It was the dress which makers called so bold
Tightly the flowers does she hold
Her thin painted lips quiver in fright
Shimmer does the light fabric into the night
A heavy grey wig sits upon her head
Her once beautiful face is dusted with lead
Necklaces of pearls are positioned with care
Gloves to the elbows, the lace to not tear
The black French mark under her nose
There are satin shoes squishing her toes
Her lungs are pressed; she can barely breathe
All she wants is for well-wishers to leave
She is sick of the people, gasping in joy
This era's beauty is worth no boy
But her mother would be so distressed
She has to do it so the family would be blessed
With this she takes a deep breath
And gathers the courage that she has left
The doors are opened to the massive kingdom hall
Nobles and ladies are dressed for the celebration ball
Holding up her chin, she begins to walk
The room erupts with gossipy talk
It hurts to hear the repeating of her name
Life as royal is just a cruel game
Chic Queen faces GuillotineAlluring and fashionable was Marie Antoinette,
Who played at being shepherdess and coquette.
But the Queen's clothes and games were expensive,
And the starving peasants, who paid, grew restive.
So, finally, in Revolution, rose France's citizenry,
And stripped pretty Marie of all her riches and finery.
France's once hot and "oh so chic" beauty Queen,
Met her fate by the cold blade of the guillotine.
Fall of Danton and DesmoulinsI wrote this short piece in honor of the 217th anniversary of the Thermidorian Reaction, when Maximilien and Augustin Robespierre were sent to execution. It's kind of silly, but I felt I should do something to remember them. I hope you like it.
The season was early spring, and even the heaviest shutters could not keep the brilliant Paris sunlight out of my brother's small flat. Maximilien had closed them tightly, preferring to work without the distractions of the Rue Saint-Honoré outside, but even he could not completely block out the world below. Persistent rays slipped between the wooden slats, accompanied by the warm fragrance of spring air. I savored the scent of young flowers and crisp grass, but I knew it would irritate my brother's allergies. Along with these aromas came muffled shouts from the street and the perpetual sawing and hammering of Maurice Duplay's carpentry shop. I snuck a quick glance at Maximilien, who was normally so sensitive to sound. Today he didn't seem t