Women's History Month: "They ruled society..."

Women's History Month: A month celebrating women of history! I will be posting media and book recommendations, highlighting women from (mostly) the 18th century, and otherwise sharing content with an emphasis on women in history.

"They ruled society, as women of the world; the empire of letters, as patronesses of the fine arts; the state, as favorites and advisers of kings. They gave the tone to feeling, philosophy and thought. Their caprice made wars, and signed treaties of peace. They hastened the fall of a Monarchy, and the outbreak of the greatest Revolution of modern times. They could attempt to check or direct that Revolution in its rapid and fearful course; they shared to the fullest extent its errors, its crimes, and its heroic virtues.

… Though the historians of the period have never fully or willingly acknowledged its existence, their silence cannot efface that which has been; and without that rule of woman, so reluctantly recognized, many of their pages of statesman’s policy, court intrigue, civil strife, or foreign war, need never have been written."

–Julia Kavanagh, Woman in France During the Eighteenth century, 1850

What They Said Saturday: "Happily, grief increased my illness..."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

 

[image credit: Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Estampes et photographie]

After the death of Louis XVI, the royal family was left behind in the Temple prison to a yet undetermined fate. For a time, it seemed that the royal family would be sent out of France--or that, at least, is what Marie-Thérèse Charlotte recalled due to the behavior of their guards. Despite the potential for freedom, the newly widowed Marie Antoinette sank into despair. It was only her daughter's illness that helped distract her from the pain and anxiety caused by the loss of her husband and the agonizing question: what was going to happen to them?

Marie-Thérèse Charlotte wrote in her memoir:

"We now had a little more liberty, the guards thinking we were about to be sent away. But nothing was able to calm the anguish of my mother–we could make no hope of any sort enter her heart; she was indifferent whether she lived or died. She looked at us sometimes with a pity that made us shudder. Happily, grief increased my illness, and that occupied her. My own doctor, Brunier, and the surgeon La Caze were brought, and they cured me in a month."

'What They Said' Saturday: "Goodbye, dear sister. I kiss you on both cheeks."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

 [image: Madame Clotilde and Madame Elisabeth/Bibliothèque nationale de France]

 One of the more interesting aspects of Marie Antoinette's first few years at Versailles is her correspondance with her siblings, which at times was more carefree and open than the letters she wrote to her mother. In a letter to her sister Christina dated September 8th, 1772, Marie Antoinette described her "beautiful little sisters," Clotilde and Elisabeth. 

"You reproach me, my dear Christine, for not talking to you about my beautiful little sisters Clotilde and Elisabeth; it is true that I have not had the opportunity. Their education being not yet finished, they are entrusted to a lady, Madame de Marsan, and [I see them little] in the summer; I see them very much when I am at Versailles. 

Madame, that is to say, Clotilde, remains what she was, a very kind child, smiling, open, who wants to please everyone and succeeds in being loved by everyone. [At] 13 she is as reasonable as if she was 20. Elisabeth is 8 years old and requires a lot of attention for her education. 

… [In regards to a feast hosted by the sisters] Clotilde enchanted everyone at the party by [greeting all the ladies with kisses on the cheek] one after the other, while Elisabeth gave them only her hand to kiss. 

Goodbye, dear sister, I kiss you on both cheeks."

Readers will no doubt notice Marie Antoinette's valediction, which references Clotilde's 'enchanting' actions at the party (kissing the ladies on the cheek) while also expressing Marie Antoinette's affectionation for her sister. Christina and Antoinette's relationship would become frostier over the years, but their correspondence was notably warm for most of their relationship, despite Maria Christina's status as the favored daughter of Maria Theresa.

'What They Said' Saturday: "It was done with dignity and in such a way as to displease no one."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

Although the rivalry between the dauphine Marie Antoinette and Louis XV's mistress Madame du Barry would eventually cause a months-long feud at court, Marie Antoinette did not enter Versailles with a mind to snub the king's favorite.

