The thought struck me as so sad that I felt my eyes well up with tears and then I felt my hand being squeezed. It was indeed Louis Auguste, who was looking at me with a mixture of sadness and fear in his own eyes. In that moment my heart went out to him. He is as scared as I am, I thought, and I realized that although I might not love Louis Auguste, I can be his friend. We shall get through this together somehow. I must go now, for it is time for the presentation of my household. This is when I meet all of my Ladies-in-Waiting and the servants who shall attend me.
Later: At the Hofburg I was attended to mainly by six people. Three chambermaids, my Grand Mistress, my music teacher, and sometimes a tutor and Father Confessor. Here I have nearly two hundred. There are nine ushers alone to present people to me, six equerries for when I go out on horseback or in a carriage, two doctors, four surgeons, a clock maker, a wig maker, cooks, butlers, wine bearers, attendants to the bath, fourteen ladies just to wait on me in my chambers dealing with linen and clothing, and then twelve aristocratic Ladies-in-Waiting to be available for card playing, chatting, and walking! No wonder my apartments are so large! How else would everyone fit in?
May 18, 1770
I cannot believe this. Today I took my first bath since arriving here and I found in my salon of the bath no fewer than eight women with the Countess of Noailles standing by the bath bewigged, in her jewels and full hooped gown. I was expected to undress and get into the bath and then, according to etiquette, the Countess would hand soap and toweling to the tirewoman, who is the lady in charge of my gowns and petticoats. Then she would hand that to the Lady of the Bedchamber, who would hand it to la femme du bain, the Lady of the Bath, and she would bathe me! I have bathed myself since I was six. My chambermaids would draw the water and they all had charming rhymes to help me remember to wash behind my ears, but what do these women take me for, a complete idiot? I am expected once again to strip naked in front of total strangers. I thank you not! Well, Madame Etiquette turned her usual shade of green. “In our country,” she began. I knew what she would say next and I would have none of it. I immediately demanded a flannel gown. Behind a screen I undressed myself and reappeared in a nightrail of flannel. I stepped into the tub. This was my compromise. If they insist on being there and bathing me, I shall not show one speck of flesh. The toweling and sponges with the soap work fairly well, but I managed finally to wrestle one from the Lady of the Bath and scrub underneath the rail.
May 22, 1770
How shall I ever accustom myself to the stink of Versailles? It is unimaginable. They have not enough privies for all the people who mill about. There are upwards of six thousand people who have business here every day. There are five times as many nobles here as were ever at the Hofburg and not one-third the privies. People relieve themselves in the corners of the corridors. Although there is a rule and regulation for almost every aspect of life, from playing cards to eating and getting dressed and curtsying, there seems to be none about urinating. It makes all their etiquette seem even sillier.
And that is another thing. I believe I am growing thin, for I find it very difficult to eat with an audience of a thousand people. Yes! Can you believe that is what they do here? Nearly every day we must dine in public. On some occasions each branch of our family dines separately but at the same time in connecting salons. The ushers allow anyone in to view us who is appropriately dressed. But these viewers might tire of watching Louis and me sip our bouillon and then decide to run to the next salon, where the King and Madame du Barry have started their dessert. And then when it is what is called a Grand Couvert, we all dine together in a great hall and there is a gallery that overlooks our long table. Hundreds of people view us from above. This is enough to take one’s appetite away, or at least mine. Not the Dauphin. He plows through mountains of food. At the end of some courses he belches loudly and everyone smiles. I am surprised they do not applaud! Such are the mysteries of etiquette at Versailles.
May 24, 1770
I wonder if I shall ever have another private moment in my life. There are always people to witness practically every moment of my day. This is the great pastime for noble men and women of Versailles. Watch the Dauphine take her morning coffee. Watch the Dauphine have her hair dressed and rouge put on. Rouge is required here. I never wore it in Vienna. I have not put on a stocking or buckled a shoe myself since I have arrived. Mama would not approve. But it is The Etiquette!
One reaches my apartments by what is called the Queen’s staircase. The first room one enters is the chamber of my guards.
The next room is the antechamber. It is vast. This is where many nobles gather throughout the day. Madame Etiquette delights in appearing in the doorway here and announcing which noblemen and noblewomen may come in at what times to view me, or possibly play cards. The next room is my official drawing room. Here I spend a good deal of my day always surrounded by my Ladies-in-Waiting.
Next comes my bedchamber. Now, this is my favorite room and if I could only spend more time in it alone with none of my femmes de chambre, bedchamber women, and others like Madame Etiquette, it would be perfect. The best part has to be the ceiling. It was painted by the famous French painter Boucher and is a lovely gilded sky. A low gold railing separates the bed from the rest of the room. It is in this bed that all the Royal children have been born, and since these births are always witnessed by the public, and the noblemen and -women are brought directly into the bedchamber, the railing serves to keep the space around the bed clear for the doctor and the midwives. There is still a crack in the railing from when the crowd pressed for the last Royal birth, which was that of the Dauphin’s youngest sister, Elisabeth, who is just six. His other younger sister, Clothilde, is eleven.
