Marie-Antoinette, Daughter of the Caesars

by Elena Maria Vidal

  In 1937, Nesta Webster debunked the Freudian analysis in her two volume study of Louis and Antoinette. In discussing the yet unconsummated marriage of the King and Queen, Webster says the following of Antoinette’s sorrow:

  It is...unnecessary in her case to resort to Freudian methods of psychoanalysis in order to understand her state of mind. Her feelings were really quite simple. For however much the unnatural conditions of her marriage may, and indeed must, have reacted on her nervous system, the dominating thought that emerges

  from her letters from those of Mercy to Maria Theresa is her great longing for children....On Sundays, when the garden of Petit Trianon was thrown open to the public, the Queen would go among the family parties collected there and call for the children to be brought up and presented to her, then she would ask their names, and shower on them bonbons and kisses....But beyond this natural trouble of a woman was the sorrow of a Queen who had given no heir to the throne. The letters of Maria Theresa, urging on her the necessity for fulfilling her destiny as mother of a Dauphin, must have felt like turning a knife in the wound, for the Empress showed little human sympathy or understanding for her daughter's unhappy position....19

  The despair of not giving birth to an heir, as well as the unfulfilled natural longing for a child, combined with the exuberant high spirits of a girl who loved parties and dancing, created for Antoinette an image of frantic giddiness, soiling her reputation for all time, and leading to rumors of wanton behavior. It is ironic because her brother Joseph described the Queen as having aucun tempérament, that is, she had little or no temperament or inclination for sensuality.20 According to Louis’ biographer Petitfils, Antoinette used entertainments to escape unpleasant marital duties, which were painful and awkward, due to her own physical problems. Her fear of pregnancy caused nervous instability, which is not the same as sexual frustration. She longed for a child but had anxieties. The entire scenario made Louis-Auguste a person of ridicule. He suffered, humiliated.21 Of Louis XVI, Webster writes:

  To trace the King's inferiority complex solely to this cause [the unconsummated marriage] after the Freudian manner is...contrary to all evidence, since this complex existed long before his marriage and continued after [the union was consummated]. Never did Louis XVI display more self-confidence than during the Guerre des Farines while his marriage still remained unconsummated, never less than during the Revolution when he had become the father of a family.22

  On July 22, 1773, Louis told his grandfather that Antoinette was truly his wife. “C’est ma femme!” he exclaimed, and the King embraced them both.23 According to the letters written by the Queen to her mother the Empress Maria Theresa, the young couple had indeed begun to attempt to consummate the marriage as early as 1773. On August 13, 1773, Antoinette wrote that she and Louis were in perfect union and had experienced “beaucoup de joie,” a “great deal of joy,” which makes one guess that the experience was pleasurable.24 Antoinette was seventeen and Louis eighteen. In their ignorance, they thought they had already succeeded but soon discovered that they had not.25 Dr. Lasonne had already confirmed there was no physical obstacle to the consummation of the marriage.26

  La Martinière, physician of Louis XV, examined the Dauphin to make sure there was not a reason for lack of consummation. The Dauphin was found to be in perfect health, however, the Dauphine was too young for sex. Author Simone Bertière, in her biography L'Insoumise, maintains that Antoinette had a “narrowness of passage” which made consummating the marriage difficult for both spouses.27 To quote:

  Marie-Antoinette suffered from a condition known in the court as ‘l'étroitesse du chemin’, [a narrowness of passage], that made her frigid. The research by Simone Bertière, a specialist in the lives of France's seventeenth and eighteenth-century queens, shatters the myth of a semi-impotent, foppish king, and a sluttish queen, favourite targets of scurrilous pamphlets that inflamed the mobs of 1789. It also undermines the most influential biography of Marie-Antoinette, written by Stefan Zweig in Vienna in 1932 after he discovered uncensored correspondence between the queen and her domineering mother, the Empress Maria Theresa.

