I realized that those words from Chantal were as precious as any jewels the King has ever given me. To be liked by one’s servants, to be admired by one’s servants, is the mark of true nobility. I think Mama would be proud of me today.
September 12, 1770
Poor Countess de Noailles. I know, dear diary, you thought you should never hear such sympathetic words from me about Madame Etiquette. But she burst into my private rooms late this morning and her face was tearstained and ravaged with grief. She had just learned that I made Chantal repeat the loathsome rhyme to me. She drew me into her arms and called me “Ma pauvre! Ma pauvre! My poor child! My poor child!” She went on to say they were just words and only a woman like du Barry would either say such things or allow one of her Ladies-in-Waiting or stupid admirers to make up such a thing.
Then she told me how Chantal told her that I refused to make up a terrible verse of my own and she said that indeed I was a true lady and that I had, she now realized, a special etiquette in my bones! Or as she put it, la caque sent toujours le hareng, which means “what is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh.” This is the first time the Countess has seemed human to me.
September 15, 1770
I worked with the Dauphin today in the forge. He showed me how to clean and oil the tumblers of a certain kind of lock. I did not find the work that interesting. What was more interesting was sitting on a stool next to Louis Auguste and simply talking. He told me that he likes the locks because they are puzzles you can solve. That there is so much in this world that is incomprehensible. Then he said something extraordinary. “Before you came here, my dear, I never thought about the Court and its meaning. Now I loathe it.” I was shocked. My eyes filled with tears. Then he quickly said, “No, no, dear Toinette, do not misunderstand me. The Court is a sham, and that is why I have for all these years fiddled with my locks or gone hunting. However, I never really realized this was the reason until you came. You helped me see the Court as it really is. I saw how sweet and direct you are, how pleasant your manners are. I saw your true desire to know a person and that through the knowing, you honor that person. But I never realized this before you came, and now that you are here, and make things so crystal clear for me, I do not like what I see.”
I was stunned but grateful for his words. Still, they are unsettling, for one does not like to be the cause of another’s unhappiness or discomfort. He continued talking a lot about du Barry and how he hates her but at the same time how he is tired of his aunts and their pinpricking, their médisance, as he calls it. He told me that Adelaide is the worst and that even with him she is always talking about his pimples. Then he blurted out, “Toinette, my pimples are awful. I wish I did not have them.” I thought for a moment before I spoke and he must have noticed, for I have a habit of biting my lower lip when I think, but I was just not sure how forward I could be.
“What is it?” he begged. Finally, I said it. “Louis, to get rid of your pimples you must drink ass’s milk and then at night wash your face in lavender water and apply an ointment of camphor and cloves mixed with oil of hyssops.” He was most grateful and immediately called in his apothecary.
September 17, 1770
Louis Auguste and I have been spending more time together each day, either in his forge or in my private rooms. I can tell that this disturbs his tutor greatly because in neither place can he easily eavesdrop on us. He is really such a disgusting man.
September 20, 1770
I notice already an improvement in the Dauphin’s complexion. He and I are most pleased. Now if he could just grow thinner. But Louis does love to eat.
September 25, 1770
I am most worried. The Countess de Noailles has been called for a private audience with the King. I am sure this has something to do with my behavior toward du Barry. I hate for the Countess to have to bear the burden of this. Why doesn’t the King call me in?
Played cards with the Aunts. Ever since Louis told me how sick he gets of their médisance, or pinpricking, I have found it quite tedious as well. They actually never have a kind word to say about anyone. It makes one wonder what they say about oneself once they leave the room.
September 26, 1770
Well, I was right. The King summoned the Countess de Noailles in order to criticize my treatment of du Barry. He says that my behavior cannot fail to have, as he puts it, “ill effects upon the intimacies of family life.” Of course, this is all ridiculous because everyone in the Royal Family loathes du Barry except him.
