Marie Antoinette (24 page)

In the end it was not in fact a case of phimosis, the overtight foreskin mocked by
Les Nouvelles de la Cour
. Even if that had been a factor contributing to the King’s psychological disinclination to complete the sexual act, it need not continue to do so. In the latter half of 1775 there had in fact been considerable discussion of the possibility of an operation, as Marie Antoinette reported to her mother, the birth of the Duc d’Angoulême in August no doubt contributing to the urgency. But by 15 December she confided to Maria Teresa: “I doubt very much that the King will decide to undergo it [the operation].” The new Savoyard ambassador, the Comte de Viry, heard similarly of the King’s reluctance. Marie Antoinette reported that the doctors disagreed, hers being in favour, and the King’s own doctor—“an old blatherer”—opposing it on the grounds that it would do as much harm as good. In the meantime she would hold her peace on the subject.

In January 1776, Moreau, a surgeon of the Hôtel-Dieu hospital, was pronouncing the operation unnecessary and a few months later Marie Antoinette was increasingly sure that the surgeon was right. One year later, on the eve of the arrival of the Emperor, the Saxon envoy, Baron Goltz, heard that the King had definitely declined to undergo the operation, either because of the possible harmful consequences or because he had become indifferent to the whole matter. Once again the birth of the Duc d’Angoulême made the problem of the succession less urgent from the purely Bourbon point of view, while remaining just as crucial to the Habsburg interest.

So there never was an operation.
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Joseph II described the true situation in graphic terms to his brother Archduke Leopold: “Imagine, in his marriage bed—this is the secret—he has strong, perfectly satisfactory erections; he introduces the member, stays there without moving for about two minutes, withdraws without ejaculating but still erect, and bids goodnight. It’s incredible because he sometimes has night-time emissions; it is only when he is actually inside and going at it, that it never happens. Nevertheless the King is satisfied with what he does.” As Louis XVI confessed to the Emperor, all this was done in the name of duty, never for pleasure.

“Oh if only I could have been there!” wrote the Emperor furiously to the Archduke. “I could have seen to it. The King of France would have been whipped so that he would have ejaculated out of sheer rage like a donkey.” Joseph concluded with a reflection on his sister’s lack of “temperament” in this respect, meaning lack of sexual appetite leading to lack of sexual initiative. It underpinned her virtue in which from personal observation he strongly believed; it was a virtue that arose “less from forethought than an inborn indisposition” towards it. The King and Queen of France were “two complete blunderers.” In short, there was nothing wrong with Louis XVI, other than laziness, apathy, and the inevitable consequences of this situation being “ill handled.”

It was in this way, thanks to the outspoken orders of the Emperor, that Louis XVI did at last stop being “two thirds of a husband” to Marie Antoinette, seven years and three months after their marriage. The crucial nature of the Emperor’s intervention in this sensitive but hitherto insoluble matter was made clear by the fact that both King and Queen subsequently wrote to the Emperor thanking him and “attributing it,” the consummation, to his advice. The King also wrote again in December 1777. As the Emperor told Leopold, this advice had been quite basic.

What the Emperor called “the great work” was accomplished shortly before the King’s twenty-third birthday. On 30 August, no longer an unhappy woman, an ecstatic Queen was able to write to her mother about her feelings of joy—“the most essential happiness of my entire life”—beginning eight days ago. This “proof” of the King’s love had now been repeated and “even more completely than the first time.” There is something touching about Marie Antoinette’s first instinct, which had been to send a special courier to her mother; she had held back first for reasons of security and then to make absolutely sure.

Nothing was now so threatening, not even the third pregnancy of the Comtesse d’Artois in two and a half years. The Queen had in mind a Temple of Love to be built in the grounds of the Petit Trianon. Under the circumstances, the Temple seemed a happy augury of the future, rather than the unhappy reminder it might once have been.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

YOU SHALL BE MINE . . .

“You shall be mine; you shall have my undivided care; you will share all my happinesses and you will alleviate my sufferings . . .”

M
ARIE
A
NTOINETTE, QUOTED BY
M
ADAME DE
C
AMPAN
, 19 D
ECEMBER
1778

The death of the fifty-year-old Elector Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria on 30 December 1777 produced a crisis in Europe. At the same season, encouraged by the American victory over the English at Saratoga, Louis XVI assured the deputies from the new “United States” of America of his “affection and interest” in their case. France concluded an offensive and defensive alliance with the United States in the following February. This ensured another crisis—between France and England. Cries of joy from the French courtiers greeted the news of the American alliance when it was broken to them by the Comte de Provence, fresh from the King’s Council, at a pre-Lenten
bal à la Reine
. The merry days of Anglo-French junketing at the court level were for the time being in abeyance, in favour of the hereditary rivalry last expressed during the Seven Years’ War.

