Thus as I walked through to my apartments, the Princesse de Lamballe beside me and Madame Campan a few paces behind, I found that the women from Les Halles were all about me. They looked at me with that frank curiosity to which I had grown accustomed. I tried hard not to wrinkle

my nose against the smell of fish—for these were the pois sardes, who above all the Paris traders were noted for their frankness of expression as they crowded about me, touching my clothes, my hands.

My hands fascinated them particularly: my fingers were so long and slender, the skin so soft and white, and of course they were aglitter with my beloved diamonds.

One woman thrust her face close to mine and, jerking her head towards the lying-in chamber, said: “You ought to be in there, Madame. You ought to be breeding heirs for France, not fondling your lady friends.”

I saw the Princesse flinch; and I believe my colour heightened a little, but I merely held my head high and tried to walk through the crowd.

“You should sleep with the King instead of dancing through the night and early morning.”

These women may have seen me riding home from the Opera at dawn when they were making their way to the markets.

Someone laughed.

“They say he can’t … is it true?”

The coarse laughter.

“You should see that he can, Madame. j This was becoming unbearable. The stench of these bodies, the insulting words which were growing more and more crude every moment!

Was it not enough that I had had to see my sister-in-law with her newly-born son in her arms? Must I now have to listen to coarse insults which I did not deserve?

Madame Campan was beside me. I saw her with calm dignity making a path, forcing a way through the crowd. My dearest Lamballe was not much use on such an occasion.

“The Queen is exhausted …” said Madame Campan.

The crude jest which followed that made me shudder; but I would have no more of it. After all, I was Queen of France. In my most regal manner I walked through that crowd of shouting women as though I could not see them, could not hear them, as though they did not exist. When I was in my apartment I heard their shouting behind me; I saw the tearful face of the Princesse, the calm one of Madame Campan.

I said: “Leave me … with Madame Campan.” And when the door shut on us I could restrain my sell no longer. I threw myself on to my bed and wept.

When I told my husband of the incident, he was saddened.

“It is so unfair … so unfair….” I stopped.

“Is it my fault?”

And seeing die stricken look on his face: “Is it our fault?”

He tried to comfort me and I whispered to him, “There is only one answer. The petite operation ” Yes,” he replied.

“Yes.”

I gripped his shoulders, my face alight with hope.

“You will …?”

“I will consider.”

I sighed. For so long he had been considering. It was nearly six years. What was he afraid of? The scalpel? Surely not. He was no coward. It was the indignity. The people would know;

they would speculate; they would watch. Even now, every time he came to my bedchamber they knew; they doubtless calculated the number of hours he spent there. It was this continual watchfulness which was ruining our lives. If only they would have left us alone I “You will.. you will see the doctors?”

He nodded. He wanted to give me all I asked; and I had made it clear that I wanted children above all things.

When he had left me I sat down and wrote to my mother:

“I have high hopes that I shall persuade the King to undergo that little operation which is all that is necessary.”

My mother wrote back that I must keep her informed, and I obeyed her.

I told her everything, but I do not think she could understand the effect this continuing situation was having on me. I was twenty; I was young, extremely healthy. It was not as though I lived the life of a normal virgin. There were these constant frustrating attempts which failed. I was restless and unhappy; I turned away from my husband and then towards him. He had seen the doctors; he had asked for all details of the necessary operation; he had examined the instruments which would have to be used, and bad come back to me.

I believe,” he said, ‘that in time this will right itself of its own accord.”

My heart sank. He could not face the operation. We were to go on in the old unsatisfactory way.

Every time he came to my apartments by way of the Oeil de Boeuf the crowds would be there watching him. The lampoons and chansons were increasing. We were no longer the young King and Queen who were going to create a Miracle and make France a land flowing with milk and honey; we had had the guerre des farines; we were an impotent young man and a frivolous young woman. The knowledge that while we were together those people were speculating on our actions disturbed us. We both began to dread these encounters. Yet we must do our duty. It was my idea that we should have a secret staircase built between the King’s bedchainber and mine so that he could visit me without anyone’s knowing when.

We did this and it comforted us, but the position was unchanged, and I knew it would be until he submitted to the petite operation.

