The Queen`s Confession

Madame Deficit

Nothing could ever be quite the same again. For one thing, I myself had stepped across the theshold of awareness. I was no longer the frivolous child. I had become conscious of my growing unpopularity, and what had once seemed the height of pleasure now seemed a waste of time. The leader of fashion, the frivolous seeker of pleasure who threw herself so wholeheartedly into games such as descampativos and guerre pan pan seemed like a silly child. I had grown up. Moreover at the time of the verdict which had so distressed me I was heavily pregnant, and about a month afterwards I gave birth to another daughter. My little Sophie Beatrix was delicate from birth. Perhaps the grief and anger I suffered at the time of the verdict undermined my health and that of the child; but the baby took my mind completely from that affair, and I would sit nursing the whimpering child and tell myself that I did not mind what happened to me as long as she grew up strong and healthy.

I had now four children. It was what I had always wanted. To be a mother; to live with my children and for my children.

The libels about me grew wilder and they were everywhere, Pictures of me were stuck on the walls of Paris buildings and in all of them I was depicted wearing the diamond necklace. The story was that it was in my jewel box; that I had made a scapegoat of poor Madame de la Motte. If ever I rode out I was given sullen looks and silence. I thought often of my first visit to Paris when Monsieur de Brissac had told me that two hundred thousand Frenchmen were in love with me. How different it was now! Where had I gone wrong? I had been extravagant, careless, I knew, but I had never been vicious. Before my friends the Polignacs had urged me to interfere in the giving of appointments I had kept aloof from state affairs. But I had to admit that my desire to please them had caused me to interfere. Strangely enough, my husband, who was a shrewd man in many ways, seemed to trust my judgment. I think he was bemused because of the admiration my appearance excited in others, and yet I was not a promiscuous woman. I had been a faithful wife, which was something which could be said for few women at the Court of France. I was a romantic; the sensations I craved were for continual excitement, the daring escapade, the preliminaries of lovemaking, flirtations—I was a coquette by nature—but I had no deep sexual desires which must be gratified at all costs. Perhaps that early initiation which had been so frustratingly humiliating had had its effect upon me. Although I had always been surrounded by an admiring group of men and women who professed passionate friendships for me, these relationships had never been physical. I did not desire that. The very idea would have been repulsive to me. My life must be rather like a Watteau painting—charming, delicately romantic. But how could the people understand this? And my conduct was such as to give credence to the terrible stories of sexual orgies which were attached to my name. The King, however, preserved a reverence for me. I had been patient with his inadequacies, I had shared those humiliating attempts over a number of years and never complained to him nor blamed him, now I shared his triumphs. His manhood had been vindicated and I had played a very large pan in the vindication. Therefore he wished to please me.

And when I asked favours for my friends he was very loath to refuse them, even though his common sense might have told him it would have been wise to do so.

I often think of him now with great tenderness. I remember his love for our children. How people would smile when he spoke of my son and ‘the Dauphin’ as he did frequently, seeking opportunities to bring the children into the conversation. And our children loved us. We were never King and Queen to them, but dearest Papa and darling darling Maman. I knew they had this special feeling for me. Children love beautiful things and my exquisite gowns would set up cries of delight when I went into the nurseries. I would hug them to me, careless of the fine stuffs which were Rose Berlin’s delight. I was happy in my nursery; and I knew now more than ever that Louis and I should have been born in a humbler station of life. We were not fit to be a King and Queen; yet we could have been good simple parents. This was our tragedy.

How did the fearful disasters come upon us? Even now, I cannot entirely say. Even now I ask myself when that moment had come, the turning-point in affairs of men which can lead to greatness . or disaster. If my dear Gabrielle had not possessed such rapacious relations perhaps things might have been different. No, that was too small a matter.

I was accused of working against France for Austria. Every little incident was lumed to my disadvantage, as people will do when they appear to be consumed by an all-absorbing hate. I was Austrian and because of this was resented in France.

