July 18th, 1788

 

We are now at the end of our time in Riom with Maman, her husband, and Andre with his wife and new baby daughter. It seems that our isolation in pleasant Auvergne is likewise at an end, as I have been recalled to court to attend to Mme Elisabeth. I had thought to beg more time with my own child, but my husband was much against it. So it is that in a mere few weeks we must pack up the household, find lodgings for Aurelie and M-, (my husband), and resign oneself to committing my daughter to the care of her father and nurse. 

Aurelie's nurse is named Aimee, and was recommended to us through an acquaintance of Maman's, so I do not yet feel that I know her well. The baby seems fond of her, but then she is enamored of all who meet her gaze at present. The child is active, with a bright smile, and even brighter eyes of blue with long lashes. Many who meet her do exclaim that she strongly resembles me; a fact which displeases M- though he is loathe to admit it. I wonder if his insistence that I take I do not delay in taking up this post is to separate us more. Admittedly, he also makes much of the penury he feels we suffer under, and is relieved to know that my position comes with somewhat generous compensation.

I must send a letter to Elizabeth R- to inform her that I will be returning to Paris sooner than thought, and hope to visit with her and my god-daughter. Of course, I also thrill at the thought of introducing Aurelie to my dear friend whose counsel has often been of such use. It will be good to hear from her the news of late, for I am terribly ill-informed at present. 

So many tasks call that I will cut this short. Alas, I had thought there would be more time in these happy days of seclusion; but then are there ever enough?

-Olympe

June 25th 1788

 

More than a year has passed, but not in any idleness. I sit in the most pleasant of company beside a face sweeter than any in the world; that of my infant daughter. One year ago, I discovered that I was enciente, and after a difficult series of negotiations with the Chevalier and his family, we were wed. Thus am I no longer Marquise, and the Chevalier is become Comte d'Auvergne by this union. I had thought he would be disappointed when she revealed herself not to be the wish-for son, but he has been a most devoted father and writes often to me from Paris to ask after his adored daughter, whom we have named Aurelie. To me she is an answered prayer, and I spend each day in awe of her as she grows. Indeed, it seems that I awaken to a new baby each morning. 

As for our marriage, the Comte spends his time in Paris attending to family matters while I remain at present in Auvergne, currently in Saint-Saturnin. In two weeks we travel to Riom where my mother will rejoice to be reunited with her only grand-daughter, whom she also adores. Not long will Aurelie remain the sole grandchild, however, as Andre's wife will be delivered of her child sometime in the next month. The Chevalier, as I continue to think of him despite his new title, has two sisters, both younger than I. Neither is yet married, though the elder, Henriette, is promised to the younger son of a Marquis, whose name I quite forget. Thus Aurelie is the favored child in his family as well. I find his father aloof, and his mother having died many years ago, she is not present to facilitate our interactions. 

Today my jeweler delivered a watch I had made for Andre to celebrate the birth of his child, and which I will leave with Maman while when we are in Riom. I am having new clothes made in great quantities, as I find it curious how many of my garments are no longer tolerable, my shape having changed in curious ways since last year. Another time I will recount the story of her birth, but for now Aurelie smiles at me and seems to want me to relinquish my pen. I am powerless to deny her merest whim. Oh, how I love my child!

-Olympe, Comtesse

April 2nd 1787

Truly Spring cannot come soon enough! I am weary of the cold, weary of the wet, and at the moment exceedingly weary of house guests. The Chevalier as been at Portaberaud with me on a number of occasions this season, despite needing frequently to return to Paris to assist his father with some various duties in the running of the estates. He has not divulged exactly what affairs these are, and it has not alleviated my suspicious concerns one jot, but so it is. Where once I was want to entertain him for the duration of his visits I increasingly leave him to his own devices and go about my own tasks while he is here. There is a pleasing domesticity in this. 

Maman and her husband have also been to visit, though they are settled quite near me here in Riom and only stay as guests because we have a habit of playing cards or singing and playing music until it is quite late. The roads are good, but it is just much easier in the colder weather for them to wait until morning to depart in these cases. This has happened many times this year so far. 

My dear friend Elizabeth R- writes to tell me that, contrary to any rumors of the Chevalier's interest in other women, the only rumor related to his romantic entanglements involves our own and he is said to be much in love. This should cheer me greatly, however, I cannot seem to be easy in this regard. Too many nights I have found myself with a strange sense of impending disaster, as if some terrible calamity were close at hand. I cannot account for it. I had thought to distract myself from this when Emilie proposed another visit and, although she is not always a comfort, I did look forward to entertaining her again. Not surprisingly, given past observations of my own, her visit was to have coincided with one from the Chevalier, but at the last he was required to remain in Paris on business and she came away on her own. Gossip is her forte and I at last realized that very little response was required from me in order to keep her engaged. By this method we passed several days without my hardly needing to utter a single full sentence; such is her enthusiasm that she has a habit of speaking even as her conversation partner is yet speaking themselves. While this at first amused me, it became rather dreary by the end of the visit. Whether it was due to the Chevalier's absence, as I suspect, or her own sense of my tiring of her companionship, she left a day earlier than expected citing some pressing social engagement for which she wished to prepare. I must remember to ask Elizabeth about Emilie's prospects at present, as she is still young and likely to marry within a few years.

