The boudoir of Élisabeth, France’s young Dauphine
The photo project is depicting one evening in the life of young Dauphine of France, Élisabeth; her emotions, experiences, inner circle and the brilliant surroundings that enveloped her.
Vincennes Forest: A golden sunset behind an old castle. A young girl in a white silk undergarments, with messy hair and barefoot, runs away from her chamberlain who is struggling to carry the heavy train of her gown she has just thrown on the floor. Her Royal Highness Elisabeth of France, who is eighteen years old, did not want to be queen. She didn’t even want to look at the throne. After her mother’s sudden tragic death, she became the Dauphine — heiress to the crown. And all she could think at that moment was: «How am I supposed to go out to Versailles now? No more late night outings for me from that point onwards!» Late evening. The table is littered with empty glasses, fruit scattered across the floor. Elisabeth’s friends laugh, someone writes poetry on the wall with red lipstick. They called it a «soirée.» But it was almost a rebellion against adult life. No decrees, no advisors. Just them be — silly, beautiful, rich, and free. Just for one night…or maybe the weekend…
Appointment of a new Minister of Amusements «Lizzy, you must choose a husband,» whispered a lady-in-waiting. «No way, I won’t get married until we appoint a new Minister of Amusements,» replied the princess, sipping her sparkling wine. «And I also need new shoes. Blue ones. That sparkle with vanity.»
Profound contemplation on what it is like to be the Queen of France The ballroom at Tuileries Palace. Champagne, laughter, music. Élisabeth’s melancholic copine sits on the piano, but her feet dangle like a child’s. In her eyes is a profound contemplation on what it is like to be the Queen of France.
Rebellion against adult life Late evening. The table is littered with empty glasses, fruit scattered across the floor. Elisabeth’s friends laugh, someone writes poetry on the wall with red lipstick. They called it a «soirée.» But it was almost a rebellion against adult life. No decrees, no advisors. Just them be — silly, beautiful, rich, and free. Just for one night…or maybe the weekend…
Let Elisabeth have the crown — for now Catherine, the younger half-sister of the Dauphine, regards Elisabeth with a smile as sweet as it is venomous — her heart brimming with envy, yet her spirit too lively to waste such a glorious evening on spite. No, dear Catherine has far more delightful plans: to empty every glass of champagne that dares cross her path, and to swing from the chandelier like a rebellious muse, basking in the roaring applause of the scandalized and delighted court. Let Elisabeth have the crown — for now.
Whispers of the court ladies’ romantic escapades Morning after the ball. Sunlight sneaks through the window. Élisabeth wakes up on a chaise lounge in the garden. Beside her — gloves, an overturned decanter, and a note: «We support Your Highness… but maybe tonight we’ll actually try to clean up?» Whispers of the court ladies’ romantic escapades from last night drift through the palace halls like smoke.
Lady Berlioz In the opulent music room of a grand French palace, a young woman perches atop a polished harpsichord, her legs swinging lightly as her fingers dance across the keys. She is brilliance incarnate — sharp-eyed, spirited, and utterly unbound by convention.Moonlight filters through tall windows, catching the lace at her throat and the rebellious glint in her gaze. Around her, powdered wigs turn in disapproval or delight; she plays not just for an audience, but to defy expectation. In an age of decorum and restraint, she chooses audacity — composing not just music, but a life off the page.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, Who’s the fairest? Spoiled heiress calls. Born to a noble French estate, Heiress to wealth, and rich in fate.
Her tresses curled, her bearing proud, A coquette bold, yet vainly loud. No crown doth grace her youthful brow, Yet silks and jewels bind her now.
She dances through the gilded halls, With idle dreams and courtly balls. Let matters of the realm befall— Her court is glass, her throne, the ball.
Mirror, mirror, speak thee true, Doth mortal beauty still hold sway? She turns with flair, dismisses dread: «So let it fade. I shine today.»
Mirror, mirror, answer still— What lies beyond the fleeting thrill? She vanishes with one last call: Mirror, mirror, who’s the fairest of them all?
With this enigmatic note, we part ways with the Dauphine of France, Élisabeth — her path shrouded in mystery, and her fate left to the whispers of time.