My brother Joseph was at war with Turkey and Prussia, and the French alliance with Austria had laid down that in such circumstances money or men should be sent to aid then-ally. I knew of course that what Joseph needed was men, not 15,000,000 livres which Monsieur de Vergennes and his Council had decided to send. I asked Vergennes to see me that I might ask that men should be sent and give my reasons why. Monsieur de Vergennes informed me that it was not politic to send Frenchmen to fight in the service of the Emperor Joseph; therefore the money would go. I explained that there was no lack of money at Vienna and that it was men who were needed, to which Vergenn’s asked me to remember that I was the mother of the Dauphin and cease thinking of myself as the sister of the Emperor. It was as though he believed I wished to sacrifice France for the sake of Austria, which was quite untrue. The money was sent. I was deeply distressed. I talked of it to my dear Campan, who during these days of uneasiness seemed to grow closer to me.

“How can they be so wicked!” I cried.

“They have sent all that money from the general post office making it known publicly that the carriages which are being loaded with French money are going to my brother in Austria. , they say, am sending money from France, where it is so badly needed, to my brother. And in truth I had not wished the money to be sent and it would have been sentp>

if I had belonged to an nations. He was an autocrat but he was a Ring of whom France could be proud. The pomp and etiquette of his Court did not appear to be ridiculous because he was in fact as grand as his setting. He was not named the Roi Soleil for nothing.

And there was his great-grandson, our dear grandfather who had been so charming to me on my arrival. It was during his long reign that the pedestal on which the Monarchy was placed had begun to crumble. Madame Campan’s father was right. It had begun long before we came to the throne. The people’s heritage had been squandered in careless and extravagant debauchery. It was later said that not since the days of ancient Rome was there such profligacy as was practised at the Court of Louis XV. But when my husband became King there should have been a change. There could never have been a King of France less given to extravagance, and he had never in his life practised debauchery He wanted to be good; he cared passionately for his people; he asked nothing for himself, only their confidence in the belief that he was their little father who would make Prance great again. Maurepas was there to advise him; he listened to Maurepas; but when I made my requests he would listen to me; and he was never sure to which of us he should give his support. He wavered. Was that what destroyed us? He was unable to think quickly, unable ever to make up his mind. This was not stupidity—quite the reverse. He was too ready to see both sides of a dispute, which was often the true aspect of the case, but it prevented his making a decision. Hence he. would go a little way in one direction hesitate, turn . give way and then sway again. My poor Louis, whose intentions were always so unselfish, who desperately sought to find the right course and seldom succeeded.

He had trained himself to be calm in all situations, and in this he was helped by his own nature. Yet all his good qualities worked against him; for this very calmness prevented his seeing disaster when it loomed right ahead of him. He would say: “Oh, it will pass. It is only a bagatelle.”

Had it not been for the state of the finances, we might have avoided tragedy. Was it our fault that the country’s finances were tottering on the edge of bankruptcy? To some extent perhaps I was to blame. My dear Trianon was like a greedy monster who put his head into the treasury and drank deep. My white and gold theatre, my exquisite gardens, my Hameau . they were all very expensive. But I did not think of the cost because they were so beautiful, and they made not only me but thousands of others happy.

Turgot, and Necker, had tried to right these finances and their methods had failed. Then we called in Calonne. His policy was to borrow from the people and decrease taxation. The yearly deficit was over 100,000,000 livres.

Everyone was talking of the Deficit. They had given me a new name. My picture, with the necklace, was seen everywhere, and underneath it were the words “Madame Deficit.”

When Calonne had first taken over we had all felt optimistic. We did not realise then that he was thinking only of the immediate present and that the fact that things did seem to improve was due solely to the confidence he inspired. But confidence was not enough. Whenever I asked if something might be done he would bow courteously and say: “If what Your Majesty asks is possible, the thing is done; if it is impossible it shall be done.”

This seemed a most encouraging and clever answer; but it was not the way to solve our difficulties.

Then I forgot all these tiresome financial matters, because the health of two of my children began to worry me and occupy my thoughts exclusively. I had accepted the certainty that little Sophie Beatrix would be a difficult child to rear; but now my eldest son, my little Louis-Joseph, the Dauphin, was showing signs of weakness. The trouble began with rickets, and in spite of all the careful attention which I and the doctors bestowed on him his condition worsened.

It soon became apparent that his spine was affected and my darling was going to be deformed. I was desperately unhappy; and my great consolation was in the good healthy looks of my dearest Madame Royale and her younger brother, the Duke of Normandy, who was healthy and lovely with his blue eyes and fair hair.

He was a strange child, my little Dauphin; perhaps it was because he was not as strong as other boys he was introspective and clever: a little old man, he seemed at times. I loved him fiercely as one does a child whose health gives continual cause for anxiety; I was constantly in the nursery so that I might keep an eye on the baby Sophie Beatrix.

