Abundance, A Novel of Marie Antionette by Sena Jeter Naslund

Author:Sena Jeter Naslund
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780061827402
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 2011-11-05T10:28:46.488000+00:00

With horror, I reread what I have written to the Empress. I am ashamed. Never before have I allowed such a tone of impertinence and irony in my letters to her, no matter how I chafed under her criticism or control. I do not give this nasty little note to the courier.

THE GÉNÉRALE IS TARDY! APRIL 1778

Who can I tell?

The Princesse de Lamballe would keep my secret; the Comtesse de Polignac would not. And somehow those two facts make it impossible to confide in either.

In the old days, I would have run to the chambers of my aunts; I would have sat among the three of them while they petted and flattered me as though I were their prettiest lapdog; I would have sipped a cup of hot chocolate, and over its gilded rim, my lips would have formed the words, with no fanfare: “I believe I may be pregnant.” Then their happy trio of exclamations! Their discreet questions bursting at the seams with eager excitement to know all there was to be known. But I am no longer their pet. When I am not with them, I never think of them.

This morning Rose Bertin, down on her knees, was measuring me around my hips. Suddenly she stopped, leaned closer to examine just which line marked the end of her measure. Then, with her thumb, she ran around the inside of the measuring tape to be sure it had not folded over or deviated in its path as it encircled my form. No, the tape made its usual smooth circuit. Just once she glanced up into my eyes. Was that a sad question I saw in her gaze? I said nothing.

“Perhaps the mere breadth of a line bigger this week,” Rose said quietly.

I said nothing, but I felt my posture grow more erect, and I lifted my chin. No doubt I looked a haughty queen—as those who do not know me have accused me of appearing to be—but I knew I lifted my head and stretched tall my body to better fit into my destiny. I am a Hapsburg fulfilling the role prepared for me as the mother of the Children of France. Perhaps.

I must not tell my own mother till I am sure. Have you seen the Générale Krottendorf? I might ask her, whimsically. She has not made her usual visit to Versailles this month. How the heart of the Empress would gallop at that question! But I will not cause her pulse to race for nothing. Too many times, I have expressed hope and had it come to naught.

No more riding, she would say to me now. No, indeed, I would reply.

But I have the urge to walk the grounds, to parade myself past the long line of statues and to encircle the fountains. I will take Elisabeth with me, my little sister whose devoted sweetness is as great as that of the Princesse de Lamballe, but who has much more sense, despite her youth. The formal paths

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