August 30, 1788
We heard the rumblings about France all the way in Naples.
It started with whispers. People couldn’t feed themselves. The price of grain became more expensive than gold. The nobility refused to pay taxes, putting the burden to fund the country on the common man. Revolts broke out. All the while, the abuse of my sister grew louder.
It was an overcast morning when I sat with Acton, reviewing the slander against Antoinette and the deteriorating situation.
“What news do you have of Paris?” I asked as Acton sat with me at the table.
“The treasury is empty.”
I sipped at my espresso. “That’s something we were already aware of. They have been spending at a record pace, and the war that they funded in America certainly didn’t help.”
“The treasury suspended payments on the government’s debts.”
Setting my cup down with a loud clink, I looked to Acton in shock. “They are refusing to pay their debts? Can they do that?”
“Certainly. But it won’t make anyone happy. And, mark my words, it will cause more trouble. Loménie de Brienne, the finance minister, resigned. Jacques Necker will be returning.”
“Necker?” I broke a biscotto in half, bits of almond scattering across the plate. “My sister told me she hates him.”
“He is the only one who can potentially help the country, though, at this point, I am not sure how they will be able to rectify this situation.”
Pushing the bits of almond around, I asked the question that had been on my mind. “And the pamphlets?”
Acton sat back and crossed his arms. “They’ve gotten worse.”
“Was your contact in the court able to get any?”
“You don’t want to see them.”
“I believe I am capable of being my own judge.”
“Charlotte, what is the point?”
“I need to know what they are saying.”
“They are vile.”
“They are about my sister!”
With a resounding huff, he pulled a few out of his book, slapping the offending papers down on the table in between us. Staring up at me was a depiction of my sister—my little sister who I loved more than life itself—with her skirts raised and her genitalia displayed for the world to see. A snickering man was preparing for his turn with her. The pamphlet underneath wasn’t much different, only this one had a dog licking at her nether regions. I pushed them away.
My sister Amalia was right. This was all our mother’s doing—not caring about the welfare of her daughters, only the glory of Austria. Mother wasn’t here anymore, but her daughters had to survive in the web she created.
“I told you,” Acton said. “Does seeing that change anything?”
“No, but it tells me about my enemy.”
“We aren’t going to war with France.”
“Of course not,” I said, folding my hands in front of me. “But if anything happens to Antoinette, France will be made to suffer for it. These men are intimidated by any woman who exercises any liberty. From the moment my sister came into that country, they have hated her. Whether it was because she held opinions or because she was Austrian, they wanted her gone by any means possible.”
“If Necker has his way, he’ll be able to get the nobles to loan the state enough money to operate at least for a little bit.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we prepare for a diplomatic crisis.”
* * *
My nervousness over my sister’s well-being bled from me into every facet of my life at Caserta. The end of summer fetes in the gardens that we normally enjoyed were canceled. In the family parlor, I sulked over the latest literature that was being distributed about Antoinette.
“Luisa and I have made arrangements for us to visit the San Francesco Convent,” Theresa said from the chess table, where she and her sister sat quietly around the board.
“Tomorrow,” Luisa added.
“No, I have too much work to do,” I said, trying to dismiss them.
“Mother,” Theresa said, turning in her chair to look at me directly. “You have been working so hard that we are afraid you’ll end up in an early grave.” My daughter, newly sixteen, had all the confidence of an adult and the same stubbornness I had at her age.
“I agree,” Luisa began. “You always enjoy going on a tour of the convents. Particularly with Sorella Martina of the San Francesco Convent.”
“Very well,” I said, relenting, and the girls clapped in unison. “And make sure you invite my new lady, Emma, with us.”
“Already done,” Theresa said with a grin as she turned back to the chessboard.
The next day, our carriage bumped along the cobblestone roads toward the convent. Sitting next to me was Emma, pleased to be on this excursion with me and my daughters. The girls chattered as I watched my city roll by. The city I helped build.
When my father-in-law ruled the Two Sicilies, there were the Jesuits, an order of priests who were dedicated to science and health in addition to the soul. They had taken a special vow to the pope, but it came to light that these men, these stewards of men’s souls, were banking without the pope’s permission. They kept more for themselves than what they were giving to the church, at least that was what the pope said. As a result, the pope not only expelled them from Rome but encouraged Spain, France, Austria, and the Two Sicilies to do the same. King Carlos did as he was told, and for decades the buildings that once housed the Jesuits sat fallow. Until I became queen. The state took over the buildings, and they became the universities and hospitals that my people now enjoyed.
This convent we were going to had been confiscated from the priests and gifted to the sisters. In keeping with the tradition that my mother had, we utilized it as a haven for women to study science, literature, and philosophy. There were no priests or cardinals or male officials allowed. It was a place for women of both the noble and merchant classes to flourish without being molested by the men in their lives.
Built into the mountain, the convent had four stories, each one with a roof of green foliage that served as their gardens. Though the facade looked simple, the inside was filled with statues of the Virgin Mary and freshly painted walls displaying beautiful artwork, most of which was painted by the nuns themselves.
