‘Come here, Mops! Did you not hear?’ The voice was high-pitched and imperious, yet clearly it was telling the young pug-dog that this was a game; he was to try to elude her while she was trying to catch him. A childish game for an archduchess to play when she was fourteen years of age and shortly to become Dauphine of France.
Now another figure had come into view. This was one of the serving girls. Young Antoinette, so Maria Theresa had heard, chose her friends where she would, without consideration of rank. Maria Theresa had not curbed this trait in her daughter. ‘Nay,’ she had said, ‘it is well for her to form her own judgements.’ But was she right? Had she, so obsessed with matters of state, neglected her duties as mother? Was that why Maria Amalia was taking her lovers in Parma; was that why Joseph seemed determined to go his own way?
In any case it was time that Antoinette ceased to romp in the gardens with dogs and serving girls.
The dog had turned and was running towards the girls, barking joyously. The servant girl succeeded in grasping the strap attached to the dog’s collar. Antoinette closely followed; the dog darted away but both girls had their hands on the leash and so they collided and fell sprawling on the grass.
A strange sight, thought Maria Theresa; a serving girl, a pug-dog, and an Archduchess rolling on the grass together in the garden of the Imperial Palace.
What would the ladies and gentlemen of Versailles say to one another if such a scene were reported to them? And who knew that it might not be, for there were spies everywhere, she was convinced. Her own spies assured her that the etiquette at Versailles was so rigid that it was more important than any other matter. A man would rather lose his mistress than commit a breach of etiquette. His future at Court depended on the most trivial acts, the most lightly spoken words.
Maria Theresa called to one of her pages. ‘Have the Archduchess Antoinette brought to me at once,’ she commanded.
The little girl stood before her mother. Maria Theresa noticed the green stain on her dress, and she tried to make her voice sound stern as she said: ‘It is scarcely fitting for the Archduchess of Austria to roll on the grass.’
Antoinette began to laugh at the memory. ‘Mother, it was so funny. You see, Mops is always running away. He does not really run away, but he wants to be chased, so … ’
Maria Theresa held up a hand. ‘I have no doubt it is amusing, my daughter; but you are of an age now to have more serious pursuits than playing with dogs.’
‘I shall always love dogs,’ declared the girl. ‘And I shall always play with my dogs because, do you know, Mother, dogs love to be played with. They grow unhappy if you do not play with them. They are like children, Mother. And you must make them happy. If you do not, you are unhappy … then you are all unhappy, so you see it is senseless not to play with dogs.’
‘My child, my child! How old are you?’
‘I am fourteen; but you know, Mother, surely.’
‘A girl of fourteen is no longer a child, ’Toinette.’
Antoinette smiled charmingly at the shortened form of her name. The Empress used it indulgently, so she was not really scolding. Not that Antoinette assumed that she was – seriously. Few people scolded her. Why should they? She never hurt anyone if she could help it. It never occurred to her to do so. She was the darling of them all. The servants adored her. When she remembered that she was the Archduchess and was just a little haughty, they were ready to fall in with her mood and give her all the respect she demanded. When she wanted to be on equal terms with all, play games with them, they did exactly as she wished. It was the same with her tutors; she had quickly learned how to coax them away from tiresome lessons. ‘Let us talk about you,’ she would say, smiling. ‘Tell me about your journey into Russia … England … France – or wherever it might be. Tell me about the days when you were my age.’ They would protest, she would wheedle, and invariably the lesson time would pass most pleasantly and they were happy to feel her wondering blue eyes upon them, to listen to her sympathetic comments, to be warmly embraced by those slim white arms and told that she loved them; as for herself, she was happy, for she had had an enjoyable half-hour instead of a tedious lesson. In any case, who wanted to learn French? Such a tiresome language! Who wanted to learn English which was almost worse? As for mathematics that was intolerable. No, it was far more pleasant to coax and wheedle and to feel triumphant because she had skilfully eluded tiresome verbs and loathsome figures.
Now she did not doubt that she would overcome her mother’s disapproval as she had her teachers’.
‘That is so, Mother,’ she said. ‘There are times when I feel quite old.’
‘My dearest child, you must know that you will soon be leaving us.’
‘Soon, Mother?’ Alarm showed in the blue eyes. ‘Oh – not soon!’
‘The King of France has decided that you shall marry his grandson the Dauphin next year.’
‘Next year!’ The voice was blithe again, the smile serene. In the reckoning of the young Antoinette, next year was an age away.
‘Ah, my child, the time soon passes. I should not want you to disgrace us when you go to France.’
Antoinette’s eyes were wide with amazement. Disgrace them! She, the darling of them all, the little beauty, the petted one, to disgrace them? She did not want to go to France, but it did not occur to her for a moment that she would not instantly win loving admiration in France as she had here in the Schönbrunn Palace.
‘You will find Versailles a little different from your home, my dearest. There is much ceremony, and you will be expected to conform with their customs. I think from now on you and I must spend more time together. There will be a great deal for you to learn. From now on we will often speak French, for since you will one day be the Queen of the French you must speak their language as they do.’ Maria Theresa had spoken the last sentence in French, and her daughter was smiling vaguely. ‘You understand that, do you not?’ asked the Empress.
‘But, Mother, you go much too fast. We do not speak as fast as that in French. And do not let us speak French. I confess I do not greatly like it. It is much more fun speaking our own language when we have so much to say. To speak in a foreign tongue one must pause so often to think … and I do not like that.’
Maria Theresa’s expression was a little grim. She said: ‘It is only one of the lessons we have failed to teach you. In the next few months, my child, you must learn many things. First you shall have a new French tutor – a Frenchman whose accent is impeccable. You will share my apartment so that I may keep an eye upon you.’
The girl threw herself into her mother’s arms, laughing happily.
‘Mother, it will be wonderful to be with you often – so wonderful.’
What could Maria Theresa do but bend her head and kiss the lovely laughing girl?
Suddenly she held her daughter to her in an embrace which was fierce and protective.
‘Holy Mother of God,’ she prayed silently, ‘protect my little one. Make the whole world love her … even as her mother does.’
During the weeks which followed, Antoinette tried to forget, in the excitement of the preparations for her marriage, the fact that to achieve that marriage she would have to leave her home and her mother. Each day messages arrived in Vienna from Paris. Maria Theresa had heard of the strict etiquette of Versailles; now she was experiencing it. It seemed to be of the utmost importance whose name should first appear on the marriage contract, her own or that of the King of France; how many attendants should accompany the bride into France; how many should part company with her at the border. That the dowry should be discussed at length was comprehensible, but it seemed a little unnecessary that importance should be attached to matters such as who should take a certain place in a procession, and as to what presents should be given by whom to whom; but in the estimation of the French the entire negotiations could break down if one of these small details did not receive its due attention.