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Authors: Antonia Fraser
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France; in a country where Church and crown had uneasy relations, a simple approach to religion was probably the most helpful one. Given all these factors, given that the Dauphin would be routinely capable of the marital act like any other husband—surely he would be?—there seemed to be no reason why marriage negotiations between French Prince and Austrian Archduchess should not proceed.
Yet these negotiations were not plain sailing. On the French side it had never been a question of Maria Carolina versus Marie Antoinette; Louis XV held one archduchess to be much like another. At Versailles it was more a question of an Austrian marriage—any Austrian marriage. The dedicated hostility of many members of the French court to such an alliance took the form of suggesting a rival candidate, in the shape of Maria Josepha’s niece, Princess Amelia of Saxony. The Dauphine’s brother, Prince Xavier of Saxony, took an active role in promoting the match. Amelia’s elder brother Frederick Augustus could be united at the same time to Gros-Madame Clothilde. It was a double marriage, which would have much empowered the House of Saxony, while not of course equalling in prestige an alliance with Austria. Indeed, Louis XV’s pro-Austrian minister Choiseul referred to Amelia and Frederick Augustus derogatively as “those Saxon things.”
It was to be some time, however, before Choiseul was able to feel that he had seen off the pretensions of the Saxon things altogether. Louis XV was extremely fond of his “Pepa,” as he called the widowed Dauphine Maria Josepha, and had the habit of spending time cosily in his daughter-in-law’s apartments (formerly those of the Pompadour and thus close to his). He was in no hurry to put an end to Pepa’s hopes for her children, while having, finally, no intention of gratifying them. The Dauphine died in March 1767 “universally regretted by the whole world” in the words of the official announcement. Yet still Louis XV held back from any public acknowledgement of the Austrian match, although it was always his private intention to go for a marital alliance that accorded with his own (and Choiseul’s) pro-Austrian foreign policy.
The new French ambassador, the Marquis de Durfort, who arrived in Vienna in February 1767, was told to deliver an ambiguous message. As Maria Josepha, with her own agenda, had pointed out, the best way to ensure the goodwill of Austria was to keep the court in a state of expectation, rather than settle the matter. Durfort, however, found that it was not so easy to deliver an ambiguous message to the Empress, when what she wanted to hear was rather different. Received every Sunday at court, he found himself drawn into the Empress’s inner circle and subjected to a barrage of charm; as Durfort wrote, no one knew better than the Empress “how to make herself mistress of hearts.” He also admired her for her active and hard-working way of life. Durfort believed that whatever her talk of retiring as a widow, Maria Teresa had a natural taste for domination, which would always prevent her doing so.
Durfort was certainly powerless to evade the Empress when she told him in a meaningful way that she had all the French royal portraits from her half-French daughter-in-law the late Isabella of Parma . . . What could Durfort say in reply? Gallantly, he volunteered that his master the French King for his part would definitely love to possess all the Austrian royal portraits. Maria Teresa was quick to put an artist at Durfort’s disposal. Unfortunately by this time Durfort had received a reproof from France: things were moving too fast. The French ambassador was left explaining uncomfortably to his master that he had not been the initiator of all this.
It would be over two years from Durfort’s first arrival in Austria before he was finally bidden to make a formal offer for the hand of the youngest Archduchess. It was thus a cumulative process, on the French side, gaining pace
Yet these negotiations were not plain sailing. On the French side it had never been a question of Maria Carolina versus Marie Antoinette; Louis XV held one archduchess to be much like another. At Versailles it was more a question of an Austrian marriage—any Austrian marriage. The dedicated hostility of many members of the French court to such an alliance took the form of suggesting a rival candidate, in the shape of Maria Josepha’s niece, Princess Amelia of Saxony. The Dauphine’s brother, Prince Xavier of Saxony, took an active role in promoting the match. Amelia’s elder brother Frederick Augustus could be united at the same time to Gros-Madame Clothilde. It was a double marriage, which would have much empowered the House of Saxony, while not of course equalling in prestige an alliance with Austria. Indeed, Louis XV’s pro-Austrian minister Choiseul referred to Amelia and Frederick Augustus derogatively as “those Saxon things.”
It was to be some time, however, before Choiseul was able to feel that he had seen off the pretensions of the Saxon things altogether. Louis XV was extremely fond of his “Pepa,” as he called the widowed Dauphine Maria Josepha, and had the habit of spending time cosily in his daughter-in-law’s apartments (formerly those of the Pompadour and thus close to his). He was in no hurry to put an end to Pepa’s hopes for her children, while having, finally, no intention of gratifying them. The Dauphine died in March 1767 “universally regretted by the whole world” in the words of the official announcement. Yet still Louis XV held back from any public acknowledgement of the Austrian match, although it was always his private intention to go for a marital alliance that accorded with his own (and Choiseul’s) pro-Austrian foreign policy.
The new French ambassador, the Marquis de Durfort, who arrived in Vienna in February 1767, was told to deliver an ambiguous message. As Maria Josepha, with her own agenda, had pointed out, the best way to ensure the goodwill of Austria was to keep the court in a state of expectation, rather than settle the matter. Durfort, however, found that it was not so easy to deliver an ambiguous message to the Empress, when what she wanted to hear was rather different. Received every Sunday at court, he found himself drawn into the Empress’s inner circle and subjected to a barrage of charm; as Durfort wrote, no one knew better than the Empress “how to make herself mistress of hearts.” He also admired her for her active and hard-working way of life. Durfort believed that whatever her talk of retiring as a widow, Maria Teresa had a natural taste for domination, which would always prevent her doing so.
Durfort was certainly powerless to evade the Empress when she told him in a meaningful way that she had all the French royal portraits from her half-French daughter-in-law the late Isabella of Parma . . . What could Durfort say in reply? Gallantly, he volunteered that his master the French King for his part would definitely love to possess all the Austrian royal portraits. Maria Teresa was quick to put an artist at Durfort’s disposal. Unfortunately by this time Durfort had received a reproof from France: things were moving too fast. The French ambassador was left explaining uncomfortably to his master that he had not been the initiator of all this.
It would be over two years from Durfort’s first arrival in Austria before he was finally bidden to make a formal offer for the hand of the youngest Archduchess. It was thus a cumulative process, on the French side, gaining pace
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