Date: November 1784
Place: The Petit Appartement of the Queen at Versailles
Ten minutes later, the Dauphin of France, Louis-Joseph-Xavier-François, just a little over three years old, set off hand in hand with his elder sister, Marie-Thérèse, known already at court as Madame Royale and intimately as mousseline la serieuse. She was nearly six, solemn beyond her years, though with the occasional spark of playfulness when she was not under the watchful eyes of governesses and attendants. On this morning, however, she was intent on her little brother, ensuring that he did not wander too close to the cold stone walls or trip over the heavy carpets that lined their way.
Their apartments, the Appartements des Enfants de France, were located on the ground floor of the central block of the palace, with windows looking out over the Cour de Marbre. To reach their mother's private rooms, they had to climb staircases, pass through long galleries echoing with footsteps and whispers, and weave among courtiers who gave perfunctory bows as they passed. Versailles was a city under one roof, a palace of glittering ceilings and endless corridors, but to the children it was a kind of home — immense, gilded, and never silent even when non-essentials nobles were barred from entry.
On this occasion, they were not surrounded by the full retinue that ordinarily followed the heirs of France. Their new governess, the Duchess of Polignac — elegant, gracious, and beloved by the Queen — had excused herself from accompanying them, for this visit was of a more intimate nature. Only a valet to open doors and a maidservant trailed discreetly behind. The maid,Camille, was one of the Dauphin's own choosing, or perhaps more accurately, one whose secret weakness for petty theft had once been uncovered by the precocious child. Since that discovery, she had been bound to his service with a loyalty tinged with fear, careful never to betray him.
Thus the little party advanced, their footsteps echoing on marble floors, until at last they reached the wing of the palace where the Queen kept her cherished private apartments.
At the entrance stood guards in ceremonial uniform, halberds glinting in the pale autumn light. As the children approached, the officer of the guard straightened and signaled. A court usher stepped forward, swung open the gilded doors, and announced in ringing tones:
"Madame Royale! Monseigneur le Dauphin!"
The words echoed in the antechamber, carrying through to the next room, where the Queen of France herself sat by a window overlooking the gardens.
Marie-Antoinette was twenty-nine years old that autumn. She had been Queen for ten years, yet still retained a youthfulness in her movements, a natural grace that no etiquette could smother. In her Petit Appartement, she shed the heavy trappings of ceremony. The room smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax, its walls adorned with soft tapestries and paintings chosen more for intimacy than grandeur. A small escritoire stood near the window, scattered with letters and music sheets. A harp gleamed in the corner.
As soon as she heard the announcement, she rose with a rustle of pale silk. A genuine smile lit her face, banishing the weariness that court life often pressed upon her. She opened her arms wide as the children entered.
"My treasures! Come to me!"
Marie-Thérèse dipped a small curtsey, trying hard to imitate the grace of her mother, though the movement was slightly stiff, childlike still. Louis-Joseph, less concerned with formality, darted forward with quick little steps and threw himself into her embrace. The Queen laughed, kissed his brow, and then bent to gather her daughter close as well. For a moment, protocol was forgotten. There was only a mother and her children.
Once they were seated together on a low sofa upholstered in pale rose damask, Marie-Antoinette looked from one to the other, her eyes full of warmth.
"Tell me, my darlings, what have you done this morning?"
Marie-Thérèse spoke first, her voice clear and deliberate: "We studied with the Abbé. He made us read aloud. And afterwards… my brother wanted to show me his microscope."
The Queen tilted her head in curiosity. " Microscope? And what mystery is this, Louis-Joseph? Have you been playing sorcery?"
The little boy straightened his back, trying to look older than his three years. "Not sorcery, maman. An experiment. With the sieur Parmentier."
His mother's laughter chimed like a bell. "Ah, just as I thought! Already you follow your father into his machines and his strange contraptions. Be cautious, my son —."
The Dauphin pressed his lips together, hiding a smile. He could not yet explain — not fully — that what he called "experiments" were no mere games, but something far greater. For now, he was content to let it remain his secret.
A knock at the door brought a servant carrying a tray of delicacies. Tiny cups of chocolate, steaming and fragrant, were set before the children, along with sugared fruits in crystal dishes. The Queen herself ensured that her children were served first, breaking the strict order of precedence that ruled the palace.
Marie-Antoinette turned to her daughter. "And how is your writing, Mousseline?" she asked, using the affectionate nickname she had given her.
The girl produced a little notebook from her pocket and handed it over proudly. The Queen examined the careful letters, traced in a neat though somewhat shaky hand, and nodded. "Very well indeed. You honor me, my daughter. You must continue — a steady hand is a queen's best jewel."
Then she looked to her son. "And you, Louis-Joseph? Have you remembered your prayers?"
The boy answered without hesitation, reciting a Pater Noster in a clear, earnest voice. He stumbled once, but quickly recovered. His mother clapped softly and kissed his cheek. "Bravo, my angel. You make me proud."