Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

by Виктория Холт

  ‘It matters not what I do,’ she told herself. ‘Nothing I do could be good in their eyes.’

  She went down to her gilded coach which was to take her into the Capital.

  Josèphe was already waiting for her. The years had not improved Josèphe. She was even more sour than she had been when she had first come to France; though it would have been difficult at the time to believe that was possible. She was barren of children and of hope, for now that the King of France had two sons she believed her husband would never be King.

  As they made the journey from Versailles into the Capital, Antoinette knew that Josèphe was delighted at the cold reception given the Queen.

  The crowds were there to watch, but they did not cheer. They merely stared at her as she passed.

  She knew they were calling her haughty. If she had unbent they would have called her frivolous.

  Ah, she thought, when they have determined to hate a sovereign as they have determined to hate me, there is no hope of gaining their affection.

  The ceremony over, she emerged from Notre Dame.

  Now she must make her way to Sainte-Geneviève. She must enter the church and endure further ceremony, for Sainte-Geneviève was the patron saint of Paris.

  ‘Why should I?’ she asked herself. ‘I am weary of their ceremonies. Why should I do my part when they will not do theirs? Why should I prolong the ceremony simply because it is their patron saint they wish me to honour? The people of Paris do not honour me.’

  The coach had slowed down and the Abbé of Sainte-Geneviève had come out to greet her.

  She answered his greeting with warmth and charm, and told him that she would be late for the banquet which was being given at the Tuileries and that she would therefore be unable to enter the church.

  The Abbé bowed his head. The people gasped.

  ‘It is an insult to our Patroness!’ they murmured. ‘It is an insult to Paris.’

  Josèphe was smiling, well pleased. It always pleased her to see the foolish frivolous creature make her mistakes.

  ‘You are well pleased, Josèphe,’ said Antoinette as they drove to the Tuileries.

  ‘Like you,’ said Josèphe demurely, ‘I am glad the tiresome ceremony is over.’

  ‘We but exchange one tiresome ceremony for another,’ said the Queen wearily.

  She thought how pleasant it would be to sit on the lawn before her dear little house watching the children play, dressed in one of her muslin dresses, a shady hat on her head.

  But the ceremonies must go on. There must be the banquet at that cheerless palace. Even the performance at the Opéra, which followed, raised her spirits very little, although the audience did not treat her with the same contempt as that which she had received in the streets, and there were a few lukewarm cheers.

  After the Opéra she and the King went to supper at The Temple, Artois’ Paris home.

  She shivered as she entered the place. ‘It’s so ancient,’ she complained to Artois. ‘Why do you not rid yourself of the place and build yourself something modern?’

  Artois bent his mischievous face close to hers and whispered: ‘How would it be if I asked Calonne to arrange to buy Saint-Cloud from you?’

  They laughed. She could be gay in the company of Artois. He refused to take anything seriously. The people of Paris were grumbling about the purchase of Saint-Cloud. Let them grumble! was Artois’ way of thinking. Who cares for the people of Paris!

  When she was with him she could share that insouciance, and it was as though they were young again, arousing the wrath of the people with the Austrian habit of sledging, and riding back to Versailles in the early hours of the morning.

  ‘All the same,’ she said. ‘I find the Temple a gloomy residence. I command you, brother, change it for another.’

  Artois bowed over her hand. ‘The Queen commands,’ he said and lightly kissed her fingers.

  Chapter IX

  THE DIAMOND NECKLACE

  Artois was in the Queen’s apartment. He was pacing the floor, his eyes ablaze, his impish smile illuminating his rather handsome face. Antoinette smiled at him. She had always been a great deal fonder of him than of his brother Provence.

  He was saying: ‘But why not, ’Toinette? Why not indeed? It would be a wonderful show. A perfect play for the Trianon Theatre. I tell you it is better than Le Mariage de Figaro. The barber is more amusing, more witty, more impudent than ever in this play. We must do it. Come, ’Toinette, say you will allow us to play Le Barbier de Seville in your theatre.’

