A French Independence Day

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.

For several years the country waited for an heir to be born. Not only was Marie Antoinette not with child but also the dauphin was mocked across Europe. He had become the subject of many jokes, and the lack of respect was now affecting matters of state. "Matrimonium non consummatum" said the Archbishop.

This set Marie off on her own affairs. She had already acquired a decadent taste befitting a woman of her distinction. Now she took it to new heights. Shortly after the death of King Louis XV, the newly crowned queen of France took for herself the summer palace of Trianon, something of a dollhouse; this eight-room miniature castle was well out of sight of Versailles but close enough to be convenient. It was there that the queen had her fun.

It was excitement she craved, as well as debauchery, depravity, and all that is wanton and self-indulgent. And I was responsible for seeing to it that she was entertained. Even her husband, King Louis XVI, was not to arrive at Trianon uninvited or unannounced. It was her private sanctuary, a place where all things centered on her, her needs, wants, and desires. She deserved it, did she not? After all, she was the queen. It was her divine right. And I was the chosen vessel in which she would receive such decadent pleasures; for this, I too was blessed.

The first was gambling. She loved games of chance. Individuals of wealth from Paris, Reims, and Lyon were invited. Although these types of card games were illegal, the queen certainly felt, as did most others on the invitation list, that the laws were for the common people, not for the nobles, and certainly not royalty. She played cards late into the evening. She was skilled, winning almost as much as she lost.

She enjoyed drink, too. Not just wine, but spirits as well. She often drank as much as the men. That's when she was most entertained. Playing cards with gentlemen and drinking glass after glass of sparkling wine from Champagne mixed with liquor from Cognac. Her face would flush crimson and she would begin to perspire. I would fan her at the table, since it was unsightly for a woman of her position to be seen perspiring. As her laughter grew more boisterous and frequent she pushed the fan away and it dropped onto the floor.

"Enough, my dear!" said Antoinette.

"Yes, my Queen," I said while holding my head down.

"Help me off with this, girl," she said as she attempted to remove her silken dress and corset.

"But Your Majesty!" I said in shock.

She glared at me. I immediately began to unfasten her dress.

"I don't think our guests will be shocked or dismayed," she said. "In fact, this is probably the first time the marquis has been in a room with a woman longer than an hour and not seduced her to vulnerable bareness," she said, as laughter filled the room.

The marquis was a tall man, dark in complexion, broad shouldered, with a short beard not due to fashion but to negligence. His hair was pulled straight back into a tail that reached to the space between his shoulder blades. He was without the white powdered wig that was the fashion for men. He was a man of extremes—a playwright, novelist, gambler, officer in the King's Cavalry, as well as a drunkard and a Libertine.

My queen now sat down at the table again, clothed only in her undergarments—a low-cut linen blouse, pantaloons, and a garter belt holding stockings of dark silk from Lyon.

"Much better, do you not agree, marquis?" She said demurely.

"Yes, my Queen. Indeed, your comfort is a pleasure to behold," said the Marquis, as he tipped his glass and toasted the queen. The other guests followed suit, men and woman alike. I refilled all the glasses again.

They played another game of cards. The betting continued to escalate. The lantern illuminating the table bounced light off the queen's cleavage. The marquis began to get restless as he watched her ever so closely. Not to be outdone, the queen took notice of him and stopped the game again.

"Marquis, you appear distracted," she teased. "Shall we stop for a moment?"

"Yes! I cannot play another hand without straining myself at the sight of you!"

"Oh? Then come over here and stand close to me."

He stood up and walked around the table to the queen. He wore black velvet pants that buttoned up the front. Standing in front of the queen she was positioned at eye level to the growing bulge in the front of his trousers.

"I see, marquis" she said while rubbing through the soft velvet and toying with the four silver buttons that restrained his growing agitation, "you are in quite a predicament, indeed."

As a shock to others in the room, she unbuttoned his trousers and took him out for all to see. Stroking him to full prowess, she turned to the other guests, "Shall we relieve this tension? I daresay, with it he will not win another game!" They all laughed.

One man shouted: "No! Let's take him for another 1,000 livres!"

The other two women looked with amazement not only at the endowment of the marquis but also at the shocking boldness of the queen.

"Such a man should not go to waste," said Marie. "Don't you agree, ladies?" One nodded in the affirmative, the other just grinned.

Turning her head, she called out, "Rosalie!"

"Yes, my Queen."

"Come here!" She commanded.

