‘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.
This placated the people for a time, but when the price of grain necessarily rose, they were more disgruntled than ever. They were more angry with what they considered ineffectual reforms than they had been with no reforms at all. During the winter, when the roads were blocked with snow, it was impossible to convey grain to Paris, and the price of bread rose. Threatened with starvation, the people looked for scapegoats, and they chose Turgot who, they said, was persuading the King to keep up the price of bread.
As a result there had been bread riots in several towns, and these reached alarming proportions in Villers-Cotterets, where men and women had begun to raid the markets.
What was more alarming still was the obvious fact that these riots were organised by agitators, for the grain which was taken from boats on the Oise was not put to any useful purpose, but thrown into the river.
When this news was brought to Versailles the King was deeply distressed. He could not bear to contemplate the sufferings of his people, and it was a hard blow to realise that he and his good minister Turgot were so grossly misunderstood.
So that morning Turgot and Maurepas, fearing that the riots would extend to Paris, and there be more violent than they had been in the provincial towns, had set out for the Capital, advising the King to spend the morning hunting, which would restore his jaded health, and give him new strength to deal with his problems.
Now as he rode out of the château he saw in the distance a crowd of ragged men and women; they carried sticks and they were shouting ‘A Versailles’. They looked very dangerous and, as he pulled up his horse to watch, he saw that they were emerging from the Saint-Germain road and making straight for the market.
The riot was, he guessed, to take the same form as those which had already occurred in Saint-Germain, Poissy, Saint-Denis and other places. The insurgents would break up the bakers’ shops, throw the grain and bread into the streets, and steal what they could.
For the first time in his life he realised that he was face to face with a situation which he must manage himself.
His ministers were already on the way to Paris, and he must thank God for that, for he could be sure that if there was trouble at Versailles there would be greater trouble in the Capital.