Days of Splendor, Days of Sorrow (23 page)
Read Days of Splendor, Days of Sorrow Online
Authors: Juliet Grey
My husband, whom I had invited to join us for a stroll and a picnic of strawberries at le Petit Trianon, shook his head like a wet dog. “I never saw it, I assure you,” he insisted.
“You wouldn’t,” the emperor replied. “You two are a pair of children, and wouldn’t have understood the ripe appeal of a true
woman in all her feminine glory if she fell into your laps. You were blinded,
ma petite soeur
, by your jealousy and self-interest, and you,
mon ami—
well,
you
are just blind to the charms of women in general!”
“I am not!” Louis protested somewhat petulantly.
“Before I utter another word about your marital state—as you are too curious to know my opinion of your notorious du Barry to listen to anything else—frankly I found her rather plain. Toinette, you have far more pleasing features, an equally charming figure, and infinitely more grace.” I turned as red as a berry. “Which is why I cannot fathom your childless state.” Joseph turned to address the king. “I have spoken of the situation quite candidly with my sister, but I should like to spend some time alone with you, Sire, observing
every
discretion, I assure you, and forgetting for those hours that we are sovereign brothers. Consider instead our ties of blood and my experience of women.”
At this suggestion Louis’s complexion turned somewhat chartreuse, but I encouraged him to take advantage of Joseph’s worldliness. Perhaps he had some sound advice, I reasoned. After all these years of
rien
, things couldn’t become any worse.
• • •
TO: THE GRAND DUKE OF TUSCANY FROM JOSEPH II, HOLY ROMAN EMPEROR: CONFIDENTIAL
Paris, May 2, 1777
My Dear Leopold:
I have now had the opportunity to spend a good deal of time with our sister and the King of France. He is honest and not devoid of knowledge, but he is badly educated, as well as incurious, and the ministers are the masters, making it all
the more necessary for the queen to come into her own, and quickly, for Louis is a man too easily led by the nose.
Yet the only place he cannot be led, it seems, is the bedchamber. Physically, he is a strong man, sturdily built, and he looks perfectly capable of fathering a child. Yet he barely seems to know how to go about it! I spoke with him privately and entirely candidly, and he confided that he has very firm erections, but then after he introduces the member he stays there without moving for perhaps two full minutes and withdraws without having ejaculated, although he is still erect. Then he kisses the queen good night.
I find the entire business incomprehensible. He says he sometimes has nightly emissions, but never during the act itself; and he says quite plainly that he does it purely from a sense of duty—that he derives no pleasure whatever from it. To think that there has been no Bourbon heir due to such laziness and apathy. Oh—if only once I could have been there! I would have whipped him until he grew so enraged that he spent like a donkey! Our sister has little temperament; if she were by nature a romantic or a sensualist she might make his task easier, but together they are two complete blunderers.
Their situation is very odd. The king is at present only two-thirds of a husband. He loves our sister, I can see it. Yet he fears her more. She has the kind of power one expects from a
maîtresse en titre
, not a wife, as she compels him to do things he doesn’t want to do. Her virtue remains strictly intact; however, she acts as if she gives no thought to next week, let alone the future.
Joseph’s departure from France at the end of the first week in June left an aching void that I could not seem to fill, the seven weeks he’d spent with us gone so quickly that it seemed little
more than a gauzy dream. My usual round of amusements no longer brought me delight. True, he had employed a good number of our hours together lecturing me on how to be a more amiable wife and a more respected queen, and I was hardly nostalgic for these scoldings.
“What can you be thinking of, to interfere in public affairs, to dismiss ministers and appoint others in their place?” my brother had demanded to know. “Or to create new and costly posts at court when the king is endeavoring to economize?” The comtesse de Polignac had made recommendations (naturally the persons in question were her friends or relations) and I had forwarded them, thinking they were sound. Yet Louis had not questioned them at the time; indeed, he had always encouraged my friendship with Madame de Polignac.
“Have you ever troubled to ask yourself what right you have to intervene in the business of the French monarchy?” Joseph said. His words made me shiver. “Small wonder, then, that the king is afraid of you. And that the caricaturists cannot fill their nibs with ink fast enough.”
