MARIE ANTOINETTE AND COUNT FERSEN
The English-speaking world long ago accepted a conventional view ofMarie Antoinette. The eloquence of Edmund Burke in one brilliantpassage has fixed, probably for all time, an enduring picture of thisunhappy queen.
When we speak or think of her we speak and think first of all of adazzling and beautiful woman surrounded by the chivalry of France andgleaming like a star in the most splendid court of Europe. And thenthere comes to us the reverse of the picture. We see her despised,insulted, and made the butt of brutal men and still more fiendishwomen; until at last the hideous tumbrel conveys her to the guillotine,where her head is severed from her body and her corpse is cast downinto a bloody pool.
In these two pictures our emotions are played upon in turn--admiration,reverence, devotion, and then pity, indignation, and the shudderings ofhorror.
Probably in our own country and in England this will remain thehistoric Marie Antoinette. Whatever the impartial historian may write,he can never induce the people at large to understand that this queenwas far from queenly, that the popular idea of her is almost whollyfalse, and that both in her domestic life and as the greatest lady inFrance she did much to bring on the terrors of that revolution whichswept her to the guillotine.
In the first place, it is mere fiction that represents Maria Antoinetteas having been physically beautiful. The painters and engravers have soidealized her face as in most cases to have produced a purely imaginaryportrait.
She was born in Vienna, in 1755, the daughter of the Emperor Francisand of that warrior-queen, Maria Theresa. She was a very German-lookingchild. Lady Jackson describes her as having a long, thin face, small,pig-like eyes, a pinched-up mouth, with the heavy Hapsburg lip, andwith a somewhat misshapen form, so that for years she had to bebandaged tightly to give her a more natural figure.
At fourteen, when she was betrothed to the heir to the French throne,she was a dumpy, mean-looking little creature, with no distinctionwhatever, and with only her bright golden hair to make amends for hermany blemishes. At fifteen she was married and joined the Dauphin inFrench territory.
We must recall for a moment the conditions which prevailed in France.King Louis XV. was nearing his end. He was a man of the most shamelesslife; yet he had concealed or gilded his infamies by an externaldignity and magnificence which, were very pleasing to his people. TheFrench, liked to think that their king was the most splendid monarchand the greatest gentleman in Europe. The courtiers about him might bevile beneath the surface, yet they were compelled to deport themselveswith the form and the etiquette that had become traditional in France.They might be panders, or stock-jobbers, or sellers of politicaloffices; yet they must none the less have wit and grace and outwardnobility of manner.
There was also a tradition regarding the French queen. However loose incharacter the other women of the court might be, she alone, likeCaesar's wife, must remain above suspicion. She must be purer than thepure. No breath, of scandal must reach her or be directed against her.
In this way the French court, even under so dissolute a monarch asLouis XV., maintained its hold upon the loyalty of the people. Crowdscame every morning to view the king in his bed before he arose; thesame crowds watched him as he was dressed by the gentlemen of thebedchamber, and as he breakfasted and went through all the functionswhich are usually private. The King of France must be a great actor. Hemust appear to his people as in reality a king-stately, dignified, andbeyond all other human beings in his remarkable presence.
When the Dauphin and Marie Antoinette came to the French court KingLouis XV. kept up in the case the same semblance of austerity. Heforbade these children to have their sleeping-apartments together. Hetried to teach them that if they were to govern as well as to reignthey must conform to the rigid etiquette of Paris and Versailles.
It proved a difficult task, however. The little German princess had nonatural dignity, though she came from a court where the very strictestimperial discipline prevailed. Marie Antoinette found that she couldhave her own way in many things, and she chose to enjoy life withoutregard to ceremony. Her escapades at first would have been thought mildenough had she not been a "daughter of France"; but they served toshock the old French king, and likewise, perhaps even more, her ownimperial mother, Maria Theresa.
When a report of the young girl's conduct was brought to her theempress was at first mute with indignation. Then she cried out:
"Can this girl be a child of mine? She surely must be a changeling!"
The Austrian ambassador to France was instructed to warn the Dauphinessto be more discreet.
"Tell her," said Maria Theresa, "that she will lose her throne, andeven her life, unless she shows more prudence."
But advice and remonstrance were of no avail. Perhaps they might havebeen had her husband possessed a stronger character; but the youngLouis was little more fitted to be a king than was his wife to be aqueen. Dull of perception and indifferent to affairs of state, he hadonly two interests that absorbed him. One was the love of hunting, andthe other was his desire to shut himself up in a sort of blacksmithshop, where he could hammer away at the anvil, blow the bellows, andmanufacture small trifles of mechanical inventions. From this smudgyden he would emerge, sooty and greasy, an object of distaste to hisfrivolous princess, with her foamy laces and perfumes and pervasivedaintiness.