Gabrielle was my close companion for she was governess to the children, and it was very disturbing when the Dauphin took a dislike to her. I could not understand how anyone could dislike Gabrielle she was so lovely in appearance, so gentle in manner, and she adored children. But there had always been intrigues against the Polignac family, and although Gabrielle was unlike the others she was a Polignac and no one forgot it. The Dauphin’s governor was the Due d’Harcomt and I believe he bred this hatred in the Dauphin for his governess. I tried to stop it and this was noticed. I soon realised that I, too, was not to be allowed complete freedom in the management of my own nurseries.

I remember one day taking marshmallows and jujube lozenges to Louis-Joseph, for he was very fond of sweetmeats. The Due dHarcourt respectfully pointed out that the Dauphin was only allowed to eat sweets as the faculty prescribed for him. I was momentarily angry that I should not be allowed to give him sweets, and then when I looked at his poor little body I thought perhaps it was the doctors who should decide.

It was only a few days later when Gabrielle told me that the Dauphin had sent her from the room.

“You are too fond of using perfumes, Duchesse,” he said, ‘and they make me feel ill. “

“But,” protested Gabrielle with tears in her eyes, “I was not using perfume.”

In some ways I found greater pleasure in my younger son, who was nearly two years old. He adored me and liked to climb all over me, examining Monsieur Leonard’s elaborate head-dress with the greatest interest and glee. He was gay and a little self-willed and very interested in everything about him; and because he was not such an important little person as his elder brother I thought of him as entirely my own.

Little Sophie Beatrix was growing weaker. I could not leave her; it was heartbreaking to see the wan little creature fighting for her breath. I shall never forget the day she died in my arms. I looked down at the still little face and until that time I had never known such unhappiness.

I laid her gently in her cradle and tried to comfort myself with thoughts of the other children; but looking back, it seems that perhaps that was the beginning of all my sorrows.

The financial affairs of the country were getting worse and whenever people talked of the Deficit they mentioned my name. My extravagances were responsible for it all; I was the Austrian woman who worked against France for the sake of Austria; I had crippled the finances of France by buying the diamond necklace, by the expenses of the Trianon.

I was indifferent to these slanders. I thought only of the deterioration in the health of my elder son.

He was an extremely clever boy and would talk so wisely that it seemed incredible in one so young; but as I watched his deformity become more pronounced with the weeks I wept for him. He could not play as his little brother did, but would sit with his dog Moufflet always beside him, for all the children had inherited from me a love of dogs.

My husband mourned with me for the loss of our little daughter and the poor state of our Dauphin’s health. I’m sure he was more disturbed on that score than by Calonne’s suggestions to call together certain members of the nobility and clergy—the Notables—that they might give their advice as to how the country could be extricated from the alarming position into which it was falling.

Calonne’s idea was to abolish privilege and levy taxes equally. It was an idea which needed the most solemn examination.

“Only an Assembly of Notables could fulfill it.”

My husband was alarmed. He knew that the calling together of this assembly was a direct blow at the power of the Monarchy; but Calonne pointed out that the great Henri Quatre had made use of it. Vergennes was against the idea and for a time Louis wavered between his ministers, and then the alarming state of the exchequer decided him to come down in favour of Calonne’s suggestion. This assembly would consist of seven Princes of the Blood, fourteen Archbishops and Bishops, thirty-six Dukes and Peers, twelve Councillors of State, thirty-eight Magistrates, twelve Deputies of State and twenty-five Municipal Officers of large towns, and was meant to be a cross section of the people who could be most use in advising the King and Parlement.

Once he had made the decision to call the Assembly of Notables Louis was pleased.

He told me on the morning of the 30th of December, I have not slept a wink but wakefulness was due to joy. “

Poor Louis I What little grasp he had of the true state of affairs.

How he believed that everyone was of the same disinterested outlook as himself!

He went on: “The maxim of our kings has been: ” As wUleth the King so willeth the law. ” Mine shall be: ” As willeth the happiness of the people, so willeth the King”.”

