The Queen's Dollmaker. Christine Trent
louder as the carriages approached. The cavalcade slowed near the town, as the Dauphine’s procession prepared to make a stop to greet its residents.
Claudette clutched a handful of wilting posies in her hand. She tried to peer around her parents to see the oncoming carriages, but the crowd was too thick. Jean-Philippe took up her free hand and whispered, “Let’s try to get closer.”
With the young boy in the lead, the two children pushed their way through the throngs of people. A woman swatted at them, chastising them to get out of the way. Jean-Philippe looked up at the woman with a winsome smile.
“Madame, if you do not let me pass, the Dauphine will miss seeing me.”
The woman shook her head in exasperation, but smiled and let the children through. Jean-Philippe used his youthful charm to get them past the burly fishwives and their husbands. Finally Claudette burst in front of the crowd. Her flowers were now mostly mangled. Jean-Philippe, still clutching her hand, continued pulling her away from the squeeze of eager spectators.
“Claudette, let’s go meet the Dauphine!”
“No, Jean-Philippe, Papa will be mad if we leave.”
“Follow me!”
Claudette was swept down the street toward the carriage procession. In the background she heard her mother shrieking, “Claudette, no! Come back this instant! Étienne, she will be injured.” Her father was also shouting to her, but Jean-Philippe’s grip was secure and their destination exciting. She willingly ran with him, closer to the approaching mass of horses and carriages.
The man riding the first horse in the procession was dressed in a fancy uniform of white. He was wildly waving at the children to get out of the way, but they stood there, dumbfounded by his finery.
“Brats! Out of the way! I shall run you through myself!” He put his hand menacingly on the sword belted to his side. From far behind them the children could hear a collective gasp from the crowd, and the faint calling of Claudette’s parents floated distantly through the air.
Claudette and Jean-Philippe reacted to his movement and stepped quickly aside. However, by this time the entire entourage had slowed down. As horses and their conveyances were brought to a walk, the children got a good look at the riders and the carriage occupants.
They gaped at the gentlemen and ladies who rode by in an endless pageant of silks, satins, feathers, bejeweled throats and wrists, and ribbons fluttering in the breeze. Near the center of the pageant was the largest and most spectacular carriage of them all. The closed white carriage, shaped like an inverted teardrop, was decorated with gilded wheel spokes and gilded moldings along the top edge. Paintings depicting themes of love decorated all sides of the carriage. From spires on the four top corners of the carriage flew a hodgepodge of colored ribbon streamers, still flapping gaily even though the conveyance was moving at an unhurried pace. It came to a complete halt next to Claudette and Jean-Philippe. A man who had been riding horseback just behind the carriage leapt down, ran to the door and unfurled a small folding stair next to it. Opening the door, the snowy-liveried servant proffered his arm to the occupant.
Out stepped a young girl only about ten years older than the children on the ground. She was petite and delicate, her fresh features marred only by a lower lip that protruded unpleasantly from her face. She was dressed even more elegantly than anyone the children had seen yet in the procession. Her robin’s-egg-blue gown was stitched with lace and many sizes of pearls, and her tiny feet were adorned with heeled shoes encrusted with a matching pattern of pearls. The sumptuous gown was dusty all along the edges from road travel, and her shoes had splotches of mud on them, but she bespoke elegance, style, and sophistication. In her hand she held a small box tied with a bright white ribbon, a white lily tucked in the loops.
The beautiful girl called out in very rough French, “Come to me, little enfants, I have a treat for you.”
Claudette and Jean-Philippe approached cautiously, their earlier bravado having fled completely in the face of this graceful creature.
She leaned over, holding out the box with one hand, untying it with the other. “Would you like some marzipan candies? Everyone loves sweets. I know I do.”
They reached into the box and each took a sweetmeat, chewing slowly. The girl giggled delightedly.
“Do you know who I am?” They both nodded dumbly. “I am the new Dauphine of France, and I have recently met my new husband and now I am being taken to the Palace of Versailles. Do you know where that is?” They shook their heads no, still silent.
“Well, I am a bit frightened, first of the king, second of the Dauphin, but mostly of this strange new country that is now my home. So next time you are frightened by someone on his big horse waving a silly sword, remember me. Remember that even a princesse has moments of terror.”
The children’s mouths hung open, showing the Dauphine chewed-up candy. She giggled again and looked expectantly at Claudette. When Claudette did not move, the princesse asked, “Are those for me?”
Claudette looked down at the drooping flowers in her hand. “Yes, Mama told me I should throw them in front of your carriage. I did not do it. I was too afraid. I am sorry, Princesse.” A tear rolled down Claudette’s cheek. She struggled not to burst into a sobbing bawl and shame herself before this very nice lady who was not even mad at her for interrupting her travel.
“There is nothing to be sorry for. If you will give them to me now, I shall take them with me as a souvenir of my stop in St. Denis.”
Claudette handed over the flowers, many of which were matted in her tiny, grubby hand. The princesse acted as though she were receiving a gift of great value.
“And what is your name, little one?”
“I am Claudette Laurent,” she said shyly.
Jean-Philippe stepped forward. “And I am Jean-Philippe Renaud. Claudette is still only a baby. I made sure she got down here to see you.”
“I am not a baby! I’m almost as old as you.”
“You’re just a noisy little girl. I’m nearly a man—my father says so.”
The Dauphine broke into their disagreement. “Well, Jean-Philippe, you are indeed brave. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” With that, the princesse reentered the carriage, and waved to the children as the procession embarked again on its journey through St. Denis.
1
Paris, September 1781. After a busy day in her father’s shop, Claudette was deep in a sleep of pleasant dreams.
“Claudette! Claudette! Up, my child.” Her beloved papa’s grimy face appeared above hers. Why was it so black? “Quickly, il y a le feu. A fire is burning down the street and will be here soon. Get dressed, then join your mother outside. I must go back and help.” As quickly as he had appeared, her father was gone, clattering down the stairs.
She lay still for several moments, still half asleep, and then she heard the shop door slam shut. The sound brought her more fully awake. Papa never hurried unless he was upset.
Had she just dreamed that her father, covered in black streaks, had told her there was a fire outside? Surely not. Surely that was part of her dream. She rolled onto her side, resting her cheek comfortably on her long, curly golden hair. The faint aroma of burning wood tickled her nose. Sniffing the air cautiously, she realized it was no dream. Reluctant to leave her cozy bedcovers, Claudette slowly sat up and stretched. She never slept with her hair tied up at night, and a curl from her perpetually unmanageable blond tresses fell forward into her eyes. She brushed it away impatiently. She could hear men shouting in the distance. Throwing back the blankets with a resigned finality, she walked to her bedroom window.
Pushing up the sash, she could see the glow of a fire less than a mile away. Other neighbors were in the street, carrying lanterns, and discussing the severity of the fire.
“What do you think, Michel? Is it coming this way?” the butcher across the