The Road to Compiegne (48 page)

‘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.