THE TRIUMPHS OF THE COUNTESS DU BARRY

What would the Countess Du Barry become?

Would she be an ephemeral mistress, like the women of the Deer Park, or would she have the official position of favorite? This was what everybody was asking. The important thing to know was whether or not she would be presented. Bets were openly made on this question at Versailles. The Duke de Choiseul, hostile to the new countess, was against the presentation. But the King desired it. His will finally prevailed. He had known Madame Du Barry since July, 1768, but she was not presented until April 22, 1769. The ceremony took place with the ordinary formalities. After having received the command of the King, who had already been told the names of the sponsor, a lady making the presentation, and of her two assistants, who must always be women of the court, they arrived at the door of the grand cabinet in full toilette; that is, in robes stretched over hoops measuring three and a half ells in circumference, a long mantle clasped at the waist, a suitable bodice, flowing lappets, and as many diamonds as they had been able to procure. Madame Du Barry’s sponsor was the Countess de Béarn. Louis XV. looked radiant. He enjoyed the triumph of the woman he had chosen.

Thenceforward he was settled. Madame Du Barry was sufficient for her royal lover, who was tired of going clandestinely to the Deer Park, where he was obliged to hide himself, and was consequently not at ease. He closed that mysterious establishment and lodged his new mistress in the château of Versailles, in an apartment on the second story, just over that which he occupied himself. He could go to her at any hour, and unobserved, by a staircase leading to the Deer Court. A door opening on a small landing gave admission to one of the two cabinets situated near the alcove of the favorite’s chamber. Her apartment formed a suite of boudoirs each more elegant than another. It was the last word of luxury. The bedroom clock represented the three Graces supporting a vase in which was a revolving dial, while above it Love indicated the hours with his arrow. The most exquisite objects of art, marvels of upholstery, bronzes, marble, lacquer work, china, statuettes, abounded in this asylum of voluptuous pleasure.

“It is the senseless dream of a gay woman,” say Messrs. de Goncourt; “a folly of expenditure, an extravagance of luxury. Millions are flung away for the caprices of fashion, for rarities in jewelry, point lace, silk and velvet, a flood of money; the royal treasure flowing through the hands of a pretty woman upon the world of tailors, milliners, dressmakers.”

All this life spent in furnishing, in giving orders and commissions, in toilettes and purchases of every sort, is wholly fantastic and capricious. Her apartment in the château of Versailles no longer suffices the Countess. Louis XV. gives her a house in the city, rue de l’Orangerie,[37] where she installs herself with her attendants and her equipages. At the beginning of the year 1769, she receives one hundred thousand livres as a life annuity on the city of Paris, and a pension of ten thousand livres on the States of Burgundy. July 24 of the same year, her generous lover, who is more and more contented with her, compliments her by presenting the beautiful château of Luciennes, bought from the Duke de Penthièvre. The favorite triumphs; she has the same retinue, riches, and position as the Marquise de Pompadour. Young, pretty, seductive, with her blue eyes and brown eyebrows, her fair hair, her little Grecian nose, her rosy lips and satin skin, her mild yet roguish expression, she shines with all the splendor of her twenty-five years. Hers is not a majestic beauty, but a sprightly and frolicsome one which retains a certain carelessness and negligence even when arrayed in the most magnificent toilettes. It cannot be denied that she possesses charm. Louis XV. seems bewitched by her. Marshal de Richelieu, who was so severe on the Marquise de Pompadour, gives the Countess Du Barry his entire approbation. The Marquise Du Deffand writes to Horace Walpole, June 25, 1769:—

“Out in the country, the other day, while the master of the house (the King) was playing whist, the head of the conspiracy (Marshal de Richelieu) set up a little game of lansquenet to teach it to the lady (Madame Du Barry). He lost two hundred and fifty louis. The master of the house jeered at him, asking him how he could have lost at such a small game; he answered by a quotation from the opera:—

“‘Le plus sage S’enflamme et s’engage Sans savoir comment.’[38]

The master laughed and all the troupe.”

There were people, however, who did not go into ecstasies over the beauty of the new favorite. In September, 1769, Horace Walpole saw her in the chapel of the château of Versailles. He did not admire her much, and thus describes the impression she made on him in a letter to George Montagu: “A first row in the balconies was kept for us. Madame Du Barry arrived over against us below, without rouge, without powder, and indeed sans avoir fait sa toilette; an odd appearance, as she was so conspicuous, close to the altar, and amidst both court and people. She is pretty, when you consider her; yet so little striking, that I never should have asked who she was. There is nothing bold, assuming, or affected in her manner. Her husband’s sister was along with her. In the Tribune above, surrounded by prelates, was the amorous and still handsome King. One could not help smiling at the mixture of piety, pomp, and carnality.”

