‘Why should you not be?’ demanded Antoinette.

‘There was never a King of France less like great Henri than myself.’

The depression touched him; it touched her then. Both were thinking of France’s greatest King – the libertine who had scattered his seed all over France, so that in villages and towns it was possible to recognise traces of the bold features.

And to this King, who could not even give his wife a child, the people were attributing the qualities of Henri Quatre.

‘There are times,’ said the King, ‘when I feel that the whole universe has fallen upon my shoulders.’


* * *

Everywhere were pictures of the new King and Queen. Whenever and wherever they appeared in public cheering crowds followed them.

They had taken up temporary residence in the Château de la Muette in the Bois de Boulogne, and the crowds remained outside the railings from early morning until late at night, chattering excitedly, talking of the end of the bad old days and the beginning of the good ones; demanding of each other whether it was not the pleasantest sight in the world to see this young pair together – she not yet nineteen, he not yet twenty – their new King and Queen. Two loving people to set an example to all married couples. How different from disgusting old Louis with his young girls, his Parc aux Cerfs, his de Pompadours and du Barrys to spend the public money.

Louis, full of ideals, determined to make the lot of his people happier than it had been under his grandfather, began by throwing open the gates of the Bois de Boulogne, so that the citizens of Paris could come and go at their will; and thus they saw the King and Queen constantly. They crowded about them, cheering and applauding.

The people now felt that they were closer to their new sovereigns. How different was young Louis from old Louis who remained at Versailles and never set foot in Paris if he could help it. He knew, the old villain, what his reception would be when he did, for the Parisians had never hidden their feelings.

One day Antoinette was riding in the Bois, and the King came out to meet her. The crowd, looking on, saw the lovely young girl dismount from her horse and, with charming grace, run towards her husband. Whereupon Louis laid his hands on her shoulders and before them all tenderly kissed his Queen. The people cheered; some wiped their eyes. ‘This,’ they cried, ‘is a lesson to us all. Now we shall see a new morality in France.’

Louis, seeing the pleasure his display of affection roused in his dear people, gave his Queen two more hearty kisses; and the people surrounded them as they went towards the Château de la Muette, and stood outside cheering for a long time.

Antoinette was deeply moved. She went straight to her room and wrote to her mother; for how pleasant it was to be able to record happy things, and how happy she was to be Queen. Gone were those misgivings which had come to her when Madame de Noailles had led the retinue which had come to kiss her hand immediately after the death of Louis Quinze. Now Queenship seemed a sunny prospect. The first thing she had done was to remove ‘Madame Etiquette’ from her place as gouvernante, for one of the joys of being a Queen was to dispense with such a familiar. Abbé de Vermond could no longer remind her that it was lesson-time.

She was Queen; she was grown-up; it was for her to give orders to others, not for them to order her life.

So, with the cheers of the people ringing in her ears, she sat down and wrote to her mother – gaily, enthusiastically, the letter of a young girl who was beginning to find life good.

Louis came to her while she was writing.

‘I am telling my mother how the people love us,’ she said to Louis who stood behind her; he put out a hand to touch her, but he did not do so. It was easier to show affection in the Bois de Boulogne under the admiring eyes of his subjects than when they were alone.

He rejoiced to see her happy; he felt in that moment that his disability as a husband was less of a tragedy than he had thought it, if she could be as happy as this.

‘Antoinette,’ he said, ‘it is the custom of the King of France to give his wife a house when she becomes a Queen.’

‘A house! You mean you are going to give me a house … a house of my very own?’

She had stood up, her blue eyes sparkling.

‘It is not a very big house, but it is a pleasant one. I speak of the Petit Trianon.’ Louis lifted his shoulders. ‘It is not a Queen’s house by any means, but I thought you would like to have it and there retire with a few friends when you feel the need for a little quiet.’

‘Louis,’ she cried, ‘I shall love my Petit Trianon. I want to go at once to see it.’

‘We could ride there together,’ suggested Louis.

‘Now, please, now. This very moment.’

Louis thought how childish she still was, and again he was conscious of the desire to please her.


* * *

How delighted she was with it – that little house hidden away from the world.

