Free Abundance: A Novel of Marie Antoinette (P.S.) by Sena Jeter Naslund

stately rooms, their doorways framing a seemingly infinite regress of other doorways. By entering the rooms more deeply, the Guards and the spaniels are lost from our sight.
    I hold the Dauphin’s hand more firmly.
    When I glance at his cheek and noble nose, my hand becomes warm and wet. In the backs of these public rooms, away from the windows beside which we walk, there are almost invisible small doors cut cunningly into the walls. These secret doors lead to other private rooms and secret staircases and hallways that form a labyrinth deep in the interior of the palace. The Empress has described that kingdom of hidden connections deep within the château and called it the Land of Intrigue, which I am to eschew, but I am curious and vow to go there someday.
    Led by the King, we walk and walk. Our shadows, thrown by candlelight, move with us as we pass along the edges of the public rooms, named for the gods of antiquity. At our left, sometimes my elbow brushes the closed curtains of the high windows. The curtains hang like the drooping wings of doleful archangels. Sometimes a puff of storm air causes them to stir. Once, I fancy I see the toe of a boot—a worn and muddy shoe such as a peasant might be grateful to wear—protruding from the hem of a curtain. Ahead, I can see that doors have been closed; this walking will end.
    We stop at an immense closed door, the one to our nuptial chamber.
    Now will come the ritual of the royal bedding.
    Here are no proxies. Here we play the roles of our own real selves. I myself must meet his expectations.
    There is the broad bed and the high embroidered canopy that roofs it. Inside this room, it is the King himself who hands the Dauphin his nightshirt; the Duchesse de Chartres, the most newly married of all the noble ladies, places my folded nightdress in my hands. The Dauphin and I, with our attendants, step behind two screens and are helped into our nightclothes. Perhaps my life is but a series of moments of disrobing and robing again for the task at hand. Perhaps all lives could be measured in such terms. For me, it is a long process, for I have many layers to be removed. I am grateful for the helping hands that move like small animals around my body, unhooking, untying, tugging, and sliding my garments away from me. I could not emerge from this brocade chrysalis by myself.
    When I stand naked, I feel as though I should ask them to shine and burnish my flesh so that I will gleam for him.
    The nightgown tickles my skin like butterflies.
    As has been orchestrated by our attendants, the Dauphin and I step shyly forward at the same instant from behind the screens.
    How fragile, almost naked we seem, draped like ghosts in loose gauze. In the midst of all the court finery of the others, we alone seem simple and natural.
    The bedcovers are pulled back, and the Archbishop of Rheims blesses the bed with holy water. I see water droplets spot and wet the bed linen here and there. Outside it is raining hard, and I think of the fireworks that lie dormant and are sadly wasted. The archbishop rapidly intones the Latin as the rain drones mournfully.
    Now the King offers his hand to the Dauphin to lead him forward, to mount the bed.
    And I wait my turn, standing in my simple nightgown, the lace knitted by nuns. In face and form , Sister Thérèse said, you are a perfect princess . I am helped into bed by the Duchesse de Chartres. Her hand is icy cold, and what has been the experience of her wedding night to leave such a chill? My mother spoke of rapture in one’s joyful pain. But this hand is one of fear.
    Have courage , my mother has instructed me, gently touching her own heart and then mine, as though to give some of what has been in her to me.
    I refuse the portion of fear that nature would hand me.
    No matter what happened in the nuptial bed of the Duchesse de Chartres, I will fill my heart with hope, but the duchesse is about my size—also slight and graceful—and for her, I feel pity.
    “I