"And the morals of this court!" he goes on, pointing out that when a certain duc was so careless as to come home at the wrong time and find his wife in bed with another, he apologized profusely to his wife for his inopportune arrival.

"Your friends are as bad as any. Especially the salon of Madame de Guemene, which is nothing but a dive-"

Here I interrupt and remind him of the perfect virtue of the Princesse de Lamballe, the mistress of my household and a very close friend indeed. Now I have played a trump card, for no one ever impugns her. My brother quickly dismisses her as a "pedigreed fool," and the truth is I cannot defend her mind. But she really has no need to make decisions of any moment about what she does or where she goes. One setting is as good as another to her. Even I feel superior to her in that regard.

What makes the criticisms of the Emperor tolerable is that I know without doubt that he speaks only out of love, that he wishes me to do my duty. And I appreciate that he has behaved like a good family member to my husband, who has told me that my brother has been comfortable, honest, and helpful in all their conversations.

My brother tells me that our mother the Empress warned him, before he left Austria, that he might find me so pretty and charming, so capable of conversing with lively wit and endearing manners, that he would find himself captivated by my flattery, and that, he admits, is exactly what has happened. "How often," he says, "I have found myself surprised not only by your quick wit but also by the depth of your insights. To me, my sister is the most charming of all the women in the world."

LETTER OF JOSEPH II, EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA, TO HIS BROTHER LEOPOLD CONCERNING THE CONJUGAL RELATIONS OF THE KING AND QUEEN OF FRANCE.

In the marriage bed, the King has normal erections; he introduces his organ, stays inside without moving for about two minutes, then withdraws without ejaculating, believing that he has protected HIS HEALTH by avoiding o.r.g.a.s.mic e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. Still strongly erect, he bids the Queen good night. Yet the idiot confesses to me that he sometimes has night emissions in his sleep, but while inside and in the process of attempting to produce an heir-NEVER. He is happy with this style. He tells me frankly that he only performs at all out of a sense of duty and that he does not like the act. Oh, if I could only have been in their bedroom, I would have taken care of him! I would have ordered him whipped until he discharged his sperm like an infuriated donkey.

Unfortunately, I also have it from him that our sister is as ignorant and innocent as a child lying in bed beside her immature brother. Between the two of them, they are complete incompetents. Fumblers!

THE AFTERMATH OF THE VISIT.

Because my brother has gone home to Austria ("home"-have I really allowed myself to even think that word about any country other than France?), I read over the notes he has left me: Are you not bored or absentminded when he touches or talks to you? If so, is it not inconsiderate of you to expect a man who has no experience with carnal pleasures to be able to feel intimacy, to be aroused, and to bring his love to a successful climax? You must focus your attention on creating a physical link between you, for that is the strongest link you can forge to happiness in your life. You must never allow yourself to feel discouraged, and you must always give him hope that he will be the sire of children. Never give up. Never despair. Your only power is your charm and friendship.

He has reminded me that our mother wants me to improve my mind, to spend two hours a day with serious books. My most serious flaw, my brother says, is not my gambling or my love of entertainment or of parties, but the fact that I do not love to read. Reading, he claims, would broaden my experience of the world. The ideas to be found in serious books would deepen my thinking about every choice I make. I do not see how reading would draw my husband to feel more pa.s.sion within our marriage.

On the table beside my chair is one of the novels the Emperor has condemned for its licentiousness. But those novels that describe the pleasure of love do help me to long for better success in the marriage bed, to display more warmth and charm toward my husband.

All my life my mother and my older brothers and sisters, except Maria Carolina, have confused me with their directives! They tell me to follow my heart, but when I start down that path, they insist that I turn my feet in another direction!

I hear myself sigh. I pick up the novel on the round table; my hand is hungry for the feel of its soft leather binding, for the theater it builds in my mind. Though I miss my brother and wish he were still here, despite confusion and a certain impatience, I will try to follow his advice. I lay the bright red book on the table. I will try to create a real life of love instead of experiencing it vicariously through the pages of a novel. It is necessary for me to change, and I will try again to do so.

