The Queen`s Confession (19 page)

My pity for the poor was like everything else about me— 137

superficial. But when hardship was thrust under my nose I can say that I cared deeply.

It was the same when I asked one of my servants to move a piece of furniture and the poor old man in doing so fell and hurt himself. He fainted and I called to my attendants to come and help me.

We will send for some of his fellow servants, Madame,” I was told.

But I said no. I myself would see that he was adequately tended because it was in my service that he had hurt himself. So I insisted that they put him on a couch, I sent for water and I myself bathed his wounds.

When he opened his eyes and saw me on my knees beside him, his eyes filled with tears.

“Madame la Dauphine …” he whispered in an incredulous wonder, and he looked at me as though I were some divine being.

Madame de Noailles might tell me that it was not etiquette for a Dauphine to tend a servant, but I snapped my fingers at her; I knew that if I encountered similar incidents like those of the injured servant and peasant I should behave exactly as I had before. My actions were natural, and because I invariably acted without thinking, at least I had that virtue.

These incidents were talked of and doubtless magnified;

and when I appeared in public the people cheered me more wildly than ever. They built up an image which I-could never live up to. I was young and beautiful, and in spite of the reports of my frivolity, I was good and kind; I cared for the people as no one had cared since the days of Henri Quatre, who had said: “Every peasant should have a chicken in his pot every Sunday.” I was of the same opinion. And my husband was a good man too. Together we would bring back the good days to Fiance. All they had to do was wait for the old scoundrel to die and a new era would begin.

They began to speak of my husband as Louis Ie Desire.

We could not help feeling inspired by this. We wanted to be a good King and Queen when our time came. We remembered though, that we were failing in our first duty to provide heirs. Louis, I knew, was

thinking of the scalpel 138 which might free him from his affliction. But would it? Was it absolutely sure? And if it failed . There was another of those shameful periods of experiments of which I prefer not to think. Poor Louis, he was weighed down by his sense of responsibility; he was depressed by his inadequacy and deeply aware of his obligations. Sometimes I saw him at the anvil working in what seemed like a frenzy to tire himself out so that when he went to bed he would immediately fall into a heavy sleep.

We wanted to be good; but so much was against us . not only circumstances. We were surrounded by enemies.

I never failed to be astonished when I discovered that someone hated me.

My most careless conversation was commented on and misconstrued. The aunts watched me maliciously, although Victoire did so a little sadly.

She really believed that they could help and that in flouting Adelaide over the du Barry incident I had made a great mistake. Madame du Barry might have been helpful, but my attitude to her made her shrug her shoulders and ignore me.

She had her own troubles, and I believe during those first months of 1774 was a most uneasy woman.

There had been a paragraph in the Almanach de Liege an annual production special ising in foretelling the future which said: “In April a great Lady who is fortune’s favourite will play her last re1e.”

Everyone was talking about this and saying that it referred to Madame du Barry. There was only one way in which she could lose her position and that would be through the death of the King.

Those early months of that year were uneasy ones of mingling apprehension and the most abandoned gaiety. I attended all the Opera balls possible and I thought now and then of the handsome Swede who had made such an impression and wondered if I should see him again and what our encounter would be like if I did. But I did not see him.

I discovered a new enemy in the Comtesse de Marsan, governess to Clothilde and Elisabeth, who was a friend of my older antagonist,

Louis’s tutor the Due de Vauguyon. 139 He had disliked me more than ever since I had caught him listening at doors; and when Vennond criticised Madame de Marsan’s guardianship of the Princesses I was blamed for this.

Some of my women repeated Madame de Marsan’s comments to me, thinking I should be warned.

“Someone said yesterday, Madame, that you carried your self more gracefully than anyone at court, and Madame de Marsan retorted that you had the walk of a courtesan.”

“Poor Madame de Marsan!” I cried.

“She waddles like a duck!”

