The Queen`s Confession

The Austrian Woman

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 been 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.

“You cannot obtain water!” I cried.

“But that is ridiculous.” And water had to be piped and brought from Marley. Some comments were that it was gold not water that filled the charming little stream at the Trianon. Rustic bridges were built over the stream; there was a pond and an island; and all these had to be created as though nature had put them there.

The price of all this was staggering, only I never considered it. I would yawn as I looked at the amounts; I was never quite sure of the number of noughts; but I was constantly thinking of how I could improve my little world, and it occurred to me that I should create a village, for no rustic scene was complete without people. There should be cottages, I decided, eight of them: little farms with real people and real animals. I summoned Monsieur Mique, one of the most famous of our architects, and told him what I planned. He was enchanted with the idea. Then I asked the artist

Monsieur Hubert Robert to work with Mique. They must build for me eight little farmhouses, with thatched roofs and even dung-heaps. They must be charming but natural.

The two artists threw themselves into the project with enthusiasm, sparing no expense. They were constantly suggesting improvements and I enjoyed my conferences with them. The farmhouses must be made to look like real farmhouses. The plaster would have to be chipped in places; the chimneys must look as if smoke had poured through them.

Natural was the order of the day and no artifice or expense should be spared to achieve it.

When the farmhouses were ready I peopled them with families, selecting them myself. Naturally I had no difficulty in finding peasants who were happy to make their home there. So I had real cows, pigs and sheep. Real butter was made; my peasants washed their linen and spread it out on the hedges to dry.

Everything, I said, must be real.

Thus was created my Hameau. My theatre had cost 141,000 livres; I did not stop to calculate the cost of the Hameau at the time . and later I dared not.

But I was happy there. I even dressed simply there, although Rose Berlin assured me that simplicity was a great deal more difficult to achieve than vulgarity—and naturally more costly.

In a simple muslin gown I wandered along by the brook or sat on a grassy bank so cleverly built that none would have guessed it had not always been there. Sometimes I caught fish and these were cooked; for I had had my stream well stocked with fish as it naturally would be in the country. Sometimes I milked cows, but the floor of the cow house was always cleaned before I came and the cows brushed and cleaned. The milk would fall into a porcelain vase marked with my monogram. It was all very delightful and charming. The cows had little bells attached to them and my ladies and I would lead them by blue and silver ribbons.

It was enchanting. Sometimes I would pick flowers and take them into the house and arrange them myself. Then I would take a walk past the farmhouses to see how my dear peasants were getting on and making sine that they woe behaving naturally.

At least,” I said with satisfaction, ” the people in my Hameau are content. “

And that seemed a very good thing and made worthwhile the great sums of money which continued to go into making the place, for I was constantly adding to its beauties and discovering new ways of improving it.

Letters were arriving from Joseph, but they did not have the same effect as those of my mother. Moreover, that intense devotion which she had felt for me was lacking. Joseph thought me foolish—and he was certainly right in this; he lectured me, but then he lectured everyone.

He was writing to Mercy, of course, and Mercy remained my watchdog as he had during my mother’s lifetime.

Mercy, who was no respecter of persons and never minced his words, showed me what he had written to Joseph. I suppose in the hope that I would profit from it.

“Madame Royale is never apart from her mother and serious business is constantly interrupted by the child’s games, and mis inconvenience so fits in with the Queen’s natural disposition to be inattentive that she scarcely listens to what is said and makes no attempt to understand. I find myself more out of touch with her than ever.” He sighed as I read,-for my attention was straying even as he put the paper into my hands and I was wondering whether a pale pink sash would be more becoming for my darling child rather than the blue one she was wearing.

Poor Mercy! The heart had gone out of him since my mother’s death. Or was he realising at last that the task of rescuing me from my follies was hopeless?

