The Queen`s Confession

by Виктория Холт

  The Abbe Vermond was by no means handsome. He seemed old to me, but now I would say he was middle-aged when be came to Vienna. He had been a librarian and it quickly became clear to me that he was delighted to have been selected for this appointment to teach me. I was beginning to be aware of how important I was becoming. I was being trained to become the Dauphine of France who could very quickly become the Queen and this was one of the most elevated positions any woman in the world could hold. It was very different from being Archduchess of Austria.

  Sometimes it was too alarming to be thought of-so in accordance with my usual practice, I did not think of it.

  Although the Abbe was astonished by my ignorance, he desperately wanted to please me. The actors and my dancing master had wanted to please me because I was an attractive girl; but the Abbe Vermond wanted to please me because one day I might well be Queen of France. I knew the difference.

  It became clear soon that he was quite unaccustomed to living in palaces, and although our Schonbrunn and Hofburg would not compare with Versailles, or the other chateaux and palaces of France, he betrayed quite clearly that it was very grand in his eyes. He had been brought up in a village where his father had been a doctor and his brother an accoucheur; he himself had become a priest and would never have reached his present position but for the patronage of the Archbishop.

  Aware of this desire to please not only my mother but me, I was quite content to study with the Abbe. We read together and studied for an hour each day which he said was enough because he knew that was all I could endure without becoming bored and irritated. Much later when I talked about those days with Madame Campan, who by then was more than first lady of the bedchamber and had become a friend, she pointed out the harm Vermond had done. But she disliked him and she thought he had a share of the blame for every thing that happened to us. Instead of reading together in our lighthearted way, and his allowing me to break off and give imitations of various people of the Court of whom some remark would remind me, I should have been given a thorough grounding not only in French literature but in the manners and customs of that land. I should, she said, have been made ready for the Court of which I was to be a part. I should have been made to study throughout the day if necessary (no matter how unpopular that made Monsieur Vermond); I should have been taught something of French history and of the people of France; I should have learned something about the rumbling dissatisfaction which long before I went there was making itself felt.

  But dear Campan was a natural bos bleu and she hated Vermond and loved me; moreover, she was desperately anxious for me at that time.

  So although I had to substitute a priest for my actors, the exchange was not so bad after all; and the daily hour with Vermond went pleasantly enough.

  But I was not left alone. My appearance was under continual discussion. Why? I wondered, thinking of Joseph’s wife with the dumpy figure and the red spots. I had a good complexion, fine and delicately coloured; my hair was abundant; some said it was golden, some russet, some red. Blonde cendre, the French were to call it; and in the shops of Paris they would display gold-coloured silk and call it chevetix de la Reme. But my high forehead caused a great deal of consternation. My mother was disturbed because Prince Starhemburg, our ambassador in France, reported:

  “This trifling imperfection might appear considerable at a time when high foreheads are no longer in fashion.”

  I would sit before the mirror contemplating this offending forehead which I had not before noticed was different from other people’s; and very soon Monsieur Larsenneur arrived from Paris. He clucked over my hair, frowned at my fore head and went to work. He tried all sorts of styles and eventually decided that if my hair were dressed in a high pile straight up from my forehead, the latter would appear to be low in comparison with the hair. So it was pulled so tightly that it hurt, and was held in place by false hair, my own colour. To my disgust I was obliged to wear it like that, and as soon as Monsieur Larsenneur had gone I used to loosen the pins. Some of my mother’s courtiers thought it unbecoming, but old Baron Neny said that when I reached Versailles all the ladies would dress their hair ‘a la Dauphine’. Remarks like that always gave me an uneasy twinge because they implied that the great change was coming nearer and nearer; and I was trying hard to forget this in all the excitement of new hairstyles and dancing steps, and luring Abbe Vermond from the book we were reading to give imitations of people at Court.

  My teeth gave cause for concern too, because they were uneven. A dentist was sent from France and he looked at them and frowned, as Monsieur Larsenneur had over my hair. He was always pushing my teeth about but I don’t think he made much difference and eventually he gave up. They were a little prominent, which, as they said, made my lower lip look ‘disdainful,” I tried smiling, which, although it exposed the uneven teeth, did abolish the disdain.

  I had to wear stays, which I hated, and to grow accustomed to high heels, which prevented my running about the gardens with my dogs. When I thought of leaving the dogs I would burst into tears and the Abbe would comfort me by saying that when I was Dauphine I should have as many French dogs as I desired.

  As my fourteenth birthday approached my mother decided that there should be a fete over which I should preside. The whole Court was going to attend, and it was to be a test to discover whether I was capable of being the centre of such an occasion.

  This did not greatly alarm me. It was lessons which I could not endure. So without a qualm I received the guests and danced as Noverre had taught me. I knew I was a success, because even Kaunitz, who had come solely to watch me and not to be entertained, said so. My mother told me afterwards that he had remarked: “The Archduchess will do well in spite of her childishness, providing no one spoils her.”

  The words my mother emphasised were childishness and spoils. I must grow up quickly, she insisted. I must not believe that everyone would do as I wished merely because I smiled.