As I approached the table she grabbed my hair by the bun in the back and pushed my head into the pile of coin in the middle of the table. I cried out in shock, but it was irrelevant. She then raised the back of my dress and commanded me to lower my undergarments.

I hesitated at first. Whimpering from embarrassment, I pulled my undergarments down. She then took both of my hands and placed them between my corset and the table. I could not move them.

"Very good, Rosalie," said the Queen. "Are we ready for the show tonight?"

The guests applauded and cheered. The grinning woman shouted, "Yes! Show her face!"

"Why yes, of course," she said sarcastically. "Rosalie, show your pretty face to my guests. They've traveled a long way just to see you deflowered! Let's not disappoint them now!" I heard more laughter and clinking of glasses as they drank. They all enjoyed what was, for me, such a shameful sight.

"There, now we are ready." She looked at the marquis and stroked him some more. "Yes...oh—but there is one more detail," said the Queen. "Rosalie will have to splay her legs much further open. Don't you all agree?"

"Yes! Wider, much wider," said Madame de Lamballe, a close confidant and occasional lover to the queen, "he has to see it all! We can't have him miss and l'amour la derrière!"

They all kept laughing so much. I spread my legs as wide as I could as she grabbed my hair and held my face upright so all could witness my indignity. They all cheered and laughed as he entered me. It hurt at first, as I was not really prepared in any way, nor was I romanced or otherwise seduced. I was simply ordered to display, receive, and—maybe—enjoy. After all, it was the queen's wish. And if her wish is divine, then who am I to interfere or hesitate?

He pumped into me hard. But it was going in easier now, as I was getting used to it. I tried not to get pleasure from it, but I could not help it. Arching my back, I pushed my hips into him, meeting his thrusts in rhythm. I looked up and saw the other man in the room with a sinister look on his face. I saw the grinning woman fanning the other as she caressed herself. The queen encouraged the marquis.

"Harder," she said into his ear while caressing his chest. "I know you can go faster than that." Turning to the audience she asked, "Let's help Rosalie, shall we?"

She grabbed me again by the hair as she sat down. She splayed her legs and pushed my face between them. It was hard to breath but I enjoyed her scent. It was strong, like musk mixed with a sweet perfume. She was looking up at the marquis and massaging her breasts to incite him. His hips slapped my behind in steady rhythm. He then began to spank my rear, as pronounced as it was, my head now lower than my backside. Exploding into me, he slowed.

"Very good, Rosalie," said the Queen. "I think our marquis will be able to concentrate on his game now, don't you think?"

Still panting, I felt her pull on my hair to bring my face out from between her legs. The rouge that I wore had smeared onto her chemise. She did not appear angry, but aroused.

"Yes...yes, Your Majesty," I gasped. "Indeed, he has spent more than his winnings."

The queen laughed and so did the others. I stood holding my dress.

"You look so worn out, my child," Marie said. "Perhaps you should bring us more cognac without the donning of your attire? As for you, Marquis de Sade, now that your lusts have been satisfied, perhaps we can win more of your money?"

He toweled himself and stood, flaccid and unashamed. "Her Majesty is most hospitable," he said while buttoning his trousers, "and by far the most lasciviously beautiful woman in all of Europe."

"Indeed," said Antoinette, baring a sinful grin as her eyes examined the marquis in every detail.

From that point on, I became an active part of the queen's entertainment for private parties at Trianon. Sometimes I would bring another to assist in the spectacle. Simple soul that I am, I could not possibly satiate one as grandiose as she. The more she experienced—the more she saw, tasted, consumed, the more that she heard, touched, and adulterated—the more she wanted. And for her, the king had said there was no limit. He complained from time to time regarding her pilfering the treasury, but to no avail.

As for the marquis, he had overstayed his welcome, at least, according to the king. He was imprisoned in the Bastille for acts of debauchery and excessive libertinage. While imprisoned, the queen would send me to visit him, delivering candles, paper, quills, and ink. He was to finish his work regardingLes 120 Journées de Sodome. I received three pages per visit and smuggled them into the queen's bedchamber. She instructed me to read them aloud before she slept. Frequently, I was to pleasure her. This I did without haste, as it is her divine right, and my divine obligation.

The excesses of the queen became fodder for high society gossip. Secret political enemies of the crown suddenly became not so secret. Handbills were designed mocking the queen. They were passed around at the opera and later posted on the lampposts across Paris. Marie's mother, Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, wrote many letters begging her daughter to restrain herself. But she would not.