On June 15th, 1770, the Austrian ambassador Mercy reported to Maria Theresa that Marie Antoinette received Madame du Barry cordially:

"Madame du Barry thought it necessary to go and pay court to [the dauphine] one morning. She was received simply and easily. It was done with dignity and in such a way as to displease no one." [translation: Olivier Bernier, Secrets of Marie Antoinette]

This is a far cry from Marie Antoinette's later behavior of snubbing the favorite, which caused such a furor that it was a subject of discussion between Maria Theresa, Louis XV and the ambassador Mercy. Yet Marie Antoinette's behavior did not come from thin air: Louis XV's daughters, the 'Mesdames,' encouraged the young Marie Antoinette to show disdain for Madame du Barry. 

Ambassador Mercy would share his thoughts on the subject with Maria Theresa, noting that it seemed as if the king's daughters were using Marie Antoinette to express what they dared not:

"It has always struck me that Mesdames, while encouraging Mme la dauphine to be severe and silent [to Madame to Barry] act in a measured way themselves in their behavior to [her], and this conduct is all the more strange as it would appear that they wish to use Mme la dauphine as an instrument of a hatred that they themselves dare not admit." [translation: Margaret Anne Macleod, There Were Three of Us in the Relationship]

Eventually, of course, Marie Antoinette would break away from the influence of her new aunts and placate both the king and Madame du Barry with those famous words; "There are many people at Versailles today."

What They Said Saturday: "I think there will be a great hubbub resulting in nothing."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

"… Rumors says the Assembly does not want the King’s deposition, but that it will be forced to it. It is also rumored that the King will leave here somewhere forcibly… they say also that a strong movement will take place in Paris to bring this about. Do you think this is true? As for me, I do not believe it. I think there will be a great hubbub resulting in nothing. There you have my profession of faith. Furthermore, things are as calm as possible today. Yesterday was the same, and I think that today will follow in its footsteps. Adieu. I tell you nothing, because there are too many things I want to tell you… I embrace you and love you with all my heart. "

--Madame Elisabeth to the Marquise de Raigecourt, August 8th, 1792

The above letter was the last letter written by Madame Elisabeth before she--along with the rest of the royal family--were swept up in the events of August 10th, imprisoned in the Temple, and locked away from the rest of the world. One has to wonder if her confident"profession of faith" regarding the supposed calmnness of Paris, just 2 days before what would become the end of her brother's reign, came back to her mind as the tumultous events of August 10th unfolded.

What They Said Saturday: "I will write to you soon–if I can."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

 In the immediate aftermath of the royal family's failed flight to Montmédy, their friends and loved ones who either knew about the flight or had heard about it when the news broke out in Paris were left with great uncertainty as to the royal family's fate. As with any incident involving the royal family, rumors abounded. Were they to be killed? Imprisoned? As soon as they were able, the members of the royal family had letters sent (or in some cases, smuggled) out of the Tuileries to let their closet friends know that they were still alive. Uncertain--but alive.

On June 29th, Elisabeth sent this short note to the marquise de Raigecourt, acknowledging the uncertainty of their current position:

"I hope, my heart, that your health is good, and that it does not suffer from the situation of your friend. Hers is excellent; you know that her body is never conscious of the sensations of her soul. This latter is not what it should be towards its Creator, the indulgence of God is its only hope of mercy. I neither can nor will I enter into details as to all that concerns me; let it suffice you to know that I am well, that I am tranquil, that I love you with all my heart, and that I will write to you soon–if I can."

In a letter written to the marquise de Bombelle (her "dear Bombe") on July 10th, Elisabeth did offer some details about the recent events, remarking on the family's return from Varennes in the crowded coach with Barnave and Pétion:

"Our journey with Barnave and Pétion went on most ridiculously. You believe, no doubt, that we were in torture; not at all. They behaved well, especially the first, who has much intelligence and is not ferocious as people say. I began by showing them frankly my opinion as to their actions, and after that we talked for the rest of the journey as if we ignored the whole thing. Barnave saved the gardes du corps who were with us and whom the National guards wanted to massacre. "

The separation of Louis Charles from his family: July 3rd, 1793.

