After us, the deluge. I care not what happens when I am dead and gone. – Madame de Pompadour
Jeanne Antoinette Poisson was born in Paris on December 29, 1721 to François and Madeleine Poisson. As a child she was educated at the Ursuline convent in Poissy, but when she entered adolescence her mother took over her education with an eye toward fulfilling a prophecy pronounced by Madame le Bon that Jeanne, then eight, would one day win the heart of a king. Accordingly, the beautiful, intelligent girl was educated as only courtesans tended to be in her day; she was taught to dance, sing, play the clavichord, paint, engrave and recite poetry and drama by heart. This extremely expensive education was funded by a family friend (and Jeanne’s guardian while her father was in exile due to a financial scandal), the chief tax collector Le Normant de Tournehem, thus igniting rumors that he was actually the girl’s natural father. Jeanne soon became an accomplished actress and singer, and at 19 entered into a marriage of convenience with her patron’s nephew, Charles-Guillaume Le Normant d’Étiolles, in order to gain access to the court where she could pursue her goal. She had two children by her husband, a boy who died in infancy and a girl who was born in 1744 and died of peritonitis in 1754.
Jeanne, now Madame d’Étiolles, was very popular in fashionable Parisian circles and soon founded her own salon, which was attended by a number of the philosophes including Voltaire. This accomplished exactly what it was intended to accomplish; King Louis XV heard of her and invited her to a royal fancy dress ball on February 25th, 1745. Though the King was in disguise, Jeanne had been tipped off to which costume was his and made sure she caught his eye; her costume as a shepherdess neither covered her exquisite features nor concealed her bewitching hazel eyes, and no man could have failed to notice her. They danced and then talked, and the King was smitten; he began to make overtures to her and she let him know that her favors were not to be had for free. But when he asked her price, the wily young woman stated that the only fee she would accept was the position of royal mistress, vacant since the death of the king’s previous mistress (the Duchesse de Châteauroux) a few months before. The bold gambit succeeded; the monarch was impressed with her confidence and charm and agreed to the arrangement. By March she had moved into Versailles and was given an apartment directly below that of the King, and on May 7th, she was officially separated from her husband.
Though Jeanne had captured the King’s heart as had been foretold, she could not yet be named official royal mistress because she was a commoner. The King therefore purchased the marquisate of Pompadour on June 24th and gave the estate and title to Jeanne, thus making her a Marquise and granting her the name by which she is known to history: Madame de Pompadour. She was formally introduced to the court on September 14th and quickly mastered court etiquette, but could not cement her position quickly enough for her mother, who died on Christmas Eve, to see Jeanne defeat her enemies at court to become the undisputed royal mistress. And she had plenty of enemies; some of them felt it was a disgrace for the King to have a common-born mistress (despite the title she had been granted), while others blamed her for the loss of France’s North American colonies following her defeat in the Seven Years War, which the King had entered as an ally of Austria on Madame Pompadour’s advice. And of course there were lesser mistresses who challenged her position, though they could not match the Marquise’s quick wits; one such challenger, Marie-Louise O’Murphy de Boisfaily, was defeated by being married off to a provincial nobleman and thus removed from Paris!
Her charm and winning ways gained her far more friends than enemies, however; among these was the Queen, who had been avoided by previous mistresses. The King deeply appreciated her respect for and deference to his wife, which eased his guilt and allowed him to have a strong relationship with his children without her interference. She also exerted considerably effort to amuse the King and ease his many cares; she would accompany him on hunts and when he went visiting or touring his properties, she threw dinner parties for him and had plays written specifically to appeal to his tastes, with her as the female lead. She even arranged orgies to stimulate his jaded sexual appetite, and frequently reminded him of her beauty by commissioning portraits of herself, mostly by Francois Boucher.
Madame de Pompadour is best remembered today as a patron of the arts, science and literature; she sponsored many painters, sculptors, architects, furniture craftsmen, interior designers and writers, including Voltaire as mentioned earlier. She supported the development of Diderot’s Encyclopedia (among the first such works), commissioned a topographical survey of France and even helped her brother Abel-François (who had by her influence become director-general of royal buildings) to design several public facilities. She facilitated the development of Sèvres, which soon became one of the largest manufacturers of porcelain in Europe and provided many high-paying jobs to its district. She exerted a strong influence over the development of the Rococo style, and advised the King on matters ranging from art to foreign policy. She even corresponded with Maria Theresa, the Empress of Austria. The pompadour hairstyle is named for her, as is the marquise style of diamond cutting, and according to legend the bowl of a champagne glass was modeled on the shape of her breast (though it is not very likely that this is true).
