The Queen`s Confession

The Grim Rehearsal

Soon after we became King and Queen, Louis gave me the gift which brought more pleasure to me than anything else I ever possessed.

He came into our bedchamber one day and said rather sheepishly that it was the custom of each King of France to present his Queen on her accession to the throne with a residence which should be all her own to do with as she would. He had decided to present me with Le Petit Trianon.

Le Petit Trianon! That enchanting little house! Oh, it was delightful.

I loved it. Nothing, I declared, could have made me happier.

He stood smiling at me while I threw my aims about his neck and hugged him.

“It is very small.”

It’s a doll’s house!

“I cried.

“Hardly grand enough for the Queen of France, perhaps.”

“It’s beautiful!” I cried.

“I wouldn’t exchange it for any chateau in the world.”

He began to chuckle quietly as he often did at my wild enthusiasm.

“So it’s all mine!” I cried.

“I may do as I like there? There I can live like a simple peasant.

I’ll tell you one thing, Louis, there is one guest who will not be invited there. It is Etiquette. That may remain behind in Versailles.”

I summoned the Princesse de Lamballe and with some of my youngest ladies went to look at Le Petit Trianon without delay. It looked different from when I had glanced casually at it en passant. I suppose because it was entirely mine. I loved it because it was small a refuge, situated just far enough from the palace to be a retreat and not far enough for one to have to make a journey to reach it.

It was delightful a villa. This was how humbler people lived; and how often during the life of a Queen, with so many tiresome ceremonies to be performed, did one long to be humble. Little ClaremontTonnerre cried that it had been the mais on de plaisir of Louis XV the little love-nest where he and Madame du Barry had taken refuge from Versailles.

“That is all over,” I said firmly.

“Now it will be known as the refuge of Marie Antoinette. We will change it. We will make it entirely my house so that nothing remains of that woman.”

“Poor creature. Doubtless she would like to change Font aux Dames for the Trianon now.”

I frowned. I did not want to gloat over my enemies’ mis fortunes. I never did. I merely wanted to forget them.

There were eight rooms only, and we were all very amused by the odd contraption which was a kind of table and which could be made to rise from the basement to the dining-room. This had been constructed for the use of Louis XV, so that when he brought a mistress to the Petit Trianon who did not wish to be seen by servants, a meal could be prepared in the basement and sent up to the dining room without any servants appearing. We shrieked with laughter as the old thing creaked up and down.

The house was tastefully furnished. My grandfather would doubtless have seen to that. I did not think the furniture with its delicately-embroidered upholstery was the choice of du Barry.

“Oh, it is perfect perfect!” I cried running from room to room.

“What fun I shall have here!”

I ran to the windows and looked out on beautiful lawns and gardens. I could do so much here. I could refurnish it if I wished, although I liked the present furniture. There must be nothing overpoweringly splendid to remind me of Versailles. Here I would entertain my dearest friends and we should cease to be Queen and subjects.

I could not see Versailles from the windows, which was an added charm.

Here I could come when I wanted to forget the chateau and Court life.

I was delighted that my husband had given me this little house. How much more charming than Le Grand Trianon which Louis XIV had built for Madame de Maintenon. I could never have felt so pleased with that.

I could scarcely wait to get back to Versailles to tell my husband how enchanted I was with his gift

In February my brother Maximilian visited me. My mother had sent him on a tour of Europe in order to complete his education, so naturally be came to see me. He was eighteen, and as soon as I saw him I realised how my years in France had changed me. This was young Max who had sat with Caroline and me in the gardens of Schonbrunn and watched our elder brothers and sisters perform. He had always been chubby, but now he had grown fat; and he seemed awkward and decidedly inelegant.

I was rather ashamed of him, particularly now that, knowing the French so well, I could imagine what they were saying about him, although they received him so graciously. But graciousness was lost on Max; he didn’t recognise it; he didn’t see what mistakes he made, because he thought everyone who didn’t agree with him must be wrong. He was just like Joseph but without my eldest brother’s good sense.

Louis asked him to sup with us privately and behaved as though he were a brother, and I was pleased to ask questions about home and my mother. Yet the more I listened, the more I realised how far from the old life I had grown. It was five years since I had shivered naked in the Salon de

Remise on that sandbank in die Rhine. I felt I had become French, and when I looked at Max heavy, awkward, humourless I was not sorry.

It was inevitable that there should be gossip about my brother; all his little gaucheries were recorded and exaggerated. Through the Court they spoke of him as the Arch-Fool instead of the Archduke, and stories about him were circulated through the streets of Paris by my enemies.

