The Queen's Confession Part 6

Mademoiselle Genet told me: "I used to read to her for five hours a day and my voice frequently betrayed the exhaustion of my lungs. The Princesse would then prepare for me eau sucre, place it before me, and apologize for making me read so long. She did it, she said, because she had prescribed a course of reading for herself. She wanted to read the histories of countries, but she believed that when she entered her convent, she would only be allowed to read religious works. One morning she disappeared and I learned she had gone to the Convent of St. Denis."

"Were you sad, Mademoiselle?"

"I was very sad, Madame. I loved Madame Louise. She was ..."

I looked at her slyly. I knew she was on the point of saying Madame Louise was the most reasonable, the most sane of the aunts; but of course she stopped herself in time.

"Go on," I commanded.

"Madame Adelaide was angry. When I told her Madame Louise had gone, she said, 'With whom has she gone?' She thought she had run away with a lover."

"Madame Adelaide would. She likes everything to be dramatic; and it is far more dramatic to run away with a lover than to a convent It was less work for you, though."

"I was afraid that Madame Victoire would follow her example." I nodded. Already my little lectrice had made it clear to me that of all the three aunts Victoire was her favorite.

"I told her I feared it and she laughed and said she would never leave Versailles. She was too fond of food and her couch."

It was tiresome that Mademoiselle Genet and the Abbe Vermond took a dislike to each other. Still, I determined to keep her with me and perhaps one day s.n.a.t.c.h her away from the aunts altogether and make her entirely my servant. But that was for later.

And so life went on during those months at Versailles. My friends.h.i.+p with the Princesse de Lamballe was strengthening; letters from my mother arrived regularly. My hours with the Abbe when he tried to improve my mind; my interviews with Mercy when he tried to improve my conduct; my intimacy with my aunts; my friends.h.i.+p with the King; my coquetries with Artois; all this continued and in addition there was a growing affection for my husband. But we were so much in the public eye and so aware of being watched at every turn that our situation did not have much chance of changing.

Even meals were taken in public - a custom I hated; but no one else seemed to mind, and of course the people expected it. They would come in from Paris to watch us at our meals. We were like animals in highly gilded cages.

When it was time for dinner, the people would come to watch my husband and me take our soup and then hurry away to see the Princes eat their bouilli; and after that they had to run until they were out of breath to witness Mesdames at their dessert. We were a peepshow for the people.

The King's special feat at table was the clever way in which he could knock the top off an egg with one stroke of his fork; and this was talked about throughout Versailles and Paris. He was therefore condemned to eating eggs constantly so that those who had come to see him perform this feat should not be disappointed. Although he refused to go to Paris to see his people, they came to Versailles to see him - or perhaps it was merely his trick with the egg they came to see. He performed so dexterously; but to me the amazing part of the performance was that he behaved as though he were entirely alone - like an actor on a stage totally unaware of the spectators.

There was a rumor in the Court that Adelaide had once had a child who appeared in the Princesses' apartments and was made much of by the royal sisters and reminded people of Louis XV in his youth. This affair, the loss of her good looks, and the King's contempt for her, which had replaced his affection, had no doubt had their effect on Adelaide's character and turned her into the eccentric she had become. There was an even uglier rumor that the King had loved her incestuously. Perhaps this was why she put on an air of great knowledge and wanted me to know that she could advise me as to how I should behave toward my husband.

I did not need their advice. I knew that my husband did not dislike me; in fact he was pleased with me. I was admired for my appearance, my grace, and my charm; and these qualities were constantly referred to. My husband liked to see Artois in attendance on me; the only trouble was that he could not caress me or pay me compliments without acute embarra.s.sment. When he was in his hunting clothes or workshop overalls, he appeared to be a man; he looked tall and upright then, unconscious of himself; but as soon as he put on the clothes of the court gallant, he became awkward and shuffling. I tried to understand the things he was interested in. Though I loved to ride, I hated to see animals suffer, so I had never cared for hunting; in any case I was still not allowed to ride a horse. I went into his workshop and he tried to explain to me what he was doing with the lathe there, but I could not understand and I found it difficult to stifle my yawns.

