Days of Splendor, Days of Sorrow (30 page)
Read Days of Splendor, Days of Sorrow Online
Authors: Juliet Grey
We were seated on the grass at Trianon, overlooking one of the romantic grottoes. I slid my feet out of my court heels and wiggled my pink-stockinged feet in the cool damp carpet of green.
Axel hugged his knees to his chest. “I am protecting you,
Votre Majesté
. And the king. Louis is a good man, and too much maligned by his own courtiers. I am not even
un Français
and for the sake of his honor I am insulted by some of the things I hear.”
I rested my hand lightly on his sleeve and just as quickly withdrew it, ashamed of my own behavior. “
‘Votre Majesté’
is too formal. And your generous words about my husband were, I believe, spoken from your heart and not calculated to please me. Will you call me Toinette from now on?” The count gave me a faint smile, accompanied by a little exhalation from his nose—a close-mouthed chuckle. “I was protecting you, too,” I murmured, “by not inviting you to nurse me when I had the measles. Not because I didn’t wish you to catch it, which of course is true, but because I didn’t want people to talk about
you
.” I wanted to rest my head against Axel’s shoulder, yet dared not. Despite the idle rumors, the games I played at Trianon were giddy children’s romps of the sort I had enjoyed in Vienna, not the variety that courtiers at the palace routinely indulged in—amorous dalliances with other people’s spouses and lovers. I was not made for such sport. In the sight of God I had taken vows that I most fervently believed in.
A skylark winged overhead, silhouetted against a soft white
cloud. And in that moment, on the most perfect spring day in memory, I finally understood what Maman had tried to instill in me all those years ago when she prepared me to become a bride, extracting my promise to maintain my good German morals and avoid the enticing vices of the French court.
And yet I loved the way Count von Fersen’s skin smelled of Castille soap and the scent of pomade he used to powder his hair. I couldn’t seem to drink my fill of the angles of his jaw, the planes of his cheeks, the way his eyes never seemed to be quite the same color. And I could not look at him without feeling tormented by the fact that we could never be together, even in the manner of other aristocratic couples in France who made their tacit arrangements with their respective spouses; and by the knowledge that were we to dispense with caution I would not only be insulting God and be no better than the du Barrys of the world, the women I held in such contempt, I would also be deeply wounding a man who had been nothing but generous to me during our marriage, even if the union had not been of our making. Nonetheless, I would willingly do or give whatever it took to make Count von Fersen happy, except the one thing that we both knew would spell our ruin.
Good-byes
1780
January 1, 1780
Madame my dear daughter,
I cannot begin the year better than to send you my loving compliments and wishes—first for a dauphin, and within the year! Générale Krottendorf has just died; I hope “she” soon will stop visiting you.
But you mustn’t indulge in any more journeys in an un-heated carriage. No wonder you caught a cold. Could you not have skipped one Opéra ball for the sake of your health? Lassone was right to give you iron; it did wonders for your sister Charlotte, and being bled cannot hurt either. I could always count on becoming pregnant when I had myself bled.
You made no reply when I told you that the papers reported the king intends to give your comtesse de Polignac 800,000 livres for her twelve-year-old daughter as a dowry, in
addition to a two-million-livre estate and the promise to discharge the comtesse’s debts. I must warn you of the sensation this is causing among the public, especially when the court’s expenses are being drastically (and so necessarily) reduced.
I cannot remain silent when I hear such rumors. If I do not warn you about this damage to your character, who else would dare to do so?
As to your current war with Britain, regretfully for France, the Austrian public, as well as our nobility, are very much in favor of the English; that is as much of an old prejudice as being anti-Austrian is for the French. I can at least assure you that my ministers and I do not share the anglophilia and wholeheartedly support you, but I cannot answer for your brother. However, as long as the behavior of your ministers does not always run contrary to Joseph’s interests, I will endeavor to guarantee at least his neutrality on the matter. I am not at all pleased with what I have read about the current situation in America, or that of the French fleet; the English fanaticism is tremendous and their resources equally immense. As a partisan of France and mother of her dear queen, I only wish for peace. At least the Treaty of Teschen put that messy Bavarian business behind us.
Your maman kisses you lovingly,
my more than dear daughter,
Maria Theresa
MARCH
“Madame Royale is quite tall for a two-year-old, is she not?” I inquired of the princesse de Guéméné, now governess of my little daughter of France. “In that I think she favors her father.”
“I think,
peut-être
, it is because she has never had even a moment’s
fever,” the princesse remarked. “Imagine,” she sighed, “soon she will be weaned. Where has the time gone?”
It always filled my spirit to visit my daughter’s nursery, such a charming little chamber, its paneled walls embellished with baskets of pink roses that I had painted myself. Of course Marie Thérèse could walk already, although she did not speak much. She had taken to hiding behind the princesse’s skirts and peeking her head out like a turtle daring to explore the world outside her shell. I did not see her as frequently as I would have liked, and I feared she was becoming too shy, fretting that if she were kept from me for too long, she might fail to remember who I was.
“I think she knows,” said the princesse. She requested one of my attendants to speak to the tot. “Ask her to go to her mother.”
I longed to get down on my knees and open my arms to her, but of course that would have constituted a rather large hint and would have made fruitless the entire point of the challenge.
Madame Royale quickly scanned the room, her avid gaze taking in the cluster of ladies in pastel gowns, like a tray of giant macarons. Then, launching herself forward on her sturdy little legs she toddled over to me, gaining momentum with every step, and threw her arms about my knee. I sank down and scooped her into my arms, smothering her with kisses.
“My sweet little Mousseline,” I cooed into her fragrant curls. “One day, soon I hope, I will give you a little brother to play with.”
She frowned at me. “Am I not enough, Maman?”
I held her even tighter, resting my cheek against the peach-soft skin of her brow because I could not look her in the eye. “
Oh, ma petite
, I wish it were so.”
MAY
Some weeks earlier, the comte de Mercy and my dear abbé Vermond had finally persuaded me to resume marital relations with the king, not only for the good of our union but for that of the realm. Not many people apart from Louis knew my secret, but I could not conceal my joy from Count von Fersen. He had guessed it anyway, sensible to the slightest shifts in my mood. Not even Gabrielle de Polignac or the Lamballe was as
sympathique
. And neither of them had shadowed us on what would be our final afternoon together for many months.
“You are even more beautiful when you are increasing,” Axel remarked, as we enjoyed our last stroll amid the gardens of le Petit Trianon before he prepared to sail for North America as a colonel in the Royal Deux-Ponts regiment. Eager to keep him in France, I had secured the brevet for him last year, although many Frenchmen were jealous of being commanded by a Swedish mercenary. The count’s greatest dream was fulfilled when the Deux-Ponts received their orders to depart for the British colonies; and it would be dishonest to say that I was not secretly delighted by whatever had transpired during the interim to delay their departure until now. The additional months of his companionship had been a beautiful gift, but could never lessen the pain of parting. This afternoon I had resolved to show him only smiles, though I doubted I could keep my pledge.