It was hinted in many quarters, and it has been many times repeated,that Louis was lacking in virility. Certainly he had no interest in thesociety of women and was wholly continent. But this charge of physicalincapacity seems to have had no real foundation. It had been madeagainst some of his predecessors. It was afterward hurled at Napoleonthe Great, and also Napoleon the Little. In France, unless a royalpersonage was openly licentious, he was almost sure to be jeered at bythe people as a weakling.
And so poor Louis XVI., as he came to be, was treated with a mixture ofpity and contempt because he loved to hammer and mend locks in hissmithy or shoot game when he might have been caressing ladies who wouldhave been proud to have him choose them out.
On the other hand, because of this opinion regarding Louis, people werethe more suspicious of Marie Antoinette. Some of them, in coarselanguage, criticized her assumed infidelities; others, with a politesneer, affected to defend her. But the result of it all was dangerousto both, especially as France was already verging toward the delugewhich Louis XV. had cynically predicted would follow after him.
In fact, the end came sooner than any one had guessed. Louis XV., whohad become hopelessly and helplessly infatuated with the low-bornJeanne du Barry, was stricken down with smallpox of the most virulenttype. For many days he lay in his gorgeous bed. Courtiers crowded hissick-room and the adjacent hall, longing for the moment when the breathwould leave his body. He had lived an evil life, and he was to die aloathsome death; yet he had borne himself before men as a statelymonarch. Though his people had suffered in a thousand ways from hismisgovernment, he was still Louis the Well Beloved, and they blamed hisministers of state for all the shocking wrongs that France had felt.
The abler men, and some of the leaders of the people, however, lookedforward to the accession of Louis XVI. He at least was frugal in hishabits and almost plebeian in his tastes, and seemed to be one whowould reduce the enormous taxes that had been levied upon France.
The moment came when the Well Beloved died. His death-room was fetidwith disease, and even the long corridors of the palace reeked withinfection, while the motley mob of men and women, clad in silks andsatins and glittering with jewels, hurried from the spot to pay theirhomage to the new Louis, who was spoken of as "the Desired." The bodyof the late monarch was hastily thrown into a mass of quick-lime, andwas driven away in a humble wagon, without guards and with no salute,save from a single veteran, who remembered the glories of Fontenoy anddischarged his musket as the royal corpse was carried through thepalace gates.
This was a critical moment in the history of France; but we have toconsider it only as a critical moment
in the history of MarieAntoinette. She was now queen. She had it in her power to restore tothe French court its old-time grandeur, and, so far as the queen wasconcerned, its purity. Above all, being a foreigner, she should havekept herself free from reproach and above every shadow of suspicion.
But here again the indifference of the king undoubtedly played astrange part in her life. Had he borne himself as her lord and mastershe might have respected him. Had he shown her the affection of ahusband she might have loved him. But he was neither imposing, nor, onthe other hand, was he alluring. She wrote very frankly about him in aletter to the Count Orsini:
My tastes are not the same as those of the king, who cares only forhunting and blacksmith work. You will admit that I should not show toadvantage in a forge. I could not appear there as Vulcan, and the partof Venus might displease him even more than my tastes.
Thus on the one side is a woman in the first bloom of youth, ardent,eager--and neglected. On the other side is her husband, whosesluggishness may be judged by quoting from a diary which he kept duringthe month in which he was married. Here is a part of it:
Sunday, 13--Left Versailles. Supper and slept at Compignee, at thehouse of M. de Saint-Florentin.
Monday, 14--Interview with Mme. la Dauphine.
Tuesday, 15--Supped at La Muette. Slept at Versailles.
Wednesday, 16--My marriage. Apartment in the gallery. Royal banquet inthe Salle d'Opera.
Thursday, 17--Opera of "Perseus."
Friday, 18--Stag-hunt. Met at La Belle Image. Took one.
Saturday, 19--Dress-ball in the Salle d'Opera. Fireworks.
Thursday, 31--I had an indigestion.
What might have been expected from a young girl placed as this queenwas placed? She was indeed an earlier Eugenie. The first was of royalblood, the second was almost a plebeian; but each was headstrong,pleasure-loving, and with no real domestic ties. As Mr. Kiplingexpresses it--
The colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady Are sisters under their skins;
and so the Austrian woman of 1776 and the Spanish woman of 1856 foundamusement in very similar ways. They plunged into a sea of strangefrivolity, such as one finds to-day at the centers of high fashion.Marie Antoinette bedecked herself with eccentric garments. On her headshe wore a hat styled a "what-is-it," towering many feet in height andflaunting parti-colored plumes. Worse than all this, she refused towear corsets, and at some great functions she would appear in whatlooked exactly like a bedroom gown.
