-Kaunitz to Marie Antoinette "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 storm about saying a quick word. You have allowed yourself to become enslaved and your duty can no longer persuade you."

-Maria Theresa to Marie Antoinette "I trust you will be satisfied. You may be sure that I will always sacrifice my personal prejudices as long as nothing is asked which goes against my honor."

-Marie Antoinette to Maria Theresa The Battle of Words Choisy Madame, my very dear Mother, I cannot express how much I am affected by Your Majesty's kindness and I a.s.sure you that I have not yet received one of your dear letters without tears of regret filling my eyes at being parted from such a kind mother; and although I am very happy here, I should earnestly wish to return to see my dear, very dear, family, if only for a short time.

We have been here since yesterday and from one o'clock in the afternoon, when we dine, until one in the morning we cannot return to our apartments, which is very disagreeable to me. After dinner we have cards till six; then we go to the play till half-past nine; then supper; then cards again until one o'clock, sometimes even halfpast one. Only yesterday the King, seeing that I was tired out, kindly dismissed me at eleven, to my great satisfaction, and I slept very well till half-past ten.

Your Majesty is very kind to show interest in me even to the extent of how I spend my time habitually when at Versailles. I will say, therefore, that I rise at ten o'clock or nine, and after dressing, I say my prayers; then I breakfast, after which I go to my aunts, where I usually meet the King. This lasts till half-past ten. At eleven I go to have my hair dressed. At noon the Chambre is called and anyone of sufficient rank may come in. I put on my rouge and wash my hands before everyone; then the gentlemen go out; the ladies stay and I dress before them all. At twelve is Ma.s.s; and when the King is at Versailles, I go to Ma.s.s with him and my husband and the aunts; if he is not there, I go with Monsieur le Dauphin, but always at the same hour. After Ma.s.s we dine together, but it is over by half-past one, as we both eat quickly. I then go to Monsieur le Dauphin. If he is busy, I return to my own apartments, where I read, write, or work, for I am embroidering a vest for the King, which does not get on very quickly, but I trust that, with G.o.d's help, it will be finished in a few years. At three I go to my aunts', where the King usually comes at that time. At four the Abbe comes to me; at five the master for the harpsichord, or the singing master till six. You must know that my husband frequently comes with me to the aunts'. At seven, card playing till nine; and when the weather is fine I go out, and then the card playing takes place in my aunts' apartment instead of mine. At nine, supper; when the King is absent, my aunts come to take supper with us; if the King is there, we go to them after supper, and we wait for the King, who usually comes at a quarter to eleven; but I lie on a sofa and sleep till his arrival; when he is not expected, we go to bed at eleven. Such is my day. I entreat you, my dear Mother, to forgive me if this letter is too long; but my greatest pleasure is to be this in communication with Your Majesty. I ask pardon also for this blotted letter, I have had to write two days running at my toilet, having no other time at my disposal; and if I do not answer all the questions exactly, I trust Your Majesty will make allowances for my having too obediently burned your letter. I must finish this, as I have to dress and go to the King's Ma.s.s. I have the honor to be Your Majesty's most submissive daughter.

Marie Antoinette This letter, which I wrote from Choisy, one of the royal palaces which we visited now and then, gives a picture of the monotony of my days at this time. I had thought that life in France would be exciting, full of novelty, and I found it more dull than it had ever been at Schonbrunn.

During those first months of my life at the French Court, I was often sick with longing for home and for my mother, although when I received her letters, I would shiver with apprehension, wondering what they contained. I did not then realize the extent to which Mercy was observing the intimate details of my life. He had always appeared to be a stem old statesman and the fact that he could be interested in what a young girl wore or how many times she laughed with a certain servant seemed incongruous. That was where I was so foolish. I had scarcely changed from the child who had romped in the gardens of Schonbrunn with her dogs; I was as inconsequential, as unaware. I did not realize then - to my misfortune - that the Dauphine of France, who would one day be Queen, was not so much a girl or woman as a symbol. War and peace could hang on her actions; her follies could make a throne tremble. When I wrote to my mother and asked how she knew so much of my silly little actions she replied that "A little bird told her"; and she never mentioned that the little bird was Mercy. I should have known, of course. But at least Mercy was my friend, although an uncomfortable one; and I should have been grateful to him.

