The Road to Compiegne

Chapter XIX CHOISEUL AND MADAME DU BARRY

The entire Court was watching the battle between the Choiseuls and Madame du Barry, and bets were made as to who would eventually win. The King was undoubtedly enamoured of his new mistress; but the Duc de Choiseul was the most brilliant statesman in France.

Choiseul was to blame for the conflict. In those first months Jeanne du Barry was ready to forget past insults and be friends. In her frank way she had not hesitated to make overtures of friendship; she had even been prepared to treat the Duc with coquetry. It was all of no avail. He had shown clearly that her beauty left him cold, that her vulgarity shocked him and that however enamoured the King became, he, Choiseul, would remain her enemy.

Jeanne eventually gave way to an expletive which was repeated around the Court. Never, it was said, had such an expression been heard in the stately rooms. What did Jeanne care! She had reached her position by being perfectly natural and she was not going to begin changing her ways now.

With the vulgarity went the kindest heart in Versailles. Jeanne found it difficult to hate anyone, and even her animosity towards the Duc de Choiseul was sporadic.

‘Oh well,’ she would in effect say to Chon, ‘I suppose he did want that sister of his to take my place. It must be a bit of a disappointment to them. You can understand how they felt about me. Poor old Choiseul! Poor old Gramont.’

‘Do not be too lenient with them,’ warned Chon. ‘Pity makes for softness and, believe me, you cannot afford to be soft with enemies as venomous as those two.’

Jeanne had already gained a reputation for generosity. She had sought out Monsieur Billard-Dumonceau, the benefactor of her childhood, and had rewarded him. Jean Baptiste was very satisfied with the way in which his affairs were going for, although he had received no appointments at Court, he had been granted several large sums of money and was able to indulge his hobby of gambling as never before; Jeanne had brought his son, Adolphe, to Court and was planning to make a grand marriage for him.

She had, it was true, decided that she would take revenge on Madame de la Garde for turning her out of her house, and called on her one day with the express purpose of doing so, but when she saw the old woman’s trepidation, she relented suddenly.

After all, thought Jeanne, I really was all that she said I was, and I ought to be grateful to her for turning me out of her house.

So instead of parading her glory before the old woman in a vaguely threatening manner as she had intended to do, she found herself promising to use her power in another direction and put honours in the way of her sons.

That was typical of Jeanne. She could never completely throw off the aura of the streets of Paris, and she loved humanity; while she could bestow pardon for past offences right and left, she found it very difficult to harbour resentment. Planning revenge seemed to her such a waste of time when there were so many more exciting things to be done.

So she went her way, ignoring her enemies until that greatest of all forced her to notice him.

‘Oh dear,’ she would groan, ‘here comes old pug-face.’ And she would turn away in a manner which was not in accordance with Versailles etiquette. She would grimace and put her tongue out at his back in a manner which might have been accepted in the Saint-Antoine district but which seemed extraordinary in the Galerie des Glaces.

Meanwhile the Choiseuls continued to have songs written about her. The Duc’s spies discovered all the details of her early life; they were exaggerated and put into songs which were sung in the streets.

Her loud laughter, her expletives, her expressions would seem to confirm the stories of her beginnings.

Card-playing was a ceremony at Versailles – until Madame du Barry came.

She would sit holding her cards, chuckling over them or cursing them, in a manner which had never before been heard within the walls of the Château.

On one occasion, when she lost to the King, she cried: ‘You’re a cheat. That’s what you are!’

The stunned silence which greeted this remark did not deter her. She continued to sit there with what her enemies called the gutter-grin on her face.

The King however merely smiled and gaily explained how he had beaten her.

‘Liar!’ she cried affectionately.

And Louis seemed to think that it was the height of bliss to hear from those vulgar but voluptuous lips that he was a cheat and a liar.

Others were less kind.

Once when she threw her cards on the table she cried in her brand of vulgar slang: ‘I am cooked!’

Choiseul, who was standing close to her, murmured: ‘You should be a better judge of that state than the rest of us, Madame.’

And Jeanne, realising the reference to her mother’s occupation, sat back in her chair and gave vent to loud laughter.

It was very difficult, thought Choiseul, to discountenance such a creature, whose very vulgarity endowed her with an unconquerable resilience.

However she discovered among her household servants a cook who bore an extraordinary likeness to Choiseul. There was the same pug-dog face, the same air of nonchalance.

‘Why,’ she said to Chon, ‘it is like having the Duc in my household, and that is something I cannot tolerate.’

She talked about the cook as her ‘Choiseul’ and compared him with the King’s Choiseul.

There came a day when she dismissed the man, and that night at one of the intimate supper parties she told the King what she had done.

‘I have dismissed my “Choiseul”,’ she cried. ‘When are you going to dismiss yours?’

All those who heard looked upon that as a direct declaration of war.

The Choiseuls retaliated by introducing to the Court a young Creole of great beauty who had recently married into their family. She had been a Mademoiselle de Raby, and it was soon realised by all that the Choiseuls intended that she should replace Jeanne du Barry.

Jeanne was a little shaken when she saw this young woman who was a statuesque beauty and perfectly groomed in the ways of Versailles.

Chon implored her to take care.

Madame de Mirepoix, whose feelings were not entirely mercenary – for it was impossible to live near Jeanne, continually reminded of her generosity, and not feel affection for her – advised her, as she had advised Madame de Pompadour in her moments of fear, that she must not panic but fight.

‘Then, dear Comtesse,’ she said, ‘you have nothing to be afraid of. If I myself am sad it is not because I think the Choiseuls will succeed in this plot but because of the alarm they are causing you.’

Jeanne, in her forthright way, went to the King and asked: ‘What do you think of this Creole, Lafrance?’

Because it was a habit of his to apply nicknames to those about him, she had retaliated by giving him one: Lafrance. It suited him, she said; and he was not averse to accepting it from her lips.

‘Do I see anxiety in your beautiful eyes?’ asked the King with a laugh.

‘Do I see lust for the Creole in yours?’ she demanded.

‘If you did,’ said Louis, ‘which you do not, it would not mean that I should wish you to leave me.’

Jeanne smiled. ‘No, of course it would not. I would not want you to feel that I should whimper if you wanted a change now and then. As long as you come back to me, of course.’

He smiled at her. ‘You would have to find me someone to compare – just a little – with yourself, before I should feel tempted. As for this woman, I cannot think of her without thinking at the same time of the Duchesse de Gramont. Never would I allow that woman to have any say in my affairs.’

Jeanne was contented. She knew, before the Choiseuls realised this, that the affair of the Creole was going to be a failure.

The Choiseuls were furious. They had presented their protégée to the King and, although he had been courteous enough, he had shown her no more attention than etiquette demanded.

The Duchesse de Gramont was less able to control her anger than her brother was, and as the procession descended the great staircase to pay court to the Dauphin, she pushed her way forward so that she was immediately behind Jeanne.

As Jeanne was about to make her curtsy to the Dauphin, who had not hesitated to show his disapproval and dislike of her, Madame de Gramont put her foot on the train of Jeanne’s dress.

Jeanne, midway in her curtsy, sprang up and watched her train as it was ripped away from her gown.

She was angry, partly because the King was present and to please him she had been trying to learn something of the Versailles manners.

Now she was ready to put her hands on her hips and let out a stream of invective against the Duchesse. But suddenly she caught the eyes of the King upon her. He was flashing a message to her which she read as: there is only one way to behave, so that the Duchesse will seem more ill-mannered than you.

Then Jeanne understood that etiquette demanded she should behave as though the incident had not happened and she still had a train to her dress.

She turned to the Dauphin, swept him a deep curtsy and passed on, leaving her train behind her.

There were significant glances. The girl from the faubourgs was learning.

But it seemed the Duchesse was not; that little incident earned her dismissal from Court for a period. Had she not been the sister of the powerful Choiseul she would have been banished for ever.

Jeanne continued to be plagued. The Comte de Lauraguais, a friend of the Choiseuls, sought to humiliate her by a gesture which was typical of his set.

This noble went to the house of Madame Gourdan and acquired a very beautiful young girl as his mistress. He bought a house for her, gave her fine clothes, money and jewellery; and the manner in which he did all this made the Court realise that he had some motive in view other than his infatuation with the girl.

When he named her the Comtesse du Tonneau his meaning was understood. For a tonneau and a baril had almost the same meaning; and it was easy to confuse Barry with baril.

