"There is no reason why a woman should be exposed to people's eyes like that!" Oscar irritatedly stated, dark in the face.
After what had felt like an endless and indefinite amount of time standing in the corner of an overcrowded Roccoco room, the Commander of the Royal Guard was finally free to go home and breath. Her head was aching in a constant pulsation at the temples, like every time she wasn't comfortable in a situation and she was immersed in acrid smells - even stronger than the usual one fluttering around the Palace. With a deep sigh, she welcomed the cold air of December that blew on her face once they reached the hallway to the external stairs.
"She's not an ordinary woman, you know that." André tried to explain fixing his left glove, "She's the Queen of France."
His friend turned to him. Her eyes widened in an outraged expression he knew too well to ignore what to expect from it. "She is still a woman who has just given birth to her first child in front of the whole court." she said in a firm tone.
The young woman sounded more resolute than ever. The only time people should witness somebody else in physical pain is the one where they can help them. Otherwise, it's pure and simple cruelty. She had lived by these words ever since she was born and now more than ever she believed in them.
Oscar didn't want to be there, but her role had forced her. As Commander of the Royal Guard and royal confidant, she had to be in the room since Her Majesty had gone into labour. But as a person herself, the idea of watching someone suffer, unable to do something to relieve their pain, left her breathless.
At the beginning there were more or less five people – including her, the doctor and the midwife. But then the King obviously rushed to his wife's side and officially opened the door to the whole court. The same procession – organized by the royal protocol – that took place every morning when the sovereigns woke up. Noble person after noble person, everyone had the right to come in, place in front of the bed and wait, comment and witness the great event. In hope for the baby to be a boy, ça va sans dire. They all wanted the best view, elbowing each other to make some room for themselves and forgetting there was a woman, covered in sweat and fatigue, that needed the same air they were consuming without even opening the windows behind their backs. It is December, it is freezing outside!
Foutredieu.
The very first thing Oscar had felt when the situation had gotten serious, was surprise. Unbelievably, she found herself empathizing with Her Majesty and the constant awarness of being forced to stay there doing nothing to prevent her from suffering that much was frustrating. Then, a weird sensation overwhelmed her like a giant wave in the middle of the sea. There was enough time to try to rationalise and understand it.
The cries the Queen was venting away her pain with crept in her mind and exploded even louder. The Commander was leaning her back on the door frame, her arms crossed and her eyes looking down at the floor in front of the tip of her boots. From time to time she raised them and studied the scene: the Queen was laying on her bed delivering... the perfect show to end it the best way. That was it. Tout cela, Madame, c'est Versailles.
Yet, when the glimpse of the blood-stained sheets caught her attention, the urge to run away from there had unexpectedly hit her. Even though she had seen blood and witnessed or experienced many different kinds of pain since she was a teenager, there was something different about this time. All of a sudden, as if a thunder had crossed the night sky, the young woman had heard her inner voice channelling those unknown feelings into a proper realisation. Her Majesty's labor was forcing Oscar to face the truth. She had shaken her head each and every time the thought had occurred, careful not to be seen even though nobody was really into her for once.
"I swear to God I have never seen so much sadistic instinct collected in one room..." she went on as the marble stairs began to feel a little slippery under their feet.
Andre couldn't help but chuckle. Since when did she use that term? And where did she even learn it? Did this mean Marquis De Sade's works were secretly (and illegally) in her library? Such an indecency!
Oscar immediately got what he meant and froze him with her big blue eyes, as the back of her hand hit his arm and her attendant rubbed the spot pretending to be hurt. Nothing in this world could irritate her more than him playing with fire when she was already mad.
"Anyway, as cruel as it is – and I imagine it really is – " he tried to restore the conversation, "there is nothing you can do about it. Her Majesty has to give birth in front of everyone because her children are, first of all, children of France."
The indisposed Commander had to admit he was right. The Queen could have spent the last nine months bearing the Dauphin, and even the actual birth of Madame Royale was an important proof the sovereigns were fulfilling their duties.
Yet there was something horrorful about it and she couldn't help but even feel guilty for taking part in such a humiliating event.
Humiliating. She thought the sight of a woman uncomfortably busy with the most difficult, exhausting and delicate experience of her life in front of an audience was the epitome of female humiliation. The memory of Nanny telling one of her older sisters birth was something special and happy resurfaced in her mind. But what she was forced to witness was neither of the two. It was painful to watch: someone was laying on a bed of sweat, bleeding in front of people – unsatisfied by the amount of time she was taking.
"The audacity! The audacity they had commenting on everything!" Oscar kept saying without giving him the chance to reply. Words flowed out of her mouth like an untamed river, it was the only occasion she could let them out. "They sounded like they could do better – even men! How dared they?!"
Andre hid a little laughter. His friend now sounded exactly like any woman he had overheard talking about the exact same topic. He was sure there were men showing off their birth skills in front of a woman who was actually giving birth, there was no need to tell him.
There was something infinitely tender about her both expressing concern for the Queen and unwillingly showing her own female side. Maybe she was really making peace with her nature and this, the fact she was defending another woman's right not to be exposed during such a delicate, exclusively female experience, was her subtle way to accept that she too was a woman.
"At some point, I prayed people would come in just to open the door and catch some air. The atmosphere was suffocating..." Oscar concluded as they stepped down the stairs and walked to the stables.
Andre sensed the upcoming breakdown of her already bad mood and kept quiet. Every single person they met on their way to the horses talked about the royal birth and the disappointment of the baby being a girl. Madame Royale had already something in common with his friend, he mentally commented. Some people, far from them but not enough not to be heard, even dared the forbidden allegation: who knows if His Majesty is the father? It could even be the child of...
The blonde Commander abruptly turned to them in a rush of outrage. She was ready to fight them to restore the Queen's reputation, but her attendant prevented her from doing whatever had crossed her mind. For the umpteenth time in their life.
"Keep calm." he hissed and stared firmly at her deep blue eyes.
"Didn't you hear them? That was utterly disrespectful, I'm tired of this."
"You are tired. Period." Andre stated and grabbed her arm to turn her and take her back to their path.
Oscar nodded, but she kept eye contact with those people until the very last moment. She walked fiercely with her fists tight along the sides, breathing nervously as people passed by the two and wonderes whatever was happening to her.
When they were finally alone and secluded enough, Andre stopped in front of her. His friend stared at him confused. She just wanted to go home and leave that long messy day at Versailles behind her back.
"It's ok, Oscar." he gently said. "You are mad now, but—"
"This whole thing..." she interrupted him in a low tired tone, "I wasn't expecting it to..." but words didn't want to take their way out. She didn't want to expose herself, to verbalize and listen to her own voice saying those things, but they were there and they pushed inside her chest to come out.
"There is nothing wrong with empathize with Her Majesty's experience." Her friend was talking slowly, a nice little smile on his lips, showing her comprehension.
How come that he could read her mind and her heart every damn time she was not in the mood for anything?
"I'm going out tonight, will you come with me?"
Oscar nodded.
As they left the Palace, they silently rode their horses inhaling the cold air of December hitting their faces. There was so much going on inside them that words would be useless and pointless. From time to time Andre turned to her and look at her. Her severe expression spoke for her and he was the only person able to understand. Being slapped in the face by your own nature must be hard to tolerate. You're strong, Oscar, and I'm here for you when you're feeling down.