Authors: Kathryn Lasky
Imagine my horror when this large awkward boy came shambling up, his eyes not on me but on the ground. I saw the consternation in the King’s face, and I also saw him give the Dauphin a poke in the ribs. Louis Auguste came forward. I thought I might faint. I was absolutely repelled. He looks nothing like his picture. He is fat and oafish. His skin has pimples. His eyes are dim and squinty. He smells, but worst of all he is not very nice. I feel like such a fool, such a fool. I had such high hopes. To think that I was worried what he might think of me, that I would not be pretty enough! I had even entertained the notion that the Dauphin might be the most handsome young man on earth, or a god from Mount Olympus! Phuff! What a fool I have been!
Here I have spent over a year of my life being educated, learning etiquette and proper manners for this Court, and this ugly oaf can hardly speak. In the carriage I was seated between him and his grandfather. The Dauphin said not one single word. He did nothing but look at his feet and then pick his fingernails, which were dirty!
We have just been taken to the chateau of Compiègne and, thank goodness, shown to separate rooms.
The King’s Master of Ceremonies has just left after having been led in by the Countess. He presented me with twelve wedding rings to try on to see which fit best. None did, really. I settled for the loosest.
May 15, 1770
Muette Castle, near Versailles
The roadways were so choked with people to see me that the carriages crawled like snails. We were forced to stop this evening at this castle, La Muette, a few miles from Versailles. We had what the French Royal Family, the Bourbons, consider a “small family supper.” There were only thirty-five of us. I have met for the first time the Dauphin’s brothers, my brothers-in-law. They are both so handsome! What happened to Louis Auguste? However, one of the brothers, the Count of Provence, who is just my age, is quite conceited and terribly delighted with himself. The other brother, the Count Artois, who is a year younger than me, is completely charming. A bit shy, but ready to talk about books and horses and games. Both of them are so much better than their brother. It is not fair! Why am I set to marry the fat one with pimples, who never talks and has dirty nails?
I noticed as we sat at the table that at the far end there was a somewhat coarse-looking young woman. Take away her powdered hair and her many jewels, and she would have had the look of the street about her. I inquired of the Count Artois who she was. He looked uncomfortable when I asked, but his brother chimed in, “Oh, the Countess du Barry!” He sneered and the people near us at the table fell silent. I think it is perfectly terrible that the King brought his mistress to this “family dinner.” I feel gravely offended but the solace is that I am not the only one. Everyone at the table was shocked. The Countess de Noailles fumed later in my apartments. This is the first thing upon which she and I have agreed. It is odd but suddenly the King lost all his handsomeness for me. He seemed very common. I saw flaws. His chin sags a bit too much. His right eye droops and his mouth is much too fleshy.
Later:
I just went into my bedchamber. I found placed directly on the bed a leather casket about one foot wide and equally long and perhaps eight inches high. I undid the clasp and opened the lid. My eyes were dazzled. Inside were rubies, emeralds, and diamonds — necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. A note said simply, “These are the jewels of France worn by all her Queens. They are now yours. Affectionately, your grandfather-in-law, King Louis XV.”
Tomorrow our party drives on to Versailles. Tomorrow is the wedding, the real wedding, where Louis and I shall together walk down a corridor to the famous Hall of Mirrors at Versailles and on to the chapel. The weather does not look promising. But what do I care if it rains on my wedding day? It would be an outrage for the sun to shine. I feel no happiness at all. Just dread and fear.
May 17, 1770
Versailles
I am married.