I briefly lowered my gaze. My cheeks burned. My brother was right, of course. I hadn’t at all considered the possibility that my husband had acquiesced to the Polignac promotions out of fear, for I certainly did not see myself as formidable or threatening in any way. Whatever was there about me that Louis could be frightened of? I only wished to help my friends. If someone was not qualified, surely the king would have told me so.
But I could not admit to my brother what I had surmised for the past two years at least—that Louis had altered his original policy against my “intervening,” as Joseph put it, gratifying my wish to feel useful, as our childless state left me on the periphery as his consort. My husband understood that I would not seek an active role in the affairs of state if my hours were occupied with
the joys of motherhood; and so I believe he became determined to indulge me in other ways.
Resentful at Joseph’s presumption, despite my affection for him, and perhaps because his words had hit the mark too well, “I do not wish to appear managed,” I said smoothly, promising at the same time to reform my behavior after his departure.
He was not convinced. Seated beside me in the solitude of le Petit Trianon, on a couch upholstered in pale green silk, he took my hands in his and looked deeply into my eyes. “My dear, sweet, charming sister,
reflect
before you act, for every little thing has consequences.” He brought my fingers to his lips. “Listen to a brother who loves you and who has only your welfare at heart.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “All your beauty and charm is worth nothing if you continue to dance toward an abyss, spurred on by the gossip and backbiting of those you choose to account your companions. In truth,
ma petite soeur
, I tremble for your happiness, seeing that in the long run things cannot go on as they are.” He sounded almost regretful. “The revolution will be a cruel one, and perhaps of your own making.”
A True Wife at Last
Joseph had been customarily blunt to Louis as well, but his words had their desired effect. A few weeks after my brother’s departure, when we entertained the king’s maiden aunts, Mesdames Adélaïde, Victoire, and Sophie, bitter crows who had retired from court to the Château de Bellevue on our ascension, my husband made sure to demonstrate to them that he was hardly indifferent toward his queen.
Feasting on strawberries and cream in the Bois de Boulogne that afternoon, Mesdames and I were surprised to see the king canter over, dressed for the hunt, with a half-dozen outriders trailing behind. He pulled up his horse and dismounted, handing the reins to a groom. Removing his hat and blotting the perspiration from his brow, he surveyed the four of us in our candy-colored gowns with their furbelowed skirts and ruched bodices, our pale décolletée protected by matching silk parasols.
“How splendid you look!” he exclaimed. “Monsieur Fragonard should paint you just as you are.” He took my hands and swung me to my feet as if I weighed nothing, then clasped me
about the waist and drew me to him, kissing me fully on the mouth. His lips were soft and tasted slightly of salt from his equestrian exertions. Later in the day, and for hours afterwards, I rustled through my memories: Had he ever before kissed me like that? It was surely not for show because I was in the presence of Mesdames—who, I had learned long after the fact, mistrusted the Austrians, like so many of the French nobility, and had been against our marriage from the beginning. Louis’s embrace was born out of pure spontaneity. This rare gesture at Versailles, this tender expression of affection among the sovereigns, won an unexpected reaction, for Mesdames, our footmen, and his grooms and outriders all applauded us!
Joseph had chided me for not showing affection toward my husband, and I had tried to become more aware of demonstrating my esteem for him, not only in public, but in the bedchamber, although I don’t believe my brother comprehended how agonizing even the gentlest expressions of tenderness could be. Had Louis confided the specifics of his medical condition, according to the diagnosis of Monsieur Lassone?
Once again I raised the prospect of circumcision. I was reliably informed by those with a good deal of experience that the procedure would make the business of lovemaking more enjoyable for my husband. And in Louis’s case, his phimosis was not correcting itself over time, with repeated attempts, however painful, at intercourse, as one of the court physicians had advised. So finally, although he remained loath to consider the possibility of infection, or worse, and the unthinkable likelihood of leaving me a widow and France at the mercy of his brother, Louis capitulated.
Yet the operation was to be performed entirely in secret. Monsieur’s coterie of schemers could not be permitted the opportunity to stir the pot of dissension and plot against the king, netting allies like flypaper, should he perish from the procedure.
