Matching him in vice was Mademoiselle de Charolais who made a point of taking a new lover once a year. Love affairs to be complete should be fruitful, she declared; and to prove how successful she was, had a child every year by a different lover.
The Comte de Clermont kept numerous mistresses and made no secret of this.
As these were typical of the people who frequented the King’s hunting parties, it was small wonder that the Queen was not encouraged to attend them. In fact during those years it seemed to Marie that she had either just borne a child or was about to do so. The little Duc d’Anjou had been born in 1730, the year following the birth of the Dauphin. 1731 was surprisingly a barren year, but in 1732 Adelaide made her appearance; and already Marie was pregnant again.
Each night, with occasional exceptions, the King visited her; she found herself exhausted by her nights with him and her frequent pregnancies, and made excuses for sleeping alone.
‘I believe it to be sinful to gratify the lusts of the flesh at certain times,’ she told Louis.
He was indulgent and as long as the saints’ days were not too frequent made little protest.
The courtiers were watching this state of affairs between the Queen and the King with some amusement; secret wagers were laid as to how long it would be before the King took a mistress.
Richelieu and that rake, the Comte de Clermont, would have advised the King of all the pleasures he was missing by remaining faithful to his far from attractive wife, but they were not unmindful of Fleury who, in his cautious way, was watching Louis no less closely than they.
Fleury had no desire for the King to select a mistress. He knew, from the records of the past, what havoc a mistress could play in state affairs. At present the King was faithful to the Queen and the Queen was producing children. That was satisfactory. Fleury was eager that this state of affairs should be preserved as long as possible; and remembering the astute conduct of Fleury in the case of the Duc de Bourbon, those courtiers who might have induced the King to satisfy the lusts of the flesh outside the marriage bed refrained from doing so.
That year 1733 was a significant one in Marie’s life. One event which seemed of overwhelming importance to her was the sudden death of Augustus II, who had usurped the throne from her father.
Marie trembled with excitement when she heard the news, and she asked herself, now that Stanislas was Louis’ father-in-law, why he should not regain his throne with the help of France.
His greatest rival for power was the son of Augustus, whom Austria and Russia favoured; but Stanislas with France behind him, thought Marie, had as good a chance of aspiring to the crown of Poland as any.
Fleury was not anxious to give that support. Both Portugal and Prussia had candidates and, with Austria and Russia supporting the son of Augustus, he feared war. He was also uncertain what effect her father’s regaining his throne would have on the Queen. She would naturally become more influential, and he and she never been good friends.
There were many in France who were ready to go to Poland to defend the cause of Stanislas. England, Fleury knew, would be watching affairs closely. Fleury was eager for good relations with England and had formed a friendship with the Prime Minister, Robert Walpole, Earl of Orford.
Walpole’s advice to Fleury was that the electors of Poland should be bribed to elect Stanislas, and that the ex-king should go to Poland in person to conduct the campaign. Fleury decided to accept this advice, and the Queen took a fond farewell of her father who, embracing her warmly, told her that he loved her beyond all others and that he was happy to think that it was she who had wrought this change in their fortunes.
He left France disguised as a merchant, taking only one friend with him who in his turn hid his identity in the guise of a merchant’s clerk. At the same time a French noble, the Comte de Thianges, who bore a faint resemblance to Stanislas, sailed from Brest with all the pomp of a King. This somewhat unnecessary and farcical project, it was said, originated in England and Fleury had adopted Walpole’s suggestions.
Stanislas had some initial success, for the bribes were effective and he was elected King of Poland.
The news was taken first to Louis who read the dispatch and hurried to the Queen’s bedroom to explain to her what had happened.
They embraced and, when Marie wept, the King was moved to see her do so; that night they were very tender to each other and it was like a return of the honeymoon days.
But that was not a happy year.
The little Duc d’Anjou, who from birth had not been as sturdy as his brother the Dauphin, became weaker as the year progressed and, before its end, he died.
The Queen’s grief was as great as that of Louis. They had only one son now and they were alarmed for the health of the other children. All, with the exception of the five-year-old Louise-Marie, were healthy, but death struck suddenly and unexpectedly and there was fear in the royal household.
Nor was it groundless. Shortly after the death of the Duc d’Anjou, litde Madame Troisième fell sick, and none of the doctors could save her.
To lose two children so suddenly, and with a short interval of time between the two deaths, threw Marie into a frenzy of superstitious fear.
‘It is as though God seeks to punish us for something,’ she told her ladies.
She thought of the extreme sensuality of the King, in which she was forced to join, and she shuddered.
There was bad news from Poland. The Russians and Austrians were not prepared to see Stanislas oust their candidate for the throne.
They threatened invasion, and Stanislas, finding himself deserted by those friends who had accompanied him to his country, realised that there was nothing he could do but abdicate.
The son of Augustus II, Augustus III, was elected King of Poland.
Stanislas appealed to France; and Fleury, realising the strategic position of the country, decided on war.
‘Disaster!’ mourned the Queen. ‘There is disaster threatening on all sides.’
Then she thought of her dead son and daughter, and wept afresh.
‘It would seem that those I love are doomed,’ she cried. ‘What will become of my dear father?’
When Louis came to her that night she told him that it was a saint’s day and that as she was already pregnant there could be no reason for their indulging in sexual relations, except sheer carnality.
The King was annoyed.
‘We are married,’ he pointed out. ‘Now if I were like some members of my Court you might have reason to complain.’
‘As it is a saint’s day . . .’ she began.
‘A very obscure saint’s day,’ he grumbled.
‘Louis,’ she said earnestly, ‘these tragedies have made me consider. I think we should abstain on all saints’ days.’
Louis stared at her in horror. ‘You have forgotten how many saints’ days there are in the calendar,’ he said curtly.
‘No, I do not forget,’ she said; ‘and we must always remember them in future.’
Louis disliked scenes, so he did not insist on sharing her bed.
He left her. On his way back to his own apartments he met the incorrigible Richelieu who, seeing the King returning from the Queen’s bedchamber, hastily veiled his expression; but Louis had seen the cynical smile, the puzzled look which indicated that Richelieu was trying to remember what saint’s day it was.
Louis felt angry; the Queen was putting him into a ridiculous position. He considered Richelieu and his innumerable amorous adventures; he recalled some of the exploits of the Comte de Clermont. It seemed that in the whole Court only the King behaved like a respectable married man – and the Queen had the temerity to decline his attentions.