The winter following the confinement of the Comtesse d’Artois was very
severe; the recollections of the pleasure which sleighing-parties had
given the Queen in her childhood made her wish to introduce similar ones
in France. This amusement had already been known in that Court, as was
proved by sleighs being found in the stables which had been used by the
Dauphin, the father of Louis XVI. Some were constructed for the Queen in
a more modern style. The Princes also ordered several; and in a few days
there was a tolerable number of these vehicles. They were driven by the
princes and noblemen of the Court. The noise of the bells and balls with
which the harness of the horses was furnished, the elegance and whiteness
of their plumes, the varied forms of the carriages, the gold with which
they were all ornamented, rendered these parties delightful to the eye.
The winter was very favourable to them, the snow remaining on the ground
nearly six weeks; the drives in the park afforded a pleasure shared by the
spectators.
[Louis XVI., touched with the wretched condition of the poor of Versailles
during the winter of 1776, had several cart-loads of wood distributed
among them. Seeing one day a file of those vehicles passing by, while
several noblemen were preparing to be drawn swiftly over the ice, he
uttered these memorable words: “Gentlemen, here are my sleighs!”--NOTE BY
THE EDITOR.]
No one imagined that any blame could attach to so innocent an amusement.
But the party were tempted to extend their drives as far as the Champs
Elysees; a few sleighs even crossed the boulevards; the ladies being
masked, the Queen’s enemies took the opportunity of saying that she had
traversed the streets of Paris in a sleigh.
This became a matter of moment. The public discovered in it a
predilection for the habits of Vienna; but all that Marie Antoinette did
was criticised.
Sleigh-driving, savouring of the Northern Courts, had no favour among the
Parisians. The Queen was informed of this; and although all the sleighs
were preserved, and several subsequent winters lent themselves to the
amusement, she would not resume it.
It was at the time of the sleighing-parties that the Queen became
intimately acquainted with the Princesse de Lamballe, who made her
appearance in them wrapped in fur, with all the brilliancy and freshness
of the age of twenty,--the emblem of spring, peeping from under sable and
ermine. Her situation, moreover, rendered her peculiarly interesting;
married, when she was scarcely past childhood, to a young prince, who
ruined himself by the contagious example of the Duc d’Orleans, she had had
nothing to do from the time of her arrival in France but to weep. A widow
at eighteen, and childless, she lived with the Duc de Penthievre as an
adopted daughter. She had the tenderest respect and attachment for that
venerable Prince; but the Queen, though doing justice to his virtues, saw
that the Duc de Penthievre’s way of life, whether at Paris or at his
country-seat, could neither afford his young daughter-in-law the
amusements suited to her time of life, nor ensure her in the future an
establishment such as she was deprived of by her widowhood. She
determined, therefore, to establish her at Versailles; and for her sake
revived the office of superintendent, which had been discontinued at Court
since the death of Mademoiselle de Clermont. It is said that Maria
Leczinska had decided that this place should continue vacant, the
superintendent having so extensive a power in the houses of queens as to
be frequently a restraint upon their inclinations. Differences which soon
took place between Marie Antoinette and the Princesse de Lamballe
respecting the official prerogatives of the latter, proved that the wife
of Louis XV. had acted judiciously in abolishing the office; but a kind of
treaty made between the Queen and the Princess smoothed all difficulties.
The blame for too strong an assertion of claims fell upon a secretary of
the superintendent, who had been her adviser; and everything was so
arranged that a firm friendship existed between these two Princesses down
to the disastrous period which terminated their career.
Notwithstanding the enthusiasm which the splendour, grace, and kindness of
the Queen generally inspired, secret intrigues continued in operation
against her. A short time after the ascension of Louis XVI. to the
throne, the minister of the King’s household was informed that a most
offensive libel against the Queen was about to appear. The lieutenant of
police deputed a man named Goupil, a police inspector, to trace this
libel; he came soon after to say that he had found out the place where the
work was being printed, and that it was at a country house near Yverdun.