The rents are collected, but as has been true of the last few years the needs of my properties seem to outweigh the value. I am determined this year to expend considerable capital to ensure that next year the needs may be fewer and the profit more dependable. I have debts that must be serviced and it is my intention this year to spend less time in Paris or at Versailles, unless the Princess should recall me, and thereby save money with which to provide the capital for improvements. I have told Marianne that we will likely repair to Saint-Saturnin sometime in May when the weather has warmed, and written ahead to my steward to inform him of the same. 

Olympe

February 6th, 1787

 

It is a new year, but Spring still seems very far, however much we may long for its arrival. This past week was almost unbearably cold and there is no sign that this next one will be any better, with snow lingering in every shadowed corner and making it too slippery for the horses, which has halted many of the plans myself and my guests have had for the past few weeks.

Try as we might, Marianne and I were unable to locate any definite proof of the Chevalier's disloyalty, though I still feel a constant sense of unease about his affections. He is now returned to Paris, but did marvelously charm Maman during his stay in Riom. Charming though he might be, he was unable to hide his dislike of the town declaring it "provincial" in a manner which was unmistakably denigrating. He swears he meant it only in the strictest sense of the word, as it is a country province, but I know better. He insults the place I love, vastly preferring the city in every regard. Though it is allowable for two people to hold different views, it is hardly helpful for one's paramour to sneer at the things and places that one loves. I have not always preferred the country to the town myself, but increasingly I find it holds the peace I need. The city is too full of intrigue in large part because it is too full of people. Versailles is even more so.

The Comte de Vergennes is very poorly, and as such the Council of Notables has yet to convene. It is said that he has worked himself into exhaustion, but for well or ill the Council cannot long delay their work. The King, being very fond of Vergennes, is loathe to continue without him despite urgings from his other ministers. Vergennes enjoys support from Lafayette as well for his pursuit of French involvement in the American war in the colonies, which resulted in no end of favor for the Marquis (despite his disobedience to the King, which I shall never understand). This I mostly have from Elizabeth, Comtesse de R-, for it has been over a month since my last letter from Princess Elisabeth. Evidently my god-daughter continues well, though the Comtesse is much exasperated, declaring that the child has such lungs that she hopes we may expect a fine voice when she is old enough to begin music lessons. 

Andre and his wife have departed for their home recently, though it took them an extra day's travel to arrive as the roads were so bad. Mattieu has remained some days longer, but is eager to be on his way as well. Maman and I paint, but grow tired of the same daily activities and Riom has very little at present to relieve the tedium. If my latest letter from Menars is to be credited then my enemies at court continue their slanders, but I have little ability to counter this and less and less energy to even attempt it. Perhaps when the weather warms my energy will return.

-Olympe

December 8th, 1786

Received a considerable shock this Thursday last when, who should show up on my doorstep, but the Chevalier. Evidently he did not take my lack of communication as intended to indicate that his presence was no longer wanted at Portaberaud, and came to visit, as was his original plan. Being that he was already there I could hardly turn him away into the cold night, so he was permitted to stay, which led to us engaging in a rather frank discussion. In truth it hearkened back to the kinds of talks we used to have when we first began this misadventurous romance. It meandered through topics, dear and distant; and we expressed the deepest fears of our hearts as well as our cherished dreams. He insists that his relationship with that actress is naught but a fond friendship and asked if I would wish him to abandon her as a friend; to which I responded that I should wish for him to abandon her as a potential lover. He said he already had, and swore again that nothing of that nature had passed between them. I for my part shall continue to monitor all correspondence I may find access to, and toward this end I have enlisted the aid of my maid, Marianne. 

The Chevalier is to remain on with us for some weeks, departing again for Paris and his father's house just before Christmas. During that time Marianne will assist me in locating any letters, diaries, or notes which are between he and the actress or any other woman who is not already known to me. Nor am I so foolish as to overlook anything which may be addressed to a false name, or a coded reference. I wish to trust, but I find it necessary that I should protect myself from future pain and embarrassment by taking the reigns now and ensuring that my trust is deserved. I will find ways and reasons of separating him from his room and belongings, and Marianne will, in the guise of her duties, search for anything which seems potentially suspicious. These she will bring to me, taking care to note their position so that they might be returned as if undisturbed, and I will explore their contents for signs that he is or has been false. 

