Mercy was shaken. He saw in this a deep political threat. He implored the King’s forbearance and hastily sent a despatch to the Empress, warning her that owing to her daughter’s childish folly the Austro-French alliance, which had been forged by the marriage, was in danger of cracking.
Maria Theresa knew now that she could not stand aside. Much against her principles she had been forced to agree to the partition of Poland and, as she had always been afraid of French reaction to this, she was terrified now that the anger of the King of France might so be whipped up against her that he would declare war over the Polish problem. She must placate him. She must make her daughter understand that war with France would be disastrous, since Austria was in no position to go to war. Therefore on the pious Maria Theresa’s shoulders fell the task of commanding her daughter to make friends with the most notorious courtesan in Europe; and Maria Theresa greatly feared the effect of this on her daughter’s young mind.
She wrote Antoinette: ‘What a pother about saying Good-day to someone – a kindly word concerning a dress or some such trumpery. After your conversation with Mercy, and after what he told you about the King’s wishes, you actually dared fail him! What reason is there for such conduct? None whatever. It does not become you to regard the du Barry in any other light than that of a lady who has the right of entry to the Court and is admitted to the society of the King. You are His Majesty’s first subject, and you owe him obedience and submission. If any baseness or intimacy were asked of you, neither I nor any other would advise you to it; but all that is expected is that you should say an indifferent word, should look at her beseemingly – not for the lady’s own sake, but for the sake of your grandfather, your master, your benefactor.’
As soon as she read this letter Antoinette knew that her mother was insisting on her obedience.
It was New Year’s Day and the Court was assembled to watch the final victory of Madame du Barry over the Dauphine.
Antoinette stood formally while the ladies of the Court passed before her to accept her New Year greetings and to give theirs.
The Duchess of d’Aiguillon, who was the wife of the chief minister of state and a protégé of du Barry, was with the Comtesse, and the whole assembly was acutely conscious of the fact that the space between the two protagonists in the battle was growing less and less.
Madame du Barry stood before her. Antoinette’s whole nature rose in revolt. Her expression hardened for a moment; she was aware that every eye was upon her and du Barry; she was deeply conscious of the silence which had fallen.
She wanted to turn away, but she dared not. She could visualise the stern eyes of her mother.
She looked at du Barry and murmured: ‘Il y a bien du monde aujourd’hui à Versailles.’
Du Barry’s good nature bubbled to the surface. The wilful girl had spoken the necessary words. All that the Comtesse had fought for was won. She knew what it had cost the girl, and she was not vindictive in victory. All she wanted to do now was to savour her triumph; then she was ready to soothe the Dauphine in her humiliation.
She sparkled with good humour. She declared, Yes, there were a great many people at Versailles to-day.
The Dauphine was already giving her New Year greetings to the next person.
Du Barry’s waiting-woman begged to see the Dauphine.
Antoinette received the woman coolly, her blue eyes wide open as though she were wondering what Madame du Barry’s woman could possibly have to propose to her.
‘I have come to speak to you on behalf of my mistress, Madame,’ said the woman. ‘It has come to her ears that Boehmer, the jeweller, has a pair of diamond earrings the value of which is seven hundred livres.’
Antoinette nodded gravely. She had seen these earrings. They were the most beautiful that had ever come her way. She had tried them on and they had suited her to perfection. Diamonds were her favourite stones; their cold brilliance accorded well with her warm and youthful beauty.
‘What of these earrings?’ she asked.
‘My mistress thinks that they would become you well, Madame. She thinks that she might prevail upon His Majesty to give them to you.’
Antoinette was torn between her desire for the earrings and her determination not to accept favours from the woman she had for so long fought against acknowledging.
She knew that, if she showed interest, the earrings would be hers; and she longed for them.
But she turned to the woman and said: ‘Your mistress’s proposal does not interest me. Indeed it seems to me quite sordid. If I wish for earrings I shall not ask a courtesan to sell her favours in order to buy them for me.’
‘But, Madame …’
‘Your presence here is no longer necessary,’ said the Dauphine.
And the next time she saw Madame du Barry she looked through her as though she did not exist.
The Court was amused. It was of little consequence now. She had acknowledged the du Barry and the du Barry was satisfied.
The aunts tittered.
‘Antoinette is but a girl,’ said Adelaide to Victoire and Sophie, ‘and when she is Queen we shall know how to manage her.’
Chapter III
THE DAUPHINE IN PARIS
Marie Antoinette had one great desire – to go to Paris. Was it not time she went? she asked Madame de Noailles. When she went to Paris, she was told, it must be done according to tradition; the city must be made ready to welcome her for it would be a state occasion.
And still she remained at Versailles, with the spies about her – her mother’s spies, the Abbé de Vermond and Mercy-argenteau, and the spies of the aunts, headed by the Comtesse de Narbonne who loved drama so much that when it did not occur she invented it.
Then there was Madame de Noailles, always watching lest she should commit some breach which called for immediate reproach and the mending of her ways.
New enemies were introduced to Versailles. The Comtes de Provence and d’Artois had been provided with wives. These were the daughters of Victor Amédée III of Sardinia. Victor Amédée ruled not only over Sardinia but also over a rich part of Northern Italy, and the marriages were considered worthy of his grandsons by Louis Quinze who even tried to marry Clothilde to Victor Amédée’s son; but Clothilde was considered too fat for the alliance. The King of Sardinia declared that he believed fat women were frequently unable to bear children.
The marriages of the two young men were concluded and when their brides arrived at Versailles, Provence and Artois were shocked by their unattractiveness. Having seen the enchanting Austrian Archduchess they had expected their wives to be equally charming. Provence compared his Marie Josèphe and Artois his Marie Thérèse with the dainty Marie Antoinette who was growing more lovely every day.
Was it fair, they demanded of each other, that they should have such ugly brides while Berry, who cared more for his blacksmith’s shop than his marriage, and was impotent in any case, should have the lovely Antoinette?
Antoinette was too young to do anything but laugh at them and preen herself a little, taking more pains than ever to look charming in the eyes of the two disgruntled brothers. This made them furious with her, and their wives even more furious.
The three aunts looked on and laughed together.
It was a good thing, said Adelaide, that there were so many in this royal house who were inclined to regard the frivolous young Dauphine with distrust.
We must see, declared Adelaide, that when Berry is King she does not have too much influence with him.
Her sisters as usual nodded. And it became their custom to have Josèphe and Thérèse to play cards with them; and they would all sit together – three old witches talking secrets with two jealous girls, and the subject of their conversations was invariably the many imperfections of Antoinette.