  ‘Since then, the presumed impotence of Louis and his cowardice in refusing an operation to correct a small physical malformation have been accepted as a matter of fact, sufficient to explain the queen's neurotic instability,’ Bertière said, commenting on her 700-page biography, Marie-Antoinette, l'Insoumise (the Rebel). ‘But Zweig did not compare these letters with those sent by the Hapsburg ambassador to the empress which leave no doubt at all that Louis XVI did not suffer from malformation.’ It was not until seven years after marrying the Dauphin that Marie-Antoinette, ‘a little girl paralysed by terror’, lost her virginity. From the first fruitless night the physiological realities which, according to Bertière, nineteenth and twentieth-century historians glossed over, were the object of intense court records, letters and diplomatic exchanges that described their sexual characteristics in detail. 28

  Zweig is responsible for spreading the phimosis theory, a theory that keeps appearing in contemporary books and on the internet, although authors such as Webster, Bertière, Cronin, and Fraser have done their best to show it to be erroneous. The phimosis theory insists that Louis had to undergo a circumcision. However, he went riding every day during the time period of the supposed surgery, when surgery in that delicate area would have rendered riding impossible. Simone Bertière repeatedly quotes the various doctors' reports of examinations of Louis which say there was no physical reason why he could not consummate the marriage, i.e., no phimosis. Both Nesta Webster and Antonia Fraser deny the mythical surgery as well. According to Webster: “...Joseph II was able to give the right advice which eventually led to the consummation so devoutly hoped for without recourse being made to the much talked of operation.”29 As for Fraser, she writes: “In the end it was not a case of phimosis, the overtight foreskin mocked by Les Nouvelles de la Cour....In January 1776, Moreau, a surgeon of the Hôtel-Dieu hospital, was pronouncing the operation [on Louis XVI] unnecessary and a few months later Marie-Antoinette was increasingly sure the surgeon was right....So there was never an operation.”30

  In the summer of 1777, Louis XVI and Antoinette fully consummated their marriage at last. On August 30, 1777, Marie-Antoinette wrote her mother: Je suis dans le bonheur le plus essential pour toute ma vie. “I am in the most essential happiness of my entire life.”31 Mercy’s letter to the Empress confirmed the joyful event. On August 19 at 10 in the morning, while Antoinette was leaving her bath, Louis came in and stayed with her for an hour and fifteen minutes.32 The doctor Lassone had instructed Louis and later assured him the marriage was completely consummated. They were aged twenty-two and twenty-one years respectively. The bride had physically matured and was emotionally ready for the duties of being a wife and mother. Her readiness can be attributed in part to her friendship with Madame de Polignac, who helped Antoinette overcome any fears about sex and pregnancy that she had absorbed from her sister Maria Carolina’s letters and perhaps also from watching her sister-in-law Isabella die after great sufferings in childbirth. As for Louis he told Madame Adélaïde that he had such pleasure in his relations with his wife that he wished it had happened sooner.33 In the future he would usually make his romantic visits to her in the mornings, slipping into her room quietly, even when she would stay at Petit Trianon.34 The Empress found it appalling that they did not sleep together the entire night; Antoinette had to explain that it was not the French custom. To celebrate their matrimonial success, in 1778 Antoinette commissioned the architect Mique to design and build the neo-classical structure called the Temple of Love. It became a marriage which all the forces of hell could not sunder.

  6 Death and Coronation

  “He told me the pitiful state of the Kingdom of France. And he told me that I must succour the King of France.” —Saint Jeanne d’Arc

  On June 8, 1773, Louis-Auguste accompanied Antoinette on her official entry into Paris. It had been three years since her
arrival in France but she had never formally been introduced to the people of Paris. Louis-Auguste and his brothers had taken her to the masked opera ball in Paris during the previous Carnival, but they had all gone incognito. The Dauphin and Dauphine were cheered all the way into town. Their reputation for virtuous living had preceded them. The people had heard of Antoinette’s beauty and generosity. For instance, she wrote to her mother of the devastating fire at the Hôtel-Dieu:

  … All the gazettes will be talking about the cruel fire at the Hôtel-Dieu; they have had to move the sick into the [cathedral of Notre Dame] and the Archbishop’s palace. There are usually five or six thousand sick in the hospital; in spite of the care that was taken, it was impossible to prevent a part of the building from burning…The Archbishop published a letter ordering a charity drive; I sent a thousand écus. I never mentioned it; I am being given embarrassing compliments, but they say it must be so as it gives a good example.…1

