The Road to Compiegne

by Jean Plaidy

  He could not prevent himself from laughing aloud. Once before he had come near to success. Had they forgotten that? He certainly had not. But for Madame de Pompadour he would have succeeded too.

  He would not count that a great failure. Many men, even at Court, had found a formidable adversary in that woman; but now she was where she could not foil the plans of Jean Baptiste du Barry. And that clever purveyor of woman had a creature to offer who greatly excelled even la belle Dorothée.

  Yes, he was certain of that. Jeanne was the most delicious creature who had ever fallen into his hands.

  Dorothée also had been delightful after he had trained her. After, of course. They all owed so much to Jean Baptiste.

  He had secured a meeting between the King and Dorothée as he now proposed to arrange between Jeanne and the King. The King had been delighted with the lovely Dorothée.

  ‘Perhaps for one night . . . two nights,’ Le Bel had hinted.

  One night! Two nights! Girls were well brought up in the establishment of Monsieur le Comte du Barry. La belle Dorothée was no little bird for the trébuchet, no candidate for the Parc aux Cerfs. He had meant her to reign at Court, and so she would have done, daughter of a Strasbourg water-carrier though she was, but for Madame de Pompadour.

  That woman! She was clever, he would grant that; but she would not have succeeded against the Comte du Barry except for the fact that he could not approach the King, and she was beside him every hour of the day.

  She did not do the damage herself. She would not soil her aristocratic hands (aristocratic! snorted Jean Baptiste. Was the daughter of a meat-contractor in Paris so much superior to one of a water-carrier in Strasbourg?). No; others told the King that la belle Dorothée had been the mistress of a man who was suffering from a painful disease, the very mention of which, considering the life he led, could throw the King into a panic.

  So that was the end of la belle Dorothée. Perhaps he had asked too quickly for that diplomatic post in Cologne. Well, he had more experience now, more finesse; and there was no Madame de Pompadour to sweep a possible rival out of the way. There was only weary Le Bel (showing his age, poor fellow) eagerly looking for someone, anywhere, who could amuse the King.

  So Jeanne was going to succeed where Dorothée had failed. Jeanne had the vitality, and when he told her she would be wild with joy. He pondered. Should he try to restrain her? Perhaps. Perhaps not. When he thought of Jeanne in her most abandoned mood and imagined her with the King, he could but hover between hilarious laughter and apprehension. So much depended on the mood of the King.

  Louis was surrounded by ladies who failed to please him, so perhaps one who was certainly no fine lady would be exactly what he needed. And Jeanne (surely he did not exaggerate when he called her the most beautiful girl in Paris) was experienced. She had entertained so many men in her amatory life that she would surely know how best to please the King. Jeanne was perfect for the role. She was not very young – nearly twenty-five in fact – although they would say she was twenty-two. Even so that was not exactly young. Yet she remained so fresh that it was extraordinary. It was not only because of that perfect skin; it was something within herself, some inner delight in being alive and well, and able to amuse, some perpetual joy which never seemed to desert her whatever befell her. She retained it even during their quarrels, and they had had some violent ones. (He trembled now to remember an occasion when she had packed her valise and left his house. Thank God he had found her and brought her back.) He was sure it had been hers during those days of poverty in Vaucouleurs, and in that depressing de la Garde establishment where she worked for a while. It was Jeanne herself – bubbling over with good spirits, happy to possess life no matter where she lived it.

  Perhaps it was this quality in her, rather than her startling beauty, which made her so outstanding, so certainly a person who could bring good fortune to herself and her benefactor.

  He pictured himself swaggering about Versailles and Paris. All those who had warned him that he would end up destitute would be forced to eat their words. He would have some surprises to show them at home in Lévignac, where they still looked upon him as a ne’er-do-well, in spite of the letters he wrote to them from Paris.

  He was no longer young; he was ready to accept that sad fact, for he was midway between forty and fifty. He may not have accumulated wealth so far, but he had acquired wisdom and experience, and in a matter of months from now his fortune would be made. Jeanne would make it.

