The Road to Compiegne

Chapter XVIII THE PRESENTATION OF MADAME DU BARRY

Richelieu was watching events closely. He was an old man, but as in his love affairs he continued with zest, so it was in his political ambitions.

Choiseul was a fool. Pride was his vulnerable spot and it would bring him to disaster, prophesied Richelieu. He had declared himself against the new mistress from the beginning and he would not change his attitude towards her. If he had been a wise man he would at least have pretended to do this.

The King was deeply enamoured, and Choiseul was fully aware how strong had been his attachment to Madame de Pompadour. He should consider: this woman was young and healthy; the King was old and prone to melancholy. Madame du Barry had the same chance as Pompadour had had of keeping her place.

It was the ambition of every man at Court to provide the King with a mistress who would be a friend and not forget her sponsor. Therefore a wise man, who had been unable to provide the King with a mistress, would seek to make himself the friend of the woman whom someone else had procured.

Thus the Duc de Richelieu made up his mind that he would become the friend of Madame du Barry. Not only that, he would gather together certain of his friends and they would stand by her; their object being to oust Choiseul and his friends from the positions they occupied, and take them themselves.

He discussed this matter with his nephew, the Duc d’Aiguillon who, realising that this would mean great political advancement for himself, considered it an excellent idea.

‘Our first duty,’ said Richelieu, ‘is to show ourselves agreeable to the favourite. Not too agreeable, you understand. Distantly so. But we are eager to be her friend. We sympathise with her against the churlish Choiseul. We will sound Vauguyon. You know how he loathes Choiseul and longs to see him dismissed.’

The Duc d’Aiguillon agreed, and the campaign began.

It was not difficult to make friends with Madame du Barry, because she was ready to bestow her smiles on any who asked for them and, being delighted with the manner in which her life was going, she bore no rancour towards anyone. She had even tried to soothe the fury of the Duc de Choiseul.

He had been quite insulting. ‘Madame,’ he had said, ‘it is useless for you try your wiles on me. My friends are ladies.’

She was temporarily angry; then she shrugged aside her anger. ‘Poor old Duc,’ she said to Fanchon, ‘he is worried about me, is he not?’

Fanchon advised caution, but Jeanne was not by nature cautious; and Fanchon was mollified to some extent by the friendly overtures of Richelieu and the Duc d’Aiguillon.

‘Not,’ said Fanchon, ‘that we do not understand the motive behind this show of friendship. But friends, no matter how they come, are welcome.’

Richelieu, on his way to the King’s Chapel, saw the Duc de Choiseul ahead of him.

The rain had started to come down heavily and Richelieu, who had suspected a sudden shower, had armed himself with an umbrella. Choiseul who was not similarly provided was caught in the downpour.

Richelieu drew level with Choiseul.

‘Allow me,’ he said, his eyes gleaming, ‘to offer you the shelter of my umbrella.’

Choiseul surveyed Richelieu with that air of amused tolerance he often showed towards those whom he suspected of being his enemies, and who – so he wished to convey – worried him no more than a fly buzzing about him.

‘That is good of you,’ he murmured.

As together they walked towards the chapel several people noticed them, and both were aware of the amused glances.

‘What do they think?’ murmured Choiseul, ‘seeing us two thus linked together?’

‘They think we are two heads under one bonnet?’

‘Ah,’ said Choiseul, ‘I have heard it said that two heads can be better than one.’

‘I am sure,’ answered Richelieu, ‘that there is truth in that statement.’

They entered the chapel and attended the service.

When they came out the sun was shining and many courtiers kept within earshot of the two Ducs because the affair of the umbrella had been astonishing and it was believed that it could only mean a rapprochement between these two rivals.

If Richelieu joined forces with Choiseul and they stood together against Madame du Barry, even adored as she was by the King, she would have a very stormy passage ahead of her.

Richelieu gave the Duc his sly smile. Choiseul responded. His voice rang out clearly: ‘I am grateful to you for keeping me dry. Now the weather is fair, and I need not sue for further favours. And my way does not lie in the same direction as yours.’

Richelieu replied: ‘You are right, Monsieur de Choiseul, the weather is fair indeed, and therefore you do not need the protection I can offer. Should it change however, you may depend upon me. I am your good friend.’

The words seemed fraught with significance. They could mean that Richelieu and Choiseul were joining forces. On the other hand they could have been spoken ironically; and considering the nature of the two Ducs this seemed more likely.

Richelieu went immediately to the King.

‘Sire,’ he said, ‘you are the happiest of God’s creatures on this showery day. You are in love, and the object of your love has more than good looks, she has good temper. Forgive the presumption, Sire, but you are not only the happiest King but the happiest man in the world.’

Love had brought a little naïvety back to Louis’ character and Richelieu was reminded of the young boy he remembered, married at fifteen to a Queen whom he had then believed to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

Now he smiled at Richelieu, pleased because he liked to hear Madame du Barry praised.

‘There is one little lack which Your Majesty must adjust. This charming lady is always relegated to the secret apartments, and is therefore debarred from enjoying Your Majesty’s company on all occasions. Thus will it be, Sire, until the lady is presented.’

The King laid his hand on Richelieu’s arm.

‘You have spoken my thoughts aloud,’ he said. ‘I intend Madame du Barry to be presented in the near future.’

Richelieu’s smile was very sly indeed. He heard his own voice echoing in his memory – You may depend upon it, Monsieur de Choiseul, I am your good friend.

The Duchesse de Gramont stormed into her brother’s apartments.

‘So now,’ she said, ‘she is to be presented at Court. They will be bringing in the fishwives from Les Halles and presenting them at Court next. Brother, this must not happen.’

