I learned that I am going to be French today. I guess you think congratulations are in order. I suppose . I mean, you probably think I’m the luckiest girl in the world. When you’re an archduchess -of The HOLY ROMAN FREAKING EMPIRE- no less, it’s pretty much a given that you’ll get a decent marriage. Especially when your mama is a bombass Empress who has no idea how to be anything less than fantastic. Throw in a king who is not playing by mama’s rules ( King George III of England )and the youngest daughter(me) who needs a powerful alliance (aka marriage) and voila … you have a new home in the most important, elegant and notoriously extravagant court in all Europe. France.
I’m not really a fan of politics or alliances or anything that has no fun in it but I hear that Mama hates the French. So why did she ship me in her words “straight to the lion’s den ?” To France -a land of the most wicked king in the world?
Well, simply put it it’s that my mama hates the English even more than she hates the French king, a pompous prig whose name is Louis XV who in turn hates old George III as well so there you go -and, it’s the only logical solution. The enemies of your enemies are your friends. I think that’s how it goes. But I’m not really sure what it means other than that I am going to France.
What could possibly go wrong?
Absolutely everything. I’m 13 and 41 minutes old, to be exact and I’m exactly what I’m supposed to be. Young, frivolous and carefree. I love dogs and dancing.
Who am I, you ask?
Oops, you mean I didn’t properly introduce myself? My name is Maria Antonia Josepha but you can call me Marie Antoinette.