The Emperor left me with very serious words: I tremble not only for your happiness, but for your safety. I have seen enough in this country to know that the finances and welfare of the state are in a desperate condition. Your marriage and the lack of an heir is also a desperate matter. In the long run, perhaps much sooner than anyone apprehends, it will be impossible for France to continue as it has. The revolution will be cruel, and I am sorry to say that it will be of your own making.

A BATH, 18 AUGUST 1777.

Sometimes the water in the bath is of such a compatible temperature that it is bliss to submerge my body in the fragrant liquid. I wonder if, before the Fall, the waters of Eden were just as these, and that of all Eve's pleasures, walking among the open flowers and fondling the rounded fruits of the garden, perhaps Eve preferred bathing. My attendants always test the water, so that it is neither very much too hot or very much too cool, but they cannot regulate the water to a temperature that is consistently perfect because they do not take into account the temperature of my skin. This morning the water feels like warmed silk.

Lifting up the hem of my gauze bathing dress, I point my toes down as my foot enters my bath. The water-smoothness creeps over my arch and encloses my ankle like the finest stocking and then up my leg almost to the knee. Then the other foot follows, and I stand in a medium that is slightly warmer than myself. My calves feel gladly surrounded. The temperature is so close to the heat of my own body that the flesh does not in the slightest flinch back. The warmth of summer air gives way to the more congenial warmth of water. As I lower myself entirely into this universe of comfort, the aroma of attar of rose with tincture of orange is released. When I am seated in my bath, I cannot resist raking my fingers forward in the water to further liberate the fragrance.

I submerge the globular sea sponge until its cells and fissures are filled with warmth, and then my attendant squeezes water from the sponge over my back, and next she rubs my shoulders and spine with a circular stroke that stimulates the circulation and makes me want yet another pa.s.s of the warm wet sponge, and another. My flesh develops an appet.i.te for the motion of the sponge, and then I take it from my attendant and stroke my bare neck and then my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, myself.

With a hand cloth of silk, my attendant follows the trail of the sponge to smooth away any roughness. By scooting my b.u.t.tocks forward in the tub, I submerge myself up to my neck. The thin fabric of my bathing dress floats around me like a gossamer lily pad. Now my knees break the water before me and rise up like round-top twin mountains. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are buoyed up, and my entire body wants to float. Feeling like a fish at play-or a mermaid-I twirl myself in the warmth so that my b.r.e.a.s.t.s hang down into the water and twirl around again. My bathing dress twists around my body. If only I had a lovely emerald green tail to splash!-though I make quite a nice splash in my rotation.

I see my attendants are smiling at my play, but their smiles are ones of understanding. They too would like to cavort in water of perfect temperature, smoothness, and scent.

"Some moonlit night," I say, "we should join the statues bathing the horses of Apollo. We could stand in the waterfall and imagine-"

"The King is pa.s.sing," my attendant suddenly whispers. "He is walking back and forth, just outside the door." For just a moment, I imagine she refers to the old King, Louis XV, whose luminous eye always took on a new l.u.s.ter when he beheld unexpected feminine beauty, even when I was fifteen and quite flat.

"Let him come in," I reply.

Skillfully, she opens the door as he pa.s.ses, and with the same gesture my attendants slip silently away.

The King stands in the open door and looks at me; my hair pinned atop my head hangs half-loosened in wet ringlets. Placing my hands on the sides of the tub, I suddenly rise, my muslin gown quite transparent and clinging to my body. The water rushes off me, as though I am a living fountain.

"Would you be so kind as to help me," I say, and I hold out my hand.

Gallantly, my husband holds out his hand to steady me as I step over the high edge of the bath. The water from my gown and body streams onto the floor.

"Who was the consort of Neptune?" he asks. "You resembled her, lounging against the high back of the tub as though it were a watery throne."

"Toinette, my Lord," I answer and slowly lower my eyes to half-mast, as I have seen the du Barry do a hundred times. "A towel, please, Your Majesty?"

"First, let me help you with your wet garb," he answers.

Tenderly he pushes the loose wet sleeve over my shoulder, on one side and then the other. I raise my shoulders from the slumping bodice so that my bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s emerge. Slowly, I sit down on the edge of the tub behind me, the wet muslin falling over my lap. The King kneels, with no regard for the puddles on the floor, and takes my pink nipple into his mouth. Here is real bliss, beyond the lapping warmth of water. My bosom heaves, my head tilts back, and I know that I am panting.

Finally I say-I can hardly speak-"My other breast is dying of jealousy."

Glancing up, he smiles happily, and encloses the tender pinkness of my other nipple.

Soon he rises, and holding his hand, I too rise. With a gentle hand, my husband shoves the sodden gown down my thighs to wreath my feet. When I step on the fabric, I feel water squish between my toes. Wearing nothing more than the blue ribbon tying up my hair, I follow him as he hands me a towel and leads me to our bed.

MY DEAR MOTHER.

Every fiber of my being thrills with happiness. Complete happiness. It has been more than a week ago that my marriage was completely consummated. I do not think I am pregnant yet but now I have hope based on the fact that I may be.

TO HONOR THE KING, THE OPENING OF THE NEW GARDENS AT TRIANON.

I am giving a night fete, and I am sending word to everyone to collect objects to be sold. For this fete, we will contrive a fair throughout the grounds surrounding my little pleasure house! Yes, a fair such as country people might hold at the end of summer when the harvest is starting to come in. But we will have shops wherein we sell not b.u.t.ter and eggs and cheese, but precious objects-bracelets and feathers of exotic birds, ribbons and jeweled buckles, vases and brooches. Everyone must sell something that she knows others have much admired, and the proceeds will be given for charitable needs. Yes, a country fair! But with all the elegance and finery of the court on display. The ladies of the court themselves shall tend the shops, and I shall dress as the proprietress of a cafe.

My friends can serve such pastries that the King always relishes, and for once I shall allow him to buy and feast on all the dainties that he wishes. Perhaps I shall even charge him for a kiss, which I believe he will now bestow with hearty goodwill and not a touch of embarra.s.sment!

By planning this open-air fair, a late summer night's fete, we will let the people know that we wish them to share in our joy, that we do not selfishly contain our happiness in cloistered chambers hung with velvet but that we bring it outdoors, under the night sky illumined with torches, for all to enjoy. We make the night into day.

I myself, dressed like a peasant girl, will pour from my pitcher into the flagons of all my friends the bounty of the earth-spiced cider will be the wholesome brew, stirred with sticks of rarest cinnamon, and at the top of each whorled stick I shall have affixed a pearl of some size and value, as a memento of when the King and Queen rejoiced in their marriage, and the Queen thanked the King for his great gift to her not only of the small palace of Trianon but also for the gardens, recast, as they bloomed with abandon and profusion.

And music! Yes, the French Guard shall supply its musicians, who will twiddle and toot and blow and bow, and drum and tee-dum till ears overflow-and nostrils are full of fragrance of flowers, and eyes fill till they blear with beauty as offered by nature and artifice, and hearts burgeon with happiness.

The King's seed is within me. Soon I may be pregnant.

MADAME, MY DEAR DAUGHTER.

The gazettes and other sources tell me that your mania for gambling is worse than ever, and worst of all you stay up very late, when the King likes to go to bed early. Your brother has said all that needs to be said on the subject of gambling, and I say no more. You are losing money that the King and you could put to much better use, and you should forbid gambling at court. Everyone knows you are losing vast sums and that your finances are exhausted, and that you spend all your time whispering into the greedy ear of the Comtesse de Polignac, who encourages you in all your dissipations and causes you to ignore everyone else at court. You must not isolate yourself from the n.o.bility. Your brother is greatly worried about the state of France, and the day may come when you will need all the loyalty of the n.o.bility and the loyalties that they command on their own estates to surround you and protect you.

Your brother is even more savage about the future of France.

The news of your completion in your marriage has filled me with joy, but I am very sorry to learn that the King does not like to sleep with you throughout the night-not of course just for the matter of having children, but because sleeping in the same bed promotes unity and trust, which is also of spiritual importance. Write to me every month about your period. I fear that often my young Queen forgets to account for this most important matter. I do not forbid you at this point to ride horses as long as you are not astride, but do not get overheated. The jolts of a carriage can be worse than riding.