‘We must take every step to prevent it.’

The Duchesse gripped her brother’s arm. ‘Once she is presented, she will be as Madame de Pompadour. She will take charge of affairs. We rose to our present position because the Pompadour was our friend. What will happen to us when we have another, as powerful as Pompadour . . . our enemy!’

‘This woman is no Pompadour. For all her bourgeoise origins Pompadour was an intelligent woman. This woman has nothing but her health, her good looks and her vulgarity.’

‘But the King is older, do not forget. He is in his dotage.’

‘Sister, we will fight this woman. Think how far we have come. We have stood firm against Prussia and Britain. Shall we fail at the whim of Madame du Barry?’

‘I fear her more than all the states of Europe.’

‘You lose heart too quickly. We will have her dismissed in a few weeks. But we must go warily . . . step by step. This presentation must not take place.’

‘You know, do you not, that Richelieu is standing behind her?’

‘Richelieu! That double-faced old rogue. But he is an old man.’

‘D’Aiguillon supports him.’

‘D’Aiguillon! The brave soldier! D’Aiguillon the fool. What are you thinking of, sister, to consider such a man?’

‘I fear, brother, that they are beginning to form a party around her. You can depend upon it, the King will support those who support her.’

‘I admit that could happen. But it must not. While she has not been presented and cannot be openly acknowledged she is no great danger. But it is of the utmost importance that she shall never be presented.’

‘The King has determined on it. Richelieu and d’Aiguillon support it. And she is naturally eager for it. I cannot see how it will be avoided.’

‘Then you do not know your brother as well as I thought you did, sister. We could implore the King not to commit this folly, and he would not listen to us. But if ridicule were our advocate it might be different. We might shame the King into forbidding the presentation although we could not persuade him to take such a step.’

‘Ridicule,’ said the Duchesse. ‘But we have tried that. He is so besottedly in love that he is impervious to ridicule.’

‘You will see. I have already arranged with the chansonniers, and very soon songs will be heard about Madame du Barry in every Paris café.’

The Duchesse nodded.

‘That is not all,’ went on the Duc. ‘The lady’s past will not bear investigation, as you know.’

‘But the King does not object to her low birth.’

‘Oh, she would have been adequate for the old Parc aux Cerfs, as she is for the trébuchet. But Louis must see that there is a difference between these establishments and the Galerie des Glaces.’

‘You have some suggestion?’

The Duc nodded. ‘I am dispatching a trusted friend this very day to a lady who is very well known in Paris . . . and at the Court. I refer to Madame Gourdan of the Maison Gourdan.’

Madame Gourdan rested her elbows on the table and smiled beguilingly at her visitor.

She knew he came from Versailles, and she was always pleased to welcome such clients to her house. She was well known in the Château and was often called upon to supply girls to entertain the company at some lavish banquet. Such were very profitable transactions, and so good for the name of her house.

Madame Gourdan, who was something of a wit, often described herself as Purveyor to the Royal Château of Versailles. Such a reputation she said was so very much appreciated by the merchants of Paris.

‘I come,’ said her visitor, ‘from a person of such eminence that I may not disclose his name.’

Ah, thought Madame Gourdan, His Majesty without doubt.

Her diamond bracelets glittered on her arms; her podgy hands, jewel-covered, smoothed the rich black satin of her gown.

‘The Maison Gourdan is at his service. You would like to see some of my most beautiful girls, eh Monsieur?’

‘No. I have come to obtain your signature on a document.’

Madame Gourdan’s expression changed. She did not like documents which must be signed. They invariably brought trouble.

‘You had better explain your business,’ she said sharply, ‘for I am at a loss to understand it.’

‘I believe you knew a young woman named Mademoiselle Vaubarnier or Mademoiselle de Lange.’

Madame Gourdan nodded. ‘One of the loveliest girls I ever saw.’

‘You knew her well, Madame?’

‘Not as well as I should have liked.’

‘She worked here in your establishment, did she not?’

‘Now you have touched on one of the greatest disappointments of my career. I would have taken her . . . Well, Monsieur, I should have been a fool not to. And I assure you, Monsieur, I am no fool. One does not successfully run a house such as this if one is.’

‘So she did not work in this house?’

Madame Gourdan shook her head.

‘But I have a paper here which says that she did.’

‘Then that paper lies. Who said it?’

‘You did . . . Madame.’

‘I did!’

‘It says here that Mademoiselle Vaubarnier or Mademoiselle Lange at one time worked in “my house, the Maison Gourdan”.’

‘Let me see this.’ She had leaped to her feet and was looking over his shoulder. ‘There is nothing to show I wrote that.’

‘There would be, Madame, if you put your name here.’

‘I see,’ said Madame Gourdan, narrowing her eyes.

‘Madame, your signature to this paper is desired by a man of great authority. He does not ask you to give it. He will pay for it. So much will he pay that even you who, I see, are a very successful woman, would be astonished.’

She continued to look at him through narrowed eyes.

‘Come, here is a pen. Sign, and a fortune is yours. Not only that. There would be other privileges . . .’

She folded her arms and looked at him belligerently. So the rumours had not lied, she was thinking. Jeanne had found her way to Versailles. This could mean only one thing: Jeanne was going to be acknowledged by the King.

She laughed suddenly.

‘You are going to bargain with me,’ sighed the man. ‘Come . . . tell me your price. What do you ask?’

‘Monsieur, this is what I ask: that you take that paper and get out of my house. I sell girls, not lies. You are asking me to dishonour my profession.’

He opened his mouth to protest. But Madame Gourdan had called to her Negro eunuch who could have lifted the visitor in his strong arms as though he were a baby.

‘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 du 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.