He was happier than he had been since the death of Sophie Beatrix, believing that this measure would solve our problems. La Fayette, recently returned from America, was firmly in favour of the summoning of the Notables and the abolition of privilege. He had come back with ideas of a new liberty, preaching liberty. And in the Palais Royale, the domain of our old enemy the Due d’Orleans, meetings were held in the gardens at which further abolitions were talked of. Liberty, Equality and Fraternity were discussed. Frenchmen had helped to fight for these across the sea, so why not in France?

It was hardly likely that the Notables should succeed. Were the nobility of France going to agree to pay taxes? Were they going to take on a greater share of the country’s finances? The Notables were impotent. It was said that they were not in a position to impose taxes. The only assembly which could do that was a States-General.

That was the first whisper of those words. The Notables were a failure. In the streets they were using the Anglo-French ride of NotAbles. This assembly could only resign, and was a sign for the downfall of Calonne, who had been responsible for calling it.

The people were demanding the recall of Necker.

Who to replace Calonne? The Abbe Vermond was at my elbow. His friend Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, was the man for the task.

He was certain of it. I always wanted to please my friends and Vermond had been close to me since my arrival in France -and even before therefore I longed to make this appointment. The King did not wish for it; everyone was against it; he wavered; but I persisted and eventually he gave way.

Now I was caught up in state affairs. Lomenie de Brienne was not the man for the job; in fact the Pariement was against him and everything he suggested was opposed. The very fact that I had helped to make his appointment set them against him; and when in a futile effort to please me he brought forward the proposal that I should have a place at the meetings of the council and so have a say in the actual government of the country the result was naturally to make me more unpopular than ever.

In the streets the people were shouting: “Shall we be governed by Madame Deficit? Never.” They paraded with placards on which were crude drawings of me always wearing the necklace, always inscribed “Madame Deficit.”

In the Palais Royale opinion against me was steadily whipped up; at Bellevue, which Louis had given to the aunts, my wickedness and depravity were talked of and fresh stories the more fantastic the better were concocted.

“It is the Queen! was the cry.

“The Queen who is responsible for the woes of our country. Who else but the chief character in the case of the Diamond Necklace, who but the Austrian Woman, Madame Deficit.”

Brienne had no new ideas. I was fast realising that I had been wrong to ask for his appointment. He could only think of borrowing, and wanted to float new loans. The Parlement disagreed with his propositions, and the King, in a rare moment of decision, decided to support the minister. I command you to carry out the orders of Monsieur de Brienne,” cried Louis.

Orleans was on his feet reminding the King that what he had said was illegal.

Knowing that Orleans was a danger, having some notion of the nightly gatherings in the Palais Royale, Louis for once was stem, and banished Orleans to his estates at VillersCotteret.

Now there was a division between the King and the Parlement; and all the Pariements of the country stood firmly behind the Parlement of Paris.

“Brienne must go,” was the cry not only in the capital but throughout the country. There was rioting in several towns; people were demanding the recall of Necker, and he could only come back if Brienne was dismissed.

The cry went up: “The country needs the States-General I’

Madame Louise, the youngest of the aunts, died at that time. I think of her now as one of the lucky ones who did not live too long, as most of us did.

She had died in her convent sure of her place in Heaven, for as she passed away she cried in her delirium as though TO her coachman: “To Paradise, quick. Full speed ahead.”

I think she must have been the happiest of the aunts, removed from the stresses which had become so much a part of our lives.

I was spending more and more time at the Trianon, walking in the gardens, talking to my peasants at the Hameau. I felt so strongly the need to escape. I kept the children with me—my two healthy ones and my Dauphin, who was growing visibly thinner every day.

Rose Benin came with new patterns. She had an exquisite silk—and also the most delightful satin I had ever seen.

“Everything is changed now,” I told her.

“I have many dresses in my wardrobe. They must suffice.”

She looked at me incredulously, and then smiled her roguish familiar smile.

“Wait until Your Majesty sees the new blue velvet.”

I have no wish to see it,” I replied. I shall not be sending for you so often now.”

She laughed and called to one of her women to unroll the velvet, but I turned away and walked to the window.

She was angry; I saw that, as she left the apartment;

her cheeks were pink and her eyes were half-closed. I wondered why I had ever liked the woman; and I was to wonder still more when I understood that she, growing more and more angry when she realised I really meant that I should not send for her, discussed my follies and extravagances with her customers and even went into the market places to do so.

I really had no desire for new dresses. I had changed. I must set a good example. I must cut down my expenses. I told the Due de Polignac that I should have to relieve him of his post of Master of my Horse.