 [image: Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Estampes et photographie]

On July 3rd, 1793, a decree from the Convention ordered the separation of Louis Charles from the rest of his family. An account of this day written by his sister, Marie Therese, describes the suffering of this separation:

‘On the 3d of July, they read us a decree of the Convention ordering that my brother be separated from us and lodged in a more secure room in the Tower. Hardly had he heard it when he flung himself into his mother’s arms uttering loud cries, and imploring not to be parted from her. My mother, on her side, was struck down by the cruel order; she would not give up her son, and defended, against the municipals, the bed on which she placed him.They, absolutely determined to have him, threatened to employ violence and to call up the guard.
My mother told them they would have to kill her before they could tear her child from her. An hour passed in resistance on her part, in threats and insults from the municipals, in tears and efforts from all of us. At last they threatened my mother so positively to kill him and us also that she had to yield for love of us.
We rose, my aunt and I, for my poor mother no longer had any strength, but after we had dressed him she took him and gave him into the hands of the municipals herself, bathing him with tears and foreboding that she would never see him again. The poor little boy kissed us all very tenderly and went away in tears with the municipals.’

Women's History Month: "Though the historians of the period have never fully or willingly acknowledged its existence..."

Women's History Month: A month celebrating women of history! I will be posting media and book recommendations, highlighting women from (mostly) the 18th century, and otherwise sharing content with an emphasis on women in history. 

They ruled society, as women of the world; the empire of letters, as patronesses of the fine arts; the state, as favorites and advisers of kings. They gave the tone to feeling, philosophy and thought. Their caprice made wars, and signed treaties of peace. They hastened the fall of a Monarchy, and the outbreak of the greatest Revolution of modern times. They could attempt to check or direct that Revolution in its rapid and fearful course; they shared to the fullest extent its errors, its crimes, and its heroic virtues.
… Though the historians of the period have never fully or willingly acknowledged its existence, their silence cannot efface that which has been; and without that rule of woman, so reluctantly recognized, many of their pages of statesman’s policy, court intrigue, civil strife, or foreign war, need never have been written.

--Julia Kavanagh, Woman in France During the Eighteenth century, 1850 

Women's History Month: 'They gave more grace to wit...'

Women's History Month: A month celebrating women of history! I will be posting media and book recommendations, highlighting women from (mostly) the 18th century, and otherwise sharing content with an emphasis on women in history. 

They gave more grace to wit, more daring to philosophy, more generosity to political contests, and more heroism to defeat and death. For those who know how to look beyond the mere surface of history, the action of woman in France during the eighteenth century will not soon be forgotten. … She appears in that age … connected with every important question. We behold her giving a stronger impulse to literature, aiding the development of philosophy and thought; and, like man, earnestly seeking, through all the mists and errors of human knowledge, to solve the great social and political problems which still agitate us in our day: the legacy of the past to the future.

--Julia Kavanagh, Woman in France During the Eighteenth century, 1850

What They Said Saturday: "I have a presentiment that all will turn out ill."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

image: Detail from a portrait of Elisabeth de France by Adélaïde Labille-Guiard, circa 1787

"I have a presentiment that all will turn out ill." Elisabeth de France, the younger sister of Louis XVI, wrote this sentence amidst the first weeks of the 1787 Assembly of Notables, a consultative assembly called by Louis XVI in a calculated effort to pressure the French parlements into approving varied but significant--and much-needed--tax reforms. The last Assembly of Notables had been called more than 100 years previously by Louis XIII, and the decision to once again call upon the Notables was not without its controversies, especially among certain factions of court.

Elisabeth, for her part, doubted that calling the Assembly of Notables would do much good; she aligned herself with the thoughts of those in court who believed that calling the Notables was an admittance of weakness, though she believed her brother called them with completely sincerity in "asking their advice." The Assembly of 1787 was instrumental in the chain of events that would result in the calling of the Estates General of 1789, for better or worse. Yet despite the dismissal of Calonne in April, just a under month before the 1787 Assembly was dissolved, Elisabeth wrote with a reserved optimism:"The Notables talk with more freedom (though they have never cramped themselves in that), and I hope good may come of it. "

The full letter from Madame Elisabeth to the marquise de Bombelles, as translated in Life and Letters of Madame Elisabeth de France:

You ask me, my friend, how I pass my time; I shall answer: Rather sadly, because I see many things that grieve me. The famous Assembly of Notables has met. What will it do? Nothing, except make known to the people the critical situation in which we are. The king is sincere in asking their advice. Will they be the same in giving it? I think not. I have little experience, and the tender interest I take in my brother alone induces me to concern myself with these subjects, much too serious for my nature. I do not know, but it seems to me they are taking a course directly the opposite of that they ought to take . . . . I have a presentiment that all will turn out ill. As for me, if it were not for my attachment to the king I would retire to Saint-Cyr. Intrigues fatigue me; they are not in accordance with my nature. I like peace and repose; but it is not at the moment when my brother is unfortunate that I will separate from him.

