by Susan Nagel
Marie Antoinette became increasingly unhappy. While her siblings were sending portraits of their growing families to their mother, she had nothing more than sketches of her hairdos to dispatch. To escape the constant glare of the spotlight, the constant criticism of her mother, and the pain of her inability to bear a child, she removed herself to the ‘Petit Trianon’. This bauble of a country home, built on the grounds of Versailles but separate from the grand palais, was where Marie Antoinette withdrew to host only her closest friends. It was here that the Queen, exhausted from the etiquette of the French court, banished curtsying and insisted that she be called by her first name.
The Empress once again criticized her daughter – this time for isolating herself at the Petit Trianon. Maria Theresa warned Marie Antoinette that by doing this she was not only insulting the French court, but avoiding her husband’s bed. When the Empress further learned that her daughter spent many late evenings playing cards at the gambling tables long after her husband had retired for the evening, Maria Theresa admonished her daughter for her frivolity and self-indulgence, warning her that the French people would never accept their Austrian-born Queen unless she gave birth to a French child. The Empress feared that any opprobrium directed toward the Queen would worsen relations between the two countries; in this Maria Theresa was proved correct. Marie Antoinette’s critics began to call her ‘I’Autri chienne’ – ‘the Austrian’ – placing an emphasis on chienne, or ‘bitch’. Critical pamphlets appeared, some rumored to have been penned by the King’s own brothers. The public further expressed its distaste for things Austrian when Marie Antoinette’s favorite composer, the German Gluck, whose music she had grown up with in Vienna, arrived in France and his compositions were reviled.
Marie Antoinette encouraged Gluck to persist, and when he presented such works as Orfeo et Euridice as Orphée et Eurydice and Iphigénie en Tauride with French libretti, the audiences were won over, offering tribute to their Queen as the arbiter of good taste. Enjoying her success as his patron, she spent many evenings at the opera while her husband was at home in bed. Her mother, again, complained that she was neglecting her wifely duties in the bedroom. Marie Antoinette gave excuses explaining that it was also her duty to promote the arts in France and that joining in the gaming parties was expected of her. On October 17, 1775, Mercy informed the Empress that, while the Comtesse d’Artois was pregnant again, Marie Antoinette and her husband maintained very different schedules – a sure impediment to procreation. The following year, Marie Antoinette received further news that her favorite sister, the Queen of Naples, and the wives of her brothers Leopold and Ferdinand were all pregnant.
In despair, Marie Antoinette unburdened herself in a letter to her brother, the future Emperor Joseph II of Austria, and, on November 30, 1776, she received a letter from her mother informing her that Joseph would come to France to see her. Joseph made it clear that he wanted no part of the French formalities at Versailles and insisted on a quiet, private visit. Although he toured hospitals and factories, his real mission was to investigate the cause of his sister’s unhappiness, though what he discovered made him roar with both laughter and disbelief. On June 9, 1777, he wrote their brother, Archduke Leopold, of his findings.
The great King of France does not ejaculate inside his wife, Joseph explained:
[he] has good strong erections, he introduces his member, stays there without moving for perhaps two minutes and never ejaculates, still erect, he withdraws, and bids good-night … he sometimes has nightly emissions, but once in place and going at it, never, and he is content claiming that he is only doing it out of a sense of duty but not because he has any pleasure … if only once I could have been there, I would have … whipped him so that he would have ejaculated out of sheer rage like a donkey.
It was true that Louis and Marie Antoinette had married as young teenagers without any instruction in the subject of sex, but Joseph thought that after seven years of marriage the French King might have worked out what to do. Marie Antoinette was the object of admiration, and lust, on the part of many men. Her friendship with the handsome Swedish Count, Axel Fersen, for example, had ignited much gossip. Sadly, the King remained neither excited nor inflamed by jealousy. After he learned of the King’s complete ineptness in the bedroom, Joseph went for a long walk with Louis during which he explained in great detail what the King needed to do in order to complete the act of intercourse. Satisfied that he had accomplished what he had set out to do, Joseph returned home.2
Comte Mercy, who had been sending the Empress his own detailed reports of Joseph’s visit to France, wrote Maria Theresa on June 15 that the King of France had expressed his sadness about not having children to his brother-in-law, and that Joseph had given the King some advice. In that same letter Mercy reassured the Empress that Joseph would tell her in person what had transpired. On June 16, 1777, Marie Antoinette wrote to her mother that the Comtesse d’Artois was pregnant once again and, although after seven years of marriage the ‘outlook was unpleasant’ for herself, she was ‘not without hope; my brother will tell my dear Mama all about it. The King talked to him on this point in a friendly and trusting way.’
