Виктория Холт - The Road to Compiegne

Jeanne du Barry was instructed by her friends that now was the moment to press for the dismissal of her enemy.

This she did, and the result was that a letter was written to Choiseul.

Even so, Louis could not bring himself to have it delivered. He remembered that for twelve years Choiseul had been head of the Government, and during those years France, considering the state in which she had been when Choiseul took office, had not fared as badly as might have been expected.

But the Barriens were pressing him and he was feeling too bored with the situation, anxious for only one thing: to leave the politics of Versailles for the peaceful life of Petit Trianon, with Madame du Barry to amuse and pander to his pleasure.

* * *

It was eleven o’clock on the morning of Christmas Eve 1770 when the Duc de Vrillière called on Choiseul.

‘Ah,’ said Choiseul, ‘welcome, my friend.’

He spoke ironically, knowing full well that Vrillière was no friend of his.

‘I bring a letter from His Majesty,’ said Vrillière.

Choiseul knew as he took the letter that the ex-salesgirl of Labille’s had beaten the shrewd statesman. Was it not typical of affairs at the Court of Louis XV?

He was determined not to show his despair to Vrillière.

He took the letter and read it.

Cousin, the dissatisfaction caused me by your services forces me to banish you to Chanteloup, whither you will repair in twenty-four hours. I should have sent you farther off but for the particular regard I have for Madame de Choiseul in whose health I feel great interest. Take care your conduct does not force me to change my mind. Whereupon I pray God, cousin, to have you in His holy keeping.

Louis.

Chanteloup! thought Choiseul. Far away from the glittering world of Versailles. So this was the end of that glorious career, begun under the favour of Madame de Pompadour, lost under the disfavour of Madame du Barry.

The lesson was one which a man of his intelligence should have learned; always be the friend of the King’s reigning mistress.

‘Monsieur le Duc,’ said Vrillière, ‘I deeply regret that I have been selected for this unpleasant duty.’

Choiseul laughed loudly. ‘Monsieur le Duc,’ he answered, ‘I know full well that you would have found it hard to discover a task more congenial to you.’

Vrillière bowed, and Choiseul saw the smile of satisfaction which played about his mouth. Thus would those, who had been wiser than he had and decided to enrol as Barriens, be smiling today.

He sent his servants to bring his wife to him.

She came and stood before him, a question in her eyes. She had a lovely face, thought the Duc; he had not served her well.

* * *

She had brought him rare faithfulness as well as a fortune. And even now it was the King’s regard for her which meant that he would not have to go farther away than Chanteloup. She had rejected the King’s attentions for the sake of a husband who had never pretended to be faithful to her and who made no secret of loving his sister more than he loved his wife.

‘What is wrong, Etienne?’ she asked now. ‘You look as though you are facing ruin.’

‘I am facing ruin.’

She took the letter from his hand and read it.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘There are places in the world as beautiful as Versailles,’ she said. ‘I think Chanteloup is one of them.’

‘No reproaches?’ he asked. ‘We are to live as exiles, and it could have been otherwise. If I had made friends with that low creature . . . if I had smiled and fawned on her . . .’

She shook her head. ‘She is no longer of any importance to us, Etienne!’

‘Is she not?’ He laughed suddenly. ‘I shall not forget her. I shall remember her . . . at Chanteloup.’

‘Could you not live your life and let her live hers?’

He took her by the shoulders. ‘You are too gentle, my dear. Men such as I only live when they fight. The battle is not over.’

He released her and turned away from her because the Duchesse de Gramont had come into the room.

‘Can it be?’ she demanded.

He held out the letter to her.

She read it, threw it to the floor and stamped on it. ‘That low creature has done this!’

‘She has,’ said Choiseul, ‘and so have we; but the battle is not yet over. We will make a retreat to Chanteloup and wage war on her from there. Remember, Louis is past sixty. Think of the life he has led. The Dauphine is my friend, and the Dauphine will command our genial but lethargic Dauphin. Oh no, the battle is not yet lost. Come, let us go to dinner. I fancy it will taste as good to exiles as to those who remain at Court . . . for a little longer.’

