2 comments/ 36294 views/ 1 favorites A French Independence Day By: ddimilano A French Independence Day The cheering crowd still haunts my dreams. All her life she held her head so high; after all, she was of royal birth. Now it had bowed, to the blood-crazed mass of onlookers who once cheered her arrival. The guillotine had taken my queen, but not my devotion. The Place de la Revolution was stained blue from the blood of the nobles. A large man named Samson had lowered the blade. He held her blonde hair by its roots and displayed her severed head to the jeering horde. The natural order had been subverted by this deviant act. I was once told that nature is divine and all that is divine is meant to be. Then I must ask: Is all contained in nature meant to be? One should accept what is. I therefore accept all that I am, and the times in which I live. Rosalie is my name. Chambermaid to Her Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette, the last queen of the French; mine was a humble title, in the shadow of such grandeur, yet I always felt incredible pride. The times are so different now. We now have a republic. Yet I continue to fulfill my unique purpose; I serve. I had found a new lord worthy of my devotion and had served him in a way that had spared me from the Terror. I could not help but fulfill my purpose. It is nature that decides this, not you or I. It is the divine right to rule, and the divine obligation to serve. I was there when she first arrived, the young dauphiness from Austria. She met the entourage of King Louis XV on a sandbank between Germany and France. A pavilion was erected there to transfer Marie Antoinette from the House of Habsburg to the Court of Louis XV. In the Austrian antechamber, in the presence of her Austrian followers, she was instructed to strip off all her clothing. This was to symbolize her farewell to all that is Austrian. She was strikingly beautiful, with piercing blue eyes and smooth, ivory skin, an exquisite shape, and enchanting smile, even with tears. She wept openly as she was dressed in the finest of French attire. I rode with her in her carriage to Paris, seated in the corner and out of the way. I was charged with lifting her coat, keeping it free of the wheels and the sand; knowing that I was but her servant, she did not speak directly to me, but only to Count Starhemberg, the best man for the dauphin and leader of the Bourbon delegation. He tried to speak to her as was the norm between nobles, foreign affairs, economic concerns, and other matters of state. She would have none of it, answering with a simple yes or no. Until he brought up the pageantry of the reception held in her honor, of that she expressed great interest. We traveled to the forest of Compiegne. There the royal family of France was assembled to receive its newest member. The king stepped from his carriage to welcome the bride of his grandson. King Louis XV approached Marie, she curtsied, and he kissed her on both cheeks as the bridegroom looked on in clumsy embarrassment. As we soon found out, this was to be the state of affairs for the royal couple for quite a long time. The wedding in Versailles contained all the grandeur one would expect for the future king and queen of France—a great feast, music, dancing, and fireworks in the evening, after which the archbishop of Rheims blessed and sprinkled holy water on the nuptial bed. I helped the dauphine into her sleeping attire, a thin chiffon gown trimmed in the finest French lace. I took down her hair and brushed it to her backside. As she walked over to the four-poster bed the dauphin entered the room. He barely looked at her as the curtains were drawn down around the bed and the two were left to their privacy. A French Independence Day Scanning the crowd, I selected one from the front row. She looked to be about twenty, thin, and one of the loudest of the mob. Other women were looking to her for leadership. The rain had soaked her dress such that it clung closely to her body, drawing considerable attention to her petite, but still shapely features. Walking her through the corridors, I thought of what the queen might have in mind. It would be highly unlikely that she would simply grant an audience to this peasant woman. I would have to create some form of entertainment for the queen. This girl was young, but exceptionally proud. I could tell because she walked with a fierce pace and did not really acknowledge my authority in selecting her. How unfortunate for her, as I knew the mind of the queen and she did not. I brought her to the banquet room where the queen was seated at the head, flanked on both sides by her guests. The peasant girl stood with her hands at her side. She was cold and wet. The room was kept cool with windows open because the cake may start to melt. A draft went through the room. Her teeth began to chatter. "So...my child," said the Queen. "Why have you come all the way from Paris?" Suddenly, the young woman was intimidated. Her Majesty carried herself as one of royalty, surrounded by her servants, ministers, and confidants; she was poised with an air of dignity. This young woman had never personally witnessed such a presence. "Can you speak, girl?" The room filled with supple laughter. Her lips were trembling. Her dress was made of thin cotton. It was ripped on the side from the midriff down slightly past her hip. The wet fabric clung to her chest, and her nipples showed through. Her hair was wet and unkempt. Hanging her head lower, breaking eye contact with the queen, she mumbled, "We are hungry, Your Majesty." "Hungry, are you?" The queen went on, "Perhaps your walk from Paris worked up your appetite?" More laughter broke out; side conversations began as the queen's court were mocking the peasant woman and laughing about her appearance. "There is no bread," said the woman. "Rosalie," said the Queen. "Yes, Your Majesty?" "Let us see if she is well fed or not." I turned to face the woman. Two guards took position on each side of her and held her arms. I pulled her dress over her head and off. She began to shriek and I slapped her face. I removed her undergarment as well. She now stood if front of all, shivering and naked. The queen's guests began to applaud and cheer. The peasant woman tried to cover herself with her hands, but that only fueled the crowd to further laughter. They enjoyed her attempt at modesty, since it was all in vain. "You appear well fed to me! I can only see a few ribs," said Antoinette. "Can you not pay for bread? Have the soldiers not paid you enough at the brothel? Perhaps you should work on your technique?" The room once again broke out in laughter, louder than before. The young woman began to cry from the degradation. The queen waved silence to the crowd. "There is no bread to buy, Your Majesty! The grain supply is gone. The bread we do have is of such short supply that its price is out of reach," said the young peasant woman. "Well, since you traveled all the way to Versailles, I will share with you a special treat," said the Queen. "You have no need for bread, my dear." Turning toward me, the queen motioned her arm and decreed. "Let them eat cake!" A French Independence Day Stories filled the press of daily executions. The public squares and taverns were filled with stories of the Terror. Robespierre had sent deputies of the Convention as "representatives on mission" to oversee and enforce the Terror. With unlimited power they abused any who voiced opposition to the Committee. In Lyons, the Montagnard deputies used the military to bombard the city, renaming it the "Freed City." At Nantes, another representative on mission ordered thousands of suspected counterrevolutionaries onto barges. The barges were sunk and all were drowned in the Loire River. Could virtue be both good and evil? Could one exist without the other? Is virtue divine? Is divinity both good and evil? I had so many questions now. The world I'd known had come crashing down around me. All that I valued—the divinity of Nature, the natural order of people and things—had all changed. I needed stability. A return to what I knew and believed. I sought someone who once shared my heart with the queen. I hired a carriage after sending a letter from Paris to the Order of Petits Peres, the friars who operated the Charenton Asylum. I informed them that, in exchange for room and board, I would assist them by cleaning, cooking, and seeing to it that the patients were well looked after. They informed me that the fee for my travel would be paid upon arrival. Once I had arrived, I requested the run of the floor where "citizen de Sade" was kept. It was one of the upper floors with much light and air. My room had a lock on the inside, whereas the patient's doors locked from without. I was given rudimentary medical training, meal and garden privileges, and a large handheld bell to use in the event of an emergency. The friars warned me of his outbursts. They informed me that a man would come to check on me frequently. De Sade's writings, they said, contained elements that were unmentionable to a good and humble woman. Sade's was a corner room at the end of the hall with two windows. It was well furnished and comfortable. His family had paid the sum of 3,000 francs annually for his room and board. Had they not, he would surely be in prison, for he had authored many of the most scandalous novels in France. The most infamous among them was Justine, ou les Malheurs de la Vertu. I knocked lightly on his door. After hearing a low grunting sound, I opened it slowly. Balancing a tray with one hand, I shut the door behind me with the other. His back was to the door. Writing at his desk, I saw the top of the quill moving over his shoulder. Motioning with his other arm, he waved toward a place for the tray on the dinning table. I did so quietly. Then I stood, waiting for him to turn and look, but he did not. He just kept writing, his quill moving faster and faster, stopping only to dip it into the ink. I stood and waited patiently. Finally he stopped. Placing the quill into its holder, he stretched his back and arms, arching to bend his muscles after the time spent hunched over in his poor writing posture. "Your afternoon meal, my lord," I said meekly with my head down, eyes on the floor. He sat still, staring straight ahead through the barred window. He did not move and said nothing for what seemed an eternity. "Shall I take leave, my lord?" "No," he said, still facing the window. "It has been so long since I have been addressed with such an exquisitely respectful tone. And by title...my sweet feminine creature, you speak without a foreign accent, yet you must be from afar, as you are obviously unaware of the current state of affairs in this land." "I am aware, my lord. Shall I pour your wine?" Turning now to face me, he queried, "I know you, do I not? Have I made your acquaintance?" He asked. "Not formally, marquis. I was a servant to the queen. You came to play cards. Thereafter I came to visit you in the Bastille and accepted pages of writing for the queen's pleasure." "Yes...yes, indeed. I do remember you!" Standing up, he walked over to the dining table. A slight limp—what appeared to be gout in his right ankle had set in. He was larger in the midsection than the last time I had seen him; his hair was still long and pulled back. It had receded a bit and started to turn, with streaks of gray. Stopping in front of me, he took my hand and kissed it lightly. Without letting go, he answered, "Yes my dear, I would indeed care for some wine." From then on, I served him all his meals, changed his linens, and darned his clothing, as needed. He offered gratuities on occasion, mostly around holidays. I certainly spent more time with him than any other patient on the floor. We had short conversations at first, then much longer ones, as he was very knowledgeable on many subjects pertaining to religion, politics, philosophy, history, literature, and civil liberties. He seemed a pleasant man, but certainly eccentric, and quite arrogant. This was something to which I was accustomed, as most nobles possess these qualities to different degrees. He rarely had visitors, as Madame de Sade had received a legal separation and his son was commissioned as an officer in the service of the emperor.