The Queen's Confession Part 18

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: "There are still moments when I think it is only a dream, but this dream goes on and I think I need no longer doubt ..."

Had I ever been so happy? I did not think so. A child ... all of my own!

I was a little absentminded when Armand came to sit on my bed. I did not see him. I saw another child. My own ... my baby Dauphin.

I was writing to my mother frequently of all my hopes, how I was going to care for my Dauphin, what I was preparing for him. I was taking care of myself. I took quiet walks in the gardens of Versailles and Trianon; I liked to sit and talk in the pet.i.ts appartements, listening to gentle music and doing a little needlework. I was planning my baby's clothes. I wanted to do so much for him myself. I could not wait for him to be born.

I wrote to my mother: "The manner in which they are brought up now is much less constricting. Babies should not be swaddled. They should be in a light cradle or carried in one's arms. I learn that they should be out of doors as soon as possible so that they can grow accustomed to fresh air by degrees and they end by being in it almost the whole of the day. I believe it to be good and healthy for them. I have arranged for my baby to be lodged downstairs, and there shall be a little railing separating him from the rest of the terrace. This will teach him to walk early ..."

How I longed to have him with me. I was impatient of the waiting.

The discomforts of pregnancy did not worry me in the least. I welcomed them. I was never tired of talking of babies and I gathered about me those people who had had them so that they could talk of their experiences.

But how long the waiting seemed! I began to grow so weary of it; sometimes I was almost sick with longing for my child.

My baby was due in December and the summer seemed endless; and then a strange event occurred which for a short while made me less aware even of my coming baby.

It was August and I was in the crowded salon with my husband and brothers- and sisters-in-law, and I was beginning to feel a little tired. I knew I only had to catch Louis' eye and he would dismiss the a.s.sembly. He was always so solicitous of my health and terrified, as I was, that the baby might be jeopardized.

Then it happened. He was some little distance from us and neither my husband nor his brothers knew him. But I did. I took one look at that unusual and most handsome face, at the contrast of fair hair and dark eyes, and I was transported back to an opera ball where as Dauphine I had danced disguised ... until I had revealed myself.

"Ah," I cried impulsively. "Here is an old acquaintance!"

"Madame." He was standing before me, bowing low over my hand. I felt his lips against my fingers and I was happy.

"Comte de Fersen," I said thoughtlessly.

He was delighted that I should remember him. Others watching me - were they not always watching me? - were surprised and naturally would not let the matter pa.s.s.

He had changed a little since we had last met; but then so had I. We had both become more mature. I asked him to tell me what had happened to him after the opera ball.

He had been to England, he said, and after that to Northern France and Holland before returning to the Chateau of Lofstad, which was his home in Sweden.

"And you were happy to be home."

He smiled; he had the most charming smile I had ever seen. "The Court of Sweden seemed a little dull after that of France."

I was pleased, loving compliments.

"But it is your home," I reminded him.

"I had been so long away ... Brussels ... Berlin, Rome, London, Paris ... in particular Paris."

"I am pleased that our capital pleased you."

He looked steadily at me and said: "There is something here that ... enchants me."

I was excited. I knew what he meant.

"You have a family though ... a large family?"

"A younger brother and three sisters, but they were always away from home. They all held posts at Court."

"Naturally. But I know what it means to live in a large family and leave it ..."

I dare not talk to him much longer, for we were being noticed. He was courtier enough to realize this.

I said conspiratorially: "We will talk together again."

Being thus dismissed, he bowed and I turned to my sister-in-law, who was standing beside me. Marie Josephe would be beside me at such a time. I was sure she had listened to every word.

What strange days they were. I don't think I had ever been so happy in the whole of my life. I would wake in the night and put my hands on my body to feel the child; and I would picture my little boy lying in my arms or I would be teaching him to walk and say Maman.

Then I would think of Comte Axel de Fersen, with his strangely beautiful face and his ardent eyes. Of course I was happy. I had never carried a child before; I had never before known a man with whom I felt so completely at peace. I had strange thoughts - perhaps women do during pregnancy. I wished that I lived in a little house with a husband like Axel de Fersen and babies ... lots of them. I believed that if I could do that, I should ask for nothing else. What were gambling, dancing, practical jokes, glorious silks and brocades, fantastic headdresses, diamonds ... a crown ... what would all these things amount to when compared with that simple life of complete contentment.

I can be honest with myself now and say that if I could have had that, I should have been happy. I see myself now as an ordinary woman, not clever, unsubtle, sentimental, a woman who was meant most of all to be a mother.

But I had been miscast in the role of Queen.

