The Road to Compiegne

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Show this gentleman out,’ she said.

  When he had gone she sat down and began to laugh. So Jeanne . . . little Jeanne . . . was on the way to becoming the most important woman in France.

  * * *

  Choiseul and his sister must therefore manage without the help of Madame Gourdan; and this, he assured her, they could very well do, although he admitted it would have been very helpful if he could have had the woman’s signature to that paper.

  They would now merely suggest that she had lived in the Maison Gourdan before coming to Court. That would be accepted by some who wished to believe it was true.

  ‘It is easy to spread tales which are damaging, about the successful,’ he said, ‘because they are so much envied, and those who envy are so delighted to believe the worst. Our little du Barry has a multitude of enemies – many among those who have never set eyes upon her.’

  So the rumours were started, persisted in, embellished. Nothing was too scandalous to be recounted about Madame du Barry.

  In the streets and the cafés they were not only talking of her, they were singing about her, and one of the most popular ballads was that which Choiseul had had based on that old folk song La Bourbonnaise.

  Quelle merveille!

  Une fille de rien,

  Une fille de rien,

  Quelle merveille!

  Donne au Roi de l’amour,

  Est à la Cour!

  Elle est gentille;

  Elle a les yeux fripons;

  Elle a les yeux fripons;

  Elle est gentille;

  Elle excite avec art

  Un vieux paillard.

  En maison bonne,

  Elle a pris de leçons,

  Elle a pris de leçons,

  En maison bonne,

  Chez Gourdan, chez Brisson,

  Elle en sait long.

  Que de postures!

  Elle a lu Arétin,

  Elle a lu Arétin;

  Que de postures!

  Elle fait en tous sens

  Prendre les sens.

  Le Roi s’écrie:

  L’Ange, le beau talent!

  L’Ange, le beau talent!

  Viens sur mon trône,

  Je veux te couronner,

  Je veux te couronner.

  These songs were sung beneath the windows of the Château itself. The King heard them, Madame du Barry herself heard them.

  Louis watched her, as she sat with her head on one side listening.

  He was prepared for anger, but she only laughed. She began to tap out the rhythm and Louis stared in astonishment as Madame du Barry herself sang La Bourbonnaise.

  ‘You are a very unusual woman,’ he said.

  ‘But how so?’ she asked.

  ‘To sing that song.’

  ‘I like the tune.

  ‘ “Quelle merveillel Une fille de rien . . .” ’ she sang. She laughed. ‘It is true . . . that part at least. That is what I am: “une fille de rien”.’

  ‘I will tell you what you are,’ said Louis emotionally; ‘you are the gentlest-tempered woman in the world. Madame de Pompadour would have discovered the writer of that song and insisted on his sojourn in the Bastille.’

  ‘Ah,’ Jeanne replied, ‘but Madame de Pompadour was a great lady. And I am only: “Une fille de rien”.’

  * * *

  There had rarely been such controversy at Court as there was over the presentation of Madame du Barry, for in spite of the King’s eagerness and determination that the presentation should take place, there was a powerful section against this.

  Choiseul and his sister naturally led this section, but it contained other powerful adherents.

  The Dauphin, a gauche boy of about fifteen, very much under the influence of his Aunt Adelaide, had been induced to show his contempt for Madame du Barry on more than one occasion; and although he was but a boy, it was remembered at Court that Louis was nearly sixty, and when he died that boy would be King.

  The Princesse Adelaide also, although she had now very little influence at Court, was nevertheless the King’s daughter.

  So, although Louis very much desired this presentation, he continually found that obstacles were put in the way of its taking place.

  Anyone but the imperturbable du Barry might have felt that she was destined never to take the place of Madame de Pompadour, but Jeanne merely shrugged aside the difficulties which were placed in her way, bore few grudges against her enemies, took her lessons in deportment from Vestris, the most celebrated dancing master in France, and continued to delight the King.

  Richelieu had now come out into the open as her ardent supporter, and had himself ordered her Court dress. Marigny, the brother of Madame de Pompadour, had also given proof of his support, and ordered that the châteaux of Bellevue, Marly and Choisy should be redecorated in readiness for the new favourite.