His punishment for this escapade brought him banishment from Court; nor did Madame Gourdan escape censure. She was not allowed to send any of her girls to the entertainments at Fontainebleau, and this was a great loss to her financially, and unjust because, having no knowledge of the Comte’s intentions, she was not in the least to blame.

Jeanne herself bore little resentment and very soon arranged that the ban should be lifted from Madame de Gourdan; but she was beginning to be affected by the solemnity of her surroundings, and it was noticed that in public she behaved with a restraint and decorum which would have seemed incredible a short time before.

In private with Louis she did not change her manners at all; and this was how the King wished her to be.

As it became apparent that Madame du Barry had come to Court to stay, a party began to be formed with her as its centre. It was naturally one which was in complete opposition to the Choiseul party, and as it was headed by Richelieu and his nephew, the Duc d’Aiguillon, it clearly had one purpose – the overthrow of Choiseul.

The Duc de Vauguyon and René de Maupéou joined this party, which became known as the Barriens.

A new year had begun; and the battle between the King’s mistress and the First Minister was still being waged fiercely.

The King had presented that exquisite little house, which he and Madame de Pompadour had begun together, to Madame du Barry; and there at Petit Trianon Louis was able to retire from the Court and live the life of a country nobleman.

Both the King and Jeanne were enchanted by the place; here they convinced themselves that they lived in the utmost simplicity. They received their intimate friends in the little reception suite overlooking the Jardin Français, and pretended to dispense even with servants when they installed the table volante, that most ingenious invention of Loriot’s, with its four side tables which descended to the floor below when a further course was required (as they descended a piece of metal in the shape of a rose would slip into place where these tables had been). When they had been reloaded and were ready to make the ascension to the salle à manger, the metal rose would gently open and slide away while the tables loaded with food would appear in its place.

This interesting invention was a constant delight to Louis.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘we may live in absolute privacy in our Petit Trianon.’

That the King should wish to live thus with his mistress would seem to be an indication that, far from tiring of her, he was slipping into a relationship somewhat similar to that which he had enjoyed with Madame de Pompadour.

The Court believed that sooner or later either Madame du Barry or Choiseul would be dismissed. They knew too that both were equally determined to be victorious.

Thus the battle was watched with eager interest.

Madame du Barry might have her Trianon, but Choiseul had recently arranged that the Dauphin should marry the youngest daughter of the Empress Maria Theresa.

Choiseul’s friends declared that when the Archduchess Marie Antoinette arrived in France the power of Madame du Barry would begin to wane; for Marie Antoinette must be the firm ally of Choiseul since he, more than anyone, had been responsible for her marriage.

The Dauphin hated the mistress; so did Madame Adelaide – and naturally her sisters. When the Dauphine became aware of the circumstances and added her influence to theirs, could the du Barry continue to keep her position?

‘Lafrance,’ cried Madame du Barry, as she entered the King’s apartment, ‘I have decided what you shall give me for my New Year’s gift.’

Louis smiled. She was so full of vitality, that merely to look at her seemed to make him forget he was sixty.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘I will tell you. You are fond of Madame de Mirepoix?’

‘That is so,’ the King agreed.

‘Then all is well. She has so many debts that she despairs of ever paying them. She suffers great anxiety. Now I want my New Year’s gift to be the Loges de Nantes so that I can give these to her. If she had them, all her troubles would be over. Please say you will give me these as my New Year’s gift.’

The King looked grave. The Loges de Nantes were the rents which came from the stalls and booths which were set up in Nantes and represented a considerable income. They had, until her recent death, been in the possession of the Duchesse de Lauranguais.

He shook his head. ‘I greatly fear Madame de Mirepoix cannot have them, as I have already bestowed them.’

Jeanne’s face flushed. ‘But I have already promised her that they shall be hers!’

The King lifted his shoulders and walked to the window.

Jeannne stamped her foot. ‘You must tell this person that you have changed your mind.’

‘But,’ said Louis coolly, ‘I have not changed my mind.’

Jeanne looked at him and for once he saw all the gaiety drained from her face.

He came to her side quickly. ‘You are the best-hearted woman in the world,’ he said. ‘Do not look so sad. How like you to ask for a New Year’s gift which you could bestow on someone else. Now I will tell you on whom I have already bestowed the Loges de Nantes: on someone of whom I happen to be very fond indeed. Her name? The Comtesse du Barry.’

