The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette by Carolly Erickson

grew larger and larger. They shouted at Abbé Vermond and insisted that he bring out more loaves. He told me that it made him angry, and he shouted back, “Who am I, the Lord Jesus Himself, that I can multiply the loaves?” They jeered at him and called him a creature of the king, who wanted them all to starve so that he could take their lands.
    They spat at him and tore his clothes. As he hurried back to the safety of the palace, the villagers, now hundreds of them, took hold of the iron gates and tried to pull them down.
    Abbé Vermond is a mild man, highly intelligent and educated, completely unlike the gruff and irritable Father Kunibert. I have almost never seen Abbé Vermond angry. But he was angry tonight when he came to talk to me and pray with me for the souls of those who died today. He said that the villagers were ungrateful for all I did for them, and for the protection they enjoyed living so close to the great palace of Versailles.
    “Don’t they know that the king’s soldiers protect them from bandits, and keep marauders from destroying their crops? Doesn’t the king offer to take their sons into his army, and give their daughters work in his dairies and even in the palace itself? Why, the head gardener allows them to gather acorns inthe fall to feed their pigs and to help harvest chestnuts and apples and cherries.”
    “Count Mercy always says that the only thing the villagers know is that the king’s tax collectors take everything they have, and the king’s bakers charge them too much for their bread.”
    “Ignorant people despise their betters. They obey them, they are frightened of them, and deep down, they despise them.”
    We said our prayers for the dead. There were many who died, for the cannon had fired into the crowd of people as they milled in the outer courtyard and later the cavalry had ridden into their midst, the soldiers slashing at them right and left with their sharp swords. All afternoon carts came and went, loaded with bodies. Fresh sand was sprinkled in the courtyard to cover the blood. Tomorrow, Abbé Vermond told me, the gate will be repaired and soon there will be no signs left to show that anything at all went on today.
    There will be no signs, but I will remember.
    June 28, 1775
    How hot it is! I long to plunge into a cool lake wearing nothing but my chemise but I can never do that here. One afternoon Loulou and Yolande and I escaped to the Petit Trianon and ran in the fountains.
    July 11, 1775
    André has created a new hairstyle for the coronation. He has been practicing on my ladies, and this afternoon he tried it on me for the first time. He combed and fluffed my poor hair for half an hour, thickening it with paste, and then wrapped it over two thick horsehair pads and added more and morelengths of false hair until the whole elaborate tower was nearly two feet high. Miniature gold crowns with diamonds were braided into the strands so that they sparkled.
    The effect is beautiful but I can hardly turn my head and the pins that hold the whole tower together keep pricking my head. My scalp itches from all the pomade. Worst of all, I have to sleep in this Coronation Pouf until the ceremony itself, which is not for several weeks.
    July 29, 1775
    At last I am able to write about Louis’s wonderful coronation, which left me so tired that I have done almost nothing but sleep ever since.
    He dreaded it so much that for days before the ceremony he made himself sick by overeating. He drank camomile tea constantly to calm his nerves but still he couldn’t sleep. He kept me awake with his pacing.
    I thought he might disappear to his favorite place, his hut in the forest of Compiègne, so that he could avoid being crowned, but he was courageous and went through with the ceremony. I was very proud of him.
    He sat on the golden throne in the great Cathedral of Rheims and the archbishop put the crown on his head and everyone in the church shouted “May the king live forever!” and clapped