When I was married by proxy a month ago with Ferdinand standing in for the Dauphin, I said that I felt no different. I feel no different today, but that does not mean I do not feel something. Louis and I walked down the long corridor of mirrors. The rain had finally stopped for a period, and sunlight pierced the highest windows, making the brocades and jewels of the over two thousand people who lined the room shimmer. But no one indeed glittered more fiercely than I did. With the four thousand diamonds that studded my dress to reflect the sun’s rays, I was caught in a firestorm of spangled light. We entered the chapel of Louis XIV, the King’s great-grandfather. It is a dazzling place of white marble and gold. The organ pipes soar many feet into the air from the gallery above, and scenes from the life of Christ are painted and sculpted throughout the chapel. But what drew my eyes was a beautiful gold relief of King David on the screen of the organ. He seems frozen in time, without movement, yet plucking the strings of his harp. Perhaps his music is heard only by God, but perhaps it is like Mama has said — the farther one travels from Vienna, the more the music diminishes — perhaps there is no real music in France.
The thought struck me as so sad that I felt my eyes well up with tears and then I felt my hand being squeezed. It was indeed Louis Auguste, who was looking at me with a mixture of sadness and fear in his own eyes. In that moment my heart went out to him.
He is as scared as I am
, I thought, and I realized that although I might not love Louis Auguste, I can be his friend. We shall get through this together somehow. I must go now, for it is time for the presentation of my household. This is when I meet all of my Ladies-in-Waiting and the servants who shall attend me.
Later:
At the Hofburg I was attended to mainly by six people. Three chambermaids, my Grand Mistress, my music teacher, and sometimes a tutor and Father Confessor. Here I have nearly two hundred. There are nine ushers alone to present people to me, six equerries for when I go out on horseback or in a carriage, two doctors, four surgeons, a clock maker, a wig maker, cooks, butlers, wine bearers, attendants to the bath, fourteen ladies just to wait on me in my chambers dealing with linen and clothing, and then twelve aristocratic Ladies-in-Waiting to be available for card playing, chatting, and walking! No wonder my apartments are so large! How else would everyone fit in?
May 18, 1770
I cannot believe this. Today I took my first bath since arriving here and I found in my salon of the bath no fewer than eight women with the Countess of Noailles standing by the bath bewigged, in her jewels and full hooped gown. I was expected to undress and get into the bath and then, according to etiquette, the Countess would hand soap and toweling to the tirewoman, who is the lady in charge of my gowns and petticoats. Then she would hand that to the Lady of the Bedchamber, who would hand it to
la femme du bain
, the Lady of the Bath, and she would bathe me! I have bathed myself since I was six. My chambermaids would draw the water and they all had charming rhymes to help me remember to wash behind my ears, but what do these women take me for, a complete idiot? I am expected once again to strip naked in front of total strangers. I thank you
not
! Well, Madame Etiquette turned her usual shade of green. “In our country,” she began. I knew what she would say next and I would have none of it. I immediately demanded a flannel gown. Behind a screen I undressed myself and reappeared in a nightrail of flannel. I stepped into the tub. This was my compromise. If they insist on being there and bathing me, I shall not show one speck of flesh. The toweling and sponges with the soap work fairly well, but I managed finally to wrestle one from the Lady of the Bath and scrub underneath the rail.
May 22, 1770
How shall I ever accustom myself to the stink of Versailles? It is unimaginable. They have not enough privies for all the people who mill about. There are upwards of six thousand people who have business here every day. There are five times as many nobles here as were ever at the Hofburg and not one-third the privies. People relieve themselves in the corners of the corridors. Although there is a rule and regulation for almost every aspect of life, from playing cards to eating and getting dressed and curtsying, there seems to be none about urinating. It makes all their etiquette seem even sillier.
And that is another thing. I believe I am growing thin, for I find it very difficult to eat with an audience of a thousand people. Yes! Can you believe that is what they do here? Nearly every day we must dine in public. On some occasions each branch of our family dines separately but at the same time in connecting salons. The ushers allow anyone in to view us who is appropriately dressed. But these viewers might tire of watching Louis and me sip our bouillon and then decide to run to the next salon, where the King and Madame du Barry have started their dessert. And then when it is what is called a Grand Couvert, we all dine together in a great hall and there is a gallery that overlooks our long table. Hundreds of people view us from above. This is enough to take one’s appetite away, or at least mine. Not the Dauphin. He plows through mountains of food. At the end of some courses he belches loudly and everyone smiles. I am surprised they do not applaud! Such are the mysteries of etiquette at Versailles.