During that time there was of course one great matter which overshadowed my life: the unusual relationship between myself and my husband. I knew that everyone at Court was talking about it - some gravely, but most with sn.i.g.g.e.ring amus.e.m.e.nt Provence, whom I could never like, although his conduct was extremely correct, was pleased, I knew, because the last thing he wanted was for me to produce a son. He was jealous because he was not the eldest and believed - and many agreed with him - that he would have made a better Dauphin than my husband Louis. Artois was gay and amusing, very flirtatious, constantly gazing at me with a wistful expression behind which mischief lurked. Mercy was always dropping hints that I should be wary of Artois. Then there were the aunts, throwing out a hundred suggestions, always trying to discover what was happening between "Poor Berry" and myself.

But when my mother wrote that perhaps it was best that things were as they were because we "were both so young," I felt I could put the matter out of my mind for a while and try to enjoy life as well as I could.

There was one man who was my friend at Court and this was the Duc de Choiseul. He was eager that my marriage should be a success because he had arranged it. It was my misfortune that I should have come to France when his power was on the wane, for he would have been as helpful to me as Mercy was - and far more powerful, since he was the King's chief minister. He was rather an ugly man, but it was a charming ugliness; he was fascinating and I was fond of him from the moment we met. My mother had told me that I could trust him because he was a friend of Austria, and that drew me to him. But he was in disgrace. Mademoiselle Genet told me that he had made friends with Madame de Pompadour to their mutual advantage, but had underrated the power of Madame du Barry and that was one of the reasons why he fell.

Although I had at first found Madame du Barry fascinating, I now childishly loathed her because the King had allowed her to come to that first intimate supper, and, according to Mercy, that was an insult to me. I wrote to my mother "She is a silly and impertinent woman," believing that, knowing her function at Court, my mother would consider my att.i.tude toward the woman the correct one.

"Don't meddle in politics or interfere in other people's affairs," was my mother's reply, but I did not realize she was referring to Madame du Barry and, like so many other important matters, it went right over my head. I did not want to meddle in politics. It was as much as I could manage to do my lessons. I wanted to enjoy my life. I wanted to see Paris - but I was not allowed to until I did so officially, and that was a matter which had to be considered in all sorts of ways before it could be put into action. "Etiquette!" I groaned.

"At least," I said to Mercy, "I could have two of my dogs brought from Vienna."

"You already have two dogs," he answered sternly.

"Yes, I know, but I love them and they'll be pining for me in Vienna. Little Mops will, I know. Please ask them to send him."

He wanted to refuse but could not very well go so blatantly against my wishes. I had my four dogs. When puppies arrived, I should have more and I would not be parted from them, although Mercy was hinting at unclean habits, which would be frowned on in the elaborate Versailles apartments.

During those first weeks the Duc de Choiseul visited me frequently and he too told me how I should behave to the King.

"Be earnest and natural," he said, "and not too childish, although His Majesty does not expect you to have a knowledge of politics."

I said I was glad of that and told him of my dislike of Madame du Barry.

"I cannot bear to hear her silly lisp, and she seems to think she is the most important lady of the Court. I always look straight through her when I see her as though she does not exist. Yet she always looks hopefully my way, as though she is imploring me to speak to her."

Monsieur de Choiseul laughed and said that naturally she wanted a show of friendship from the Dauphine.

"She will not get it," I retorted, and since this was exactly what Monsieur de Choiseul wanted me to say, I made up my mind that I would keep to it.

Dear Monsieur de Choiseul! He was so charming and at the same time so sincere ... where I was concerned. I am sure that if he could have stayed near me, I should have been saved from many follies.

When I arrived in France, the odious du Barry had already become the center of a party which called itself the Barriens, and in this were some of the most powerful ministers, such as the Duc d'Aiguillon, the Duc de Vauguyon, and the Duc de Richelieu - and these men were all enemies of Choiseul and sought to bring him down. This they were managing very successfully, blaming him for the disaster of the Seven Years' War - which had broken out the year I was born and in which my country was involved - and the loss of the French Colonies to England. He was blamed for everything; and I understood afterward that the Austrian marriage was a plan of his to attempt to reinstate himself. He must have been a very worried man when I met him, but he gave no sign of this; he was one of the gayest people I had ever met.

