These women may have seen me riding home from the Opera at dawn when they were making their way to the markets.
Someone laughed.
“They say he can’t … is it true?”
The coarse laughter.
“You should see that he can, Madame. j This was becoming unbearable. The stench of these bodies, the insulting words which were growing more and more crude every moment!
Was it not enough that I had had to see my sister-in-law with her newly-born son in her arms? Must I now have to listen to coarse insults which I did not deserve?
Madame Campan was beside me. I saw her with calm dignity making a path, forcing a way through the crowd. My dearest Lamballe was not much use on such an occasion.
“The Queen is exhausted …” said Madame Campan.
The crude jest which followed that made me shudder; but I would have no more of it. After all, I was Queen of France. In my most regal manner I walked through that crowd of shouting women as though I could not see them, could not hear them, as though they did not exist. When I was in my apartment I heard their shouting behind me; I saw the tearful face of the Princesse, the calm one of Madame Campan.
I said: “Leave me … with Madame Campan.” And when the door shut on us I could restrain my sell no longer. I threw myself on to my bed and wept.
When I told my husband of the incident, he was saddened.
“It is so unfair … so unfair….” I stopped.
“Is it my fault?”
And seeing die stricken look on his face: “Is it our fault?”
He tried to comfort me and I whispered to him, “There is only one answer. The petite operation ” Yes,” he replied.
“Yes.”
I gripped his shoulders, my face alight with hope.
“You will …?”
“I will consider.”
I sighed. For so long he had been considering. It was nearly six years. What was he afraid of? The scalpel? Surely not. He was no coward. It was the indignity. The people would know;
they would speculate; they would watch. Even now, every time he came to my bedchamber they knew; they doubtless calculated the number of hours he spent there. It was this continual watchfulness which was ruining our lives. If only they would have left us alone I “You will.. you will see the doctors?”
He nodded. He wanted to give me all I asked; and I had made it clear that I wanted children above all things.
When he had left me I sat down and wrote to my mother:
“I have high hopes that I shall persuade the King to undergo that little operation which is all that is necessary.”
My mother wrote back that I must keep her informed, and I obeyed her.
I told her everything, but I do not think she could understand the effect this continuing situation was having on me. I was twenty; I was young, extremely healthy. It was not as though I lived the life of a normal virgin. There were these constant frustrating attempts which failed. I was restless and unhappy; I turned away from my husband and then towards him. He had seen the doctors; he had asked for all details of the necessary operation; he had examined the instruments which would have to be used, and bad come back to me.
I believe,” he said, ‘that in time this will right itself of its own accord.”
My heart sank. He could not face the operation. We were to go on in the old unsatisfactory way.
Every time he came to my apartments by way of the Oeil de Boeuf the crowds would be there watching him. The lampoons and chansons were increasing. We were no longer the young King and Queen who were going to create a Miracle and make France a land flowing with milk and honey; we had had the guerre des farines; we were an impotent young man and a frivolous young woman. The knowledge that while we were together those people were speculating on our actions disturbed us. We both began to dread these encounters. Yet we must do our duty. It was my idea that we should have a secret staircase built between the King’s bedchainber and mine so that he could visit me without anyone’s knowing when.
We did this and it comforted us, but the position was unchanged, and I knew it would be until he submitted to the petite operation.
I wrote to my mother:
“On the most unhappy point which troubles my dear mother, I am most unhappy to be unable to tell her anything new. This is certainly no fault of mine. I can only rely on patience and sweetness.”
But I was anxious for her to know that although my husband failed me in this one thing, in all other matters I had nothing of which to complain.
Oh yes, I was fond of Louis, but he was failing me.
There is really no excuse for the manner in which I behaved during the next phase of my life. I am sure it caused great consternation to my mother, who was watching so anxiously from afar. I can only plead the excuse of youth, my aroused senses which were never satisfied, the unhealthy atmosphere in which I lived.
I needed children. No woman was meant to be a mother more than I.
Every time I rode through the country and saw the little ones playing I would envy those humble cottage women with little ones clinging to their skirts. My entire being yearned for children. If any of my women had children I would ask that they be brought to me. I would romp with them and my dogs in a manner which Mercy felt was most unbecoming.
In the circumstances, what had I but the pursuit of perpetual amusement? I did not want time on my hands to meditate on my unsatisfactory life, I began to suffer from violent headaches and became feverish and giddy. Mercy called them ‘nervous affectation. ” He did not believe that I could be ill. In fact I looked extremely healthy; I had great vitality; I danced half the night. But I would sometimes find myself crying for little reason. It was most disturbing.
I longed for affection—demonstrative affection—which I could not get from Louis, and I was beginning to realise the danger of my mood. I was surrounded by handsome virile young men, who delighted to pay me compliments and who showed me in a hundred ways that they desired me.
Their courteous manners, their lingering glances excited me, and all the time I was aware of a warning voice—that sounded like my mother’s—continually ringing in my ears. This is danger. The children you bear will be Les Enfants de France. It would be criminal if they should have any father but the King.
