Free Marie Antoinette by Antonia Fraser Page B

velvet and gold embroidery was to be lavished everywhere, not only on furnishings such as the great armchairs for the travelling salon, but also in the royal commode and the royal bidet. In the meantime Khevenhüller had to grapple with the rather different point of view of the Emperor Joseph who was anxious that expense should where possible be spared. The Court Chamberlain had to explain to his imperial master that his pared-down proposal for the Austrian military escort would definitely not create a good impression on the French . . .
    Madame Antoine herself became, inevitably, the focus of courtly sightseeings. At a masked ball in December 1769 nearly 4000 people attended in order to gape at the future Dauphine and were charmed at what they saw, even if the Empress, increasingly lame and leaning heavily on her daughter’s arm, gave cause for concern. For those unable to inspect the original, there were beginning to be commercial reproductions of Marie Antoinette’s picture, in both Austria and France. Official medals were also struck, with allegorical designs and flowery inscriptions, most of which alluded to her descent, since there was frankly little of interest to be said about the bride (or the bridegroom). One sounded a note of optimism:
     
    From the most august blood she has seen the light of day
    Yet her high birth is the least of her merits.
     
    The Austro-French alliance was another popular theme. One medal minted in France as early as March 1769 showed the young pair holding hands over an altar where a sacred fire was burning; behind them, the symbolical figures of France and Austria were seen to embrace.
    There was, however, an extraordinary amount of detail to be settled between the two courts before this allegorical embrace could be turned into reality. Fortunately the dowry of an Archduchess of Austria who married a Prince of France was laid down by custom: 200,000 florins, and jewels worth an equal amount. In the opinion of Louis XV, as he told his grandson Don Ferdinand, the dowries of the House of Austria were rather small. Laid down with equal precision was the income she would receive as a widow: 20,000 gold écus and jewels valued at 100,000 écus.
    The big expense from the point of view of Austria was the Archduchess’s trousseau; her native country paid for it but—naturally—it had to come from Paris if she was to cut any kind of sartorial dash at Versailles. In total, 400,000 livres were allowed for this. *13 The money was to be provided by Madame de Nettine, director of the most important bank in Brussels in the Austrian Netherlands and the trousseau itself chosen by Count Mercy d’Argenteau, the Austrian ambassador to Versailles.
    It was hardly likely that such prolonged negotiations could pass by without difficulties of etiquette. The question of the marriage contract was especially tricky. Who was to sign first? The King as father of the bridegroom? Or the Empress and the Emperor? The problem looked momentarily insoluble until it was decided to compromise with two separate contracts. The King of France signed first on one, the Austrians on the other. Poor Durfort, who had upheld the French interests gallantly in Vienna, was told that he would not after all be accompanying the bridal cortège into France; this was a snub to his position, although he was allowed to act as Ambassador Extraordinary (that is, the French King’s personal representative) during the actual marriage celebrations.
    Durfort also received strict instructions from the Duc de Choiseul in France that he was not to receive Madame Antoine under his own roof once the proxy marriage had taken place; as a French subject he could entertain an archduchess but he could not entertain a Dauphine. Durfort had his own complications with the Austrian court; as the French King’s representative, he refused to be outranked by Marie Christine’s husband, Albert of Saxe-Teschen (as he was now known)—a mere prince, no matter whom