Should no cause for concern be found, so much the better. If something of note is discovered, it will be all the proof needed to cast aside his hollow oaths and banish him from my company forthwith. I will then need never wonder if I have been hasty or unkind; and he will be unable to defend his actions as misunderstood rather than sordid as they will have been indeed. I do not like having to pursue this course of action, but I think it must be done. It is too easy for my gentle heart to be abused, I do owe it protection where I am able. 

-Olympe

November 24th, 1786

I write, in very ill humor, from my home, Portaberaud, in quiet Riom. The Chevalier has pursued me with letters, though they have now seemed to cease. That would make me piqued enough, but Maman was to have visited with her husband, and has chosen instead to inform me that she will not now come until close to Christmas, at which time she is bringing, not one but, BOTH of my brothers as well as my sister-in-law. Inhospitable as I might sound, it is rather unfair. I am fond of my family (Maman's husband aside), but I had hoped for a kind of time with my mother, just the two of us, and near to my birthday as well. She had promised that we would paint together. Now that is not to be. Add to that the expense and trouble of hosting fully double the number of people, as well as the fact that they have no clear wish to depart quickly and may stay through the New Year, and I am quite put out! Not a one seems to have had the consideration to think of their hostess in making these arrangements, and I find myself infuriatingly the last to know when it will most impact my planning and household. 

On the advice of a friend, and much to the horror of the gardeners, I have taken to assaulting the last of the summer's roses with shears, and generally tidying the garden as a way to give vent to my many frustrations. We have enjoyed great shifts in weather of late, one day sunny and quite unseasonably warm, the next frosted and overcast. I am glad I brought away with me all manner of clothing, though Marianne will grumble at the sheer amount of packing. It is, after all, her job. 

Menars, in his single letter on the subject, says that there are always rumors about single young men in the city, which would seem to dismiss my not-unfounded suspicions of the Chevalier's infidelity; yet also comments that he would not be at all surprised should these prove to be more than unconsummated affections. In short, I have been a fool, in the eyes of all of Paris. And at my age, too!

I am finishing a bonnet by my own hand for my little god-daughter and will send it to Elizabeth in time for Christmas. Tomorrow I turn my attention to preparations for the entire family to descend upon me, but tonight I think I will rest with a book, some sewing, and the companionship of my sweet dog. Tomorrow perhaps my mood will be less foul.

-Olympe

November 14th, 1786

 

The Chevalier and I have had a falling out, and I do not know if it may be repaired. I had thought, being in Paris together, that he and I might spend more time together, especially as I have been staying with him more nights than at my own hostess' home. The nights I have had, but the days have brought endless reasons why he must attend to others elsewhere. Even as I have sat embroidering a waistcoat for him, he has busied himself with writing letters locked away in his study. Being curious at the change in attentiveness I went into the study one day while he was out, supposedly on urgent business, and in one of the drawers of his desk found a series of letters from an actress- an actress!- named Charite. Doubtless that is not her real name, and I did wonder if it might be a tender epithet for some other person, but though their letters do not detail a romantic liaison, the tone of the writing is extremely warm, with him promising to do his utmost in pursuit of her good. I recall clearly the days when he used to write such things to me, but alas, they are far behind us. She referenced in one such letter a book which she had given him, and which he had brought with him to Saint Saturnin and taken great delight in reading. I now know from whence the delight truly came; not in the subject, but in the source. 

My heart is full sore and I have returned to Elizabeth's to pack my few things and travel tomorrow to Riom, probably for the duration of the season. The Chevalier denied all at first, and then admitted to feelings of warm regard beyond that of friendship, but insists no untoward actions have taken place. Pressed upon the subject of other near-dalliances, he admits to a further one with a woman whose name I even now forget who lives here in Paris. I shall never now feel safe in my affections for this man and have cried my heart to bursting when I had hoped to be done with tears at last. His odd indifference towards me at times is now fully explained, and my own fears confirmed. I should trust my instincts more.

I have acquainted Elizabeth of the events precipitating my departure and she is very sympathetic. She encourages me to break off all contact with the Chevalier, which seems good advice. I have written as well to the Comte de Menars for any news he may have heard of either of these affectionate friendships, as he is well-connected in social circles in Paris, but as of yet there is no word. I have informed him that my intent is to travel to Riom shortly, so he will likely respond to me there. The Chevalier had been invited to Portaberaud in a few weeks, but I should not think it likely that he will now come. I am not inclined to make him welcome in any case. He was to have met Maman there, but I suppose I will have to admit the reasons for his absence to her now.