Money I It seemed the constant topic of conversation—and such a boring one! There was apparently a deficit in the country’s finances which it was imperative to rectify: so said Monsieur Necker, who had been appointed as Comptroller-General of Finances. Turgot’s policy had failed and he had been followed by Clugny de Nuis, who had not given satisfaction. This man had not been successful although he had the support of the Parlement (largely because he had tried to undo all the work Turgot had done). He had established a state lottery, which had not worked out as he had planned it should, and his methods were leading to financial disaster. When he died there was a sigh of relief and my husband turned to Jacques Necker.

Necker was a Swiss, a self-made man who owned the London and Paris bank of Thellusson and Necker. He had proved his ability to juggle successfully with finances and was at the same time beloved of the philosophers, having won a prize for a literary work from the Academic Francaise; he had written several attacks on property-owners and deplored the contrast between rich and poor. He was a man of great contrasts perhaps more so than most. He was an idealist, yet he yearned for power. He refused to accept payment for his work; but then he was an extremely rich man and did not need money. He wanted to improve the conditions of the poor; he wanted to bring the country to prosperity; but he wanted all to know that he, Necker, and he alone was responsible for the good which was being done.

He was a Protestant, and since the reign of Henri IV no Protestant had been allowed to hold office. It indicates the impression Necker made on the King for this rule to be waived. Louis, who since he had been King had made a great effort to understand public affairs, was certain that the country needed Necker at this time.

Necker was a big man with thick eyebrows below a high forehead above which was a high tuft of hair. His complexion was yellow and his lips tight, as though he were calculating the cost of everything. He looked incongruous in fine velvets; I said to Rose Benin that he would look better in a Swiss bourgeois costume and that she had better make him one.

“Madame,” she replied, “I choose my clients with the utmost care.

Since I serve the Queen of France, it is my duty to do so. “

Necker, looking round for a means of cutting expenses, examined the royal household. We had too many servants. Madame Royale herself had eighty people in her household. None of us ever moved without being accompanied by a retinue of servants. Four hundred and six people lost their posts on the first day the resolution had been put into action; others followed.

But there seemed no perfect solution, for although we economised in our household, those who were dismissed were without employment.

Necker and his wife felt strongly about the state of our hospitals, and the King, always ready to further such good causes, was entirely in accord with them. The conditions at the Hfitel-Dieu in Paris were truly shocking. My husband went, incognito, and wandered through the wards, and when he came back he was in tears and very melancholy. But France did not want tears; it needed action. He knew this, and planned to pull down the old building and replace it by four new hospitals.

But where was the money to be found? He had to abandon that grand scheme and satisfy himself with enlarging the old building and adding three hundred beds.

And while this was happening my bills at the Hameau were steadily mounting.

Why was my folly not brought home to me? Why did everyone wish to indulge me? And was it indulging me? Was it not giving me -a helping hand towards my doom? Before our daughter had been born my husband had indulged me because he was so apologetic for the embarrassing situation in which he had placed me; afterwards, he could not thank me enough for proving to the world that he could be a father.

But why should I blame others? I was told of these things, but I did not listen. I would weep when I heard of conditions at the hospital.

After the birth of Madame Royale I had asked if I could found a lying-in hospital. This I had done. It salved my conscience. I could stop thinking about unpleasant things like dying people lying on the floor of the Hfitel-Dieu tormented by vermin while the rats leapt over them and there was no one to attend them or feed them.

Necker was constantly trying to bring in reforms—hospitals. prisons, the state of the poor. He instituted a new rule of loans not taxes, which made the people cheer him but did nothing to alleviate the situation.

Necker wanted popularity; he never criticised me. I know now that it was because the King doted on me and wished me to have my diversions; although Necker wanted to do good to France, he wanted most of all to bring power to Necker. Without the King’s support he could not do this, and therefore he must continue to please the Queen.

The lack of money seemed to affect everyone. There was a great scandal when the Prince de Guemenee became bankrupt This ruined several traders who had been supplying him for years. His enormous retinue of servants were in despair. The affair reverberated throughout Versailles and Paris; and naturally his wife could not hold her post as governess to the Enfants de France.