  ‘As you are so earnest …’ she began.

  He was beside her, kissing her hands, putting his arm about her and dancing with her about the apartment.

  ‘It is well that there are only those whom we trust watching us,’ she said.

  ‘ ’Toinette, we should never trust any, and there will always be those to watch us whom we do not trust.’ He struck an attitude and declaimed: ‘ “Since men have no choice other than stupidity or madness, if I can’t get any profit I want pleasure at least. So hurrah for happiness. Who knows if the world is going to last three weeks?” That,’ he continued, ‘is Figaro. What a character! My dearest Queen, you must play Rosine. “Imagine the prettiest little woman in the world, gentle, tender, lively, fresh, appetising, nimble of foot, slenderwaisted, with rounded arms, dewy mouth; and such hands; such feet; such eyes!” There! That is Rosine. And you, my Queen, must play Rosine. I swear if you do not I’ll not play the barber, and what will the play be like without me as the barber?’

  ‘You are growing old, you know, brother. You should show more seriousness.’

  ‘Ha! Look who commands me.’

  ‘And you a father!’

  ‘Fathers must have their fun, ’Toinette.’

  ‘You have not forgotten, I trust, that it will soon be your eldest son’s birthday. That reminds me – I have such a charming gift for him. I hope it will please young Monsieur le Duc d’Angoulême.’

  ‘If you chose the gift, it surely will,’ said Artois. He went on: ‘Vaudreuil would wish for a part, I am sure.’

  She was determined to tease him, although she was interested in the Beaumarchais play.

  ‘I have some diamond epaulets and buckles for your son,’ she said. ‘They are certainly charming. I wonder if they are here. I will show them to you.’

  ‘Let us settle this matter of the play first.’

  ‘There is time for that.’ She called to one of her women. ‘Henriette, has Boehmer brought the diamonds for the Little Duke?’

  ‘Yes, Madame. I have them here. The jeweller left a letter for you with them. He was somewhat agitated. He was so anxious that you should have the letter.’

  ‘Bring them to me. I wish to show the ornaments to the Comte.’

  Henriette de Campan brought the jewels and the letter. Antoinette showed the trinkets to Artois and, while he was examining them, she opened the letter from the jeweller.

  She read it and frowned.

  ‘This surprises me,’ she said.

  Artois came and looked over her shoulder, and they read the letter together.

  ‘Why so?’ asked the Comte.

  ‘Because I have no notion what the man is talking about. Henriette,’ she called.

  Madame de Campan came hurrying to her side.

  ‘How was Boehmer when he left the letter?’

  ‘Strange, Madame. Agitated.’

  ‘Do you think he is … sane?’

  ‘Sane, Madame? How so?’

  ‘He writes such a strange letter. I have no notion what he means. He says he is very satisfied by the arrangements and that it is a great pleasure to him that the most magnificent diamonds in the world are now in the possession of the most beautiful of Queens.’

  ‘He’s hoping for business,’ said Artois.

  ‘A strange letter to write. What does he want to sell me now? Thank heaven it is not that necklace of his!’

  ‘The famous necklace,’ mused Artois.

  ‘You’ve he
ard of it?’

  ‘Who has not heard of it? Didn’t the man roam the world trying to sell it?’

  ‘Yes. He declared that if he did not succeed he would be ruined. He came to me one day and implored me to have it. He made quite a scene before Charlotte. I told him to break up the stones and sell them separately. It was a foolish idea to make the necklace in the first place. I was delighted when he sold it. Who was it bought it, Henriette?’

  ‘The Sultan of Constantinople bought it for his favourite wife, Madame,’ said Madame de Campan.

  ‘I was quite relieved when I heard it,’ said Antoinette. She looked at the letter again, laughed and held it up to the flame of the candle. Then she threw it from her into the fireplace. Dismissing the matter, she called to Madame de Campan to put the little Duke’s present away and gave herself up to the pleasure of discussing the proposed performance of Le Barbier de Seville.