Max was not only ignorant of French etiquette but deter mined not to bow to it; and because of this, a contretemps arose. As a visiting royalty it was his duty to call on the Princes of the Blood Royal and they awaited a call from him; but Max stubbornly said that as he was a visitor to Paris it was their duty to call on him first. Both were adamant, and a difficult situation was created, for none of them would give way, and consequently Max did not meet the Princes. Orleans, Conde and Conti declared this was a deliberate insult to the Royal House of France.

When my brother-in-law Provence gave a banquet and a ball in honour of my brother, the three Princes of the Blood Royal made their excuses and left the city. It was a clear insult to my brother.

That in itself was bad enough, but when the Princes returned, very ostentatiously, to Paris, the people crowded into the streets to cheer them and murmur against Austrians.

When Orleans came to Court I reproached him.

“The King invited my brother to supper,” I said, ‘which you never did.”

“Madame,” replied Orleans haughtily, ‘until the Archduke called on me I could not invite him. “

“This eternal etiquette! It wearies me.”

How impulsively I spoke! That would be interpreted as: “She pokes fun at French customs; she would substitute those of Austria.” I must guard my tongue. I must think before I spoke.

“My brother is only in Paris for a short time,” I explained. There is so much for him to do. “

Orleans coldly inclined his head; and my husband, seeing him, expressed his annoyance by banishing Orleans, with Conde and Conti, from the Court for a week.

That was small consolation, for the Princes were constantly appearing in public and being cheered by the people as though they had done something very brave and commendable in refusing to be kind to my brother.

I was not sorry to see Max go. My sister Maria Amalia was causing a certain amount of scandal through her behaviour in Parma. This was discussed in Paris, and it was considered that I had somewhat disreputable relations.

But what can you expect of Austrians? ” people were asking each other.

After Max’s visit I don’t think the people of France were ever quite so fond of me as they had been before.

While I was occupied with the Trianon—and in fact I gave little serious thought to anything else at this time—a very grave situation had arisen in France.

I did not clearly understand it, but I knew that the King was very worried. He did not wish to speak to me of these anxieties, for my attempts to get him to reinstate Choiseui had strengthened him in his desire to keep me out of politics. He liked to see me happy with the Trianon, and that kept me busy.

As I saw it, what happened was this.

In August Louis had appointed Anne Robert Jacques Turgot as Comptroller-General of Finances. He was a very handsome man, about forty-seven, with abundant brown hair which hung to his shoulders; he had well-cut features and dear brown eyes. My husband was fond of him because there was a-similarity between them. They were both awkward in company. I once heard that when he was a child Turgot used to hide himself behind a screen when there were visitors at his home and only emerge after they had gone. He was always awkward and blushed easily; and this gaucherie rather naturally endeared him to my husband.

Louis was very pleased on the appointment and talked to me a little about Turgot, but I was too much immersed in my own affairs to listen for long; but I did gather that the finances of the country were, in my husband’s opinion, such as to cause grave concern, and that Turgot had what he called a three-point programme, which was:

No bankruptcy.

No increase in taxation.

No loans.

You see,” said my husband, ‘there is only one way to make possible Turgot’s programme. Complete economy to reduce expenses. We must save twenty millions a year and we must pay off our old debts ” Yes, of course,” I agreed, and I was thinking: Pale blue and pale cherry for the bedroom. My bedroom! A single bed where there will not be room for my husband…. Louis was looking apologetic.

“Turgot has told me that I must look to my own expenses and that my first duty is to the people. He said:

“Your Majesty must not enrich those he loves at the expense of the people.” And I agreed with him wholeheartedly. I am fortunate to have found such an able minister. “

“So fortunate,” I agreed. No stiff satin, I thought. No heavy brocade.

This is suitable for Versailles. But for my darling Trianon . soft silks in delicate shades.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Oh yes, Louis. I agree with you that. Monsieur Turgot is a very good man and we must econo mise We must think of the poor people.”

He smiled and said that he knew I would be beside him in all the reforms he intended to make because he knew that I cared about the people as much as he did.

I nodded. It was true. I did want them all to be happy and pleased with us.

I wrote to my mother that day:

“Monsieur Turgot is a very honest man, which is most essential for the finances.”