In her place I chose my dearest Gabrielle. She was not ‘eager. Perhaps what I loved most about the dear creature was her indifference to power. I think Gabrielle would have been happiest if she could have lived quietly in the country away from Courts. She had no desire for jewels, not even fine clothes. Perhaps she knew she was beautiful enough to do without them. She was lazy and liked nothing better than to lie on the lawns at the Trianon just with myself and perhaps a few of our very in ornate friends and idly chatter. She declared that she was not suited to the post. The Dauphin needed a nurse who was constantly watching over him.

“But shall watch over him,” I declared, ‘and so will his father and many others. We shall be together more than ever. You must accept, Gabrielle. “p>

Still she hesitated. But when her lover Vaudreuil heard, he insisted that she take the post. I often wondered what happened between them.

She declared she was terrified of him terrified but fascinated. So Gabrielle became the children’s governess. I now know that this friendship between myself and Gabrielle was one of the main causes of com plaint against me. How strange! It was so beautiful really a loving friendship: the desire of two people who had much in common to be together. Where was the harm in it? Yet it was misconstrued. I do not refer to the evil construction which was put on that friendship. There must always be libels about me and my friends.

I ignored them; they were so ridiculous. But her family were ambitious. I persuaded Louis to make Gabrielle’s husband a Duke, which meant that she had the droit au tabouret; then her family were constantly producing some member who needed a post at Court. Large sums were constantly being paid to that family from the ever-diminishing treasury. Money !

One lovely June day I was seated in my gilded apartment playing the harpsichord and my thoughts were wandering from the music. I was contemplating that I was growing old. I was nearly twenty-eight! My little daughter would be five years old in December and my little Dauphin two in October.

Ah, I sighed inwardly, I am no longer young; and a sadness took possession of me. I could not imagine myself old. What should I do when I could no longer dance, play and act? Arrange marriages for my children! Lose my sweet daughter to some monarch of a far-off country!

I shuddered. Never let me be old, I prayed.

There was a scratching at the door.

I looked up from the harpsichord and signed to the Princesse de Lamballe to see who wished to enter.

It was ‘an usher to announce a visitor.

I started as I saw him in the doorway. He had aged a good deal, but he was none the less attractive for that.

He is more distinguished than ever, I thought.

Comte Axel de Fersen was approaching. I rose. I held out my hand; he took it and kissed it.

I felt suddenly alive, glad of these moments. AU my gloomy thoughts of encroaching age had disappeared.

He had come back.

What glorious days followed. He came constantly to my drawing-room, and although we were never alone we could talk together and we did not need words to convey our feelings for each other.

When he talked to me of America he glowed with enthusiasm He had been awarded the Cross of Cincinnatus for bravery, but he did not wear it. It was forbidden by His Majesty King Gustave of Sweden, but the latter had been impressed by its bestowal, for he had made Axel a colonel in his army.

‘now,” I said, ‘you will stay in France for a while I shall have to have a pretext for doing so.”

“And you have none?”

My heart has a reason; but I cannot declare that to the world. There must be two reasons. “

I understood. His family were pressing him to return to Sweden and settle down. He should marry . a fortune. He should consider his future. How could that be furthered in France?

He told me of these matters and we smiled at each other in a kind of enchanted hopelessness. Never from the beginning did we believe we could be lovers in truth. How could we? I was a very different woman from the woman portrayed in the pamphlets. I was fastidious; I was essentially roman tic. A sordid bedchamber interlude had no charms for me. I believed in love love that is service, devotion, unselfishness . idealised love. It seemed to me that Axel gave me that. In his Swedish Army uniform he looked magnificent apart from all other men.

I saw him like that, and that was how he would always be to me. I was not looking for transient sensations, the gratification of a momentary desire. I dreamed that I was a simple noblewoman, that we were married, that we lived our idealised lives in a little house somewhere like the Hameau, where the cows were all dean and the butter was made in Sevres bowls and the sheep were decorated with silver bells and ribbons. I wanted nothing sordid to enter my paradise.