The queen is very pensive. Sometimes we are hours together alone without her saying a word. She seems to fear me. Ah! who can take a keener interest than I in my brother's happiness?    

Of particular note is Elisabeth's mention of the queen's pensiveness and distance during what was a highly critical moment for Louis XVI and ultimately, the monarchy. Elisabeth and Antoinette did not always agree--more often than not as the revolution continued, they found themselves on opposite sides of the ideological coin, resulting in coldness or even arguments between them. Yet this particular distance was not to last--a few short months later, in June, the queen's infant daughter Sophie died and she called Elisabeth to come with her and mourn. Elisabeth wrote that "... there was no attention she did not show me. She prepared for me one of those surprises in which she excels; but what we did most was to weep over the death of my poor little niece."

What They Said Saturday: "Madame de Noailles abounded in virtues..."

'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

[image: Judy Davis as the Anne d'Arpajon, comtesse de Noailles in Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette]

"Madame de Noailles abounded in virtues. Her piety, charity, and irreproachable morals rendered her worthy of praise; but etiquette was to her a sort of atmosphere; at the slightest derangement of the consecrated order, one would have thought the principles of life would forsake her frame."

--Madame Campan on the comtesse de Noailles, Marie Antoinette's first dame d'honneur

'What They Said' Saturday: "I like this wild spot."

Introducing 'What They Said' Saturday: a day for quotations of all kinds, including excerpts from letters written by Marie Antoinette and her contemporaries, memoirs, non-fiction, novels and everything in between.

"I like this wild spot: they tell me I have bad taste--which is very probable ... I prefer this forest and rocks and untrimmed trees to those at Compiegne, which resembles a park more than a forest. The chateau here is bad, it is true; but I like antiques, I feel that St. Louis, Francois Premier, and my dear Henri Quatre live here, and I am happy in my small entresol. I am in a little palace--alone in the midst of every one--and I find it charming. I feel well here, and at Compiegne as though I were dying."

Thus wrote Marie Josèphe de Saxony, the second wife of Louis, the Dauphin (1729-1765) to her brother during one of the French court's stays at the chateau de Fontainebleau. Marie Josèphe greatly disliked Compiegne--though it was her husband's favorite lodging--and referred to its garden as "melancholy."

In calling it her "wild spot," Marie Josèphe was likely thinking of the original English garden at Fontainebleau, which was designed during the reign of Henry IV. During the time when Marie Josèphe would have enjoyed its charming and isolated sights, the garden also retained a Renaissance-style grotto built during the reign of Francis I. In the 19th century, the English garden would be greatly expanded into a larger English park, which included a stream, boulders, and extended paths through trees planted in a natural style.

Marie Josèphe couldn't have known that the 'little palace' she so greatly enjoyed would be the scene of her next tragedy: the death of her husband. In the fall following his death, Louis XV ordered that the French court not travel to Fontainebleau as they were accustomed to doing in order to spare Marie Josèphe "more sorrows."

"In those days women strove to do and dare..."

"In those days women strove to do and dare what their fathers and brothers and husbands were doing, and many a stirring speech delivered in the Assembly or at the great political debate clubs had been born in the brain of a woman. They did not content themselves with a passive part, they were full of ardor, sinking individual aims and affections in the general conflict, and, ready to sacrifice all for their cause; they rushed into the battle of the nation impetuously and eagerly, and claimed the privilege of fighting for their country side by side with men. Olympe de Gouges expressed the general feeling of her sex when she said: 'Women have as good a right to mount the tribune as they have to ascend the scaffold.'"