She would even neglect the ordinary niceties of life. Her hands werenot well cared for. It was very difficult for the ladies in attendanceto persuade her to brush her teeth with regularity. Again, she wouldpersist in wearing her frilled and lace-trimmed petticoats long aftertheir dainty edges had been smirched and blackened.
Yet these things might have been counteracted had she gone no further.Unfortunately, she did go further. She loved to dress at night like ashop-girl and venture out into the world of Paris, where she wasfrequently followed and recognized. Think of it--the Queen of France,elbowed in dense crowds and seeking to attract the attention of commonsoldiers!
Of course, almost every one put the worst construction upon this, andafter a time upon everything she did. When she took a fancy forconstructing labyrinths and secret passages in the palace, all Parisvowed that she was planning means by which her various lovers mightenter without observation. The hidden printing-presses of Paris swarmedwith gross lampoons about this reckless girl; and, although there waslittle truth in what they said, there was enough to cloud herreputation. When she fell ill with the measles she was attended in hersick-chamber by four gentlemen of the court. The king was forbidden toenter lest he might catch the childish disorder.
The apathy of the king, indeed, drove her into many a folly. After fouryears of marriage, as Mrs. Mayne records, he had only reached the pointof giving her a chilly kiss. The fact that she had no children became aserious matter. Her brother, the Emperor Joseph of Austria, when hevisited Paris, ventured to speak to the king upon the subject. Even theAustrian ambassador had thrown out hints that the house of Bourbonneeded direct heirs. Louis grunted and said little, but he must haveknown how good was the advice.
It was at about this time when there came to the French court a youngSwede named Axel de Fersen, who bore the title of count, but who wasreceived less for his rank than for his winning manner, his knightlybearing, and his handsome, sympathetic face. Romantic in spirit, hethrew himself at once into a silent inner worship of Marie Antoinette,who had for him a singular attraction. Wherever he could meet her theymet. To her growing cynicism this breath of pure yet ardent affectionwas very grateful. It came as something fresh and sweet into thefeverish life she led.
Other men had had the audacity to woo her--among them Duc de Lauzun,whose complicity in the famous affair of the diamond necklace afterwardcast her, though innocent, into ruin; the Duc de Biron; and the Baronde Besenval, who had obtained much influence over her, which he usedfor the most evil purposes. Besenval tainted her mind by persuading herto read indecent books, in the hope that at last she would become hisprey.
But none of these men ever meant to Marie Antoinette what Fersen meant.Though less than twenty years of age, he maintained the reserve of agreat gentleman, and never forced himself upon her notice. Yet theirfirst acquaintance had occurred in such a way as to give to it a touchof intimacy. He had gone to a masked ball, and there had chosen for hispartner a lady whose face was quite concealed. Something drew the twotogether. The gaiety of the woman and the chivalry of the man blendedmost harmoniously. It was only afterward that he discovered that hischance partner was the first lady in France. She kept his memory in hermind; for some time later, when he was at a royal drawing-room and sheheard his voice, she exclaimed:
"Ah, an old acquaintance!"
From this time Fersen was among those who were most intimately favoredby the queen. He had the privilege of attending her private receptionsat the palace of the Trianon, and was a conspicuous figure at thefeasts given in the queen's honor by the Princess de Lamballe, abeautiful girl whose head was destined afterward to be severed from herbody and borne upon a bloody pike through the streets of Paris. But asyet the deluge had not arrived and the great and noble still dancedupon the brink of a volcano.
Fersen grew more and more infatuated, nor could he quite conceal hisfeelings. The queen, in her turn, was neither frightened nor indignant.His passion, so profound and yet so respectful, deeply moved her. Thencame a time when the truth was made clear to both of them. Fersen wasnear her while she was singing to the harpsichord, and "she wasbetrayed by her own music into an avowal which song made easy." Sheforgot that she was Queen of France. She only felt that her womanhoodhad been starved and slighted, and that here was a noble-minded loverof whom she could be proud.
Some time after this announcement was officially made of theapproaching accouchement of the queen. It was impossible that malicioustongues should be silent. The king's brother, the Comte de Provence,who hated the queen, just as the Bonapartes afterward hated Josephine,did his best to besmirch her reputation. He had, indeed, theextraordinary insolence to do so at a time when one would suppose thatthe vilest of men would remain silent. The child proved to be aprincess, and she afterward received the title of Duchesse d'Angouleme.The King of Spain asked to be her godfather at the christening, whichwas to be held in the cathedral of Notre Dame. The Spanish king was notpresent in person, but asked the Comte de Provence to act as his proxy.
