Erickson - To the Scaffold, The Life of Marie Antoinette

This book made available by the Internet Archive.

To tne Scaffold

N the birth chamber the cold November wind gusted through the open windows, lifting the rich cloth hangings and rustling the long skirts of the midwife and her assistants. Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria, sat patiently while the court dentist probed her tender gums, feeling for the decayed tooth that had been hurting her for the past several days.

Her labor pains had begun earlier that afternoon, and it had occurred to her that, as long as she was going to be in labor, she might as well undergo the agony of having the tooth extracted at the same time. So she sat in stoic silence as the dentist completed his examination, gripped the aching tooth with his cruel instruments and, with a practiced twist of his wrist, wrenched it out of her mouth.

Combining childbirth with dentistry was painfiil, but efficientand Maria Theresa was a ruler of exemplary efficiency. Besides, as she had good reason to know, having given birth fourteen times before, nothing happened in the early hours of labor. She was not in the habit of wasting time. So, having recovered from the shock of the extraction, and with rolls of cloth in her mouth to absorb the bleeding, she called for her papers and sat for the next several hours reading and signing official documents, clutching her abdomen every now and again when the spasms became acute.

It had been the same the last time she gave birth, seventeen months earlier. Then too she had worked up until the last minute, making no concessions to her condition in the last month of her

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pregnancy except to attend the theater less often, and when she did attend, to leave early, "always having so much to do," as her Lord High Chamberlain Count Khevenhiiller noted in his court diary. She did keep to her room more than usual in the last weeks, but not in order to rest; her secretaries brought her the usual piles of papers to read and sign, and she worked long hours at her desk. When her labor began, there was some trepidation among the courtiers, for the midwife who customarily delivered the imperial infants had died, and the new midwife appointed to replace her, though expert, had never attended the delivery of an empress before. Maria Theresa, however, had every confidence in herand in herself. While her labor progressed she conferred with her ministers and with her husband Francis, and sat in on an important conference, before finally retiring to the birth chamber and bringing her fourth son, Ferdinand, into the world. ^

This labor promised to go as smoothly as the last one had, and to be integrated with equal ease into the Empress's ongoing labors of governing. The chilly afternoon gave way to an even colder evening, and still she sat poring over her papers. As the birth did not seem to be imminent, her husband saw no reason to stay near at hand. He went to Mass, this being Sunday and the Day of the Dead, at the Augustinian convent adjacent to the palace. The courtiers, having been alerted to the fact that the Empress was closeted in the birth chamber, prepared themselves to offer their formal congratulations when the time came, and wondered aloud whether this time it might be another boy.

At thirty-seven, Maria Theresa had ruled Austria, Hungary, and a congeries of smaller principalities for fourteen years. She had inherited this checkerboard empire from her father. Emperor Charles VI, whose grave sorrow it was that he had no son to leave his kingdoms to. But he had failed to perceive his daughter's remarkable capacity. The young Empress had not ruled long before the other European sovereigns discovered her unique intelligence, ability and above all, her indomitable energy and strength of will. In the early years of her rule she withstood repeated invasions by the armies of Prussia, France and Bavaria, heartening her soldiers by riding at their head with vigor and panache, appealing at once to their chivalry and their manly pride. Her armies did not always win their battlesthe forces of her implacable enemy Frederick, King of Prussia, often prevailedbut her determination never

wavered even when they lost. Now in November of 1755, a decade and a half after her father's death, she ruled an empire at peace, its revenues greatly increased, its armies seasoned by warfare and ready to fight again, when called upon, for their Empress.

Maria Theresa was still, in the opinion of many, a beautiful woman. In her youth she had been exceptionally pretty, with lovely blue eyes, a clear porcelain complexion free of pockmarks, and a thick mane of reddish-gold curls. "Her gait is free, her bearing majestic," the Prussian ambassador had written, describing her as a young woman, "her figure large, her face round and full, and her voice clear and pleasant." "Her eyes are very large, lively and mild," he went on, "and their deep blue most striking. She has a regular nose, not hooked, and not blunt. She has very white teeth, and they are most charming when she laughs. Although her mouth is large, it is rather pretty; her neck and chest are well modeled, and her hands are exquisite." He was impressed by her stamina and emotional resilience. Though anguished and hard-pressed by constant warfare, the Empress was neither haggard nor irritable. "Her expression is fresh," the ambassador wrote, "and her skin very clear although she gives it but little attention. Her demeanor is sprightly and happy, and her greeting always warm and pleasant; there is no denying that Maria Theresa is a most charming and delightful woman."^ The English ambassador was even more complimentary. "Her person was made to wear a crown," he remarked, "and her mind to give luster to it. Her countenance is filled with sense, spirit, and sweetness, and all her motions are accompanied with grace and dignity."^

Age and fourteen confinements had thickened her torso and added triple chins to her round face, yet at thirty-seven she was still handsome, her posture regally erect, her lovely blue eyes benign if watchful. She took pains with her appearance, devoting the first hours of her long day (she customarily rose at dawn) to dressing, grooming, and the elaborate curling and pinning and powdering of her hair. Cruel court observers said that she did this in a futile attempt to keep her husband faithful to her, yet this can only have been part of the reason. Her good looks were an asset, and she knew it; she used her femininity, as great queens of the past had done, to arouse her subjects* protective instincts and win their hearts as well as their respect. As for her husband's fidelity.

on this delicate issue Maria Theresa was a realist. She knew that Francis had mistresses, she suffered in consequenceand she rose above her suffering. Her husband was not so much lecherous as indolent and pleasure-loving, she told herself. He was fond of her and of their children. God had blessed her with a good marriage, and she would not spoil it by her recriminations. As she once advised another woman whose husband had given her cause to complain, "Avoid reproaches, long explanations, and above all, disputes."