It was a great blow to me when he received his lettre de cachet from the King banishing him to his chateau at Chanteloup. It happened suddenly - on Christmas Eve. He simply disappeared and I could not believe he had gone. It was sad to lose a friend and at the same time it alarmed me that such a fate could befall someone so rapidly. I was particularly hurt by Mercy's att.i.tude toward the Duc.

"He has hastened his disgrace by his indiscretions," he said. "It would have surprised me if he had stayed in office much longer. Let us hope that he may not be replaced by someone who is an even greater muddler than he."

"He is our friend!" I cried aghast.

"He is of no use to us now," replied Mercy cynically.

I was very hurt and sorry; but we did hear of him now and then. He was living very grandly at Chanteloup and sending out chansons about Madame du Barry, whom he regarded as his enemy in chief. She was constantly finding sc.r.a.ps of paper covered with obscene rhymes in her apartments, but she always laughed at them and they seemed to lose their impact.

Letters continued to flow from Vienna, and every time a letter from my mother was put into my hands, I would shiver. What had I done now? I had not worn my stays - my hateful corps de baleine which made me sit bolt upright or in discomfort. It was necessary for me to wear them at this stage of my growth, I was warned. I must always be aware of my appearance. The French were very susceptible to appearance and I must always think of pleasing my husband. Always there were hints about my relationship with my husband.

"You must not be in too much of a hurry, for increasing his uneasiness will only make matters worse."

On one occasion she wrote: "You must not take this disappointment too much to heart. You must never show it. Never be peevish. Be tender but by no means demanding. If you caress your husband, do so in moderation. If you show impatience, you could make matters worse."

Not only the court of France but all the courts of Europe seemed to be discussing the inability of the Dauphin to consummate our marriage. They were saying he was impotent and that if a girl as attractive as I was could not rouse him, the case was hopeless.

It was tremendously embarra.s.sing for us both. I clung to my childishness, trying not to understand even when I did, playing with my dogs, dancing when I could, trying to pretend I did not know there was anything strange about our marriage. My husband's method was to feign indifference - which I knew he did not feel. His defense was to pretend to be bored, to shut himself up with his locksmith and builder friends; he hunted whenever possible and would eat heartily - as though all he cared about were these things. But I did discover that he was as uneasy as I was - more so, because he was more serious and the fault was his; and during the past months he had begun to show me in a hundred little ways how sorry he was that he was not a good husband. He was anxious to please me, and although his tastes were in exact opposition to my own, he never tried to stop my doing what I liked.

I was growing quite fond of him and I believed he was of me. But this hateful situation was between us. Had we been two l.u.s.ty lovers, we should have been smiled at indulgently; as it was, the secrets of our bedchamber were the concern of Europe. Envoys were going back and forth from Versailles to Sardinia and Prussia as well as to Austria. In the streets songs were being sung about us. "Can he or can't he?" "Has he or hasn't he?" If my husband's infirmity were due to some mental conflict, this was enough to prevent his ever overcoming it.

My mother reiterated that I was to keep her informed of every detail. I was to report everything the Dauphin said or did. I was to read her letters and burn them when I had done so. I knew that I was surrounded by spies and the chief of these was my husband's tutor, the Duc de Vauguyon, who was a friend of Madame du Barry. Once when I was alone with my husband, one of the servants, who was in the room, suddenly opened the door and there was the Duc bending down; his ear had obviously been at the keyhole. I think the servant may have been trying to warn us. I remarked to Louis how inconvenient it was having people listening at our doors. The Duc de Vauguyon was very embarra.s.sed and muttered some excuse; but I don't think Louis ever had such a high opinion of him again.

It was not in my nature to brood on my position. I wanted to enjoy myself. There was nothing I liked so much as riding, but horses had been forbidden, because my mother thought that violent riding might make me sterile. As if I had a chance to be otherwise! And she and Mercy had decided that they would ask the King to give an order that I should not ride.

