“Out! Out!” Louis Auguste roared.
So what can I say? I am delighted with the outcome of all things. The Dauphin promises me that he shall send workmen in tomorrow and that the Royal Draper shall come with samples for wall hangings and curtains. I would love to have my walls covered in apple-green silk. And I pray that perhaps Madame Campan can become one of my Ladies-in-Waiting. Everything goes so much better. I cannot wait to write Mama tonight. This will be the first letter in which I do not have to lie.
June 25, 1770
I worry that Victoire might not consent to letting Madame Campan become one of my Ladies-in-Waiting. These daughters of the King are so strange. Sophie, the ugly one, is scared witless by thunder and lightning storms. Whenever there is one, special guards are sent to her apartments and a physician must dose her with tincture of poppies to calm her nerves. Then there is Adelaide, who is very haughty and standoffish. I suppose it is lucky that Madame Campan is not her reader. And finally, Victoire. When Victoire is not being read to she is praying. When she is not praying, she is eating, and when she is not eating, she is playing a set of bagpipes. For the most part, she does all this from her sofa. She does not like to move much. Consequently, she is very fat. But very kind. I love Victoire.
June 26, 1770
The Dauphin and I have been riding twice together and not only that, he has taken me to his forge. Today I sat quietly as he worked on the small lock from the jewel casket. He works with the Royal Locksmith and his instructor Monsieur Gaman. It is a strange place unlike any other at Versailles. It is filled with anvils and heavy, dark iron tools. There are files and hammers, keys, tumblers, and bolts scattered everywhere. I know not the names of half the things I see. Louis Auguste sits on a high stool. His behind hangs over the edges. He wears a leather apron and he squints at the mechanisms of the lock. It is all like a foreign language to me. Still I care not, for I think I myself am becoming a locksmith of the heart, and perhaps through my patience and good cheer I am unlocking the heart of Louis Auguste.
July 2, 1770
Madame Campan will be one of my Ladies-in-Waiting. I am so excited. Victoire says it is fine as long as she is still allowed to read with her every morning and afternoon for one hour. I am of course welcome to come to the readings. I am so grateful that I have asked Victoire if she will favor us one evening with a bagpipe concert. She was delighted. Adelaide and Sophie scowled at me fiercely.
July 5, 1770
Just when I think everything is so good, something bad happens. At least I think so. Perhaps I do not hear correctly. I pray this is the case. We had just left from the King’s Rising and gone into the Salon de l’Oeil de Boeuf, which means “eye of the beef.” It is a strange name but the King named the salon for the large oval window at one end. As I passed by a close friend of du Barry’s, I think I heard a most horrible word uttered: “L’Austrichienne.” It is a very mean piece of wordplay, for the word chienne is “female dog” in French. So put it with Austrian and it means Austrian dog!
July 7, 1770
I was right about the bad word. I did not make a mistake in my hearing. The Duc de Choiseul, Mama’s old friend and the King’s chief minister, who first proposed the match between me and the Dauphin, lingered after I had applied rouge this morning. He told me that feeling here in the Court is turning against me. I could not understand why. “Politics,” he explained. It is all so complicated. He says there were those from the start who wanted our marriage not to take place. They were hopeful when the Dauphin seemed to ignore me that the marriage would fail. Now that they see we have grown closer in the last two weeks they are upset. Many of these people are friends of du Barry. Du Barry fears that I can influence the King too much. Choiseul himself is a sworn enemy of du Barry. He explains that the reason he wanted the marriage was only for the good of France. He wanted an Austro-French alliance to make sure Mama would never join forces with Russia or her old enemy Frederick of Prussia. “The Monster!” I exclaimed. “Never!”
Choiseul himself tells me that he is in terrible danger. The King is not pleased with him because he knows his feelings about Madame du Barry. He says, in fact, that both he and I perhaps must make some concessions in order to keep our own positions in Court. He tells me that the King is most displeased that I have not yet spoken to du Barry.
“But she is so coarse, she is so common. Mama would not approve of me speaking to such a woman.”
A shadow of a smile crossed Choiseul’s face. “For the good of the Empire she would have you speak to her.”
His words stun me.
July 11, 1770
Count Mercy, Mama’s ambassador, is now here in Court. I see a great deal of him. I have not yet decided whether I should ask him directly this question about du Barry and whether I should speak to her or not. He has not brought it up. So perhaps it is not as important an issue as Choiseul makes it out to be.
July 12, 1770
I cannot help but think about this situation with du Barry. I have written to my mother about it. I told her the King has shown me a thousand kindnesses. He personally is providing new furnishings for my private rooms. But I told Mama that I find his attraction to du Barry pitiful. The King showers her with so many jewels that she can barely find new places on her body to put them. I noticed last evening at cards she had rubies on the heels of her shoes! But I cannot stand her. Does Mama really think I must talk to her? I ask.
But now I worry about that letter. Spies abound here in the Court. It would be easy for someone to intercept it.