  The time was passing. In two months, providing all the arrangements had been made and all the disagreements between the French and the Austrians settled, I was to leave for France. My mother was deeply disturbed. I was so unprepared, she said. I was summoned to her salon and told that I should sleep in her bedroom so that she could find spare moments now and then to give me her attention. I was far more horrified by this immediate prospect than by the all-important one of starting a new life in a new country which was an indication of my character.

  I still remember nostalgically now those days and nights of utter discomfort and apprehension. The big state bedroom was icy; all windows were wide open to let in the fresh air; the snow fluttered into the room, but that was not so bad as the bitter wind. We were all supposed to have our windows open but in my room I would persuade my servants to close them. They were willing enough as long as they were opened again before it could be discovered that they had been shut. But there was no such comfort in my mother’s bedroom.

  The only warm place was in bed; and sometimes I would pretend to be asleep when she stood over me, pulling the clothes from my face, and it was all I could do to stop myself wincing from the icy draught.

  With cold fingers she would move the hair out of my eyes, and she would kiss me very tenderly so that I almost forgot I was pretending to be asleep and would want to jump up and throw my aims about her neck.

  Only now can I understand how anxious she was for me. I believe I became her favourite daughter not only because I had been my father’s, but because I was small, naive, impossible to educate, and . vulnerable. I realised later that she was continually asking herself what would become of me. I thank God that she did not live long enough to find out.

  I could not always pretend to be asleep, and there were long dialogues, or rather monologues, in which I was instructed what I must do. I remember one of them.

  “Don’t be too curious. This is a matter on which I am very concerned for you. Avoid familiarities with subordinates. “

  “Yes, Mamma. “

>   “Monsieur and Madame de Noailles have been chosen by the King of France to be your guardians. You will always ask them if you are in any doubt as to what you should do. Insist that they warn you of what you should know. And don’t be ashamed to ask for advice. “

  “No, Mamma. “

  “Do nothing without consulting those in authority first. ” I found my thoughts straying. Monsieur and Madame de Noailles. What were they like? I started building up incongruous images in my mind which would make me want to smile. My mother saw the smile and was half exasperated, half tender. She took me in her arms and held me against her.

  “Oh, my darling child, what will become of you? ” It would all be so different there, she said. There was a vast difference between the French and the Austrians. The French believed that everyone who was not French was a barbarian.

  “You must be as a Frenchwoman, for you will be a Frenchwoman. You will be the Dauphine of Prance and in time Queen. But do not show eagerness for that. The King would detect it and naturally be displeased.”

  She said nothing about the Dauphin who was to be my husband, so I did not think of him either. It was all the King, the Due de Choiseui, the Marquis de Durfort, Prince Starhem burg and the Comte de Mercy-Argenteau all those important men who had taken their minds from state affairs to think about Me. But then I had become a matter of state the most important they had ever had to deal with. It was so incongruous that I wanted to laugh at it.

  At the beginning of every month,” said my mother, ” I shall send a messenger to Paris. In the meantime you can prepare your letters so that they can be given to the messengers and brought to me at once.

  Destroy my letters. This will enable me to write to you more frankly.”

  I nodded earnestly. It seemed so very exciting like one of the games

  Ferdinand and Max used to like to play. I saw myself receiving my mother’s letters, reading them and hiding them in some secret place until I could bum them.

  “Antoinette, you are not attending I’ My mother sighed. It was a reproach I constantly heard.

  “Say nothing about domestic affairs here.”

  I nodded again. No! I must not tell them how Caroline had cried, how she had declared the King of Naples to be ugly; what Maria Amalia had said about the boy she had, been sent out to marry; how Joseph had hated his second wife and how his first had loved Maria Christina. I must forget all that. ‘a “Speak of your family with truth and moderation.” H Should I speak of these matters if I were asked? I was pondering this but my mother went on: “Always say your prayers on rising and say them on your knees. Read from a spiritual book every day. Hear Mass every day and with-l draw for meditation when you are able.”

  “Yes, Mamma.” I was determined to try to do all she said.

  “Do not read any book or pamphlet without the consent of your confessor. Don’t listen to gossip, and don’t favour anyone.”

  One had one’s friends, of course. I could not help liking some people better than others and when I liked them I wanted to give them things.

  It went on endlessly. You must do this. You must not do that. And I shivered as I listened, for although the weather f was improving as we came nearer to April it was still cold in the bedroom.

  “You must learn how to refuse favours—that is very important. Always answer gracefully if you have to refuse something. But most of all never be ashamed to ask for advice.”

  “No, Mamma.”

  Then I would escape perhaps to the Abbe Vermond for my lesson, which was not so bad, or to the hairdresser, who pulled my hair, or to my dancing lesson, which was sheer joy. There was an understanding between Monsieur Noverre and me that we would forget the time; we would be surprised when a servant came to tell us that Monsieur l”Abbe was waiting for me, or the hairdresser, or that I must be ready for my interview with Prince von Kaunitz in ten minutes’ time.