I wrote to my mother:

“On the most unhappy point which troubles my dear mother, I am most unhappy to be unable to tell her anything new. This is certainly no fault of mine. I can only rely on patience and sweetness.”

But I was anxious for her to know that although my husband failed me in this one thing, in all other matters I had nothing of which to complain.

Oh yes, I was fond of Louis, but he was failing me.

There is really no excuse for the manner in which I behaved during the next phase of my life. I am sure it caused great consternation to my mother, who was watching so anxiously from afar. I can only plead the excuse of youth, my aroused senses which were never satisfied, the unhealthy atmosphere in which I lived.

I needed children. No woman was meant to be a mother more than I.

Every time I rode through the country and saw the little ones playing I would envy those humble cottage women with little ones clinging to their skirts. My entire being yearned for children. If any of my women had children I would ask that they be brought to me. I would romp with them and my dogs in a manner which Mercy felt was most unbecoming.

In the circumstances, what had I but the pursuit of perpetual amusement? I did not want time on my hands to meditate on my unsatisfactory life, I began to suffer from violent headaches and became feverish and giddy. Mercy called them ‘nervous affectation. ” He did not believe that I could be ill. In fact I looked extremely healthy; I had great vitality; I danced half the night. But I would sometimes find myself crying for little reason. It was most disturbing.

I longed for affection—demonstrative affection—which I could not get from Louis, and I was beginning to realise the danger of my mood. I was surrounded by handsome virile young men, who delighted to pay me compliments and who showed me in a hundred ways that they desired me.

Their courteous manners, their lingering glances excited me, and all the time I was aware of a warning voice—that sounded like my mother’s—continually ringing in my ears. This is danger. The children you bear will be Les Enfants de France. It would be criminal if they should have any father but the King.

I could not resist a little light flirtation. Perhaps Madame de Marsan was right and I was a coquette by nature; but I never allowed myself to be alone with any young man. I knew I was watched; that I was surrounded by people who hoped to see me rush to disaster; I knew that shocking things were written of me and that there were many people who believed perhaps that I did lead a scandalous life.

Mercy reproached me for my restlessness. I was never in bed before the dawn; I seemed to have an endless craving for excitement. I surrounded myself with the young and giddy members of the Court and had no time for those who could help and advise me.

I tried to explain to him. I felt I could be frank with Mercy. He at least would not supply the chanson news with material for their libels.

“I am perplexed by my strange position,” I cried in desperation.

“You have seen the way in which the King leaves me alone. I am afraid of being bored. I am afraid of myself. To prevent myself brooding I must have continual action. I must have novelty.”

He looked at me severely, and of course went straight to his apartment and reported to my mother what I had said.

I had to have someone on whom to lavish my affections. I laved little Elisabeth and kept her with me whenever possible. Clothilde had now married and left us. My dearest friend was Marie Therese Louise, the Princesse de Lamballe. I found her enchanting, for she was so gentle, and sweet, although many thought her stupid. She had a habit of swooning which Vermond said was affectation; she would swoon with pleasure at a gift of flowers or with horror at the sight of shellfish. She confided in me that she had suffered so much through her marriage that it had made her afraid of her own shadow. Poor dearest Lamballe I During those days of uncertainty she was my closest companion. She was so devoted to me; she said she would be happy to be one of my dogs so that she could sit at my feet every day. We used to walk through the gardens arm in arm like two schoolgirls, which naturally shocked everyone who saw us for it was no way for a Queen to be seen in public. But the more frustrated I became, the more determined I was to show contempt for their etiquette. And then I met the Comtesse Jules. She was the loveliest j creature I had ever seen. She had large soulful blue eye and thick brown curling hair which she wore hanging about her shoulders. She wore no jewels; I discovered that she had none; but on the first day I saw her there was a red rose in her corsage. Her sister-in-law was the Comtesse Diane de Polignac, lady-in-waiting to the Comtesse d’Artois, and it was Diane i who had brought her to Court. As soon as I saw her I wanted to know who she was, and commanded that she be presented to me. She was twenty six at our first meeting but she looked as young as I. Her name was Gabrielle Yolande de Polastron, and at seventeen she had been married to the Comte Jules de Polignac.