I wish they would let Clothilde and Elisabeth come to my apartments more to play. I could show them all the games that Titi and I played. I try not to think about Titi. It makes me so sad. I try not to think about many things these days. It is hard not to think of something, because just the act of not thinking about it makes you think about it! And of course, there is no privacy to have any real thoughts in anyhow. So what does it matter?
May 26, 1770
I have been invited to the apartments of the King’s daughters and the Dauphin’s aunts. They are three maiden sisters. None of them has ever married. Their names are Adelaide, Victoire, and Sophie. They are not particularly attractive. Indeed, Sophie is truly ugly and somewhat cold. Adelaide is very outgoing, and poor Victoire seems frightened of everything. But they welcomed me warmly into their apartments and invited me to play cards. In the course of the evening they managed to make many cutting remarks about Madame du Barry. They refuse to call her the Countess, although she has been given that title. But now that I have found out that the King himself has the most loathsome nicknames for his daughters — Rag, Piggy, and Snip — I think that they are perfectly justified in calling her Madame du Barry instead of Countess. And she was a simple mademoiselle before she met the King. They told me all about her. She did come from the streets of Paris, and the King married her off to a Count so she could be part of his Court. Her husband does not care because apparently he benefits greatly from having a wife who is a favorite of the King. This I guess is what Versailles calls etiquette. Lulu never taught me any of these lessons.
June 1, 1770
I have played cards several times this week with the Aunts. I am not sure whether they seek me out for my card-playing ability or the opportunity to gossip about Madame du Barry. I am a good listener, which is valued by them, I think. But while I am listening I am also watching. There is a lovely young woman who attends them in their apartments. I noticed her the first time. Last night she joined our card table. She is full of wit and charm. Her name is Madame Campan and she serves as Reader for the sisters, mostly for Princess Victoire. This is an official position and she reads to them every day at length — poetry, novels, and the like. When she came here she was unmarried, but now she has married. I dou
bt if she is more than twenty years old. But I like her a lot. I wish she could be my Reader. Indeed, I wish she could be my Lady of Honor instead of Madame Etiquette.
June 3, 1770
The days fall into a pattern. I have written Mama exactly what I do. I rise at nine or ten. The wardrobe woman brings me a book with drawings of all my dresses, and I select the ones I shall be wearing that day. The undertirewoman follows with a basket called pret du jour containing the linens I shall be wearing — chemises, stockings, and handkerchiefs. My Lady of Honor, Countess de Noailles, pours water on my hands and puts on my body linen, my undergarments. Only she is allowed to do this.
After dressing in the presence of at least eight Ladies of My Chamber, who each hand me various garments according to etiquette and who may touch what, I say my morning prayers. I pray always first for Mama and Elizabeth and Father and then for Titi and Lulu. I pray finally for Louis Auguste and the King, and Louis’s aunts. Then I have breakfast and I usually visit the Aunts. The King is often there, teasing them mercilessly.
At eleven o’clock I must go back to my apartments for the Grand Toilette, where a hairdresser awaits to dress my hair for the more public part of the day. This takes at least two hours. Everyone is then called into my chamber while an undertirewoman applies my rouge. Ladies and men are present. This is considered part of the entertainment in the French Court. If you are a noble and fix it with the right people, you are allowed to watch a Princess put on rouge and wash her hands. The men then leave, but the women remain and I change from my morning gown to my afternoon frock. I dress in front of them all!
Next is Mass with the Dauphin and the King. Then luncheon. Then I go to Louis Auguste’s apartments. Usually it is for no more than an hour. I try to engage him in conversation. I even tried yesterday to say something about locks. But he rarely speaks to me. I won’t give up. I am stronger than he is. I know this. I shall make him my friend.
Then another afternoon visit to my Aunts. The Abbé comes at four to see how I am doing. I lie and say excellent. The singing and harpsichord teacher comes at five for my lesson. Then I rest or take a walk. I am not allowed to walk with fewer than ten Ladies-in-Waiting. At seven I go back to the Aunts to play cards until nine and then we go to the public dining. If the King is dining alone with du Barry (I no longer call her even Madame. I really can’t bear her. She is so smug and flaunts her bosom in a most unseemly manner), we must wait for him until eleven to say our official good-nights.
June 5, 1770
I have induced one of the underchambermaids to bring her little four-year-old daughter into the apartments occasionally. And the Dauphin asked if his first valet would permit his son who is five to come visit. I love children. They are so lively, these two. I do wish that I had Titi’s mechanical theater here. It would be so much fun. They enjoy Schnitzy very much and have taken to teaching him tricks. We sometimes go out into the gardens. I am shocked that the gardens are not very well kept here. They are not nearly as nice as those at Schönbrunn, and it would be impossible to wade in the fountains, for many have broken basins and are filled with old muddy rainwater.
June 6, 1770
Madame Campan came to visit me today. How I do like that woman! I asked her if she would read to me and she said yes. I think this is a grand idea, for Mama’s instructions before I left, and when she writes to me, are to keep reading books of worth and great merit. I am, however, to read nothing that the Abbé would not approve.
