by Jean Plaidy
Thus it was that the odds were growing against Choiseul.
The Duc, otherwise so shrewd, entrenched himself in his nobility and refused to believe that a fille de rien could ever be important to the crown of France. Madame de Pompadour was at least bourgeoise; she was a woman of education to compare with that of members of the Court; therefore he had quickly realised that it was wiser to be on her side than against her; but he refused to consider Madame du Barry worthy of his attention.
Choiseul was now being blamed for the failure of the Seven Years War – most unfairly, for the war had been a disaster before he had come to power. It was remembered that he had spent thirty million livres in an endeavour to establish a settlement in Guiana, for which purpose he had sent out twelve thousand people from Alsace and Lorraine. Almost every one of those would-be-colonists had died.
‘Why,’ asked the Barriens, ‘should this man Choiseul be regarded as a great statesman, essential to France? Look at his record.’
It was true that he had annexed Corsica, but to do this he had used an immense amount of public funds, which must come from the poverty-stricken people. They forgot too how he had strengthened the Army and Navy.
As Madame du Barry became more important to the King, so the disgrace of Choiseul became more certain.
Meanwhile Aiguillon had become involved with the magistrates of Rennes by his arrest of La Chalotais, the Attorney-General who had worked against the Jesuits and had been scornful of the weak manner in which Breton affairs were conducted.
It was a sign of the times that every French province had now begun to ask what was happening to the liberty of the people; and when the Duc d’Aiguillon sought to force obedience from the Breton Parlement, the Parlement of Paris rose in support of its Breton counterpart.
Louis was finding himself drawn into conflict with his Parlements.
It was when La Chalotais wrote a letter of complaint against Aiguillon to the King that Aiguillon ordered the arrest of Chalotais. The Parlement then brought a counter-charge against Aiguillon accusing him of embezzling public monies; and with this charge against him, and because the Parlement refused to try La Chalotais, Aiguillon came to Paris to ask for vindication there.
Louis presided at his trial, for which members of the Parlement came to Versailles.
The King however was eager to escape from the restraint put upon the monarchy by the Parlement, and after two sittings he destroyed the documents involving Aiguillon and declared the Duc immune from further accusations.
The Parlement left Versailles and in Paris made a declaration that in spite of the King Aiguillon should be ‘deprived of his rights and privileges as a peer until he should be purged of the suspicions which stained his honour’.
This was a direct insult to Louis, a reminder that Parlement was now more powerful than the monarchy. There could be nothing more likely to inflame the wrath of one who had always believed in the Divine Right of Kings.
As Choiseul must take his stand on the side of the Parlement, the Barriens saw a means of ridding themselves of the Minister and his friends and slipping into power themselves.
The Chancellor Maupéou placed himself on the side of the King, in spite of the fact that he had been given his post by Choiseul; but he believed that only with the dismissal of Choiseul could he achieve the power he sought. Therefore, although until this moment he had feigned loyalty to Choiseul, now that Choiseul appeared to be in decline he no longer felt the need to do so.
Maupéou had joined the Barriens, and the party discussed its policy which should receive the support of the King through Madame du Barry.
In the streets of Paris the struggle between King and Parlement was growing. There was change in the air. Louis had been hated for so long that few remembered those days when he had been known as Le Bien-Aimé.
The songsters and rhymesters were busy. There was a new prayer ironically shouted in the cafés:
‘Our Father, who art at Versailles, honoured be thy name; thy Kingdom is undone; thy will is as little done on Earth as it is in Heaven; give us back our daily bread which thou hast taken away. Forgive thy Parliaments, who have supported thy interests, as thou forgivest thy ministers who have sold them. Be not led into temptation by the du Barry, but deliver us from the demon Chancellor. Amen.’
All Paris was agog to see the magnificent carriage which the Duc d’Aiguillon had presented to Madame du Barry, presumably as an acknowledgement for the King’s support in his recent trial.
The arms of the du Barrys were set in the centre of four gold panels, and two doves, representing the King and his mistress, were depicted nestling in a bed of roses.
All agreed that there could never have been such a luxurious carriage; beside it those of the Dauphine looked cheap.
The cost of the magnificent vehicle was discovered to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of fifty-two thousand livres.
‘Fifty-two thousand livres on a carriage!’ said the people. ‘When we cannot afford to pay two sous for bread!’
Choiseul could now clearly see disaster looming ahead, and he believed that nothing but war could save him from dismissal, because then he would be indispensable to his country.
He commenced secret negotiations with Spain hoping that that country would provoke England into war over a dispute which had sprung up between the two countries concerning the Falkland Islands. But with the recent example of how disastrous war could be, the Spanish were in no mood to precipitate themselves into hostilities merely to save Choiseul, and they hesitated.
Choiseul was cornered. He had no alternative but to disclose his intentions, and he was immediately accused by the Abbé Terray, Aiguillon and Maupéou of trying to provoke war.
Choiseul fought desperately for his position. He sought an interview with the King, during which he assured him that if he would exile Maupéou and Terray the Parlement would cease to make trouble. On the other hand the Chancellor, the Abbé and Aiguillon told the King that the only way to avoid trouble was to dismiss Choiseul.
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 intellige
nce 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.
Chapter XXI
THE END OF THE ROAD
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.
This shared love of animals, of botany and of cooking was mutually enjoyable. She was to him the most satisfactory person at Court.
But Madame du Barry had been warned by her friends that Madame de Pompadour had kept her place by finding young girls who would please the King. Jeanne had always known that she would be a fool to ignore her successful predecessor’s example, so occasionally she procured a beautiful young woman whom she presented to Louis.
As for Louis, he was not greatly interested but, since his dear Madame du Barry had taken such pains for his pleasure, he felt it would be a breach of etiquette to explain that he was feeling his age and found her adequate to meet his needs.
So occasionally Madame du Barry would archly leave him alo
ne with some little friend of hers – always making sure that the companion of the evening should be possessed of more beauty than brains.
Marie Antoinette and the Dauphin were as tiresome towards Madame du Barry as the Dauphin’s father and Marie-Josèphe had been towards Madame de Pompadour. The flighty young Dauphine had refused to acknowledge Madame du Barry by not speaking to her at receptions, thus creating a very awkward contretemps because, until spoken to by the Dauphine, Madame du Barry herself must not, according to the demands of etiquette, make any remarks.
The Dauphine had been very obstinate, and only stern admonitions from her mother, the Empress (strained relations with France were imminent at that important time when the division of Poland was being considered) forced the frivolous young woman to fall in with the King’s wishes. As a result she made the comment ‘Il y a bien du monde aujourd’hui à Versailles’, which was soon quoted in various intonations throughout the Court – that pointless comment which had to be spoken to prevent strained relations between two countries!
The Dauphin was a disappointment to his grandfather – a great shuffling boy without any Court graces, spending more time making locks or with his workmen who were engaged in building operations, than in more courtly occupations. He had scarcely a word to say, and had a distressing habit of grunting when spoken to – and escaping from polite society as soon as it was possible.
Louis much preferred the Dauphine, although he was very annoyed with her over her attitude to Madame du Barry.
His daughters, led by Adelaide, had done a great deal to magnify the trouble between the Dauphine and Madame du Barry; Louise-Marie, the youngest, had now achieved an ambition, which had long been hers, and gone to Saint-Denis to become a Carmelite. Perhaps it was as well. One more daughter away, in a place where she was unable to plague her family and remind her father that he had not fulfilled his duties towards his daughters!
