The Road to Compiegne (50 page)

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.’