  Louis’ plain, blunt manner appealed to one and all. Stories of his magnanimity were repeated everywhere. They drove through the streets of Paris to the welcoming blare of trumpets and thunder of cannon. After Mass at Notre Dame, they went to the church of Sainte-Geneviève, where they prayed at the tomb of the shepherdess who protected the city. They dined at the Tuileries palace. On the balcony of the palace, they showed themselves ten times to a mixture of silent awe and ovations of delight. Afterwards, they walked arm-in-arm in the open gardens, the crowds thronging around them, but Louis ordered the guards not to push the people back. The Dauphin answered all of the speeches in a calm, polite and gracious manner, which touched many hearts. Antoinette was so moved by the acclaim that tears rolled down her cheeks. It was on the balcomy that the old Duc de Brissac, governor of Paris, commented to Antoinette: “Madame, two hundred thousand people have fallen in love with you.”2 That glorious moment of popular acclaim would later stand out in tragic contrast to the hatred that would follow. Antoinette was to painfully learn the fickleness of human praise.

  Later that year, on October 16, 1773, Mercy had reason to record another of the Dauphine’s good deeds. There may have been others but she tried to be discreet and was embarrassed when her charities were made public. To quote Mercy:

  On October 16th, Mme la Dauphine was following the King at the hunt in an open carriage when there occurred a very untoward event. The stag, closely pursued by the dogs, jumped into an enclosed garden which its owner was then working. The animal, who could see no exit, became enraged … and gored [the man] twice, once in the thigh, the other in the body, leaving him mortally wounded.

  The wretched man’s wife … seized with despair, ran toward a group of hunters she could see in the distance. It was the King and his suite. She shouted for help, announcing her husband’s accident and, at that moment, fell down in a faint. The King ordered that she be taken care of and, having given marks of compassion and kindness, rode on…

  Mme la Dauphine, who had returned, got out of her carriage, ran toward the woman, and held out some perfume to her nose, which made her come out of her faint. Mme la Dauphine gave her all the money she had with her, but what was even more admirable was the kind and consoling way in which HRH talked to the poor woman. Finally, Mme l'Archiduchesse, who was touched, shed tears and, at that moment, caused more than a hundred spectators to do the same…

  Then, having called for her carriage, Mme la Dauphine gave orders that the peasant woman be taken in it back to her cottage which was in a neighboring hamlet. Her Royal Highness waited right there for her carriage to return; she asked about the care of the wounded man…I cannot describe to Your Majesty the greatness or intensity of the sensation caused by the event, not only among the courtiers, but even more among the people of Fontainebleau….

  The public in Paris [seems very moved;] whenever Mme la Dauphine’s name comes up, it

  evokes a universal cry of joy and admiration.3

  On Holy Thursday, March 21, 1774, Monsieur de Beauvais, the Bishop of Sénez, was summoned to preach before the King in the chapel of Versailles. He preached on the verse Jonah 3:4: “Forty more days and Nineveh shall be destroyed,” exhorting the King and his court to conversion. Within a fortnight, Louis XV came down with smallpox, while residing with Madame du Barry at Petit Trianon. The King’s doctors insisted upon him being carried back to the main palace, against the inclinations of Madame du Barry and her circle, who wished to keep the King away from his family.4 The Court avoided him for fear of contagion. The Dauphin and Dauphine were sent away. The King’s daughters, Madame Adélaïde, Madame Victoire, and Madame Sophie braved the sick room to care for their father. Every two hours they would send messengers to their Carmelite sister at her monastery to let her know how the patient was doing. Madame Louise, in her turm, sent her profession crucifix to her dying parent. In the meantime, the Duc de Richelieu threatened to throw the Curé of Versailles out the window if he mentioned the Sacraments to the King. Madame Louise prayed at her monastery, prostrate in front of the Blessed Sacrament, for her father to be reconciled with God. On May 4, the King was visited by Monsieur de Beaumont, the Archbishop of Paris, and by Cardinal de la Roche-Aymon, the Grand Almoner of Versailles, who spoke with him for a long time. Afterwards, he sent for Madame du Barry and bade her farewell. She left the château the next day; in a fury, it is reported, but at least she obeyed her King’s final command. After much ado about nothing, accompanied by hemming and hawing, a confessor was finally sent for. Many of the more progressive members of the Court seemed determined that the King should die outside the Church, but their objections were overcome. A blind and holy priest, the Abbé Maudoux, came to hear the confession of Louis XV, and the next day he received his Viaticum from the Cardinal Grand Almoner, with the princesses kneeling nearby. As the ciborium containing the Blessed Sacrament came into the sick room, the King tried to rise from his bed so he too could kneel. The Cardinal asked that the King issue a public statement of his repentance for the benefit of his people, and he did so most willingly. Afterwards he died peacefully, on May 10, 1774, at age 64. As Louis XVI wrote to his aunt Madame Louise: “The graces God bestowed on him were very consoling. He died holding the crucifix and reciting the prayers himself.”5 It was three o’clock in the afternoon.

