A French Execution

It was dawn when they woke me up. Not the dawn with the cream-coloured sky and candy floss clouds. Not the fairy-tale dawn caressed by the mellow custard sunshine, nor the bright crisp chirping of exotic birds. The sky, painted khaki and flecked with dullness, seemed to have been the perfect setting for an apocalyptic period. Well, then again, I was in an apocalyptic situation. After all, the entire country wanted me dead, simply for having lived life to the fullest. 

I suppose I was living idyllically, unaware of the changing times. Unaware of the blood boiling in the veins of the country. People wanted change and I suppose I did hinder this change. But how can I be blamed? I was forced into an uncomfortable, awkward and lonely position that I had to make something of it. I had to brighten up my days, have fun, invite guests and create my own social revolution. I did bring change, but not the change the people wanted. Whereas I created my own social revolution and transformed the world of delicacies and fashion, the people constructed theirs only to kill me. I am innocent. I only wanted happiness in this world in which I succumbed to expectations. However, I made myself happy by using my power and wealth, but I suppose a woman is is alsways to blame in this world. Whose fault was it that I was married off? Mine. Whose fault was it that my husband was too awkward to sleep with me? Mine. Whose fault was it that consequently I could not have a child? Mine. No matter what I did, do and will do, it is my fault because I am a woman. A woman who must be responsible for all the wrong in the world and carry men's burden because they do not want to carry it themselves. 

They say I murdered the country. They say I murdered men, women and children. They say I murdered everything they owned. Why? Why am I to blame, to be executed, when the responsibility also lies upon my husband, my friends, my entourage, my society? Why, out of all of us nobles, am I considered devilish and sinful? If anything, I am the victim. I am a victim because I was stricken with so much burden, hate and disrespect. I am a victim because despite this, the world hates me, and despite this, I am responsible. I suppose it will be centuries before people feel empathy and love the underdog.

After they awoke me, stripped of dignity, wealth and power, the trial began. Whereas they had the world supporting them, I had my lawyers who were given a day to plead my case. They had decided my case before the trial, convinced I must be executed. 

Then, shoved around, they ordered me to prepare myself for my execution. If only they could kill me now. The unfairness of this world is too much to bear. The unfairness of being a woman is too much to bear. I was forced to change in front of my guards. Humiliated and naked, I was just a pale broken thing. With a plain white dress, they sheared my hair, stripped me of beauty and femininity. Hands bound behind my back, I became an empty vessel. I wasn't the devil, I wasn't unkind, I treated others with respect. I was a sweet person who, although lacking foresight, only wanted good. 

Unlike my husband, the culprit and coward, was given a carriage to ride in to his execution. Me? A simple open cart, under an ominous sky, where everyone could chant and humiliate me. Calling me names, I maintained my grace nonetheless, silent and poised. They may have stripped me of all my wealth, but I am, until the end, royalty.

Kind and loving, misunderstood and alone, my very last words were: "Monsieur, je vous demande excuse, je ne l’ai pas fait exprès."

Forever a Queen, forever myself, forever, Marie Antoinette.