He had already got possession of two sheets, which contained the most
atrocious calumnies, conveyed with a degree of art which might make them
very dangerous to the Queen’s reputation. Goupil said that he could
obtain the rest, but that he should want a considerable sum for that
purpose. Three thousand Louis were given him, and very soon afterwards he
brought the whole manuscript and all that had been printed to the
lieutenant of police. He received a thousand louis more as a reward for
his address and zeal; and a much more important office was about to be
given him, when another spy, envious of Goupil’s good fortune, gave
information that Goupil himself was the author of the libel; that, ten
years before, he had been put into the Bicetre for swindling; and that
Madame Goupil had been only three years out of the Salpetriere, where she
had been placed under another name. This Madame Goupil was very pretty
and very intriguing; she had found means to form an intimacy with Cardinal
de Rohan, whom she led, it is said, to hope for a reconciliation with the
Queen. All this affair was hushed up; but it shows that it was the
Queen’s fate to be incessantly attacked by the meanest and most odious
machinations.
Another woman, named Cahouette de Millers, whose husband held an office in
the Treasury, being very irregular in conduct, and of a scheming turn of
mind, had a mania for appearing in the eyes of her friends at Paris as a
person in favour at Court, to which she was not entitled by either birth
or office. During the latter years of the life of Louis XV. she had made
many dupes, and picked up considerable sums by passing herself off as the
King’s mistress. The fear of irritating Madame du Barry was, according to
her, the only thing which prevented her enjoying that title openly. She
came regularly to Versailles, kept herself concealed in a furnished
lodging, and her dupes imagined she was secretly summoned to Court.
This woman formed the scheme of getting admission, if possible, to the
presence of the Queen, or at least causing it to be believed that she had
done so. She adopted as her lover Gabriel de Saint Charles, intendant of
her Majesty’s finances,--an office, the privileges of which were confined
to the right of entering the Queen’s apartment on Sunday. Madame de
Villers came every Saturday to Versailles with M. de Saint Charles, and
lodged in his apartment. M. Campan was there several times. She painted
tolerably well, and she requested him to do her the favour to present to
the Queen a portrait of her Majesty which she had just copied. M. Campan
knew the woman’s character, and refused her. A few days after, he saw on
her Majesty’s couch the portrait which he had declined to present to her;
the Queen thought it badly painted, and gave orders that it should be
carried back to the Princesse de Lamballe, who had sent it to her. The
ill success of the portrait did not deter the manoeuvrer from following up
her designs; she easily procured through M. de Saint Charles patents and
orders signed by the Queen; she then set about imitating her writing, and
composed a great number of notes and letters, as if written by her
Majesty, in the tenderest and most familiar style. For many months she
showed them as great secrets to several of her particular friends.
Afterwards, she made the Queen appear to write to her, to procure various
fancy articles. Under the pretext of wishing to execute her Majesty’s
commissions accurately, she gave these letters to the tradesmen to read,
and succeeded in having it said, in many houses, that the Queen had a
particular regard for her. She then enlarged her scheme, and represented
the Queen as desiring to borrow 200,000 francs which she had need of, but
which she did not wish to ask of the King from his private funds. This
letter, being shown to M. Beranger, ‘fermier general’ of the finances,
took effect; he thought himself fortunate in being able to render this
assistance to his sovereign, and lost no time in sending the 200,000
francs to Madame de Villers. This first step was followed by some doubts,
which he communicated to people better informed than himself of what was
passing at Court; they added to his uneasiness; he then went to M. de
Sartine, who unravelled the whole plot. The woman was sent to St.
Pelagie; and the unfortunate husband was ruined, by replacing the sum
borrowed, and by paying for the jewels fraudulently purchased in the
Queen’s name. The forged letters were sent to her Majesty; I compared
them in her presence with her own handwriting, and the only
distinguishable difference was a little more regularity in the letters.
This trick, discovered and punished with prudence and without passion,
produced no more sensation out of doors than that of the Inspector Goupil.