On August 18, between 10 and 11.15 in the morning, after the Queen’s bath, the King and Queen completed ‘the sexual act’ at last. On August 30, Marie Antoinette wrote:
My dear Mother … It has already been more than eight days since my marriage was perfectly consummated; the proof has been repeated and yesterday even more completely than the first time. At first I thought of sending my dear Mama a courier. I feared that it would be such an event as to cause talk.
On September 12, Mercy confirmed Marie Antoinette’s claim in a letter to Maria Theresa stating that the Queen had also told him that her husband ‘had succeeded’. In October 1777, Joseph wrote his brother Leopold, ‘the King of France has at last succeeded in the grande oeuvre and perhaps the Queen will become pregnant … they both have written to thank me attributing it to my counsel’.
One of the unforeseen results of the King’s new interest in sex was that various factions, knowing that by placing a mistress in the King’s bed they could gain influence over the monarch, began to scheme. Mercy commented on this danger and wrote the Empress on November 19, 1777, that Marie Antoinette had dismissed the possibility, claiming her husband was too shy and had not enough energy to chase other women. Marie Antoinette went so far as to joke among friends that if Louis had dallied she would not be the least bit angry. Mercy admonished the Queen, saying that speaking about her husband with such indifference was not amusing, and that if the King learned of her banter he would be stunned. The Empress agreed and wrote to her daughter, once again warning her to behave herself. Both Mercy and the Empress were acutely aware that if the Queen were unable to bear children, she could be returned to Vienna and a papal annulment granted.
Louis knew this, but, as a man of very strict morals, he had neither desire for mistresses nor favorites. He did, however, want to know for certain who would be at fault if his wife did not conceive. There was a young chambermaid at court named Philippine de Lambriquet, whose husband, Jacques, served on the staff of the Comte de Provence. The King proceeded with his agenda and, it seems, after her liaison with the King, she became pregnant – though as she also had a husband, Louis was still not quite certain of his own fertility.
On January 5, 1778, Maria Theresa greeted her daughter with the New Year wish ‘that a courier may bring me news of a pregnancy … at sixty, one cannot wait long’. Marie Antoinette replied on January 15: ‘I am ashamed and upset to have to tell my dear Mama that I had my period yesterday morning.’ On February 1, Maria Theresa wrote that Marie Antoinette’s sister, Maria Carolina, Queen of Naples and Sicily, was pregnant again, commenting ‘they come one after the other’. At the same time, she urged Marie Antoinette to convince her husband that he ought to be a good son-in-law and side with the Empress against Frederick II of Prussia. Louis responded negatively, at first, stating: ‘It is yo
ur relatives’ ambition which is causing all the trouble; they started with Poland, now they are doing it again in Bavaria; I am sorry for this because of you.’
On February 13, Marie Antoinette once again conceded failure to conceive when she wrote to her mother that ‘on February 8 my period came. That is six days early.’ In March, Marie Antoinette promised her mother that she was sincerely trying. ‘The King sleeps with me three or four nights a week and behaves in such a way as to give me great hopes.’
A week later Marie Antoinette wrote,
My first impulse a week ago, which I regret not following, was to write to my dear Mama about my hopes. I was prevented by my fear of causing too great a sorrow if my hopes were to vanish; they are still not completely assured, and I will only count on it at the beginning of next month, the time for the second period. In the meantime I think I have good reason to feel confident; I have never been late, on the contrary always a little early; in March I had my period on the third; today is the nineteenth and nothing has happened.