I could not resist a little light flirtation. Perhaps Madame de Marsan was right and I was a coquette by nature; but I never allowed myself to be alone with any young man. I knew I was watched; that I was surrounded by people who hoped to see me rush to disaster; I knew that shocking things were written of me and that there were many people who believed perhaps that I did lead a scandalous life.
Mercy reproached me for my restlessness. I was never in bed before the dawn; I seemed to have an endless craving for excitement. I surrounded myself with the young and giddy members of the Court and had no time for those who could help and advise me.
I tried to explain to him. I felt I could be frank with Mercy. He at least would not supply the chanson news with material for their libels.
“I am perplexed by my strange position,” I cried in desperation.
“You have seen the way in which the King leaves me alone. I am afraid of being bored. I am afraid of myself. To prevent myself brooding I must have continual action. I must have novelty.”
He looked at me severely, and of course went straight to his apartment and reported to my mother what I had said.
I had to have someone on whom to lavish my affections. I laved little Elisabeth and kept her with me whenever possible. Clothilde had now married and left us. My dearest friend was Marie Therese Louise, the Princesse de Lamballe. I found her enchanting, for she was so gentle, and sweet, although many thought her stupid. She had a habit of swooning which Vermond said was affectation; she would swoon with pleasure at a gift of flowers or with horror at the sight of shellfish. She confided in me that she had suffered so much through her marriage that it had made her afraid of her own shadow. Poor dearest Lamballe I During
those days of uncertainty she was my closest companion. She was so devoted to me; she said she would be happy to be one of my dogs so that she could sit at my feet every day. We used to walk through the gardens arm in arm like two schoolgirls, which naturally shocked everyone who saw us for it was no way for a Queen to be seen in public. But the more frustrated I became, the more determined I was to show contempt for their etiquette. And then I met the Comtesse Jules. She was the loveliest j creature I had ever seen. She had large soulful blue eye and thick brown curling hair which she wore hanging about her shoulders. She wore no jewels; I discovered that she had none; but on the first day I saw her there was a red rose in her corsage. Her sister-in-law was the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, lady-in-waiting to the Comtesse d’Artois, and it was Diane i who had brought her to Court. As soon as I saw her I wanted to know who she was, and commanded that she be presented to me. She was twenty six at our first meeting but she looked as young as I. Her name was Gabrielle Yolande de Polastron, and at seventeen she had been married to the Comte Jules de Polignac.
I asked why I had not seen her at Court before, for I was certain that had she been there I should have noticed her. She answered frankly that she was too poor to live at Court; nor did she seem to care about this. My dearest Gabrielle (she was always known to others as the Comtesse Jules) was completely without ambition. Was that why I was so taken with her? She did not care for jewels; she did not care for honours; and she was a little lazy, I was to discover, and I found all this enchanting. As she talked to me she made me feel that I was not a Queen but a person, and that she was drawn to me as I was to her.
She was leaving Court shortly, she told me, but I said she must not do so. I would arrange that she stayed in Court. I felt we were going to be friends.
She did not express surprise; in fact it was not easy to persuade her to accept. She did not really believe that she would care for Court life.
But I was determined, and as the Polignacs were perhaps the most ambitious family at Court, they soon prevailed on Gabrielle to accept the honour which I was thrusting upon her.
This was a most important encounter, for it set up a change in my affairs.
I was no longer bored. I wanted Gabrielle to be with me constantly.
She enchanted me; she had a lover, the Comte de Vaudreuil; she told me about him, explaining that all ladies had lovers and their husbands had mistresses. It was the accepted state of affairs.
For ladies of the Court perhaps, but not for the Queen.
Vaudreuil I found to be a rather terrifying character. He was a Creole and, Gabrielle told me, entirely fascinating, although she was afraid of him. I would see how charming were his manners; but his jealous rages were violent. I was to discover that he was extremely ambitious, too.
The Princesse de Lamballe was naturally jealous of my new favourite, and was constantly criticising her, which I fear made me lose patience with her. But I was still fond of her and kept her about me, although I was completely fascinated by my adorable Gabrielle.
The Polignacs had formed themselves into a coterie, and their object was of course to make a nucleus about me; they would use me doubtless for their own ends, but I was too foolish to see this.
Everything I was doing was unwise, of course. My friend ships for women were noticed and commented on. I guessed that reports of these would be carried to my mother, and I was anxious to mention this to her before she did to me.
“Here we have a spate of lampoons,” I told her.
“No one at Court is spared, including myself. They have been generous in my case. They give me many illicit lovers, both male and female.”
My shrewd mother must have been wondering how she could bring pressure on my husband to end this trying situation.
By bestowing the post of equerry on the Comte Jules de Polignac I ensured that Gabrielle could be at Court and near me. I was now caught up in the gaiety of life. There was no more boredom. The Polignac set saw to that. I was mixing with gay young people and I was the gayest of them all. Gabrielle’s apartment was at the head of the marble staircase next to my own and I could see her without ceremony
Without ceremony I That was what I was always seeking I found these people so interesting and unusual. There was the Princesse de Guemenee, who had become governess after Madame de Marsan to the young Princesses. I had been very fond of her for some time; she was quite fascinating; she loved dogs as I did and I always enjoyed visiting her to see them there must have been twenty adorable little creatures who she swore had special powers which helped her to get into touch with the other world. She had left her husband the Prince de Guemenee and her lover was the Due de Coigny.