She ran from room to room, exclaiming with delight, seeing it as entirely hers, a dolls’ house in which she could shut herself away from the Court. All the furnishings seemed elegant, yet dainty compared with the glories of Versailles; this place had been designed for a love-nest, and so it was. The hangings were in pastel shades rather than deep reds and purples; everything was light and ornamental. The paintings on the walls were those of Jean Antoine Watteau; there was a rustic quietness brooding over the miniature palace so that it seemed impossible to believe that it was not very far from Versailles or Paris.

The gardens were full of delightful flowers, and the colour and perfume were intoxicating.

She stood with Louis at the windows and looked out on the stream which watered the grounds, at the beautiful English garden which Louis’ grandfather and du Barry had started to lay out and left unfinished.

‘I will finish the English garden,’ she cried. ‘I shall make of this place a retreat to which we can come when we need to be free from Versailles. Louis … Louis … I know I am going to be happy here. I will open the gardens to the people for one day each week. On Sundays, shall we say? They shall come in and see the flowers and enjoy it all, even as we shall. Why should they not have the pleasure of my gardens as they do of the Bois?’

Louis smiled his slow satisfied smile.

‘It will be such a pleasure to watch them,’ she prattled on. ‘The poor people of Paris who have only the streets to walk in, and who will never have seen flowers such as I shall grow in my gardens … The children will play on the grass … Oh, yes, most of all the children shall enjoy my gardens … ’

Louis had turned abruptly from her, and Antoinette’s happy smile faded. She should not have spoken of children. They were reminded of their state duties and the sadness which was theirs.

Into the bright and beautiful little house had crept a shadow, a premonition of impending tragedy.


* * *

Maria Theresa wrote to her daughter: ‘The prospect is great and beautiful. I flatter myself to see the reign so happy and glorious. The whole universe is in ecstasy. There is good cause for it. A King of twenty and a Queen of nineteen and all their actions full of humanity, generosity, prudence and the greatest judgement. Religion and morals which are so necessary in order to draw down the blessing of God and to keep a hold on the people, are not forgotten. In a word my heart is full of joy and I pray God He may preserve you for the good of your people, for the universe, for your family and for your old mother to whom you give new life. How I love the French at this moment. What resources there are in a nation that feels so vividly. One needs only wish them more constancy and less frivolity. By correcting their morals they will change that too.’

Antoinette showed the letter to Louis. He frowned over it. ‘So much is expected of us,’ he said.

‘We shall perform all and more than is expected of us.’

‘We shall do our best. I have heard so much of the injustices of my grandfather’s reign that I am determined to remedy that.’

‘Louis,’ said Antoinette, ‘the Duc de Choiseul was a great man in the reign of your grandfather.”

‘My grandfather dismissed him,’ said Louis.

‘But … was he wise to do so?’

Louis was looking at his wife suspiciously. He was thinking of all he had read concerning feminine rule and how the present state of France was doubtless due to the late King’s extravagances with his women.

‘I would never have him back,’ said the King stubbornly.

‘He is a good man,’ insisted Antoinette. ‘He arranged our marriage. I was always very fond of Monsieur de Choiseul.’

‘One does not choose ministers for their charm,’ admonished the King. ‘I will never use a minister who worked against my own father. He suppressed the Jesuits, and my father was their strongest supporter. When my father died there were some to say that Choiseul even had a hand in that.’

‘It is quite impossible,’ declared Antoinette.

‘I am not sure of that; but on one thing I have made up my mind. I will not have Choiseul in my ministry.’

Antoinette was sorrowful. She would have liked to do a good turn to Choiseul.

The King went on: ‘I am recalling Maurepas.’

‘Maurepas! Is he not the friend of Tante Adelaide?’

‘That may be so.’

Antoinette looked at him with surprise. He was allowing Adelaide to influence him.

‘It is not for that reason I have recalled him,’ said Louis promptly. ‘He is my Minister without Portfolio and President of the Council, because I consider him to be an able man. I have decided to dismiss the old Cabinet with the exception of Maurepas’ brother-in-law, de la Vrillière. I have decided to dismiss the Chancellor and Terray, because the people dislike both of them so much. I am making Turgot Comptroller of General Finances, and this will delight the people.’