  This was gratifying but, until a sponsor could be found, Jeanne could not be presented, and in spite of the fact that the King himself wished that sponsor to be found, it was exceedingly difficult to discover a woman who would undertake the task.

  The Baronne de Montmorency offered her services, but she insisted that for such a task she would need generous reward. The sum she asked for was quite fantastic, and Louis angrily declined her services, since to accept them at that price would have been an insult to Madame du Barry.

  The next candidate was the Comtesse de Béarn. The price she asked was more moderate, so it was accepted. But when it was heard that she had undertaken the task, she was boycotted so severely by the Choiseul faction, treated with such disdain by the Dauphin and the Princesse Adelaide – and naturally by Victoire and Sophie – that she was alarmed and at the last moment pretended to have sprained her ankle.

  The ceremony was postponed.

  Madame d’Alogny next offered her services. Adelaide was very annoyed. This woman had seen the anger which the conduct of the Comtesse de Béarn had aroused, yet brazenly she came forward to do what Madame de Béarn’s good sense had prevented her from doing.

  ‘I will show her,’ Adelaide told her sisters, ‘what it means to flout me.’

  She then showed her sisters and the Court so successfully that for some time poor Madame d’Alogny wished not only that she had never agreed to present Madame du Barry but that she had never been born.

  At a ceremony when Madame d’Alogny was received by Adelaide and it was necessary for to kneel, kiss the hem of the Princesse’s gown and wait for permission to rise, Adelaide merely walked away from her, leaving her kneeling there unable, in accordance with the etiquette of Versailles, to rise, since the permission had not been given.

  To find herself in such a position was like living in a nightmare. Madame d’Alogny did not know what to do, but remained kneeling while the company looked on at her with raised eyebrows until, overcome with shame, she rose and shuffled away.

  She knew that she would be similarly humiliated on future occasions if she persisted in her plans to present Madame du Barry at Court.

  She therefore declared that, in spite of the generous remuneration, she could not do it.

  The King was furious; even Jeanne began to wonder whether she would ever be presented. Louis, however, was not going to allow his desires to be frustrated. He sent for the Comtesse de Béarn and told her that she would formally present Madame du Barry to him whether she liked the task or not.

  Madame de Béarn assured the Court that she had received orders and dared not disobey them. She prayed they would not blame her therefore, because she was obliged to carry out this uncongenial task.

  In this case, said the Choiseul faction, there is no help for it. Madame du Barry will be presented.

  Then, a few days after Madame de Béarn had been forced to accept the task imposed upon her, the King had an accident in the hunting field.

  When Adelaide saw his body being brought to the Château on a stretcher she called to her sister: ‘This is the judgement of Providence. God has decided that Madame d
u Barry shall never be presented at Court.’

  The Princesses installed themselves in the sickroom, and when Jeanne presented herself Adelaide faced her triumphantly.

  ‘Madame,’ she said, ‘the King is dying. It is time he made his peace with God, and to do that he does not need your help.’

  Victoire and Sophie nodded beside her, and Jeanne, with tears in her eyes, for she believed what they said was true, was turned away.

  However, the King was not seriously hurt and as soon as he was conscious he dismissed the Princesses from his room and sent for Madame du Barry to come and comfort him.

  Louis was more determined than ever that Jeanne should be presented, so that she should be with him on all occasions.

  * * *

  On the great day crowds left Paris for Versailles. They wanted to see the arrival of Madame du Barry for her presentation. It was a brilliant occasion and the dazzling Court dress of the men and women was reflected by the mirrors in the Galerie des Glaces, while Louis, his arm still in a sling, awaited the arrival of his mistress.

  Beside the King stood Richelieu, and a little distance away Choiseul and his sister, the royal Princesses and all their supporters.

  There had been so many ominous hitches that many people superstitiously believed that even now the ceremony would not take place.

  It was time for Madame du Barry to arrive, but she had not come. No one could ever remember a lady, about to be presented, being late before.

  Choiseul was smiling complacently. His sister murmured that it was to be expected. What did street-girls know of Court manners?

  The King was growing flushed and uneasy. Richelieu was imploring him to be patient. All those in the great Galerie waited as the minutes ticked away and still Madame du Barry did not appear.