This was a great blow to me. I wanted to shout that I was bored at the French Court, that when I was riding with the wind in my face and my hair free from those pins with which the hairdresser tortured me, I was happy.

I went to the King; I was my most appealing; I called him Dear Papa and I told him how unhappy I was because I was being prevented from riding.

He was perplexed. I should have known that he found this kind of situation irritating and hated to be asked to make a decision which was going to offend anyone, particularly a pretty girl. But he gave no sign of this. He was all smiles and sympathy. How was I to know that he was inwardly yawning at my childish problems and wishing me far away? He laid his hand on my shoulder and explained very tenderly that my mother did not wish me to ride horses. Did I not wish to please my mother?

"Oh yes, dear Papa, I do indeed ... but I cannot bear not to ride."

"They consider that horses are too dangerous, and I have agreed that you shall not ride them." He lifted his hands and his face was illumined by that charming smile which in spite of the pouches under his eyes and the countless wrinkles made him still handsome. "They did not mention donkeys." He had the solution. "No horses ... but ride a donkey for a while."

So I rode donkeys, which I found humiliating.

Nevertheless once I fell from the saddle. It was a foolish incident really. The donkey was stationary and I was sitting loosely; he turned sharply and the next thing I knew was that I was on the ground. I was not in the least hurt, but my attendants were very concerned and they all hurried to me; but I lay there laughing at them.

"Do not touch me," I cried. "I am not hurt in the least. I am not even shaken. It was the silliest tumble."

"Will you not allow us to help you rise, then?"

"Certainly not. You must call Madame l'Etiquette. You see, I am not quite sure what ceremonies should be observed when a Dauphine falls from a donkey."

They all laughed and we resumed our ride very gaily; but of course the incident was reported. My mother heard of it. She was very hurt that I was riding - even donkeys - and I know now that she feared she was losing her influence over me. This was no wish for power on her part; it was due to a deep understanding of her daughter's character and a terrible fear as to what would become of her. She saw me as an innocent lamb among the wolves of France - and she was, as usual, right.

She wrote to me: "I hear you are riding a donkey. I have told you I do not care for this equestrian activity. It will do more harm even than spoiling your complexion and your figure."

When I read the letter, I was sorry I had displeased her and I vowed I would not ride again until I had her permission to do so - which would be when I was a little older, when I was a true wife, when I had shown that I could bear children. (How it all came back to this!) But I soon forgot and a few days later I was out on my donkey again.

I was seeing a great deal of the aunts, who made much of me. Adelaide was always angry about something. She had to have a cause to fight for and she would take up the least little thing. Madame du Barry was her great target; but when she heard that I had been forbidden to ride a horse, she turned her attention to this.

"It is ridiculous!" she declared. "Not ride a horse! Everyone must ride a horse. A donkey for the Dauphine of France! It is an insult."

Victoire nodded and Sophie joined in a few seconds later.

"It is our enemies who have arranged this," said Adelaide darkly.

I was going to point out that it was my mother who had forbidden it and that Mercy and the King supported her. I could hardly call these my enemies. But Adelaide never listened when she had a cause to fight for. I was not going to be ill-used. I was not going to be humiliated. She and her sisters were my champions and she had a plan.

The plan was that I should ride out on my donkey as usual. An equerry with a horse would have been sent out and I should meet them at a spot to be decided on. Then I should dismount from the donkey, mount the horse, go for my ride, and then come back to the spot where the donkey would be waiting for me, mount the donkey, and trot back to the Palace. It was very simple.

"And it will outwit them all," cried Adelaide triumphantly. I hesitated. "It would displease my mother."

"How should she know?"

"All the same, I do not want to go against her wishes." "She is far off in Vienna. She does know that you are a figure of fun here ... riding your donkey."

They persuaded me and there was a great deal of conspiratorial whispering; and in due course I rode out with some of my attendants and met the equerry, who had the horse waiting for me. They were all rather afraid because they knew that the King himself as well as my mother had said that I should not ride a horse, and I was suddenly ashamed. I agreed that I would not canter or gallop and I would allow the equerry to hold the bridle while I walked the horse. But what joy it was to be really on horseback once more! I forgot how disobedient I was being and I found the tears of laughter in my eyes when I thought of what Mercy's face would be like if he could see me.