Jeanne burst into loud laughter, and threw her arms about the King.

‘So you were but teasing me. And Madame de Mirepoix gets her loges. Oh, Lafrance, I was frightened for the minute!’

He looked at her tenderly. Frightened? Not because she herself might be losing her popularity. No! Scared that poor Madame de Mirepoix should not receive her rents.

Shortly after that she asked for the return of the Comtesse de Gramont.

‘Do I hear rightly?’ asked the King.

‘Well,’ cried Jeanne, ‘there’s the pug-dog going about the Court looking as though he has lost his bitch. I like dogs, as does Your Majesty.’

‘Do you not know that man is your most bitter enemy? And if you have a greater it is his sister.’

‘Oh, let us have her back. In any case she does more harm to me in the country than she does at Versailles. I like to keep my enemies in view.’

‘You are very different from Madame de Pompadour. She would never have allowed the Duchesse de Gramont to come back to Court.’

‘Oh . . . the Pompadour. I could never be like her, so what’s the use of trying? I can only be what I am.’

‘The kindest-hearted lady in the world,’ said Louis.

So the Duchesse de Gramont returned to Court, and Choiseul told his friends that he and his sister would have preferred her to remain in exile than to know that her return had been brought about through the grace of Madame du Barry.

‘Still,’ said Choiseul, ‘perhaps the woman will leave Court when the Dauphine arrives. For the Dauphine will be so embarrassed to find such as Madame du Barry installed at the Court of France.’

When Richelieu told Jeanne what Choiseul had said, her reply was an expletive which amused the old Duc so much that he had to go about the Court telling everyone what Madame du Barry had said.

The new Dauphine arrived in France – little more than a child; she was a dainty creature, with reddish hair and a very fair complexion. Louis was delighted with her and rode out into the Forest of Compiègne to greet her.

The Choiseuls were delighted; they looked upon this charming young girl as their closest ally and one who would work with them for the downfall of the du Barry.

But if they thought that the King, in his interest in his grand-daughter-in-law, would forget Madame du Barry, they were mistaken.

Jeanne sat down with the royal party to supper at Muette, and the two women took stock of each other.

Jeanne laughed inwardly. Poof! she thought. Red-haired and sandy-skinned! Her eyelashes are so light you can scarcely see them. Why, if she were not the daughter of an Empress no one would take any notice of her.

The Dauphine had been schooled by her mother, so when the King asked her opinion of the Comtesse du Barry she was immediately aware of his desire for a favourable reply.

‘I find her both charming and amiable,’ said the Dauphine; and the King patted her hand and told her that he was certain he and she were going to be the best of friends.

The festivities which accompanied the marriage of the heir to the throne were naturally dazzling. The firework displays were magnificent and the road from Paris to Versailles was thick with the crowds on their way to see the sights. It was said that Louis was determined to imitate the splendour of his grandfather.

Ah, said the agitators, but times were different then. Now there was a shortage of grain in France. Why? It was blamed on bad harvests, but was it due to those who hoarded grain? Was the King guiltless?

Some began to calculate the cost of the festivities, and they were discovered to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of twenty million livres.

Twenty million livres, when there were thousands in the capital alone who could not afford to buy bread! Pamphlets were published. One, Reflections on the Nuptials of His Highness the Dauphin, circulated throughout Paris, gave an account of the cost of the entertainments which had been given to celebrate the marriage.

While the people waited to see the sights they grumbled together.

A banquet was given at the Hôtel de Ville, to be followed by a display of fireworks in the Place Louis XV, and during this display some scaffolding caught fire and this spread to nearby buildings. Panic ensued and in their endeavours to escape many people were trampled underfoot. Eight hundred people were injured on that night, two hundred of them fatally.

It was a grim scene when daylight disclosed what had occurred on that tragic spot, stained with the blood of the dead and injured. People stood about in groups talking of the disaster. They grumbled about such lavish displays; they talked of the price of bread and the extravagance of these wedding celebrations.

Why should the people starve when the aristocrats lived in luxury? That was the question which was being asked on that very spot which in the near future was to be renamed the Place de la Révolution.