A year after the nomination of Madame de Lamballe to the post of
superintendent of the Queen’s household, balls and quadrilles gave rise to
the intimacy of her Majesty with the Comtesse Jules de Polignac. This
lady really interested Marie Antoinette. She was not rich, and generally
lived upon her estate at Claye. The Queen was astonished at not having
seen her at Court earlier. The confession that her want of fortune had
even prevented her appearance at the celebration of the marriages of the
Princes added to the interest which she had inspired.
The Queen was full of consideration, and took delight in counteracting the
injustice of fortune. The Countess was induced to come to Court by her
husband’s sister, Madame Diane de Polignac, who had been appointed lady of
honour to the Comtesse d’Artois. The Comtesse Jules was really fond of a
tranquil life; the impression she made at Court affected her but little;
she felt only the attachment manifested for her by the Queen. I had
occasion to see her from the commencement of her favour at Court; she
often passed whole hours with me, while waiting for the Queen. She
conversed with me freely and ingenuously about the honour, and at the same
time the danger, she saw in the kindness of which she was the object. The
Queen sought for the sweets of friendship; but can this gratification, so
rare in any rank, exist between a Queen and a subject, when they are
surrounded, moreover, by snares laid by the artifice of courtiers? This
pardonable error was fatal to the happiness of Marie Antoinette.
The retiring character of the Comtesse Jules, afterwards Duchesse de
Polignac, cannot be spoken of too favourably; but if her heart was
incapable of forming ambitious projects, her family and friends in her
fortune beheld their own, and endeavoured to secure the favour of the
Queen.
[The Comtesse, afterwards Duchesse de Polignac, nee Polastron, Married the
Comte (in 1780 the Duc) Jules de Polignac, the father of the Prince de
Polignac of Napoleon’s and of Charles X.’s time. She emigrated in 1789,
and died in Vienna in 1793.]
The Comtesse de Diane, sister of M. de Polignac, and the Baron de Besenval
and M. de Vaudreuil, particular friends of the Polignac family, made use
of means, the success of which was infallible. One of my friends (Comte
de Moustier), who was in their secret, came to tell me that Madame de
Polignac was about to quit Versailles suddenly; that she would take leave
of the Queen only in writing; that the Comtesse Diane and M. de Vaudreuil
had dictated her letter, and the whole affair was arranged for the purpose
of stimulating the attachment of Marie Antoinette. The next day, when I
went up to the palace, I found the Queen with a letter in her hand, which
she was reading with much emotion; it was the letter from the Comtesse
Jules; the Queen showed it to me. The Countess expressed in it her grief
at leaving a princess who had loaded her with kindness. The narrowness of
her fortune compelled her to do so; but she was much more strongly
impelled by the fear that the Queen’s friendship, after having raised up
dangerous enemies against her, might abandon her to their hatred, and to
the regret of having lost the august favour of which she was the object.
This step produced the full effect that had been expected from it. A
young and sensitive queen cannot long bear the idea of contradiction. She
busied herself in settling the Comtesse Jules near her, by making such a
provision for her as should place her beyond anxiety. Her character
suited the Queen; she had merely natural talents, no pedantry, no
affectation of knowledge. She was of middle size; her complexion very
fair, her eyebrows and hair dark brown, her teeth superb, her smile
enchanting, and her whole person graceful. She was seen almost always in
a demi-toilet, remarkable only for neatness and good taste. I do not
think I ever once saw diamonds about her, even at the climax of her
fortune, when she had the rank of Duchess at Court.
I have always believed that her sincere attachment for the Queen, as much
as her love of simplicity, induced her to avoid everything that might
cause her to be thought a wealthy favourite. She had not one of the
failings which usually accompany that position. She loved the persons who
shared the Queen’s affections, and was entirely free from jealousy. Marie
Antoinette flattered herself that the Comtesse Jules and the Princesse de
Lamballe would be her especial friends, and that she should possess a
society formed according to her own taste. “I will receive them in my
closet, or at Trianon,” said she; “I will enjoy the comforts of private
life, which exist not for us, unless we have the good sense to secure them
for ourselves.” The happiness the Queen thought to secure was destined to
turn to vexation. All those courtiers who were not admitted to this
intimacy became so many jealous and vindictive enemies.