June 8, 1770
I see Madame du Barry almost every evening. Several times a week there are musical entertainments or large card parties. I avoid her. Etiquette does not permit her to talk to me until I have spoken to her. So far I have managed not to and I plan to keep it this way. This is the one time that the Countess de Noailles has not reprimanded me. If it had been anyone except for du Barry, she would have scolded me for not uttering at least the minimal greeting that allows one to speak: “And does this weather agree with you?” if it is not sunny or rainy. And if it is rainy or sunny, “What think you of this weather?”
June 18, 1770
Bless Madame Campan. She showed me something most unusual and it is indeed a treasure. My apartments have a secret staircase that leads to other rooms! Rooms that can be used by me and me alone. In this way I might seek some privacy. These were rooms designed and used by Queen Maria Leczinska. But everyone seems to have forgotten to tell me about them. Madame Campan says they have forgotten “on purpose,” for they want me to be continually in public view. Well, enough of that. They are rather old and musty now, but if they could be cleaned, freshened, and painted, and with new furnishings — oh, how delightful they could be. They say that Versailles is a palace of over one thousand windows, and I feel as if they all look upon me, but with these private rooms, I could have some time away from the terrible glare of the Court. I plan to talk to Louis Auguste about it immediately.
June 20, 1770
I absolutely hate the Dauphin’s tutor, the Duc de la Vauguyon. He is haughty and secretive and I am sure that when I send my requests to meet with the Dauphin at times other than meals and those prescribed, he does not deliver my messages. He is very close to du Barry. Between the two of them they have a network of spies. I am sure my messages are intercepted and read. I have been trying to see the Dauphin for the last three days about the cleaning of the private suite of rooms, but he is never available. It is considered terrible etiquette to bring up such a matter at a public function such as a meal or at card playing in one of the grand salons, and Louis Auguste has not been to his aunts’ apartments these past several days. I do not know what to do.
June 21, 1770
Bless Madame Campan. She is a woman of wit and daring. She hates the Duc de la Vauguyon as much as I do. She has come up with a brilliant suggestion. Three mornings a week we are required to attend the Grand Levée, or the rising of the King. Included in this gathering are all the members of the Royal family, the King’s physician and surgeon, the ministers of the cabinet, the Grand Chamberlain, the Grand Master and the Master of the Robes, and the First Valet of the Robes. The King has actually been up for at least an hour to use the chaise percée, the commode in the privy, but even there he is not alone. The Royal Physician is with him as well as the Privy Chamberlain. But by the time we arrive, he is back in bed with the curtains drawn. The First Gentleman of the Bedchamber goes up to the bed and draws the curtains. Everyone applauds when they see the King to show that we are happy that he did not die during the night. Then various valets come to the bed to show him the clothes he shall wear and then the Master of the Wig approaches with a selection. Finally, he gets out of bed and goes to sit by a window in a large armchair. The First Chamberlain removes his nightcap. Another removes his slippers. It goes on and on. People vie for a front-row viewing position. Because Madame Campan is very close friends with one of the chamberlains, she always gets a good spot. She proposes to covertly hand a note to the Dauphin. You see, Vauguyon’s eyes are never on Madame Campan. They are usually on me or the Dauphin, and at the rising ceremony they are on the King.
Let us hope it works.
June 22, 1770
It worked! The Dauphin called me to his apartments within one hour of receiving the note. And as if Madame Campan was not brilliant enough, she pressed into my hand just before I left a small lock from one of the jewel caskets. It was broken and did not work properly. She said I should take it to Louis to ask if he could fix it. It was a splendid idea, but in truth I think things would have worked well in any case. I did not show him the lock until the end. Louis Auguste was very upset when he learned that I had written him so many different times. He very awkwardly took my hand in his large, plump, sweaty ones and he actually said, “My dear, I’m so sorry.” In that moment I forgot his pimples and his squinty eyes. I then told him about the private rooms that connect to my apartment. He was astounded that no one had told me about them. “I have my forge where I work on m
y locks and escape the Court. You by all means should have someplace where you can be alone.” He is to order their redecoration immediately. When he talked about the forge I remembered the lock that I had with me. He was most pleased that I brought this to him.
In the course of discussing the lock, I brought up Madame Campan and told him how dear Madame Campan is to me, and how I wish she could be one of my Ladies-in-Waiting but that I did not want to offend in any way his aunt Victoire, for whom she reads. Louis then said, “I shall speak to my aunt. I am sure something can be arranged, my dear.” Then he leaned forward, for we were completely alone, and I really do think he was just about to kiss me when he suddenly jerked away. “What’s that?” he said. His squinty eyes grew even narrower. In a flash he was up from the settee where we sat, and in two strides he had crossed the room and flung open the door. The Duc de la Vauguyon fell into the room. “Scoundrel!” the Dauphin exploded. He turned bright red and seemed to become in an instant like a thick tower of flames. The Duke was scrambling up from the floor. “I beg of you . . . I beg of you . . .”
Marie Antoinette: Princess of Versailles, Austria - France, 1769 Page 10