Marie Antoinette: Secrets from the Grave

By Lorraine Blundell

Deadly secrets and fatal decisions, Marie Antoinette thought she took her secrets to the grave. She was wrong.

Was Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, executed during the French Revolution for her worst crime or was there another that would have shaken the very foundations of the monarchy if it had become known? What was it?

Colourful characters that filled Marie’s life spill from the novel’s pages. The royal perfumer, candle-maker, hairdresser, fashion stylist, painter, jeweller and even her pastry maker were all part of an extravagant, indulgent lifestyle.

Go with her from Austria to the stunning royal estate of Versailles with the fairy-tale Trianon. Continue on to the filthy degradation of the prisons of revolutionary Paris and the faded glory of the Tuileries Palace, and share the lives, hopes and fears of real prisoners awaiting death in the feared Conciergerie.

In the shadow of the guillotine stand other actors in this drama, Madame Tussaud maker of death masks, Charlotte Corday the Angel of Death, Marat, Robespierre and more. The gruesome tricoteuses knit as the heads drop and Sanson operates his Lady Guillotine. Discover the disgust of the stinking, overflowing graveyards and burial quarry which have now become part of the catacombs of Paris.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781728375137

Lorraine Blundell

Lorraine Blundell (Parsons) was born in Brisbane, Australia. She lives in Melbourne and has a daughter, Jenni, and a son, Steve. Lorraine graduated from the University of Queensland with a Bachelor of Arts Degree majoring in English and History. She holds a teaching qualification in Drama from Trinity College, London. She trained as a classical singer at the Queensland State Conservatorium of Music, Brisbane. Spanning that period she sang professionally on television as a solo vocalist, regularly performing on channels BTQ7 and QTQ9 Brisbane as well as nationally on HSV7 Melbourne. Lorraine is an experienced performer in amateur musical theatre productions. Her interests are singing, ancient history and archaeology.

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© 2022 Lorraine Blundell. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/06/2022

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7514-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7513-7 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

With Thanks

Dedication

Front Cover Design

Characters

Timeline

Part I

1 France

2 Austria

3 France

4

5

6

7 England

8 France

9

10

Part II

11

12

13

14

Part III

15

16

17

18 England

19

20 France

21

22

23

24

25

26 Austria

Part IV

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35 Austria

36 France

37 England

38

Part V A Glimpse into the Future

39 England

The Author

Historical Notes

Glossary

Reference Material

La Marseillaise

Book Club Discussion

WITH THANKS

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Thank you to my niece Michelle for your friendship, support and valuable editing assistance. As always, my gratitude goes to family members and my friend, Kate.

Professor Miles Prince

Doctor Harold Cashmore

DEDICATION

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With love to the two sweetest little girls in the world

Olive & Olivia

FRONT COVER DESIGN

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London Montgomery

CHARACTERS

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Marie Antoinette: Queen of France

Louis XV1: King of France

Louis Charles: Dauphin of France

Empress Maria-Theresa of Austria

William Pitt: British Prime Minister

Patrice: British spy *

Count Axel von Fersen: Swedish ambassador to the French court

Princess Elisabeth: Sister of Louis XV1

Princess Marie-Therese: Daughter of Marie & Louis

Marie Grosholtz (Tussaud): Curtius’ niece & wax modeler

Philippe Curtius: Wax modeler and showman

Marquis de Lafayette: French aristocrat

Jacques-Louis David: Painter

Monsieur Jean Fargeon: Perfumer to French Court

Monsieur Autier: Marie Antoinette’s hairdresser

Isabelle Cranmore: British friend to Marguerite

James Cranmore: Her brother *

Michel: Owner of Paris Stohrer Patisserie *

Marguerite: Michel’s daughter *

Marcel: Conciergerie supervisor *

Charles Sanson: Guillotine Operator

Maximilien Robespierre

Jean-Paul Marat: Swedish lawyer & journalist

Charlotte Corday: Marat’s assassin, the Angel of Death

The Tricoteuses: Knitting women

TIMELINE

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PART I

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There is nothing new except what has been forgotten

Marie Antoinette

1

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FRANCE

I was a queen, and you took away my crown, a wife and you

deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains…

Marie Antoinette

2nd August 1793

Paris

The Conciergerie Prison

The Banks of the Seine

T he huge, forbidding prison known as the Conciergerie on the Ile de la Cite appeared in front of them suddenly from the blackness of night as the widow Capet, the name by which Marie Antoinette was now known, approached her new place of internment. Its massive bulk stood on the banks of the river its gruesome reputation preceding all who entered.

