Madame de Noailles assured His Majesty that she would do all in her power to correct the faults of the Dauphine.
She went at once to Antoinette.
‘Madame,’ she cried, for once forgetting the usual routine, ‘you must speak to Madame du Barry this very night. Those are the King’s orders.’
‘Madame du Barry is a courtesan,’ retorted the Dauphine. ‘I cannot believe that the etiquette of the Court of France demands that the first lady of the Court should chat with such.’
With that she left Madame Noailles and went straight to the aunts.
Madame Adelaide chuckled with glee. ‘You are right, my dear,’ she told her. ‘Be bold in this. All – even the King – will respect you for it.’
Aunts Victoire and Sophie nodded agreement.
But when the Abbé de Vermond passed the news of the King’s reprimand on to Mercy, and Mercy in his turn passed it on to the Empress, there was grave concern; for Maria Theresa knew that out of such petty storms could grow big ones.
Maria Theresa was in a quandary. A woman of stern moral principles, she could not insist on her daughter’s making friends with a woman as notorious as Madame du Barry; yet since it was the wish of the King of France that the Dauphine should do so, clearly some compromise was needed. Maria Theresa’s son Joseph was now the Emperor and co-ruler of Austria, and she and he did not always agree. She was for ever wary of Catherine of Russia and Frederick of Prussia, both of whom she regarded in the light of formidable enemies.
Frederick and Catherine were determined on the partition of Poland; Joseph wished to join these two and support the partition; and Maria Theresa, who had always tried to live as a good woman as well as good ruler, was deeply disturbed. The partition of Poland was a cruel move – yet if she attempted to prevent it there might be war, and Austria was in no position to engage in war against Prussia and Russia. And now her daughter, whom she had brought up to share her principles, was registering her disapproval of a courtesan – which her mother should have applauded if her upbringing meant anything. Now here was the painful task of commanding the girl to accept this woman because it was expedient to do so.
Maria Theresa felt that she could not in person command her daughter to do this, so she ordered Kaunitz to write to Mercy that it might be arranged through the Ambassador.
There was long argument. Antoinette declared that she could not be expected, after refusing to speak to Madame du Barry, to be the one to capitulate. Mercy said she must be. This was not an idle quarrel between two women; it was a matter of politics. Did she wish to upset the friendly relations between France and Austria because of a whim?
‘My mother would not wish me to speak to a woman like her,’ she insisted.
Mercy grew exasperated. The trouble with the Dauphine was that she never seemed to keep her mind on one thing for long. While he was trying to impress upon her the importance of speaking to the du Barry she was wondering what she would wear at the card party that night.
‘I must impress upon you,’ said Mercy, ‘that your mother commands you to speak to Madame du Barry to-night. I have arranged it so that it will not be awkward for you. After the card party you will make your rounds of the room, speaking to every one. I shall be engaged in conversation with Madame du Barry, and when you reach us you will say something to me and then turn naturally to Madame du Barry.’
‘And these are my mother’s orders?’
‘Not only your mother’s, Madame, but those of the King of France.’
Antoinette bowed her head.
When she had left Mercy, a messenger came to her and asked her if she would visit the aunts. They clustered about her, their faces flushed, their eyes gleaming with their love of intrigue.
‘What are they trying to force you to, my dear?’ asked Aunt Adelaide.
She told them.
The aunts exchanged glances, and Victoire and Sophie waited on their sister’s next move.
‘To-night,’ said Antoinette, ‘I am to speak to her. Mercy will be with her, and I speak to him first and then naturally to the du Barry. These are my mother’s orders and the orders of the King.’
Adelaide made a clucking noise and the others immediately did the same.
‘A young and innocent girl,’ murmured Adelaide; and her eyes were alight with mischief.
Mercy had taken his place beside the Comtesse du Barry. They were talking lightly.
The Dauphine had risen from the card-table and was making the rounds of the room before retiring.
Each lady made the expected curtsy and answered her when she spoke to her. Everyone was tense. Here was the great moment for which they had all been waiting. Madame du Barry had won, as of course everyone had guessed she would. The Dauphine must publicly acknowledge the King’s mistress.
Now Antoinette was close to Mercy and Madame du Barry. Antoinette was aware of the du Barry’s taut expression – half apprehensive, half triumphant. This incident would proclaim her power more definitely than anything that had happened before.
But as Antoinette was pausing in front of Mercy, and Mercy was preparing to make his deep bow, Madame Adelaide had glided to the Dauphine’s side with Victoire and Sophie close behind her.
Adelaide took on the commanding voice of an aunt, and said: ‘Come, my dear, it is time we left. The King is waiting to see you in Victoire’s room.’
As Antoinette turned away, a slow flush rose to Mercy’s face, and Madame du Barry was suddenly scarlet with mortification.
There was a deep silence throughout the salon as Madame Adelaide triumphantly led the Dauphine away, with Victoire and Sophie tripping behind her.
The whole of Versailles was talking of this added insult given by the Dauphine to Madame du Barry. The aunts enjoyed their secret satisfaction. Adelaide talked to her sisters at great length, showing them what a clever diplomatist she was. Had she not successfully kept the Dauphine from going to Paris? It was two years since she had come to France, and she had not yet visited the Capital. All France knew that the Dauphin’s wife was looked upon as a child, and of no importance. And after to-night all France would know that the King’s mistress was of no importance either.
‘This,’ said Madame Adelaide, ‘is diplomacy of the first order. Our father will learn that he cannot flout his daughters. Let him laugh at us. Let him call us Loque, Coche and Graille. Let him insult us. We can make him as uncomfortable as does our sister Louise who is constantly warning him that he is destined for hell-fire.’
‘And now,’ said Victoire, ‘Madame du Barry will hate the Dauphine.’
‘Trouble, trouble, trouble …’ murmured Adelaide gaily. ‘The Dauphine flouts du Barry, and du Barry hates the Dauphine … and that Austrian Mercy consults with Abbé de Vermond, and the treaty of friendship between France and Austria is likely to be broken! Who knows, there may be war, and we may have brought it about!’
Victoire and Sophie looked at each other with wonder, but their eyes went almost immediately to Adelaide, their leader and the inspiration of all their venturings.
But Madame du Barry was in a rage, and she had inspired the King to share that rage.
‘We have been deliberately flouted and insulted,’ she declared. ‘The whole Court laughs at us.’
The King sent for Mercy.
‘Your efforts with the Dauphine have been futile,’ he said. ‘And it would seem that her mother ignores my requests. It appears that this supposed friendship between our two countries is an illusion. The Empress must know that France cannot be treated as a vassal state.’