 --Jeannette Van Alstine

"Citizens, I cannot finish..."

The conclusion of Raymond de Sèze’s defense of Louis XVI at his trial:

Louis ascended the throne at the age of twenty, and at the age of twenty he gave to the throne the example of character. He brought to the throne no wicked weaknesses, no corrupting passions. He was economical, just, severe. He showed himself always the constant friend of the people. The people wanted the abolition of servitude. He began by abolishing it on his own lands. The people asked for reforms in the criminal law… he carried out these reforms. The people wanted liberty: he gave it to them… Nevertheless, it is in the name of these very people that one today demands…

Citizens, I cannot finish… I stop myself before History. Think how it will judge your judgement, and that the judgement of [the king] will be judged by the centuries!   

And Marie Antoinette Said: "I was a queen, and you took away my crown..."

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

Yet "Let them eat cake!" isn't the only 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 new post series, 'And Marie Antoinette Said...' we will be taking a closer look at some of the most famous quotes attributed to the queen  (yes, including "Let them eat cake!") to uncover their origins and hopefully their veracity.

"I was a queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long."

This popular quote is credited as having been said by Marie Antoinette at her trial. In addition to being frequently shared online, the quote was commonly included in 19th century history books and can be even found in books published in the last hundred years. The short speech is usually placed after Marie Antoinette's death sentence is read or when she is asked if she has anything to say in her own defense before the jury begins their deliberations.

It is a moving, novel-worthy quote to be sure--something that evokes a hauntingly elegant image of the burdened former queen, slowly rising in her tattered mourning gown, addressing the Revolutionary Tribunal with all the grace and wit of a daughter of the Caesars.

But did she actually say it?

Thankfully, a written record of the queen's trial was published by the revolutionary government shortly after her execution. This record was translated into English and published by a London press immediately thereafter.

In these trial records, when Marie Antoinette is asked if she has anything to add in her own defense, both the original French and English translation remark the queen as having said:

"Yesterday, I did not know the witnesses; I knew not what they were going to depose against me; and nobody has produced against me any positive fact. I finish by observing that I was only the wife of Louis XVI, and it was requisite in me to conform myself to his will."

Marie Antoinette was then led out of the hall while Fouquier de Tinville gave a speech to the jury, who deliberated and returned with their verdict. The queen was led back into the hall and told to listen to the judgment of the Tribunal, which was a guilty sentence with the punishment of death. Fouquier de Tinville then asks if she any objection to make against her sentence.

Here, the original French record and the London translation differ very slightly. The French transcript records the queen's reaction as: "Antoinette shakes her head as a sign of the negative." The English London publication translated this as: "Antoinette bowed her head."

The French record's afterword is a description of Marie Antoinette being led to the scaffold. The London edition, not surprisingly, contains a lengthy afterword condemning the Revolution. This afterward slightly contradicts the English transcript preceding it by writing that Marie Antoinette replied with the word "nothing" after having been asked if she had any objections to make.

However, in neither the original French publication or the translated trial record does the "I was a queen, and you took away my crown" quote appear at any point.

Claude François Chauveau-Lagarde, one of Marie Antoinette's defenders, wrote an account of her trial in 1816. In his recollections, Chauveau-Lagarde said that Marie Antoinette did not say anything in response to her sentence.

So, where did the quote come from?

The phrase has its origins in a 1794 publication called Marie Antoinette d'Autriche, Reine de France, ou Causes et Tableau de la Revolution. The book was written by Chevalier Nicolas de Maistre, a French noble officer who was living as an émigré in Austria when he wrote and published the volume. Maistre's book is a condemnation of the Revolution told through the tribulations and eventually the trial of Marie Antoinette.

It is in Maistre's version of the trial that when Marie Antoinette is told "The sentence of death is pronounced. What have you to answer for your defense?" she replies:

"In my defense! Nothing. For your scruples! Much. I was a queen, and you dethroned me. I was a wife, and you killed my husband. I was a mother, and you tore me from my children. Only my blood remains: you are thirsty. Drink it. Hasten to meet it that you may drink it."