-Olympe

October 30th, 1786

Arrived in Paris and I have met my delightful goddaughter, sent a note to Mme Elisabeth whom I am hoping to visit while here, and corresponded with Maman about the Christmas plans in Riom. I've also taken the opportunity to reach out to several people in pursuit of the annuity which was promised me after Thierry's death and which, all these years later, I have still not received. I'm fatigued by the relentlessly necessary advocacy needed to accomplish anything at Versailles, and very much exasperated at the extent to which I always seem to be out of money. It is true that my father left my mother and myself in not particularly enriched circumstances upon his death, but my schooling was not as expensive as it might otherwise have been, and I do not think that Maman was particularly extravagant. Nor am I; but yet the coins do slip away fast, and faster still when in Paris where I am at present ensconced officially with Elizabeth Comtesse R- though she very knowingly expects me to spend the majority of my evenings at the Chevalier's residence. 

His home is pleasant, though somewhat old-fashioned for someone so aware of his image. This ceased to amaze me when I found out that the hotel was still owned by his father, who I gather is not keen to spend money on refurbishment. The Chevalier is all embarrassment and apologies on this account, I however keep telling him that it bothers me not a jot. Which it doesn't. I note that he is right and the home is a bit run-down in places and certainly demode, but it is comfortable nonetheless, and after all he doesn't do much in the way of entertaining at home. I suspect he'd like to do more.

Exhausted of late thanks to travel and the usual intrigue and the sheer force of will required to act in a manner expected by those who see me. The time allotted for widows to been seen grieving and in pain has long since expired, and I observe that there are few who, standing a room with a woman who has lost a much wished-for child, will have a care for her feelings upon the celebration of her friend's third healthy child. Some would call these wicked thoughts, and so they may be, but wickedness is human after all. They're only thoughts. 

I await a return missive from the Princess and hopefully an invitation to Montreuil where I know I can be happy for a few moments at least in her gracious presence. But it is late in the morning now, and I must finish dressing and breakfast with my hostess before attending to any other matters.

Olympe

October 15th, 1786

There is exciting news! My very dear friend, Elizabeth de R-, writes that she is delivered of a daughter and wishes me to come to Paris to meet the child and stand as her Godmother! I am in raptures and the Chevalier laughs at me in good humor as I make plans for the trip and all of the gifts I wish to acquire or bring with me for the child. Second to having one's own, a godchild is best. Or perhaps a niece or nephew, as Maman and I are ever waiting for from Andre and his wife Sonya. My poor sister-in-law is plagued by some troubles and Andre, true to his nature, is in no hurry though he should be, as Sonya is not much younger than I. Time is slipping away from me in that matter. 

Emilie has been informed of our intention to return briefly to Paris before the weather turns and will, instead of journeying back alone, travel with us all the way. I've instructed my maid Marianne to go in search of some of my own long-stored baby things of which to make a present for my goddaughter, and she grumbles where she thinks I cannot hear her over this being added to her duties even as we prepare to travel again so soon. If I know Marianne, however,- and by now I do- she'll be relieved to return to Paris as she is always happier in the city than in the country. 

I've also decided to go with the Chevalier and Emilie into town today to buy some cloth to make linens and sundry other goods for the child. It is as if I have been waiting for this and am now dashing away full of renewed vigor and purpose. Oh, I very nearly forgot to mention that the child is named Cornelia. Not a surprise from Elizabeth and Comte Jules, but I cannot say it is a name which has much appeal to me. No matter, it will now be as dear to me as she is before I have even met her. 

-Olympe

October 7th, 1786

The chevalier has returned! I note that Emilie has crept out of her room more now that he is here, but he allays all of my fears by showing me great affection and preference. Even the dog seems to rejoice in seeing him again and spends as much time as she may be allowed curled up on his lap. He has also brought with him many delights from Paris; chocolate and silks, and a little silver clock that has figures which dance with the hours. I am at times overwhelmed by his generosity. Moreover I find him gentle with my servants, which is to be noted as I had observed on some occasions that he spoke harshly to his own, but I know not the temperament nor the history of those individuals. Perhaps it was warranted. 

I've informed him of my intent to winter in Riom at Portaberaud, and invited him to join me as well, but his demeanor suggests that he will prefer his own family even as his words do not deny my suit. Two nights hence we conversed on the subject of marriage, but each find the other shy to commit any great expectation to the match. I remain unsure of what I would say should he propose as I would expect that a young man such as he would be interested in the furtherance of his line, but he seems much more inclined to the furtherance of his wealth and entertainments. Paris is for him and this will always divide us. 

No news from Versailles on either the Treaty or from Mme Elisabeth who is, I gather, much engaged with the little princes and princesses at present. She has also been involved with the celebrations of the centenary of St. Cyr, of which I am likewise fond having been at school there myself. A small donation would not be amiss, were I not so concerned with financial needs for Saint Saturnin. The saints will, I'm sure, understand that the temporal being satisfied makes it easier to attend to the spiritual, but this thought is too like those of the chevalier and show his influence. I must work on being as much an influence for him.