I mentioned this to one of my attendants and they all joined in my laughter. It was such fun - and then we went back to where one of the attendants was waiting with the donkey and I rode it solemnly back to the palace while the equerry galloped off with the horse.

One of those attendants who had accompanied me and laughed with me hastened to tell Mercy what had happened and when he presented himself at my apartments, I knew from his stem looks that he had discovered my deception. He was pained and grieved. I blurted out: "So you know I have been riding a horse?"

"Yes," he said.

"I was going to tell you," I said, and added defensively: "Those who saw me were pleased that I had had such pleasure."

"I should be mortified," he replied in his solemn way, "if you believed that I should join those who were delighted. As I am deeply concerned with your affairs, I can only be grieved that something should have happened which could be injurious to you and would give great displeasure to the Empress."

I was frightened as always at the thought of my mother. I said quickly: "I should be desolate if I thought I had grieved the Empress. But as you know, riding is the Dauphin's favorite exercise. Should I not therefore follow something which gives him such pleasure?"

Mercy did not reply to this but merely remarked that he would retire and leave me to contemplate what I had done.

I wished I hadn't done it and I was sorry; then I grew angry. It was all so silly. Why should I not ride a horse if I wanted to?

But I was very upset. One thing remained clear in my giddy mind and that was that my mother cared for my wellbeing as no one else on earth did; and she had as much power to alarm me here in France as she had in Vienna. She was, of course, informed of what I had done; she wrote back, pained that I had acted so. She conceded that the King and the Dauphin had both given their consent to my riding and that they must "dispose of all concerning you," but she was very displeased.

"I shall say no more," she finished her letter, "and shall try not to think about it."

She must have heard what part the aunts played in this because she was soon afterward warning me against them.

"Keep a neutral position in everything. I desire you to be more reserved than ever as regards what is going on. Listen to no secrets and have no curiosity. I am sorry to have to say confide nothing ... even to your aunts, whom I esteem so much. I have my reasons for saying this."

She had very good reason. Probably more than she at that time realized.

A year after I was married, my brother-in-law Provence was given a wife. She arrived at Versailles in May - as I had - Marie Josephe of Savoy. I disliked her on sight; she was very ugly and completely lacking in charm; and this was not only my opinion. Provence was very disappointed in her; and everyone made comparisons between her and myself, which came to her ears and enraged her. I knew that she hated me, although she was always anxious to pretend that she did not, for she was rather clever.

I was indifferent to her att.i.tude toward me because I had made a friend of the Princesse de Lamballe, whom I found kind and gentle; though the Abbe Vermond said she was stupid because he did not want me to be too friendly with anyone other than himself. I defended the Princesse to him.

"She has a good reputation," I said, "which cannot be said for everyone at this Court."

"She could lose that reputation tomorrow," he retorted, "but her reputation for stupidity grows every day!"

I laughed with him, for we were on very friendly terms.

There was another friend I made and although he did not like her either, he could not complain of her stupidity. This was Jeanne Louise Henriette Genet, the lectrice who worked for my aunts. I had seen her often in my aunts' apartments and I had been attracted by her quiet ways and her rather severe looks. It was the attraction of opposites. I sensed that although she had a great respect for my aunts, and for me too, in addition she liked me.

I asked the King if I might share my aunts' lectrice and he said yes immediately. So I used to have Mademoiselle Genet in my apartments so that she might read to me; but I preferred to talk to her, for she had such stories to tell of the Court that I do believe I learned more from her than I had so far from anyone else.

She was only three years older than I, but she seemed at least ten, so demure, so serieuse was she. I was sure my mother would have approved of her. Sometimes I used to think that nice sensible Jeanne Louise would have been a much better daughter for my mother than I was. Her father had been employed by the Foreign Office and so had come to the notice of the Duc de Choiseul; and thus Jeanne Louise had been given her place at Court. She had been a studious child who had astonished everyone by her learning; and one of her greatest a.s.sets was her voice, which was clear; and another was her ability to read aloud for hours at a time. Thus she became lectrice to my aunts.

