The Bad Queen Read online

  The Bad Queen

  Carolyn Meyer

  * * *

  Rules and

  Instructions for

  MARIE-ANTOINETTE

  * * *

  HARCOURT

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT

  Boston New York 2010

  * * *

  Copyright © 2010 by Carolyn Meyer

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reprint selections from this book,

  write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York l0003.

  Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  Text set in Requiem Text

  Designed by Regina Roff

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Meyer, Carolyn, 1935–

  The bad queen : rules and instructions for Marie-Antoinette / Carolyn Meyer.

  p. cm.—(Young royals)

  Summary: In eighteenth-century France, Marie-Antoinette rails against the rules of

  etiquette that govern her life even as she tries to fulfill her greatest obligation, giving birth

  to the next king, but she finds diversion in spending money on clothing, parties, and

  gambling despite her family's warnings and the whispers of courtiers.

  ISBN 978-0-15-206376-4 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Marie-Antoinette, Queen, consort

  of Louis XVI, King of France, 1755–1793—Juvenile fiction. 2. Louis XVI, King of France,

  1754–1793—Fiction. 3. France—History—Louis XVI, 1774–1793—Juvenile fiction.

  4. France—History—Revolution, 1789–1799—Juvenile fiction. [I. Marie-Antoinette, Queen,

  consort of Louis XVI, King of France, 1755–1793—Fiction. 2. Louis XVI, King of France,

  1754–1793—Fiction. 3. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. 4. Courts and courtiers—

  Fiction. 5. France—History—Louis XVI, 1774–1793—Fiction. 6. France—History—

  Revolution, 1789–1799—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.M5685Bad 2010

  [Fic] dc22

  2009019036

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  MP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  * * *

  In memory of Miss Mary Frankenberry,

  the original Grammar Dragon

  * * *

  PART I

  Rules for the Dauphine 1768

  No. 1: Marry well

  THE EMPRESS, my mother, studied me as if I were an unusual creature she'd thought of acquiring for the palace menagerie. I shivered under her critical gaze. It was like being bathed in snow.

  "Still rather small, but I suppose she'll grow. Her sisters did," my mother said half to herself. She caught my eye. "No bosom yet, Antonia?"

  I shook my head and stared down at my naked toes, pale as slugs. "No, Mama."

  Swathed in widow's black, the empress frowned at me as if my flat chest were my own fault. "She's no beauty, certainly," she said, speaking to my governess, Countess Brandeis. "But pretty enough, I think, to marry the dauphin of France." She signaled me to turn around, which I did, slowly. "My dear countess, something must be done about her hair!" my mother declared. "The hairline is terrible—just look at it! And her teeth as well. The French foreign minister has already complained that the child's teeth are crooked. King Louis has made it quite clear that everything about my daughter must be perfect before he will agree to her marriage to his grandson."

  Brandeis inclined her head. "Of course, Your Majesty."

  "One thing more, Antonia," said my mother sharply "You must learn to speak French—beautifully. And this too: from now on you are no longer Antonia. You are Antoine." She dismissed us with a wave and turned her attention to the pile of official papers on her desk.

  Antoine? Even my name must change? I gasped and groped for an answer, but no answer came, just one dry sob. The countess rushed me out of the empress's chambers before I could burst into tears. That would have been unacceptable. Mama didn't allow her daughters to cry.

  I've thought of this moment many times. And I think of it again, no longer attempting to hold back my tears after all that has happened to me since then.

  ***

  My mother was known to all the world as Maria Theresa, Holy Roman Empress, archduchess of Austria, queen of Hungary and Bohemia, daughter of the Hapsburg family that had ruled most of Europe for centuries. Mama believed the best way to further the goals of her huge empire was not through conquest but through marriage. I'd heard her say it often: Let other nations wage war—fortunate Austria marries well. She used us, her children, to form alliances.