-Olympe

September 28th, 1786

I fear my desire for my own company has been made clear to my guest, as Emilie begins to suggest that she will depart rather sooner than originally planned. It could, of course, also be due to the intended arrival of the Chevalier at the beginning of next month, or the changing weather which is always more keenly felt here than in Paris. In truth my hospitality may be somewhat lacking. I have not the means nor the local society in which to entertain in a fashion familiar to the residents of Versailles, so I may hardly blame them for preferring the town to the country. I myself am reveling in this peaceful solitude, which the Chevalier continues to assure me he will well-enjoy in my company, though I know him to enjoy society life far more than I. 

The re-pointing of the chateau may not be able to wait after all this winter, as water damage has made its way into one wall on the northern side. The gardeners are keen to point out as well that the slope on which we sit is falling away more by the road and will likely be damaged significantly should we have a bad winter. This reminds me that time is running short to decide where I will spend the winter this year, as I try not to travel much between the end of October and mid-April. I've come away to my most remote property, and would need to arrange suitable accommodations should I intend on spending the season in Paris, which there is hardly time to do so late now. I might beg of my dear friend Elizabeth Comtesse de R- for the use of her home for a few weeks, but I should hate to outstay my welcome by lingering too long. There's hardly any point in considering anything other than remaining sequestered here, or returning to Riom, or joining the society of Paris once more. I suspect that, knowing myself, I will tire of this seclusion in a month or two, and wish for some company again so I should begin to make plans for a return to my home at Portaberaud. 

In the meantime, I have a letter from the Chevalier to kindle my heart, and a guest to whom I really should pay more courtesy.

-Olympe

September 20th, 1786

It's a cool afternoon here, at Saint Saturnin, and apart from the incessant barking of the dog who has spotted some deer, all is quiet and peaceful. My guest is resting, having been overcome by a terrible headache which caused her to excuse herself for most of the day. I had already begun to dress for dinner when I was informed that she would not be joining me, so here sit I having eaten much more finely attired than I would bother to be on my own, and I have directed that something be taken up to her. 

No word from the Chevalier, although I know I had informed him that we were to come away to Saint Saturnin. I am impatient for news, of him, of his affections, and of Versailles itself. Part of the chateau is in desperate need of repointing and the rain this winter will only damage it more if it is not done soon, but the money I was forced to pay upon leaving Versailles has rather limited my resources for such things at present. Hard as it is, it may just have to wait until Spring. 

There is a pageant play in the village tomorrow and if Emilie is well again then I shall suggest that we sneak down to see it. There is little enough other entertainment at the moment, but then I never do come away to this place in search of frivolity but rather to escape the world. It has served me well in this regard since I came into my majority. We may hunt some, it is the best season for it after all, though that has never been a favorite past time of mine the way it is for some. There will be cards, certainly, as we have been doing every day for the past few weeks. Walks in the gardens, though here they are not so grand as in Riom and the weather is cooler here by the day already. We might paint, in which case I must ask to have my paints found and brought out as it has been some time since I last used them here. I should think, in fact, that they will need entirely replaced. Ah, another expense. 

I cannot help but muse on the wisdom of the heart. The autumn has always made me introspective, but this year it does so greatly. My heart tells me such contradictory things; that I am cared for, perhaps even deeply, but also that this love is fleeting and not to be trusted. That I must trust in order to be met with trust in return, and also that I must take care and divest myself of feelings which will only harm me in times to come. I wonder how much this owes to the chevalier being so far away and for a time we know not how long to expect. I think of his expressions, sometimes cold, dismissive almost, but also of the great tenderness of which he is capable. Why pursue me if I am not truly wanted? Why so avidly flee my company unless I am not? I do not think Auvergne is to his liking, he has as much as said so already, but Paris is not always to mine. Perhaps my heart wishes me to understand that in love there may be much to overcome. I thought this a lesson I had well learned already. Perhaps it wishes me to understand that love may not overcome ourselves, however much we may hope to. I do not think I may count hope a friend in my life, it has betrayed me too many times. There are moments when I would as well I had no heart at all.

-Olympe

September 10th, 1786

The Chevalier and most of my guests departed this morning to return to Versailles. Tomorrow I and dear Emilie depart ourselves from Riom for the more rugged beauty of Saint-Saturnin, weather permitting. The skies this afternoon were cloudy, but the sun broke through here and there giving me hope for an untroubled journey. In truth I would not venture away at present as my soul welcomes the cool, gray, rainy days as kindred spirits and they are fine accompaniment to comfortable hours reading by the fire. I confess here and to no other that I was a bit disappointed that not all my company wished to return together, fond of Emilie though I am, but I have never been overly inclined to spend a great deal of time with other people. It is not in my nature. 

