Book: The Memoirs of Marie Antoinette, Queen Of France, Volume 2

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MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE,

QUEEN OF FRANCE

Being the Historic Memoirs of Madam Campan,

First Lady in Waiting to the Queen




CHAPTER I.


I was fifteen years of age when I was appointed reader to Mesdames. I will
begin by describing the Court at that period.

Maria Leczinska was just dead; the death of the Dauphin had preceded hers
by three years; the Jesuits were suppressed, and piety was to be found at
Court only in the apartments of Mesdames. The Duc de Choiseuil ruled.

Etiquette still existed at Court with all the forms it had acquired under
Louis XIV.; dignity alone was wanting. As to gaiety, there was none.
Versailles was not the place at which to seek for assemblies where French
spirit and grace were displayed. The focus of wit and intelligence was
Paris.

The King thought of nothing but the pleasures of the chase: it might have
been imagined that the courtiers indulged themselves in making epigrams by
hearing them say seriously, on those days when the King did not hunt, "The
King does nothing to-day."--[In sporting usance (see SOULAIRE, p. 316).]

The arrangement beforehand of his movements was also a matter of great
importance with Louis XV. On the first day of the year he noted down in
his almanac the days of departure for Compiegne, Fontainebleau, Choisy,
etc. The weightiest matters, the most serious events, never deranged this
distribution of his time.

Since the death of the Marquise de Pompadour, the King had no titled
mistress; he contented himself with his seraglio in the Parc-aux-Cerfs. It
is well known that the monarch found the separation of Louis de Bourbon
from the King of France the most animating feature of his royal existence.
"They would have it so; they thought it for the best," was his way of
expressing himself when the measures of his ministers were unsuccessful.
The King delighted to manage the most disgraceful points of his private
expenses himself; he one day sold to a head clerk in the War Department a
house in which one of his mistresses had lodged; the contract ran in the
name of Louis de Bourbon, and the purchaser himself took in a bag the
price of the house in gold to the King in his private closet.

[Until recently little was known about the Parc-aux-Cerfs, and it was
believed that a great number of young women had been maintained there at
enormous expense. The investigations of M. J. A. Le Roi, given in his
interesting work, "Curiosites Historiques sur Louis XIII., Louis XIV.,
Louis XV.," etc., Paris, Plon, 1864, have thrown fresh light upon the
matter. The result he arrives at (see page 229 of his work) is that the
house in question (No. 4 Rue St. Mederic, on the site of the
Parc-aux-Cerfs, or breeding-place for deer, of Louis XIII) was very small,
and could have held only one girl, the woman in charge of her, and a
servant. Most of the girls left it only when about to be confined, and it
sometimes stood vacant for five or six months. It may have been rented
before the date of purchase, and other houses seem sometimes to have been
used also; but in any case, it is evident that both the number of girls
and the expense incurred have been absurdly exaggerated. The system
flourished under Madame de Pompadour, but ceased as soon as Madame du
Barry obtained full power over the King, and the house was then sold to M.
J. B. Sevin for 16,000 livres, on 27th May, 1771, Louis not acting under
the name of Louis de Bourbon, but as King,--"Vente par le Roi, notre
Sire." In 1755 he had also been declared its purchaser in a similar
manner. Thus, Madame Campan is in error in saying that the King made the
contract as Louis de Bourbon.]--[And it also possible that Madam Campan
was correct and that the house she refers to as sold for a "bag of gold"
was another of the several of the seraglio establishments of Louis XV.
D.W.]

Louis XV. saw very little of his family. He came every morning by a
private staircase into the apartment of Madame Adelaide.

[Louis XV. seemed to feel for Madame Adelaide the tenderness he had had
for the Duchesse de Bourgogne, his mother, who perished so suddenly, under
the eyes and almost in the arms of Louis XIV. The birth of Madame
Adelaide, 23d March, 1732, was followed by that of Madame Victoire Louise
Marie Therese on the 11th May, 1733. Louis had, besides, six daughters:
Mesdames Sophie and Louise, who are mentioned in this chapter; the
Princesses Marie and Felicite, who died young; Madame Henriette died at
Versailles in 1752, aged twenty-four; and finally, Madame the Duchess of
Parma, who also died at the Court.]