The French version of this quote had some traction in the 19th century, but not very much. It is in English books from the 19th century that a slightly revised version of the quote, which omits the first and last sentences, gained much more popularity in that same time period.  It can be found in some histories of Marie Antoinette as well as many books about queens, women in history and historical anecdotes. This discrepancy between its French and English popularity could be related to the fact that the English translation of her trial was not given new editions in the 19th century, whereas the French record of her trial was republished several times throughout the 1800s, so the circulation of this anecdotal quote ran wilder with English publishers.

Verdict:

It is safe to say that Marie Antoinette did not say this quote, moving as it is.

Nicolas de Maistre was not present at her trial and no records from her trial include any version of this quote; one of Marie Antoinette's defense lawyers confirms that she did not say anything; nor has the quote been so much as paraphrased by anyone who was present at her trial or would have had access to someone who was a witness. Its origins are an émigré noble's pro-monarchy book and Maistre, like many authors of the day, included invented details to make things more dramatic, more interesting, and more eloquent.

Further Reading

• Procès de Marie-Antoinette, ci-devant reine des Français, ou Recueil exact de tous ses interrogatoires, réponses, dépositions des témoins, suivi de plusieurs anecdotes sur sa mort. (1793; 1865 reprint.) 
• Authentic Trial at Large of Marie Antoinette, Late Queen of France, Before the Revolutionary Tribunal at Paris. (1793)
• Marie Antoinette d'Autriche, Reine de France, ou Causes et Tableau de la Revolution; Nicholas de Maistre. (1794) 
• Note historique sur les procès de Marie-Antoinette d'Autriche, reine de France et de Madame Elisabeth de France (M. Chauveau-Lagarde) (1816)

'An angel of goodness'

 

 credit: my scan/collection

"The features of [Madame Elisabeth] were not regular, but her face expressed gentle affability, and the freshness of her complexion was remarkable; altogether, she had the charm of a pretty shepherdess. She was an angel of goodness. Many a time have I been a witness to her deeds of charity on behalf of the poor. All the virtues were in her heart: she was indulgent, modest, compassionate, devoted. In the Revolution she displayed heroic courage; she was seen going forward to meet the cannibals who had come to murder the Queen, saying, 'They will mistake me for her!'"

 --the memoirs of  Elisabeth Vigée Lebrun

'That was the sole moment when her firmness abandoned her.'

image: A wax tableau of the royal family hearing the news of the murder of the princesse de Lamballe

source: my scan/collection

From the account of Marie Thérèse Charlotte, duchesse d'Angouleme, on the dreadful day of September 3rd, 1792:

At three in the afternoon we heard dreadful outcries; my father left the dinner-table and played backgammon with my mother, to control his countenance and be able to say a few words to her without being heard. The municipal guard in the room behaved well; he closed the door and window, also the curtains, so that they might see nothing. The workmen at the Temple and the jailer Rocher joined the murderers, which increased the noise. Several officers of the National Guard and some municipals arrived; the first desired that my father should show himself at the window. The municipals fortunately opposed this; but my father, having asked what was happening, a young officer replied: "Well, if you want to know, it is the head of Mme. de Lamballe they wish to show you."

My mother was seized with horror; that was the sole moment when her firmness abandoned her. The municipals scolded the officer, but my father, with his usual kindness, excused him, saying it was not the officer's fault, but his own for having questioned him. The noise lasted till five o'clock.

The tumult was hardly over before Pétion, instead of exerting himself to stop the massacre, coldly sent his secretary to my father to reckon about money. This man was very ridiculous, and said many things which would have made us laugh at another moment; he thought my mother remained standing on his account; for since that awful scene she had continued standing, motionless, and seeing nothing that took place in the room. The municipal guard who had sacrificed his scarf at the door made my father pay for it. My aunt and I heard the générale beaten all night; my unhappy mother did not even try to sleep; we listened to her sobs.

'All depends on the right beginning for the day...'