Still, it is kind of her to stay and I strongly suspect that she is under secret orders to remain and cheer me until the Chevalier can return. I cannot shake a, perhaps ridiculous, notion that she and and he are very familiar, and he certainly seems at least as fond of her as I am, nay, more so. She is younger, and I fully admit, prettier. Perhaps not so well read, but certainly less opinionated. She is full of good humor and has the merriest expressions to match, so much so that at times for my part I find her tiring. He does not. Instead he seems to find me tiring, and I cannot blame him much for that. Those who are cheerful will always be preferred to those who are sad. 

She is, like myself, a widow, and not without independent means. Unlike me, she has a young son who is being raised by his paternal grandfather in Paris at present. I wonder if she had not accompanied the party to Riom would so many have come? They did beg of her to come away with them, but as I said I suspect she was asked to remain. I dare say I think my voice finer, but the Chevalier did not comment upon it as I had thought he might when he heard me. My expectations do disappoint me rather more than his actions, so it is not fair to blame him for it. 

Tonight we dine simply and I hope will make a quiet evening of it, then early to retire while the household prepares for tomorrow. I used to feel more myself at Saint-Saturnin than anywhere else in the world, I hope it will prove true again. I cannot share my companions' enthusiasm for court at present.  I miss Thierry and wonder if it will ever not be so. Emilie seems untroubled by her losses, would that I could be more like her. 

Olympe

September 2nd, 1786

There are rumors that the trade negotiations between France and England may soon come to an end, though however devoutly that might be wished it must be remembered that this is a perennial rumor and therefore should receive no more credence than before. The war being past some years, one might expect that England would be glad to receive French goods and textiles once more on the open market, but I suspect (having heard it from some well-positioned to know) that the very negotiators have profited handsomely from the black market trading in those items. The recalcitrance of the English towards superior French goods bewilders me. Why would one wish for lesser materials when our craftsmen are demonstrably better and we have a longer history of producing them? Surely anything worth having is worth a fair price?

Received most unexpectedly from Mme Elisabeth the superb gift of a small miniature of her Royal Highness. She writes that she grows ever more attached to her new god-daughter, the Princess Sophie and sees much of her brother in the child. There is a small embroidery project that we had worked on together prior to the unfortunate events of recent years and she charmingly reminds me that it remains unfinished and that I must return in due course that we may complete it together. My heart is so gladdened by her kind rememberances, that I could almost miss Versailles. Here, however, the air is fresher and I do begin to think that it does my heart and soul good.

I was quite active yesterday, in a way which I have not been for some time, riding out with my small company of guests, and even singing in the evening. I had not sung in company in more than a year and was afraid that my voice should be quite gone, but it revived well enough. My riding coat was snug and it cannot be denied that I am no longer quite as small as I had been when it was first made, so I have sent into town for a new one to be made in a burgundy velvet with a matching jupe. Perhaps I shall have a new hat as well. 

It is time, I think to put this diary away, and to reply to Mme Elisabeth's affectionate letter with one of my own. The Chevalier is hunting this morning and so I have the house in quiet seclusion and can gather my thoughts without interruption. Even in matters of affection, one may sometime be glutted. 

-Olympe

August 25th 1786

 

Arrived in Riom with attendant company, but found myself in low spirits still. This was not in any way allayed when a missive arrived from Versailles with a demand for recompense owing to the state of my lodgings. All who saw it felt this most unfair, and indeed the Chevalier had to be convinced not to write a strongly-worded letter to the little bureaucrat who had sent it. In my own defense all I can say is that the rooms were not in any worse condition than those in which I found them at the time I first took up residence. My feeling is one of being under constant threat and my dear friends are finding it hard to alleviate that. I feel that I am being persecuted, but have not the evidence to prove it.

The Chevalier, having an acquaintance of his own in a neighboring town, is away for the evening and will return tomorrow, but before he left he brought me a charming bouquet (though it was harvested from my own garden) and was most tender. I read to distract myself, but find that the book drops absently from my hands as often as I pick it up again. I have sent to Paris for fabric I had ordered to be sent instead to me here so that I might have something new made before the weather turns cold again. I had been thinking of a new court gown, but am relieved to know now that it was not needed else it would have been a tremendous waste of money, and that seems to be an unending concern.

I am being importuned to seek the advice of a doctor, as my breathing is more strained and my heart palpitates fearfully at times. I do not know that he will be able to assist me when it is the situation which requires remedy not myself, but we shall see what he says when he comes. Perhaps at the very least he may give me a sleeping draught and a few hours of blissful insensibility.