In addition, she was thrilled to add, ‘Yesterday, coming back from Evensong, I vomited a little.’ She took advantage of her mother’s excitement about her potential pregnancy, and turned the tables on her, using a potential pregnancy quite deftly to evoke guilt. She asked her mother to stop pressuring her about the political situation, going so far as to warn that if she were with child and suffered a miscarriage it would be a result of the strain cause by the Empress. ‘I would be too happy if the [Bavarian] business could be settled and free me from worry and the greatest misfortunes that could happen to me.’
On April 20, Comte Mercy wrote the Empress that everyone at court was whispering about the fact that Marie Antoinette had not had her period at the beginning of the month. Dr Lassone was called to examine her. The doctor stated that the Queen was premature in her calculation, explaining that when two cycles had passed, they could then confirm that she was pregnant. In the meantime, while Marie Antoinette rested between fear and hope, the King was delirious. A couple of weeks later the Empress warned her daughter that if she were pregnant she had better get plenty of rest and refrain from playing billiards, sleeping in chaise longues, wearing court dress, and taking recommendations from anyone at Versailles other than Dr Lassone as to whom she should choose as her obstetrician-midwife. ‘Even your nausea pleases me and I hope it will all go on … The Queen of Naples’s joy will be extreme; I bet that she will be moved to tears,’ she wrote.
On May 5, Mercy wrote Maria Theresa that Marie Antoinette had virtually succeeded on two fronts: she had still not had a period and had apparently softened her husband’s stance toward Austria. After pleasing her mother over ‘the Bavarian business’, Marie Antoinette was briefly tempted to meddle further in politics, but quickly found herself otherwise occupied.
After eight long years, Marie Antoinette was pregnant at last. Blissfully preparing for the birth of her first child, she chose the brother of her priest, Vermond, as obstetrician. He would be paid 40,000 livres3 if he delivered a boy and 10,000 for a girl. As head of the child’s household, the Princesse de Guémené would oversee a staff of nearly one hundred people to surround, serve, and educate the child. On June 11, Maria Theresa wrote to her daughter that everyone in Vienna was thrilled for her and that no one was talking of anything but Marie Antoinette.
Louis XVI’s brothers and cousins, however, were less than thrilled by the news which threatened their positions of succession. The Comte de Provence actually admitted in a letter to King Gustav III of Sweden, whose own wife was pregnant, that he put on a happy face in public but that he was finding the change in his fortunes hard to cope with.
For the first time in years, Marie Antoinette was utterly content, growing fat – by June, she had gained four and a half inches on her tiny waist – and, for the first time in years, she was able to write to her mother without anxiety or hesitation. On Friday, July 31, Marie Antoinette felt the baby’s first movement. Teasing her husband, she told him that one of his subjects had the audacity to kick her in the stomach. Madame Campan, Marie Antoinette’s amiable and witty First Lady-in-Waiting, reported that the King, with tears in his eyes, had given a triumphant shout. That same day, Philippine de Lambriquet gave birth to a daughter, Marie-Philippine, who closely resembled the King.
The summer of 1778 was unbearably hot, with no rain to alleviate the burning sun. In a letter to the Duchesse d’Enville, the King’s recently dismissed Finance Minister, Turgot, wrote that a rumor had spread among the populace that the American scientist and inventor Benjamin Franklin, who was living near Paris at the time while serving as his country’s ambassador, had electrified the weather in order to prevent any storms until Marie Antoinette’s first child was born. At Versailles, to combat the stifling heat, the Queen wore flowing, lightweight muslin maternity gowns designed by her couturier, Rose Bertin, and her parfumeur, Jean-Louis Fargeon, created soothing scents with iris, benzoin, wild roses, and sandalwood. Still, Marie Antoinette remained uncomfortable and stayed inside during the daytime. In the very late evenings, long after the King had gone to bed, the air cooled sufficiently for the Queen to walk about. Her brothers- and sisters-in-law would join her on quiet promenades along the terraces, leaving all of the candles burning in their rooms for illumination. These nightly outings became a regular event for the group and, knowing of the Queen’s fondness for music, someone suggested that a small group of musicians who performed in the chapel provide soft music for added ambience. These simple, refreshing evenings seemed almost dream-like as Versailles glowed dimly from within and music flowed in the nocturnal air.
Such private moments of pleasure did not last for long, however. Word traveled among the courtiers and townspeople of Versailles, who had open access to the gardens, that the Queen was out and about in the evenings. The tiny procession swelled to an enormous group of people; the tiny cluster of musicians expanded into an orchestra; candelabra were placed in the gardens to accommodate the assemblage, and it became necessary to station sentinels to stand guard. These grand festivities even attracted the now-banished Madame du Barry, the late King’s mistress, whom Marie Antoinette had detested. More lethal to the Queen at this moment were her enemies who chose to feed the imagination of the people of France against her. These detractors, including the Orléans clan and the King’s own brothers, published pamphlets portraying these evenings of innocence as scandalous revelries.
One usual source of criticism, however, abated for the moment. As the summer turned to autumn, the Empress changed tack and lectured her daughter on a different front, this time offering unsolicited advice on childrearing. She should not swaddle the child too tightly; she should not keep the baby too warm; and she should find a very good wet nurse. Maria Theresa did not have to point out to her daughter that she was the mother of sixteen children, most of whom had attained adulthood – in those days a rarity. Marie Antoinette responded with the plans she had made: the child would not be swaddled at all, a tiny grille was being installed for the baby to hold onto to facilitate walking on parquet floors, and, in fact, because of the family lore that Bourbons were often born with teeth, four wet nurses had been engaged. The Empress wanted everything prepared to perfection. At the beginning of December, Marie Antoinette took to her bed to wait for the baby’s birth; her hairdresser, Léonard, climbing into bed and lying down beside her each day to style her hair. The two joked that with all of the stories about her infidelities, she was, actually, finally in bed with a man not her husband.
The King of Spain, Charles III, agreed to be the baby’s godfather. Marie Antoinette asked her mother to be the baby’s godmother and to create a list of potential names for the child. The Empress was again delighted and asked Mercy to inform her of what she would need to do to comply with French custom. What gifts would she need to buy? Who would stand in her place? She had looked forward to this day for years, and with increased anticipation, she awaited the moment that would give her peace: the delivery of the letter that w
ould bring her news of the birth of the heir to the throne of France, her hope for the perfect alliance between the two great monarchies. She counted on Mercy, her son-in-law, and her children – with their vast network of contacts and friends – to keep her fully informed. There were, however, some details about the impending birth of the child that no one, not even Mercy, dared tell the Empress.
Chapter II
Child of France
In 1777, as American colonists fought a bloody war with the British for independence, life in England seemed a time of frothy enjoyment. Richard Sheridan’s The School for Scandal amused British theatergoers and the Royal Crescent in Bath attracted vacationers to the popular spa. On the European continent as well, with Mozart delighting audiences, war against tyranny seemed a world away. In 1778, eight-year-old Beethoven was introduced as a prodigy by his father; the world-famous La Scala opera house opened in Milan; and both Rousseau and Voltaire, the bêtes noires of King Louis XVI, died. As an antidote to the maddening philosophes and their liberal, anti-monarchial, pro-republican rhetoric, the Société des amis de la Religion et des Lettres was founded, awarding prizes for literary achievement that praised religion and the status quo in government and condemning the voices of the Enlightenment as provocateurs of anarchy.
For Louis XVI, reigning monarch of the oldest continuous kingdom in Europe and awaiting the birth of his first legitimate child, all was right with the world. He was not at all disturbed when his mother-in-law, Empress Maria Theresa, with a typical lack of confidence in her own daughter, made a bet with him that Marie Antoinette would not succeed in giving him a (male) heir. Louis had openly stated that since a son had been born to King Gustav III of Sweden that same year, because he believed no two kings would be born in the same year, he, too, felt that his wife would deliver him a daughter. Having fathered one child, he was confident that there would be more children, and among them an heir. In a magnanimous mood, Louis accepted the wager from the Empress and was happy to take a loss.
