Not-a-Princess

So. I saw that very neat film Marie Antoinette made by Sofia Coppola. It was quite good. Sad, but in a good way. And, me, Queen Dork that I am, promptly went out and bought the book she based the film on.

Now, I'm not being Miss Fancypants here, but I know a bit about French history (have minored in history and studied French for 4 years in school) so I was pretty sure that I knew what I was getting into with Marie Antoinette.

Not so much.

Antonia Fisher's take on her is really interesting, and I (at least) have never encountered it before. Being a little girl, and having grown up in the U.S., I had a bit of the "Princess" fixation. As in, I wanted to be one. And not the crappy Disney variety, I wanted to be a real Princess. (In direct opposition to what I actually was, a peasant in a democratic country.) I thought if I was a Princess I would have everything I could ever imagine that I would want. Beautiful clothes, jewels, horses to ride, personal trainers to make me look good while riding said horses, a huge house with beautiful gardens etc. etc. etc.

What I have learned from reading Marie Antoinette: Sometimes it's good to be a peasant in a democratic country.

The poor woman was badly educated, if educated at all. She was bred to be auctioned off by her mother to the most powerful bidder. She was never taught to think, she was taught to please royalty and reproduce. That was her job. She was essentially a well-dressed horse. She was taught only those skills necessary to be beautiful and the result was that she was very beautiful and very alone. She had no friends. She was sent to France to be married to a boy, she was expected to understand politics and social customs when she could barely read and had never been exposed to politics.

(One moment please, I myself have no interest in politics, but that is because I am a well-educated cynic who firmly believes that all politicians sell their souls to the devil and have no interest whatsoever in representing the people foolish enough to elect them. And yes, I think this about very nearly all politicians, and no, I haven't voted in years.)

Here's my problem. I feel sorry for her. The woman can't have known what it feels like to be really loved for who you are and not what you represent. She can't possibly have known how gratifying it is to achieve something really great, because let's face it, she never did. She was a token pretty girl. She had the diamonds, the clothes, the homes, the prestige, but for all that, she really had nothing. She had children she wasn't allowed to raise, a husband who was not interested in her, no real friends only power-hungry courtiers. She lived this pointless life filled with Versailles and Paris and clothes and jewels and yet...

Sometimes it's better to be a peasant than a Princess.