  There were quite a lot of us to be married well. My mother had given birth to sixteen children—I was the fifteenth—and in 1768, the year in which this story begins, ten of us were still living. Three of my four brothers had been paired with suitable brides. The eldest, Joseph, emperor and co-ruler with our mother since Papa's death, was twenty-seven and had already been married and widowed twice. Both of his wives had been chosen by our mother. Joseph still mourned the first, Isabella of Parma, with whom he had been deeply in love, but not the second, a fat and pimply Bavarian princess whom he had detested from the very beginning. I was curious to see if Mama would make him marry well for a third time.

  Next in line for the throne, Archduke Leopold was married to the daughter of the king of Spain. Then came my brother Ferdinand, thirteen, a year older than I, betrothed since he was just nine to an Italian heiress. No doubt he would soon marry her. The youngest archduke, chubby little Maximilian—we called him Fat Max—was not on Mama's list for a wife. He was supposed to become a priest and someday an archbishop.

  Of my five older sisters, Maria Anna was crippled and would never have a husband, and dear Maria Élisabeth had retired to a convent after smallpox destroyed her beauty (All of us archduchesses had been given the first name Maria—an old family tradition.) My other sisters had been found husbands of high enough ranks.

  Maria Christina, called Mimi, was my mother's great favorite, and somehow she had been allowed to marry the man she adored, Prince Albert of Saxony Lucky Mimi, one of the most selfish girls who ever lived!

  Maria Amalia was madly in love with Prince Charles of Zweibrücken, but Mama opposed the match—he wasn't rich enough or important enough—and made Amalia promise to marry the duke of Parma. Amalia didn't like him at all, and she was furious with Mama.

  "Mimi got to marry the man she loved, even though he has neither wealth nor position," Amalia stormed, "and Mama gave her a huge dowry to make up for it. So why can't I marry Charles?"

  Silly question! We all knew she had no choice. Only Mimi could talk Mama into giving her whatever she wanted. Maria Carolina, the sister I loved best, had to marry King Ferdinand of Naples. This was the final chapter of a very sad story: two of our older sisters, first Maria Johanna and then Maria Josepha, had each in turn been betrothed to King Ferdinand. First Johanna and then Josepha had died of smallpox just before a wedding could take place. Ferdinand ended up with the next in line, Maria Carolina. He may have been satisfied with the change, but Carolina hadn't been.

  "I hear he's an utter dolt!" Carolina had wailed as her trunks were being packed for the journey to Naples. She'd paced restlessly from room to room, wringing her pretty white hands. "And ugly as well. I can only hope he doesn't stink!"

  It didn't matter if he stank. We had been brought up to do exactly as we were told, and Mama had a thousand rules. "You are born to obey, and you must learn to do so." (This rule did not apply to Mimi, of course.)

  Though she was three years older than I, we had grown up together. We had also gotten into mischief together, breaking too many of Mama's rules (such as talking after nightly prayers and not paying attention to our studies), and our mother had decided we had to be separated. In April, when the time came for her to leave for Naples, Carolina cried and cried and even jumped out of her carriage at the last minute to embrace me tearfully one more time. I missed her terribly.

  That left me, the youngest daughter, just twelve years old. I knew my mother had been searching for the best possible husband for me—best for her purposes; my wishes didn't count. Now she thought she had found him: the dauphin of France. The Austrian Hapsburgs would be united with the French Bourbons. But she also thought I didn't quite measure up.

  ***

  After my mother's cold assessment, Brandeis led me, sobbing, through gloomy corridors back to my apartments in the vast Hofburg Palace in Vienna. She murmured soothing words as she helped me dress—I had appeared in only a thin shift for Mama's inspection—and announced that we would simply enjoy ourselves for the rest of the day.

  "Plenty of time tomorrow for your lessons, my darling Antonia," the countess said and kissed me on my forehead. She hadn't yet begun to call me Antoine, and I was glad.