May 24, 1770
I wonder if I shall ever have another private moment in my life. There are always people to witness practically every moment of my day. This is the great pastime for noble men and women of Versailles. Watch the Dauphine take her morning coffee. Watch the Dauphine have her hair dressed and rouge put on. Rouge is required here. I never wore it in Vienna. I have not put on a stocking or buckled a shoe myself since I have arrived. Mama would not approve. But it is The Etiquette!
One reaches my apartments by what is called the Queen’s staircase. The first room one enters is the chamber of my guards.
The next room is the antechamber. It is vast. This is where many nobles gather throughout the day. Madame Etiquette delights in appearing in the doorway here and announcing which noblemen and noblewomen may come in at what times to view me, or possibly play cards. The next room is my official drawing room. Here I spend a good deal of my day always surrounded by my Ladies-in-Waiting.
Next comes my bedchamber. Now, this is my favorite room and if I could only spend more time in it alone with none of my
femmes de chambre
, bedchamber women, and others like Madame Etiquette, it would be perfect. The best part has to be the ceiling. It was painted by the famous French painter Boucher and is a lovely gilded sky. A low gold railing separates the bed from the rest of the room. It is in this bed that all the Royal children have been born, and since these births are always witnessed by the public, and the noblemen and -women are brought directly into the bedchamber, the railing serves to keep the space around the bed clear for the doctor and the midwives. There is still a crack in the railing from when the crowd pressed for the last Royal birth, which was that of the Dauphin’s youngest sister, Elisabeth, who is just six. His other younger sister, Clothilde, is eleven.
I wish they would let Clothilde and Elisabeth come to my apartments more to play. I could show them all the games that Titi and I played. I try not to think about Titi. It makes me so sad. I try not to think about many things these days. It is hard not to think of something, because just the act of not thinking about it makes you think about it! And of course, there is no privacy to have any real thoughts in anyhow. So what does it matter?
May 26, 1770
I have been invited to the apartments of the King’s daughters and the Dauphin’s aunts. They are three maiden sisters. None of them has ever married. Their names are Adelaide, Victoire, and Sophie. They are not particularly attractive. Indeed, Sophie is truly ugly and somewhat cold. Adelaide is very outgoing, and poor Victoire seems frightened of everything. But they welcomed me warmly into their apartments and invited me to play cards. In the course of the evening they managed to make many cutting remarks about Madame du Barry. They refuse to call her the Countess, although she has been given that title. But now that I have found out that the King himself has the most loathsome nicknames for his daughters — Rag, Piggy, and Snip — I think that they are perfectly justified in calling her Madame du Barry instead of Countess. And she was a simple mademoiselle before she met the King. They told me
all
about her. She did come from the streets of Paris, and the King married her off to a Count so she could be part of his Court. Her husband does not care because apparently he benefits greatly from having a wife who is a favorite of the King. This I guess is what Versailles calls etiquette. Lulu never taught me any of these lessons.
June 1, 1770
I have played cards several times this week with the Aunts. I am not sure whether they seek me out for my card-playing ability or the opportunity to gossip about Madame du Barry. I am a good listener, which is valued by them, I think. But while I am listening I am also watching. There is a lovely young woman who attends them in their apartments. I noticed her the first time. Last night she joined our card table. She is full of wit and charm. Her name is Madame Campan and she serves as Reader for the sisters, mostly for Princess Victoire. This is an official position and she reads to them every day at length — poetry, novels, and the like. When she came here she was unmarried, but now she has married. I doubt if she is more than twenty years old. But I like her a lot. I wish she could be my Reader. Indeed, I wish she could be my Lady of Honor instead of Madame Etiquette.