  The moment the King died, a burning candle in the window was snuffed out, and a mob of courtiers rushed to where Louis and Antoinette were standing anxiously together in her apartments. The young couple fell to their knees and prayed together: “May God guide us and protect us! We are too young to reign!”6 In light of everything that would follow, it is heartbreakingly poignant that the reign of Louis XVI began with a prayer. Not every prayer of the new King and Queen was to be answered as they hoped, but there can be no doubt that they would be given the strength to bear the great trials asked of them.

  When the Last Will and Testament of Louis XV was opened, it bore witness to the late King’s genuine repentance:

  In the name of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. What follows are my last wishes. I give back my soul to God, my Creator, and conjure Him to have pity on a great sinner entirely submissive to His holy will and to the decisions of His Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. I pray the Blessed Virgin, and all the saints, particularly my patron St. Louis, to intercede for me with Jesus Christ, my Divine Redeemer and Savior, that He may obtain for me pardon of my sins, who have so often offended and so ill served him I ask pardon of all those I may have offended or scandalized, and beg them to forgive me and pray for my soul.7

  The corpse of Louis XV was literally rushed off to be buried at Saint Denis, for fear of contagion. In the meantime, the entire royal family were swiftly packed up and taken to the château of Choisy where they stayed for nine days until the danger passed. The Mesdame Tantes in particular were quarantined, since all three princesses contracted smallpox from their father. The grotesque death of Louis XV from smallpox encouraged Louis XVI and other members of the family, who had never had the disease, to be inoculated. Ino
culation would usually cause a fever and a milder outbreak of pustules, although it could at times be fatal. Louis XVI, his brothers and the Comtesse d'Artois were inoculated. According to the British ambassador to France Lord Stormont, the King “gave orders no one was to attend him who had not had smallpox and has had the humanity to extend this order to his lowest servants.” Antoinette, who watched over her husband, wrote to her mother that he “has not many spots but he has spectacular ones on his nose, wrist, and chest which begin to whiten.”8

  At Choisy, the new King said: “I feel that the universe is going to fall on me.”9 His first act as sovereign was to state that he would no longer be styled as “Louis-Auguste” but as “Louis.” He summoned the Comte de Maurepas to be his advisor. Maurepas was recommended by Louis’ father, his late tutor Vauguyon and by his Tante Adélaïde, as an able minister. Maurepas had been exiled from court by Louis XV for writing verses about Madame de Pompadour, and thus was inimical to the choiseulistes. Antoinette wanted Louis to have Choiseul as his advisor but in the matter of ministers as in other political matters he did what he thought best for France. He also sought to find ways to distract Antoinette from meddling in affairs of state.

  As for the new Queen, she gave a good example of dignified piety during the period of mourning, according to what Mercy wrote to the Empress.10 The Empress rejoiced that Antoinette was behaving so well and that the King had given her Petit Trianon as her own, since it had always belonged to “favorites” of the King. Louis and Antoinette decided from the beginning that they would give a good example of married life. By giving Antoinette the estate of Trianon, the King showed that Antoinette was his mistress as well as his wife. He also gave it to her to shield her from the intrigues of the court, against which she would be helpless, and to keep her from trying to exert Austrian policy in affairs of state. In their innocence Louis and Antoinette never imagined that living in a house last inhabited by Madame du Barry and built for Madame de Pompadour would reflect badly on the vivacious young Queen. For the moment, the Empress was overjoyed and wrote to her daughter on June 16, 1774: “Religion and morals…have not been forgotten….All the universe is in ecstacy.”11 She also praised Antoinette for refusing la ceinture de la reine or “the Queen’s belt” which was a tax levied at the beginning of every reign. Antoinette’s quip “Belts are no longer worn”12 saved the people from the tax and endeared her to them. On the feast of Corpus Christi, Louis and Antoinette and other members of the Royal Family joined a Eucharistic procession at Chaillot,