It was a pleasure to discover more and more of Axel de Fersen. His love of music delighted me. I sent him invitations to concerts; sometimes I would invite him with a few intimate friends. I would play the harpsichord to them and sometimes sing. I had not a very good voice, but it was pleasant enough and everyone applauded me naturally whenever I sang. But the singing was for him, though we could never be alone together, since we were watched at every turn. I remember my brother Joseph's warning about my sister-in-law, Marie Josephe. She was not a Piedmontese for nothing, he had said; and she was certainly constantly setting people to spy on me. She was a jealous woman. Provence could not get children; and his one hope and hers had been that I should die childless and leave the way to the throne clear for them. Now I was with child; there might be many more children once we had proved we could have them. And they were naturally disconsolate.

But although Axel and I were not alone together, we did enjoy many conversations. He made me see his affectionate mother; his father, for whom he had a deep respect and who, he admitted, was a little parsimonious and wondered when his son was going to give up wandering about Europe and settle down to a career. He even told me of Mademoiselle Leyel, a Swedish girl who lived in London and to whom he had been sent to pay court.

"Her vast fortune greatly appealed to my family," he said gravely.

"And to you?" I asked.

"I am not averse to a large fortune."

"And she is beautiful?"

"She is reckoned so."

"I am interested in your adventure in London. Tell me more."

"I was a guest in her parents' luxurious mansion."

"That must have been most pleasant."

"No," he said. "No."

"But why not?"

"Because I was an unenthusiastic wooer."

"You surprise me."

"Surely not. I was pursued by a dream. Something happened to me once ... years before ... in Paris. In the Opera House there."

I was afraid to speak to him, for I was very much aware of my two sisters-in-law silently watching.

"Ah! And did you not ask for her hand?"

"I asked her. It was my father's wish and mine to please him."

"So you are to marry this rich and handsome woman?"

"By no means. She refused me."

"Refused you?"

"Your Majesty sounds incredulous. She was wise. She sensed my inadequacies."

I laughed lightheartedly. "We should not have cared for you to go to London ... so soon. You have only just arrived in Paris."

And so the days pa.s.sed. Great events were happening to us, but I paid no heed to that. It was only later that I gave them a thought. Throughout the Court the conflict between England and her colonists in America was being talked of - and with great glee because it delighted all Frenchmen to see their old enemies the English in trouble. Although in Paris English habits were followed slavishly, there was an inherent hatred for our neighbors on the other side of the Channel.

Frenchmen could not forget the defeats and humiliations of the Seven Years' War and all they had lost through that to the English; and ever since 1775, at the beginning of our reign, we had been applauding the Americans; in fact there were many Frenchmen who believed that France should declare war on England. Some time before, I remember my husband's telling me that if we declared war on England, it was very likely that this might bring a reconciliation between England and her colonies; after all, they were all English and they might well stick together if a foreign power attacked. Louis never wanted war. "If I went to war," he said, "I could not do my people all the good I wished."

Nevertheless when America declared Independence on July 4th, 1776, we were delighted and wished the settlers well. I remember three American deputies coming to France at that time: Benjamin Franklin, Silas Deane, and Arthur Lee. How solemn they were! How somber with their suits of cloth and their unpowdered hair. They stood out oddly among our exquisite dandies, but they were received everywhere and were quite the fashion and when the Marquis de La Fayette left for America to support the colonists, many Frenchmen followed him. They were pressing the King to declare war, but Louis continued to stand out against it, although we sent help secretly to America in the form of arms, ammunition, and even money. At this time, however, the battle between our Belle Poule and the British Arethusa occurred and Louis was reluctantly obliged to declare war against England - at least at sea.

I had listened to what Axel had told me about the American fight for independence; he was a fervent supporter of freedom; and I repeated his arguments to my husband. It was one of those rare occasions when I interested myself in state affairs.

Louis was anxious to please me at this time, and I do believe my voice, added to that of others, was to some extent instrumental in bringing him to the decision to declare war at sea.

I was wildly enthusiastic for the Americans against the English; but when someone asked my brother Joseph for his opinion, he answered: "I am a Royalist by profession."

Mercy repeated this remark to me. It was a warning, reminding me that I was giving wholehearted support to those who were rebeling against Monarchy. The rights or wrongs of the dispute were neither here nor there. Kings and Queens who believed it was right and proper for subjects to rebel against them in any circ.u.mstances - were they taking a risk? It seemed my brother Joseph thought so; and he was more experienced than I.

The weather during that summer was very hot and I began to feel my pregnancy. Unable to take much exercise I liked to sit on the terrace in the cool of evening often by the light of the moon or in starlight. We had had the terrace illuminated with fairy lights and an orchestra played every night in the Orangery. The public were allowed to walk about freely in the gardens and they made full use of this - particularly during the warm summer evenings.

I and my sisters-in-law would sit on the terrace together and for these occasions we always wore simple white gowns perhaps of muslin and cambric and big straw hats with light veils over them to shield our faces. Thus we were often unrecognized; and now and then people would sit beside us and talk to us without knowing who we were.

This of course resulted now and then in unpleasant incidents. A young man came and sat beside me once in the gloom and made advances. I had spoken to him without realizing his intentions and had to get up and walk abruptly away, for he had made it clear that he knew he was speaking to the Queen.