She was fifteen when she came to Court and I loved to hear of her first impressions. I would lure her away from the book and say: "Come now, Mademoiselle Lectrice, I would have you talk to me."

She would demurely shut the book and look very guilty; but I knew she liked to talk as much as I did.

"Tell me about the first day you came to Court," I said one day, and she told me how she went into her father's study to say good-bye to him and how he wept to see her in her Court attire.

"I was wearing tight stays for the first time and a long dress with panniers. My pale face was smeared with rouge and powder, which was necessary as part of Court custom even for one as humble as I."

"Etiquette," I murmured; and I laughed at her, for my free and easy manners shocked her.

"My father is a very wise man. I realize that now more than I did before. He said to me: The Princesses will make full use of your talents. Great people know how to bestow praise graciously, but do not allow their compliments to elate you too much. Be on your guard. Whenever you receive flattering attentions, you may be sure you will gain an enemy. I swear that if I had been able to find another profession for you, I would never have abandoned you to the dangers of Court life."

She had a way with words which I found fascinating. She talked of the day of her arrival when the Court was in mourning for Queen Marie Leszczyska, and how in the courtyard were coaches with horses waving their great black plumes, and pages and footmen with their spangled black shoulder knots. The state apartments were hung with black cloth and canopies decorated with sable plumes had been placed over the armchairs.

She made me see a new picture of the King. "He was the most imposing figure I had ever seen and his eyes remained fixed on you all the time he was speaking."

I nodded, agreeing with her.

"Notwithstanding the beauty of his features, he inspired a sort of fear."

"I felt no fear," I said impulsively.

She smiled her slow calm smile. "You are the Dauphine, Madame. I am the lectrice."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yes, on two occasions. One morning when he was going out to the hunt, I was in Mesdames' apartments and he came to see Madame Victoire and asked me where Coche was. I was bewildered, for I did not know of the nicknames he used for Mesdames. Then he asked my name and when I told him, he said: 'Oh, you are the lectrice. I am a.s.sured you are learned and understand five languages.' 'Only two, Sire,' I answered. 'Which?' he asked. 'English and Italian, Sire.' 'Fluently?' 'Yes, Sire.' Then he burst out laughing and said: 'It is enough to drive a husband mad.' All his retinue laughed at me and I was overcome with confusion."

"It was not very kind of him," I said. I studied her. She could scarcely be called pretty in her plain dress; and I supposed he had not found her attractive.

On another day when she was reading to the aunts, he came to see them. She retired hastily and went to wait in an anteroom and, having nothing to do there, she amused herself by twirling in her court hoop and suddenly kneeling for the sheer pleasure of seeing her rose-colored silk petticoat swirl round her. In the midst of this the King entered and he was very amused to see the erudite little lectrice behaving like a child. "I advise you to send back to school a lectrice who makes cheeses," he said. And once more poor Jeanne Louise was overcome with confusion. She had not seen the King at his best, as I had; and I fancied she was a little critical of him; naturally she was anxious not to betray her feelings to me - and how right she was! She doubtless knew I would chatter, so she was careful. Long afterward, when he was dead, she told me how he had set up the trebuchet, the bird snare, close to his apartments in Versailles and later contented himself with the pleasures of his little seraglio in the Parc aux Cerfs, where young girls of my age and hers were brought to him for his pleasure by Madame de Pompadour; and later Madame du Barry performed the same duty. If I had known of these matters then, I might have understood him better.

And there was something else she told me much later which it would have been useful for me to know at that time. But would I have made use of the knowledge? I doubt it. This is what she told me and what, she explained, she had written in her journal, for she had always felt the urge to write and set down the events of the days as they pa.s.sed: "I heard my father compare the Monarchy of France to a beautiful antique statue; he agreed that the pedestal which supported it was mouldering away and the contours of the statue were disappearing in the parasitic plants which were gradually covering it. 'But,' he explained, 'where is the artist skillful enough to repair the base without shattering the statue?'"

But had she told me at this time, I should not have understood what she was talking about. Years later, when the terror was upon us, I understood too well.

I was very interested in Madame Louise, the aunt whom I had seen before I arrived at Versailles when I stopped at the Carmelite Convent of St. Denis to see her.