September 27, 1770
It does not take long for words to pass around here. The Aunts all know the content of the Countess’s meeting with the King. They invited me immediately to their apartments. They had long lists of advice. They do not want me to give in to the King. Adelaide pulled herself up quite tall for one so stumpy. “It would be an act of disloyalty,” she gasped. “You must never talk to du Barry. And be not fooled, Marie Antoinette, she hates you as much as we all hate her. There is another nasty verse circulating about the Court.”
The Countess de Noailles almost shrieked. “Princess Adelaide, is this necessary? Please, for the comfort of the child.” Then Adelaide practically spat. “Hrumpph. The Dauphine is no child.” My head swam. I hardly know what I am anymore. Am I a child? I am a kind of wife but really more of a friend to Louis Auguste. Am I a woman? Am I . . . what am I? I think sometimes I am just an instrument who happens to resemble a human being but serves everyone else’s purposes. I do not know what to do or what to be.
September 28, 1770
The smell here at Versailles has been particularly bad recently. I think it is because of the unseasonably hot and humid weather. Today as I was walking with my guards and my Ladies-in-Waiting on our way to the King’s Rising Ceremony, we turned a corner just before the Hall of Mirrors and saw a man standing with his back to us. We could hear the stream of his urine! But instead of stopping and reprimanding him, everyone rushed by as if we were not supposed to hear or see anything. That is what I mean about the falseness here at Versailles. It is considered a great offense if I forget to pin up my lappets, yet they don’t find it offensive to come across a man making water on the marble floor of a palace.
October 5, 1770
The Countess de Noailles is most upset with me. I have refused to wear the rigid whalebone corset that is in fashion now. It is most uncomfortable and my stomach has been bothering me of late.
October 10, 1770
I have heard a rumor that du Barry is demanding more and grander private apartments and that the King is submitting!
October 11, 1770
Count Mercy visited me today. From his first step toward me in the drawing room I could tell by the deep creases in his brow that he had something unpleasant or difficult to relay to me. He requested to meet with me alone. So I took him to my private rooms with only Madame Campan and the Countess de Noailles present. He handed me a letter from Prince Kaunitz, Mama’s most trusted adviser. It had already been opened, for it was written to Count Mercy. It says that to refrain from showing civility toward persons whom the King has adopted as members of his own circle is derogatory and that the choice of the reigning sovereign must be respected. The words might as well have been Mama’s, but she let Kaunitz do it for her. I pretended to be very lighthearted. “Yes, yes, of course if that is what is demanded, I shall speak to the hussy.” But in my heart of hearts I know I won’t. No one can make me.
October 14, 1770
Obviously news of Kaunitz’s letter has leaked out. No matter where I go now, be it a performance in the Court theater or cards in the gaming rooms, or a midnight supper in the King’s apartments, a path directly toward du Barry is suddenly cleared. Courtiers scatter to the sides, and at the end of the path I see that creature with her thick rosy lips and fat glossy curls. I watch those lips that arrange themselves in a smirk and then I see them begin to tremble as I refuse to look at her but only through her and remai
n silent.
October 15, 1770
“Just a few civil words, Your Highness. That is all that is required.” Mercy says this to me twenty times a day.
“If you dare speak to that wanton, you shall no longer be welcomed here,” Adelaide hisses at me, and Victoire, settled on the sofa, toots a blatting sound from the bagpipes as if to punctuate the remark. Aunt Sophie just leers at me out of the sides of her eyes like a nervous rabbit.
“Do whatever you feel like doing, dear Toinette,” says the Dauphin.
And the Countess De Noailles just shuts her eyes and shivers.
November 5, 1770
I have been most ill these past three weeks. My stomach had not been feeling right for some time and then one night at the card table with Victoire and Sophie and Adelaide, I became quite ill and nearly fainted. The apothecary came, as well as the King’s physician and surgeon, in addition to my own. They bled me twice. The surgeons here, however, are not nearly as good as those in Vienna, for they have made a mess of my left foot and ankle from whence they drew the blood. My entire foot is bruised up past my anklebone. I was so sick that my birthday passed unnoticed. But I am now fifteen.
