Marie-Antoinette, Daughter of the Caesars

by Elena Maria Vidal

  mingling with the crowd of worshippers.13 The common people were happy to have a devout King and Queen.

  On September 1, 1774, Louis and Antoinette, who had spent the summer at various smaller châteaux, were reinstated at Versailles, with Louis moving into the King’s suite and Antoinette into the Queen’s nearby. Later, Louis would build a private passage connecting his bed chamber with Antoinette’s, so that their intimate moments could be more secluded from the court. Louis also convened his new cabinet of ministers, having fired most of his grandfather’s regime. To many this action in itself showed the young King’s independent thinking and strength of mind, contrary to popular legend.14 At his first cabinet meeting Louis set the tone he desired for his reign by saying: “I wish to acquire a thorough knowledge of all that concerns the prosperity of my kingdom. Above all, gentlemen, do not forget St. Louis’ maxim: ‘Everything unjust is impossible.’”15 To the official in charge of planning Menus-Plaisirs that is “Lesser Pleasures” or entertainments for the King, Louis said: “My Menus-Plaisirs are to walk about in the park.”16 He made sure his servants were paid on a regular basis. Under his grandfather, his tutors would go for years without being paid, such was the financial straits of the Court of Louis XV. His biggest challenge, other than the enormous national deficit, was what to do about the parlements, which had troubled his grandfather’s reign. The parlements were the highest law courts run by magistrates and lawyers who had bought their positions. They were part of the noblesse de robe, the nobles of wealth, as opposed to the hereditary nobility, the noblesse d’ épée, the nobles of the sword. There were thirteen parlements throughout the country but the most important was the parlement of Paris, known as the Parlement, which traditionally registered the edicts of the King, especially as pertains to taxation. If the Paris Parlement refused to register an edict, the King could go before the magistrates in royal state under a dias, called a lis de justice or “bed of justice” and compel Parlement to register the edict. Louis XV had had so many clashes with Parlement over taxation that he had suspended its sessions. However, at Maurepas’ urging, Louis recalled Parlement in November 1774, and went before them in his velvet and ermine robes at the Palais de Justice where he sat enthroned. All the lawyers knelt until told to rise. Speaking firmly and strongly, he asked them to register his edicts and then said:

  The King my grandfather, challenged by your resistance to his orders, took what measures were necessary to maintain his authority and administer justice. Today I am calling you back to the functions which you should never have laid aside. This is a favor I am doing you; never forget it.17

  Thus in the first year of his reign Louis XVI showed that he was going to be his own man and rule in the way he deemed best for his people.

  However, already in the first year of his reign there were shadows of things to come. In August of 1774 Louis had also appointed Anne Robert de Turgot as his finance minister. The finances of the kingdom had been in a shambles since the disastrous Seven Years War with England. The deficit was 22 million livres with a projected 78 million to come. People who later blamed Antoinette for the deficit seemed to forget that Louis XVI inherited it. Through a series of edicts, Turgot attempted to reform the tax code by reducing the privileges of the nobility. He also wanted to establish a free market in grain. But the bad harvest of 1774 compounded with the shaky new regulations to create the “Flour Wars” with a scarcity of bread in some places

  leading to riots and social unrest.18 Turgot repressed the riots and restored controls over the grain market. And so the problem of the national debt remained unsolved.

  In spite of the Flour Wars, Louis’ early actions and words as King combined to make him extremely popular with his subjects, and Antoinette as well, in a way that verged on idolatry. It was scary, for it set the people up for great disappointments if any flaws were detected or if anything went wrong, which is, of course, what happened. Louis was to maintain his popularity with the common people until September, 1789. Antoinette, however, since she was her husband’s mistress as well as his wife, would fill the role of scapegoat for the ills of the nation, as mistresses had in the past. Being a foreigner made her even more suspect. But that was all to come. For Louis XVI and Antoinette the spring and summer of the coronation was a happy season in their lives, full of hope and popularity.