The procedure was effected in the dead of night in my
small single bed at le Petit Trianon, amid a soothing palette of robin’s-egg blue, rose, celadon, and ivory. Nowhere else at Versailles could such privacy be obtained. Rules governing entry were posted at various points about the acreage: T
HE QUEEN FORBIDS THAT HER GARDEN BE DEEMED A PUBLIC PLACE, ALLOWS ENTRANCE ONLY BY THE GATE AND UNDER THE ESCORT OF A
S
WISS
G
UARD; SHE FORBIDS PERSONS ATTACHED TO THE SERVICE OF
T
RIANON TO BRING THEIR FAMILIES OR FRIENDS ONTO THE GROUNDS ON THE DAYS WHEN SHE DINES THERE ALONE OR WITH THE ROYAL FAMILY; EVEN IN HER ABSENCE SUCH PERSONS MUST BE ACCOMPANIED
.
The most illustrious trespasser thus far had been the Grand Almoner. On the night we fêted Grand Duke Paul of Russia, His Arrogance, prince de Rohan, had connived his way into the gardens, which had been illuminated with lanterns cleverly concealed within flowerpots. He had lied to my gatekeeper, and the hapless concierge had admitted him to the grounds; the princesse de Lamballe alerted me to the cardinal-prince’s presence when she glimpsed the hem of his red moiré soutane peeking out from beneath his voluminous black domino cloak. I was livid, for the cardinal was the last person I would have wished to entertain. Not only had he not been invited to the Grand Duke’s soirée, but the prince de Rohan never had been, and never would be, my guest at le Petit Trianon, or anywhere else where it lay within my power to exclude him. I debated whether to permit the cardinal to remain; but countenancing any breach of the rules of Trianon, and of my privacy and security, would set a dangerous precedent, so I had my Swiss Guards discreetly escort him from the gardens.
Ordinarily quite abstemious, Louis consumed a fair amount of brandy to calm his nerves and blunt the inevitable pain of the surgical procedure. Yet when he undressed and Monsieur Lassone examined him for the final time, to our immense relief the physician
found that nothing quite so radical as a complete circumcision would be necessary after all.
Having first made sure that both the lancet and the
médecin
’s hands were scrubbed with hot water and strong Castille soap, I held the candle as he made a few small traverse incisions, in order to loosen the fibers of the prepuce of Louis’s
pénis
. I peered over Monsieur Lassone’s shoulder, careful not to obscure the light as he explained how the deformity manifested itself. Maman, I thought, would have been proud of me, for I never so much as flinched. “You see,
Votre Majesté
, how the prepuce was forming a corona about the head of the king’s member, essentially strangling it. This abnormal, tight skin was preventing His Majesty from obtaining an erection without enduring extreme discomfort.” In no time at all, the doctor had pronounced the loosening accomplished, and he began to apply an ointment concocted of wine and olive oil between Louis’s glans and prepuce. “Is that all?” my husband remarked, shocked at how quickly, and with such minimal fuss, the greatest burden of his life had been dispensed with. Even the pain, he admitted, though he had been gnawing on the heel of a stale crust of bread, was not as fearsome as he had imagined it would be.
Monsieur Lassone drew my attention to the ointment. “In a few days’ time, if you continue to apply this
baume samaritain
as I am doing, you will see that the scabs will heal rather swiftly and you and the king may resume all of your normal activities.”
The royal physician was as good as his word. And on August 22, 1777, nearly seven and a quarter years from the day we knelt at the altar together in the chapel at Versailles, the King of France—
finalement
—made me his true wife.
Although our initial efforts as he filled me completely—to the hilt of his sword, he proudly proclaimed—were quite painful for both of us, I gasped in surprise at how elastic
mon vagin
became
as we persevered. I wished to show Louis I loved him, so to feel closer, I wrapped my legs around his bottom, only to discover that the position rendered our exertions considerably more comfortable. This enabled me to relax and when I felt more at ease, the king grew more confident and thus we could finally perform our marital duty.
I can only describe it as unqualified ebullience when at long last Louis and I relieved ourselves of the burden of celibacy. The joy and elation of consummation at long last triumphed, trumping every other sentiment and sensation. Louis was so thrilled, relief etched so visibly in his full cheeks and light eyes that he was eager to repeat the deed for several days running, and even gushed with delight to Mesdames, themselves uninitiated in the great mystery, exclaiming that he could curse himself for having denied his body such transcendent enjoyment for so long.