‘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.