Versailles

The King's Penis

The curtains part, revealing the Queen's Bedchamber; the bed curtains part, revealing the Queen. Elegant, coquettish, in charming disarray, she is seated on the right side of the bed, facing the audience. On her lap. Eggplant, a pug; to her left, Louis XVI, King of France, a softly snoringlump. It is the middle of the night — perhaps three o'clock. Though there is no moon, the room is eerily lit by recently fallen snow.

ANTOINETTE, speaking to the lump in the overwrought high-pitched "voice" of Eggplant, whom she's hoisted by his underarms and holds in front of her face: Ah! Mon Dieu! What is to be done with the Queen? She is incorrigible. When she isn't tearing around on horseback like an Amazon, she's at the races, rubbing shoulders with harlots. And really, who's to say which is which, Queen or harlot? Are those diamonds genuine or paste? It's so hard to tell these days. It's so hard to tell whose big blue eyes those are, riveted on the flies of all the handsome young men.

The lump suddenly sits up and speaks. Antoinette!

ANTOINETTE, still speaking through Eggplant: The King is awake. She returns the pug to her lap and leans over to give Louis a peck on the cheek. And did the King have pleasant dreams?

LOUIS: I don't know.

ANTOINETTE: Let us see. She lifts the blankets, peers underneath, then sits back up. Apparently.

LOUIS: I want a look, too. He takes a quick peek and ducks his head, embarrassed.

ANTOINETTE: One can only hope the King was dreaming of the Queen.

Lo vis, petulant: I don't know, I told you. Pause, thinking. I seem to remember I was making you a spinning wheel.

ANTOINETTE: But you actually did that, Lou-Lou, remember? You did make me a spinning wheel. She sets Eggplant off to one side, then shifts position, leaning back into the pillows and opening her arms. Only let's not think about that now. Let's only think about pleasant things. Come here. Come give us a kiss.

LOUIS: But the spinning wheel is a pleasant thing.

ANTOINETTE: Of course it is, my treasure. Of course it is.

They both disappear under the bedclothes. There isaperiod of agitated movement; a hand appears, afoot. A final spasm; Eggplant jumps to the floor.

LOUIS, from under the covers: Owww!

ANTOINETTE: Let me see if I can…

LOUIS: No. Please.

ANTOINETTE:… just pry this back a…

LOUIS: STOP IT!!!

They both emerge from under the covers, Louis red-faced and panting slightly, Antoinette with tears running down her cheeks. Throughout the scene the room has been growing lighter — the pale light of a winter morning. Sounds of footsteps, doors being knocked on with knuckles or delicately scratched at with the little fingernail, muffled voices, doors opening — the Queen's household includes more than five hundred officers and servants, early risers, all of them. It is now possible to see the gilt balustrade fencing off the Queen's bed and its occupants from the rest of the room, where a large crowd will soon assemble, eager to watch the royal pair eat their breakfast, the male and female of the species in their natural habitat.

ANTOINETTE: But there's so little time before the multitudes descend. Maybe if you ate less? Doctor Lassone seems to think that might help. Last night you ate a whole roast piglet. Don't pretend you didn't — I was watching. Also those pastries. Or maybe if you agreed to let him make the incision?

LOUIS: You didn't see the instruments. He showed me his instruments. Hiding his eyes, shuddering. I don't like to think about it.

ANTOINETTE: Well then, think about this. Think about what will become of us if we can't produce an heir to the throne, and meanwhile that wretched cross-eyed midget who is married to your brother produces offspring like a rabbit. What then?

LOUIS: I wish you wouldn't talk about the Comtesse d'Artois like that. She can't help the way she looks.

ANTOINETTE: Of course she can't. She's Sardinian. Yawning. But if we're not going to create an heir this morning, then let me sleep. I was up till all hours, trying to win my money back from the Marquis de Conflans, that rotten crook.

LOUIS: Yawns noisily, stretches, and leaps from the bed. The Queen's wish is my command.

ANTOINETTE: Well then… She stares pointedly at the King's erection, tenting the cloth of the royal nightshirt, then makes a pair of scissors of her fingers and holds them aloft. Snip snip. Suiting the action to the words. Snip snip.

LOUIS: Don't tease.

Antoinette sighs and pulls the blankets over her head.

LOUIS: Besides, it's not just me. It wouldn't hurt for you to get more sleep, Lassone says.

ANTOINETTE, her voice muffled, from under the covers: Ah. I see. All I need to do to become pregnant is get more sleep.

LOUIS: Only another hour or so each night, Lassone says. And less wine, though that hardly makes sense, since you don't take wine to begin with. He cocks his head, listening. They're coming. Oh, that's so bad, so bad! The tub wheels should be oiled — I can hear them squeaking all the way from here.

ANTOINETTE, still muffled: I suppose I could start drinking wine, in order to give it up. Just like my sister Carlotta would always give up liver pudding for Lent. She laughs, sticks out her head. I know! Let's put talking pâtés on our pillows, like in "La Belle Eulalie." Then we could escape and no one would know the difference. We could go to Paris, Lou-Lou! We could have fun!

LOUIS: We could have fun. Suddenly cheerful. I could oil those wheels!