  The King was about to call off the proceedings. He was angry. Even Jeanne could not behave like this with impunity. The excitement was intense. What would happen when and if she did arrive? Would the King act towards her coldly, deliver a public reprimand?

  The King and Richelieu were looking more and more gloomy, Choiseul more and more delighted.

  And then she came; and when he looked at her – surely the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld – all the King’s irritation vanished.

  Her fair hair – that wonderful golden hair – was dressed high on her head. Her blue satin dress showed her perfect figure to advantage; she was wearing the hundred thousand livres’ worth of diamonds which the King had sent her on the previous day; and she glowed with high spirits, confidence and gaiety.

  She would have knelt before the King, but Louis could not allow that, and when tenderly he took her hand and smiled into her radiant face, it was as though everyone in the Galerie drew a deep breath.

  The presentation had taken place.

  The King was holding her hand, leading her to the Princesses.

  Even Adelaide dared do nothing but graciously acknowledge her.

  Vestris had done his work well. She did all that was required of her with the grace of a woman who might have known all her life that one day she would be the central figure in such a ceremony.

  ‘You were so late . . .’ murmured the King.

  ‘I made the hairdresser do my hair again,’ she whispered. I knew you would want me to look my best.’

  Louis’ eyes misted. Was she not enchanting? This girl from he did not care to know where – who could keep the King of France waiting for such a reason?

  At last he had someone who could take the place in his affections which had been Madame de Pompadour’s.

  Jeanne du Barry had now been presented. She was established in the eyes of all as the King’s maîtresse-en-titre.

  * * *

  Madame du Barry now had her suite of rooms – bedroom, library and reception room – connected by a secret staircase with the King’s apartments.

  She selected her ladies with the help of the King and Richelieu; and the chief of these was the Maréchale de Mirepoix, Madame de Pompadour’s ‘little cat’.

  The King had grown fond of this woman whom he had met so often in the company of Madame de Pompadour; she was not only witty and amusing, but very shrewd. It was true that being a friend of the Marquise she had also been on good terms with the Choiseuls; but she was now in debt and, bearing no resentment against Madame du Barry, was ready to be her friend since such friendship would bring a comfortable income. Thus she blithely skipped from the side of the Choiseul faction to that of Madame du Barry.

  The Marquise de l’Hôpital and the Comtesse de Valentinois were equally ready to give their support to the rising star; so that Jeanne found herself surrounded by women who were ready to advise her as to the ways of life at Versailles.

  She had now grown fond of Fanchon, whom she had nicknamed Chon, finding in her sister-in-law one whose shrewd judgement she could trust more than any other’s. Chon brought her astute mind to work for the du Barrys, and Jeanne was a member of the family now.

  The situation had its irony. In the streets Choiseul’s chansons were being sung, his cruel stories being repeated, but the Church party, who hated Choiseul, blaming him for the suppression of the Jesuits, believed that Madame du Barry was a possible ally. Thus many priests appeared at Court to do honour to the favourite, blithely waving aside the facts of her present carnality and the rumours of her past.

  Jeanne accepted everything with great good humour and occasional comments which made courtiers either wince or stifle their laughter.

  The King had shown his devotion by presenting her with the Château de Luciennes not far from Marly; and he took her out to show her the exquisite little house which was being built at Trianon.

  There was no doubt that the recipient of that little treasure would be Madame du Barry for, instead of tiring of her as so many people had been sure he must, Louis grew more and more devoted every day.

  On one occasion at table the King dropped his toothpick, and Jeanne characteristically did not wait for a servant to pick it up; she herself leaped from her chair and went down on her hands and knees, crawling under the table to retrieve it.

  Flushed and laughing she held it up. ‘Here it is,’ she said.

  Louis looked at her; at such moments she could appear more delightful than when she was dressed for some State occasion, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion.

  Forgetful of the onlookers he left his chair and knelt beside her.

  ‘It is not for you to kneel to me,’ he said, that all might hear. ‘It is I who should kneel to you . . . and thus shall it always be between us two.’

  Never, said the Court, had the King been so enamoured of a woman as he was of Madame du Barry.

  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.