At a
minuet or sillabub, poor Antoinette was unrivaled; and Charles, on the
tightrope, was so graceful and so gentil that Madame Saqui might envy him.
The time only was out of joint. Oh, curst spite, that ever such harmless
creatures as these were bidden to right it!
A walk to the little Trianon is both pleasing and moral; no doubt the
reader has seen the pretty, fantastical gardens which environ it; the
groves and temples; the streams and caverns (whither, as the guide tells
you, during the heat of summer, it was the custom of Marie Antoinette to
retire with her favorite, Madame de Lamballe): the lake and Swiss village
are pretty little toys, moreover; and the cicerone of the place does not
fail to point out the different cottages which surround the piece of
water, and tell the names of the royal masqueraders who inhabited each.
In the long cottage, close upon the lake, dwelt the Seigneur du Village,
no less a personage than Louis XV.; Louis XVI., the Dauphin, was the
Pailli; near his cottage is that of Monseigneur the Count d'Artois, who
was the Miller; opposite lived the Prince de Conde, who enacted the part
of Gamekeeper (or, indeed, any other role, for it does not signify much);
near him was the Prince de Rohan, who was the Aumonier; and yonder is the
pretty little dairy, which was under the charge of the fair Marie
Antoinette herself.
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