Written Slander, Spoken Libel

It was a pleasant afternoon, and the mid-July air held a certain essence; fueled no doubtingly by the garden of anemones directly below. Seated at an exclusive table upon one of Versailles' most elegant verandas, whenever I glanced over my shoulder, I instantly fell prey to it's breathtaking view.

As I finished the last of my tea, the young woman adjacent to my table-setting spread molasses onto a biscuit; so far, she had been careful enough to avoid any of the goo dripping onto her red chiffon dress. Of course, the young woman wasn't just any haughty aristocrat. And I wasn't attending just any late afternoon tea-party. She was Marie Antoinette; the Queen of France; and I had somehow managed to infiltrate her tightly knit social circle.

“So, your majesty, have you commissioned any portraits as of lately?” Removing the napkin from her lap, she dabbed her lips, and as the Queen placed the cloth down; her head nodded. “Yes, in fact. Madame Élisabeth-Louise Vigée Le Brun had visited Versailles recently; and the picturesque weather led to me posing for one of her paintings. When it's done, perhaps you'd like to come see it?” Straightening my posture, I inwardly embraced the fact that the Queen had directly addressed me. “Of course,” I responded, with a slight quiver.

“Your dress, did Rose Bertin design it?” The Queen inquired, as she examined it's embroidery. Again, I found myself stunned by her majesty's mere voice. “Of course; anything lesser would be a fashion faux pas.” Placing her tea-cup on its saucer, the Queen's lips formed a smile. “Would you like to meet her; Rose Bertin?” It's no secret that Marie Antoinette has the fashion designer on the court's payroll; but at the time, I wasn't aware Madame Bertin was literally the beck and call of the Queen. “It would be an honor. Perhaps she'll demonstrate how she makes her signature hair 'pouf'.” “Don't worry,” spoke the Princess of Lamballe, Marie-Louise, “I'm sure she'll make your hair look gorgeous.” Even though Marie-Louise's comment seemed to be sincere, as I ran a finger through my own mundane tresses, I couldn't help but feel even more inferior to the Queen and her clique of haughty socialites.

“Did you hear the latest rumeur?” Quipped Gabrielle de Polastron, the undisputed right-hand 'lady' to the Queen. “If it's about one of my so-called 'affairs' then please, pass. I'm not going to let the libel spewed out by the illegal presses get the best of me,” the Queen spoke with an uncharacteristic monotony in her tone. “Oh, please,” Gabrielle responded, while placing another pastry on her plate, “those pamphlets are so faux pas. Written by bourgeoisie unsatisfied with their own, perpetual lives; they must supplement their unhappiness by corrupting ours.” As the Queen poured something into her tea, that something being a liquor, her head shook with disdain. “Sometimes I just want to storm into one one of those Paris salons and give the conspirators a piece of my mind,” Marie-Louise added. “We need more legitimate members of the press, like Madame Fairchild,” the Queen complimented. Now if only my editor had the same idea... “I gratefully thank you, my Queen,” I stuttered in response.

“You work for the papers?” Asked Gabrielle, her eyes widened with astonishment. “Yes, my husband and I. Of course, nothing political. Just the latest court society news; who married whom, upcoming debentures, and so on.” Marie-Louise snickered. “And here I was, thinking you were a Countess.” Picking up her tea-spoon, Gabrielle stirred honey into her tea. “Shall I reveal my gossip? I wouldn't want it to end up on the cover of 'Gazette de France', now would I?” Gabrielle sneered, while raising the teacup to her lips. “Go on,” the Queen incited, “perhaps it will be good enough to censor.” Putting down her teacup, Gabrielle complied. “Apparently, Madame Du Barry has returned to her promiscuous ways. This time, she's been consorting with Louis Hercule Timolon de Cossé, the Duke of Brissac.” Looking around the table, the Queen and her friends seemed to be abashed; while I remained stoic. If that is what the Queen considers breath-taking considered news, then I guess her solution to the bread riots really is cake. “Shall the Duke be banned from Versailles?” Marie-Louise inquired. “No, his family is far too prominent; though I can snuff him from a few upcoming events,” the Queen answered.

“You must really dislike Du Barry,” I stated almost unconsciously. “With a passion,” the Queen replied with a devious smirk. “Back when I was Dauphine, she made my court-life quite unbearable. Of course, once the King was at his deathbed, it goodbye for her. I've made sure that she will never set foot near Versailles again.” Cutting herself a slither of cake, the Queen reached out for a silver fork. “Perhaps the illegal presses should be writing about Du Barry,” Marie-Louis jested. “Agreed,” Gabrielle added. I kept my mouth shout; because even though Du Barry was a far from virtuous woman, she was someone a déclasse like myself could look up to. Rising up to become such a prominent figure, despite the rigid class structure. You can say I admire her. Sighing with dejection, I took one last biscuit, and ate it slowly.

By the time the Queen's tea-party had ended, I had realized something. Versailles' court is like a perpetual daydream. So far removed from the problems of France, it's only natural for the Queen to think ignorance is bliss. But perhaps the enlightened individuals, who meet in salons simply to discuss our failing government, have the right idea. Change is in the air, and it won't be a slice of cake.

The title is purposely wrong...(Slander is spoken, Libel is written)

I wrote this for a school project...got an 85