Thank heavens I have the refuge of my private rooms. I come here often now with Schnitzy and Madame Campan, if she has the time.
July 18, 1770
The Countess de Grammont is one of my Ladies-in-Waiting, with whom I have become quite friendly. She is a relative of Choiseul’s and is most gentle and kind. She was also for a time the governess of the Dauphin’s young sisters Clothilde and Elisabeth. Often the little girls come here to see her and we all play. I described to the Countess the mechanical theater of Titi’s and she thinks she can find another one for us in Paris. How wonderful that will be.
July 20, 1770
I followed the Royal Hunt today. It was so much fun. Herr Riding Master Francke would have fits. I ride not a horse but a donkey most of the time. They do better on the terrain here. I sometimes follow in a carriage. I always take with me a sack of delights to distribute to the children and older folks in the villages we pass through. And Countess de Noailles is always furious with me. Today I gave a tin of biscuits to a gaggle of dirty little children. They were so happy with them. The Countess just stood there and fumed. I loved it! She is upset if I take my stockings directly from the basket of the undertirewoman, so one can well imagine how she felt about me putting biscuits into the grubby little hands of children — one of whom had just picked his nose! I live for moments like these.
July 23, 1770
My private rooms are nearly complete. They are indeed lovely, with white and gold moldings and apple-green silk on the walls. The sunlight streams through. When I go into these rooms I can be completely myself. And one of the things I do is recall last summer. I think that last summer might have been the happiest of my entire life. I think of that night when Titi and I went wading in the fountains and were joined by Mama. They say the French are joyous, but I think it is a false joy. They do not really know how to have fun. Even if their fountains were clean and well cared for, they would never go wading in the moonlight. Their stupid etiquette would not permit it.
July 24, 1770
I think Madame Etiquette will someday just simply fall over dead from my errors. Today, for example, I saw that as we were receiving in the drawing room the Countess seemed in extreme discomfort. She was twitching and she kept blinking at me continually. Finally, Madame Campan whispered to me, “Your lappets, Your Highness.” The two lace streamers of my headdress, which are supposed to be pinned up when receiv
ing noblemen, were still hanging down. One would have thought my drawers were down around my ankles. No, it was just these silly flaps of lace that were hanging down over my ears. I excused myself and had my undertirewoman pin them immediately. She will be in for a scolding from the Countess for having forgotten. But how stupid. In my mind it was worse and much more rude that I ran out on my guests to pin my lappets than the fact that they were down. I despise this etiquette. I think it is childish and silly.
August 1, 1770
Mama writes me a list of instructions once more. In every letter, she writes, “Do try to get your head stocked with good reading.” And now she writes to say I should avoid silly novels of romance. This leads me to suspect that Mama is having someone report on my doings. I think it is Count Mercy for he is always here. She also feels that I should pay more attention to the Austrians at Court here, and that I play cards too often with Victoire, Sophie, and Adelaide. She warns me of Adelaide. She tells me I must not ride so much. Now I ask you, dear diary, how does she know all these things? Someone must be writing her. It has to be Mercy. She says nothing about du Barry, however.
August 5, 1770
I noticed tonight at our public dinner how the King’s hand shakes. I have heard rumors that he has suffered apoplexy, although no one ever talks about it outright. He is almost sixty.
August 12, 1770
I am very upset. Countess de Grammont, one of my favorite Ladies-in-Waiting, has been removed from Court. Banished! You see, she is a great rival of du Barry and du Barry hates her. One night at a performance in the theater the Countess did not step aside quickly enough to make way for du Barry. Du Barry took this as an insult, and went immediately to the King and complained.
The Countess de Grammont is lovely and beautiful and du Barry knows that she is one of my favorites. She is also a relative of Choiseul, so it is thought that in this way du Barry is influencing the King. But it was indeed wrong of the King to banish one of my Ladies-in-Waiting without first telling me. Louis Auguste is very upset, too, for he knows how much she means to me. Louis Auguste has had the best idea. He feels that we should both talk with Count Mercy about the situation. I think that is wonderful. I love the notion of Louis Auguste, me, and the ambassador to the French Court having a serious meeting together where we can be heard and explain our feelings. It is very grown-up, I think.
August 15, 1770
We had our meeting. I was so proud of the Dauphin. He explained it all so well. We talked in my most private rooms, as we did not want the Dauphin’s tutor, Vauguyon, spying on us. Mercy advises me to go directly to the King and gently remind him of the etiquette of dismissing Ladies-in-Waiting in the salons of the Dauphine, for it was indeed an error that he did not at least inform me first.
August 18, 1770
Success! I met with the King today. At first I did not think he would agree. But I used all my charms. He loves it when a woman plays with her hair. I had purposely told my hairdresser to let one long curl fall down upon my collarbone. I began to wind it around my middle finger. I saw the King’s eyes fasten on my hand. I began to whimper just a bit. “But, sir,” I implored, “apart from reasons of humanity and justice, think how afflicted I would be if a woman in my service happened to die in your disgrace, the disgrace of banishment.” That did it. He agrees to have the Countess de Grammont return immediately.
