Horrors of the Revolution
It was a dark, dark night that night. That fateful night. The night I discovered my power.
The power to see ghosts.
I was only 9 years old at the time, and had been sleeping soundly all night until a strange sound suddenly awakened me. Blinking, I sat up and lit the candle that stood beside my bed. In the dim light it threw out, I looked around. Everything seemed normal, but the atmosphere in the room sent chills down my spine.
"Show yourself!" I demanded, my unexplainable fear forcing me to speak in haughty, regal tones. "I, Princess Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte, Madame Royale of France, command it!"
To my horror, the lavish curtains at the foot of my bed began to be drawn back, slowly but surely, to reveal a corpse floating in mid air. The corpse of an infant – and not just any infant, but my baby sister, Princess Sophie Hélène Béatrix of France, who was currently sleeping sweetly in her crib in the nursery down the hall.
"Sophie? Sophie!" I screamed my sister's name over and over until I was hoarse, but nothing happened. The apparition merely hung there, shimmering in the pale light of the candle. Reaching out towards it, I slowly got out of bed, crossed the room, and put my hand on the infant's shoulder. My fingers met nothing but air. The corpse had melted away at my touch.
Within moments, I was out of the room and running. Running down the hall to my mother's room, where trembling and heedless of protocol, I scrambled into bed with her, huddling beneath the warmth of her coverlet, recounting my experience in a shaking whisper.
"Hush, Marie. Hush. It's all right. Sophie's sleeping, that's all. She's safe. You've just had a bad dream, that's all. Come, lie down and go to sleep." My mother reassured me. Lulled by the softness of her voice, I lay down beside her. Despite the fact that I could not shake off my deep sense of foreboding, my supernatural experience had worn me out, and I fell at once into an exhausted slumber.
A week later, Sophie was dead.
Maman and I never spoke of my experience again, though neither of us ever forgot it.
Outside the palace, the political situation got worse and worse, with the common people shouting against us – us, their Royal Family, who had been chosen by God. They insulted Maman, calling her "La Austrienne" which played on the words ostrich and bitch, whilst also making fun of her Austrian origins.
On 14 July 1789, just months before my 11th birthday, the common people stormed the Bastille Prison, because my father had dismissed one of his most popular ministers.
This was the mere start of what was to come.
I woke nightly now, crying aloud with fear. One night, I felt that chilling, oppressive atmosphere in my room again – the one I had felt the night I saw Sophie's corpse.
Shivering, I sat up, staring at my rich curtains, scarcely daring to watch as they gradually separated, inch by inch, to reveal the phantoms of two of my mother's dearest friends, the Comte d'Artois and Gabrielle de Polastron, Duchesse de Polignac, both of whom had fled France in fear of their lives just weeks before. Gaping, I waited; transfixed with fear, for whatever it was they wanted. Gabrielle eventually came forward, and placed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to suppress a shriek. Her hand was papery-white, thin as a leaf and icy cold.
"Marie, Your Highness, get out of France. Tell your Father to take you all and flee. Flee before you are caught. Flee before you are killed!"
"The violence will pass. Louis will become King of France, Maman said so. Papa too. They promised."I insisted weakly, but the Comte shook his head. "They cannot see the things we can see, Madame. That is why they made such a promise. A promise that will be broken, unless you leave – and leave soon."
"It may already be too late." Gabrielle murmured faintly, her already translucent skin blanching even further, as she glanced hurriedly at the Comte, before taking my face between her freezing hands and looking me boldly in the eye. "Please, Marie! Do what you can to save your family – your parents, your brother. Promise me you will at least try to persuade them to leave. Promise me."
Gabrielle's spirit was so plaintive, so desperate that I could not refuse it this one thing. "I promise." Gabrielle's ghost wept as it thanked me, and the other ghost, that of the Comte, drifted slowly forward, took up my trembling hand, brushed its frosty lips against it courteously, and bowed to me.
"Thank you, Princess Marie. May God go with you and keep you forever. Farewell." So saying, the two wraiths disappeared - to plague someone else, I hoped.
It was too late. Far too late. By noon the next day, we, the Royal Family, were being escorted under heavy guard to Paris, where we were installed in the Tulieries and placed under house arrest.
The next few months stretched into years, and all that time, we lived in perpetual fear, the fear that we would lose our lives, as Papa did on 21 January 1793, when he was cruelly beheaded by guillotine. Following his execution, my youngest brother, Louis-Charles, now Dauphin, since my other brother, Louis-Joseph, had died of Tuberculosis, was proclaimed King of France. However, he was snatched away from us, and suffered horribly at the hands of the revolutionaries. He was forced to accuse our beloved Maman of sexually abusing him, and of being a traitor to the people of France. She was executed on these charges two months later, and I was not even told, though I asked for news of her so often after she left us. I was only 15 years old.
After her death, I was left in the care of Papa's youngest sister, my aunt Elisabeth, though in reality we were both prisoners in the Temple. It was during this time that I had the last of my ghostly visits. Maman appeared to me, weeping and crying out my name.
"Marie, why did you not warn us this would happen? We could have fled. Why did you not say?"
"I tried! Maman, I tried! I was only a child; you would not listen to me or to my council, however much I pleaded!" I explained, sobbing angrily at the memory. All of a sudden, Papa's ghost materialized beside that of Maman.
"Hush, Maria. Not another word. Don't blame the child. She did what she could – we merely chose not to listen to her. Now we must pay the price."
"A high price to pay." Grumbled Maman's spirit, but it did keep quiet thereafter. Papa's spirit then turned to me.
"Do not weep, Marie, my daughter, for though we are gone, you will live. You will live through this reign of terror, and you will leave France. You will go to England with our distant family, and, when the time is right, you will marry – and what's more, you will marry well."
"How do you know, Papa?" I enquired, unable to keep a trace of doubt out of my voice, though God knows, I longed to believe what I was hearing with all my heart.
"I just do, daughter. Trust me. Now, our time here with you grows short, but remember this – we love you, Marie. We love you dearly, and we will watch over you as you grow older. Then, one day, God willing, we will come to fetch you, to bring you back to us." Papa's ghost bent and touched my warm forehead kindly, as he himself had done, so many times. It took all my self-control, all my training in royal behaviour, to stop myself from breaking down and crying.
"Papa -. Maman. Papa -. I whispered their names. Papa's phantom replied sympathetically, but there was an edge of bitterness and determination to its voice now. "In the meantime, remember who you are. You are Madame Royal of France and Navarre. Think of that. Do not be afraid of the rebels."
I bowed my head. "No, Papa."
"Good girl. Now, our time is up. Fare thee well, dearest daughter. Maria?" The wraith turned from me, held out his hand to Maman's spirit, and then they both faded away, leaving me once more. "Maman. Papa." I whispered their names to myself one last time, silent tears now coursing down my cheeks. Then I flung myself down, and sobbed as though my heart would break. I wept myself to sleep.
When I awoke, I went about my daily routine, but always with Papa's final instructions drumming in my ears. I have followed them all my life. I live safely in England now, as he said I would, and I have lost my power to see ghosts – they no longer appear to me - but I have never forgotten who I was born to be - Princess Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte, Madame Royale of France and Navarre! One day, after I am no longer needed in this world, I will ascend to the heavens, rejoin my family and reclaim my inheritance. I live for that day.