Moreover I had my babies. To me they were perfect. And jAey were Louis’s children. I would not have them different in any way, and my little Madame Royale already had a look of her father.

There was no logic in my dreams; there was no practical reasoning. I wanted romance and romance is not built on the realities of life.

Nevertheless I wished to keep Axel in France. I was delighted when Louis showed me a letter he had received from Gustave of Sweden. It ran:

“Monsieur my brother and cousin, the Comte de Fersen having served with approbation in Your Majesty’s armies in America and having thereby made himself worthy of your benevolence, I do not believe I am being indiscreet in asking for a proprietary regiment for him. His birth, his fortune, the position he occupies about my person … lead me to believe he can be agreeable to Your Majesty, and as he will remain equally attached to my own, his time will be divided between his duties in France and in Sweden….”

It did not take long to persuade Louis that this was an excellent idea.

Axel now had the opportunity to be more often at Versailles without arousing comment. He could come in the uniform of a French soldier.

“My father is not pleased,” he told me.

“He feels I fritter away my time.”

“Alas,” I replied, “I fear it too.” I never frittered more happily. ”

“There is a concert tonight. I shall look for you.” And so it went on.

Fersen pere was an energetic man. If his son determined to waste his time in France he must marry. There was a very eligible young woman who would suit him admirably. She had a fortune, her father was a power in France, but what she needed was a husband with birth and title. Germaine Necker, daughter of the Comptroller, was the chosen bride.

When Axel told me this I was dismayed. If he married, our romance would be shattered. It was true that I was married, that there could never be a chance of my marrying Axel, but who ever heard of a married troubadour! How could he be in constant attendance on me if he had a wife, and such a wife as Germaine Necker, a democrat and reformer, a woman of strong ideals learned from her parents?

“It must not be,” I said.

Fersen agreed, but he was gloomy. The Neckers had already been informed of the proposition and they thought it an excellent one.

Mademoiselle Necker would be mortally offended if he failed to propose marriage to her.

We must find another suitor for her,” I declared.

“One whom she will like better.”

I was horror-stricken. How could any woman like any one better than Axell Germaine Necker was a very determined woman. She would marry whom she pleased, she announced; and oddly, it seemed to me, she did not propose to marry Axel. For some time she had been in love with the Baron de Stael;

she made up her mind to marry him, and being the forceful young woman she was, in a very short time Germaine Necker had become Madame de Stael.

Axel showed me a letter he had written to his sister Sophie, of whom he was very fond and with whom he was always outspoken. She would understand his true feelings, he assured me.

I will never assume the bond of matrimony. It is against my nature. Unable to give myself to the person to whom I wish to belong and who really loves me, I will give myself to nobody. ” Romance had been preserved.

Even so, he could not stay indefinitely in France. Family affairs called him back to Sweden. But I knew that he was mine for ever. He would never marry; he had said so.

A few months later he was back in Paris, whither he had come with his master Gustave. I remember well the day the news was brought. Louis was on a hunting expedition and staying at Rambouillet, and when the news was brought that Gustave had arrived, my husband dressed so hastily to receive him that the King of France greeted his guest wearing one gold-buckled shoe with a red heel and one with a black heel

and a silver buckle. Not that Gustave, who was clearly indifferent to his own appearance, cared about that. But the important fact was that Axel was back in France.

I betrayed my emotions in a hundred ways. I immediately declared that we must give a fete at the Trianon in honour of the King of Sweden, and I was determined that never should there have been such a fete.

Those about me raised eyebrows; they tittered and whispered behind their hands. In whose honour was this fete being given?

I had never before liked Gustave, because the last time he had come to Prance I was Dauphine then he had given a diamond necklace to Madame du Barry’s favourite dog. This I had said was silly and vulgar, too, for he had done more honour to the King’s mistress than to the future King of France.