When he became ill with a slight indisposition - he had overeaten at table, a habit of his, for he would come in very hungry from the hunt or the workshop - he had slept in a separate room in order not to disturb me. This had caused amus.e.m.e.nt in some quarters and consternation in others, for it was well known what was happening. The most embarra.s.sing part of the whole affair was that everyone was watching and all our actions were commented on, interpreted, and often misconstrued. For a sensitive boy, aware of his affliction, this was a very delicate situation indeed.

But our affection was growing. He no longer looked away from me. Sometimes he would take my hand and kiss it - or even kiss my cheek. I asked him if he were disappointed in me, and he said that he was very content.

Then one day he said: "Do not imagine that I am ignorant of the duties of marriage. I will prove it to you ... soon."

I was excited. Everything was going to be all right. I only had to wait. It was true that we were both too young.

Waiting was rewarded, for when we were alone in our apartments - it was just as I was going to visit my aunts - he whispered to me: "Tonight I shall come back to our bed."

I looked at him in astonishment and he took my hand in his clumsy way and kissed it with real affection. I said to him: "Louis ... do you rather like me?"

"How can you doubt it?" he asked. "I love you sincerely, and I esteem you more."

It was hardly the impa.s.sioned declaration of a lover, but it was the nearest he had ever come to it; and I went to the aunts in a state of great excitement, which was foolish of me for they recognized at once that something had happened.

"You have just left Poor Berry," said Adelaide. "Has something happened?"

"He is going to sleep with me tonight."

Adelaide embraced me and Victoire and Sophie looked at me in a startled fas.h.i.+on.

"Yes," I announced triumphantly, "he has told me so."

"In a very short time you will be telling us some exciting news," said Adelaide archly. "I am sure of it."

"I hope so. Oh, how I hope so."

How foolish I was! Before the day was out the whole Court was buzzing with the news: "The Dauphin is going to sleep with the Dauphine. Tonight is the night." Those cynical courtiers like Richelieu - that old roue - were laying bets on the success of our encounter. "Will he? Won't he?" There was whispering everywhere. Worst of all Adelaide summoned Louis to her apartments because she wanted to "advise" him.

That night I lay waiting for my husband. He did not appear. I should not have been surprised. My reckless talk had spoilt it.

Although the matter was now causing the gravest concern, I doubt that the King would have bestirred himself but for my mother. She was constantly writing to the King and begging him to do something. The truth about the Dauphin must be disclosed, and if there was a remedy it must be found.

Because of my mother's importuning, the King sent for my husband and there was a long consultation; as a result Louis agreed to submit to an examination by the King's physician, Monsieur La.s.sone, who reported that the Dauphin's inability to consummate our marriage was due to nothing else but a physical defect which the knife could rectify. If the Dauphin would submit to this operation, all would be well.

Everyone was discussing the operation, but Louis did not say whether he would submit to it. We slept in the same bed and he behaved like a lover; but our lovemaking always failed to reach that climax which we both so earnestly sought; and after a while we both found this state exhausting and humiliating.

There was no more talk of the operation. The King shrugged his shoulders; it was left to Louis to decide and it became clear to me that he had decided against it. He was desperately trying to prove that he did not need it; but he did.

I cannot imagine why he would not submit to the operation at this time. He was no coward; but I suppose the whole business sickened him as it did me. If we had been an ordinary couple, we should have settled the matter in a very short time; but we were not; we were Dauphin and Dauphine of France. His impotence was discussed in the Court and in the Army. Our most intimate servants were constantly questioned and when we discovered that the Spanish Amba.s.sador had bribed one of the bedroom servants to examine the sheets and let him know the state of them, it seemed the last straw. Although we continued to occupy the same bed, Louis would retire early and be fast asleep by the time I went there; and when I awoke in the morning, it would be to find him already gone.

This state of affairs continued while I received angry letters from my mother, who cared much more than I did about the humiliation of my position.