  “We were absorbed in the lesson,” he would say, as though by referring to that delightful exercise as a lesson he excused us.

  You are fond of dancing, my child,” my mother said in the cold bedroom.

  “Yes, Mamma.”

  And Monsieur Noverre tells me you make excellent progress. Ah, if only you were as well advanced in all your studies. ” I would show her a new step and she would smile and say I did it prettily.

  “Dancing is after all a necessary accomplishment. But do not forget that we are not here for our own pleasure. Pleasures are given by God as a relief.”

  A relief? A relief from what? Here was another suggestion that life was a tragedy. I started thinking about poor Caroline but my mother brought me out of my reverie with:

  “Do nothing contrary to the customs of France, and never quote what is done here.”

  “No, Mamma.”

  “And never imply that we do something better in Vienna than they do in France. Never suggest that anything we do here should be imitated there. Nothing can exasperate more. You must learn to admire everything French.”

  I knew I should never remember all the things I was to do and not to do. I should trust to my luck, to my ability to smile my way out of my mistakes.

  During those two months I was sleeping in my mother’s bedroom she was in a state of tension because she feared there might be no marriage at all. She and Kaunitz were constantly closeted together and the Marquis de Durfort was always coming to see them.

  This was a respite for me because I was spared those lectures which had become a part of my life in the draughty state bedroom. It was all a matter of who should take precedence over whom—whether my mother’s and brother’s names or that of the King of France should be first on the documents. Kaunitz was calm but anxious.

  “The whole question of a marriage could be dropped,” he told my mother.

  “It’s ridiculous that so much should hang on such insignificant details.” They were arguing about the formal ceremony of handing me over. Should it take place on French or Austrian soil? One or the other had to be chosen. The French said it must be on French;

  The Austrians said it must be Austrian. My mother sometimes told me snatches of these matters.

  “Because it is good for you to know.”

  So much prestige was involved. It was a matter of the greatest importance how many servants I took with me and how many of these should accompany me into France. There came a time when I was certain there would be no marriage and I was not sure whether I was pleased or sorry. I should be disappointed if all the attention stopped, but on the other hand I thought it would be comforting to stay at home until I was twenty-three as Maria Amalia had. ? I have often, during the last months, thought of those i wrangles and wondered how different my life would have been if the statesmen had failed to come to an agreement.

  But fate decided differently and at last agreement was reached.

  The Marquis de Durfort returned to France to receive instructions from his master; there were hasty reconstructions to enlarge the French Embassy because there must be fifteen hundred guests and it would be a breach of etiquette to leave one out. Etiquette! That was a word I heard repeatedly.

  News reached us that since there was to be rebuilding in Vienna, King Louis had decided that an opera house be erected at Versailles so that the wedding could be celebrated there.

  My mother was determined that I should be provided with clothes as grand as anything the French could produce. I J could not help showing my delight with all this fuss surrounding me and sometimes I saw my mother watching me quizzically. I wonder now whether she was glad of my frivolity, J which prevented my being too concerned at the prospect of leaving home. After the suicidal attitude of Caroline must have been a relief.

  When the Marquis de Durfort returned to Vienna really did seem like a wonderful game in which I ha been selected to play the biggest and most exciting role for this was the beginning of the official ceremonies. April had come and the weather was benign. On the seventeenth of that month the Ceremony of Renunciation took place, when I was c
alled upon to renounce the hereditary Austrian Succession. It all seemed rather meaningless to me as I stood in the hall of the Burgplatz and signed the Act, which was in Latin, and took the Oath before the Bishop of Laylac I found the ceremony tedious but I enjoyed the banquet at ball which followed.

  The huge ballroom was brilliantly lighted with threg thousand five hundred candles and I was told that eight hundred firemen had to work continuously with damp sponge because of the sparks which fell from the candles. When I danced I was oblivious of everything but the joy of dancing. I even forgot that this would be one of the last balls I should attend in my own country.

  The very next day the Marquis de Durfort entertained the Austrian Court on behalf of the King of France, and of course this occasion must be as grand if not grander than that of the previous evening, so he hired the Lichteii. stein Palace in which to hold it. That was a wonderful evening too. I remember driving there it was in the suborj, of Rosseau and all along the road the trees had been illuminated, and between the trees dolphins had been set up each dolphin carrying a lantern. It was enchanting and e were exclaiming with wonder as we rode along.

  In the ballroom the Marquis de Durfort had ordered th beautiful pictures be hung, symbolic of the occasion, and softline particularly remember one of myself on the road to France Spread out before me was a carpet of flowers which weight being thrown by a nymph representing love.

  There were fireworks and music; and the splendour on that evening did in fact exceed ours, in spite of those three thousand five hundred candles. On the nineteenth I was married by proxy. This was all part of a game to me, for Ferdinand played the part of bride groom, and because my brother was standing proxy for the Dauphin of France it seemed exactly like one of those plays I used to watch my brothers and sisters perform, only now I was old enough to join in. Ferdinand and I knelt together at the altar and I kept saying to myself “Volo et ita promitto’ so that I should get it right when the moment came to say it aloud.