  * * *

  The Queen was rehearsing her lines. There was no doubt about it; Beaumarchais had surpassed himself with the Barber. She really believed with Artois that it was a better play than Le Mariage de Figaro.

  Her role was – apart from that of the barber – the most important, and she was eager to acquit herself with honours. It should be one of those occasions such as she loved. The King and all the most noble people at Court should be in the audience. Meanwhile rehearsal followed rehearsal.

  She found it a little difficult to concentrate on rehearsals, for on the previous day the jeweller Boehmer had presented himself at Trianon and begged an audience. She had refused this. She sent her woman to say that she was in no need of new jewels and, if at any time she decided she needed more, she would send for him.

  The woman had reported that the man had been very disconsolate and had told her that Madame de Campan had suggested he see the Queen as soon as possible.

  ‘Madame de Campan!’ Antoinette had cried. ‘Where is Henriette? Is she not visiting her father-in-law?’

  ‘It is so, Madame,’ Antoinette was told.

  ‘Then the man is clearly not telling the truth. It is some plot of his to obtain an audience and then show me some magnificent pair of earrings which he has made especially for me. It will be like the affair of the necklace all over again.’

  Nevertheless the matter worried her. Could it really be that the man was going out of his mind? That letter he had written about the satisfactory arrangements – what could it mean? It really seemed as though he were, to put it kindly, a little unbalanced.

  The rehearsal went on, and afterwards everyone declared that Antoinette would make a charming Rosine – a perfect foil to Artois’ barber. Oh, yes, this was certainly going to be the finest production ever seen at the Trianon Theatre.

  When her women were helping to dress her after the rehearsal, one of them mentioned that Henriette de Campan had returned from her visit to her father-in-law, and that she was anxious to speak to the Queen privately as soon as Antoinette would receive her.

  ‘Leave me now,’ said Antoinette, ‘and tell her to come to me at once.’

  When Henriette came, Antoinette immediately saw that something had happened to cause her grave anxiety.

  ‘Henriette,’ cried the Queen, ‘what is wrong, and why did you send that absurd man Boehmer to Trianon?’

  ‘It is about the necklace. The diamond necklace.’

  ‘That trinket … the one which was sold to the Sultan of Constantinople?’

  Henriette was looking at her mistress with bewildered eyes. ‘Boehmer says, Madame, that it was not sold to the Sultan, but that it was sold to you.’

  ‘Then he is mad. I feared it. So that is what he wished to see me about. Speak up, Henriette. What are you thinking? What has he told you? It is a lie if he says I bought the necklace. You know very well that he sold it to the Sultan.’

  ‘Madame, I must tell you what has happened. He was at my father-in-law’s house. He said he must talk to me about this matter, for he found it difficult to get an audience with Your Majesty. He said he was surprised that I did not know you had bought the necklace. He felt sure that I must have seen you wear it on some occasion.’

  ‘But he himself said it was sold to the Sultan.’

  ‘I told him this, Madame. He said that he had had instructions, which came indirectly from you, to say that the Sultan had bought it. I did not believe this, for I remembered you had referred to the matter quite recently – when you had Boehmer’s letters. I asked him when you had told him that you would buy the necklace. He answered that he had not had dealings with you personally about the matter.’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Antoinette. ‘Indeed he has not. So he spoke the truth there.’

  ‘He declared that the transaction was made through the Cardinal de Rohan.’

  ‘The Cardinal de Rohan! That man! I loathe him. Does Boehmer think that I would allow him to transact any business for me?’

  ‘Your Majesty, he has documents. He says your orders were passed to him by the Cardinal. These orders were signed by you, and he has shown them to various people in order to obtain the credit he needed. He says that you have received the necklace through the Cardinal, and that it is to be paid for in four instalments at four-monthly intervals.’

  ‘This is preposterous!’ cried the Queen. ‘I have never had the necklace. I have had no dealings with the Cardinal de Rohan. The man must be mad. Send at once for Boehmer.’

  * * *

  Boehmer came to the Queen. He was apprehensive.

  ‘What is this ridiculous story you have to tell?’ demanded the Queen.