And as I entered the second year of my marriage another controversy arose which made everyone forget the tragedy of our bedchamber.

My quarrel with Madame du Barry had been brewing every since the aunts had told me of her true position at Court. I did not understand then that I should have been wiser to form an alliance with her than with the aunts. They, unknown to me, had resented my coming from the first. They had been strongly against the Austrian alliance and were no real friends to me, whereas this woman of the people, vulgar as she might have been, had a good heart, and although Choiseul had arranged the marriage, and he was her enemy, she bore no animus toward me. Had I shown her the slightest friendliness, she would have returned it doubly. But I was foolish. Egged on by the aunts, I continued to ignore her; I used my gift of mimicry and gave little imitations of her which caused a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt and which, naturally, were reported to her. I could imitate her mannerisms, her vulgar laughter, her silly lisp - and I did, exaggerating them ever so slightly, to increase the amus.e.m.e.nt.

It did not occur to me that she must be wiser than I to have climbed to the top place at Court from the streets of Paris. The King doted on her; he allowed her to perch on the arm of his chair at a council meeting, to s.n.a.t.c.h papers from him when she wanted his attention, to call him "France" in an insolently familiar way. All this he found amusing and if anyone criticized her, he would say "She is so pretty and she pleases me - and that ought to be enough for you." So everyone realized that if they wished to remain in the King's good graces, they must please Madame du Barry. But I was in his good graces. I did not have to conform to ordinary standards ... so I thought ... and I made up my mind that I would never seek the friends.h.i.+p of a street woman, no matter if she were the King's mistress. So I behaved as though I could not see her. Often she would seek the opportunity to present herself before me, but she could not speak to me until I spoke to her - etiquette forbade it, and even she had to bow the knee to etiquette. So every time I ignored her.

Although she was not a woman to bear rancor, she was no respecter of persons either. She gave me the nickname of Little Austrian Carrots, and, as this was taken up by others, I grew very angry and increased my imitations of her crudities and continued to look through her every time we met. This snubbing became so obvious that soon the whole Court was talking of it, and Madame du Barry became so incensed that she told the King she could endure it no longer and that Little Carrots should be ordered to speak to her.

The King, hating trouble, was annoyed, and I lacked the sense to realize that he was angry with me for making it. His first action was to send for Madame de Noailles and naturally he did not come straight to the point. Madame de Noailles, in a state of fl.u.s.ter reported to me immediately the King dismissed her. He had begun, she said, by saying one or two complimentary things about me and then he had criticized me.

"Criticized!" cried Madame de Noailles in horror. "You have evidently displeased him greatly. You are talking too freely and such chatter can have a bad effect on family life, he says. In ridiculing members of the King's household you displease him."

"Which members?"

"His Majesty named no specific one, but I think that if you would say a few words to Madame du Barry, you would please her, and she would report her pleasure to the King."

I pressed my lips firmly together. Never! I thought. I'll not allow that streetwoman to dictate to me.

Foolishly I went at once to the aunts and told them what had happened. What excitement there was in their apartments. Adelaide clucked and clicked her tongue. "The insolence of that putain! So the Dauphine of France must be dictated to by prost.i.tutes!" She believed the woman was a witch and had the King under her spell. She could find no other reason for his behavior. But how right I was to come to them! They would protect me ... from the King if need be. She would think up a plan and in the meantime I must behave as though Madame de Noailles had not spoken to me. I must on no account give way to that woman.

The Abbe saw my indignation and asked the cause of it, so I told him; and he went straight to Mercy and told him.

Mercy immediately saw the dangerous implications and sent an express messenger to Vienna with a full account of what had taken place.

My poor mother! How she suffered from my stupidities! One little word was all that was needed and I would not give it. I was certain that I was right then. My mother was a deeply religious woman who had always deplored light behavior in her own s.e.x and had set up a Committee of Public Morals so that any prost.i.tute found in Vienna was imprisoned in a corrective home; I was sure she would understand and approve my action. I could not see that my refusing to speak to the King's mistress was a political issue - simply because she was the King's mistress and I was who I was. I did not see the difficult position in which I was placing my mother. She either had to deny her strict moral code or displease the King of France; and although she might have been a moralist, she was first of all an Empress. I should have realized the gravity of the situation when she did not write to me herself but instructed Kaunitz to do so.

