Sex with the Queen

by Eleanor Herman

  Neither did Elizabeth Charlotte have any say in her son’s marriage. In 1692 Louis XIV betrothed her son to Françoise-Marie, Mademoiselle de Blois, his bastard daughter with a mistress. Bristling with pride in her royal birth, Elizabeth Charlotte was devastated at such a misalliance for her only son. “Her figure is all askew,” she reported of her future daughter-in-law, “her face is ugly, and she is unpleasant in everything she does.”29

  The duc de Saint-Simon related that after hearing the news of the betrothal, Madame “was walking briskly, handkerchief in hand, weeping without restraint, speaking rather loudly, gesticulating, and giving a fine performance of Ceres after the abduction of Proserpina…. [The next day Madame’s] son approached her, as he did every day, in order to kiss her hand; at that moment Madame slapped his face so hard that the sound was heard several paces away, which, in the presence of the entire court, deeply embarrassed this poor prince….”30

  Elizabeth Charlotte despised lowborn individuals seeking to ally themselves to those of better birth. For years after her son’s marriage, casting sidelong glances at her daughter-in-law, she muttered, “Mousedroppings always want to mix with the pepper.”31

  Royal children have always belonged to the state and still do. Though modern customs are not nearly as draconian as those of centuries past, even in the 1990s Diana, Princess of Wales, was unable to take her sons on a holiday outside of Britain without the queen’s explicit permission. Indeed, the events that led to her August 1997 death started when she asked to take the boys to visit friends in the United States. Royal permission was withheld for such a distant locale, but it was granted to take her sons on a Mediterranean cruise on a yacht owned by Mohammed Fayed.

  THE FOREIGN RETINUE

  It would have been a great consolation for a royal bride trapped in a loveless marriage, with no control over her children, to have at her new court beloved childhood friends from her old one. But in many cases such friends were abruptly sent home or were not permitted to come in the first place.

  The princess bride usually arrived with a large retinue of servants all hoping to take up plum positions at her new court. And, indeed, her home court was eager to surround her with as many compatriots as possible to influence her on behalf of her native land. As for the bride herself, she was glad to see familiar faces and speak her mother tongue. But this influx of outsiders caused ill will in her new country from courtiers unwilling to see their remunerative positions go to babbling foreigners.

  In 1600 Princess Marie de Medici of Tuscany, the bride of Henri IV, arrived with a throng of Italians itching to be awarded positions at the French court. But the king’s minister, the duc de Sully, vowed he would recommend “neither a doctor nor a cook.” Those already holding offices at court protested that “the bread would be taken from their mouths,” he said, citing that “in France there are vested interests.”32

  When the fourteen-year-old French princess Elizabeth of Valois married thirty-two-year-old Philip II of Spain in 1559, she arrived in Madrid with a large flock of noble ladies who expected to serve as her ladies-in-waiting. They squabbled constantly with the queen’s Spanish ladies-in-waiting, who felt threatened by the intruders. The king wanted to send home all the arrogant French ladies but had a hard time dealing with his young bride’s tears. Finally, he allowed them to stay as her friends, but announced that French subjects could not hold official positions at the Spanish court. Her ladies erupted in a flurry of complaints and reproaches, and some indeed went back to France. Those who remained were accused of alienating the queen from her new country; they kept her surrounded by French language and customs so she did not learn Spanish words and ways; furthermore, they prevented her from becoming close to her Spanish ladies.

  The duque de Alba, majordomo of the queen’s household, looked at her French ladies as vile interlopers and hoped to insult them so irrevocably that they would all leave voluntarily. He assigned one lady in delicate health, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, a French princess of the Blood Royal, a cheerless chamber without a fireplace so she suffered dreadfully from the cold. There were stories that he tried to prevent her from riding in the queen’s coach, that he even grabbed the train of her gown and dragged her from the carriage as she fought him off with punches and kicks. On another journey he pulled the cushions from under her in the royal litter to make her ride intolerably uncomfortable. The government of France was furious.