We were greeted by Sorella Martina and her retinue of nuns. The abbess’s thick lips broke into a wide smile that cut across her long face at the sight of us. “La Sua Maestà, we are so pleased to have you pay us a visit on this fine day.”
“I hope we do not put you in any indisposition.”
“For our patrone? Never.” She smiled again.
She led us to blue-tiled stairs that went up to a balcony overlooking the bay, with Mount Vesuvius in the distance. The bright Mediterranean sun cast slivers of light through the awning that covered us as ocean breezes caressed us and the fruit trees on the terraces nearby rustled. Theresa and Luisa stood at the edge, marveling at the city below us, a city now bursting with pride and commerce, while Emma and I took our place on green settees.
“We have prepared a small luncheon for you,” Sorella Martina said.
“Oh, we have already eaten. We couldn’t bother you for more food.”
“Nonsense,” she scolded. “What is a gathering of friends if there is no food? Even our Lord broke bread with his brethren.”
With that, trays of sliced turkey and vegetables and fruit were laid out on the small table in front of us. Even though I wasn’t hungry I didn’t want to be rude, so I took a slice of turkey, or at least what I thought was turkey. The meat wasn’t meat at all; it was made of ice. Breaking off a piece, I put it in my mouth, letting it melt around my tongue. “Is…is that apricot?”
“Yes!” the abbess said, clapping with delight. “Try the lettuce. It’s divine!”
Emma took a piece. “Why that’s lime! How refreshing.”
“Yes, our cook has been perfecting our flavored ices and expressing her gift for creativity through her food.”
“Please give her my compliments.” I took another bite of the iced turkey. “And the nuns, how are they?”
“Happy,” she said. “Our order has never been so prosperous. We are not only able to help our women but also the women in the surrounding neighborhood. We feed the hungry and use local skilled labor to make improvements on the building. This monastery takes excellent care of us, and in turn we will do all that we can to take care of her. And we never would have been able to do it without our beloved regina.”
I smiled as I broke up the apricot ice with my spoon.
“But I see that something is troubling you.” Sorella Martina raised her eyebrows as she regarded me. “Shall I venture a guess as to what the reason is?”
“My sister,” I said quietly, not looking up at her large green eyes.
“I have heard the whispers and the rumors. I don’t believe them, of course. Having personally met you I cannot believe that someone so important to you would be so wanton.”
“Thank you,” I said as a wave of relief washed over me.
Sorella Martina looked out over the Neapolitan harbor. “During times like these, I can’t help but think of the story of Ruth. How she refused to leave her sister, even though the world around her withered. Ruth said, ‘For wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people are my people.’” The abbess’s eyes swam with tears. “Even during the times of the Bible, we find that the devotion of women, of sisters, is a bond that is sacred, that can never truly be broken. Your devotion to your sister, your willingness to fight for her, is honorable. But, remember, she is not your only sister. Those of us here in Naples are your sisters as well. As you seek the safety for one sister, do not forget your sisters here.”
October 16, 1789
Charlotte,
I do not know what account has reached you in Naples, but I will share with you the events that transpired on that fateful day of October 5th. Please do not worry, I and my family are safe. We just had a bit of a fright.
The women of Paris rose up against us! Filling the courtyard, they spilled out beyond the palace fences. And their chants! To my dying day, they will haunt me. They didn’t just wish for me to no longer be the queen; they wanted me dead.
We spent the night debating what course of action would be best. Some thought we should quash the uprising with the army, while others pressed upon the king to listen to the demonstrators’ demands. Louis eventually chose an opinion and heard the grievances of a group of women. Since they wanted my head, I decided that it was best for me to not be there, but I passed them on my way to escape. I wanted to hate them, these creatures who sought my blood, but instead, I pitied them. Those poor, wretched souls, covered in filth; their gaunt eyes were more sad than angry.
Foolishly, we thought that was it, that the crowd would disperse. They had had their say, but it wasn’t enough. Not for the French. They are never satisfied, and I am always the villain in their narrative.
But it wasn’t until early the next morning that I realized the depths of the women’s wrath. My attendants were dressing me when we heard the commotion. It was Madame Auguié who first heard yells that were coming not from outside the palace, as they had been all night long, but from inside Versailles. She ran to the antechamber to see what was happening, but a guard stopped her. “Save the queen, madame,” he said. “They are coming to assassinate her!”
As my women and I fled for our safety, the only thought that crossed my mind was how ashamed our mother would be of me. Mother would never flee for her life. Her presence alone would force these people into submission. Like a frightened little girl, I took shelter in Louis’s chambers while yet again we decided what to do next. How horrible.
It was after all the chaos was over that we learned that the Duc d’Orléans had been in the crowd. The king’s cousin was there, dressed as one of the women. I swear to you, Sister, he may not be my executioner, but he will be the cause of my death. He has always hated me, and he had his eyes on the crown long before my arrival. So much of our present troubles are a result of his meddling. The family and I will be taking residence in Tuileries Palace under the protection of the citizens. I am happy my husband has finally made a decision, but I am concerned about this constitution they want to make him sign. If he signs this document, he would sign away all control, giving his power to the National Assembly. The monarchy would become nothing but a figurehead.
Your sister,
Antoinette