The express messenger returned with a letter from him addressed to me. He wrote: "To refrain from showing civility toward persons whom the King has chosen as members of his own circle is derogatory to that circle; and all persons must be regarded as members of it whom the monarch looks upon as his confidants, no one being ent.i.tled to ask whether he be right or wrong in doing so. The choice of the reigning sovereign must be unreservedly respected."

I read this through and shrugged my shoulders. There was no express order to speak to Madame du Barry. Mercy was with me when I received the letter and he read it also.

"I trust," he said, "that you realize the seriousness of this letter from Prince von Kaunitz?"

They were all waiting for me to speak to the woman because it was not long before the whole Court knew that the King had instructed Madame de Noailles. They thought this was going to be defeat for me, and I was determined that it should not be. I could be stubborn when I thought I was right and I certainly believed I was right about this. Madame du Barry expected me to speak to her. At every soiree or card party she would be waiting ... expectantly; and every time I would find some excuse to turn away just as she was approaching. Needless to say, the Court found this most diverting.

Adelaide and her sisters were delighted with me. They would throw sly looks in my direction whenever we were in public and Madame du Barry was near. They congratulated me on my resistance. What I did not realize was that in flouting the King's mistress, I was flouting the King; and this could not be allowed to go on.

The King sent for Mercy and Mercy came to talk to me, as he said, more seriously than he ever had before.

"The King has said, as clearly as it is possible for him to say it, that you must speak to Madame du Barry." He sighed. "When you came to France, your mother wrote to me that she had no wish for you to have a decisive influence in state affairs. She said that she knew your youth and levity, your lack of application, your ignorance - and she knew too of the chaotic state of the French government. She did not want you to be blamed for meddling. Believe me, you are meddling now."

"In state matters! Because I refuse to speak to that woman!"

"This is becoming a state matter. I beg of you to listen carefully. Frederick the Great and Catherine of Russia are seeking to divide Poland. Your mother is against it, although your brother, the Emperor, is inclined to agree with Prussia and the Russians. Morally your mother is right, of course, but she will be forced to give way as not only your brother but Kaunitz is for part.i.tion. Your mother is afraid of French reaction to this. If France decided to oppose part.i.tion, Europe could be plunged into war."

"And what has this to do with my speaking to that woman?"

"You will learn that the most foolish actions can spark off disasters. Domestic matters have their effect on state affairs. Your mother is particularly desirous at this time of not offending the King of France. He looks to her to settle this silly quarrel between two women which is being discussed throughout the country and perhaps in others. Can you not see the danger?"

I could not. It seemed so absurd.

He gave me a letter from my mother and I read it while he watched me.

"They say you are at the beck and call of the Royal ladies. Be careful. The King will get weary of it. These Princesses have made themselves odious. They have never known how to win their father's love nor the esteem of anyone else. Everything that is said and done in their apartments is known. In the end you will have to bear the blame for it and you alone. It is for you to set the tone toward the King ... not them."

She does not know, I thought. She is not here.

"I must write to the Empress at once," said Mercy, "and tell her of my interview with the King. Meanwhile I implore you to do this small thing. Just a few words. That is all she asks. And is it much?"

"With a woman of that kind it would not stop at a few words. She would always be at my side."

"I am sure you would know how to prevent that."

"In matters of good behavior I have no need to ask the advice of anyone," I said coldly.

"That is true, I know. But would you feel some remorse if the French-Austro alliance broke down because of your behavior?"

"I would never forgive myself."

A smile cracked his old face and he looked almost human.

"Now I know," he said, "that you will take the advice of your mother and those who wish you well."

But I could not learn my lessons. When I was with the aunts, I told them of my conversation with Mercy. Adelaide's eyes flashed fire. It was immoral, she declared.

"I have no choice. My mother wishes it. She is afraid that the King will be displeased not only with me but with Austria."

"The King often needs saving from himself."

"I must do it," I said.

Adelaide was quiet; her sisters sat looking at her expectantly. I thought: Even she accepts the position now.

I should have known better.

It was all over the Court. "Tonight the Dauphine will speak to the du Barry. La guerre des femmes is over with victory for the mistress." Well, anyone who wagered against that result was a fool. But it would be amusing to see the humiliation of Little Carrots and the triumph of the du Barry.

In the salon the ladies stood waiting for my approach. My custom was to pa.s.s among them addressing a word to each in turn - and among them was Madame du Barry. I was aware of her, waiting eagerly, her blue eyes wide with only the faintest trace of triumph. She did not wish to humiliate me, only to ease a situation which was intolerable to her.

I was uneasy, but I knew I had to give in. I could not flout the King of France and the Empress of Austria. Two people only separated her from me. I was steeling myself; I was ready.

Then I felt a light touch on my arm. I turned and saw Adelaide, a sly triumph in her eyes.

"The King is waiting for us in Madame Victoire's apartments," she said. "It is time for us to be going."

I hesitated. Then I turned and with the aunts, left the salon. I was aware of the silence in the room. I had snubbed the du Barry as never before.

In their apartments the aunts were twittering with excitement. See how we had outwitted them! It was unthinkable that I - Berry's wife - should speak to that woman.

I waited for the storm and I knew I should not have to wait long.

Mercy came to tell me that the King was really angry. He had sent for him and said coldly that his plans did not seem effective, and he himself would have to take a hand.

"I have sent an express messenger to Vienna," Mercy told me, "with a detailed account of what has happened."

My mother herself wrote to me: "The dread and embarra.s.sment you are showing about speaking to persons you are advised to speak to is both ridiculous and childish. What a fuss about saying Good Day to someone! What a storm about a quick word ... perhaps about a dress or a fan! You have allowed yourself to become enslaved and your duty can no longer persuade you. I myself must write to you about this foolish matter. Mercy has told me about the King's wishes and you have had the temerity to fail him! What reason can you give for behaving in such a way? You have none. It is most unbecoming to regard Madame du Barry in any other light than that of a lady whom the King honors with his society. You are the King's first subject and you owe him obedience. You should set a good example; you should show the ladies and gentlemen of Versailles that you are ready to obey your master. If any intimacy were asked of you, anything that were wrong - neither I nor any other would advise you to do it. But all that is asked is that you should say a mere word - should look at her pleasantly and smile - not for her sake, but for the sake of your grandfather, who is not only your master but your benefactor."

When I read this letter, I was bewildered. It seemed that everything my mother stood for had been thrust aside for the sake of expediency. I had behaved as she had brought me up to behave and it seemed I was wrong. This letter was as clear a command as she had ever given me.

I wrote to her for she expected an answer: "I do not say that I refuse to speak to her, but I cannot agree to speak to her on a fixed hour or a particular day known to her in advance so that she can triumph about that."

I knew that this was quibbling and that I was defeated.

It was New Year's Day when I spoke to her. Everyone knew it would be that day and they were ready. In order of precedence the ladies filed past me and there among them was Madame du Barry.

I knew nothing must prevent my speaking this time. The aunts had tried to advise me against it, but I did not listen to them. Mercy had pointed out to me that while they railed against Madame du Barry in private, they were friendly enough to her face. Had I not noticed this? Should I not be a little wary of ladies who could behave so?

Now we were face to face. She looked a little apologetic, as though to say: I don't want to make it too bad for you, but you see it had to be done.

Had I been sensible, I should have known that was how she sincerely felt; but I could only see black and white. She was a sinful woman, therefore she was wicked all through.

I said the words I had been rehearsing: "Il y a bien du monde aujourd'hui a Versailles." - "There is quite a crowd at Versailles today."

It was enough. The beautiful eyes were full of pleasure, the lovely lips smiled tenderly; but I was pa.s.sing on.