But now he was Axel’s King, and I longed to entertain him because then I should be entertaining Axel too.

We gave a performance in the Trianon theatre of Marmont el Le Dormeur Eveille; and after that we went into the English gardens.

Lights had been hidden in trees and bushes; and I had ordered that trenches be dug behind the Temple of Love, and these trenches were filled with faggots which when lighted made the Temple look as though it were supported by the flames.

Gustave commented that he could believe he was in the Etysian Fields.

That was the intention I had meant to convey; that was why I had commanded that everyone be dressed in white, so that they could wander about like in habitants of Paradise.

In this setting Axel and I could be closer than we ever had before. We could touch hands; we could even kiss. In white garments, and in the dusk of that enchanted night, we could believe that we were in another world, a world of our own where duty and reality had no place.

When supper was served we could no longer be together, and I walked from table to table seeing that my guests were served with venison which the King had killed in the chase, sturgeon, pheasants and all the delicacies known to us. This was how I wished it to be, for in spite of all the splendour and never had there been such a splendid fete even at this Court—I liked to preserve my illusion of living simply at the Trianon.

There were not many more opportunities for talking to Axel, and I knew that when Gustave departed he would have to go with him. A few days after our Elysian entertainment Axel and I, with Gustave and other members of our Court and the Swedish entourage, watched two men, Palatre de Rozier and a man named Proust, rise high above our heads in an air-inflated balloon. This had been embellished with the arms of France and Sweden, and the name of the balloon was the Marie Antoinette. I could scarcely believe my eyes, and everyone else was greatly impressed, expecting imminent disaster, but the balloon travelled from Versailles to Chanrilly and everyone was talking about the wonders of science.

But I was thinking of Axel, and that soon there must be another of those partings—each one harder to bear than the last.

I wanted to give him a memento, something by which he could remember me. So I gave him a little almanac on which I had embroidered the words:

“Poi, Amour, Esperance, Trois, unis a jamais.”

Then he went back to Sweden with his King.

Madame Vigee Le Brun was painting my portrait. “She was a charming dainty creature and I was attracted to her. I liked to chat with her while she worked. I watched the picture grow on her canvas, and one day I said: ” If I were not a Queen, one would say that I looked insolent, do you not think so? “

She turned the remark aside as one not expecting an answer. She might have replied that even though I was a Queen there were many who thought I looked insolent and haughty. The petulant lower lip which had been noticed when my appearance was being so freely discussed by the French envoys at my mother’s Court had become more pronounced. It was an inheritance from my Hapsburg ancestors.

I told Madame Le Brim this and she smilingly replied that she despaired of ever reproducing my complexion.

“It is so fresh, so flawless, that I have no colours to match it.”

Flattery for a Queen! But I certainly did possess this brilliant complexion and it would be false modesty to deny it.

My clothes were discussed at this time very freely throughout Paris as well as Versailles. It was discovered that I had paid 6,000 livres for one dress. Madame Benin was expensive, I knew, but then she was an artist, the finest couturiere in Paris. It was not that she was my sole dressmaker; she was the designer of my gowns and hats; but I had my sewing-women; there were special work-people for riding habits and dressing-gowns; there were makers of hoops and collarettes, flounces and petticoats.

My extravagances were a popular theme so I decided that Madame Vigee Le Brim should paint me in a gaulle, which was a blouse worn by the Creoles. This was as simple as a chemise and made of inexpensive lawn.

The picture was charming and was exhibited. The people flocked to see it, and it soon became apparent that nothing I could do was right.

The Queen was playing at being a chambermaid, was one comment.

“What she wishes to do is to ruin trade for the silk merchants and weavers of Lyons so that she can help the drapers of Flanders. Are they not her brother’s subjects?”

That was bad enough. But the most damaging and most significant comment was scribbled under the picture as it hung in the Salon:

“France, with the face of Austria, reduced to covering herself with a rag.”