I do indeed gently kiss my dear little woman whom I love, and whose essential goodness I never doubt.

MADAME, MY MOST DEAR MOTHER.

Though it is well into October now and we have been at Fontainebleau for eight days, I often feel overheated and take many baths to cool myself. The King has had a bad cold since we arrived, but his health does not keep him from hunting every day. I do understand the importance of our spending the entire night together, but it takes time to change his habits. I am quite willing to sacrifice my entertainments in order to keep him company. I know better now about how to spend my time which is filled with reading and needlework.

I truly love my embroidery, as it puts me in a kind of trance. I am not transported into another world as I am at the theater or even when I read an engaging book, but I enter a deep, still place within myself as I create flowers in thread. I feel calm and happy, which is a good balance for the thrill of the gaming table, though I gamble much less now and only in my own apartment; instead, I often play billiards.

More important, I have started drawing again, and knowing how you have always treasured the artwork of Marie Christine, I hope that I may one day draw a scene worthy of sending to you. Even here at Fontainebleau, I am visited by two music masters, one in voice and one in harp, and my harp teacher tells me that I can sight-read music for the harp in a way worthy of a professional musician. I like to play music that is expressive of my mood, and, indeed, it amazes me how perfectly music embodies even the most intimate feelings of longing or of happiness.

These are my dissipations-my diversions-and the French term dissipation properly cannot be construed in a moral sense, as the English construe it, should you have read in pamphlets about dissipations at court in which I would never dream of engaging. These pamphlets are not even the half-truths of gossip. They are vile fabrications.

I hardly ever ride anymore because people think it stops one from having children, but I am sure that it does not hurt. Nonetheless, I am now cautious about anything that can be misconstrued as insensitivity on my part to the future happiness of this country. I cannot tell you how much it hurts me that enemies have tried to destroy the love that the French people showered on me so abundantly when I first came to France. I do not jar myself with riding during my period-not even in a well-sprung carriage.

Happily, my brother Ferdinand writes that he is well and that Joseph has kept him current on matters here and has given him an excellent report of me.

MY DEAR DAUGHTER.

VIENNA, 5 NOVEMBER 1777.

Your letter of last month delighted me because it was full of important details. Be a.s.sured that I am never bored by the smallest detail because I care so much for your good health and good reputation. I am especially happy to hear about your music, your needlework, and above all your reading. Gambling is a terrible pleasure because it causes other bad behavior, and you cannot win, ultimately, at Pharaon, though the game bewitches you to continue to play and increases your desire to win, but honest players never win in the long run. If you add up the sums that you wager and lose, or that anyone does, you will find the mathematical truth of the matter.

You are losing much of your popularity too, especially abroad, because people believe that you indulge yourself in reckless gambling while the country suffers for basic needs. I know that when you are at the gaming table you think of nothing else but winning, and you allow yourself to become overly excited and egged on by the almost bodily thrill that occurs when you either win or lose because gambling cultivates both immoderate joy and desperate desire and mingles and confuses these sensations. Away from the table, your mind is occupied about other matters, and so it is my duty, as one who dearly loves you, to ask you to rein in this habit, and if you do not do so, your mother will have to ask the King himself to save you from this great danger.

It gladdens my heart that you ask for the painting of you dancing onstage with your brothers when you were a little innocent girl here, and I will send it to you to hang at the Pet.i.t Trianon, but first you must send me a portrait of yourself as you now appear, for which I have been waiting some eight years. As a mother, I long to see your face again.

I am sorry that gossip says you do not maintain even the appearance of friendship with the Princesse de Lamballe but bestow all your favor on the Comtesse de Polignac, and that you even treat the Princesse de Lamballe in a way such that people can easily see-and that you want them to see-you are annoyed and bored by the company of someone known for her virtue.

You must realize that the Polignac aligns herself with the Duc de Chartres and the Orleans family-who would like to be the rulers of France themselves. The princess is of Choiseul's party, which is made up of people who favor the Alliance between our countries.

MY VERY DEAR MOTHER.