It was in any case almost a sinecure and one which cost me fifty thousand livres a year. I had created it for the sake of Gabrielle. I also relieved her lover, the Comte de Vaudreuil, of his post of Grand Falconer.

“This will make us bankrupt!” cried the infuriated Comte.

Better you than France,” I replied with some sharpness. I was beginning to see how foolish I had been in bestowing such gifts on these people; I was realising how they had battened on my careless generosity, which was in fact no generosity at all for I was giving away something which did not belong to me.

I felt these people were already turning from me—not Gabrielle, who had never asked for anything for herself, only favours for her family because they pressed her to; not the Princesse de Lamballe, who was a disinterested friend; and not my dear sister-in-law Elisabeth, who cared deeply for my children and so had made an even deeper bond between us. These were my true friends. But perhaps even at this stage the others had already begun to desert.

But there was one friend who had returned to France and of whom I was very much aware. This was Comte Axel de Fersen. He appeared at gatherings and I never had more than a discreet word or so with him. But I was conscious of a great serenity because he was there. I felt that he was awaiting that moment when I should give the sign and then he would be at my side.

The Dauphin was growing weaker. I was constantly in his apartments, watching over him. My anxiety for him could make me forget for a time these state affairs. Here was tragedy and one which was more real to me, more heartrending than the difficulties of France. I was writing to Joseph about him:

“I am worried about the health of my eldest boy. His growth is somewhat awry, for he has one leg shorter than the other and his spine is a little twisted and unduly prominent. For some time now he has been inclined to attacks of fever and he is thin and frail.”

I wanted to be with him the whole of the time, nursing him myself. But that was not possible. The Opera House had requested that the King and I attend a gala performance and Louis said that he thought it would be expected that we should show ourselves.

I dreaded it. I told him so. They wished to see him; they loved him, but they hated me. They were fed on the cruel lest lies about me. I hated the thought of going to the Opera House, which in itself would be a reminder of those days when I had danced so madly at the Opera balls.

“It is our duty to go,” said Louis sombrely. I went to the nurseries to show the children my gown; little Louis-Charles shrieked with delight and stroked the soft silk of my skirt.

“Beautiful beautiful Maman,” he said. And he insisted on showing me Moufflet’s latest tricks. Moufflet was the cleverest dog in the world and he wished he were his. My poor little Dauphin was lying in his bed, his misshapen body hidden; I wanted to weep as I bent over and kissed him. He put his arms about my neck and clung to me; he loved me when there was no one there to poison him against me. I left for the

Opera with the memory of my nurseries staying with me. It was a brilliant occasion and I was delighted that the King was so loudly cheered. There were no cheers for me, though, and I heard the shout of “Madame Deficit I’ and: Where is the Diamond Necklace?”

As I stepped into the royal box I saw the paper which had been pinned there. It was hastily removed, but not before I had caught sight of the words: “Tremble, Tyrants.”

I did tremble, throughout the opera, uncontrollably. But Louis sat beside me smiling with that calm smile which it seemed nothing could shake.

What joy it was when my son seemed to be recovering his health a little. I forgot all my anxieties in letting myself believe that he was really growing stronger. He was such a clever child and he was always amusing me with his sayings.

“He will be a very wise King,” I told his father; and Louis agreed with me.

They had put him into a corselet to try to straighten his spine and he never complained. He was like a little man.

I was anxious that he should learn how to manage his finances.

Finances were very much in my mind at that time and I bad ordered his governor and governess not to give him more than his allowance. He was very taken with a mechanical doll he had seen, and greatly desired it.

I planned to give it to him, for he told me. he had asked God to see that he received it.

He told me that one of his attendants had reminded him that it was better to ask God for wisdom than riches.

“To which, Maman,” he told me with a smile, “I replied that while I was about it I saw no reason not to ask for both at once.”

What could one do with such a child but marvel at him?

“My darling,” I cried, you must promise me to eat up all the nourishing food you are given. You must grow into a strong man. Your Papa was not strong as a boy, but look at him now. “

“I want that,” he told me.

“You should say we want, my darling … as the King does.” I was trying to teach him to become a King, for I always remembered his father’s saying that he had been taught nothing.