-Olympe

August 9th, 1786- Two Years Later

 

 Has it really been two years? Many times I have picked up my pen to continue, but laid it down again defeated by the events which have seemed both too swift and endless at once. When last I wrote we were preparing for the King's hunt, an episode which should have signaled much joy, but which proved misadventurous instead. I must out with the truth, no use in delaying. Thierry suffered a fall from his horse during the hunt, and though he seemed at first little injured with no apparent broken bones, he soon slipped into a sleep from which he could not be woken. Nine days into his endless sleep I inquired of the doctor on another matter and received the glad news that I was enceinte though I had little dared to hope for a child at that point. 

Thierry lingered into August of that year before expiring as gracefully as he had lived. Our child soon followed only a few weeks later, dead before it could live. My mistress, the Princess Elisabeth, with great kindness and gentleness, released me to mourn and recover at my home in Saint-Saturnin, where I stayed for the better part of the last two years. 

Grief knows no safe place, however. Word of Christine's death in Sweden in childbirth in early January of 1785 was followed swiftly by that of one of my aunt's, the apparent suicide of my mother's brother who did grieve her terribly, and then that of my sweet Reinette whom I found dead one October morning with little warning. I do not lie when I say that it was all I might do for some time thereafter to merely rise in the morning and live myself. 

Meanwhile the royal family have had their own difficulties, with the Affair of the Necklace only recently subsiding in May of this year. The Queen is naturally acquitted of blame, but that does not stop the wagging tongues of Paris who continue to abuse her reputation most pitilessly. There is now, though, a second young Prince, Louis Charles, and the sweetest baby Princess, Sophie, the latter of whom was only born a month ago. I, being for the last three months back at Versailles, have had the great fortune of seeing this newest child of France myself thanks to the unending support of my benefactress, Madame Elisabeth. Though she cannot now offer me the position in her household which once I held, she continues to champion my cause ensuring that a small pension is mine owing to the death of the Marquis. I remain Comtesse in my own right, but the title of Marquise de Mercoeur will die with me or be forfeited upon my remarriage.

The possibility of remarriage is on my mind, as I am very nearly too old for childbearing unless it be quite soon. There is, I confess, a young Chevalier, eldest son and heir to an old and established House, who declares his affections daily and with whom I am not at all sorry to have become better acquainted. Tongues do wag at the prospect of our union, however, as he is 14 years my junior! 

Even this little missive tires me, and my new puppy tugs at the hem of my dress urging me to play. I must go. I begin to hope again, but in my hope is such fear. Is it a friend or false-faced demon, I wonder.

June 6th, 1784

Tomorrow the Marquis and I have been honored with an invitation to join the King on his hunt. I have debated whether to ride with the men, or keep to the carriage, and I think I shall do the latter for it is very hot at present. We have smaller apartments at Versailles at the moment, as Mme A- delays in quitting her own. I believe she does it to spite me, but I will have them eventually.

My duties for Mme the Princess Elisabeth keep me busy, but in the evenings Thierry and I join any of the myriad card parties, suppers, or gatherings which we must soon reciprocate I think. Until the apartments are ready for us there is always the excuse of not being settled. I spend much time, when I have it, choosing furnishings, and have written to my steward for many things from Saint-Saturnin and Portaberaud. Thierry is in desperate need of new clothes, but is hesitant to allow me to purchase them for him. He still is unused to spending money freely, and at times I feel much the same way.

Count Axel von Fersen is expected to return to Versailles tomorrow and, having been a particular favorite of the Queen's, will likely return to her inner circle. Ever since her miscarriage last year the Queen has occupied herself with her petite hameau, which is said to be a charming and rustic idyll, though I have not received an invitation to see it.

The Dauphin's health sadly continues to decline, though his sister, Madame Royale, has all of the robustness that the other lacks. The worry that this brings does show itself in the Queen, and indeed in my mistress as well who cares greatly for her niece and nephew. It is to be wondered whether Mme Elisabeth herself will ever marry, but seems likely that she will not and shows no inclination towards that calling, but rather would prefer to devote herself to God and to easing the suffering of others. She is an easy lady to love and I find myself becoming very devoted to her.

Olympe

March 4th, 1784

A brief letter is all that I have received from Christine in these few months past, and for a time I was quite concerned about her health. Indeed, in its brevity there was much sadness to her missive. Her step-children tire her, and her new husband is much absent; though that at least seems a blessing. She reads as much as possible and retires early. She says little else and I suspect that there is little else to say of any consequence. I tried to convince Thierry to travel to Sweden to visit her, but he says the expense cannot be borne. Instead he suggests a visit to England to see friends of his, former colleagues really, but I am very wary of that venture. I am putting together a package of delicacies for her, which will travel slowly but safely this time of year.