Marie had been woken during the night and ordered to dress immediately as she was to leave the Temple prison, formerly a Templar fortress, where she was presently imprisoned with many others. There was rarely any companionship even occasionally amongst those suffering the probability of transfer on to a place awaiting execution.

‘Hurry up! We’re waiting, we have other prisoners to deal with,’ the gendarme snapped irritably.

‘I’m coming,’ Marie replied as she quickly gathered up her paltry possessions. She was wearing a ragged cotton and linen chemise once of good quality but now ragged and worn.

‘You must leave now.’

‘Please, surely this can be reconsidered,’ Marie pleaded, ‘my daughter will be grief stricken if I go.’

‘No! You must be transferred.’ The gendarme was adamant.

She looked up at him, shocked. ‘Is there no hope? My daughter is to remain at the Temple without me?’

‘Those are my orders.’

It was at that precise moment that Marie realised she was probably being taken to the Conciergerie. It would become her final place of imprisonment before she met her death. She was hurried down the stairs surrounded by gendarmes, almost falling as they shoved her along.

There was no help to be found anywhere although she was the Queen of France. Her shoes squelched water and were soon sodden.

‘Please, can we walk less quickly,’ she pleaded, ‘my shoes have filled with water.’

‘In a hurry to get there are you!’ one of the gendarmes sneered. ’We’ll be there soon enough you have my word, and the only way you’ll get out again is if you’re to die,’ he laughed as the others joined in.

Marie’s steps faltered as before long, she heard and smelled the stench of the river ahead. Crossing the bridge, she saw the hazy shape of the huge, infamous grey prison as they came closer through the rain and it loomed up before them.

Marie looked upwards fearfully at the Conciergerie.

She was led into a small office where her few possessions were checked in.

‘Jacques, the prisoner Capet is to be registered,’ the senior gendarme informed the decrepit old man who was sitting behind a desk covered with scattered papers. They waited until he’d written the name into a large book.

‘This one’s important isn’t she!’ he squinted up at Marie knowingly. ‘I’ve heard about her.’

‘Take care, old man,’ the gendarme warned. ‘Otherwise, you’ll find yourself visiting Madame Guillotine yourself if you allow unofficial visitors or enable her to escape,’ he warned, raising his weapon and pointing it at the old man who shrank back at the threat.

It was not unknown for Jacques to line his pocket with a bribe if a visitor wished to enter for only a short time without permission. Turning his back, he’d look away upon the payment of coins. He did, however, watch later to ensure that the visitor returned and left the prison alone.

Considering his lowly position, Jacques was able to live quite comfortably in a room nearby. It was shabby but clean and kept him off the city streets.

A bribe would not be possible, however, with an important prisoner such as the widow Capet.

Marie saw little more within the Conciergerie while walking along the prisoners’ passageway before reaching the cell she was ordered to enter. By the standards of other cells, this was larger and less dismal, more like a room, but a temporary dividing wall ran down the centre of it.

Marie would have little privacy.

‘This is your bed,’ one of the guards pointed to it. ‘The rest of the room has been divided to provide for use by two guards and a maid,’ she was told brusquely, ‘just in case you decide you’d like to leave us.’

‘I am to be allowed to have a maid, then?’

‘Yes, one, she’ll be sent to you.’

With no further explanation the guard departed and she was left alone. Tiredly, Marie sat down on the small bed and looked around her then, she tried to sleep through the remainder of the night. She cried as she thought of her daughter, Maria Theresa, left behind without her.

Marie finally slept and dreamed that she was back in the vast gardens of her home in Vienna. She was a child once more, running through one of the shaded paths to the side of the huge, open grassed lawn carefree and happy. Again, she glimpsed her favourite statue of Pan standing at the path’s entry, but couldn’t find her way out again to reach it. She searched frantically but felt caught in a maze.

For some reason this was important to her.

She began to panic and awoke saturated with sweat.

With the morning light came a few scraps of food and clean water and the welcome realisation that there was a side door in her prison cell which, when not locked, led out into a small courtyard with a small area of green grass where the women were permitted to do their washing. It was the only place where an occasional laugh was heard and they could walk a little.

There were a few bushes and a decorative fountain with a water spout against a side wall. This provided a place where it was possible to walk on the uneven paving stones and at least Marie could see the sky above and feel the fresh, cool air upon her face. These small benefits in life seemed so much more important to her now than they ever had before.

The courtyard’s enclosing walls were high, providing no opportunity for escape. Noises from the outside world sometimes intruded, emphasising her isolation and taunting her with her closeness to freedom, but she could see nothing beyond the wall. Now and again, she’d hear a child’s voice.