  ‘Madame,’ said Boehmer. ‘The diamond necklace was handed to the Cardinal de Rohan who was able to show me the order which was signed by Your Majesty.’

  ‘Where is this order?’

  ‘I have it here.’

  The Queen seized it. It was written in a poor imitation of her handwriting, and it was signed ‘Marie Antoinette de France’.

  ‘That is not my writing,’ said the Queen. ‘And you know, do you not, that Queens never sign their names in that way. I always sign simply “Marie Antoinette”, never “of France”. Surely that should have shown you that this is a preposterous forgery.’

  ‘Madame, the Cardinal assured me that his orders came from you. I am distracted. The first payment was due on the 1st August. I cannot ask my creditors to wait any longer.’

  ‘It’s a lie. You know that you sold the necklace to the Sultan of Constantinople.’

  ‘That was the story which Your Majesty wished to be put about, because this transaction was to be so secret.’

  ‘I never heard such a ridiculous story.’

  ‘Madame, I swear I handed the necklace to the Cardinal, and that he assured me that it was at your command.’

  ‘I do not see the Cardinal. I will not see the Cardinal. I have not seen him since the baptism of the Duc de Normandie, and then I did not speak to him.’

  ‘Madame, he assured me that the go-between was a lady – a very dear friend of yours.’

  ‘What lady?’

  ‘The Comtesse de Lamotte-Valois.’

  ‘I have never heard of the woman. The whole thing is a plot by the Cardinal. Pray go now, Monsieur Boehmer. I promise you this matter shall have my immediate attention – and that of His Majesty.’

  The jeweller took his leave and, when he had gone, Antoinette went at once to Louis’ apartments.

  ‘Louis,’ she cried, ‘I must speak to you alone … at once.’

  Louis dismissed all his attendants, and she burst out: ‘That man, that wicked man who so maligned my mother, has determined to humiliate me also. He has contrived some absurd plot – some frightful plot – to … to do me some harm. Though I cannot quite clearly see what. He has been to the jeweller and, according to Boehmer, bought on my account that diamond necklace which he was always talking about and urging us to buy.’

  ‘Bought it … on your account? But the Cardinal …’

  ‘Exactly! I have not exchanged a word with the man for ye
ars. And now it seems he has been to the jeweller and told him that I have begged him to buy the necklace on my behalf. There are forged documents – documents said to have my signature on them. Look at this. This is supposed to be my order. You can see for yourself that it is a forgery. “Marie Antoinette de France”! As if I would sign myself thus. And do you mean to tell me that Rohan did not know this for a forgery?’

  Louis was bewildered; he could only stare at the paper in his hand.

  ‘What does it mean, Louis? What does it mean?’

  ‘You … have not bought the necklace?’

  She looked at him with deep reproach. ‘You … even you … ask that! Indeed I have not bought the necklace. Would it not have been noticed immediately if I had worn it? Why should I keep it a secret? There has been a terrible fraud … a fraud to humiliate and insult me and involve me in – I know not what … ’

  Louis said: ‘Be calm. We will sift this matter, and we will discover what it is all about.’

  * * *

  It was Assumption Day and the courtiers thronged the Salle de Glace and the Oeil-de-Boeuf waiting to accompany the King and Queen to Mass.

  Louis, Prince and Cardinal de Rohan, who, as Grand Almoner to the King, was to officiate, was also waiting there. He was excited – as he always was on those occasions when he had an opportunity of being near the Queen. She never gave a sign that she noticed him; but recently, since the affair of the necklace, he had convinced himself that she had her reasons for behaving thus. She was by no means indifferent to him: Jeanne de Lamotte-Valois had assured him of this.

  He was obsessed by the Queen. He had thought of her constantly since he had first seen her – a young, so innocent girl, a little frightened, leaving her native country to come to a new one where she was to be called upon to play such an important part.

  He had been a fool, he often accused himself, to write slightingly of her mother. But who would have thought it would have been allowed to get to the Queen’s ears that he had done so? That was bad luck.