The Story of the Diamond Necklace by Henry Vizetelly

The enemies of the queen at the moment the Necklace scandal burst upon the public were many and formidable; the real friends that she had capable of defending her were but few. The Baron de Breteuil was well enough disposed towards her, still it was not so much the shielding of the queen's reputation as compassing the downfall of his enemy, the Cardinal de Rohan, that he had at heart. The Abbé de Vermond, who had been Marie-Antoinette's instructor, and was now a sort of secretary to her, had only his fidelity to recommend him. He could influence the queen, but wanted the head to direct her wisely. Specious M. de Calonne was too busy raising new loans to supply a continually emptying royal exchequer to trouble himself about necklaces or cardinals; besides, no particular friendship existed now between the queen and him. He no longer gallantly told her that if what she required was simply difficult it was already done, and that if it was impossible, it should be done. The Duke de Choiseul had been dead these several months past. Those intimate friends of Marie-Antoinette's with whom her daily life was chiefly spent, and who formed what was styled her society, shared her unpopularity to some extent, for it was the favours heaped upon certain members of the Trianon set which had estranged so many of the old nobility from her. Moreover, with the exception of the Count d'Artois and the Duke de Coigny, there was not a man of influence among them who could do her real service in the hour of need.

The _habitués_ of the Little Trianon-"the queen's society," as they were styled-comprised, first, her youngest brother-in-law, the Count d'Artois, who danced with her, hunted with her, acted with her, and entered generally into the spirit of her amusements; then there was his wife, the countess, exceedingly short of stature, with a complexion as fresh as a rose, and a prepossessing if not a pretty face, yet with a nose which, as Marie-Antoinette wickedly remarked, had never been finished; at one time, too, there were the Count and Countess de Provence, the latter an elder sister of the Countess d'Artois, and the reverse of good-looking. Louis XVI. in his blunt way once told his brother that his wife was by no means handsome, to which the Count de Provence quietly replied, "Sire, I find her to my taste, and that is quite sufficient. "[223] Then there was the queen's sister-in-law, Madame Elisabeth, her true and loving friend until death; next there were the Polignacs, foremost among whom was the Countess Jules, the queen's most particular favourite, who was very handsome, with expressive blue eyes, a ravishing mouth, beautiful small white teeth, a nose just a trifle _retroussé_, a forehead perhaps a little too high, magnificent brown hair, a skin almost as white as alabaster, low shoulders and a well set neck which seemed to give height to her small figure. A touching sweetness formed the foundation of her physiognomy-looks, features, smiles, everything with her partook of the angelic. She had, moreover, wit and grace, and a natural ease and _abandon_ which were positively charming. Negligence was her coquetry, dishabille her full dress. It has been said of her that she never looked better than when in a loose morning gown, and with a simple rose, perhaps, in her hair. When the queen first took notice of her, she and her husband, with their two young children, were living in a very humble style (we have heard what Madame de la Motte had to say of her poverty)[224] on a miserable income of three hundred and twenty pounds a year. A pension of six thousand livres was immediately granted her, and ere long she was appointed governess of the royal children, with a salary of fifty thousand livres and her husband named postmaster-general, and master of the horse to the queen, with a salary of eighty thousand livres; in addition to which a joint pension of eighty thousand livres was conferred upon them, besides other considerable emoluments which brought their income almost up to three hundred thousand livres.[225] The count, who through the influence of the queen had been raised to the dignity of a duke, seems to have been an amiable sort of man, very generally liked, for he had not allowed his good fortune to spoil him. His sister, the Countess Diane, one of Madame Elisabeth's ladies of honour, was given, we are told, to gallantry and intrigue; her son by the Marquis d'Autichamp-the same wicked rake who was so anxious to escort Madame de la Motte from Lunéville to Paris-entered the Russian service, and was killed at the battle of Austerlitz.[226] Her personal appearance was the very reverse of engaging. She was compared to a brown owl (she was a southern brunette), with all its feathers in disorder, and to a paroquet, with a crooked beak and round eyes surrounded by dark circles.[227] Nevertheless, she had only to open her mouth to have face, form, toilette, the little she had received from nature, and the little that she herself did to render herself pretty, entirely forgotten. It was impossible to know her and not to be prepossessed in her favour. Her arch way of looking at a subject, her piquant turn of thought, which was almost epigrammatic, her sudden changes from gaiety to sadness, from irony to sensibility, her audacity, which nothing could intimidate, her daring and contagious recklessness, made her a general favourite in the society over which she to some extent dominated. A woman like her was invaluable to a court already depressed with melancholy, to put life into the conversation, to dissipate dull thoughts, to defy alarm, to prophesy fine weather, and display a perfect disregard for the future.