The King and I say “we want” together, Maman. But I am right, for the King does not say we for himself. “

He looked so grave and’ wise and I did not know what I wanted to do weep or laugh.

And as I was beginning to hope, he became ill again. He awoke in the night suffering terrible convulsions. He suffered so, my dearest son; and I could do nothing for him. The doctors were always examining, always suggesting treatment. They tortured him with blisterings and they talked of cauterising his spine. He bore all this with a sweetness which was amazing. He found it comforting to lie on a billiard table and I had a mattress placed on it for his greater comfort. He read a great deal history mostly. I was there once when the Princesse de Lamballe asked him if he picked out the exciting parts of the book it was a history of the reign of Charles VII and he looked at my dear silly Lam bane almost reprovingly and replied: “I do not know enough about it to choose, Madame; and it is all so interesting.”

As he grew weaker he did not want anyone with him but myself. His eyes would brighten as I came in.

“Maman,” he would say, ‘you are so beautiful. I feel happier when you are near me. Tell me of the olden days. “

He meant by that, those days when he was able to run about and play as his young brother loved to do. And Moufflet would curl up beside him and I would tell him of little incidents from the past such as the occasion at the Trianon theatre when he had sat on Papa’s knee and watched me on the stage.

“I remember, I remember,” he would cry.

“And what happened?”

He would nod as I told, knowing it word for word, for indeed I had told him the story many times, of how I had forgotten my words and Monsieur Campan in the prompter’s box, his large spectacles on his nose, had sought to find the place. My little son cried out in a dramatic tone which could be heard all over the theatre, “Monsieur Campan, take off those big spectacles. Maman cannot hear you.”

He laughed and I laughed with him, but as always I was near to tears.

The air of Versailles was perhaps not pure enough for him. La Muette would perhaps be better, suggested one of the doctors.

It is unprotected from the cold winds,” said another.

Ah, but those winds sweep the air clear. “

“Monseigneur’s chamber at Versailles is damp,” said Sabatier.

“The windows look on the Swiss Lake, which is stagnant.”

“Nonsense,” replied Lassone.

“The air of Versailles is healthy.”

My husband remembered that when he was a child he had been sent to Meudon and the air there was said to have made him stronger.

Louis had made the decision. The Dauphin was sent to Meudon.

The members of the States-General were to assemble in Versailles. I was afraid of the States-General, because I was aware of an anxiety among those whom I considered to be my true friends. Axel on those occasions when we exchanged a word or two made me aware of his alarm.

I knew that he considered the position very grave and that he was afraid for me.

“Louis,” I said to my husband, ‘would it not be better to hold the Assembly some distance from Paris? “

“They must come to Versailles and the capital,” my husband replied.

“They will rob you of your power and your dignity,” I said. I was certain of it. They were elected from all classes of society. Members of the lower classes would have a say in the affairs of the Government. It was a state of affairs that neither Louis XIV nor Louis XV would have tolerated. But my husband assured me that it was necessary.

There were great preparations for the opening ceremony; hopes had risen in the country; it seemed as though everyone was hoping for a miracle from the States-General.

When I went to Meudon to see my son I forgot all my anxieties about the coming ordeal—for I must take my place in the procession—because the Dauphin was clearly rapidly failing.

His face lit up when he saw me.

“The best times,” he said, ‘are when you are with me. “

I sat by his billiard table holding his hand. What should I wear, he wanted to know.

I told him that my gown was to be of violet, white and silver.

That will be beautiful,”” he said.

“If I were strong and well I should ride in the carriage with you.”

“Yes, my darling. So you must get well quickly.”

“I could not do it in time, Maman,” he said gravely. And then: “Maman, I want to see the procession. Please, please let me see you ride by. I want to see you and dear Papa.”

“It would tire you.”

“It never tires me to see you. It makes me feel better. Please, Maman.”

I knew that I could not deny him this and I told him that it should be arranged.

The bells were ringing and the sun shone brightly. This was the 4th of May in the year 1789—the year of the assembling of the States-General. The streets of Versailles were colourful with decorations and everywhere the fleur-delis was fluttering in the light breeze. I had heard that there was not a single room to be found in Versailles.

There was optimism everywhere. I heard it whispered that the old methods were passing, now that the people were to have a hand in managing the country’s affairs. That was what the States-General was all about. The King was a good man. He had invited the States-General.

Taxes were to be abolished—or equally shared. Bread would be cheap.

