She signed to the doctors.
I am going now,” she said.
“I pray you light the mortuary candle and close my eyes.”
She looked at Joseph, who took her into his aims, and there she died.
The Austrian Woman
Monsieur Ie Dauphin begs leave to present himself.
LOUIS XVI TO MARIE ANTOINETTE
I sots our little Dauphin this morning. He is very well, and lovely as an angel. The people’s enthusiasm continues the same. In the streets one meets nothing but fiddles, singing and dancing. I call that touching, and in fact I know no more amiable nation than ours.
MADAME DE BOMBELLES TO MADAME ELISABETH
Catherine de Medici, Cleopatra, Agrippina, Messalma, my crimes surpass yours, and if the memory of your infamous deeds still causes people to shudder, what emotions could be aroused by an account of the cruel and lascivious Movie Antoinette of Austria.
QUOTATIONS FROM A PAMPHLET IN CIRCULATION BEFORE AND AFTER THE REVOLUTION CALLED “ESSAI HISTORIQUE SUR LA VIE DE MARIE ANTOINETTE’
France, with the face of Austria, reduced to covering herself with a rag.
WRITTEN UNDER A PORTRAIT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE DRESSED IN A SIMPLE CREOLE BLOUSE
Once again I was brought to bed of a child. Almost a year had passed since the death of my mother, for it was October. How I missed those letters which had arrived for ten years with such regularity. I remembered often how I used to tremble as I opened them and sometimes feel irritated by the continued complaints, but how often during the last year I had longed to receive them. How I should have enjoyed telling her that once more I was pregnant. But what was the use? She had gone for ever; yet I knew that for ever her memory would keep her with me.
I longed for a son, but I dared not pin my hopes on this. I could not love a child more than I loved my little daughter. I prayed: “A son please God, but if You see fit to send me a daughter, she will seem all that I desire.”
This accouchement was different from the last. The King had said that the public were not to be admitted, for I was not again going to be exposed to the sort of risk I had run before, and only members of the family and six of my ladies-including the Princesse de Lamballe, who was a member of the family—together with the accoucheur and the doctors were present.
My pains started when I woke on that morning—it was the 22nd of October—and they were so slight that I was able to take a bath; but by midday they had increased.
It was an easier labour than that of my little Madame Royale, but when the child was born I was half-conscious and too weak to be entirely sure of what was happening.
I was aware of the people about my bed; there seemed to be a deep silence and I was afraid to ask for news of the child. The King had made a sign that no one was to speak to me; he had been very anxious during the latter weeks of my pregnancy and had commanded that when the child was born no one was to-say what its sex was, for if it were a daughter I should be disappointed, and if a Dauphin so overjoyed, that either emotion might be bad for me in the state of exhaustion I should surely experience after the delivery.
I was aware of the silence about my bed. I thought: It is a girl. Or worse still: It is still-born. No! I heard the cry of a child. I had a baby; I wanted to cry out: Give me my child. What matters if . Then I saw the King; there were tears in his eyes and he seemed overcome by his emotion.
I said to him: “You see how calm I am. I have asked no questions.”
His voice was broken and he said: “Monsieur Ie Dauphin begs to present himself.”
A son! My dream was fulfilled. I held out my arms and they laid him in them. A boy . a perfect boyl There was excitement in the bedchamber and the adjoining rooms where the ministers and members of our household waited.
I heard afterwards that everyone there started kissing and embracing.
I heard voices: “A Dauphin. I tell you it is true. We have a Dauphin.”
Even my enemies were caught up in the excitement. Madame de Guemenee, who was to take charge of him, sat in a chair with wheels and he was handed to her; she was then wheeled to her apartments close by and everyone crowded round her to see the child. They wanted to touch him, or his shawl, or even the chair in which the Princesse sat.
“He must become a Christian without delay,” said the King.
Our little Dauphin was baptised at three o’clock.
One hundred and one guns were fired immediately so that Paris should be aware of the sex of the child. That was the signal for the city to go wild with joy. Bells were ringing; processions were formed; at night bonfires were lighted and there were the usual fireworks displays. I could scarcely believe that these were the people who took such joy in those disgusting lampoons which were circulated about me; now they were asking God to protect me, the mother of their Dauphin.
Now they were dancing, drinking my health, crying: “Long live the King and Queen! Long live the Dauphin!”
As my mother said, they were an impetuous people. I was delighted with my new baby. I sent for Madame Royale that she might see her little brother and we stood hand in hand admiring him as he lay in his cradle. She was three years old and growing lovelier every day, besides being very intelligent.
I caught sight of Armand standing at the door scowling ? r us and I smiled at him but he dropped his eyes. And as I passed him I ruffled his hair. He was no longer as pre ny as he had once been; but perhaps I was comparing him with my own little ones.
The tocsins rang for three days and nights. When I awoke I heard them and the realisation of my great joy would come flooding over me. A two-day holiday was declared through out Paris. Wine flowed freely in the streets; buffets of meat were set up; and people wore garlands of artificial flowers about their necks and called to each other “Long live the Dauphin!” as a kind of greeting.
Festival followed festival. Each of the guilds sent representatives to Versailles; and for nine days the ceremonies continued. The whole Court assembled to receive them and there was great hilarity when the sedan-chairmen’s guild sent a chair with a model of a wet-nurse and a Dauphin seated in it. The nurse was a copy of the one we had engaged who had been speedily nicknamed Madame Poitrine. The chimney sweeps brought a model of a chimney on which small chimney-sweeps sat and sang praises of the new-born heir to the throne; the tailors brought a miniature uniform, the blacksmiths an anvil on which they played a tune. The market women put on their black silk dresses, which they kept for years and brought out only on the most auspicious occasions, and sang praises of me and my little son. But the most unusual of all were the locksmiths, who felt they had a special affinity with the King because of his interest in their profession. They brought a huge lock, which they presented to the King, and their leader asked if His Majesty would care to try to unlock it. To do so was the task of a true locksmith, and if the King would prefer one of then-band to demonstrate he had but to command, but knowing His Majesty’s skill. and so on. The King, thus challenged, determined to have a try, and amid great applause he very quickly succeeded. And as he turned the lock, from it sprang a steel -figure which was seen to be a marvellously-wrought tiny Dauphin.
The celebrations continued. When I rode out into the streets of Paris the people cheered me.
I believed my indiscretions and follies of the past were forgotten because I had given this country what it wanted: an heir, a little Dauphin.
Looking back I think I reached the peak of my contentment then. The King shared my emotions. Almost every sentence he uttered contained the word ‘my son’ . or ‘the Dauphin. ” All the servants adored him; people would wait for hours for a glimpse of him. He was a wonderful baby, a beautiful contented child—the centre of our lives. Louis went about giving his hand to everyone, listening avidly to their conversation—about the Dauphin, of course; tears came into his eyes every time the child was referred to-so, as can be imagined, he was constantly in tears. Elisabeth told me that at the baptism—she was his godmother—the King had bee
n unable to take his eyes from the child.
Madame Poitrine was an important person in our lives. The name fitted her; she was enormous and the doctors agreed that her milk was excellent. She was the wife of one of the gardeners and she regarded the Dauphin as her own, and as he was the most important person in the palace, she took second place. She shouted like a grenadier; she swore often;
but her placidity was remarkable: neither my presence nor that of the King ruffled her in the least. She would say:
“You can’t touch him now. I’ve just got him off. I won’t have him disturbed.” Which amused us and made us laugh and be very content, for we knew how she cared for our baby. She accepted the clothes we gave her, the laces and fine linen, with a shrug, but absolutely refused to use rouge or powder on her hair. She just did not hold with all that, she said, and she couldn’t see what good it would do her baby.
Long after, Elisabeth showed me a letter which at the time she had received from a friend, Madame de Bombelles. It brought those days back so clearly and we both wept over the paper.
I saw our little Dauphin this morning. He is very well, and lovely as an angel. The people’s enthusiasm continues the same. In the streets one meets nothing but fiddles, singing and dancing. I call that touching, and in fact I know no more amiable nation than ours Oh yes, they were happy then, and pleased with us. Why did it not remain so?
I look back over the last years and I try to see where all the tragedies could have been prevented. There must have been a way of stopping them.
Ever since I had been Queen I had had periodic visits from the two very clever Court jewellers Boehmer and Hassenge. Madame du Barry had admired their work. Perhaps it was because of this that they had made a fantastic necklace which they had hoped to sell to her. They had collected the finest stones in Europe, sinking their capital in this project. Unfortunately for them Louis XV died before it could be offered, and then there was, of course, no hope of Madame du Barry’s having it.
They were in despair and their first thought was of me. When they showed it to me I was dazzled at the sight of all those magnificent stones, but secretly I thought the necklace, which was rather like a slave-collar, a little vulgar. It was not the great temptation the jewellers had thought it would be, and perhaps the knowledge that it had been made with Madame du Barry in mind did not attract me either.
The jewellers were astounded and horrified. They had thought I should be enchanted and find some means to get it, knowing my passion for diamonds.
They showed the necklace to the King, who called me to look at it.
“You like it?” asked my husband.
I was in one of my penitent moods at the time, having been severely reprimanded by my mother for extravagance, and I said that I thought we had more need of a ship than a diamond necklace.
The King agreed with me, but like the jewellers he was surprised. They pleaded. They must sell the necklace and they had hoped that I would have it. But I was firm; I was not going to incur the expense and my mother’s anger—for she would surely hear of the purchase—for something I did not very much like.
The King told me that if I wanted the necklace he would empty his privy purse of everything he possessed to please me.
I laughed and thanked him. He was so good, I told him, but I had enough diamonds. 1,600,000 francs for an ornament that would only be worn four or five times a year. It was ridiculous.
I forgot all about the necklace, and then several years later when I was with my little daughter Boehmer called and asked if he might see me.
Thinking he had some small trinket to show me which my daughter might like to see I said he should be admitted. As soon as he came in I saw how distressed he was, for he flung himself on his knees and burst into tears.
“Madame,” he cried, “I shall be ruined if you do not buy my necklace.”
“That necklace!” I cried.
“I thought we had heard the last of it.”
“I am on the verge of ruin, Madame. If you do not buy my necklace I shall throw myself into the river.”
My daughter moved closer to me, gripping my skirts, she was staring in horror at the hysterical man.
“Get up, Boehmer,” I said.
“I do not like such behaviour. Honest people do not have to beg on their knees. I shall be sorry if you kill yourself, but I shall in no way be responsible for your death. I did not order the necklace and I have always told you that I do not want it. Please do not speak to me of it again. Try to break it up and sell the stones instead of talking of drowning yourself. I am displeased that you should make such a scene in my presence and that of my daughter. Please do not let this happen again, and now go.”
He went, and after that I avoided him. I heard, though, that he was still desperately trying to sell the necklace, and I asked Madame Campan to find out how he was succeeding, for I was sorry for the man.
Madame Campan one day told me that die necklace had been sold to the Sultan of Constantinople for his favourite wife.
I sighed with relief.
“How glad I am that now we shall have heard the last of that vulgar necklace.”
I was spending more and more time at the Petit Trianon. My theatre was now completed and I was longing to put on some plays. I had formed my troupe, which consisted of Elisabeth, Artois and some of his friends, the Polignacs and theirs.
My sister-in-law Marie Josephe refused to join us, saying it was beneath her dignity to act on a stage.
“But if the Queen of France can act, surely you can too.”
I may not be the Queen,” she replied, ‘but’I am the stuff of which they are made.”
That made me laugh, but she refused to join us; so she was always a member of the audience instead. Monsieur Cam-pan was of great help as prompter and part-producer, the role he had occupied in those days when we had played secretly in the room at Versailles. This was different. This was a real theatre. I threw myself into acting with a wild enthusiasm; we did several plays and comic operas. I remember the names of some of them: L’Anglais a Bordeaux, Le Sorcier, Rose et Colas. In Le Sabot Perdu, I had the part of Babet, who is kissed on the stage by her lover; Artois played the lover, and this was talked of and written of as something like an orgy.
The people seemed to have forgotten the devotion they had shown me at the time of the Dauphin’s birth. Pamphlets were coming out at an alarming rate and I was always the central figure portrayed. I could not understand why they should have chosen me. I believed it was because I was not French. The French had hated Catherine de Medici, not because of her evil reputation but because she was not French.
They had called her the Italian Woman; now I was the Austrian Woman.
Les Amours de Chariot et “Toinette was a popular little book which was supposed to be an account of my relationship with the Comte d’Artois, with whom, ever since I had come to France, my name had been coupled.
One day the King found a booklet called Vie Privee Antoinette in his private apartments which showed that I had enemies inside the palace, for one of them must have placed it there.
I refused to read them. They were so absurd, I said. Anyone who knew me would simply laugh at them. I did not realise that my enemies were building up a public image of me, and that was the woman so many people believed me to be.
There was one pamphlet which was supposed to have been written by me, for it was in the first person. This seemed sillier than any, for it was ridiculous to imagine that if I were guilty of all the crimes they attributed to me I should have made a confession and allowed it to be printed and circulated.
“Catherine de Medici, Cleopatra, Agrippina, Messalina, my crimes surpass yours, and if the memory of your infamous deeds still causes people to shudder, what emotions could be aroused by an account of the cruel and lascivious Marie Antoinette of Austria…. A barbarous Queen, an adulterous spouse, soiled with crimes and debaucheries… “
When I saw this I laughed and tore it up. No one would take it
seriously. But this infamous document called Essai Historique sur la Vie de Marie Antoinette was sold’re printed again and again, and is in circulation at the time I am writing.
Why did I not understand that there were people who were determined to believe these things of me? The only way I could have shown them up as the ridiculous lies they were was by living a quiet and thrifty life.
And what did I do? I retired in disgust to the Petit Trianon. It was my little world. Even the King could only come there at my invitation. He respected this and gravely waited to be invited. He enjoyed those visits, for to him, grappling with state affairs, it was indeed a boon to escape from ceremonies and tiring interviews with statesmen.
When we were not acting plays we played childish games. The favourite game was called Descampativos, which had derived from blind man’s buff.
One of the players was sent out of the room, and when he or she bad left, the rest of us would cover ourselves completely with sheets. Then the one who was outside would be called in; in turn we would touch him and he would have to guess who we were. The great point about this game was die forfeits which had to be paid, and these became wilder and wilder. Everything we did was exaggerated; the simplest pleasure was described as a Roman bacchanalia. Another game was tire en jam be in which we all mounted sticks and fought each other. This gave rise to a lot of horse-play, and although the King liked to wrestle and play rough games he had little liking for this.
My garden occupied a great deal of my time. I was constantly planning and replanning. I said I wanted it to look as little like Versailles as possible. I wanted a natural garden. Oddly enough it seemed more costly to create that than the symmetrical lawns and fountains which Louis XIV had made so popular. I had plants brought from all over the world; hundreds of gardeners were employed to produce a natural landscape. I wanted a brook running through a meadow, but there was no spring from which the water could be obtained.
The Queen`s Confession Page 27