I realise now that it was one thing to have good intentions and another to carry them out. Monsieur Turgot was an honest man, but idealists are not always practical, and luck was against him, because the harvest that year was a bad one. He established internal free trade, but that could not keep the price of corn down, because of the shortage. Moreover, roads were bad and the grain could not be brought to Paris. Turgot met this situation by throwing on the market grain from the Royal Granaries, which had the effect of bringing down the price, but as soon as it was used up the price rose again and the people were more discontented than ever.

Then there was a distressing rumour that in various pans of the country people were starving, and there was murmuring against Turgot.

The news got worse. Riots broke out at Beauvais, Meaux, Saint-Denis, Poissy, Saint Gennain; and at Villers Cotterets a crowd collected and started to raid the markets. Boats on the Oise which were carrying grain to Paris were boarded and sacks of corn were split open. When the King heard, that the raiders had not stolen the precious grain but thrown it into the river he was very disturbed.

He said gravely: “It does not sound like hungry people, but those determined to make trouble.”

Turgot, who was suffering acutely from the gout and had to be carried to my husband’s apartments, was constantly there.

I had been at Le Trianon revelling in the paintings of Watteau which adorned the walls and deciding that I should not attempt to alter the carved and gilded panelling, and I returned to find my husband preparing to leave for the hunt. He had spent many hours in close consultation with Turgot and he told me that he wanted to get away for a while to think about the depressing situation. Then Turgot and Maurepas had left for Paris, for word had come to them that organised agitators were planning to lead raids on the markets there. My husband decided to take a short respite; in any case he could always think more easily in the saddle.

I was in my apartments when the King came bursting in on me.

“I had just left the Palace when I saw a mob,” he said.

“They are coming from Saint Gennain and are on their way to the Versailles market.”

I felt the blood rushing to my face. The mob . marching on Versailles. Old Maurepas and Turgot away in Paris and no one to send them away. No one, that was, but the King.

He looked pale but resolute.

“I find it hard to bear when the people are against us,” he said.

Then I thought of that moment when we had known we were King and Queen of France and how we had both cried out that we were too young, and I forgot the Trianon;

I forgot everything but the need to stand beside him, to support him, to will him to be strong. I took his hand and he pressed my fingers.

There is no time to be lost,” he said.

“Action, prompt action, is necessary.” Then the old look of self-doubt was in his face.

“The right action,” he added.

The Princes of Beauvau and de Poix were in the chateau and he sent for them poor substitutes for Maurepas and Turgot. He briefly explained the situation. He said: “I will send a message to Turgot, and then we shall have to act.”

I knew he was praying silently that the ac don he took would be the right one. And I prayed with him.

He sat down and wrote to Turgot:

Versailles is attacked. You can count on my firmness. I have ordered the guards to the market place. I am pleased with the precautions you have taken in Paris, but it is what could happen there that alarms me most. You are right to arrest the people of whom you speak, but when you have them remember I wish there to be no haste and many questions. I have just given orders what shall be done here, and for the markets and mills of the neighbourhood. ” I stayed with him, and I was gratified that that seemed to please him.

“What alarms me is,” he said, ‘that this should appear to be an organised riot. It is not the people. The situation is not as bad as that. There is nothing that we could not set co rights given time. But this is organised planned the people are being incited against us. Why? “

I thought of how the people had cheered me when I first went to Paris and Monsieur de Brissac had said two hundred thousand people had fallen in love with me; I thought of the people cheering us in the Bois de Boulogne.

“The people love us, Louis,” I said.

“We may have our enemies, but they are not the people.”

He nodded, and again I realised by the way he looked at me that he was glad I was there.

That was a terrible day. I could eat nothing; I felt faint and slightly sick. The waiting was terrible, and when I heard the sounds of shouting approaching the chateau I was almost relieved.

That was my first glimpse of an angry mob. There they were in the grounds of the chateau unkempt, in rags, bran dishing sticks and howling abuse. I stood a little way back from the window watching.

Someone threw something; I could see it on the balcony. It looked like mouldy bread.

Louis said he would speak to them, and bravely he stepped on to the balcony. There was a moment’s silence, and he cried: “My good people . But his voice was drowned in their shouting. He turned to me and I saw the tears in his eyes.

“You tried. You did your best,” I assured him, but I could not comfort him. He was sad and depressed, but he was like a different man from the Louis I had known before. There was a resolution about him. I knew that he would not be afraid whatever happened, and that he had one purpose; to bring cheap bread to his people.

I saw the guards come into the courtyard led by the Prince de Beauvau.

No sooner had he appeared than the mob turned on him; they threw flour at him the precious flour needed for bread and he was covered in it from head to foot.

“We shall march on the chateau,” cried a voice in the crowd.

