She retired hastily and went to wait in an anteroom, and having nothing to do there she amused herself by twirling in her Court hoop and suddenly kneeling! for the sheer pleasure of seeing her rose-coloured silk petticoat swirl round her. In the midst of this the King entered and he was very amused to see the erudite little lectrice be having like a child.
“I advise you to send back to school a lectrice who makes cheeses,” he said. And once more poor Jeanne Louise was overcome with confusion. She had not seen the Ring at his best, as I had; and I fancied she was a little critical of him; naturally she was anxious not to betray her feelings to me and how right she was I She doubtless knew I would chatter, so she was careful. Long afterwards, when he was dead, she told me how he had set up the trebuchet, the bird snare, close to his apartments in Versailles and later contented himself with the pleasures of his little seraglio in the Pare auz Cerfs where young girls of my age and hers were brought to him for his pleasure by Madame de Pompadour; and later Madame du Barry performed the same duty. If I had known of these matters then I might have understood him better.
And there was something else she told me much later which it would have been useful for me to know at that time. But would I have made use of the knowledge? I doubt it. This is what she told me, and what, she explained, she had written in her journal, for she had always felt the urge to write and set down the events of the days as they passed:
I heard my father compare the Monarchy of France to a beautiful antique statue; he agreed that the pedestal which supported it was mouldering away and the contours of the statue were disappearing in the parasitic plants which were gradually covering it.
“But,” he explained, “where is the artist skillful enough to repair the base without shattering the statue?”
But had she told me at this time I should not have under stood what she was talking about. Years later, when the Terror was upon us, I understood too well.
I was very interested in Madame Louise, the aunt whom I had seen before I arrived at Versailles when I stopped at the Carmelite Convent of St. Denis to see her.
Mademoiselle Genet told me: “I used to read to her for five hours a day and my voice frequently betrayed the exhaustion of my lungs. The Princesse would then prepare for me eau sucre, place it before me and apologise for making me read so long. She did it, she said, because she had pre scribed a course of reading for herself. She wanted to read the histories of countries for she believed that when she entered her convent she would only be allowed to read religious works.
One morning she disappeared and I learned she had gone to the Convent of St. Denis. “
“Were you sad. Mademoiselle?”
“I was very sad, Madame. I loved Madame Louise. She was …”
I looked at her slyly. I knew she was on the point of saying Madame Louise was the most reasonable, the most sane, of the aunts; but of course she stopped herself in time.
“Go on,” I commanded.
“Madame Adelaide was angry. When I told her Madame Louise had gone she said, ” With whom has she gone? ” She thought she had run away with a lover.”
“Madame Adelaide would. She likes everything to be dramatic; and it is far more dramatic to run away with a lover than to a convent. It was less work for you, though.”
“I was afraid that Madame Victoire would follow her example.” I nodded. Already my little lectrice had made it clear to me that of all the three aunts Victoire was her favourite.
“I told her I feared it and she laughed and said she would never leave Versailles. She was too fond of food and her couch.”
It was tiresome that Mademoiselle Genet and the Abbe. Vermond took a dislike to each other. Still, I determined to keep her with me, and perhaps one day snatch her away from the aunts altogether and make her entirely my servant. But that was for later.
And so life went on during those months at Versailles. My friendship with the Princesse de Lamballe was strengthening; letters from my mother arrived regularly. My hours with the Abbe when he tried to improve my mind; my interviews with Mercy when he tried to improve my conduct; my intimacy with my aunts; my friendship with the King; my coquetries with Amis; all this continued, and in addition there was a growing affection for my husband. But we were so much in the public eye, and so aware of being watched at every turn, that our situation did not have much chance of changing.
Even meals were taken in public—a custom I hated; but no one else seemed to mind, and of course the people expected it.
They would come in from Paris to watch us at our meals. We were like animals in highly gilded cages.
When it was time for dinner the people would come to watch my husband and me take our soup and then hurry away to see the Princes eat their bouilli; and after that they had to run until they were out of breath to witness Mesdames at their dessert. We were a peepshow for the people.
The King’s special feat at table was the clever way in which he could knock the top off an egg with one stroke of his fork; and this was talked about throughout Versailles and Paris. He was therefore condemned to eating eggs constantly so that those who had come to see him perform this feat should not be disappointed. Although he refused to go to Paris to see his people they came to Versailles to see him—or perhaps it was merely his trick with the egg they came to see.
He performed so dexterously; but to me the amazing part of the performance was that he behaved as though he were entirely alone—like an actor on a stage totally unaware of the spectators.
There was a rumour in the Court that Adelaide had once had a child who appeared in the Princesses’ apartments and was made much of by the royal sisters and reminded people of Louis XV in his youth. This affair, the loss of her good looks, and the King’s contempt for her which had replaced his affection, had no doubt had their effect on Adelaide’s character and turned her into the eccentric she had become.
There was an even uglier rumour that the King had loved her incestuously. Perhaps this was why she put on an air of great knowledge and wanted me to know that she could advise me as to how I should behave towards my husband.
I did not need their advice. I knew that my husband did not dislike me; in fact he was pleased with me. I was admired for my appearance, my grace and my charm; and these qualities were constantly referred to. My husband liked to see Artois in attendance on me; the only trouble was that he could not caress me or pay me compliments without acute embarrassment. When he was in his hunting clothes or workshop overalls he appeared to be a man;
he looked tall and upright then, unconscious of himself; but as soon as he put on the clothes of the court gallant he became awkward and shuffling. I tried to understand the things he was interested in.
Though I loved to ride I hated to see animals suffer, so I had never cared for hunting; in any case I was still not allowed to ride a horse. I went into his workshop and he tried to explain to me what he was doing with the lathe there, but I could not understand and I found it difficult to stifle my yawns.
When he became ill with a slight indisposition—he had over-eaten at table—a habit of his, for he would come in very hungry from the hunt or the workshop—he had slept in a separate room in order not to disturb me. This had caused amusement in some quarters and consternation in others, for it was well known what was happening. The most embarrassing part of the whole affair was that everyone was watching and all our actions were commented on, interpreted and often misconstrued. For a sensitive boy, aware of his affliction, this was a very delicate situation indeed.
But our affection was growing. He no longer looked away from me.
Sometimes he would take my hand and kiss it—or even kiss my cheek. I asked him if he were disappointed in me and he said that he was very content.
Then one day he said: “Do not imagine that I am ignorant of the duties of marriage. I will prove it to you … soon.”
I was excited. Everything was going to be all right. I only bad to wait. It was true that we were both too young.
Waiting was rewarding, for when we were alone in our apartments—it was just as I was going to visit my aunts-he whispered to me:
“Tonight I shall come back to our bed.” I looked at him in astonishment and he took my hand in his clumsy
