Born into the lap of luxury and a time of turmoil, Duchesse Eleonore Vigneron experiences her coming of age in the Court of Louis XVI . Embroiled in the chaos that surrounds Versailles, Eleni uses her unique blend of wit, charm, and beauty to ensure...
"May a man live well-enough and long-enough, to leave many joyful widows behind him."- Roman Payne, "Cities And Countries"
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19 décembre 1795 Firenze, Italie
Dearest Journal-Friend,
Today is a day of great joy in a life that has brought me little. Last night, la Madame Royale Marie-Thérèse was given her freedom. She is seventeen years of age now, only a small bit younger than me and so I feel as if I can understand her. People say that when she was told of the fate of her family, she wept and cried so hysterically that she collapsed to the ground and could not walk. Maman would not have approved, even if to some, she is now the honourable Reine de France. She survived only because she agreed never to seek such a title. Like me, she is to be handed off in marriage to a nobleman who supported le diable Robespierre and his people. At least, she will be given to one who pretends to do so.
I feel pity and sadness for her. She is the only one left and that only because of her age and usefulness as a bargaining chip. They murdered her family as they murdered mine and now she shall be condemned to the same fate. Madame Royale is a pious and intelligent girl, not any great beauty but with the same lovely blue eyes as her Maman--and mine, too.
My eyes, they are darker and more intense, blue like a roaring ocean. Perhaps it is because I do not fall to the the ground and weep and cry. The last I did, it is the last ever. Now, I do not feel sadness. I feel anger.
I wish to tell Madame Royale, if I could, the only reason we survived when no one else did is because we are useful. Men should never admit this. Instead, they should say they took pity and mercy on innocent young women. This is not so. There was no pity, no mercy. They took our families, our homes, our children, our titles, even our honour because we are of the age where we are too young for power and old enough to be bartered for power.
They need the next generation of those who will give birth to sons brought up to believe it is a sin to claim their rightful names, lands, and titles. Now that we have nothing, we are given survival as a reward for cooperation.
My brother Michel still lives because he too is le diable, a turncoat who should sell his own soul for his money and his life. He renounces our family name and title, calls our parents traitors, pretends to believe we all deserve our fates--even me, though I had so little choice in mine. I was simply the sacrifice he made.
No one told me what marriage was. I had to put on a pretense of innocence to satisfy my husband on our wedding night, and yet I was so much more innocent than I was led to believe. I do not know how men can look distinguished and yet be filled with depravity. I prayed for a husband who should be old and impotent and ignore me, and that he mostly does. Yet, he demands children. When his body does not react as it should, he beats me, ties me to things, sometimes makes it so there is an exec utioner's mask upon my face. It is only this and not beauty or desire that pleases him. I have learned that if I scream and plead, it is all over faster.