It was, however, the Bavarian crisis that confronted Marie Antoinette with her first real political test. At the time of the Polish Partition in 1772, she had merely been the Dauphine, and the potential conflict had in any case been settled by the compliance of Louis XV with Austria. Now the Habsburg “sleeper” was to be animated more vigorously in the interests of that alliance made so long ago, of which she was the visible pledge. All this occurred at the same time as the Queen’s newly fulfilled married life proceeded, with hopes of pregnancy, even if these were dashed on a regular monthly basis. For example, on 15 January 1778 Marie Antoinette felt it necessary to explain to her mother how “ashamed and upset” she felt at the recurrence of her “indisposition.” Yet the royal couple were undoubtedly drawing closer together. Even the birth of a second son to the Comtesse d’Artois on 24 January, created Duc de Berry, was no longer the humiliation it might once have been.

The trouble was that, politically at least, the question of the Bavarian succession, far from uniting King and Queen further, pushed them apart. Since the Bavarian Elector was childless, this crisis had in a sense been brewing for some time, although his apparently vigorous health meant that the actual event took everyone by surprise. His heir was a comparatively remote cousin, the Elector Charles Theodore of the Palatine, and Joseph II had already begun to negotiate with this Elector in order to secure Bavarian territory, possibly in exchange for Austrian territory in Belgium. The Emperor also brought into play the claim to certain lands of his late wife the Empress Josepha, who had been a Bavarian princess; he argued that this claim had passed to him.

This acquisitive tendency of Joseph II had been deplored by Vergennes for several years past. Both by temperament and through instruction, his master Louis XVI fully agreed with him. The alliance that linked France so closely to Austria did not oblige her “to share the ambitious and unjust element” in the Austrian Emperor’s plans. What, for example, would be the reaction of Frederick II of Prussia and the Elector of Saxony to any bad-neighbourly aggression on their own frontiers? For it was obviously the Emperor’s intention to build up his own power bloc at the expense of these two countries. The reputation of France in Germany, as opposed to Austria, could not be simply ignored.

The matter was certainly delicate, not only at Versailles but in Vienna. On the one hand Vergennes was concerned about the prospect of Austria turning to England if totally rebuffed by her ally; France could then be threatened by both land and sea. On the other hand the Empress Maria Teresa herself was extremely worried about her son’s militaristic intentions. The Bavarian claim, she felt with justice, was weak, and she protested that “a universal conflagration” was a heavy price to pay for “a particular convenience.” The Empress also had her own agenda, thanks to the “great ascendant” that her daughter, the forceful Archduchess Marie Christine, had over her. As the wife of a Saxon prince who was loyal in the service of Austria, Marie Christine thoroughly disliked the idea of her husband having to fight against his own native country of origin—and his own blood relations. The Empress’s beloved “Mimi” did not let up on her entreaties to her mother, using tears in public while she worked actively behind the scenes. As a result, relations between Marie Christine and her brother Joseph, never good, deteriorated further.

On 15 January 1778 the Emperor took action. He ordered 15,000 Austrian troops into Lower Bavaria. At roughly the same moment, the Queen of France was writing to her brother, boasting of her reformed way of life, which she thought was sure to delight him. For example, she was dancing so much less at Versailles that there was a rumour that she had lost her enthusiasm for the pastime altogether. Under the circumstances, she felt able to point out that it would be “a great piece of good fortune,” above all for her, if the “Bavarian affair” was settled peacefully.

Unfortunately this was not to be the case. Predictably Frederick II threatened his own invasion—of Bohemia—if Joseph II did not immediately quit Bavaria. The conflagration dreaded by the Empress was building and would shortly break out. But was it necessarily to be a universal one? Would France actually send troops in support of Austria? Coached by Count Mercy, Marie Antoinette pleaded with her husband to carry out his obligations under the treaty.

The mission was not a success. The Queen was reported to have spoken “heatedly” to the King. Equally, she let her tears flow, but to no avail. Louis XVI’s line was to refer to “the ambition of your relations,” which he said was upsetting the whole of Europe; first Poland, now Bavaria. This “dismemberment” of Bavaria was certainly being done against the will of the French King. As to the alliance, France took the line that there was no obligation in the terms of the treaty to come to the aid of territories only recently annexed to Austria.

When the French ambassador delivered this message to Prince Kaunitz in Vienna, the Austrian statesman exploded with rage. On 3 March Marie Antoinette was similarly reported to have been extremely badtempered on the whole subject, asking—in vain—for the removal of Vergennes. Her ill-humour was comprehensible. First, the real limits of her influence had been exposed. To be seen as manipulative in politics was not a good thing, but to be seen as unsuccessfully manipulative was even worse. Second, she had allowed herself to be branded publicly as proAustrian and anti-French.

