Виктория Холт - The Road to Compiegne

‘We will get her married.’

‘The point is that she was not married when you said she was.’

‘A trifle.’

‘It will be the end of her chances at Court.’

‘Listen,’ said Jean Baptiste, ‘I will get her married immediately. I have a brother who is a bachelor. He will marry her and that will allow us to snap our fingers in the pug’s face of Monsieur le Duc.’

Le Bel hesitated. He greatly feared Choiseul, and wished that he had never brought Jeanne to Court. He could only win back the Duc’s approval by ridding the Court of her.

He made up his mind that he would do what the Duc wished him to.

He said firmly: ‘I must go to the King at once and tell him the truth.’

* * *

Le Bel begged for a private audience.

Louis looked at him with some concern. The man had changed visibly in the last week or so. He seemed furtive, afraid.

‘What ails you?’ asked Louis. ‘You will have to take better care of your health. You remind me of that man who dropped dead a week or so ago. You remember the one I mean. He had your looks. Take care, Le Bel.’

‘Sire, I am in good enough health. But I greatly fear I have offended you, in bringing Madame du Barry to your notice.’

‘Then you must be suffering from madness. I was never more pleased.’

‘This woman is not what you think her to be. She is no Comtesse.’

Louis smiled. ‘I am quite ready to believe that.’

‘Sire, her mother was a cook.’

‘How interesting,’ said Louis. ‘I hope she shares her mother’s skill. You know my interest in the culinary art. Is this yet another pleasure we may explore together?’

‘A cook, Sire . . . a cook . . .’ wailed Le Bel. ‘The daughter of a cook received at Versailles!’

Louis burst out laughing. How many years is it, pondered Le Bel, since he laughed like that. He would never let the woman go.

‘You concern yourself overmuch with small distinctions,’ he was saying. ‘A Comtesse . . . a cook. I am a King, Le Bel, and I have so far to look down on both cooks and Comtesses that it is difficult for me to distinguish how far they are from each other.’

‘Your Majesty is pleased to jest, but I have not told you everything. There is something even more disgraceful.’

Louis’ face clouded. He was beginning to be annoyed with the sly reference to Jeanne’s past. He did not care to examine the past – either his or hers – all he cared was that she was making his present life tolerable.

‘I do not wish to hear it,’ he said.

‘Sire, I must tell you.’

Le Bel went on, ignoring Louis’ look of astonishment. ‘Forgive me, Sire, but this woman is not married.’

The King hesitated.

Then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘So much the worse,’ he said. ‘But that is easily remedied. Let her be married at once.’ He began to laugh. ‘It would certainly be as well in this case that I am given no opportunity to commit any act of folly.’

Le Bel could only stare at the King. Yet he was not seeing the King. Louis in love, benign and happy, was not to be feared in the same way as the Duc de Choiseul and his sister.

Le Bel dared not go to them and tell them that the King had merely said: ‘Then let her be married.’

‘Sire, you cannot . . . you must not . . .’ wailed Le Bel. Louis looked incredulous for a few moments, then he said sharply: ‘You exceed your duties.’

‘But Sire, this . . . this low woman . . . this unmarried woman.’

Louis’ face turned scarlet. He picked up a pair of tongs and brandished them. He was like a young lover ready to defend his mistress.

‘You tempt me,’ he cried, ‘to strike you with these. Leave my presence at once.’

Le Bel staggered; his face was purple now, his mouth twitching, and Louis was ashamed of his unaccustomed display of anger.

‘Go to your apartments,’ he said kindly. ‘You need rest. You are growing old, Le Bel. As I was . . . until Madame du Barry came to cheer me. Go along now. You have taken to heart matters which are not of the slightest importance.’

Le Bel bowed and left the King.

He went to his apartments. He had discovered something. The King was in love as he had not been for years. He was going to keep Madame du Barry at Court. She was to be recognised as maîtresse-en-titre. At last the place of Madame de Pompadour had been filled.

And Choiseul? He would remain his enemy.

‘Go to your apartments and rest,’ the King had said. Rest! With Choiseul ready for revenge?

The next day, after a restless night, Le Bel had a stroke. He lived only for a few hours.

He died of shock, said the Court. The shock of seeing the ex-grisette whom he had brought to the trébuchet, about to fill the place of Madame de Pompadour.

* * *

Meanwhile Jean Baptiste lost no time in bringing to Paris his unmarried brother, the Chevalier Guillaume du Barry, that a marriage might take place between him and Mademoiselle de Vaubarnier (Jean Baptiste had added the de to her name by this time).

The Chevalier Guillaume was far from unwilling. He was promised that he would be amply rewarded for his services, and he was glad of any excitement which would take him away, if only temporarily, from the tumbledown old château in Lévignac where he and his sisters lived under the despotic rule of their mother.

Jean Baptiste was delighted with the way his plans were working out. The King’s demand that Jeanne should be married pointed to one fact: Louis had evidently decided that Jeanne was to be received at Court, and this was tantamount to recognising her as maîtresse-en-titre.

Jeanne was being prepared to follow in the footprints of Madame de Pompadour, which to all earnest observers were still visibly leading from the valleys of obscurity to the summit of power.

Determined that his interests should not be forgotten he brought from Lévignac to Paris, with his brother Guillaume, his sister, Fanchon, so that she might become Jeanne’s companion at Court and thus look after the interests of the family.

Fanchon was middle-aged, slightly lame but shrewd; and she had a great affection for her adventurous brother and was very grateful to him for rescuing her from the dreary life at the family château.

Jean Baptiste then busied himself with providing a forged birth certificate for Jeanne, in which he not only described her as the legitimate daughter of Jean-Jacques Gomard de Vaubarnier but deducted a few years from her age. Jeanne was twenty-five, which was not really very young, so he would make her out to be twenty-two.

As for the Chevalier Guillaume, he became the ‘Haut et puissant Seigneur, Messire Guillaume, Comte du Barry, Capitaine des Troupes Détachées de la Marine’.

‘Everybody,’ said Jean Baptiste, ‘is now happy.’

Guillaume could return home amply rewarded, Fanchon would have a place at Court, and Jeanne need have no qualms about masquerading under a false name as she was now in truth, Madame du Barry. The King was delighted, because he need no longer concern himself with this little point of etiquette and could enjoy the company of his mistress in peace.

But there were many who were far from content. And chief of these was, of course, Choiseul.

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.