We have also heard little from the Marquis and Marquise de Menars since the news of her expectation came. I imagine they are preparing for their little one and are not concerned as nearly with old friends. My own Maman writes almost daily of her trials and worries since her husband's injury. He will lose his position as magistrate in Riom if he cannot recover soon, and the family's fortunes will suffer. They will look to me then, as ever, thinking that I have the means to save them, which I do not. They could live at Portaberaud, my home in Riom, but I have few servants there to wait upon them, and little money to run a household of so many in addition to my own. Lespinasse is sold, and Opme has tenants, and I will not suffer having them here at Saint-Saturnin with us, or at least not my step-father who, in any case, dislikes leaving Riom.

It remains, even so, that we go to Versailles in the Spring so that I may attend Madame Elizabeth as requested. We will likely have apartments at the Palace, but be they ever so cramped and dismal, they will cost a tremendous amount to keep, in addition to the other expenses of our servants, food, clothing, and entertainments. The burden will only be lessened if Thierry is also able to receive a charge, but nothing is very promising yet.

While we wait for Spring to arrive I busy myself with finding ways to cut expenses, freshening and replacing what is disused, learning more about the workings of our kitchens, reading, riding, and cataloging the library left to me by my late father. Some of the books are in need of much attention, and a woman in the village was recommended to me as the person to restore them, so she is to come and look at them soon. Tomorrow I believe I will sew, write some letters, and try to better understand the register of tenants and servants who live by my largess. The list is long and complicated, and I suspect that I will need the assistance of my steward and his son, Saint-Dennis.

Olympe

Comtesse et Marquise

January 6th, 1784

We have only just returned from the wedding of Adrienne's daughter, Emiline, which I must say was very lovely. The young couple seemed genuinely fond of one another, which is a pleasant start to any marriage, though it is no guarantee of happiness later in life. We arrived home to news from Thierry's family in Riom that his elderly grandmother, his father's mother, is gravely ill. The family suggests, in their often rather odd way, that he need not trouble himself to travel to Riom to see her, and in the next sentence hint that she may not last much longer. Naturally he is in a state of bewilderment over how to proceed.

Maman writes as well that my step-father has suffered a fall and severely injured his head to the extant that he has not spoken since, although it has been several days. She says that he appears confused, and that the doctor is waiting for what he thinks is brain swelling to abate before trying any further action.

To complete our rather dismal beginning to the year, Thierry confessed to me on the journey home from Briancon that we have been living slightly above our means, and that without his income from the Ferme being replaced by the end of February, we will need to make some adjustments. It seems that good fortune never can last. I am, this time, determined to remain cheerful, and more to the point I shall endeavor to be resourceful. If we stay in Saint-Saturnin there will be no need to spend as lavishly as we would were we in Paris or at Versailles. We shall entertain seldom, travel very little, and put off those renovations which we had discussed. Thierry reminds me, though I had not needed to be told, that children are an expense themselves, and it is good that we have none at present. I do believe that the money for them could be found if needed, but of course there is little need for concern in that regard at the moment. 

Olympe

January 2nd, 1784

Faced with indecision at the beginning of last month, I chose to travel part of the way to Paris with my dear husband, and to remain in Riom at Portaberaud near to my mother and half-brothers. Thierry meanwhile wended his way north to meet with Msr. Poisson; but, alas, when he reached Paris the charge had already been given to another. He then found his way back to Riom, where we chose to spend a rather quiet Christmas with my family. My step-father was in a wretched temper, as he so often is, and we were all too glad to return to Saint-Saturnin.

A new year begins, and we can look back on the old with some satisfaction, even though some troubling news came at the end of the old. There is a peasant saying about a death and a birth in the turning of the year, and while I give no credence to such things we did experience both in some measure. The child of my maid Pauline, the one we called Little Hercule, was suddenly seized by a fever while I was in Riom and died a few days later. I have done what I can to express my sympathies and to cheer Pauline, but her grief is considerable and it is hardest of all when a child is taken. I was reminded strongly of my feelings following the death of the Comte de Rodez, my dear friend, and have resolved all the more to find out the truth.

As to the birth, it is yet to come, but as I have feared since her marriage, Clementine, now the Marquise de Menars, is expecting her first child. This will only show more starkly against my own barren state as I grow older still. My birthday passed in a mood of some somberness as I had just received word of Hercule's death, which affected me more than I could anticipate. The Marquis, having no great connection to our servants as of yet, was not himself shaken, but did his best to cheer me though I cannot say that he succeeded.

It seems that great events will happen in threes, and we travel tomorrow to Briancon to the home of my friend Adrienne whose eldest daughter, Emiline, is to be married on January 4th. I know almost nothing about the man she is marrying, who is of an old family, though not ennobled and has some business in lace and wine, but that is all that I can really say. No doubt seeing the child of a friend married, though the friend be somewhat older than I, will cause me to fall into a disagreeable temper. I do so dislike the winter.

Olympe