Coigny was charming, seeming old to me, being about thirty-eight years old; but his manners were exquisite and I was no longer so stupid as to believe that no one over thirty should come to Court. Then there was the Prince de Ligne, a poet, and the Comte d’Esterhazy, a Hungarian whom I felt justified in seeing because my mother had recommended him. There were also the Baron de Besenval and the Comte d’Adhemar, the Due de Lauzan, and Marquis de La Fayette, who was very young, tall and redheaded and whom I christened Blondinet.
All these people congregated in Gabrielle’s apartments and there I went to them to escape the stifling strain of etiquette in the petits appartements.
It was the Princesse de Lamballe who brought Rose Bertin to my notice.
The Duchesse de Chartres also recommended her. She was a grande couturiere with a shop in Rue Saint-Honore and was considered extremely clever.
As soon as she was brought to me she went into ecstasies about my figure, my colouring, my daintiness and natural elegance. All she needed to make her happy was to dress me. She brought with her some of the most exquisite materials I had ever seen in my life, and draped them around me, scarcely asking permission to do so. In fact she was completely lacking in that respect which I was accustomed to receive and she behaved as though dressmaking was of more importance than the Monarchy. I was not so much a Queen as a perfect model for her creations. She made me a gown which I thought the most elegant I had ever had. I told her so and the next day she had ‘discovered’ another material which was created for me; no one else should have it; if I did not, she would throw it aside. She would make up this material for no one but the Queen of France.
I was amused by her. She never waited in the anterooms but came straight in to my apartments. When one of my attendants referred to her as a dressmaker she was shocked.
I am an artist !’ she retorted.
And she was. She fascinated me with her talk of silks and brocades and colours; she came to me regularly with designs, and sometimes I would make a suggestion. If Madame had not been the Queen of Prance she would have been an artist! Now she must be content to show these masterpieces to the world I’ My clothes were becoming more and more elegant. There was no doubt about that. My sisters-in-law tried to copy me. Rose Berth would laugh secretly in my apartments.
“Have they the figures of Aphrodite? Do they walk as though on a cloud? Have they the grace and the charm of an angel?”
They had not, but they were rich enough to be allowed to make use of Rose Benin’s talents.
Between us she and I set the fashion of the Court. Whenever I entered a room everyone waited breathlessly to see what I was wearing. Then they would go to Rose Benin and beg her to copy it.
She chose her clients with care, she told me. This one was too thin, that one too fat, another completely ungainly.
“What do you think, Madame, a merchant’s wife had the impertinence to call at my establishment yesterday. Would I work for her? The arrogance. Although she was a very rich merchant’s wife, I said, ” I have not time to spare to talk to you, Madame. I have an appointment with Her Majesty”.”
It added a new interest to life; and when the bills came in I scarcely looked at the large figures at the bottom of the paper.
I just scrawled “Payes’ on the bottom.
Rose Benin was very
contented with me—and I with her.
Oh, the folly of those days I I refused to see what was going on in the world about me. I did not listen when people talked of France’s uneasy relationship with England which might break into war at any moment. I had completely forgotten the guerre des farines. I danced until three or four in the morning, or played cards, and I was beginning to gamble heavily now.
I had done a great deal to abolish etiquette but I had naturally not been completely successful. When I awakened, one of my attendants would bring to my bed an album in which patterns of my dresses had been fixed. As soon as a new dress arrived this would be fixed into the album. My first task on awaking was to decide what I would wear for the whole of the day, and because of that I must have an account of all my engagements perhaps a reception in the morning, neglige for afternoon, and a sumptuous Benin gown for evening. Another attendant would stand by the bed holding a tray of pins, and when I had made my choice I would stick one of these into the elect. When I had made my choice the album would be taken away, the dresses brought out in readiness for when they would be needed.
The ceremony of getting up was tiresome. I thought longingly of the Trianon and determined to spend as much time there as possible. To awake in my own link room. What joy that was! To leap out of bed and look at my gardens which I was having made to my designs. Perhaps to run out with a robe thrown over my night attire. What fun, what joy to feel the dew on the cool grass with my bare feet. That was one of the joys at the Trianon.
How different from Versailles, where etiquette seemed to suffocate me and rob me of my natural vitality.
One winter’s morning my lever was carried to excess. To dress me I must have a lady of honour on one side and a tire woman on the other; and as if this was not enough my first femme de chambre must be in attendance besides two of the lower servants.
It was a lengthy business and on that cold morning I did not relish this. It was the tire-woman’s duty to put on my petticoat and hand me my gown and the lady of honour’s to perform the more intimate tasks of putting on my under clothes and pouring out the water in which I should wash. But when a Princess of the Royal Family was there, the lady of honour must allow her to give me my linen; and this had to be most scrupulously observed, because there might be occasions when two or three Princesses were present and if one usurped the duty of the other, thereby implying she was of higher rank, this would be a major breach of etiquette.
The Queen`s Confession Page 20