And although she could eventually forget her mother’s criticisms of her hair-styles and her defiance of conventions, there was one continual complaint coming from Vienna which she could not ignore.

It was very important, wrote the Empress, that there should be a Dauphin. Maria Theresa could only be contented when her daughter announced that happy event.

In the streets they were singing:‘Chacun se demande tout bas:


Le Roi peut-il? Ne peut-il pas?’

It was disconcerting to have one’s intimate life discussed and watched.

She knew that the servants of the bedchambers examined the sheets each morning with the utmost care, and she guessed that while they did so they hummed together that song which the people were singing in the streets.

It was more than disconcerting. It was heartbreaking.

She was relieved though when Conti at length returned to Court and treated her with the deference due to her.

‘That little trouble is over,’ she told the Princesse de Lamballe.

But she had much to learn yet.


* * *

Antoinette had tried to forget her longing for a child in the pleasure she derived from possessing her own little house. There she felt she could live like a simple lady who did not have to worry because she was childless. In the small house she would stay with a few of her friends and tell herself that there was a great deal to be enjoyed in a rustic existence. She would spend whole days there, arriving early in the morning and returning to Versailles in the late afternoon. The gardens were beginning to look very beautiful indeed. She was completing the English garden begun by Louis Quinze and Madame du Barry, with the help of Prince de Ligne who had created his own lovely garden at Bel Oeil.

Often he was with her and her ladies; endlessly they discussed the planting of flowers and what shape the flowerbeds should be.

On Sunday – that day when the people from Paris came to the Trianon to look at the Queen’s gardens – Antoinette, with some of her friends about her, including the Prince de Ligne, sat under the trees talking idly.

The people wandered by, and it was not at the flowers they looked but at the beautiful Queen who seemed more exquisite in her rustic garden than ever before. She was like a dainty shepherdess with her easy manners, her pleasant smile and that dazzlingly fair complexion.

The Queen’s eyes followed the children always. She would not have them disturbed even when they romped in the flowerbeds. ‘For they are happy,’ she said. ‘And it does me good to see happy children in my Petit Trianon.’

Now she was saying to the Prince de Ligne that she would like to build a little village about the Trianons – a model village with a few houses wherein would live families whom she would select; poor people who needed looking after because they could not make a living in the town, people who loved the country and sought the peaceful life. She would like to have her little village – un petit hameau – where everyone lived the perfect rustic existence.

‘Ah,’ said the Prince, ‘I know what has put this in your mind. You have heard of the plan which once so delighted Madame de Pompadour. She thought of it, talked of it, but never put it into practice.’

‘Yes, I have heard of that,’ admitted Antoinette. ‘She planned to dress as a milkmaid and keep cows in her little farm at Trianon. There must be some magic in this air which suggests such a plan. For, you see, it comes to me too that one could lead an ideal existence thus.’

‘The idea grew from a romance which was written by my friend de Boufflers,’ the Prince told her. ‘I remember it well. It was called Aline Reine de Golconde, and Aline was the queen of her village, and charming she was in her white petticoat and corselet. She so impressed Madame de Pompadour that that lady, seeking new experiences, decided she would like to exchange Versailles for a village, and be queen of that.’

‘And she never did it?’

‘No, the plan was not completed.’

‘Then mayhap I shall complete it one day.’

She was smiling, looking into the future. The Prince thought, she would build a world of romance to escape from reality. If she could but have a child she would be content.

And he was sorrowful, contemplating her, for he was secretly in love with her.

A small girl with a tousled curly head was pulling at her skirts.

‘Hello, Queen!’ she said.

The Prince rose in consternation, frowning as he looked about him for the mother or guardian of the child.

But Antoinette told him not to trouble. She took the child’s hand and said: ‘Hello, my dear.’

The child laughed and put out a finger to touch the silk of the Queen’s gown.

‘Pretty,’ said the child. She ran a grimy finger about the lace of the pocket.

