It was she whom the king, as he affirmed, had complimented on the result
of the day; a success which she had gracefully attributed to himself,
saying that he must be greatly beloved by the Parisians to induce them to
give his children so splendid a reception[3]. To whomsoever it was owing,
the embassador certainly did not exaggerate the opinion of the world
around him when he affirmed that, in the memory of man, no one recollected
any ceremony which had made so great a sensation, and had been attended by
so complete a success.

And it was followed up, as she expected, by several visits to the
different Parisian theatres, which, in compliance with the king's express
direction, were made in all the state which would have been observed had
he himself been present. Salutes were fired from the Bastile and the Hotel
des Invalides; companies of Royal Guards lined the vestibule and the
passage of the theatre; sentinels stood even on the stage; but, fond as
the French are of martial finery and parade, the spectators paid little
attention to the soldiers, or even to the actors. All eyes were fixed on
the dauphiness alone. At Mercy's suggestion, the dauphin and she had
previously obtained the king's permission to allow the violation of the
rule which forbade any clapping of hands in the presence of royalty. This
relaxation of etiquette was hailed as a great condescension by the
play-goers, and throughout the evening of their appearance at the Italian
comedy the spectators had already made abundant use of their new
privilege, when the enthusiasm was brought to a height by a chorus which
ended with the loyal burden of "Vive le roi!" Clerval, the performer of
the principal part, added, "Et ses chers enfants;" and the compliment was
re-echoed from every part of the house with continued clapping and
cheering, till it reminded Marie Antoinette of a somewhat similar scene
which, as a child, she had witnessed in the theatre of Vienna,[4] when the
empress, from her box, had announced to the audience that a son (the heir