Unfortunately, the Madame’s body was neither as strong nor as active as her mind; vigorous sex tired her, and she suffered two miscarriages in 1746 and 1749, at which times she arranged lesser mistresses for the King while she was unable to tend to his needs during her convalescence. Eventually the combination of her poor health and His Majesty’s roving eye caused him to replace her in his bed as of 1750, when she was only 29. He was still quite fond of her and she continued to advise him throughout her remaining years; in fact the period of her greatest influence over him was the decade after they had ceased to sleep together. Late in the winter of 1764 she was diagnosed with tuberculosis, and due to her fragile constitution succumbed to it in only two months; she died on April 15, 1764 at the age of forty-two. As her coffin left Versailles in a downpour, the King was heard to say “The marquise won’t have good weather for her journey.” Her old friend Voltaire wrote: “I am very sad at the death of Madame de Pompadour. I was indebted to her and I mourn her out of gratitude. It seems absurd that while an ancient pen-pusher, hardly able to walk, should still be alive, a beautiful woman, in the midst of a splendid career, should die at the age of forty.” Even her enemies admired the brave manner in which she faced death (though of course they were also relieved at her departure), and nobody then or now could deny the powerful influence a courtesan of humble origin had exerted on French arts and letters.
The name Poisson reminded me of this guy from my college physics classes.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sim%C3%A9on_Denis_Poisson
I wonder if there is any relationship or if Poisson is a very common name.
I like it when you go all history teacher on us. Keep it coming. 🙂
It is not such a frequent name in French; the Encyclopédie des Noms de Famille mentions only 11 050 people with the name Poisson, making it the 381th on the list of most popular names in France.
The form — simply “fish,” and very obviously so, no changes or anything — is so simple, it is probably just a metonymy (standing for “fisher”), or then some sort of metaphor, describing the person. Such names are so frequent, they may arise several times independently… It might even be the name of a nouveau chrétien family, i.e. one of those Jewish families that were forced to convert to Christianity in the XIV and XV centuries (these were mostly in Portugal and Spain, but there were a few in France).
The famous Poisson of the Poisson distribution was born in 1781, in Pithiviers, in the department of Loiret in the Central Region (Région Centre), which is actually quite close to Paris, where, as Maggie tells us, Jeanne was born in 1721. The maps on the geneanet database show the family Poisson first strongly represented in Brittany and then less so as the centuries go, apparently moving eastward to Centre, and from there to Île-de-France (where Paris is located) around the 18th-19th century. Since the mathematician is younger than the courtesan, it wouldn’t be a bad guess to say he is related to her, probably from some branch of the family that stayed down south while Jeanne’s branch (parents? grandparents?) went north.
(Of course, this is only circumstancial evidence; more genealogical research would be necessary to check this theory.)
Thanks for the answer. I know more than I did. 🙂
Glad to help! I love words, and their histories… and names are just glamorized words. 🙂 (I note that if the Poissons come from Brittany, the possibility that they were originally fishermen, hence their name, increases.)
“Poisson” means “fish”, so who knows?
🙂
I’ll also admit to enjoying the history teacher role. I’m reading “Mata Hari’ by Russel Howe due to one of your previous posts.
I’m sure this is going to sound quite silly but I had never really thought about Madame de Pompadour until I caught a Doctor Who episode in 2007. The one in which she, as played by Sophia Myles, is featured heavily and I think quite positively. I knew of her. But hadn’t thought much -about- her. So I became curious about the woman herself. After a bit of reading realized that she was quite brilliant, and driven.
Anyways, I love the cheek of the episode. One of my favorites. The writers don’t shy away from mentioning who and what roles she played, though with the lovely and always fitting euphemism of dancing. They don’t diminish her situation, her influence, her importance, or her mind.
Of course, there’s a bit more to the episode, what with alien clockwork robots, it -is- Doctor Who after all, harvesting body parts and seeking her head. Allegorical interpretations of all that aside and not wanting to give away any spoilers I thought that overall it was a positive and nuanced portrayal.