Although Marie Antoinette was not extensively prepared for her life as the dauphine of France--the fast-track tutoring she received in French, history, etc., was more like an 18th century cram session than a proper education-- Maria Theresa did not neglect to write her daughter 'rules to be read every month,' which contained advice and instruction intended to help Marie Antoinette adjust to her new role. Part of this advice included instruction on how Marie Antoinette should begin her day, immediately after waking:

'... When you wake up, you will immediately upon arising go through your morning prayers on your knees and read some religious text, even if it is only for six or seven minutes, without concerning yourself about anything else or speaking to anyone. All depends on the right beginning for the day and the intention with which you begin it, for it may change even indifferent actions into good, praiseworthy ones.' [translation: Olivier Bernier, Secrets of Marie Antoinette]

It does not seem that Marie Antoinette followed this advice too strictly--she writes in a later letter, also dated 1770, that she says her morning prayers after she has been dressed.

An excerpt from the Last Testament of Louis XVI

credit: my scan/collection

The last testament of Louis XVI, had been separated from his family, was penned on December 25th, 1792, the day before he was due to appear before the Convention in his Defense. The full document touches on many issues central to the king's life--such as his religious faith, his forgiveness of his enemies, his care for those who had served him faithfully, and his love and advice for his family. The following excerpt was addressed to his wife, his sister, and his children:

"I commend to God my wife and my children, my sister, my aunts, my brothers, and all those who are attached to me by ties of blood or by whatever other means. I pray God particularly to cast eyes of compassion upon my wife, my children, and my sister, who suffered with me for so long a time, to sustain them with His mercy if they shall lose me, and as long as they remain in his mortal world.

I commend my children to my wife; I have never doubted her maternal tenderness for them. I enjoin her above all to make them good Christians and honest individuals; to make them view the grandeurs of this world (if they are condemned to experience them) as very dangerous and transient goods, and turn their attention towards the one solid and enduring glory, eternity. I beseech my sister to kindly continue her tenderness for my children and to take the place of a mother, should they have the misfortune of losing theirs.

I beg my wife to forgive all the pain which she suffered for me, and the sorrows which I may have caused her in the course of our union; and she may feel sure that I hold nothing against her, if she has anything with which to reproach herself.

I most warmly enjoin my children that, after what they owe to God, which should come first, they should remain forever united among themselves, submissive and obedient to their mother, and grateful for all the care and trouble which she has taken with them, as well as in memory of me. I beg them to regard my sister as their second mother.

I exhort my son, should he have the misfortune of becoming king, to remember he owes himself wholly to the happiness of his fellow citizens; that he should forget all hates and all grudges, particularly those connected with the misfortunes and sorrows which I am experiencing; that he can make the people happy only by ruling according to laws: but at the same time to remember that a king cannot make himself respected and do the good that is in his heart unless he has the necessary authority, and that otherwise, being tangled up in his activities and not inspiring respect, he is more harmful than useful."

The seperation of Louis XVI and his son

On December 11th, 1792, Louis XVI was taken from the Temple and brought before the National Convention. In his journal of the royal family's life at the Temple, Jean-Baptiste Cléry described the painful and sudden separation of Louis XVI and his son.

image: (C) RMN-Grand Palais (Château de Versailles) / Droits réservés

"At eleven o'clock, while the king was giving his son a reading-lesson, two municipals entered and told His Majesty that they had come to fetch young Louis and take him to his mother. The king wished to know the reason of this removal; the commissioners replied that they executed the orders of the council of the Commune. His Majesty kissed his son tenderly, and charged me to go with him. When I returned to the king, I told him I had left the young prince in his mother's arms, and that seemed to tranquillize His Majesty. One of the commissioners entered to inform him that Chambon, mayor of Paris, was in the council-chamber and was coming up to see him. 

'What does he want of me?' asked the king.

'I do not know,' replied the municipal.

His Majesty walked hastily up and down his room for some moments; then he seated himself in an arm-chair close to the head of his bed; the door was half closed and the municipal dared not enter, to avoid, as he told me, questions. Half an hour passed thus in the deepest silence. The commissioner became uneasy at not hearing the king; he entered softly, and found him with his head on one of his hands, apparently deeply absorbed.

'What do you want?' asked the king, in a loud voice.

'I feared you were ill,' replied the municipal.

'I am obliged to you,' said the king, in a tone of the keenest sorrow, 'but the manner in which my son has been taken from me is infinitely painful to me.'

The municipal said nothing and withdrew."