  There had been a time when he had been rich. That was twenty years ago when he had been clever enough to make a wealthy marriage. The family had thought that Catharine Ursula Dalmas de Vernongrèse would come to the tumbledown old château in Lévignac, use her money to renovate the place and buy some of the land which they had lost during previous generations, thus bringing back to the du Barry family the dignity of the past.

  It was for this very reason that the marriage had been arranged for their eldest son.

  Jean Baptiste had had other ideas. He had married Catharine to win her fortune for himself, not to give it to his family.

  He admitted now that he had been incautious, but then he had lacked the experience which he had now acquired. He had tried to double his fortune at the gambling tables and very soon Catharine’s money had gone the way of that of the du Barrys.

  That was years ago and, since Catharine was now as poor as his own family, there was no need for them to stay together, so they had parted and Jean Baptiste had come to Paris to make another fortune.

  And now, as once he had seen Catharine as the woman who would make him a rich man through marriage, he saw Jeanne who was to bring him to the same happy state through the infatuation of the King.

  Catharine had been one of the richest girls in Toulouse; Jeanne was the most beautiful in Paris.

  She was his to mould and use to his advantage as Catharine had been. A man grows wiser in twenty years, and this time he would succeed.

  Nearly twenty-five years before, in the village of Vaucouleurs, Jeanne Bécu (now known as Mademoiselle Vaubarnier) had been born on an August day in the year 1743.

  Jeanne was the illegitimate daughter of Anne Bécu, and no one was sure who was her father. Not that anyone cared very much. Some declared it was one of the soldiers who had been billeted in the village. Anne had a lover among them. Others said it was the cook in the village inn. Anne was often in and out of the kitchens there. Others said that of course it was one of the Picpus monks, for Anne went to the convent regularly to sew for them, and she had been seen behaving with Jean Jacques Gomard – Frère Ange to his community – in a manner which should not be expected between monk and visiting seamstress.

  When Jeanne was four years old she accompanied her mother to Paris where Anne had found work as a cook in the house of a beautiful courtesan known as Francesca.

  Anne was delighted with her new situation especially when Jeanne, whose beauty was already remarkable, attracted the attention of Francesca’s lover, Monsieur Billard-Dumonceau who, being an amateur artist, desired to paint the child’s portrait.

  ‘You must lend me Jeanne for a time,’ he told Anne. ‘I will take her to my house, for I am going to paint her. You will have nothing to fear; she will be returned to you safely.’

  Anne Bécu had no fear. She looked upon Monsieur Billard-Dumonceau as her benefactor; moreover she had formed a strong friendship with a fellow servant at Mademoiselle Francesca’s; this was Nicolas Rançon. They had become lovers, but because they were both advancing into middle age they were contemplating entering into a more settled relationship.

  When the Abbé Arnaud, who called on Monsieur Dumonceau, saw Jeanne, he took her on to his knee and asked her who she was.

  Without embarrassment she told him. He said she was the loveliest little girl he had ever seen, and added that it was regrettable that she was without education.

  Monsieur Billard-Dumonceau considered this, and eventually decided that he would have her educated; c
onsequently she was sent to the Convent of Sainte Aure which had originally been a charity school for the daughters of the poor and criminal classes. Recently it had been decided that the girls who were brought there should not necessarily be in need of care, protection and correction; they might be the daughters of poor yet respectable people who had been selected to receive some sort of education.

  In this place, where it was considered a sin to laugh, Jeanne remained until she was fifteen years old, Monsieur Billard-Dumonceau having paid the fees which would keep her there until that time. He had by then forgotten the charming little girl who had interested him, and as her fees were no longer paid Jeanne was sent home to her mother.

  So out into the streets of Paris came Jeanne, more lovely than ever in her early womanhood, her golden curls released from the hood and forehead band which, in the Convent, had restricted them, her blue eyes alert for adventure.

