erry with sleighing, skating and dancing
parties, and formal affairs in honor of foreign princes. "There is too
much etiquette here to live the family life," lamented the child to her
mother. "Altogether, the Court at Versailles is a little dull, the
formalities are so fatiguing. But I am happy, for Monsieur the Dauphin
is very polite to me and always attentive." In another letter she
recounted the triumph attending the first presentation of the opera
_Iphigenie_, by Gluck. "The Dauphin applauded everything and Gluck
showed himself very well pleased. . . . He has written me some pieces
that I sing to the harpsichord."

Several times a week, the awkward, bashful boy who was to become Louis
XVI of France pleased his light-hearted wife by taking dancing lessons
with her. Hours were spent with him in the park at Versailles, skipping
about, laughing, playing pranks like the little girl she was. Sometimes
there were charades, and plays by amateurs and professionals behind the
"closed doors" of their own rooms.

In 1774, four years after the marriage of Marie Antoinette to the
Dauphin, Louis XV was taken ill of smallpox during a sojourn at the
Little Trianon, and was removed to Versailles. Within a fortnight he was
dead, and a scandalous reign was ended. "The rush of the courtiers, with
a noise like thunder, as they hastened to pay homage to the new
sovereign," says a narrator of the Queen's story, "was the first
announcement of the great event to the young heir and his wife." The new
King had not yet reached his twentieth year. "God help and protect us!"
they both cried on their knees. "We are too young to reign!"

As Queen of France, Marie Antoinette occupied a series of superbly
appointed rooms in the left wing of the palace. Beyond a dark passageway
were her husband's apartments. Her bed-chamber was the scene of the
formal toilet, a ceremony always irksome to the youthful sovereign. In
this sumptuous room, where queens had borne kings-to-be, and had closed
their eyes forever upon a melancholy existence, she gave birth to four
children. The royal bed was raised on steps and surrounded by a gilt
balustrade; nearby was a gorgeously fitted dressing-table. There were
also armchairs, we are told, with down cushions, "tables for writing, and
two chests of drawers of elaborate workmanship. The curtains and
hangings were of rich but plain blue silk. The stools for those that had
the privilege of being seated i