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Authors: Carolly Erickson
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symbolizing her arrival in France.
A week later, on the evening of May 14, Antoinette finally met the dauphin Louis, at the Pont de Berne on the outskirts of the forest of Compiegne. It was a setting calculated to make Louis as comfortable as possible, on the verge of the great forest near the
tall oaks and chestnuts that provided his favorite refuge. Nonetheless he was extremely ill at ease, uncomfortable in the ornate waistcoat and breeches, fine linen and lace that were so far from the rough clothes he customarily wore, nervous in the presence of his disdainful grandfather, uncomfortable at being the center of attention.
The sight that greeted him when Antoinette stepped down from her berlin must have made him blink his weak eyes in surprise: she was petite, blond, and every bit as pretty as his grandfather's ministers had said she would be. She was also gentle and amiable, with a wide-eyed, innocent friendliness that made him relax ever so slightly, though he maintained his outward reticence.
For her part, Antoinette gazed at the heavy and gawky youth whom she expected to marry and took pity on him. She saw at once how timid he was, and was not put off by his extreme detachment or by his brusque speech. He aroused her sympathy, the fear in his large eyes touched her. He was not really bad-looking, and would seem a good deal more presentable if he stood up straight and didn't shamble when he walked. He was untamed, but perhaps not untamable.
Any rapport she might have tried to establish with Louis was interrupted by the multitude of introductions and ceremonies the occasion called for. Antoinette abased herself before the King, who pulled his bow lips back in a smile and helped her up, muttering that she was charming. At fifty-nine Louis XV was still a very handsome man, with piercing black eyes, a Roman nose and a regal bearing. To Antoinette he must have seemed ancient, but others, visitors to the French court from England, found in him "the remains of a manly beautifulness" despite his advanced age and round shoulders. He was certainly a connoisseur of beautiful women, and though his taste did not run to ingenues, no doubt he saw at a glance that the young girl his chief minister Choiseul had chosen to be dauphine would grow into a very handsome woman indeed.
Louis had reigned for more than fifty years, but as a vapid figurehead. Choiseul, who knew him better than anyone, confided in his memoirs published after the King's death that he had heard his master refer to himself as "inconsequence personified," and add that he would not be surprised to discover that he was in-sane.2 Overbred, overindulged, King since the age of five, this
S4 CAROLLYERICKSON
great-grandson of the Sun King Louis XIV had no real idea of who or what he was—beneath his carapace of regality—and had long since ceased to care. He knew, for his tutors had taught him, that being King, he was altogether different from ordinary men. He believed himself to be a "chosen vessel" of the Almighty, with the divine mission to protect the Catholic religion. And he believed (which belief did nothing to strengthen his character) that because he was a "direct emanation from providence," God would not punish him for his transgressions by sending him to hell, no matter how egregiously he sinned. Knowing that he could sin with impunity, he sinned—yet sin did not provide him with a sufficient means of defining himself.
"The King's character," Choiseul once wrote, "resembled soft wax, on which the most dissimilar objects can be temporarily traced."^ His excessive malleability would have been unsettling in a private person; in a ruler it was disastrous. Vulnerable to becoming the prey of faction, the King fortunately had Choiseul to rely on—though Choiseul, naturally enough, headed a faction of his own. The chief minister did the King's work, sitting at a desk in a small room adjacent to his master's bedroom at Versailles. Whatever Choiseul recommended.
A week later, on the evening of May 14, Antoinette finally met the dauphin Louis, at the Pont de Berne on the outskirts of the forest of Compiegne. It was a setting calculated to make Louis as comfortable as possible, on the verge of the great forest near the
tall oaks and chestnuts that provided his favorite refuge. Nonetheless he was extremely ill at ease, uncomfortable in the ornate waistcoat and breeches, fine linen and lace that were so far from the rough clothes he customarily wore, nervous in the presence of his disdainful grandfather, uncomfortable at being the center of attention.
The sight that greeted him when Antoinette stepped down from her berlin must have made him blink his weak eyes in surprise: she was petite, blond, and every bit as pretty as his grandfather's ministers had said she would be. She was also gentle and amiable, with a wide-eyed, innocent friendliness that made him relax ever so slightly, though he maintained his outward reticence.
For her part, Antoinette gazed at the heavy and gawky youth whom she expected to marry and took pity on him. She saw at once how timid he was, and was not put off by his extreme detachment or by his brusque speech. He aroused her sympathy, the fear in his large eyes touched her. He was not really bad-looking, and would seem a good deal more presentable if he stood up straight and didn't shamble when he walked. He was untamed, but perhaps not untamable.
Any rapport she might have tried to establish with Louis was interrupted by the multitude of introductions and ceremonies the occasion called for. Antoinette abased herself before the King, who pulled his bow lips back in a smile and helped her up, muttering that she was charming. At fifty-nine Louis XV was still a very handsome man, with piercing black eyes, a Roman nose and a regal bearing. To Antoinette he must have seemed ancient, but others, visitors to the French court from England, found in him "the remains of a manly beautifulness" despite his advanced age and round shoulders. He was certainly a connoisseur of beautiful women, and though his taste did not run to ingenues, no doubt he saw at a glance that the young girl his chief minister Choiseul had chosen to be dauphine would grow into a very handsome woman indeed.
Louis had reigned for more than fifty years, but as a vapid figurehead. Choiseul, who knew him better than anyone, confided in his memoirs published after the King's death that he had heard his master refer to himself as "inconsequence personified," and add that he would not be surprised to discover that he was in-sane.2 Overbred, overindulged, King since the age of five, this
S4 CAROLLYERICKSON
great-grandson of the Sun King Louis XIV had no real idea of who or what he was—beneath his carapace of regality—and had long since ceased to care. He knew, for his tutors had taught him, that being King, he was altogether different from ordinary men. He believed himself to be a "chosen vessel" of the Almighty, with the divine mission to protect the Catholic religion. And he believed (which belief did nothing to strengthen his character) that because he was a "direct emanation from providence," God would not punish him for his transgressions by sending him to hell, no matter how egregiously he sinned. Knowing that he could sin with impunity, he sinned—yet sin did not provide him with a sufficient means of defining himself.
"The King's character," Choiseul once wrote, "resembled soft wax, on which the most dissimilar objects can be temporarily traced."^ His excessive malleability would have been unsettling in a private person; in a ruler it was disastrous. Vulnerable to becoming the prey of faction, the King fortunately had Choiseul to rely on—though Choiseul, naturally enough, headed a faction of his own. The chief minister did the King's work, sitting at a desk in a small room adjacent to his master's bedroom at Versailles. Whatever Choiseul recommended.
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