August 23, 1770
Today is the Dauphin’s birthday. He turns sixteen. I have embroidered him a vest. It was a lot of work since he is fat and the vest large. There was a great span of embroidery to be done. But Madame Campan and Countess de Grammont helped me. I also talked to the Royal Locksmith and obtained some tools that he told me the Dauphin would like to have to work on his locks.
Tonight is the birthday supper. I dread it. Three thousand are invited to watch us dine. I do wish just the Dauphin and I and perhaps some of our favorite friends could have just a very small supper in my apartments. It would be so lovely. We could have Victoire and Sophie. I suppose we would have to have Adelaide, and then Madame Campan and Abbé de Vermond and the Countess de Grammont. And, of course, children — Elisabeth and Clothilde and the two little ones who come to play. And yes, we would play all the games that we used to play at Schönbrunn on birthdays. Blind Man’s Bluff. Pin the feathers on the chicken. No one really does know how to have fun here at all. It is all etiquette. Our lives are just spectacles. We are like dolls, in a sense, to be observed and played with — often with cruel and deceitful intentions — in an unreal world.
August 27, 1770
I had a terrible dream two nights ago. I could not exactly recall it until today, yet I knew it was terrible. Remember when the poupée fell off the bureau at the Hofburg last January and shattered her head? Well, that was what the dream was about. I heard the shatter this time in my dream and got up to gather the pieces together. As I was gathering them, I saw that the face of the poupée was not the usual one, for all of Madame Bertin’s dolls have the same face, but it was mine. I next heard terrible laughter and I turned around to see who was laughing and it was Du Barry. And that is all I remember of the dream. It has made me feel queer for two days now.
August 28, 1770
I have decided to give my own kind of birthday party for the Dauphin. I thought finally, why not have a very private little dinner and have all those people that he and I really like? Then I had an even better idea. Why not make it a lovely picnic like the kind we had at Schönbrunn? I think we should have it in the Groves, for these indeed are the most private parts of the gardens and outdoor spaces of Versailles. In the Groves there are dozens of paths that wind through wooded thickets and natural pools and waterfalls. There are open air glades that are almost like outdoor rooms, perfect for picnics.
August 30, 1770
Louis Auguste loved my party for him. He was completely surprised. I had arranged with his valet and first equerry that they come riding through there on some pretext late in the afternoon. Imagine his surprise when he found all of us there with a table of food and beautiful pastries and wine and champagne. But I think the thing that most delighted him was when I showed him how at Schönbrunn we spread a tapestry right on the ground and ate our food sitting on the cloth. He thought this was the most marvelous thing in the world. He kept calling it an “invention,” as if it were some grand instrument like a telescope or a wonderful clock or perhaps a new kind of lock. Then he was dumbstruck with delight when I took off my shoes and stockings and announced that I was going wading in the stream. He had never heard of wading! Can you imagine? I gave him wading lessons. He looked at me with the kind of respect that I might have had for Herr Francke when I watched him ride a stallion and perform one of the more difficult school jumps. I had to keep saying, “It’s just wading, Louis. It’s just wading.”
So, there is one Frenchman whom I shall teach to have fun.
August 31, 1770
The King had a fit of apoplexy today. They say it was the heat and that he overstressed himself hunting. But it was really not that hot.
September 4, 1770
Word of my private birthday party for the Dauphin has spread. Many of course are insanely jealous that they were not invited. But then again they would have been outraged by sitting on the ground to eat and wading. Everyone except the Countess de Noailles and Adelaide waded. I was forced to invite the Countess. Even Victoire and Sophie waded.
September 6, 1770
This evening there was a grand salon for cards, which means that hundreds of people were playing at tables. Du Barry made a point of walking directly into my path. I would not speak to her. I simply stared through her as if she were a windowpane.
September 10, 1770
So this Court of impeccable etiquette and manners finds its amusement in making up nasty rhymes about those they hate. The Countess de Noailles tried to protect me from this, but I had heard scraps of it muttered and finally heard it in its entirety, for I made
my undertirewoman tell it to me. Here it is. It shows all the handiwork of du Barry and her followers.
Her eyes are blue
her hair ash blonde
her mouth is pink
and her breath does stink
of sauerkraut and liverwurst
The Austrian dog is truly cursed.
Chantal, my undertirewoman, was very upset. Indeed, she was almost crying. Then she said to me, “Your Highness, why don’t you make up one yourself about du Barry? I am sure with help you could think of something very nasty, too!”
“I could, but I won’t,” I replied. “I shall not sink to Madame du Barry’s level. Never!” Then Chantal, who is quite tiny, looked at me with her dark eyes shining and she said, “You are a true lady, Your Highness. A true lady!”
Marie Antoinette: Princess of Versailles, Austria - France, 1769 Page 11