The Prince cried: “What do you want the price of bread to be?”

“Two sous,” was the answer. “Then two sous shall it be,” said the Prince. There was a wild shout of triumph and the people turned from the chateau to rush to the bakers demanding bread at two sous. Thus ended the riots at Versailles; but several of those who had been arrested turned out to be not starving peasants at all but men of substance—one of them was Artois’s chief cellarer; and some of the sour bread of which the people had complained was picked up and turned out to be bread mixed with ashes. This was very disturbing indeed. Louis wrote at once to Turgot:

We are peaceful now. The riot was beginning to be violent but the troops calmed them. The Prince de Beauvau asked them why they had come to Versailles and they replied that they had no bread. I have decided not to go out today, not through fear but so that all may be calm and settle down. Monsieur de Beauvau tells me that a foolish compromise was made which was to let them have bread at two sous.

There was no other thing to do, he says, but let them have it at this or its present price. The bargain is made now but precautions should be made to prevent their believing they can make laws. Give me your advice on this Turgot returned at once to Versailles.

“Our consciences are clear,” he told the King; ‘but the current price of bread must be restored or there will be disaster. ” In spite of Turgot’s precautions there were riots in Paris;

the Chief of Police Lenoir was dilatory; it may have been that’ he did not wish to show himself against the rioters.

This was all very alarming—Lenoir refusing to do his duty, and more bread being found which had been turned mouldy by a special process.

Turgot acted promptly and dismissed Lenoir, replacing him by a man named Albert who was a supporter of his and immediately went into action. Arrests were made and order was restored; the entire Parlement was summoned to Versailles, where the King received them.

“I must stop this dangerous brigandage,” he said.

“It could quickly become rebellion. I am determined that neither my good town of Paris nor my kingdom shall suffer. I rely on your fidelity and submission when I am determined to take measures which ensure that during my reign I shall not have to take them again.”

He was determined, as he had told me, before receiving the Parlement, that order should be brought back to his kingdom, and that the real culprits of this rising should be discovered and dealt with.

But the riots in Paris continued; and once again those who were arrested proved to be not poor people in need of bread but men and women with money in their pockets.

Louis was very distressed.

“This is a plot,” he told me, a plot against us. That is what disturbs me so. “

“But you are behaving like a true King, Louis. I have heard it said again and again. They tell me that the manner in which you spoke to the Parlement has won everyone’s admiration.”

“I always find it easier to talk to fifty men than to one,” he said with his shy smile.

I cried: “You will discover who made this plot, and then all will be well. I think the French are happy to understand that they have a strong King whom they can trust.”

He was delighted and murmured: “You jump to conclusions. It is not all over yet.”

Nor was it. As he and I passed out of his room we saw a nonce pinned on the door. I read it and gasped. It said:

“If the price of bread does not go down and the Ministry is not changed, we will set fire to the four corners of the Chateau of Versailles.”

I stared at it in horror. I looked at my husband, who had turned pale.

“Louis,” I whispered, it is as though they hate us. “

It is not the people! ” he cried.

“I will not believe it is the people !’ But he was shaken. And so was I. It was like a cold wind blowing through the palace.

Albert reported that he had made many arrests. A wig maker and a gauze-maker had been caught stealing and it was decided to make an example of them. They were hanged on two gallows eighteen feet high so that they could be an example to the rioters.

Louis was distressed.

“I wish they could find the ringleaders,” he said again and again. I do not wish the people who have only been led away to be punished. ” If he could he would have pardoned those two men, but Turgot insisted that there must be an example, and certainly the hanging of these two men sobered the people. The rioting died down; the insurrection ” La Guerre des Farines’ was over.

It was clear that some organisation, some secret band of men, was using the grain shortage to build a revolution. Fortunately the resolution of the King and the prompt action of Turgot, the replacement of Lenoir by Albert and the solidarity of the Parlement, had avoided that.

Everyone was speculating as to who could have been behind it. Some said it was the Prince de Conti, whom Max had so offended when he had visited us. It was whispered that he hated me and my family so much that he wished to bring down the Monarchy.

It seemed ridiculous, but it was true that the riots had started in Pontoise, and he had a house there.

There were all sorts of whispers; I listened for a while. I even heard that Conti was a member of a secret organisation suspected of all kinds of subversive activities.

We ought to have been thankful for a grim warning; we should not have rested until we found out the truth of these rumours. Surely it could not have been difficult had we really tried.

But we were all too thankful that the guerre des farines was over, to wish to resurrect causes. We wanted to forget it.