Though I didn’t see many of the new Doctor Who episodes, I did see that one a few years ago and I agree, it was wonderfully done and in a way very sweet. One of these days I’ll buy them on DVD, but I’m waiting to get the old ones first if BBC video ever decides to release them properly, as full seasons rather than as individual serials so as to milk as much money out of the fans as possible.
I’m really glad my little whore biographies have been so well-received, and even more so that they’re inspiring y’all to read more about the ladies! 🙂
It is great to see whoreographies — not only do we learn new interesting facts, often about already known people, but also we see that the fact they were whores was not a disability, nor did it weaken in any way their capacity to influence and contribute to their times.
It would be wonderful if we could have something like this for a prostute who still is influencial in the world of today: the president of some country, or a famous writer or artist, or a famous scientist. But in today’s world, alas, chances are that any such women with prostitution in their past will have to hide it — to avoid situations like Melissa Petro’s.
Precisely. 🙂
This was good. I’m of course reminded of the Heinlein character Peewee, and her constant companion, Madame Pompadour.
Can’t wait ’till you get to Jean O’Hara, the famed Honolulu Harlot. Yes, the History Channel talked about her some, but mostly about her World War II activities.
Well, her real claim to fame was the way she got around the Navy’s outrageous pimping of the Honolulu red-light district; if not for that nobody would remember her. I’ll almost certainly get around to her eventually, but I think I’ll probably do Josie Arlington or “Diamond Jessie” Hayman next. 🙂
That’s going to be interesting, too.
What Heinlein books did those characters come from? I’ve read a bunch of his books and I don’t remember them.
They’re from Have Space Suit, Will Travel; PeeWee is a precocious little girl and Madame Pompadour is her doll (or as she calls it, her “neurosis”). 🙂
Ok, putting it on my “must get” list now, thanks.
Have Spacesuit, Will Travel is listed as one of Heinlein’s “juveniles.” I was a pre-teen myself when I read it, but I think an adult could enjoy it well enough. One of the aliens (there’s more than one species in the book) was listed in Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials.
I loved Peewee, and the unforgettably named Mother Thing… Though I admit my favorite ‘juvenile’ was Podkayne of Mars. It had a darker side to it that appealed to me. 🙂 (I actually read Have Spacesuit, Will Travel when I was 20-something, and found it thoroughly enjoyable. Not a deep philosophy treatise, but that’s not what I was looking for.)
Have you ever read the original ending of Podkayne? It’s a much deeper book than its critics care to admit.
The first time I read Podkayne, when I was a teenager, the published ending was the only one available, but for years I remembered the story as ending with her death. And from the essays in the Baen edition, I’m not the only one who misremembered it that way. I think with some stories, the proper ending is inescapable, so much so that it can make its way into a reader’s subconscious, even if a writer tries to force another version.
I never knew Royal Mistress was an official position. I knew the job existed, obviously, but I just assumed that it was labelled as something else, I guess. I suppose it probably depends on the country and time period.
The title in non-Christian and pre-Christian cultures was simply “concubine” or its local equivalent.
I read the Baen edition, which had both endings plus a number of essays by various people on which ending was better. I preferred the original one, in which Podkayne dies in the explosion, of course, and it’s clear why Heinlein wanted to keep it — the book loses a lot of its emotional impact with the second ending. It was a story showing character development and change, both in Clark, the maladjusted, manipulative genius brother, and in Podkayne, the smart-but-curiously-naive (IQ 145) sister; and her death closed the arch of her upward movement, her ascent in life toward autonomy and self-confidence, at a point in which her progress stood out more clearly. Her death saddened me terribly, but made her all the more beautiful in my memories, more than many other fictional characters.
Thank-you for this review – without doubt one of history’s remarkable courtesans to a notable king – Louis XV (Quinze) during a turbulent time leading to the French Revolution. And even though her favourite court painter François Boucher probably indulged her vanity (like todays magazines “air brushing” I suspect) I still see her as a classic beauty. Parisians continue to have a soft spot for her cozy getaway – Le Petit Trianon (it’s Metro Station is like a step back in time).
Yet you began with a reference to her famous quote “au reste, après nous, le Déluge” (besides, after us, the Flood) reputedly to comfort Louis XV over losing The Seven Years War (and Canada) on signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1763. Yet it gained prophetic power as events continued to unfold shaking the world with the American Revolution in 1776 and the collapse of French Monarchy with the French Revolution of 1789.
And so that quote has been repeated many times since – and should be echoing in the head of Syria’s “Desert Rose” – Asama Assad, today.