The Estates General had continued its debate. The monarchy was no longer a prize of the people but was now perceived as the liability of the French. Pamphlets detailing the queen's excess were discussed openly in the Third Estate as Her Majesty was mocked in open session. The influence of the First and Second Estates had now diminished considerably, as the nobles and the clergy clung to what privilege was left to them.

The visit of Monsieur Benjamin Franklin of America had stirred action in the Lodge of Freemasons. Rumors circulated that these secretive men were planning insurrection in France. Stories of the great republic in America that defeated the mighty King George III had captivated the drunken deliberations in the taverns below the Masonic lodges across the land. Laughter could be heard outside in the rue as Monsieur Franklin described how his brethren disguised themselves as native savages, stormed the British trade ships, and dumped the English tea into Boston Harbor.

But the queen had remained oblivious to the politics of the land, as her secret affection for the marquis grew with each page that I read to her. She had written him a letter that I was to smuggle into the Bastille. As I traveled from Versailles to Paris I cleverly hid the letter, bearing the queen's seal, in the garter of my left stocking. After passing the first sentry guarding the front gate I preceded to the Bastille's Liberty Tower where the Marquis de Sade was imprisoned on the second floor. His cell was dank, but one of the larger ones, roughly twelve feet in diameter and fifteen feet high. He had managed to furnish it with articles from his home and other comforts obtained through financial contributions to the King's National Guard regiment assigned to the Bastille.

In the letter, she asked the marquis to write a play or a dialogue for her detailing his philosophy of how one should behave in the bedroom. She said that she wanted all the ladies of her court to learn the Libertine ideas of the marquis. She wanted her Trianon to be as lecherously hedonistic as the mind and spirit of Donatien-Alphonse-Francois Sade. She wanted it to be the topic of discussion for Libertines across Europe. He was overjoyed. He said that he would begin writing that day, but unfortunately, due to current events,La Philosophie dans le Boudoir was not completed until several years later.

Once I departed the Bastille that day, he began to shout out the window of his cell. Several times he yelled to onlookers that prisoners were being slaughtered and the people should come to liberate them. As a result of the report made to Lord de Villedeuil on the marquis's conduct in the Bastille, he was transferred to Charenton Asylum. Six men entered Sade's room; pistol whipped him, and took him to Charenton. He was not allowed to take anything with him, not even his manuscripts.

Eleven days later a large mob formed outside the Bastille. The townspeople had listened to the political men of the day and to the marquis. A mob of more than a thousand had gathered to storm the Bastille. Armed with light arms as well as pitchforks and pikes, the citizens of Paris raided the symbol of royal authority. They came to free the prisoners and raid the armory.

Only seven prisoners were freed, however. Men who could respond with hand signs to the revolutionaries holding the keys to the cells. The fraternal companions of Monsieur Franklin had peppered the crowd with their membership and had been the ones to incite the mob. Once inside the Bastille they released their brethren and raided the armory as well as the cell of Marquis de Sade, taking the furniture and valuables, but leaving the rest to burn, including his manuscripts. When it was over, they paraded through the streets of Paris with the head of the governor of the Bastille on a pike. I will never forget the Fourteenth of July, 1789.

The tide of revolution was sweeping through the ancient realm of France. The National Assembly had convened and drafted an end to the last remnants of feudalism; nobles were forced to renounce corvees and tithes; bishops had to forgo rents and revenues. The press was declared free. The Rights of Man were proclaimed. Serfdom was no more in France. The queen continued her decadence, however.

Trianon was always hosting a party. The last I remember was in early October, just a few months after the storming of the Bastille. Antoinette had dinner guests and commissioned a cake be made for dessert, a cake so large that it would not fit through the door. It had to be brought into the banquet room in sections, and then assembled together with frosting covering the seamed areas. Ladies danced around the cake in beautiful gowns with their hair mounted high on their heads laced with flowers and silk. The music played on as the Chef de Batallion entered through the back door. I escorted him to the queen's throne for an audience. He then informed the queen of the most recent political attack on the monarchy.

The bread shortage in the cities had fueled another mob to form. This one was made up exclusively of women, so as not to be fired upon by the king's guard. They had marched up from Paris in the rain all the way to Versailles. They demanded an audience with King Louis. They were cold and hungry. They could not buy bread due to its scarcity and ever-increasing price.

The king felt that it was beneath his dignity to address a group made up exclusively of women and left the matter to his wife. She commanded me to get one of the women from the mob and bring her to the banquet room.