How to Ruin a Queen: Marie Antoinette and the Diamond Necklace Affair by Jonathan Beckman Page B
Authors: Jonathan Beckman
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whom she saw her own duplicity reflected – from double-crossing her. Nicolas was either past caring whom his wife slept with, or was too dull to notice.
Without realising it, Rohan had shown Jeanne a tempting chink in their very first meeting, when he told her that, because of the queen’s hatred for him, he could not arrange an audience. The cardinal made no attempt to hide the chagrin he felt at the disgrace into which he had fallen: it was, wrote Georgel, ‘a habitual bitterness that poisoned allhis most beautiful days’. Rohan’s malcontent was both personal and political. He was humiliated when celebrating Mass for the royal family – as was his duty whenever he stayed at Versailles – to feel the prick of the queen’s disdainful gaze and to slouch out afterwards without the slightest acknowledgement. As grand almoner Rohan sat snugly at the centre of the Court; but his juxtaposition to the royal family made him feel all the more peripheral when ignored by them.Grand Duke Paul of Russia had visited Versailles in 1782, and Rohan, uninvited to the ball thrown by Louis and Marie Antoinette at Trianon in the duke’s honour, had persuaded a porter to let him into the party as soon as the queen had retired for the evening. Rohan, whose ardour to see the queen overpowered his discretion, sneaked out of the lodge too early. His impenetrable disguise was a greatcoat draped over his cardinal’s regalia. A pair of scarlet stockings was visible to all – including Marie Antoinette. She made her displeasure known.
Rohan was also nagged by frustrated political ambitions. He believed he ought to be prime minister, a defunct office the Bourbon kings had deliberately avoided filling. It did not matter that the comte de Vergennes, an ally of the Rohan, was the king’s closest counsellor and would remain so until his death in 1787; or that Rohan’s diplomatic career had been limited to a few controversial years in Vienna, and he lacked experience of civil or military administration. He was self-deluded enough to overlook his failure to cultivate those character traits – tact, discipline, fiscal prudence – needed to govern successfully.
He imagined himself as a worthy successor to the all-powerful cardinal-ministers the crown had called upon during the previous two hundred years: Richelieu, who had tamped down Habsburg aggrandisement during the Thirty Years War; Mazarin, effectively co-regent of France during Louis XIV’s minority and vanquisher of the Fronde; and Fleury, Louis XV’s tutor who became chief minister at the age of seventy-three and ruled unchallenged for a further seventeen years. Armand-Gaston-Maximilien, the first Rohan bishop of Strasbourg, had sat on the Council of Regency before Louis XV came of age. Rohan believed that the queen’s hatred was the sole impediment to his destiny – once his sin had been absolved, his purified talent would float unobstructed to the king’s right hand. On numerous occasions, Rohan confided in Jeanne his stunted aspirations and his fruitless assays to soften the queen’s unforgiving rigour.
Jeanne proceeded patiently. She disseminated hints of a deepening friendship with the queen while coyly refusing to confirm or deny anything. It was not long, however, before she broached the subject with Rohan. The story she told him differed slightly from the narrative she had dreamt up after the fainting episode. It is possible that she did this to probe the limits of Rohan’s credulity and test the viability of her plan, but Jeanne never placed any value in consistency and probably improvised the entire conversation.
The queen, Jeanne told the stupefied Rohan, had found her with Madame Elisabeth, recounting her troubles. Marie Antoinette was intrigued and invited Jeanne to call on her. This would have been a most unusual introduction. Women traditionally required a formal presentation to the queen: bare-shouldered in their court dress, the initiates would remove their
Without realising it, Rohan had shown Jeanne a tempting chink in their very first meeting, when he told her that, because of the queen’s hatred for him, he could not arrange an audience. The cardinal made no attempt to hide the chagrin he felt at the disgrace into which he had fallen: it was, wrote Georgel, ‘a habitual bitterness that poisoned allhis most beautiful days’. Rohan’s malcontent was both personal and political. He was humiliated when celebrating Mass for the royal family – as was his duty whenever he stayed at Versailles – to feel the prick of the queen’s disdainful gaze and to slouch out afterwards without the slightest acknowledgement. As grand almoner Rohan sat snugly at the centre of the Court; but his juxtaposition to the royal family made him feel all the more peripheral when ignored by them.Grand Duke Paul of Russia had visited Versailles in 1782, and Rohan, uninvited to the ball thrown by Louis and Marie Antoinette at Trianon in the duke’s honour, had persuaded a porter to let him into the party as soon as the queen had retired for the evening. Rohan, whose ardour to see the queen overpowered his discretion, sneaked out of the lodge too early. His impenetrable disguise was a greatcoat draped over his cardinal’s regalia. A pair of scarlet stockings was visible to all – including Marie Antoinette. She made her displeasure known.
Rohan was also nagged by frustrated political ambitions. He believed he ought to be prime minister, a defunct office the Bourbon kings had deliberately avoided filling. It did not matter that the comte de Vergennes, an ally of the Rohan, was the king’s closest counsellor and would remain so until his death in 1787; or that Rohan’s diplomatic career had been limited to a few controversial years in Vienna, and he lacked experience of civil or military administration. He was self-deluded enough to overlook his failure to cultivate those character traits – tact, discipline, fiscal prudence – needed to govern successfully.
He imagined himself as a worthy successor to the all-powerful cardinal-ministers the crown had called upon during the previous two hundred years: Richelieu, who had tamped down Habsburg aggrandisement during the Thirty Years War; Mazarin, effectively co-regent of France during Louis XIV’s minority and vanquisher of the Fronde; and Fleury, Louis XV’s tutor who became chief minister at the age of seventy-three and ruled unchallenged for a further seventeen years. Armand-Gaston-Maximilien, the first Rohan bishop of Strasbourg, had sat on the Council of Regency before Louis XV came of age. Rohan believed that the queen’s hatred was the sole impediment to his destiny – once his sin had been absolved, his purified talent would float unobstructed to the king’s right hand. On numerous occasions, Rohan confided in Jeanne his stunted aspirations and his fruitless assays to soften the queen’s unforgiving rigour.
Jeanne proceeded patiently. She disseminated hints of a deepening friendship with the queen while coyly refusing to confirm or deny anything. It was not long, however, before she broached the subject with Rohan. The story she told him differed slightly from the narrative she had dreamt up after the fainting episode. It is possible that she did this to probe the limits of Rohan’s credulity and test the viability of her plan, but Jeanne never placed any value in consistency and probably improvised the entire conversation.
The queen, Jeanne told the stupefied Rohan, had found her with Madame Elisabeth, recounting her troubles. Marie Antoinette was intrigued and invited Jeanne to call on her. This would have been a most unusual introduction. Women traditionally required a formal presentation to the queen: bare-shouldered in their court dress, the initiates would remove their
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