grandfather, who is not only your master but your benefactor.”
When I read this letter I was bewildered. It seemed that everything my mother stood for had been thrust aside for the sake of expediency. I had behaved as she had brought me up to behave and it seemed I was wrong. This letter was as clear a command as she had ever given me. I wrote to her, for she expected an answer:
“I do not say that I refuse to speak to her, but I cannot agree to speak to her on a fixed hour or a particular day known to her in advance so that she can triumph over that.” I knew that this was quibbling and that I was defeated.
It was New Year’s Day when I spoke to her. Everyone knew it would be that day and they were ready. In order of precedence the ladies filed past me and there among them was Madame du Barry.
I knew nothing must prevent my speaking this time. The aunts had tried to advise me against it but I did not listen to them. Mercy had pointed out to me that while they railed against Madame du Barry in private, they were friendly enough to her face. Had I not noticed this? Should I not be a little wary of ladies who could behave so?
Now we were face to face. She looked a little apologetic as though to say: I don’t want to make it too hard for you, but you see it had to be done.
Had I been sensible I should have known that was how she sincerely felt; but I could only see black and white. She was a sinful woman, therefore she was wicked all through. I said the words I had been rehearsing: “II y a bien du monde aujowd’hm a Versailles.”
It was enough. The beautiful eyes were full of pleasure, the lovely lips smiled tenderly; but I was passing on.
I had done it. The whole Court was talking of it. When I saw the King he embraced me; Mercy was benign;
Madame du Barry was happy. Only the aunts were displeased;
but I had noticed that Mercy was right; they were always affable to Madame du Barry in person, while they said such wounding things behind her back.
But I was hurt and angry.
“I have spoken to her once,” I told Mercy, but it will never happen again. Never again shall that woman hear the sound of my voice. “
I wrote to my mother.
“I do not doubt that Mercy has told you of what happened on New Year’s Day. I trust you will be satisfied. You may be sure that I will always sacrifice my personal prejudices as long as nothing is asked of me which goes against my honour.”
I had never written to my mother in that tone before. I was growing up.
Of course the whole Court was laughing at the affair. People passing each other on the great staircase would whisper : II y a bien du monde aujowd’hm a Versailles!’ Servants giggled about it in the bedrooms. It was the catch phrase of the moment.
But at least what they considered my inane remark in the salon had stopped them—temporarily—speculating about what went on in the bedchamber.
I was right when I said the du Barry would not be satisfied. She longed for friendship. I did not understand that she wanted to show me that she had no desire to exploit her victory and she hoped that I felt no rancour on account of my defeat. She was a woman of the people who by good fortune had become rich; her home was now a palace and she was grateful to fate which had placed her there. She I wanted to live on good terms with everyone, and to her I must have seemed like a silly little girl.
What could she do to placate me? Everyone knew that I loved diamonds.
Why not a trinket after which I hankered? The Court jeweller had been showing a pair of very fine diamond earrings round the Court—hoping that Madame du Barry would like them. They cost seven hundred thousand livres—a large sum, but they were truly exquisite. I had seen them and exclaimed with wonder at their perfection.
Madame du Barry sent a friend of hers to speak to me about the earrings—casually, of course. I admired them very much, she believed.
I said I thought they were the most beautiful earrings I had ever seen. Then came the hint. Madame du Barry was sure she could persuade the King to buy them for me.
I listened in blank silence and made no reply. The woman did not know what to do; then I told her haughtily that she had my permission to go.
My meaning was dear. I wanted no favours from the King’s mistress; and at our next meeting I looked through her as though she did not exist.
Madame du Barry shrugged her shoulders. She had had a few words and that was all that was necessary. If La Petite Rousse wanted to be a little fool, let her. Meanwhile everyone continued to remark that there were a great many people at Versailles that day.
Greetings from Paris
Madame, I hope Monsieur Ie Dauphin will not be offended, but down there are two hundred thousand people who have fallen in love with you.
One advantage came out of that incident. I learned to be wary of the aunts. I began to see that that unfortunate affair might never have taken place but for them. Mercy grimly admitted that it might have taught me a valuable lesson, in which case it must not be completely deplored.
I was no longer the child I had been on my arrival. I had grown much taller and was no longer petite; my hair had darkened, which was an advantage, for there was a brownish tinge in the red so that the nickname Carrots was no longer so apt. The King quickly forgave me my intransigence over Madame du Barry, and my metamorphosis from child into woman pleased him. I should be falsely modest if I did not admit that I had ceased to be an attractive child and had become an even more attractive woman. I do not think I was beautiful, though. The high forehead which had caused such concern was still there, so were the uneven slightly prominent teeth—but I was able to give an impression of beauty without effort, so that when I entered a room all eyes were on me. My complexion was, I know, very clear”. and without blemish; my long neck and sloping shoulders; were graceful.
Although I loved to adorn myself with diamonds and fine clothes, I was not exactly vain. I had charmed my way] through Schonbrunn and the Hofburg and I accepted it as natural that I should do so here. I did not realise that the very qualities which brought me the affection of the King no and the admiring glances of Artoi yy 0 srir up a hundred petty jealousies in the CAt I was as careless and heedless as ever. Each little les had to be mastered of itself; I could apply my knowledge to nothing, and having discovered the perfidy of the aunts n occurred to me to look for similar faults in others.
One thing which was pleasing was new relationship with the Dauphin.
He was proud of m< y ow gnulg ,uld cross his face when he heard conpiunents about my appearance I would sometimes catchy his eyes on me with a kind of wonder. Then I would be ppy and perhaps run to nun and take his hand, which, Awhile embarrassed him a little, pleased him.
I was growing fond of him. Our relationship was an un usual one, for he seemed constantly apologising to me for being unable to be what a husband’; and I was trying to convey t him that I knew it was no fault of his. He wanted me to kow At he thought me charming, that he was completely Satisfied with me; it was simply an affliction which preved consummation of our marriage; and as we were growing older we began to understand more of this. He was nag indifferent to me;
he liked to caress me; normal inst il Are being awakened in him, and there were attempts which I submitted as hopefully as he did because I belitd. e so desperately wanted to that one day the miracle happen Mercy wrote to my mother that no sign yet of pregnancy but ‘one may hope ever ay longed-for event. ” But Dr. Ganiere, one of th ring’s doctors who had examined the Dauphine, wrote of iy husband As he grows older his strengthening presence of this fresh young girl awakeig Dauphin’s sluggish senses, but on account of tham caused at certain moments by