It was at this moment that Providence, so long neglectful of her interests, came at last to the rescue of Marie Antoinette. Part of the Queen’s bad temper on 3 March may have been privately attributable to the arrival of her period, yet another “indisposition” that had to be explained away in apologetic terms to her mother.
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It was three days early, while that of February had been six days in advance. The beginning of April, however, came and went without the appearance of the dreaded Générale. By 11 April the Queen suspected—unimaginable joy—that she might actually be pregnant. Eight days later she dared to write to the Empress with the caveat that nothing was yet certain, and would not be so until the beginning of the next month. Nevertheless she hastened to assure her mother of her excellent health: she was eating well, sleeping well, all better than before—and of course absolutely no journeys by carriage; her expeditions were now limited to little promenades on foot.

The rest of the letter consisted of an account of her interview with the errant ministers, Maurepas and Vergennes, whom she had summoned to her presence, apparently at the insistence of Mercy. “I spoke to them rather strongly,” the Queen wrote proudly, “and I think I made an impression on them, especially Vergennes.” She was proposing to hold forth again on this subject in the presence of Louis XVI. For all these boasts, the ministers had not actually given way on the subject of French troops in support of Austria and neither did the King. He remained as lukewarm as possible without actually breaking the alliance. Nevertheless the possibility of an heir at long last shored up the Queen’s position. Naturally a boy was expected, at least if Maria Teresa was anyone to go by, who promised that on the Feast of St. Antony (her daughter’s name-day) the saint would be “tormented” with her prayers on the subject.

The method chosen to break the news to the public was characteristic of Marie Antoinette. In mid-May, the Queen asked the King for 12,000 francs to send to the relief of those in the debtors’ jail of Paris—but these were not to be random debtors; they were to be those languishing in jail for failing to pay their children’s wet-nurses, as well as the poor of Versailles. “Thus I gave to charity and at the same time notified the people of my condition,” wrote Marie Antoinette. Unfortunately this neat display of compassion did her no good with the satirical pamphleteers. Having made merry at the expense of the King’s impotence, they were not likely to give up their scatological trade now that the condition was seemingly cured. Various fathers were suggested for the coming baby, most prominently the Duc de Coigny and, most unpleasantly, the Comte d’Artois. It is very likely that the Comte de Provence and other courtiers had at least some clandestine connection to these effusions, or at any rate read them and disseminated them. In contrast to that, the pregnancy itself went forward healthily, and the Queen was able, in the flush of her happiness, to maintain her studied indifference to these manifestations.

On 16 May 1778 Dr. Lassonne made an examination of the Queen and pronounced himself satisfied.
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At the same time the Queen interviewed the future
accoucheur
, the brother of the Abbé de Vermond. She rejected, perhaps understandably, Sieur Levret who had been
accoucheur
to the Comtesse d’Artois; nevertheless the choice of Vermond was criticized at the time since he was felt to be more interested in his fees than his patient. For all these practical preparations, including the choice of wet-nurse, swaddling clothes and an apartment for the new baby on the ground floor of Versailles to benefit from the air, Marie Antoinette herself admitted touchingly that there were “moments when I think it all a dream.” She had, after all, “lived for so long without hoping to be so happy as to bear a child.” However, she wrote, “the dream continues . . .”

By the end of May Marie Antoinette declared that she was getting “amazingly fat” and the following month boasted that she had put on over four inches, mainly on her hips. By mid-August she was pronounced much bigger than was usual at five months. That summer was intensely hot and Madame Campan described how the Queen found relief walking in the cool of the night air, for she kept up her daily promenades as she had promised Maria Teresa she would. Rose Bertin and other couturiers responded to the new situation with gauzy flowing silk garments known as
Lévites
in the light cool colours the Queen loved: pale blue, turquoise and soft yellow. (The name was taken from the costumes worn by the actresses playing Jewish priests in Racine’s
Athalie
.) It was a sign of the growing intimacy between Marie Antoinette and Rose Bertin that the latter was paid to make a special expedition to her native Abbeville; there she prayed at the local shrine of the Virgin on her mistress’s behalf.

The hairdresser Léonard had to cope with the changing situation too. The wonderful thick hair that Marie Antoinette had once enjoyed was turning into problem hair. In the autumn of 1776—a time of depression over her relationship with the King—her hair had reportedly fallen out, or at least thinned dramatically, according to an English lady at the French court. Daily coiffeuring, pomading, and powdering, and now pregnancy, did not help. Yet in general the Queen’s health remained good throughout the long autumn.

She was bled once or twice, according to custom, although her delicate veins meant that it was not a great success. The Queen was also given iron. The waiting period was naturally punctuated by communications from Maria Teresa, who had already been appointed godmother well in advance, with King Charles III of Spain as the godfather. This meant that the Empress would have the privilege of naming the child, also well in advance, since royal baptisms were held immediately after the birth. A Bourbon baby prince would obviously have some variation on the theme of Louis. An unwelcome girl would certainly be called the French version of her famous grandmother’s name, since the Empress required all her first-born granddaughters to be named in her honour.
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