  As an example, there was a popular print called “The Happy Day of France” portraying an allegorical representation of Louis XVI and Antoinette in honor of the coronation. The print shows Louis and Antoinette riding in a chariot pulled by a lion and a lamb, with fat, healthy children playing before them, and classical gods, goddesses, nymphs and fawns standing in the sidelines, surrounded by festoons of roses. Above the royal couple, angels are blowing trumpets, heralding what was expected to be a golden age, and not just a golden age but an apocalyptic age. The picture was vaguely reminiscent of the verse from Isaiah about the lamb and the lion, ending with the words: “and a little child shall lead them.” (Isaias 11:6) It seemed that a new era of innocence, joy, prosperity and happiness for France was being born.19

  On June 11, 1775, Trinity Sunday, Louis XVI was crowned at the Cathedral of Rheims, the sacred center of the realm. The festivities went on for days before and after the coronation itself, with both solemn religious ceremonies and lively festivals in the streets. Antoinette went everywhere with Louis, sometimes incognito, and she was usually accompanied by Louis’ little sisters, the exuberant Madame Élisabeth and the plump Madame Clothilde. Although some ministers had tried to persuade Louis to have a simple civil ceremony to save money, Louis insisted on the traditional nine hour religious ceremony, to be followed by the King giving the blessing to the sick: “The King touches you, God heals you.”20 The sacré or coronation rite could be traced back to the baptism of the Frankish chieftain Clovis on Christmas Day in 496, at the hands of Saint Remigius, for whom Rheims was named. It also marked the foundation of the Christian kingdom of France, called by subsequent popes “the Eldest Daughter of the Church.”21 According to the traditional story:

  ‘Bow thy head, O Sicambrian’, said St. Remigius to the royal convert ‘Adore what thou hast burned and burn what thou hast adored.’ According to a ninth-century legend found in the life of St. Remigius, written by the celebrated Hincmar himself Archbishop of Reims, the chrism for the baptismal ceremony was missing and was brought from heaven in a vase (ampulla) borne by a dove. This is what is known as the Sainte Ampoule of Reims, preserved in the treasury of the cathedral of that city and used for the coronation of the kings of France from Philip Augustus down to Charles X.22

  The baptism of Clovis was followed by the gradual conversion and baptism of the Frankish nation, and thus the rite of the sacré represented the recommitment of the entire French people to the vocation of their baptism. The balm from the Holy Ampulla was mixed with sacred

  chrism and the king was anointed in a similar way as a priest at an ordination, on the head, chest, back and on the palms of the hands. The royal robes were based upon priestly garments: there were the tunic, the dalmatic and the royal mantle, all of azure blue velvet and sprinkled with fleurs-de-lys of gold. The garments represented the orders of subdeacon, deacon, and priest.Thus the King shared in both the Kingship and the Priesthood of Christ. Among laymen, the King of France could partake of both species at Holy Communion. He received the charismatic gift of healing as well; after his coronation he touched those afflicted with scrofula. 23 The sword of Charlemagne, Joyeuse, was also included in the rite. Charlemagne or Charles the Great, King of the Franks, was crowned Emperor of the Roman by Pope Leo III at St. Peter’s Basilica on Christmas day in the year 800. It was at that time that Christmas began to be celebrated with greater festivities, although Epiphany continued to have higher liturgical rank. To the French the triumphant cry of Noël, originating either from the Latin word for birthday (natalis) or the French word for news (nouvelles), became the word for Christmas.24

  By the late tenth century, the l
ine of Charlemagne, called the Carolingians, had weakened and Hugh Capet, a relative of another house, was elected to be King of France. Hugh Capet was anointed and crowned in 987; his name was associated with the cappa or cape of Saint Martin of Tours which his family had in their possession.25 The Capet family would rule until 1270 when their Valois cousins succeeded to the crown, to be followed by the Bourbons in 1589. Louis XVI was a descendant of Hugh Capet, of Charlemagne, of Clovis and in his person he embodied a long tradition of both religious faith and political authority. The name of Capet was not his but would surface during the Revolution as a form of mockery for the kingship as a medieval institution.