He often brought and drank there coffee that he had made himself. Madame
Adelaide pulled a bell which apprised Madame Victoire of the King's visit;
Madame Victoire, on rising to go to her sister's apartment, rang for
Madame Sophie, who in her turn rang for Madame Louise. The apartments of
Mesdames were of very large dimensions. Madame Louise occupied the
farthest room. This latter lady was deformed and very short; the poor
Princess used to run with all her might to join the daily meeting, but,
having a number of rooms to cross, she frequently in spite of her haste,
had only just time to embrace her father before he set out for the chase.

Every evening, at six, Mesdames interrupted my reading to them to
accompany the princes to Louis XV.; this visit was called the King's
'debotter',--[Debotter, meaning the time of unbooting.]--and was marked by
a kind of etiquette. Mesdames put on an enormous hoop, which set out a
petticoat ornamented with gold or embroidery; they fastened a long train
round their waists, and concealed the undress of the rest of their
clothing by a long cloak of black taffety which enveloped them up to the
chin. The chevaliers d'honneur, the ladies in waiting, the pages, the
equerries, and the ushers bearing large flambeaux, accompanied them to the
King. In a moment the whole palace, generally so still, was in motion;
the King kissed each Princess on the forehead, and the visit was so short
that the reading which it interrupted was frequently resumed at the end of
a quarter of an hour; Mesdames returned to their apartments, and untied
the strings of their petticoats and trains; they resumed their tapestry,
and I my book.

During the summer season the King sometimes came to the residence of
Mesdames before the hour of his 'debotter'. One day he found me alone in
Madame Victoire's closet, and asked me where 'Coche'[Piggy] was; I
started, and he repeated his question, but without being at all the more
understood. When the King was gone I asked Madame of whom he spoke. She
told me that it was herself, and very coolly explained to me, that, being
the fattest of his daughters, the King had given her the familiar name of
'Coche'; that he called Madame Adelaide, 'Logue' [Tatters], Madame Sophie,
'Graille'[Mite], and Madame Louise, 'Chiffie'[Rubbish]. The people of the
King's household observed that he knew a great number of such words;
possibly he had amused himself with picking them out from dictionaries.
If this style of speaking betrayed the habits and tastes of the King, his
manner savoured nothing of such vulgarity; his walk was easy and noble, he
had a dignified carriage of the head, and his aspect, with out being
severe, was imposing; he combined great politeness with a truly regal
demeanour, and gracefully saluted the humblest woman whom curiosity led
into his path.

He was very expert in a number of trifling matters which never occupy
attention but when there is a lack of something better to employ it; for
instance, he would knock off the top of an egg-shell at a single stroke of
his fork; he therefore always ate eggs when he dined in public, and the
Parisians who came on Sundays to see the King dine, returned home less
struck with his fine figure than with the dexterity with which he broke
his eggs.

Repartees of Louis XV., which marked the keenness of his wit and the
elevation of his sentiments, were quoted with pleasure in the assemblies
of Versailles.

This Prince was still beloved; it was wished that a style of life suitable
to his age and dignity should at length supersede the errors of the past,
and justify the love of his subjects. It was painful to judge him
harshly. If he had established avowed mistresses at Court, the uniform
devotion of the Queen was blamed for it. Mesdames were reproached for not
seeking to prevent the King's forming an intimacy with some new favourite.
Madame Henriette, twin sister of the Duchess of Parma, was much regretted,
for she had considerable influence over the King's mind, and it was
remarked that if she had lived she would have been assiduous in finding
him amusements in the bosom of his family, would have followed him in his
short excursions, and would have done the honours of the 'petits soupers'
which he was so fond of giving in his private apartments.

Mesdames too much neglected the means of pleasing the wing, but the cause
of that was obvious in the little attention he had paid them in their
youth.

In order to console the people under their sufferings, and to shut their
eyes to the real depredations on the treasury, the ministers occasionally
pressed the most extravagant measures of reform in the King's household,
and even in his personal expenses.

Cardinal Fleury, who in truth had the merit of reestablishing the
finances, carried this system of economy so far as to obtain from the King
the suppression of the household of the four younger Princesses. They were
brought up as mere boarders in a convent eighty leagues distant from the
Court. Saint Cyr would have been more suitable for the reception of the
King's daughters; but probably the Cardinal shared some of those
prejudices which will always attach to even the most useful institutions,
and which, since the death of Louis XIV., had been raised against the
noble establishment of Madame de Maintenon. Madame Louise often assured
me that at twelve years of age she was not mistress of the whole alphabet,
and never learnt to read fluently until after her return to Versailles.

Madame Victoire attributed certain paroxysms of terror, which she was
never able to conquer, to the violent alarms she experienced at the Abbey
of Fontevrault, whenever she was sent, by way of penance, to pray alone in
the vault where the sisters were interred.

A gardener belonging to the abbey died raving mad. His habitation,
without the walls, was near a chapel of the abbey, where Mesdames were
taken to repeat the prayers for those in the agonies of death. Their
prayers were more than once interrupted by the shrieks of the dying man.

When Mesdames, still very young, returned to Court, they enjoyed the
friendship of Monseigneur the Dauphin, and profited by his advice. They
devoted themselves ardently to study, and gave up almost the whole of
their time to it; they enabled themselves to write French correctly, and
acquired a good knowledge of history. Italian, English, the higher
branches of mathematics, turning and dialing, filled up in succession
their leisure moments. Madame Adelaide, in particular, had a most
insatiable desire to learn; she was taught to play upon all instruments,
from the horn (will it be believed!) to the Jew's-harp.

Madame Adelaide was graced for a short time with a charming figure; but
never did beauty so quickly vanish. Madame Victoire was handsome and very
graceful; her address, mien, and smile were in perfect accordance with the
goodness of her heart. Madame Sophie was remarkably ugly; never did I
behold a person with so unprepossessing an appearance; she walked with the
greatest rapidity; and, in order to recognise the people who placed
themselves along her path without looking at them, she acquired the habit
of leering on one side, like a hare. This Princess was so exceedingly
diffident that a person might be with her daily for years together without
hearing her utter a single word. It was asserted, however, that she
displayed talent, and even amiability, in the society of some favourite
ladies. She taught herself a great deal, but she studied alone; the
presence of a reader would have disconcerted her very much. There were,
however, occasions on which the Princess, generally so intractable, became
all at once affable and condescending, and manifested the most
communicative good-nature; this would happen during a storm; so great was
her alarm on such an occasion that she then approached the most humble,
and would ask them a thousand obliging questions; a flash of lightning
made her squeeze their hands; a peal of thunder would drive her to embrace
them, but with the return of the calm, the Princess resumed her stiffness,
her reserve, and her repellent air, and passed all by without taking the
slightest notice of any one, until a fresh storm restored to her at once
her dread and her affability. [Which reminds one of the elder (and
puritanic) Cato who said that he "embraced" his wife only when it
thundered, but added that he did enjoy a good thunderstorm. D.W.]

Mesdames found in a beloved brother, whose rare attainments are known to
all Frenchmen, a guide in everything wanting to their education. In their
august mother, Maria Leczinska, they possessed the noblest example of
every pious and social virtue; that Princess, by her eminent qualities and
her modest dignity, veiled the failings of the King, and while she lived
she preserved in the Court of Louis XV. that decorous and dignified tone
which alone secures the respect due to power. The Princesses, her
daughters, were worthy of her; and if a few degraded beings did aim the
shafts of calumny at them, these shafts dropped harmless, warded off by
the elevation of their sentiments and the purity of their conduct.

If Mesdames had not tasked themselves with numerous occupations, they
would have been much to be pitied. They loved walking, but could enjoy
nothing beyond the public gardens of Versailles; they would have
cultivated flowers, but could have no others than those in their windows.

The Marquise de Durfort, since Duchesse de Civrac, afforded to Madame
Victoire agreeable society. The Princess spent almost all her evenings
with that lady, and ended by fancying herself domiciled with her.

Madame de Narbonne had, in a similar way, taken pains to make her intimate
acquaintance pleasant to Madame Adelaide.

Madame Louise had for many years lived in great seclusion; I read to her
five hours a day. My voice frequently betrayed the exhaustion of my
lungs; the Princess would then prepare sugared water for me, place it by
me, and apologise for making me read so long, on the score of having
prescribed a course of reading for herself.

One evening, while I was reading, she was informed that M. Bertin,
'ministre des parties casuelles', desired to speak with her; she went out
abruptly, returned, resumed her silks and embroidery, and made me resume
my book; when I retired she commanded me to be in her closet the next
morning at eleven o'clock. When I got there the Princess was gone out; I
learnt that she had gone at seven in the morning to the Convent of the
Carmelites of St. Denis, where she was desirous of taking the veil. I went
to Madame Victoire; there I heard that the King alone had been acquainted
with Madame Louise's project; that he had kept it faithfully secret, and
that, having long previously opposed her wish, he had only on the
preceding evening sent her his consent; that she had gone alone into the
convent, where she was expected; and that a few minutes afterwards she had
made her appearance at the grating, to show to the Princesse de Guistel,
who had accompanied her to the convent gate, and to her equerry, the
King's order to leave her in the monastery.

Upon receiving the intelligence of her sister's departure, Madame Adelaide
gave way to violent paroxysms of rage, and reproached the King bitterly
for the secret, which he had thought it his duty to preserve. Madame
Victoire missed the society of her favourite sister, but she shed tears in
silence only. The first time I saw this excellent Princess after Madame
Louise's departure, I threw myself at her feet, kissed her hand, and asked
her, with all the confidence of youth, whether she would quit us as Madame
Louise had done. She raised me, embraced me; and said, pointing to the
lounge upon which she was extended, "Make yourself easy, my dear; I shall
never have Louise's courage. I love the conveniences of life too well;
this lounge is my destruction." As soon as I obtained permission to do
so, I went to St. Denis to see my late mistress; she deigned to receive me
with her face uncovered, in her private parlour; she told me she had just
left the wash-house, and that it was her turn that day to attend to the
linen. "I much abused your youthful lungs for two years before the
execution of my project," added she. "I knew that here I could read none
but books tending to our salvation, and I wished to review all the
historians that had interested me."

She informed me that the King's consent for her to go to St. Denis had
been brought to her while I was reading; she prided herself, and with
reason, upon having returned to her closet without the slightest mark of
agitation, though she said she felt so keenly that she could scarcely
regain her chair. She added that moralists were right when they said that
happiness does not dwell in palaces; that she had proved it; and that, if
I desired to be happy, she advised me to come and enjoy a retreat in which
the liveliest imagination might find full exercise in the contemplation of
a better world. I had no palace, no earthly grandeur to sacrifice to God;
nothing but the bosom of a united family; and it is precisely there that
the moralists whom she cited have placed true happiness. I replied that,
in private life, the absence of a beloved and cherished daughter would be
too cruelly felt by her family. The Princess said no more on the subject.

The seclusion of Madame Louise was attributed to various motives; some
were unkind enough to suppose it to have been occasioned by her
mortification at being, in point of rank, the last of the Princesses. I
think I penetrated the true cause. Her aspirations were lofty; she loved
everything sublime; often while I was reading she would interrupt me to
exclaim, "That is beautiful! that is noble!" There was but one brilliant
action that she could perform,--to quit a palace for a cell, and rich
garments for a stuff gown. She achieved it!

I saw Madame Louise two or three times more at the grating. I was
informed of her death by Louis XVI. "My Aunt Louise," said he to me,
"your old mistress, is just dead at St. Denis. I have this moment
received intelligence of it. Her piety and resignation were admirable,
and yet the delirium of my good aunt recalled to her recollection that she
was a princess, for her last words were, 'To paradise, haste, haste, full
speed.' No doubt she thought she was again giving orders to her equerry."

[The retirement of Madame Louise, and her removal from Court, had only
served to give her up entirely to the intrigues of the clergy. She
received incessant visits from bishops, archbishops, and ambitious priests
of every rank; she prevailed on the King, her father, to grant many
ecclesiastical preferments, and probably looked forward to playing an
important part when the King, weary of his licentious course of life,
should begin to think of religion. This, perhaps, might have been the case
had not a sudden and unexpected death put an end to his career. The
project of Madame Louise fell to the ground in consequence of this event.
She remained in her convent, whence she continued to solicit favours, as I
knew from the complaints of the Queen, who often said to me, "Here is
another letter from my Aunt Louise. She is certainly the most intriguing
little Carmelite in the kingdom." The Court went to visit her about three
times a year, and I recollect that the Queen, intending to take her
daughter there, ordered me to get a doll dressed like a Carmelite for her,
that the young Princess might be accustomed, before she went into the
convent, to the habit of her aunt, the nun.--MADAME CAMPAN]