On the appointed day the royal party proceeded to the cathedral, andthe Comte de Provence presented the little child at the baptismal font.The grand almoner, who presided, asked;
"What name shall be given to this child?"
The Comte de Provence answered in a sneering tone:
"Oh, we don't begin with that. The first thing to find out is who thefather and the mother are!"
These words, spoken at such a place and such a time, and with astrongly sardonic ring, set all Paris gossiping. It was a thi
nly veiledinnuendo that the father of the child was not the King of France. Thoseabout the court immediately began to look at Fersen with significantsmiles. The queen would gladly have kept him near her; but Fersen caredeven more for her good name than for his love of her. It would havebeen so easy to remain in the full enjoyment of his conquest; but hewas too chivalrous for that, or, rather, he knew that the variousambassadors in Paris had told their respective governments of therising scandal. In fact, the following secret despatch was sent to theKing of Sweden by his envoy:
I must confide to your majesty that the young Count Fersen has been sowell received by the queen that various persons have taken it amiss. Iown that I am sure that she has a liking for him. I have seen proofs ofit too certain to be doubted. During the last few days the queen hasnot taken her eyes off him, and as she gazed they were full of tears. Ibeg your majesty to keep their secret to yourself.
The queen wept because Fersen had resolved to leave her lest she shouldbe exposed to further gossip. If he left her without any apparentreason, the gossip would only be the more intense. Therefore he decidedto join the French troops who were going to America to fight underLafayette. A brilliant but dissolute duchess taunted him when the newsbecame known.
"How is this?" said she. "Do you forsake your conquest?"
But, "lying like a gentleman," Fersen answered, quietly:
"Had I made a conquest I should not forsake it. I go away free, and,unfortunately, without leaving any regret."
Nothing could have been more chivalrous than the pains which Fersentook to shield the reputation of the queen. He even allowed it to besupposed that he was planning a marriage with a rich young Swedishwoman who had been naturalized in England. As a matter of fact, hedeparted for America, and not very long afterward the young woman inquestion married an Englishman.
Fersen served in America for a time, returning, however, at the end ofthree years. He was one of the original Cincinnati, being admitted tothe order by Washington himself. When he returned to France he wasreceived with high honors and was made colonel of the royal Swedishregiment.
The dangers threatening Louis and his court, which were now giganticand appalling, forbade him to forsake the queen. By her side he didwhat he could to check the revolution; and, failing this, he helped herto maintain an imperial dignity of manner which she might otherwisehave lacked. He faced the bellowing mob which surrounded the Tuileries.Lafayette tried to make the National Guard obey his orders, but he wasjeered at for his pains. Violent epithets were hurled at the king. Theleast insulting name which they could give him was "a fat pig." As forthe queen, the most filthy phrases were showered upon her by the men,and even more so by the women, who swarmed out of the slums and soughther life.
At last, in 1791, it was decided that the king and the queen and theirchildren, of whom they now had three, should endeavor to escape fromParis. Fersen planned their flight, but it proved to be a failure.Every one remembers how they were discovered and halted at Varennes.The royal party was escorted back to Paris by the mob, which chantedwith insolent additions:
"We've brought back the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's boy!Now we shall have bread!"
Against the savage fury which soon animated the French a foreigner likeFersen could do very little; but he seems to have endeavored, night andday, to serve the woman whom he loved. His efforts have been describedby Grandat; but they were of no avail. The king and queen werepractically made prisoners. Their eldest son died. They went throughhorrors that were stimulated by the wretch Hebert, at the head of hisso-called Madmen (Enrages). The king was executed in January, 1792. Thequeen dragged out a brief existence in a prison where she was for everunder the eyes of human brutes, who guarded her and watched her andjeered at her at times when even men would be sensitive. Then, at last,she mounted the scaffold, and her head, with its shining hair, fellinto the bloody basket.
Marie Antoinette shows many contradictions in her character. As a younggirl she was petulant and silly and almost unseemly in her actions. Asa queen, with waning power, she took on a dignity which recalled thedignity of her imperial mother. At first a flirt, she fell deeply inlove when she met a man who was worthy of that love. She lived for mostpart like a mere cocotte. She died every inch a queen.
One finds a curious resemblance between the fate of Marie Antoinetteand that of her gallant lover, who outlived her for nearly twentyyears. She died amid the shrieks and execrations of a maddened populacein Paris; he was practically torn in pieces by a mob in the streets ofStockholm. The day of his death was the anniversary of the flight toVarennes. To the last moment of his existence he remained faithful tothe memory of the royal woman who had given herself so utterly to him.