Everyone laughed heartily, but there would be someone who would carry that to Madame de Marsan just as there was someone to carry her disparagements of myself to me.

My animation was praised.

“She likes to give the appearance of knowing everything,” was Madame de Marsan’s comment

When I favoured a new style of hairdressing wearing my hair in curls about my shoulders, which I know was most becoming, it reminded Madame de Marsan of a ‘bacchanal. ” My spontaneous laughter was ‘affected,” the manner in which I looked at men ‘coquettish. “

I could see that whatever I did would arouse the criticism of people such as the Comtesse, so what was the use of trying to please them?

There was only one course open to me to be myself.

Change was in the air.

We were staging scenes from Moliere and when we were thus engaged my brothers-and sisters-in-law were the characters they were trying to portray, which was often a great deal more comfortable than being themselves. My husband loved these theatricals; it suited him absolutely to be the audience, and whenever we did catch him sleeping he would retort that audiences often slept through plays and when this was the case actors should blame themselves, not the audience. But often he laughed and applauded; and there was no doubt that we were really all happier together when we were playing.

We felt the need to be even more careful. Knowing that Madame de Marsan was so critical, having learned that the aunts were aware of every false step I made, conscious all the time of the ever-watchful eyes of Madame 1”Eriquette, I was sure that if it were discovered that we were aping players there would be an outcry of indignation and worst of all our pleasure would be forbidden. Knowing this we seemed to enjoy it all the more.

Monsieur Campan and his son were great acquisitions to our little company. Campan Pfere could play a part, procure our costumes and act as prompter all at once, because he could learn parts so easily that he invariably knew them all.

We had set up the stage and were preparing ourselves. The elder Monsieur Campan was dressed as Crispin, and very fine he looked in his costume. The meticulous man had made sure that it was exact in detail and he looked the part to perfection with his brilliantly rouged cheeks and his rakish wig.

The room which served as a theatre was rarely used-which was why he had chosen it—but there was a private staircase leading from it down to my apartments; and when I remembered that I had left in my apartments a cloak I should need, I asked Monsieur Campan to go down by the private staircase and get it for me.

I had not thought that there would be anyone in my apartments at this hour, but a man-servant had come on some errand and hearing a movement on the stairs he came to see who was there.

In the semi-darkness the strange figure from another age loomed before him on the dim staircase and naturally he thought he was confronted by a ghost. He screamed and fell backwards tumbling down the rest of the stairs.

Monsieur Campan rushed to him, and by this time, hearing the commotion, we all hurried down the staircase to see what was happening. The servant lay on the floor, fortunately unhurt, but white and trembling. He stared at us all—and I am sure we must have presented a strange sight. However,

Monsieur Campan, with his usual goodness, said that there was nothing to be done but explain the situation to the man.

“We are playing at theatricals,” he told him.

“We are not ghosts. Look at me. You will recognise me … and Madame la Dauphine …”

“You know me,” I said.

“See … we are only playacting.

)

“Yes, Madame,” he stammered.

“Madame,” said the wise Campan, “we must insist on his silence.”

I nodded and Monsieur Campan told the man that he must say nothing of what he had seen.

We were assured that secrecy would be kept, but the man went away looking dazed and we went back to our ‘stage,” but somehow the heart had gone out of our performance. We talked of the incident instead of continuing with the performance, and Monsieur Campan was very grave.

It was possible that the man would not be able to refrain from mentioning to one or two people what he had seen. We should be watched. All sorts of constructions would be put on our innocent game;

we should be accused of orgies;

and how easy it would be to attach to our theatrical ventures all sorts of sinister implications. Wise Monsieur Campan-thinking of me and no doubt knowing far more of the evil things which were said of me than I ever could—was of the opinion that we should stop our play. My husband agreed with him, and that was the end of our theatricals.

Without this to amuse me I turned to other pleasures. My old clavichord teacher, Gluck, had arrived in Paris some time before, and my mother had written to me urging me to help him make a success in Paris. I was delighted to do this, because I secretly believed that our German musicians excelled the French, yet in Paris I always had to listen to French opera. I naturally had a warm feeling for Mozart;

and I was determined to do all I could for Gluck. In fact the Paris Academy had rejected his opera Iphigenia, but Mercy had prevailed upon them to rescind their decision.

On the night when the opera was performed I made a 142 state occasion of it by begging my husband to accompany me. With us came Provence and his wife and a few friends among whom was my dear Princesse de Lamballe. It was a triumph. The people cheered me and I showed them how pleased I was to be among them. And at the end of the opera the curtain calls for Gluck went on for ten minutes.

Mercy was very pleased about this. He showed me what he was writing to my mother.

“I see approaching the time when the great destiny of the Archduchess will be fulfilled.”

I was inclined to preen myself, but Mercy would not have that.

He said: “The King is growing old. Have you noticed how his health has deteriorated during these last weeks?”

I replied that I thought he seemed a little tired.

He then put on his most confidential manner, which I was always intended to understand meant that what took place between us was of the utmost secrecy and should not be mentioned to anyone.

“If it should so happen … soon … that the Dauphin were called upon to nile, he would not be strong enough to do so by himself. If you did not govern him he would be governed by others. You should understand this. You should realise the influence you could wield.”

“II But I know nothing of affairs of state!”

“Alas, that is too true. You are afraid of them. You allow yourself to be passive and dependent.”

“I am sure I could never understand what was expected of me.”

“There would be those to guide you. You should team to know and appreciate your strength.”

During Lent the Abbe de Beauvais preached a sermon which was soon to be discussed through Versailles and I doubted not in every tavern in Paris. There seemed to be a feeling that the King’s days were coming to an end and it was almost as though the country were willing him to

die. Surely the Abbe would not have dared preach such a sermon as he did if the King had been well. I had discovered that for all his cynicism and sensuality my grandfather was an extremely pious man, by which I mean that he believed wholeheartedly in hell for the sinful unrepentant. He had led a life of such debauchery as few monarchs before him even French monarchs and he believed that if he did not obtain absolution of his sins he would surely go to hell.

Therefore he was uneasy. He wanted to repent but not too soon, for Madame du Barry was the one comfort in his old age.

The Abbe therefore dared preach against the ways of Court and of the King in particular. He likened him to the aged King Solomon, satiated by his excesses and searching for new sensations in the arms of harlots.

Louis tried to pretend that the sermon was really preached against certain members of his Court such as the Due de Richelieu, notorious as one of the biggest rakes of his day or anyone else’s.

Ha,” said Louis, ‘the preacher has thrown some stones into your garden, my friend.”

“Alas, Sire,” was sly Richelieu’s retort, ‘that on the way so many should have tumbled into Your Majesty’s park Louis could only smile grimly at such a retort; but he was seriously disturbed. He sought a way to silence the outspoken Abbe in the only way he could presenting him with a bishopric. This the Abbe accepted with pleasure but went on thundering out his warnings. He even went so far as to compare the luxury of Versailles with the lives of the peasants and the poor of Paris.

“Yet forty days and Nineveh shall be destroyed.”

Death seemed to be in the air. My charming grandfather changed visibly. He had become much fatter since my arrival yet he was more wrinkled; but the charm remained. I remember how shaken he was once at a whist party. One of his oldest friends, the Marquis de Chauvelin, was playing at one of the tables and, the game having ended, he rose and went to chat with a lady at one of the other tables. Quite suddenly his face was distorted; he gripped his chest, and then . he was lying on the floor.

My grandfather rose; I could see that he was trying to speak, but no words came.

Someone said: “He is dead. Sire.”

“My old friend,” murmured the King; and he left the apartment and went straight to his bedchamber. Madame du Barry went with him; she was the only one who could comfort him; and yet I knew that he was afraid to have her with him for fear he should die suddenly as his friend the Marquis had—with all his sins upon him.