‘Would you care to see what is in the pocket?’ asked the Queen.

Busy fingers explored. ‘Bonbons!’ cried the child.

‘Try them. I think you will like them.’

The little girl nodded.

Now her mother had appeared and was standing at some distance. The child had seen her and called: ‘Maman, the Queen gave me bonbons.’

‘Madame,’ cried the woman, advancing in dismay.

‘I pray you do not disturb yourself,’ said Antoinette. ‘I like the children to come and speak to me.’

Now others had heard the magic word, bonbons. They came running up and stood a little way off, wide-eyed, their mouths watering.

‘Come,’ said the Queen. ‘There are more bonbons here.’

And soon a group of children was about her, sucking the sweetmeats, looking at her with wondering and admiring eyes. She asked them questions, and they answered her without embarrassment. Little François had three brothers. He was going straight home to tell them about the pretty Queen who gave away bonbons. Little Marie admitted she had never tasted bonbons before. Susette would like to take some bonbons home to her brother who could not walk.

The Queen was touched, and there were tears in her eyes. And every Sunday after that she made sure that she had a good supply of bonbons for the children.

It was of course unseemly for a Queen to mingle with the people in the gardens; it was unqueenly to allow grubby little fingers to pull at her gown. This was not the way in which a Queen of France should conduct herself. Her enemies, watching her, declared that such behaviour was a further proof of légèréte.

Madame d’Artois, being pregnant, regarded her sister-in-law with only slightly veiled triumph, as though to say, See what a better Queen I should have made.

Madame de Provence, who could not flaunt pregnancy for the same reason that Antoinette could not, showed herself to the world as a model of decorum, so that people might say, That is how a Queen should behave. It is a great pity that Provence was not the eldest.

As for the aunts, they lost no opportunity of circulating gossip. If any man was seen talking to the Queen, Adelaide would demand of the others what that meant, in such tones as would express no doubt that she herself had very shrewd suspicions as to the answer to her question. Then the aunts would react in their different ways – Victoire growing excited and saying that such a frivolous Queen would wreck the kingdom, and Sophie shaking her head and murmuring ‘Poor Berry!’ and hastily correcting herself to ‘Poor Louis!’

So her sisters-in-law, her aunts and her enemies, headed by the Duc d’Aiguillon, deliberately misconstrued Antoinette’s love of children and her softheartedness into wickedness; and there were several people who never failed to refer to the Queen as I’Autrichienne.


* * *

It was a sunny May morning, but the King looked tired as, with a few of his friends, he descended the Escalier de Marbre and passed into the Cour Royal. He had been talking late into the night with Turgot, his Minister of Finances; and Turgot, with Maurepas, had just set out for Paris.

The King’s ministers had advised him to make use of the pleasant weather by riding out into the forest to hunt, for, they assured him, he could do no good by brooding in the château. A little relaxation, they persisted, and he would feel the better to deal with the nation’s pressing problems.

Louis was uneasy. He was realising now that all those doubts which had beset him at the beginning of his reign were by no means unfounded. It was one thing to have high ideals; it was quite another to carry them out. It seemed that his people expected him to make bricks without straw.

There was trouble all about him, for how could he repair the evils which had been accumulating over the years merely by his heartfelt wish to do so?

The people were asking for miracles, and he could only give them his word that he cared for them, that he wished to be their little father, that his great desire was to see a happy France.

That was all very well, but the people wanted more. They wanted relief from poverty; they wanted to see bread in the shops which they could afford to buy.

Turgot shared his King’s ideals, and the two worked in unison, but Turgot also was an idealist and not a practical man. It was simple, said Turgot, to reduce the price of bread by introducing free trade. He had not taken into consideration the fact that bad harvests could send up the price of corn, and that he needed better roads and a canal system to transport the grain.

The harvest of the preceding year had been unusually bad and, to counteract the growing unrest which this caused, Turgot put corn on the market from the King’s granaries at a reduced price.