This place is where she would be permitted to meet with the few visitors who might be admitted for a short time to speak with her.

One was usually a priest.

‘Madame why do you crochet so much?’ the maid who’d been sent to her asked her curiously one day, as Marie scrounged for enough threads from a scrap of an old curtain screen to use.

‘There is nothing else to do and I think I will go mad without something. I cannot read all day,’ she replied.

She wondered if the scruffy old woman was a spy.

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The Conciergerie was a place of grime, darkness, disease and despair filled with a foul stink. The largest room had a high, vaulted ceiling and served as an armoury and dining hall for the guards. It was usually busy and noisy. The sound of their vulgar talk and laughter could dimly be heard throughout the prison.

On one side, up a well-trodden stairway were cramped, filthy prison cells with narrow, iron doors. These were known as oubliettes, ‘forgotten places’ where the poorest prisoners slept on filthy hay on the floor.

Strong black grills also separated other parts of the prison, adding to the claustrophobic atmosphere and by day and night prisoners could be heard screaming in despair. Those who could afford to pay for the pleasure, slept in slightly better cells with a bench and more clean, comfortable bedding, as well as a window with a grill set high up on one wall that allowed a little outside light to enter.

The feared dungeons below were never spoken of. Prisoners rarely returned from them alive.

The stench of disease was everywhere.

Early each morning the death carts could be heard rumbling over the paved laneway outside, with bodies of those who had died during the night to be disposed of at the pleasure of those who held ultimate power.

On other occasions, open tumbrils carried convicted prisoners to their executions. Those who saw or heard them felt a chill of fear as their remaining time began to run out like sand through an hourglass.

Many thousands of prisoners died at the Conciergerie from disease or through execution by guillotine during the bloody revolution. A lucky few were occasionally given a last-minute reprieve and released.

The stench of urine filled the air from beside the nearest wall to the exit, where even the most brave of those bound for death felt the need to relieve themselves, overcome with dread.

The stench would never leave.

This was to be the new home of prisoner number 208, the former glamorous, pleasure-loving Marie Antoinette, Queen of France. She remained there for ten months.

Versailles would quickly become a distant memory.

2

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AUSTRIA

I am terrified of being bored

Marie Antoinette

1770

Vienna

The Schonbrunn Palace

M aria Theresa, Empress of Austria, stood at her window looking up at the darkened sky. The blood moon hung huge above, which was certainly a rare occurrence especially as it was such an unusual colour. This somehow seemed appropriate, matching the events of that day.

Schonbrunn summer palace sat like a luscious caramel confection daintily poised atop the large estate. Its spacious rooms were filled with elegance and colour. Ceiling frescoes swirled with movement above and crimson and gold adorned the walls. The furnishings were exquisite, complimented by stunning chandeliers.

Of all Maria Theresa’s many children her daughter, Marie Antoinette, the youngest, was the one she’d sometimes struggled to understand. She’d felt a deep sadness as she’d watched the coach carrying her from sight that morning, heading for an island in the Rhine to be followed by a formal marriage at Versailles.

Maria Theresa wondered if Marie was too young, and without enough knowledge of the world she would be entering. She’d been a difficult child who was somewhat inflexible but nonetheless, full of vivacity and life.

The deed was done. There was no going back.

‘C’est la vie,’ Maria Theresa murmured softly.

She was a plain woman in appearance, stern and seemingly unapproachable, and she’d had little time to complete Marie’s education which was somewhat scanty, but she was a good wife and mother. She also had other children, certainly, but she would always miss this lively, free-spirited daughter.

Was she worrying unnecessarily? Perhaps.

Marie Antoinette’s marriage was one of political necessity. France and Austria were not natural allies even though an alliance had been formed. Somehow, a better relationship had to be forged with France to offset a political situation which was presently riddled with problems. There was no other way. It was hoped that in the years to come Marie would be able to influence her husband sufficiently to ensure peace.

This alliance with France was of extreme importance to Austria, if it worked.

Sighing, Maria Theresa moved away from the window. She loved this beautiful palace where she lived here in Vienna and the wonder of its immaculate gardens. Even so, she was not unaware of the stunning palace of Versailles which she knew was greatly superior. News of its splendour and extravagance had travelled far and wide.

Marie Antoinette had a love for life that many envied. She was young and reasonably attractive but not beautiful in the classic sense of the word.

The Austrian Queen’s daughter was also known to be wilful and somewhat frivolous. She’d been known to stamp her foot and throw a tantrum if not given her own way. It was to be hoped that these traits would not lead her into difficulties