November 7, 1770
Count Mercy requested to see me while I lay in my sickbed today. He was accompanied by Abbé de Vermond. I was shocked when I saw both their faces. Drawn and thin, both visibly grayer at the temples, I thought they, too, had been sick.
They got right to the point. Madame du Barry was in a tantrum. They suspect my illness might have been caused by poisoning! They tell me that the Austrian-French alliance is tottering, that my mother is beside herself. Count Mercy himself has been scolded by the King for his inability to make me speak to du Barry and — they saved this for the last — there is talk of divorce! I should be sent back to Vienna in disgrace.
I see no other course. So I told them that I will no longer refuse to address her, but I will not agree to do so at a fixed hour on a certain day. This seemed to please the Count and the Abbé. They will go to the King directly. Luckily, because of my illness and the terrible bruising to my foot, I have an excuse not to go into public for several days.
November 15, 1770
Snow flurries fly outside my window as I lie in bed. It reminds me of Titi. Oh, how I miss Titi. It seems like yesterday that we were sledding on the brightly painted red sled, whizzing down the slopes of the woods. We ate snow! I said this out loud this morning when the Dauphin was visiting. It just popped out. He turned to me in amazement and I told him about our sledding parties, and how sometimes we would bring a special treacle syrup that we would pour on the snow. The snow and the treacle would mix together and we would eat it. Louis Auguste’s little eyes widened in wonder. But mine did, too. “Did you never play, Louis, when you were a child?” I asked. He just shook his head.
I cannot help but think of the fun that Louis Auguste and I could have if we had been born just ordinary people. An ordinary boy and an ordinary girl. I picture us living on a little farm with lots of animals and maybe a meadow that goes to the edge of the woods where we would hunt for wild asparagus.
November 17, 1770
I looked back in my diary tonight to see what I had been doing on this date a year ago. Elizabeth and I were having hot chocolate in her apartments. How long ago and far away that cozy world seems! Look at me now. I have no power and feel as weak as a kitten in every way, and this horrible lady is bending me to her will.
November 26, 1770
I had a relapse of my illness. The King must be worried for he sends two of his own tasters to taste my food in case of poisoning. Now my other foot is bruised from bleeding.
November 27, 1770
A sparkling white blanket of snow lies over the parterres and gardens of Versailles. The fountains are filled with snow and their statues are capped with snowy hats. I was out today for the first time. I insisted. I could not stand to be shut in any longer. I was carried in a sedan chair. Louis Auguste would have come with me in the same chair, for it is built for two, but it was much too heavy for the porters with the added weight of the Dauphin, especially walking through the snow. So you know what that dear boy did? He walked along beside it. Another thing I learned about Louis today on our walk that astounded me is that he has never heard of or made a snowball. So I made the porters put the chair down. I stepped out, although everyone was carrying on as if I were a mad-woman. I bent down, got a handful of snow, and packed it firmly just as Ferdinand and I used to at the Hofburg. I took aim at a statue and hit it square on! The Dauphin was astounded. He couldn’t believe his eyes. So I did it again. He positively glowed and then stomped his feet in the snow in an awkward little dance and shouted to the sky, “I have the most wonderful wife in the world! She is the most talented, beautiful creature on God’s earth.” I laughed so hard my side ached. I kept saying, “Louis, Louis, any four-year-old child can make and throw a snowball.” I promised him that when I am feeling stronger we shall have a snowball fight.
December 3, 1770
The Dauphin came to my apartments this evening extremely upset. He had just heard that the King has banished the Duc de Choiseul. This is very bad news. The Duke was our strongest ally. This means that the du Barry forces have the edge. It is not good. Louis Auguste actually started whimpering. I thought he was going to cry. I said, “Pull yourself together, Louis Auguste. This is ridiculous behavior.” But then he said that he is fearful that they might send me away. They might after all make us divorce. I have to admit that for just a moment, I thought, “Oh, now really, would that be so bad?” I could return to the Hofburg, to Schönbrunn in the summer. I could return to an endless childhood. But then I saw poor Louis Auguste’s face and I thought, How can I be so selfish? I told him to be calm. We will see this through.
