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 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.