest enemies have never denied that she possessed the most refined taste in all matters connected with the arts or letters.  She sought to make of Louis XV. an artist-king; and it must be said to her praise that she ever strove to rouse him from his habitual indolence and lassitude by leading his inclinations into healthy channels.  But, unfortunately, Louis XV., unlike his predecessor, could never understand that great monuments often make the glory of kings.

The petits soupers of Versailles would occasionally shed a ray of sunshine, or rather lamp light, over Louis the Fifteenth’s habitual ennui.  After supper, chansons, sallies, and repartee, would be the order of the night.  Occasionally at these supper-parties some brilliant things would be said.  One evening, when some one sang a complaint upon the misfortunes of our first father Adam, the king improvised the following couplet worthy of the best chansons of Colle:—­