Madame Du Barry was the first to be astonished by her lot. Her transformation into a great lady seemed to her a disguise. She was still more surprised when they tried to make a political woman of her. Devoid of hatred, ambition, or calculation, she asked for nothing but to occupy herself with her toilettes and her furniture. Politics seemed to her a tedious thing. What were parliaments, the clergy, and diplomacy to her? She had a good many other things to think about. From the time when she had made her entry at court she had asked for nothing but to live at peace with all the ministers. She sent word to the Duke de Choiseul that if he wanted to be friends with her, she would go half way to meet him. The person who carried this message recalled the fact that mistresses drive out ministers, and ministers do not drive out mistresses. The Duke contented himself with replying coldly by a vague promise to grant such of Madame Du Barry’s demands as he considered just.[39] The enemies of the minister had the greatest difficulty, notwithstanding their incessant efforts, in persuading the inoffensive Countess to oppose him. At first her attacks on him were only skirmishes, or better, mere roguish tricks. The Marquise Du Deffand wrote to Horace Walpole, November 2, 1769: “The grandpapa” (the nickname given to Choiseul) “daily receives little affronts, such as not being named or invited for the little cabinet suppers, and, when visiting Madame Du Barry, grimaces when he is her partner at whist,—mockeries, shruggings of the shoulders; in fine, the petty revenges of a schoolgirl.”

Meanwhile the friends of the Duke de Choiseul did not as yet disquiet themselves, and Madame Du Deffand wrote, to Walpole, January 15, 1770: “Dame Du Barry has no influence, and there seems no likelihood that she ever will have any; she has neither affection nor hatred for anybody; she can say what they make her say, like a parrot, but without design, interest, or passion; no one contrives to govern with a character like that.” However, the security of the Marquise as to the fate of the Duke de Choiseul did not last long: “The controller-general is at the feet of Madame Du Barry, and does not blush at it,” she wrote, March 3, 1770; “he says he is following the example of all ministers who want to be listened to by kings, and even to be useful to them. Just at present our friend seems well disposed; but I doubt whether the year will end without a great revolution.” In the same letter she adds: “The King continues much smitten with his dame, but without showing her much consideration; he treats her sufficiently like a wench; in fine, she will be good or bad according to him who rules her; her own character will influence nothing. She may serve the passions of others, but never with the warmth and success one has when one shares them; she will repeat her lesson; but in circumstances where she has not been inspired, her own genius will not make up for it.”

At this epoch a malicious stanza got into circulation which is quoted in one of the letters of the Marquise (November 2, 1769). It was considered to sum up the complaints of the Duke de Choiseul, the friend of Madame de Pompadour, the enemy of Madame Du Barry. It was sung to the air of _Vive le Vin, Vive l’Amour_.

“Vive le roi! Foin de l’Amour! Le drôle m’a joué d’un tour, Qui peut confondre mon audace. La Du Barry, pour moi de glace, Va, dit-on, changer mes destins. Jadis, je dus ma fortune aux catins; Je leur devrai donc ma disgrace.”[40]

Madame Du Barry let herself be dragged into the struggle almost against her will. Three men urged her on: the Duke d’Aiguillon, the Abbé Terray, the Chancellor Maupeou. Surrounded by this triumvirate, the Countess smilingly entered the political lists. One can understand what indignation such an enemy must have caused a man so bold and haughty as the Duke de Choiseul. He chafed at his bit. His power was only to last some months longer. But before his downfall he was to see the arrival in France of the princess whose marriage with the Dauphin he had negotiated, that charming and poetic young girl who appeared in an aged court like a beam of pure light, that touching victim of fatality whose suave and august countenance make a striking contrast with that of the Du Barry, and whose name cannot be pronounced without an unspeakable blending of sympathy and compassion, tenderness, and respect,—Marie Antoinette.

At the moment when all minds were occupied with the coming marriage of the Archduchess with the Prince who was one day to be called Louis XVI., a novice was praying in the convent of Carmelites at Saint Denis for the safety of France, menaced by so many catastrophes. This novice was one of the daughters of Louis XV. While egotism and voluptuousness dominated in the palace of Versailles, the spirit of immolation and self-sacrifice took refuge in a convent, near the last dwelling-place of kings. Madame Du Barry was scandal; Madame Louise of France, edification.