  Her plan was fine with me. Neither Brandeis nor I shared much enthusiasm for my lessons. I disliked reading—I read poorly—and avoided it as much as I could. Brandeis saw no reason to force me. She agreed that my handwriting was nearly illegible—I left a trail of scattered inkblots—and allowed me to avoid practicing that as well. My previous governess had also given up the struggle, helpfully tracing out all the letters with a pencil so I had only to follow her tracings with pen and ink. When my mother discovered the trick, the lady was dismissed. Brandeis didn't resort to deception, but neither did she do much to correct my messy handwriting.


  "You'll have scant use for such things," said my governess now She shuffled a deck of cards and dealt a hand onto the game table. "You dance beautifully—who can forget your delightful performance in the ballet to celebrate your brother Joseph's wedding? Your needlework is exquisite, and your music tutor says you show a talent for the harp. What more will you need to know? A member of the court will read everything to you while you stitch your designs, and a secretary will write your letters for you. You won't even have to think about it. You'll have only to be charming and enjoy yourself, when you become the queen of France."

  "Queen of France?" I exclaimed, a little surprised. I hadn't thought much beyond marrying the dauphin, whoever he was. "Am I truly to be queen of France, Brandeis?"

  "You will someday, if everything goes according to plan. The young man your mother has chosen for you to marry is next in line for the throne. The future wife of the dauphin will be the dauphine, and when old King Louis the Fifteenth dies and his grandson the dauphin becomes king, you, my sweet Antonia, will become his queen." She smiled and sighed. "Everyone knows that Versailles is the most elegant court in all of Europe, and you shall be its shining glory!"

  Queen! The idea thrilled me. My brothers and sisters had been matched with royalty from several other countries in Europe, but France was the most important—I understood that much—and that made me important, more important than my snobbish sister Mimi! Being married to the prince of Saxony wasn't much to brag about, compared to being queen of France. I pranced around my apartments with my nose in the air, as though I already wore the crown. Countess Brandeis swept her new sovereign a curtsy so deep that her nose almost touched the floor. I laughed and twirled and clapped my hands.

  Then I remembered my mother's pronouncement: everything must be perfect. "Oh, dear Brandeis, what about my hair?" I cried. "And my teeth? Mama says they're not pleasing to the French king. And you're supposed to call me Antoine."

  "I imagine a friseur will be sent to dress your hair," said Brandeis with a careless shrug, "though it looks fine enough to me—a mass of red-gold curls, what could be prettier? And I've heard that crooked teeth can be fixed as well as unruly locks. Meanwhile, I suggest you simply put all of this out of mind." She picked up her cards and arranged them. "Now, shall I draw first, or shall you?"

  I did as my governess suggested and succeeded in winning a few pfennig from her. The next day we bundled ourselves in furs and rode through Vienna in a sleigh shaped like a swan and drawn by horses with bells jingling on their harnesses. We returned to my apartments in the Hofburg to sip hot chocolate and forget the unpleasant business of lessons and other worrisome matters. Brandeis always neglected to call me Antoine. I was still her dear Antonia—until one day when all our pleasant enjoyment came to an end.

  No. 2: You must become fluent in French

  I AWOKE ON A COLD winter morning at the beginning of 1769 to discover not my beloved Brandeis but a woman I scarcely knew sitting in the governess's chair near the porcelain stove. Her name was Countess Lerchenfeld, and she had once served as mistress of the robes for my older sisters.

  "I have come to take charge of your education, Madame Antoine," she informed me. She had a high-arched nose and a wrinkled neck, and she did not disturb her sharp features by smiling. Brandeis always smiled.

  "Brandeis does that," I told the woman airily.

  "No longer," said Countess Lerchenfeld. "I have drawn up a schedule of your day so that you may know at every hour exactly what is expected of you."

  She passed me a large sheet of vellum covered with writing. I puzzled over it for a moment or two before passing it back. "I want to see Brandeis," I said sullenly.