France was to be a heaven on earth.

I remember that day clearly. I was so unhappy. I hated the warm sunshine, the faces of the people, their cheering voices (none of the cheers were for me). The bands were playing. There were the French and Swiss Guards. Six hundred men in black with white cravats and slouched hats marched in the procession. They were the Tiers Etai, deputies of the commoners from all over the country; there were three hundred and seventy-four lawyers among them. Following these men were the Princes, and the most notable of these was the Due d’Orieans, who was already well known to the people as their friend. What a contrast the nobles made with those men in black—in lace and gold and enormous plumes waving in their hats. There were the Cardinals and Bishops in their rochets and violet robes— a magnificent sight. No wonder the people had waited for hours to see them pass. In that procession were men whose names were to haunt me in the years ahead—Mirabeau, Robespierre; and the Cardinal de Rohan was there too.

My carriage was next. I sat very still looking neither to right nor left. I was aware of the hostile silence. I caught whispers of “The Austrian Woman!”

“Madame Deficit.”

“She is not wearing the necklace today.” Then someone shouted “Vive d’Orieans.” I knew what that meant.

Long live my enemy. They were shouting for him as I rode by.

I tried not to think of them. I must smile. I must remember that my little son would be watching the procession from the veranda over the stables where I had ordered he should be taken.

I thought of him instead of these people who showed so clearly that they hated me. I said to myself: “What should I care for them? Only let him grow strong and well and I shall care for nothing else.”

I could hear the crowd shouting for my husband as his carriage came along. They did not hate him. I was the foreigner, the author of all their misfortunes. They had chosen me for the scapegoat.

How glad I was to return to my apartments, the ordeal over.

I was sitting at my dressing-table, my women about me. I was tired, but I knew I should not sleep when I retired to bed. Madame Campan had placed four wax tapers on my toilette table and I watched her light them. We talked of the Dauphin and his latest sayings and how he had enjoyed the procession; and suddenly the first of the candles went out of its own accord.

I said: “That is strange. There is no draught And I signed to Madame to relight it.

This she did, and no sooner had she done so than the second candle went out.

There was a shocked silence among the women. I gave a nervous laugh and said: “What candles are these, Madame Campan? Both go out.”

“It is a fault in the wick, Madame,” she said.

“I doubt not.” Yet the manner in which she said it suggested that she did doubt her statement.

A few minutes after she had lighted the second candle the third went out.

Now I felt my hands trembling.

“There is no draught,” I said.

“Yet three of these candles have gone out … one after another.”

“Madame,” said my good Campan, it is surely a fault. “

There have been so many misfortunes,” I said.

“Do you think, Madame Campan, that misfortune makes us superstitious?”

“I believe this could well be so, Madame,” she answered.

“If the fourth taper goes out, nothing can prevent my looking upon it as a fatal omen.”

She was about to say something reassuring when the fourth taper went out.

I felt my heart heavy. I said: “I will go to bed now. I am very tired.”

And I lay in bed, thinking of the hostile faces in the procession, the whispering voices; and of the little face which I had seen from the stable veranda.

And I could not sleep.

We were summoned to Meudon—Louis and I—and we set out with all speed.

I sat by my son’s bed; he did not wish me to go. His hot little hand was in mine and he kept whispering, “Maman, my beautiful Maman.”

I felt the tears running-down my cheeks and I could not stop them.

“You are crying for me, Maman,” he said, ‘because I am dying, but you must not be sad. We all have to die. “

I begged him not to speak. He must save his breath.

“Papa will look after you,” he said.

“He is a good kind man.”

Louis was deeply affected; I felt his hand on my shoulder, kind and tender. It was true he was a good man. I thought of how we had longed for children, how we had suffered because we could not have a son, and now how we suffered because we had one.

Little Louis-Joseph was fighting for his life. I think he was trying to cling to it because he knew I so much warned him to live. He was thinking of me even in those last moments.

I cried to myself: “Oh God, leave me my son. Take anything from me but leave me my son.”

But one does not make bargains with God.

I felt a warm hand in mine and there was my youngest boy. Louis had sent for my daughter and son to remind me that they were left to me.

On one side of me my lovely ten-year-old daughter, and on the other, four-year-old Louis Charles

“You should comfort your mother,” said the King gently.

And I held my children close to me and was, in some measure, comforted.