Such incidents were extremely unpleasant, particularly as my sisters-in-law were nearby and would probably report perhaps to the aunts, who now criticized everything I did and made much of every little happening, or to the Sardinian Amba.s.sador, who would be pleased to embellish the story and spread it abroad. It was sure to be said that I encouraged amorous strangers. They were making up the most scandalous stories about me now; in fact it seemed to be a favorite pastime.

I decided as the autumn came that I would retire more and more from the public. I had every reason for doing so. So I kept to my own apartments, surrounded only by my most intimate friends like my dearest Madame de Polignac, the Princesse de Lamballe, and the Princesse Elisabeth, who as she grew older was becoming more and more close to me.

Axel de Fersen was frequently at my gatherings; we sang, played music, and talked. They were very pleasant days. As for my husband, he was in a state of constant anxiety and I would laugh at him, for ten times a day he would come to my apartments to ask anxiously how I was feeling; and when he was not asking me, he was summoning the doctors and accoucheurs demanding to know that everything was as it should be.

The ordeal of birth! It stays with me now. For any woman giving birth to her first child is a frightening though, I admit, exalting experience. But with a Queen it is all that and a public spectacle at the same time. I might be giving birth to the heir of France and therefore all France had a right to see me do it.

The town of Versailles was full of sightseers. It had been impossible to get a room anywhere since the first week of December. Prices shot up. Well, what could one expect? They were all determined to see me give birth to my child.

It was a cold December day - the 18th, I remember well - when my pains started. Immediately all the bells of the town started to ring to let everyone know that I was in labor. The Princesse de Lamballe and my ladies-in-waiting hurried to my bedchamber; my husband came in some consternation. Our marriage had been such a topic of conversation for so many years that he feared there would be even greater interest than there usually was over a royal birth. He himself fastened the great tapestry screens about my bed with cords. "So," he said, "that they should not be easily overthrown." How right he was to take this action! When he had done this, he despatched guardsmen to Paris and Saint-Cloud to summon all the Princes of the Blood Royal, who, tradition demanded, should be present at the birth.

No sooner had the Princes arrived than the spectators stormed the chateau and many of them forced their way into the bedchamber. An effort, I gather, was made to prevent too many entering the room, but there were at least fifty people all determined to see a Queen in labor.

My pains were growing more and more frequent. I tried to console myself; this was the moment for which I had longed all my life; this was becoming a mother.

I had arranged with the Princesse de Lamballe that she should let me know, without speaking, the s.e.x of my child, and I was aware of her close to my bed during the agonizing hours that followed. The heat was tremendous, for the windows had been caulked up to keep out the cold night air; but we had not bargained for such a crowded lying-in chamber. Packed close together so that that there was no room for anyone to pa.s.s between them, some standing on benches to get a better view, leaning heavily against the tapestry screens so that, but for my husband's foresight in using those thick cords, they would have collapsed onto the bed, the spectators whispered together. I felt I could not breathe; I was grappling not only with the ordeal of birth but with the fight for breath. The smell of vinegar and essences mingled with that of sweating bodies and the heat was unbearable.

All through the night I fought to give birth to my child ... and for my life; and at half-past eleven on the morning of December 19th my child was born.

I lay back exhausted; but I must know whether the child was a boy. I looked at the Princesse; she was near the bed; she shook her head, in the arranged signal.

A girl! I felt a sick disappointment ... and then ... I was fighting for my breath.

I was aware of faces about me ... a sea of faces ... those of the Princesse de Lamballe, the accoucheur, the King.

Someone shouted: "My G.o.d, give her air. For G.o.d's sake move away ... and give her air."

Then I fell into unconsciousness.

I heard from Madame Campan afterward what happened. None of the women could force their way through the crowds to bring the hot water. Air was absolutely necessary, for all the doctors agreed I was on the point of death by suffocation.

"Clear the room," shouted the accoucheur. But the people refused to move. They had come to see the show and it was not yet over.

"Open the windows! For G.o.d's sake open the windows."

But the windows had been pasted all round with strips of paper and it would take hours to remove it that they might be opened.

There were moments in my husband's life when he was indeed a King among men and this was one of them. He pushed his way through the crowd and with a strength which no one would have thought possible in one man, he wrenched open the windows and the cold fresh air rushed into the room.

The accoucheur told the surgeon that I must be bled immediately without hot water, since it was un.o.btainable, and an incision was immediately made in my foot. Madame Campan told me afterward that as the blood streamed forth I opened my eyes and they all knew that my life had been saved.

Poor Lamballe fainted - as might have been expected - and had to be carried out; the King ordered that the room be cleared of all spectators, but even then some of them refused to go and the valets de chambres and the pages had to drag them out by their collars.

But I was alive; I had given birth to a child - albeit a daughter.

When I was conscious of what was going on, I was aware of the bandage about my foot, and I asked why it was there.

The King came to my bedside and told me what had happened. Everyone seemed to be weeping and embracing each other.