I did not care.
I was longing for the day when I could announce that I was about to become a mother.
The Arrival of Madame Royale
Madame, my dear Mother, my first impulse, which I regret not having followed some weeks -ago, was to write to you of my hopes. I stopped myself when I thought of the sadness it would cause you if my hopes proved false.
The torrents of inquisitive people who poured into the chamber were so great and tumultuous that the rush was near destroying the Queen. During the night the King had taken the precaution to have the enormous tapestry screens which surrounded Her Majesty’s bed secured with cord. Had it not been for this foresight they would most certainly have been thrown upon her. The windows were caulked up; the King opened them with a strength which his affection for the Queen gave him at that moment.
We must have a Dauphin. We need a Dauphin and heir to the throne.
Each day I thought of my new hopes. I longed for a sign that I was pregnant. I tried hard to follow Joseph’s instructions and considered what would please my husband. He was equally attentive. At least we both desired the same thing. I dreamed about my own little Dauphin.
When I had him I would ask nothing more of life. My desire for a child was a burning intensity.
That August I gave a fete at Trianon, setting up a fair in the gardens with stalls; I allowed the shopkeepers of Paris to bring their stalls in to the gardens and I myself took on the re1e of limonadiere and was
dressed as a waitress in the most delightful muslin and lace specially created for me by my ever- accommodating Rose Benin. Everyone declared that they had never seen such a limonadiere and they hurried to be served by me. I and my ladies felt it was the greatest fun in the world to serve lemonade.
The King was constantly at my side and everyone noticed how tenderly we behaved towards each other.
All through that year I hoped and dreamed and nothing happened. I began to wonder whether it ever would. I would have little Armand brought to me each morning; he de lighted me for he had grown very affectionate and his great blue eyes would look so mournful when I had to leave him;
but he always made me long more than ever for a child of my own.
Perhaps, I thought gloomily as the year came to its close, even though our marriage has been consummated it may not be fruitful.
I was in despair. I sought the old pleasures to console myself. Artois was always at my side, determined to bring me out of my solemn mood, he told me, and make me enjoy life again. Let us disguise ourselves; let us go to the Opera ball.
It was carnival time and I longed to go to the ball, but when my husband asked me if I were going I said No, because I believed he would prefer I did not. He hastily replied that he would not dream of keeping me from my pleasure and that I should go to the ball as long as I was accompanied by the Comte de Provence. So I started dancing again. I began visiting the Princesse de Guemenee’s apartment and playing heavily. Joseph’s warnings were forgotten and I was back with the old bad habits.
We played games and tricks together and on each other. Artois was always playing practical jokes and I and the Prince de Ligne decided to play one on him. We often had music in the Orangerie, and very high up in a niche on the wall there was a bust of Louis XIV. When the concert was over and we were leaving the Orangerie, Artois always bowed low to this statue and cried: “Bonsoir, Gran’pere.” I thought it would give him a shock if the statue answered, so I arranged that we should get a ladder and the Prince de Ligne should climb up to the statue; we would then remove the ladder and the Prince would answer Artois in deep serious tones.
We were convulsed with laughter thinking how alarmed Artois would be believing that he had called the shade of his great and formidable ancestor from his grave by his frivolous raillery.
However, the Prince refused at the last moment because he had been told by one of his friends that someone had decided to carry the joke a bit further by refusing to bring the ladder back by which he would descend, so that he would not-be able to get down.
The Prince had no great desire to spend the night high up in the Orangerie with the bust of Louis XIV, and the joke fell through. But that was the sort of life we were leading.
And when I was in the depth of my despair believing I should never have a child, to my great joy I guessed I might be pregnant. I was so excited I could scarcely go about my normal affairs. I was terrified that I might be wrong; and I was determined I was not going to say anything until I was sure. Everyone had watched me expectantly at first, now they ceased to do so; and I was glad of it.
I did not want to do anything but dream about the child. I pretended to be ill one of my ‘nervous affectations’ so that I should be alone to think.
“Monsieur Ie Dauphin,” I said to myself a hundred times a day.
I studied my body but there was no difference as yet. I was very careful getting in and out of my bath lest I should slip. My bath was shaped like a sabot and for the sake of modesty I wore a long flannel gown buttoned to the neck when I sat in it; and when I came out I always made one of the two bathing women in attendance hold a cloth in front of me so that my attendants should not see me. Now I felt this to be doubly necessary. Not that my body had changed one little bit.
The weeks passed and I clung to my secret and at last I felt convinced. I was certain I had felt the child move within me.
My husband should be told first. I was so excited that I did not know how to break the news. I knew he would be overcome with emotion too.
Did he not desire this as much as I did?
I went to his apartments. I was half laughing, half crying.
He rose when he saw me and came towards me in consternation.
Laughing I cried: “Sire, I have come to lodge a complaint against one of your subjects.”
He was startled. What has happened “He has kicked me.”
“Kicked you I’ Indignation and horror.
I burst out laughing.
“In the womb,” I answered.
“He is young yet, so I hope Your Majesty will not be too severe.
He looked at me, wonder dawning on his face. The child had not kicked;
he was too young yet; but perhaps I imagined that I could feel him moving, I wanted him so much.
“Can it be?” whispered my husband.
I nodded; then he embraced me; and we remained clinging to each other for some minutes.
We were so happy; yet we both wept.
I wrote to my mother:
“Madame, my dear Mother, my first impulse, which I regret not having followed some weeks ago, was to write to you of my hopes. I stopped myself when I thought of the sadness it would cause you if my hopes proved false….”
I no longer wanted to dance. It would be bad for the child. I wanted to sit and dream. I wrote again to my mother:
