In defense of the unnamed gendarme.

 

One small yet unforgettable detail taken from Rosalie Lamorliere’s two accounts of the queen’s final morning occurs when Marie Antoinette attempted to change into fresh clothing. A gendarme stepped forward and refused to give her privacy. After the queen asked to be allowed to change in privacy ‘in the name of decency,’ the guard replied that his orders are not to let her out of his sight. Marie Antoinette sighed and then resigned herself to changing as quickly as possible to avoid being exposed.

This incident is sometimes used as an example of the humiliation and degradation that was enforced upon Marie Antoinette, in contrast to the more respectful dignity given to Louis XVI in his last moments. 

 Whereas Clery makes a scandal out of the officials not removing their hats in the presence of Louis XVI when they come to escort him to the scaffold, Marie Antoinette was placed in a much more humiliating, helpless position during her final hours; she is not only forced to change her clothing in front of a man, but her hands are bound and her hair is roughly cut before she leaves the Conciergerie in an open criminal’s cart.

But… was this officer attempting to humiliate the queen? Was he relishing her the power he held over a once celebrated, exalted figure? 

 Or was he simply afraid of being denounced and arrested?

The atmosphere in the Conciergerie after the queen’s trial would have been one of tension and fear. At least three people had been arrested for allegedly showing sympathy to Marie Antoinette on the 16th of October alone–her two lawyers were arrested before the trial was even over, for having defended her “too well.” De Busne, another officer employed at the Conciegerie, was arrested for giving Marie Antoinette a glass of water, helping her down some stairs in the dark, and allegedly taking off his hat in front of her.

At least one witness was arrested and at least one person mentioned by a witness was sought out and arrested during the trial. When one of the jurors wanted to be recused on account of having treated Marie Antoinette in the Conciergerie, his request was denied on the grounds that it would be an accusation against him, that he would be so moved by sympathy for the former queen.

Clearly, there is a running theme: any positive association with the accused makes you suspect.

This officer, whose name is unknown but whom Rosalie referred to as a “young man,” was apparently given orders not to let Marie Antoinette out of his sight. Why? It’s possible that, as with Louis XVI when they refused to give him knives after his sentencing, they were worried that she might commit suicide before she was executed. But it’s more likely, in my opinion, that they were worried that someone might attempt another rescue. There had already been one foiled rescue attempt while she was at the Conciergerie, and the truly massive security enacted for her execution was a testament to the fear that she might be saved.

So can we blame this young man, who would have been fully aware of the consequences of showing sympathy towards the accused or allowing anything to happen to her if he lets her out of his sight, for following his orders? I don’t think so.

And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he was one of the officers who seemed to delight in tormenting Marie Antoinette, in blowing smoke in her face and making crass remarks in front of her. But maybe he just happened to be a young man anxious that he would share the same fate as de Busne: denounced and arrested for showing basic human decency.

Additional Information

The original “declaration of Rosalie,” as included in a work by Lafont d'Aussonne, was published in 1823; based on the years mentioned in his book, it’s likely that his interview with Rosalie took place in about 1822 or 1823.

In the 1823 Declaration, the moment is described thusly:

“Her Majesty went into the little space that I usually left between the folding bed and the wall. She herself unfolded a chemise that had probably been brought to her in my absence and having signed to me to stand in front of her bed so as to hide her from the gendarme, she stooped down behind the bed, and slipped off her dress in order to change her underlinen for the last time. The officer of the gendarmerie came forward instantly, and standing by the head of the bed watched the Queen’s proceedings. Her Majesty quickly threw her fichu over her shoulders, and with the greatest gentleness said to the young man: “In the name of decency, monsieur, elt me change my linen without being watched.”

“It is impossible for me to allow it,” answered the gendarme roughly: “my orders are to keep my eye on you, whatever you are doing.” The Queen sighed, slipped her chemise over her head for the last time as cautiously and modestly as possible, and then dressed herself… I was so much disturbed by the gendarme’s brutality…

 

 In the later 1835 interview as recorded by Madame Simon-Vouet, the wording is changed slightly but significantly. The 1835 recount of the events makes Marie Antoinette’s request more dramatic (Marie Antoinette cries out, rather than speaking with gentleness); it allows Rosalie to act as a protector, blocking the view of the queen with her body; and finally, the guard doesn’t simply stand by the bed as he does in the 1820s version… he insolently leans his elbows on the pillow to look at the queen.

“When she was about to undress she slipped into the space between the wall and the truckle-bed, so as to be out of the officer’s sight; but that young man came forward insolently, and leant his elbows on the pillow in order to look at her. The Queen blushed deeply, and hastily covered herself with her large fichu; then, clasping her hands, she turned beseechingly to the officer. "Monsieur,” she cried, “in the name of decency let me change my linen without being watched.”

([Madame: “The man must have felt very much ashamed of his behavior?”]

On the contrary, he answered roughly that his orders were not to lose sight of the prisoner for an instant. The Queen raised her eyes to heaven … I took up my position so as to hide her as much as possible from the eyes of the officer. Then, kneeling behind her bed, with every precaution that her modesty could suggest, her Majesty succeeded in changing her clothes without even uncovering her shoulders or arms. 

Was Rosalie embellishing the 1835 version, spurred on by Madame Simon-Vouet? Had Rosalie’s memory of the events shifted and become more dramatic on their own? Did the distinctly royalist Madame Simon-Vouet add her own detail? 

 It’s hard to say–but it is definitely worth keeping in mind when comparing and contrasting the two versions of the incident. 

Review: A Reunion Reading of Soho Rep Production of 'Marie Antoinette' by David Adjmi

 

When David Adjmi's Marie Antoinette opened at Soho Rep in 2013, it was a minimized departure from the initial productions at the American Repertory Theater and Yale Repertory Theatre. Whereas the show's first incarnations looked like they were plucked from the dreamy "I Want Candy" sequence in Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette film, the Soho Rep production pared down the entire set to some chairs, a table or two of macarons, the occasional prop, and an ominous screen with supertitles giving us the wheres and whens of the story.

On the drastic slimming down of Marie Antoinette's stage design for the 2013 Soho Rep production, director Rebecca Taichman had this to say: "I'm fascinated by what less can do and can be, especially when you're doing a play about excess. Now we can get at the core of it--the marrow, not the icing."

This phrase was repeatedly brought to my mind while watching the reunion reading of the Soho Rep production of David Adjmi's Marie Antoinette, hosted on Zoom.

For what could be more representative of that marrow than a Zoom meeting? All character, emotion, stage, setting, costume, reduced to a frontal shot from the shoulders up. Minimized to what we can see on individual screens. A wood alcove with a door behind Fersen. A grey screen behind Louis, revealing nothing. The occasional speaker clash from raised voices,  a character name at the bottom of a cropped screen.

This streaming production was directed by Rebecca Taichman, who also directed the 2013 Soho Rep production; the direction works well, keeping characters off-screen until they appear, and allowing the stage directions to remain audio-only made the production seem, on the whole, professional and streamlined.

To be clear to those unfamiliar with the work, Adjmi's Marie Antoinette is not a historical play, despite its use of historical events and people. Attempting to view the play as a representation of the actual historical figures is a fruitless endeavor, and one which makes the play less enjoyable. 

The characters, events, and relationships are so separated from reality that there's often no reconciling them with the historical fact or figure. You will not gain insights about the real Louis XVI or Marie Antoinette, except perhaps one that is already known: that she was a public figure to the extreme degree, with all of the benefits and pitfalls that come with that role.

Instead, history here is an impression, used symbolically and interspersed with familiar events and names that a general audience will recognize, though they are not depicted accurately. The fall of the Bastille, Robespierre, the flight to Varennes, Marie Antoinette herself, are all twisted and used to suit the needs of the narrative. 

image: the only costumes that appear in the production; "farmer" disguises for the ill-fated flight to Varennes

The play was written during the prominence of the “1%/99%” social movement, as well as a significant rise in celeb culture that saw 'social celebs' like the Kardashians take center stage, and its script circles around these themes throughout both Acts: at the pitfalls and vapidness of celebrity culture; at our need to consume and discard people in the spotlight; at the dangerous ignorance that living in a bubble brings; and at the righteous, inevitable backlash from the people who are on the other side of that bubble.

These themes just as true today than they were when the play premiered in 2013. If anything, the swift rise of social media personalities and an increasing focus on the disconnection between the ultra-wealthy and the average person has brought Adjmi's Marie Antoinette--both the play and titular character--even closer to our understanding than before. There's no denying that a meta line about America being a failed experiment feels far more poignant in 2021 than it did in 2013.

While Adjmi's script is at times too repetitive, too flighty or (in Act II) too unbalanced with weighty philosophy that contrasts heavily with the poppier dialogue in Act I, the performances in this reading bring the script and characters to a high level worthy of introspection--and, with the on demand option, rewatching.

In particular, Steven Rattazzi as Louis XVI brings pathos to Adjmi's childlike stereotype of Louis XVI. His most compelling scene is one that is historically ludicrous: in Adjmi's play, Louis XVI visits Paris and is a personal witness to the fall of the Bastille, returning to Versailles with a Phrygian cap on his head. Accuracy aside, it's a fascinating character scene in which the revolution has been placed literally on top of the passive Louis XVI's head, and Rattazzi's unsure reluctance in confronting what exactly this means--and his desire to have someone, anyone, make a decision for him--is fascinating to watch. 

His awkward and subdued Louis XVI is a contrast to Ireland, who snarks and bites and laughs and bustles with the energy that Rattazzi's Louis lacks. His final scene, in which he quietly serenades an infinitely stressed Marie with a song, tears in his eyes, ends with a sad, desperate stare of realization before the entire imprisoned family bursts into painful, stark laughter.

As Joseph II, Karl Miller brings a business-like pomp, glossing over Marie's desire to reminiscence about her childhood and getting straight to the point: when are you going to make an heir? As his second act character Mr. Sauce, Miller portrays an increasingly ominous peasant whose realization that he's talking to the king and queen of France leads to their renewed imprisonment. With a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, it's easy to see why the rest of the characters look as if they wish to back away from the screen in foreboding. 

image: Ireland (Marie) Rattazzi (Louis XVI) and Stack (Fersen). "Actually the public debt has tripled."

 

Chris Stack plays Adjmi's version of Fersen, whose primary role is to provide a voice of reason and introspection. The dynamic between Ireland and Stack is intriguing, a sort of constructed easiness that allows Ireland's Marie to open up. When he returns at the end of Act II, in the form of a hallucination, there's a sad poignancy and realization in his eyes that gives the scene a unique bittersweet edge that doesn't come through in the script itself.

Will Pullen makes the most out of Adjmi's sometimes clumsy dialogue as "The Revolutionary," a character which represents not so much "the people" as he does a symbolic culmination of the events that caused the revolution itself. He's the anger, the desperation, the burden, the hunger, rolled into a human body that finds little to reconcile with Marie, even when the two finally engage in meaningful discussion.

As the duchesse de Polignac, Ziles embodies a sort of false vanity, putting on airs to match Marie's bubblegum-popping attitude; this wavers when she attempts to engage with Marie on intellectual subjects, before awkwardly realizing that her companion has no idea what she's talking about. The conversation then immediately delves back into a safer subject: fashion. Like Miller's Mr. Sauce, Ziles' Mrs. Sauce plays an increasingly deceptively sweet woman who, with her husband, ensures that the royal family is not able to escape.

By contrast to Polignac, Ikeda's Lamballe (she also returns as an exposition-character, a Royalist) wants to engage with Marie on a more real level, offering shrugging advice and reluctantly informing her about some of the nastier rumors going around. She has a warm presence, almost subdued in her attempts to convince Marie to think a bit harder, until bubbling tensions towards the end bring out her frustration.

Kat Elizabeth Williams joined the cast as the Dauphin, or Louis Charles. Williams does well showing the uneasy reaction of a child exposed to larger events outside of their control--the frustration of an annoyed mother who doesn't have time to deal with them, the wariness of frightening strangers, and child-like fear at hearing about a world turned upside down.

Then there is... The Sheep. A symbolic, strange character played here, as in the 2013 Soho Rep production, by David Greenspan. The sheep is not real. The sheep is creepy. The sheep warns Marie about the future and demands to be pet while invading her personal space. While the character itself feels unnecessary--particularly given that the territory Adjmi covers with the Sheep is already covered by the Revolutionary--Greenspan embodies the sheep with an underlying menace that pays off in the end. 

And of course, there is Marie herself.

Marie (Ireland), Lamballe (Ikeda) and Polignac (Ziles).

 

Marin Ireland's Marie Antoinette is a marvel to behold. Frenetic, anguished, flippant, despairing, callous, genuine, bursting at the seams of a video square.

Ireland’s performance brims with teetering layers that are peeled away as the show goes on, starting with a frosted pink top of pompous celeb silliness and ending with something pathetic, trapped underneath glass, aching to get out. What exactly that “something” is, neither the audience--nor Marie--truly knows. Nor does she ever really find out.

Some of the more revealing moments of Marie’s gilded-cage come from nostalgia for her childhood at Schönbrunn, a Von-Trapp like existence that she describes as "playing in the mountains, singing songs.” She longs to hear news of her childhood governess. She asks her elder brother if he remembers playing outdoors.

Yet when her childlike longing begins to reveal something more serious underneath, it’s immediately dismissed and not dwelled upon. How could it be, when more important things--like having an heir, like dealing with the revolution--are at stake?

Ireland's blithe like-so-ums in Act I are interspersed with bursts of thoughtfulness, revelations of despair and something like intelligence inside her, only to be plastered over again with the need for distraction, the need to ignore anything serious.

With Ireland, this lack of seriousness projects a shield-like protectiveness. Marie’s frantic revelation to Fersen that she was accosted at the Assembly by a man clad in black, who told her that what she’s now experiencing is nothing, and all this is but a “preamble to your suffering,” is reflected on in a moment of horror before Ireland slaps on a smile, offering Fersen chocolate. 

"I've been having nightmares." A late Act I revelation with Marie and Fersen.

 

As Act I goes on, however, it becomes impossible for her to continue in ignorance. And by Act II, Marie is forced to shift gears, trading macarons for poorly thought out escape plans and ciphers.

Adjmi’s script is often quick, quipping, biting or sarcastic or otherwise short. At times, it becomes too repetitive, circling around the same themes without offering anything additional to the audience.

Towards the end of Act II, however, the scenes get longer and more introspective, finally avoiding the glossy cover-ups from Act I to confront the revolution (and the philosophical arguments contained within) for better or worse. 

While Act II contains the bulk of the fantastic character scenes in which this cast truly shined, it also tends to drag under the weight of mishmash historical events and increasingly philosophical dialogue that sometimes feels too hamfisted to be successful. I think the script actually benefited from the reading-style production in this respect; dialogue that felt too heavy or when spoken on stage seems to flow better when all we have is an intimate shoulders-up view.

The final scenes of Marie Antoinette in prison with only another character (a Revolutionary, a Sheep, and a dream sequence Fersen, in that order) are the most cerebral and contain some of Adjmi's best dialogue. 

Solitude in prison makes Marie chatty, thoughtful, desperate. Ireland plays off well against Pullen's fervent Revolutionary, Greenspan's bizarre and eventually nightmarish sheep, and Stack's deceptively pitying dream!Fersen/Executioner. 

It's in these final scenes that the play's call to action hits home.

Does it matter that Marie longs nostalgically for the whimsical version of her childhood home? Does it matter that she was neglected by her mother and married off at 14? Does it matter that Marie feels trapped, pressured, caged in by the world that has made her?

In one of the play's last scenes, in which the Revolutionary is cutting her hair in preparation for her execution, he tells the now captive former queen, who is complaining about lice and scissor cuts on her scalp: 

"Poor thing. You act like everything's hurt you and everyone's used you and you're just some sweet sunburnt girl at the beach. You won't look at reality." 

The line is both a metaphor for Marie's obliviousness throughout the play (she complains about a gilded cage, while others tell her people are starving) and a meta take on the Marie Antoinette mythos itself, where the titular queen is often painted in pastel colors while the political realities underneath are ignored or glossed over.

"I wasn't raised," Marie desperately tells the Revolutionary towards the end of the play in a bid to make him understand her, as much as it is an last-ditch attempt to understand herself--and as much as it is directed towards the audience, letting us know that Marie is not a fully realized being. 

"I was built." 

Marie Antoinette is available on demand through August 9th.

The Mistaken Portraits of Sophie Hélène Béatrix de France [Updated June 2023]

A pastel portrait of the child of Louise Hyacinthe de Montesquiou and Anne-François V de Lastic by Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, circa 1780-1783.  In the collection of the Chateau de Parentignat.

Note: This post has been updated as of June 2023

This charming pastel portrait has long been identified as Sophie Hélène Béatrix, the second daughter and last child born to Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.  This identification was first made in a Vigee-Lebrun exhibition catalog published in the 1980s by Joseph Baillio, an expert whose specialty is the work of Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun. Baillio also identified another Vigee-Lebrun work, a sketch, as depicting the infant Sophie in this same publication.  

“Sleeping Baby” by Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, circa 1780s. According to Joseph Baillio, this may be a sketch of Eugène de Montesquiou-Fézensac, whom the artist also depicted in a pastel. 

 

 

 

 

However, after decades of being known as portraits of Sophie Hélène Béatrix, the real identity of the children in the above portraits has become clarified: neither child is Sophie de France.

According to the chateau de Parentignat website, the archives of the Montesquiou-Lastic family indicate that the pastel portrait depicts the first child born to Louise Hyacinthe de Montesquiou and Anne-François V de Lastic.

The couple had three children: Amédée, François and Octavie. Only Octavie (Gertrude Charlotte Marie Octavie) would live past childhood; she was a dame d'honneur to Empress Josephine and had several children of her own.

If it does indeed depict their first child, then the infant in the above portrait would be Amédée. There are conflicting reports regarding his birth and death date; Geneanet.org indicates that he was born in 1782 and died in 1788; according to Baillo, he was born in 1780 and died in 1788. Various books reporting on the genealogy of the Lastic family give differing information: one indicates that Amédée  merely “died young,” and another says “died in infancy.”

The above pastel portrait is remarkably similar to another infant portrait by Vigee-Lebrun, done for the Montesquiou-Fézensac family. This portrait depicts Eugène de Montesquiou-Fézensac (1782-1810).

Image: Portrait of Eugène de Montesquiou-Fézensac by Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, circa 1782-1783.

Perhaps both portraits were painted around the same time; or perhaps they requested the artist to paint them in a complementary style. Regardless of whether the "not-Sophie" misidentified portrait is Amédée, François or Octavie, the children in both pastel portraits were cousins. 

Image: Eugène de Montesquiou Fezensac, at the age of five months, asleep on a cushion by Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, circa 1783.

The above image is actually featured on the Wikipedia page for Sophie,  and has been shared online interchangeably as either Sophie or an infant Louis Charles. However, like the other portrait, it is depicting someone else entirely: in this case, an infant Eugène de Montesquiou Fezensac
 

With three of the previous “Sophie” portraits now given the correct identifications, we are left with precious little tangible portraiture of Sophie.

The only absolutely confirmed contemporary depiction of Sophie comes from a series of engravings of the royal family, something @tiny-librarian​ discovered and shared. Unfortunately, the image itself is rather small--but it does at least indicate that there was some contemporary portraiture of her, and perhaps a larger version will one day make an appearance.

 

Image: a contemporary illustration of Sophie; from an engraving featuring portraits of the French royal family.

There is also an alleged portrait of all four of Marie Antoinette’s children, attributed to Jean Pierre Chasselat. However, in 2023, this miniature resufurfaced with a new identification and even a new artist: the work has been re-identified as a portrait of the children with Madame Leclerc, along with the son of Bernard, by Jean-Baptiste-Jacques Augustin. It does not depict the children of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI and thus, the infant depicted here is not Madame Sophie.

 

Image: An alleged portrait of the royal children by Jean Pierre Chasselat,

We may have another faint glimpse of Sophie in this alleged allegorical portrait of Marie Antoinette looking at her children, attributed to Jean-Baptiste André Gautier-Dagoty.

 

Looking closely at the profiles, one can see the faintest outline in the front. Was this meant to represent Madame Sophie? But there is a catch here: Jean-Baptiste André Gautier-Dagoty died in 1786, before the death of Madame Sophie. 

The work does look incomplete, is it possible that the artist died before it was completed, thus leaving Sophie vague and unfinished? 

If this is indeed an allegorical portrait of Marie Antoinette done by Gautier-Dagoty, it is the only practical explanation. But as we’ve seen, there are quite a few portraits of the queen formerly attributed to Gautier-Dagoty which have been later attributed to someone else, so it is possible that it is not his work after all.

Truly, the title of the chapter focusing on Sophie in Philippe Delorme’s Les Princes du Malheur is more apt than ever:

L'éphémère Madame Sophie. The ephemeral Madame Sophie.

A Czech Movie Herald for Marie Antoinette (1938)

image: the front cover of a Czech movie herald released for Marie Antoinette (1938); image is scanned from my collection.

 

Vintage movie heralds, programs and other advertisements are an interesting look into the marketing machines that powered many older Hollywood films. Like the modern film industry, old Hollywood took great pains to market and promote films, often curating an experience for moviegoers that could include programs, promises of "reasonable prices," and more.

This particular program for MGM's expensive historical drama Marie Antoinette (1938) was created for the theatrical release of the film in, at the time, Czechoslavakia. The film was released in February of 1939, during the brief Second Czechoslovak Republic, which lasted from September 30th, 1938 through March 15th, 1939.

 

 

image: the interior page of a Czech movie herald released for Marie Antoinette (1938); image is scanned from my collection.

The interior page, which features a wedding-clad Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette contrasted next to the guillotine, contains a brief plot introduction along with a list of the primary cast. Notably, both Norma Shearer and Gladys George have their names altered in order to added the feminine "-ova" at the end, a practice which was (and in many cases, still is) popular in the region.

image: the back cover of a Czech movie herald released for Marie Antoinette (1938); image is scanned from my collection.

The back cover of the herald features a colorized photo of Norma Shearer in the "garden party" gown, which she wears during the scene of a night gathering at the Petit Trianon. Surprisingly, the delicate bird cage on top of her head still exists, and was shown at an Irving Thalberg exhibition in recent years.
 

The prince de Ligne on Marie Antoinette: "She laughed and sang and danced until she was twenty five years old..."

 

image: A portrait of Charles Joseph Lamoral de Ligne by Charles Leclerq, 1780. Original black and white image colorized using DeOldify and Photoshop.

 

 

 

 

Charles-Joseph Lamoral, the prince de Ligne (or Fürst von Ligne) was an important diplomat, writer, military marshal, and intellectual whose personal connection to Marie Antoinette provides an invaluable look at how the queen was perceived by someone who was allowed access into her familiar circles. 

Charles-Joseph was 20 years her senior, and was notably described by Stefan Zweig as being "the most refined of the whole [Trianon] band ... the only one who did not feather his nest while at the Trianon, and also the only one to preserve respectful memories of the Queen, as shown by what he wrote about her in his memoirs published in his old age." Zweig also considered de Ligne to be the "solitary exception" as an intelligent man in the queen's closer circle.

This particular passage quoted below stands out for its biting, fairly sarcastic rundown of the negative reputation that Marie Antoinette earned for almost entirely innocuous acts. 

Of course, his words should be taken in the context of both his status as a former companion of the queen and someone writing about her years after the fact, tinged with sadness for her ultimate fate.

For instance, de Ligne dismisses Marie Antoinette's gambling problem as being something she disliked and was merely "compelled to play," when it is known that Marie Antoinette did not just play the requisite court card games but illegal, high-stakes games for hours upon  hours; games which thrilled her and provided her with an escape from the stress of her personal life. While her gambling problem did gradually die off, the excuse de Ligne gives echoes the excuses Marie Antoinette wrote to her own mother, who heard through the spy-network-grapevine about the stunning losses at these types of games.

He also dismisses the 6 million livres purchase of the chateau de Saint-Cloud, solely because its purchase was related to Marie Antoinette wanting her children to have access to its fresher air. But it was an extravagant purchase, despite the lowered costs due to it being bought in the queen's name; particularly considering that it came shortly before the explosion of the Diamond Necklace Affair, which added to this aspect of the queen's reputation.

But despite the excuses de Ligne makes for certain aspects of Marie Antoinette's behavior, it's easy to understand his frustration with the negative reputation she earned for harmless things such as giggling as a teenager being teased by her ladies; having close friends; enjoying walks on the terrace; or--heaven forbid--walking on foot to the apartments of her companions.

From The Prince de Ligne: His memoirs, letters, and miscellaneous papers [translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley]

As for the queen, the radiance of her presence harmed her. The jealousy of the women whom she crushed by the beauty of her complexion and the carriage of her head, ever seeking to harm her as a woman, harmed her also as a queen. Frédégonde and Brunehaut, Catherine and Marie de Medici, Anne and Theresa of Austria never laughed; Marie Antoinette when she was fifteen laughed much; therefore she was declared "satirical."

She defended herself against the intrigues of two parties, each of whom wanted to give her a lover; on which they declared her "inimical to Frenchmen"; and all the more because she was friendly with foreigners, from whom she had neither traps nor importunity to fear.

An unfortunate dispute about a visit between her brother the Elector of Cologne and the princes of the blood, of which she was wholly ignorant, offended the etiquette of the Court, which then called her "proud."

She dines with one friend, and sometimes goes to see another friend, after supper, and they say she is "familiar." That is not what the few persons who lived in her familiarity would say. Her delicate, sure sense of the becoming awed them as much as her majesty. It was as impossible to for get it as it was to forget one's self.

She is sensible of the friendship of certain persons who are the most devoted to her; then she is declared to be "amorous" of them. Sometimes she requires too much for their families; then she is “unreasonable.”

She gives little fêtes, and works herself at her Trianon: that is called “bourgeoise.” She buys Saint-Cloud for the health of her children and to take them from the malaria of Versailles: they pronounce her “extravagant."

Her promenades in the evening on the terrace, or on horseback in the Bois de Boulogne, or sometimes on foot round the music in the Orangery "seem suspicious." Her most innocent pleasures are thought criminal; her general loving kindness is “coquettish.” She fears to win at cards, at which she is compelled to play, and they say she “wastes the money of the State."

She laughed and sang and danced until she was twenty five years old: they declared her “frivolous." The affairs of the kingdom became embroiled, the spirit of party arose and divided society; she would take no side, and they called her “ungrateful.”

She no longer amused herself; she foresaw misfortunes: they declared her “intriguing.” She dropped certain little requests or recommendations she had made to the king or the ministers as soon as she feared they were troublesome, and then she was “fickle."

With so many crimes to her charge, and all so well-proved, did she not deserve her misfortunes? But I see I have forgotten the greatest [crime].

The queen, who was almost a prisoner of State in her château of Versailles, took the liberty sometimes to go on foot, followed by a servant, through one of the galleries, to the apartments of Mme. de Lamballe or Mme . de Polignac. How shocking a scandal! The late queen [Marie Leczinska] was always carried in a sedan-chair to see her cousin, Mme . de Talmont...

 

De Ligne's passage has a strikingly similar theme to a memorable quotation from Madame Campan's memoirs, in which she recounts the scandal of Marie Antoinette's preference for less formal clothing: 

"What misconduct might not be dreaded from a princess who could absolutely go out without a hoop! And who, in the salons of Trianon, instead of discussing the important rights to chairs and stools, good-naturedly invited everybody to be seated. "

 

And Marie Antoinette Said: "There is nothing new except what has been forgotten."

Marie Antoinette did not say "Let them eat cake!" 

Yet "Let them eat cake!" isn't the only dubious phrase frequently attributed to the last queen of France. A quick cursory search on Google or numerous social media platforms reveals many quotes supposedly said by Marie Antoinette. But did she really say them? Where did these quotes come from? In this post series, 'And Marie Antoinette Said...' we will be taking a closer look at some of the most famous quotes attributed to the queen to uncover their origins and hopefully, shed some light on their veracity.

"There is nothing new except what has been forgotten." 

This quote is another social media favorite; although there is often not any context given, this alleged quote is sometimes connected to Marie Antoinette's passion for fashion.

This attributed quote is particularly interesting because it is only within the past few years that it has become attributed to Marie Antoinette. Until the rise of social media and its love for bite-size quotable posts, the quote was associated not with Marie Antoinette... but with Rose Bertin, her favored marchande des modes.

This association is notable enough to have made Rose Bertin's Wikipedia page, which includes the attribution under its own heading ("Famous quote"):

Bertin is said to have remarked to Marie Antoinette in 1785, when presenting her with a remodelled dress, "Il n'y a de nouveau que ce qui est oublié" ("There is nothing new except what has been forgotten."

This association is confirmed in a varied selection of books from the 19th and 20th centuries.  Conklin's Who Said That? Being the Sources of Famous Sayings by George W. Conklin, published in 1906, echoes the basic sentiment of the quote as attributed to Bertin:

"There is nothing new but that which is forgotten (Il n'y a de nouveau que ce qui est oublie).

Attributed to Mlle. Bertin, a celebrated modiste, to Marie Antoinette (1755-93), replying to the question whether the model of a costume was quite new. The motto of the Revue Retrospective (1833) was 'Il n'y a de nouveau que ce qui a vielli' ('There is nothing new but that which has become antiquated.')"

In at least one book, Famous Sayings and Their Authors by Edward Latham, Marie Antoinette was described as having "asked whether the model of a costume was quite new, for she thought she had seen a drawing of it in some old engravings."

The biography 'Rose Bertin: The Creator of Fashion at the Court of Marie Antoinette" by Émile Langlade repeats the anecdote: 

"Indeed, nothing is new under the sun, in fashions as in other things; it is but the turn of the wheel. 'New things are only those which have been forgotten,' as Rose Bertin said very truly one day to Marie-Antoinette."

But did she actually say it?

 

First, let's take a closer look at the sources cited on Wikipedia. 

 

The earliest source cited on Rose Bertin's Wikipedia page in relation to this quote is the 1820 edition of The Edinburgh Review, Or Critical Journal.

This volume notes:

A proverb of which no nation makes such frequent application as the French, and which, as history relates, was the favourite maxim of the most inventive and academic of dressmakers, Mademoiselle Bertin, is, 'Il n'y a de nouveau que ce qui est oublié;' and we think the history of these didactic inventions affords a striking proof of its justice.

Here, the quote is associated with Mme. Bertin's profession in the fashion industry, as well as her reputation for being inventive with her work. We can determine from this text that Mme Bertin was associated with the phrase at least by 1820.

The second oldest source cited on Wikipedia, The International Encyclopedia of Prose and Poetical Quotations, was published in 1908 and contains this information:

 

The International Encyclopedia of Prose and Poetical Quotations, 1908

This book relates a variety of quotations and while it does not provide a historical source, it does at least further confirm the association of this phrase with Rose Bertin. This particular book also considers "There is nothing new except what has been forgotten" to be a variation of the Old Testament proverb, "There is no new thing under the sun."

 

The second, similar phrase ("There is nothing new except that which has become antiquated") is quoted in several volumes of the Revue Retrospective; the Revue Retrospective attributes the "antiquated" quote to Chaucer. We will return to the Chaucer further on ahead.

 

These particular variations are older than 1908 and can be found in earlier texts such as the the 1899 text, 'Classical And Foreign Quotations, Laws Terms and Maxims, Proverbs, Mmottoes, Phrases and Expressions...' This book also connects the quote to Rose Bertin.

Classical And Foreign Quotations, Laws Terms and Maxims, Proverbs, Mmottoes, Phrases and Expressions (1899)

 

The same phrases can be found in books published both before and after the 1908 book cited on Wikipedia. The fact that these variations can be found sometimes word-for-word in texts from various years suggests a cyclical effect: a book is published which associates the phrase with Rose Bertin, and similar books which collect quotes and anecdotes reuse these associations, sometimes using the exact same descriptions, later on, spreading the idea further.

 

The third source cited on Wikipedia is The Mirror of Laughter by Alexander Kozintsev, which notes in the preface:

'Il n'y a de nouveau que ce qui est oublié'--"There is nothing new except what has been forgotten," Marie-Antoinette's modiste Rose Bertin is said to have remarked when the queen approved an old dress Rose had refashioned for her.

'The Mirror of Laughter' is an examination of theories regarding the relationship of humor and laughter to human behavior. It is not really making a historical claim nor does it provide evidence that she said the phrase, as the preface is merely relating the anecdote.

None of the three cited sources claim that the quote was spoken in the specific year described on Wikipedia--1785. 

What are the origins of the quote?

There are two consistent themes that show up time and time again in the various books which published the "There is nothing new except what has been forgotten" quote during the 19th and early 20th centuries. 

 

One, the fact that the phrase is frequently associated with a similar quote attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer and two, the fact that both of these quotes are frequently lumped together as variations on the proverb, "There is nothing new under the sun," which is derived from this passage in Ecclesiastes. As written in the King James version of the text, which was collected in 1611:

"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done, is that which shall be done; and there is no new thing under the sun. Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already of old time which was before us. There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things which are to come, with those that shall come over."

 While researching the origins for the phrase "There is nothing new under the sun," I came across a website which suggested that its first known English variation use was found in Chaucer's 'A Knightes Tale,' but that they were unable to find a reference confirming that claim.

Could A Knightes Tale (A Knight's Tale) be the origin of the Chaucer quote?

In turns out: yes--with a language related caveat that because the original work was written in Middle English, the variations of it

The quote, as written in the original Middle English text of A Knight's Tale:

With hym ther wenten knyghtes many on;
Som wol ben armed in an haubergeoun
And in a brestplate and a light gypoun
And som wol have a paire plates large
And som wol have a Pruce sheeld or a targe
Som wol ben armed on his legges weel
And have an ax, and som a mace of steel
Ther is no newe gyse that it nas old.
Armed were they, as I have yow told,
Everych after his opinioun.

The Harvard University Geoffrey Chaucer website provides this modern translation for the passage:

 

With him there went knights many a one
One of them will be armed in a coat of mail,
And in a breastplate and a light tunic
And one of them will have a set of plate armor
And one of them will have a Prussian shield or a buckler;
One of them will be well armed on his legs,
And have an axe, and one a mace of steel --
There is no new fashion that has not been old.
They were armed, as I have told you,
Every one according to his preference.

 

While the Chaucer quote is not an exact match for the passage derived from Ecclesiastes, it is easy to see how they can be viewed with a similar sentiment. In fact, an English 1877 edition of The Knight's Tale, published this telling citation for the bolded line: "This line seems to mean that there is nothing new under the sun."

So how did we get from Ecclesiastes to Chaucer to Bertin? The presumed connection from the Bertin quote to Chaucer's quote is compactly described in the preface for Le vieux-neuf  by Edouard Fournier, published in 1859:

"There is nothing new except what has become antiquated," said the old English poet Chaucer; "Nothing is new but what has been forgotten," said Marie-Antoinette's marchande de modes 500 years later, rejuvenating indescribable ancient frills. The old word of the poet, refurbished by the milliner, could serve as the epigraph to the work of M. Fournier...

Here, Rose Bertin is described as using the words of Chaucer for inspiration, refurbishing them for her own needs. Once again, the context of the phrase is Rose Bertin reworking old fashion to make it new. Since the original Chaucer quote was distinctly related to fashion--more specifically, practical military attire and equipment--this may reflect an additional underlying connection between these two similar phrases that goes beyond expressing the same sentiment. 

My attempts to find a French translation of Chaucer's work with the exact phrase ("Il n'ya a de nouveau que ce qui a vieilli") were fruitless. Considering that the original work was written in Middle English and was frequently translated into varying forms of modern language over the years, it soon became clear that finding a copy with that exact phrasing would be improbable and turned towards reading the various editions to find out how they had interpreted the line.

 

A French translation from 1857 even omits Chaucer's line regarding "new and old" entirely.

A ses côtés l'on vit maint Chevalier fidèle;
Les uns portaient plastrons, ou cuirasses de fer,
D'autres étaient munis d'une cotte de mailles,
D'écus, de boucliers, ou bien d'un tranche-entrailles,
D'une hache ou d'un gâte-chair ;
Tous instruments de mort, dont sans discourtoisie
Un Chevalier se fert felon sa fantaisie.

At his side were seen many a faithful knight;
Some wore breastplates, or iron breastplates,
Others were provided with a coat of mail,
Of shields, shields, or even a slice of entrails,
An ax or a gâte-chair
All instruments of death, with no discourtesy
A Knight is born according to his fancy. 

This is not an isolated incident, as some other translations (including a 1795 English "Modern Version") also omit the notion of "Ther is no newe gyse that it nas old."

A later 1908 French translation, on the other hand, translates Chaucer's words with additional phrasing that provide context about what the text is referencing when it refers to "new" old things. Namely, equipment.

Il n’y a point d’équipement nouveau qui n’ait été anciennement.
Ils étaient armés, comme vous ai conté,
chacun selon son idée.

There is no new equipment that was not in the past.
They were armed, as you have told,
each according to his own idea.

Verdict:

It is safe to say that Marie Antoinette did not say this quote. It was not associated with Marie Antoinette until the social media era of the 21st century, in which online posts made an incorrect attribution which connected Marie Antoinette, rather than Rose Bertin, with this particular phrase.

It is uncertain but unlikely that Rose Bertin said this quote. I personally believe that she did not say it based on the lack of a contemporary connection. There is no known contemporary evidence to suggest she did, such as letters or individual memoirs, anecdotal or otherwise, which claim she said it from some sort of contemporary source. All we have are third-party, later anecdotal connections between Bertin and the phrase. It was associated with her by1820 and continued to be passed on afterwards as an anecdote.

The phrase "There is nothing new except what has been forgotten" should be viewed as an anecdotal, apocryphal phrase that appears to be spun from similar sayings, such as "There is nothing new under the sun" and Chaucer's "Ther is no newe gyse that it nas old." Chaucer's words were translated into a strikingly similar phrase in both English and France during the 19th century and were frequently connected to the quote attributed to Rose Bertin during this time period.

Sources and Further Reading

• The Edinburgh Review (1820)
•  The Quarterly Review, London (1835)
• The Multicultural Dictionary of Proverbs (Harold V. Cordry)  (1997)
• The Edinburgh Review (1820)
• A Polyglot of Foreign Proverbs (1889) 
• Conklin's Who Said That? Being the Sources of Famous Sayings (1906)
• Famous Sayings and their Authors (1906)
• Rose Bertin: The Creator of Fashion at the Court of Marie Antoinette (1913)