It was necessary to make a suitable provision for the Countess. The place
of first equerry, in reversion after the Comte de Tesse, given to Comte
Jules unknown to the titular holder, displeased the family of Noailles.
This family had just sustained another mortification, the appointment of
the Princesse de Lamballe having in some degree rendered necessary the
resignation of the Comtesse de Noailles, whose husband was thereupon made
a marshal of France. The Princesse de Lamballe, although she did not
quarrel with the Queen, was alarmed at the establishment of the Comtesse
Jules at Court, and did not form, as her Majesty had hoped, a part of that
intimate society, which was in turn composed of Mesdames Jules and Diane
de Polignac, d’Andlau and de Chalon, and Messieurs de Guignes, de Coigny,
d’Adhemar, de Besenval, lieutenant-colonel of the Swiss, de Polignac, de
Vaudreuil, and de Guiche; the Prince de Ligne and the Duke of Dorset, the
English ambassador, were also admitted.
It was a long time before the Comtesse Jules maintained any great state at
Court. The Queen contented herself with giving her very fine apartments
at the top of the marble staircase. The salary of first equerry, the
trifling emoluments derived from M. de Polignac’s regiment, added to their
slender patrimony, and perhaps some small pension, at that time formed the
whole fortune of the favourite. I never saw the Queen make her a present
of value; I was even astonished one day at hearing her Majesty mention,
with pleasure, that the Countess had gained ten thousand francs in the
lottery. “She was in great want of it,” added the Queen.
Thus the Polignacs were not settled at Court in any degree of splendour
which could justify complaints from others, and the substantial favours
bestowed upon that family were less envied than the intimacy between them
and their proteges and the Queen. Those who had no hope of entering the
circle of the Comtesse Jules were made jealous by the opportunities of
advancement it afforded.
However, at the time I speak of, the society around the Comtesse Jules was
fully engaged in gratifying the young Queen. Of this the Marquis de
Vaudreuil was a conspicuous member; he was a brilliant man, the friend and
protector of men of letters and celebrated artists.
The Baron de Besenval added to the bluntness of the Swiss all the
adroitness of a French courtier. His fifty years and gray hairs made him
enjoy among women the confidence inspired by mature age, although he had
not given up the thought of love affairs. He talked of his native
mountains with enthusiasm. He would at any time sing the “Ranz des
Vaches” with tears in his eyes, and was the best story-teller in the
Comtesse Jules’s circle. The last new song or ‘bon mot’ and the gossip of
the day were the sole topics of conversation in the Queen’s parties. Wit
was banished from them. The Comtesse Diane, more inclined to literary
pursuits than her sister-in-law, one day, recommended her to read the
“Iliad” and “Odyssey.” The latter replied, laughing, that she was
perfectly acquainted with the Greek poet, and said to prove it:
“Homere etait aveugle et jouait du hautbois.”
(Homer was blind and played on the hautboy.)
[This lively repartee of the Duchesse de Polignac is a droll imitation of
a line in the “Mercure Galant.” In the quarrel scene one of the lawyers
says to his brother quill: ‘Ton pere etait aveugle et jouait du
hautbois.’]
The Queen found this sort of humour very much to her taste, and said that
no pedant should ever be her friend.
Before the Queen fixed her assemblies at Madame de Polignac’s, she
occasionally passed the evening at the house of the Duc and Duchesse de
Duras, where a brilliant party of young persons met together. They
introduced a taste for trifling games, such as question and answer,
‘guerre panpan’, blind man’s buff, and especially a game called
‘descampativos’. The people of Paris, always criticising, but always
imitating the customs of the Court, were infected with the mania for these
childish sports. Madame de Genlis, sketching the follies of the day in
one of her plays, speaks of these famous ‘descampativos’; and also of the
rage for making a friend, called the ‘inseparable’, until a whim or the
slightest difference might occasion a total rupture.