December 4, 1770
I had a very odd dream last night. It was odd yet wonderful. I had been walking alone through the corridors of Versailles. I had gone into the Hall of Mirrors, and in one of the mirrors I saw a reflection of the Gloriette, Mama’s beautiful little house at Schönbrunn. I walked up to the mirror and it was as if the glass turned soft and rather foggy and I simply walked through it. I was standing barefoot on the lawn of Schönbrunn. Titi was there and Elizabeth and Ferdinand and little Francis. They were all playing. I think perhaps they were rehearsing for a play or something that was to be given at a ball that evening. I walked up to them and said, “I’m back.” But no one seemed to hear me. They just looked through me. “I’m back. I want to play. What part can I have?” Still no one heard me. So I went up to Elizabeth and pulled on her sleeve. This time she turned and looked at me and smiled through her veil. Then something in me made me lift her veil. And Elizabeth’s face was beautiful. There was not a pockmark on it. Is that not a strange dream? But why did no one recognize me? I awoke feeling sad but at the same time happy, as if I had actually gone to Schönbrunn for a brief time.
December 8, 1770
Tonight I go for the first time to a performance and then to the gaming rooms to gamble and play cards. I shall decide if I talk to du Barry or not.
December 9, 1770
I did not speak to du Barry. Everyone was expecting me to, and I have decided that I’d rather catch people off guard and do it at my own choosing. I will do it, however.
January 1, 1771
Dear Diary: It is quite late, but yes, I have finally spoken to her. It was at a petit bal, or “little dance.” I knew I would speak to her tonight, so I purposefully wore no jewels. I wanted to stand in contrast to du Barry, who has jewels dripping from every part of her gown and whose hair is laced with them. Indeed, I wore my simplest gown, but it shows my height and my figure well. There were two occasions when people indeed did clear a path for me to approach du Barry, but I did not take advantage of them either time. I could see that du Barry was furious. However, shortly after the second time, just before the musicians were to begin the piece for the next round o
f dances, there were several people on the floor milling about. I managed to slip in right in front of du Barry. Everyone seemed startled to see me there. I looked straight at her and said, “There are a lot of people today at Versailles.”
How can I describe the expressions that fled across her face within the space of mere seconds? At first it was as if she was so shocked she did not hear the words. Then there was the realization of what had happened after all these months, and that smirk crawled onto her face. A bright hard glitter sprang up in her eyes that matched the diamonds on her throat. But then, suddenly, I saw something turn strange in that glittering light and in an instant I knew what it was. You see, du Barry knew that she had won this single battle, but what did it really mean except for a fleeting glory? Yes, I had been forced to talk to her by the King. But the King is old. He has seizures of apoplexy. He might not live that long and so this victory of du Barry’s is cheap — as cheap as she is. And as I stood there, I watched this strange light in her eyes grow dimmer and dimmer.
An eerie hush descended on the room. You see, dear diary, the light drained from the victor’s eyes and I, in turn, became a bright and shining woman. I needed no jewels. A silly girl perhaps needs jewels, but I am a girl no longer. I have learned many things in the past year — much more than how to dance and play a hand of cards. Once upon a time, do you remember, Diary, when I was trying not to let Mama fill my head with her thoughts or “invade my nature”? and then I wondered what exactly I meant by my nature? Well, now I know. And I needed no crown as I stood before du Barry, for I was resplendent in my own being. Du Barry knew this. She knew that she was the victor only of the moment and that I, Marie Antoinette, would become the Queen of the century.
Marie Antoinette: Princess of Versailles, Austria - France, 1769 Page 12