  And the adventures which befell Jeanne were inevitable.

  She had begun as apprentice to a hairdresser only to become the hairdresser’s mistress and so enslave him that he wished to marry her. His mother had quickly sent Jeanne away.

  She had then become ‘reader’ to Madame de la Garde, the widow of a rich tax-farmer, but the widow had two sons and Jeanne’s relationship with them, being discovered by the widow, resulted in her instant dismissal.

  Her next post was in the millinery and dressmaking establishment of Monsieur Labille in the Rue Neuve des Petits Champs; and from the moment she stepped into that scented and luxurious establishment she knew that she would find its manners and customs more congenial than anything she had encountered before.

  Her duties were by no means arduous, for the Sieur Labille quickly decided that she would be of more use as a salesgirl than in the back rooms, making hats and gowns.

  She changed her name to Mademoiselle Lange; and in the perfumed showroom she waited on noblewomen and the men who accompanied them on their shopping expeditions. Many a gentleman came to Labille’s to assist his women friends to choose a gown or hat. It was slyly said that the gowns and hats of Monsieur Labille had a great attraction for the male sex.

  Now a wider life stretched before Jeanne. She was intoxicated by the splendour about her. She could not resist the fascinating manners, the charming compliments of these gentlemen who were quite different from Monsieur Lametz, the hairdresser, and even from the sons of Madame de la Garde who, she realised now, had both been a little self-important and patronising towards their mother’s young reader.

  Monsieur Labille wanted the whole world to know how he looked after his girls. They must live in; they must be in their beds at an early hour. They must go regularly to Mass. He was not averse however to their delivering a purchase to a house as a special favour and, if they were petted and made much of and stayed a little longer than necessary, Monsieur Labille might shake his finger and deliver a lecture, but he could not be harsh with his girls. He doted on them; so could he blame others for doing so?

  He realised that of all his girls Mademoiselle Jeanne Lange was the most adorable; and so he lived in fear that one day some young man would carry her off and she would grace the establishment no longer. He could do nothing to protect her from the admiration of his customers; after all, in her ability to attract lay her great value to him.

  Jeanne very soon had her lovers – rich young men on the fringe of the Court who brought good business to the shop. The chief of these was Radix de Sainte-Foix, a very rich young man who was a farmer-general and Navy-contractor.

  The mistress of such a rich young man was quickly noticed and very soon Mademoiselle Lange became known in many layers of Paris society, because Radix de Sainte-Foix enjoyed taking Jeanne about with him and observing the admiration and envy she aroused (and the envy he himself did). Jeanne’s life was full of lighthearted gaiety. All her spare time was spent in the company of this doting lover, until one day he took her to the house of Madame Duquesnoy.

  This woman – who called herself the Marquise – posed as a noblewoman who had lost her fortune and was attempting to retrieve it by running a gaming-house for her friends. She was determined to keep this exclusive, so she said, and members were closely scrutinised before they were allowed to join her circle.

  Sainte-Foix determined to take Jeanne there. But, he explained, Mademoiselle Lange, salesgirl at Labille’s, would certainly not be admitted. Not that he was the sort of man who would let such a trifle stand in his way. He was going to give her a new name and a new personality. To begin with she was to be Mademoiselle Beauvarnier. Did she not think that more aristocratic than Lange? And she was not to mention her connexion with Labille’s.

  Jeanne was ever ready for some new adventure, and as Mademoiselle Beauvarnier she frequented the salon of the self-styled Marquise Duquesnoy.

  Jean Baptiste du Barry was a frequent visitor, being interested in Madame Duquesnoy’s methods, which were similar to his own. Like herself he entertained lavishly; he had his gaming tables, and he introduced attractive young women to men, allowing them to use rooms in his house.

  But he would be more successful than Madame Duquesnoy, he decided, because he trained his girls himself. He could take any little grisette and turn her into a mistress fit for a petty nobleman.

  He was constantly looking out for suitable entrants to his establishment; and no sooner had he set eyes on Jeanne than he decided that he would mould her most advantageously.