  "Ce n'est pas possible, Madame Antoine." Suddenly this strange woman was speaking French. "It is not possible. Countess Brandeis is no longer here," she continued, still in French.

  I gaped at her. I understood her—French was the language of the court, and in fact my dear papa had always spoken French to us. He was from Lorraine, which I knew was somewhere in France, and he'd never really learned to speak German. I think he didn't want to speak it, even though he was the emperor. But my sisters and I, and our brothers too, usually spoke German among ourselves. Brandeis spoke German sprinkled with French, or sometimes French sprinkled with German.

  "Why are you speaking French to me?" I asked, frankly curious.

  "Because, Madame Antoine, it is your mother's wish. From now on you and I will speak only French. You must become fluent in the language if you are to marry the dauphin of France." Impatiently she waved the sheet with my schedule on it. "You have already fallen behind. As soon as you are dressed and we have attended Mass in the chapel, and after you have eaten your breakfast, we shall begin our first lessons of the day."

  I felt the tears well up in my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

  "I want to see Countess Brandeis," I said thickly in German. The abominable Lerchenfeld pretended that I had not spoken. I tried again, this time in French. Lerchenfeld winced, as though she'd smelled something spoiled. She carefully gave me a long explanation, all in French, as to why I could not see her. I caught the gist of it. The answer was non.

  ***

  My life changed completely. Brandeis, I discovered, had been dismissed because she hadn't taught me to read and write as well as Mama wanted. I grieved for her every day I detested Countess Lerchenfeld, who was determined to cure me of all my faults and who punished me when I didn't study as hard as she insisted I must. Knowing how much I loved music and dancing and needlework, she did not allow me to play my harp, or dance, or embroider, or do any of the things I really liked until my lessons were completed to her satisfaction. There were no card games or sleigh rides, no cozy cups of hot chocolate. How could I possibly be fond of such a person?

  Privately I called her Madame Sauerkraut. It suited her perfectly.

  I questioned her relentlessly, searching for little nuggets of information about my future. I learned, for instance, that the dauphin's name was Louis-Auguste, that he was a year older than I, and that he was next in line for the throne because his father was dead and his two older brothers had died young.

  "When am I supposed to marry him?" I asked.

  "No date has been decided upon. Such matters are never simple or easy," Madame Sauerkraut lectured. "Many details remain to be worked out between the two countries. Before any agreement can go forward, the king insists on knowing exactly what you look like, and he is sending a portraitist to paint your likeness. Your mother, the empress, is most anxious that your teeth and hair be corrected by the time the painter arrives. The French foreign minister has dispatched a dentiste and a friseur to make the necessary changes. Then there is the matter of your bosom. The king is particularly concerned that you have lovely breasts to be displayed in the gowns now in fashion at the court of Versailles."

  "Is the king sending someone to fix my bosom as well?" I demanded crossly. "I've not yet become a woman, you know."

  Madame Sauerkraut pursed her thin lips. "Then, Madame Antoine, best you pray it happen soon," she advised. "I'm sure you're aware that your most important duty as dauphine will be to produce the next heir to the French throne."

  I was aware of it, but I understood only vaguely how this important duty was to be accomplished. I assumed that I would receive instructions as I did in my other subjects, most of which I disliked. Maybe the instructions for producing an heir would prove more interesting than mathematics.

  I was making little progress with the French language, always substituting German words when I couldn't think of the proper French words, and my accent was judged "intolerable." A French priest came to remedy that. Abbé de Vermond, a tall, thin man with sad, drooping eyes, spoke with an accent different from any I had ever heard. I could scarcely understand a word he said. The abbé would also tutor me in French history, of which I was completely ignorant. When my brother Joseph learned that I was equally ignorant of the history of my own country, he ordered that subject added to my studies.

  "And you must read more, my dear sister," Joseph said, wagging a finger at me. "At least two hours a day."