* * *

Choiseul with his wife and sister left Versailles for Chanteloup.

Through the capital they drove, followed by numerous carriages containing their followers and possessions.

The citizens watched them.

‘There goes a great man,’ they said. ‘He is dismissed because Madame du Barry says he must go.’

Choiseul knew their thoughts and smiled benignly on them. He was certain that it would not be long before he was returning.

To Chanteloup, he thought; there we will hold a court which will be almost as luxurious as that of Versailles, and perhaps more brilliant; there shall be made welcome the philosophers, the most brilliant of the writers; there shall be written songs and satires; and one day, not far distant, it would be Madame du Barry who drove from Versailles in disgrace while the Choiseuls came back in their glory.

* * *

With the dismissal of Choiseul the Parlement had lost its most powerful supporter.

Maupéou was doing his best to persuade the King that the power of the Parlement should be curbed and a new system set in motion.

Louis however, having at last given way to persuasion over the dismissal of Choiseul, was undecided.

Madame du Barry was called upon to help him make the decision, and this she did by having placed in her apartments a large Vandyke picture of Charles I. Her excuse for doing this was that the Barrys were related to an Irish family, the Earls of Barrymore, who were vaguely connected with the Stuarts. Thus, said Jeanne du Barry, the gentleman in the picture was a connexion of hers.

But the real reason that picture had been installed was that it might be a perpetual reminder to Louis of what happened to a King who had been in conflict with his Parliament.

As the situation worsened and the Barriens determined that something must quickly be done, Jeanne was told to remind the King verbally of what had happened to Charles I.

This she did, putting her arms about Louis, saying: ‘This picture has become to me as a warning. Oh, Louis, dismiss your Parlement. Remember it was a Parlement which cut off that fellow’s head.’

Louis turned to look at the tragic King depicted on the canvas.

He remembered the stares of the people, the sullen mutterings, the state of his country.

He gave an order, and on that cold January night his musketeers visited the homes of all magistrates to deliver lettres de cachet which they must accept, or agree to a new set of rules which should be laid down by the King.

They refused to comply and accepted the lettres de cachet; and a new Government was formed under the Triumvirate of Aiguillon as Foreign Minister, Maupéou as Chancellor and Terray as Comptroller-General.

Louis spoke to its members on its inauguration, saying: ‘I order you to commence your duties. I forbid any deliberation contrary to my wishes and any presentations in favour of my former Parlement, for I shall never change.’

The clouds of revolution had begun to take definite form over the land of France.

The King and his mistress gave themselves up to pleasure, but Louis felt old age creeping upon him. There were times when ennui caught up with him and he could not throw it off; he thought a great deal about death, for so many people who had shared his life had died. If he heard of anyone’s dying he would demand to know the details of the disease and their manner of passing; he would often stop a funeral cortège of strangers and ask for these details. Then he would brood on them and would find them even more depressing.

Life would have been intolerable but for Madame du Barry, who was constantly at his side, bright and gay, full of vitality, always seeming to know exactly what he needed to disperse his gloom. Thus he relied upon her, and grew uneasy if she were not at hand.

When she was honoured he was delighted, and when Gustavus the Crown Prince of Sweden visited the French Court and treated Madame du Barry as though she were Queen of France, giving her as a parting gift a collar for her dog, which was inset with diamonds and contained a thirty-six-inch chain made entirely of rubies, he was more pleased than she was.

He liked to see the animal wearing his collar and chain, and Madame du Barry and the dog were often observed walking with the King in the gardens, her dog almost as glittering a personage as herself.

They both delighted in their animals; Louis, who had from childhood days always loved cats, was on one occasion more angry than his courtiers had ever seen him when he discovered some of them intoxicating his cat with wine that they might watch the creature’s antics.