  Such disputes convinced many courts that, in the interest of international relations, no foreign bride should be permitted to bring with her a single lady. No childhood friends, no familiar faces, no one to speak her own language in a familiar accent. In 1893 Crown Princess Marie of Romania was not allowed to bring ladies from her native England. Neither was she permitted to make Romanian friends. The curmudgeonly King Carol was afraid that she might ally herself to one political faction or another at court, and therefore forbade her any society at all.

  Living in a kind of prison in her rooms, Marie described her life as “cramped, lonely, and incredibly dull.”33 Rarely permitted to attend state functions, balls, operas, or parties, Marie found herself bored to death, surrounded by hawkeyed servants who spied at keyholes, fished papers out of her trash bin, and reported her every word and action to the king. When Marie complained, old King Carol informed her that members of a royal family should have no expectation of personal happiness.

  FAMILY REUNIONS

  If the princess bride felt lonely and unhappy at her new court, she was in no position to visit her family back home. Travel was strenuous and often dangerous. Carriages, without benefit of springs, jolted mercilessly over rutted roads. When it rained, wheels stuck in morasses of mud; when it didn’t, dust coated passengers from head to toe. Many roads were too atrocious to permit the use of carriages, and travelers, even the old and ailing, were forced to mount mules. Roadside inns were so riddled with filth and insects that well-heeled travelers carted their own beds, sheets, and armchairs with them.

  Even sea travel had its difficulties. Sailboats were pitched about by storms which strained the rigging and sometimes snapped the masts. Even the noblest travelers heaved up their meals into the deep blue sea. Periodically the lack of wind was a problem—ships were becalmed for weeks on end while passengers cooled their heels. Pirates cruised the ocean blue ready to swoop down upon unsuspecting vessels. In 1149 Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of France, was captured by Byzantine pirates on her return from the Crusades and held prisoner until warships came to her rescue. In 1784 Aimée de Rivery, a cousin of Josephine, the future empress of France, was captured by North African pirates and sold into the Sultan’s harem in Istanbul from which she never emerged.

  Pirates aside, even legitimate navies posed a threat. The shifting balance of European power often meant war or threats of war, and royalty would make valuable hostages. In 1795 French warships hoped to capture Princess Caroline of Brunswick on her way to marry George, Prince of Wales. When the British squadron sent to defend her became stuck in the ice, Caroline had to backtrack and wait for warmer weather. Her weeks of boredom were punctuated by the booming of cannon fire in the distance.

  Not only was travel difficult and dangerous, but those willing to endure the hardships of the road or sea usually found that the demands of royal protocol were more aggravating than the trip was worth. For several years after her 1559 marriage to King Philip II of Spain, Elizabeth de Valois longed to visit her mother, the French queen regent Catherine de Medici, and her younger brother, King Charles IX, who were, after all, just across the border.

  After much wrangling among diplomats, ministers, and both royal families, it was decided that the reunion of mother and daughter would be held in June 1565. The first debate centered on the location. The French did not want to demean themselves by crossing the Spanish border, using the excuse that out of respect the daughter should travel farther to visit her mother. Similarly, the Spanish believed that their nation’s prestige was far greater than that of France, so the French
court should cross the border into Spain. The town of Bayonne, just over the Spanish border, was finally agreed upon.

  On both sides, the selection of courtiers for the voyage was hotly contested; men unsheathed their swords to win this great honor; women unsheathed their claws. In both Spain and France, there was much slashing and shredding. Ladies pleaded the honorable positions they held in the royal household, while men trumpeted the battlefield feats of their ancestors. Tears were shed, sobs erupted, and finally a list was assembled that delighted some and outraged others.

  The next question was one of wardrobe. Each court wanted to outdo the other in its magnificence. But Philip told the queen’s ladies that Elizabeth “deprecated foolish and extravagant expenditure on the occasion, and that she considered the robes, which the ladies of the household ordinarily wore, were costly and magnificent enough, and ought to be worn full nine months longer.” He prevented his courtiers from ordering new gold and silver embroidered equipment for their horses, and “hoped that in France they would act on the same principle, in order that a meeting, which was planned for pleasure, and not for ostentatious display, might not give occasion for grievous expenses.”34

  The French court, however, saw this as the perfect opportunity to outshine their Spanish rivals and ordered opulent carriages and lavish clothing. The queen mother emptied the national treasury and then went headlong into debt to impress the Spanish with the magnificence of France. When her ministers reproached her, she replied that “the reason wherefore she sanctioned so great an outlay of money, for the reputation of the kingdom must be maintained, at least in outward matters, the more especially as the national funds were failing.”35

  Hearing of this, Philip sadly agreed that his court must not be outdazzled by the French, and he allowed the Spanish entourage the same expenditures. When Philip heard of the large number of courtiers accompanying King Charles, he reluctantly tripled the number in Elizabeth’s retinue. In addition to new wardrobes and carriages, both sides would bring with them their own furniture, drapes, tapestries, tables, beds, bedsheets, and silverware, on pack mules and in carts, crossing plains and mountains in biting rain and broiling sun. These items, too, must impress with their magnificence.

  On April 9 Elizabeth set out for Bayonne. But the Spanish queen could not take a speedy, direct route. Cities and towns along the way clamored for her visit. Townspeople organized parades; artisans crafted triumphal arches for her carriage to pass through. Mayors and city councilmen gave lengthy speeches praising their queen and arranged long banquets in her honor. Churches insisted that she pray at their altars, worship their saints, and march in their processions. Poorhouses and orphanages begged her to stop by with alms. By the time the exhausted Elizabeth reached Bayonne, the journey had taken her almost nine weeks and her mother had been stewing for a fortnight in a heat wave.

  Notified of the imminent arrival of the Spaniards, on June 14 King Charles and Queen Catherine waited in the royal pavilion for two hours. Six soldiers assigned to stand guard outside died of sunstroke. It is likely that Elizabeth’s vicious majordomo, the duque de Alba, who hated Catherine, indulged in a little revenge by making the queen of France sweat beneath her gold embroidered velvets. When the Spanish entourage approached, thirty-five of the noblest ladies rode sidesaddle on mules, to the hearty guffaws of French courtiers who thought the sight ridiculous. During the heartwarming reunion of mother and daughter, hundreds of courtiers were roaming the nearby villages seeking food and shelter. Catherine was forced to step in to prevent famine and pestilence; she unceremoniously ejected the villagers from their houses, which she assigned to courtiers.

  In between the jousts, pageants, feasts, masked balls, artificial combats, fetes, and galas, the several political conversations between mother and daughter proved fruitless; Catherine exerted pressure on Elizabeth to influence Philip on issues that would benefit France, and not necessarily Spain. The duque de Alba, furious at Catherine’s misguided political efforts, informed her that her daughter must return forthwith to Spain, as her husband could no longer live with her absence.

  Catherine’s parting instructions to Elizabeth were oddly impossible—that she was to “follow the humor of the king her husband in all matters, and above all, never to forget or to slight the interests of her brother’s crown.”36

  The expense, the wrangling, and the wasted months and futile political negotiations of this visit served as an example to future generations of royals. Family reunions would be few and far between, if ever. In 1699 Elizabeth Charlotte, duchesse d’Orléans, hoped to visit her pregnant daughter who had married the ruler of the duchy of Lorraine. Because no one in either party was a king—her husband, Monsieur, was a duke, as was her daughter’s husband—she hoped the visit would not be prevented by the fractious demands of protocol.

  But the duc de Lorraine insisted on sitting in an armchair in the presence of the duc d’Orléans, an honor he was accorded by the Holy Roman Emperor. The duc d’Orléans, however, citing French etiquette, replied that the duc de Lorraine would only be given a stool to sit upon. When the duc de Lorraine flat-out refused to sit on a stool, the duc d’Orléans generously suggested that he be given a high-backed chair with no arms. But the duc de Lorraine stubbornly insisted on having a chair with arms. Louis XIV himself became involved and forbade the duc de Lorraine to sit on a chair with arms, signaling a dignity equal to that of Monsieur, whose dignity as a son of France was incomparably greater. However, the duc de Lorraine refused to admit he was worthy of less dignity than that given him by the emperor. And so the visit was called off, and Elizabeth Charlotte did not see her daughter for nearly two decades.

  QUEENLY FINANCES

  While commoners envied the luxuries of royal women, the fact was that many princesses had less spending money than a farmer’s wife. In 1666 King Alfonso VI of Portugal denied his French-born queen money for her household expenses and refused to give her the fifty thousand francs she had been promised as her wedding portion. Unable to pay her servants or buy herself a new gown, Queen Maria Francisca was often seen sobbing loudly into a handkerchief.

  In the 1840s the thrifty King Ludwig I of Bavaria made his wife, Queen Therese, wear threadbare dresses to the opera, the same opera where his greedy mistress, Lola Montez, arrived shining in a diamond tiara, necklace, brooch, earrings, bracelets, and rings—gifts from the king.

  Despite her exalted position as the highest-ranking woman in France after the death of Louis XIV’s queen in 1683, Elizabeth Charlotte suffered for decades from her husband’s stinginess. “All he has in his head are his young fellows,” she wrote, “with whom he wants to gorge and guzzle all night long, and he gives them huge sums of money; nothing is too much or too costly for these boys. Meanwhile, his children and I barely have what we need. Whenever I need shirts or sheets it means no end of begging, yet at the same time he gives 10,000 talers to La Carte [a lover] so that he can buy his linens in Flanders.”37

  Not only did Monsieur refuse to give his wife spending money, he even raided her rooms and took the wedding gifts she had brought from Germany. “One day he came in,” Elizabeth Charlotte huffed in a letter to her aunt, “and, despite my urgent pleading, gathered up all the silver dishes from Heidelberg and some other silverware that decorated my room and looked quite pretty, had them melted down and pocketed all the money himself; he did not even leave me one poor little box in which to put my kerchiefs.”38

  In 1697, desperate for funds, she asked the king if the money she had brought as dowry from the Palatinate twenty-five years earlier was hers. The king replied “that, yes, it is, but that Monsieur is maître de la communauté, who as long as he lives can dispose of it as he sees fit and that there is nothing I can do about it….What annoys me most is that I see with my own eyes that my money is being spent so badly and on such despicable people.”39

  STATE-OF-THE-ART HEALTH CARE

  While today’s wealthy can afford health care unimaginable to the poor and uninsured, in
centuries past the exact opposite was true. State-of-the-art health care involved frequent bleeding, and the administration of pukes and purges—medicines resulting in violent vomiting and diarrhea. Many patients were killed not by the original illness but by the expensive ministrations of a highly respected doctor. The poor, on the other hand, could not afford doctors. Rest, hot soup, and fresh air often revived them.

  Anne of Austria, the mother of Louis XIV, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1665. Over the period of a year, with no painkillers and no antibiotics to prevent infection, her breast was removed one slice at a time with a knife and fork, as if it were a roast being carved. Perhaps it was a mercy when, after suffering untold agony, she finally died.

  One day as a teenager, after suffering weeks from a decayed tooth, the future Catherine the Great agreed to have it pulled. A “surgeon” came to her room armed with a pair of pliers and yanked out the offending tooth—and a chunk of jawbone as well. Blood gushed all over her gown. The swelling and pain were so shocking that Catherine did not leave her room for a month, and even when the swelling went down, the dentist’s five fingers were imprinted in blue and yellow bruises at the bottom of her cheek.

  Elizabeth Charlotte, duchesse d’Orléans, came from hearty German stock and hated the Versailles doctors. Whenever she heard that Louis XIV was sending doctors to attend her, she bolted the gilded doors to her room and refused to emerge until she was well. She believed the best antidote to illness was a vigorous two-hour walk in her gardens regardless of the weather, followed by a stout German beer and some spicy sausages.