  Jeanne had never met anyone like Jean Baptiste du Barry. Glib and suave, he could with ease assume the manners of Versailles – so at least it seemed to a girl who knew nothing of such manners. At last she had met a real nobleman and she was fascinated.

  She was wasted . . . wasted, declared Jean Baptiste. Such beauty to be thrown away in a shop! He had never heard anything like it. Jeanne must leave Labille’s immediately.

  And where should she go? she asked. Where would she find work as easy and pleasant as that which she did at Labille’s?

  ‘Work!’ cried Jean Baptiste. ‘You should never work. Others should work for you. You shall come to my house. There you shall live as . . . Madame du Barry.’

  ‘You mean you would marry me?’

  ‘Willingly – if I had not already a wife. But we will not let such a trifle deter us. Come, my child, I will make a lady of you. Who knows, one day I may take you to Versailles.’

  It was too gloriously glittering. She would consult with her mother and Aunt Hélène, she told her new admirer.

  He was a little disturbed, but to show his goodwill he offered to give the Rançons lodging in his house if Jeanne would leave Labille’s and come to him.

  That decided Jeanne and her family. She had at last fulfilled the promise of her youth. She was the mistress of a nobleman.

  For four years Jeanne lived in the house of the Comte du Barry. During that time he sought to make a lady of her; a feat which, Jeanne assured him, was quite impossible, and with which opinion he came to agree.

  First of all he changed her name. He did not like Beauvarnier. He thought Vaubarnier more distinctive. Jeanne, happily accepting the new name, quickly summed up the character of her new lover. He was boastful; he was not entirely to be trusted; but she grew fond of him and she realised that he was doing a great deal for her. Her mother and stepfather were delighted to be lodged in such a magnificent house and that, they said, made the liaison so respectable, even though the Comte had many mistresses, and they were all kept in the house. They were all attractive – they would have been of no use to him otherwise – and he enjoyed watching them appear at his evening parties, when they were expected to entertain the guests. He put no restraint on the extent of the admiration which was offered to them and made his visitors pay handsomely for such privileges.

  Often Jean Baptiste would take her to a ball at the Opera House and entertainments at the house of noblemen; she was always singled out for her remarkable beauty which became by no means impaired by the life she led. Others might wilt and fade �
� not so Jeanne. She had an unusual vitality and imperturbability; she was invariably good-tempered; she appeared to live entirely in the present and be without the slightest concern for the future.

  Even the Duc de Richelieu when he saw her was attracted.

  Perhaps it was the attentions of such a highly placed nobleman of the Court which gave Jean Baptiste grandiose ideas.

  He had long desired a diplomatic post at Court, but although he had made many supplications to the Duc de Choiseul, he had been unsuccessful; and he was still suffering from the slight he had received at the time of the La Belle Dorothée incident when he had asked for a post in Cologne and been so promptly refused it.

  He would find some way of being received at Court; and he believed it would be through Jeanne.

  She was so ready to fall in with his plans that he was sure that if she ever had an opportunity she would work for him. She had been very kind to his son Adolphe who sometimes lived with them, for she was fond of children and they of her. Adolphe, in his early teens, looked upon her as an elder sister, and she was delighted with their relationship; and Jean Baptiste knew too that if she ever had the power she would not forget to help Adolphe.

  Why should she not bring good to them all? She regarded herself as a member of the family. She was even known in some quarters as Madame du Barry.

  ‘The good of one is the good of all,’ said Jean Baptiste.

  That was why he was so excited because Le Bel had agreed to meet Jeanne.

  He returned to the house before she did, and he was uneasy – as he always was when she was out alone; and when she arrived he fiercely demanded to know where she had been.

  ‘Taking a glass of wine with Madame Gourdan,’ she told him; she was invariably frank.

  ‘Taking a glass of wine with that old bawd! You must be mad. At such a time . . . at such a time. This could ruin everything. What did she want of you?’