Madame Victoire, good, sweet-tempered, and affable, lived with the most
amiable simplicity in a society wherein she was much caressed; she was
adored by her household. Without quitting Versailles, without sacrificing
her easy chair, she fulfilled the duties of religion with punctuality,
gave to the poor all she possessed, and strictly observed Lent and the
fasts. The table of Mesdames acquired a reputation for dishes of
abstinence, spread abroad by the assiduous parasites at that of their
maitre d'hotel. Madame Victoire was not indifferent to good living, but
she had the most religious scruples respecting dishes of which it was
allowable to partake at penitential times. I saw her one day exceedingly
tormented by her doubts about a water-fowl, which was often served up to
her during Lent. The question to be determined was, whether it was
'maigre' or 'gras'. She consulted a bishop, who happened to be of the
party: the prelate immediately assumed the grave attitude of a judge who
is about to pronounce sentence. He answered the Princess that, in a
similar case of doubt, it had been resolved that after dressing the bird
it should be pricked over a very cold silver dish; if the gravy of the
animal congealed within a quarter of an hour, the creature was to be
accounted flesh; but if the gravy remained in an oily state, it might be
eaten without scruple. Madame Victoire immediately made the experiment:
the gravy did not congeal; and this was a source of great joy to the
Princess, who was very partial to that sort of game. The abstinence which
so much occupied the attention of Madame Victoire was so disagreeable to
her, that she listened with impatience for the midnight hour of Holy
Saturday; and then she was immediately supplied with a good dish of fowl
and rice, and sundry other succulent viands. She confessed with such
amiable candour her taste for good cheer and the comforts of life, that it
would have been necessary to be as severe in principle as insensible to
the excellent qualities of the Princess, to consider it a crime in her.

Madame Adelaide had more mind than Madame Victoire; but she was altogether
deficient in that kindness which alone creates affection for the great,
abrupt manners, a harsh voice, and a short way of speaking, rendering her
more than imposing. She carried the idea of the prerogative of rank to a
high pitch. One of her chaplains was unlucky enough to say 'Dominus
vobiscum' with rather too easy an air; the Princess rated him soundly for
it after mass, and told him to remember that he was not a bishop, and not
again to think of officiating in the style of a prelate.

Mesdames lived quite separate from the King. Since the death of Madame de
Pompadour he had lived alone. The enemies of the Duc de Choiseul did not
know in what department, nor through what channel, they could prepare and
bring about the downfall of the man who stood in their way. The King was
connected only with women of so low a class that they could not be made
use of for any delicate intrigue; moreover, the Parc-aux-Cerfs was a
seraglio, the beauties of which were often replaced; it was desirable to
give the King a mistress who could form a circle, and in whose
drawing-room the long-standing attachment of the King for the Duc de
Choiseul might be overcome. It is true that Madame du Barry was selected
from a class sufficiently low. Her origin, her education, her habits, and
everything about her bore a character of vulgarity and shamelessness; but
by marrying her to a man whose pedigree dated from 1400, it was thought
scandal would be avoided. The conqueror of Mahon conducted this coarse
intrigue.

[It appeared at this period as if every feeling of dignity was lost. "Few
noblemen of the French Court," says a writer of the time, "preserved
themselves from the general corruption. The Marechal de Brissac was one
of the latter. He was bantered on the strictness of his principles of
honour and honesty; it was thought strange that he should be offended by
being thought, like so many others, exposed to hymeneal disgrace. Louis
XV., who was present, and laughed at his angry fit, said to him: 'Come, M.
de Brissac, don't be angry; 'tis but a trifling evil; take
courage.'--'Sire,' replied M. de Brissac, 'I possess all kinds of courage,
except that which can brave shame.'"--NOTE BY THE EDITOR.]

Such a mistress was judiciously selected for the diversion of the latter
years of a man weary of grandeur, fatigued with pleasure, and cloyed with
voluptuousness. Neither the wit, the talents, the graces of the Marquise
de Pompadour, her beauty, nor even her love for the King, would have had
any further influence over that worn-out being.

He wanted a Roxalana of familiar gaiety, without any respect for the
dignity of the sovereign. Madame du Barry one day so far forgot propriety
as to desire to be present at a Council of State. The King was weak
enough to consent to it. There she remained ridiculously perched upon the
arm of his chair, playing all sorts of childish monkey tricks, calculated
to please an old sultan.

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