  The coronation was to take place at Rheims, where Jeanne d’Arc had once come to crown Charles VII. Many Americans seem to be convinced that monarchy is an intrinsically evil institution. They are not able to see beyond their own time and their own political process. People do not have trouble accepting the fact that St. Joan of Arc donned male apparel and led armies to victory. What seems to disturb many people, however, is that she gave her help to a king, and worse yet, to a King of France. I once read a comment in which someone said that Saint Louis of France was a saint “in spite of being a king.” We can with certainty guess that Saint Louis saw his kingship as a vocation in which he served God and man. What is more, he saw it as a calling to share in the Kingship of Christ, from Whom he held his authority and to Whom he had to render an account. Saint Joan, in her simple piety, viewed kingship in a similar manner. She honored her King Charles VII, although he was far from being a saint, because in doing so she gave honor to Christ the King. The office was deserving of respect, even if the man was not. On her banner she bore an image of Christ the King surrounded by the fleur de lys, the lilies of royal France. Saint Joan frequently made explicit reference to the fact that she was called to serve God by assisting the French monarch. At her trial she announced:

  As for the good work I have done...I must needs leave that with the King of Heaven, who sent me to Charles, son of Charles King of France, who shall be King. And you shall see that the French will very soon achieve a great task which God will send to the French, and such that almost the whole Kingdom of France will tremble. And I say it, so that when it comes to pass it will be remembered that I said it.26

  The Maid believed her country had a mission from God, a task to fulfill. No doubt Louis XVI saw it in the same way.

  The coronation of Louis XVI was as magnificent as finances permitted, with an almost theatrical aura, as the exquisite Gothic sanctuary and apse were covered by neo-classical columns and drapery. The music was by the court composer François Giroust, which has been preserved. Antoinette was not crowned; it was Louis’ decision that she should not share his coronation in order to save expenses and besides, queens were usually crowned only after they showed themselves to be fertile.27 There was also a political motive. As a Habsburg, an Austrian and a Daughter of the Caesars, it was not politic for Antoinette, the child of a foreign enemy power, to be crowned. Although other Queens of France had been crowned and even had their own coronations, Antoinette was to sit in the gallery as a spectator. It seems, however, that as a very active spectator she immensely enjoyed the pageantry and ritual, being intensely moved. In a letter to her mother, Antoinette later declared it a day she would never forget, even if she lived to be a hundred, telling how she wept profusely throughout the sacré.28 Simone Bertière insists that her tears were merely a childish knee-jerk reaction; that the religious significance of the ceremony totally escaped her and she was only awed by the people’s cheers.29 While her untrained mind was flighty and immature, I do not think we can doubt that she was truly touched at the center of her being. “We are obliged to work for the people’s happiness. The king appeared to me to be penetrated by this truth,” she explained to the Empress.30 In his letters to Maria Theresa:

  [Mercy] mentions the emotion of the Queen at the moment of the Coronation; her tears flowed so fast that she was obliged to leave her seat and retire to regain her composure; she returned amid shouts and applause that echoed through the cathedral, while all the world wept in sympathy; and the King raised his head and looked at her with an adoration that he could not conceal. His Majesty had been greatly affected by her emotion, had spoken incessantly of her tears; and had shown feelings never before stirred in him. He mentions the little walk of the King and Queen arm-in-arm, in simple dress, at seven o'clock in the evening, through the long gallery crowded with visitors, ‘de monde, même de peuple’ their Majesties without guards or escort, in the midst of their subjects; and that the people, drunk with joy, greeted them with indescribable warmth.31

  According to the Gazette de France:

  On June 14th, the King rode in a cavalcade to the Saint-Remi Abbey. His Majesty was accompanied by the Count of Provence, the Count of Artois, the Duke of Orléans, the Duke of Chartres, the Prince of Condé, the Duke of Bourbon and by many other Lords and great officers. He attended Mass in the Abbey and performed his Devotions through the Cardinal of la Roche-Aymon's hands. Then, in the Park of the Abbey, he touched 2,400 people who had the disease of scrofula and distributed charity to them. In the afternoon, the King took a walk in the park and from there went to the camp of the French and Swiss Guard units. The People, who were following His Majesty, showed their Master how delighted they were because of his presence.

  The day of Corpus Christ, the King accompanied by the Count of Provence, the Count of Artois, and Princes of Royal Blood, followed the procession and attended the Great Mass…in the Metropolitan Church. The Queen, Madame, Madame Clotilde, Madame Elizabeth, the Duchess of Bourbon, and many Court Lords and Ladies were also present.32

  Even amid the hatred of the Revolution, Louis would never quite lose the aura of his sacré. Several times during the Revolution he was able to calm angry mobs and thus buy time for himself and his family. Even at the scaffold his presence elicited awe. To quote from History Today:

  The personal popularity of Louis XVI, libelles notwithstanding, lasted until at least September 1789. Most of what went wrong until then was blamed upon his wicked, despotic, deceiving ministers – or, later, upon his Austrian wife. Indeed, as his blood streamed through the floorboards of the scaffold on 21 January 1793 people rushed forward to dip their handkerchiefs in the mystical fluid while others reproached them for sacrilege. Clearly, Louis XVI still had the capacity to inspire a reverence that was at least semi-religious, right to the end.33

  7 Their Most Christian Majesties

  “The Queen looked upon the destiny of her sisters as far beneath her own.” ―Madame Campan

  Louis XVI was perhaps one of the best educated men to ever sit upon the throne of France. Nevertheless, Antoinette often lamented that his education had been deficient, although scholastically his was much superior to her own. He especially admired the classic literature of his own country and was thoroughly acquainted with it. As Madame Campan penned many years later:

  The Abbé de Radonvilliers, his preceptor, one of the Forty of the French Academy, a learned and amiable man, had given him and Monsieur a taste for study. The King had continued to instruct himself; he knew the English language perfectly; I have often heard him translate some of the most difficult passages in Milton’s poems. He was a skillful geographer, and was fond of drawing and coloring maps; he was well versed in history, but had not perhaps sufficiently studied the spirit of it. He appreciated dramatic beauties, and judged them accurately. At Choisy, one day, several ladies expressed their dissatisfaction because the French actors were going to perform one of Molière’s pieces. The King inquired why they disapproved of the choice. One of them answered that everybody must admit that Molière had very bad taste; the King replied that many things might be found in Molière contrary to fashion, but that it appeared to him difficult to point out any in bad taste? 1

  Antoinette genuinely thought that where social graces were concerned, Louis’ tutelage had been shamefully neglected by his governor the Duc de la Vauguy
on, whom she already disliked for being against the Austrian alliance. She was correct in that Louis’ education had been focused on the high ideals of being the heir of St. Louis without enough practical experience in government or military matters, or even the rudimentary skills of a courtier, such as dancing and small talk. She received a scolding from her mother and brother Joseph for daring to label Louis XVI as “poor man” in a letter to the Austrian minister Count Rosenburg.2 Mercy tried to defend Antoinette by telling the Empress that pauvre homme was an endearment like bon homme but Maria Theresa would have none of it, and thought that Antoinette’s respect for her husband and her King was sorely lacking.3 Perhaps the Empress understood more than Antoinette did the perilous political and economic situation which was at stake. Then as now, Louis XVI is renowned for his alleged personal shortcomings yet few people understand the gravity of the situation with which he was faced upon his accession. As Nesta Webster expresses it in her study Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette before the Revolution: